#he's a walking catastrophe and a threat to himself and everyone

[magnifiico]

do you ever make a post and think to yourself “oh i want to elaborate on that a bit more; i should do that soon!”

6 months ago :)

. . . yeah, me neither but let's say hypothetically that happened—

bringing back this post that's incredibly integral to how i write mags post-movie:

i do want to express more clearly that because of the dark magic literally just being part of him now (well done you heckin loser; you had one job and it was to not use that dang book), he more or less has to re-teach himself how to be a sorcerer. because the magic isn't cooperative with him anymore: it's feral and unrestrained and requires a lot of effort on mags' side to not lose control over it

he's practically having to start over. he has to use it or it'll drive him insane (well, insane again :D), but he also has to learn how to use it now that it's not the magic he's accustomed to: it's basically a different kind that requires more concentration and discipline from his end . . . not his forte ヽ(ヅ)ノ but he's gotta get it figured out or he's gonna be consumed by it all over again, so

[kingconia]

POMEFIORE WHEN THEY NOTICE THAT THEIR S/O HAS SHITTY FRIENDS

Vil Schoenheit.

— It takes some time from him to realise it. Not because he is stupid or anything, but he is always so busy, spending time solely with you, and you always say good things about them, so;

— But as soon as he spots you with them on some school event, he starts to understand something is really wrong. Why would they say all these sarcastic remarks? Especially, if you seem to be uncomfortable? He is furious;

— At first, he will have a talk with you. He just needs to make sure that you understand how toxic they are, and that they are really-really wrong. If you don't see that, or for some reason agree with them, he is sad and disappointed in himself for not noticing it earlier;

— ”Ah, my sweet potato, how could you think so bad of yourself? Just look at yourself in the mirror for a minute! Look at how charming you are. How I love every part of you...”

— Starts praising you more often! He is quite reserved on the public, but he clearly tries to do something good for you. Might pull out a complements on your ear quietly, when you see each other in school;

— ”Oh, who is this pretty lady is?” ”Ah, I am sorry that I bumped in you, darling. I just couldn't tear my eyes from you...”

— Once again, as Vil is busy and aloof, he will not call your fake friends out personally. But he will make sure that some measures were taken. And that they know that their single word against you will cost them so much. Especially, if they are from Pomefiore;

— Live, laugh, Vil Schoenheit.

Rook Hunt.

— Oh, of course he knows that. Rook spends half of time hunting down objects of his interest, but most of the time his eyes glued to you. Even if you don't realise;

— He hears everything. And he sees everything, too. There is no way to fool this man;

— He is immediately furious. But Rook's rage is different from most of the people; his rage is quiet, cold, and slightly... Delirious. But no one can hurt you, physically or emotionally, and he makes sure that others will know that;

— Firstly, though, Rook needs to make sure that you are not affected by their attitude. Whatever they are shitty for—making toxic remarks about your appearance, leaving you out constantly, or something else—Rook will make everything better;

— This man is literally kissing the ground you are walking on. No insecurity under his roof! No-no. If you ask him, he surely can become your servant, even. But you don't, so he continues to adore you in his own ways;

— But that I mean writing poetry about you and declaring it publicly, so everyone would now how loved you are. Gifting you small��or not really—tokens every day. Writing little notes of what it reminded about you. Ah, he can even spoil you with food and sweets! Anything you want, really;

— And regarding your friends... He will take care of it personally. In his own ways. Which can be extreme, but don't worry! They are alive, just frightened! But at least they apologised, right?..

— ”Don't worry, ma belle catastrophe. I will always keep you safe!”

Epel Felmier.

— He is quite observant, and you spent a lot of time together, so, of course, he notices that something is really wrong;

— He can't believe his eyes, though, when he realises how your friends threat you. For him, you are the most supportive and kind person in the world, and perfectly charming. He can't understand how anyone could ignore you, let alone brush you off constantly;

— Epel fully concentrates on fixing your mental state. He knows how bad it feels, to be dawned by insecurities. And he is not a perfect speaker, but he tries really hard to explain you how he sees your situation, how bad are your friends are;

— He is aware that he is not that impressive and scary as others, which means he can't scare off your fake friends. But Epel is smarter and more cunning;

— He uses what he has to make your friends pay for what they had done to you, uwu!

— He either will make sure that Rook or Vil will do something about that—he might dislike his house and housewardens, but, hey, they are useful—or ask to help his other friends. I mean, just pulling in this Jack would be already enough, but if anything, he has these two idiots from Heartslabyul to do something with it. You will not even notice! He is with you all the time, after all;

— ”Please, never forget that you are not alone anymore, and never will be! I am here for you.”

[petersasteria]

because i liked a boy - T.C.

Pairing: T.C. x SabrinaCarpenter!Reader Words: 1,224 Warning/s: curse words, kylie jenner being mean

You knew you weren’t at fault. You knew that no one was. You also knew that this whole situation was blown way out of proportion. According to the media, you and Timothée started your relationship while he was in a relationship with Kylie Jenner. That was not the case and all three of you knew that. Since the devil works hard, Kylie Jenner’s team works harder. They seemed to add fuel to the fire by pushing the narrative that maybe you did “seduce” Timothée to get in the way of their relationship. Because she’s so powerful, everyone turned against you. Her fans commented nasty things on your Instagram, sent you death threats, and harassed you when they saw you in public.

The funny thing about this whole ordeal was that when this whole narrative began, you and Timothée had already called it quits. It was baffling to say the least, but in true fashion, you chose not to say anything. Instead, you hid in isolation for a year and wrote a few songs about the whole thing. It saddened you that not even Timothée defended you against Kylie’s false claims. He just watched and let it happen. You reached out to Kylie’s team about it, but they never responded. You were never one to create drama, but when everything simmered down, you released a music video for your new song, “because i liked a boy”.

Meanwhile, Timothée was scrolling on YouTube to watch something. It was his day off and he was happy just lounging around. As he scrolled, he saw your newest video. He looked around to see if he was alone before clicking the video. Immediately, he was in awe. The melody and the visuals were appealing. The video opened with you lying down on a trampoline. He watched intently as you sang.

I said I wanted thin mints

And you said you knew a guy

You showed up with a boom box

And stars in your eyes

He smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he’s been to your place. It didn’t take a genius to know that the song was for him. He knew from the first line. Listening to the first four lines made him excited to listen to the rest of the song.

Who knew cuddling on trampolines

Could be so reckless?

We bonded over Black Eyed Peas

And complicated exes

It was true. You and him have always talked about your exes. Mainly because they seem to be all the same in terms of personality. He was glad to finally meet someone who sees on the same page as him.

Fell so deeply into it

It was all so innocent

In the video, you sat up, grabbed the newspaper next to you, and opened it. The front page revealed the words: “Y/N, THE WRECKER OF RELATIONSHIPS”. In the next frame, you were walking down the red carpet and everyone was pushing you away, ostracizing you in the industry.

Now I’m a home-wrecker

I’m a slut

I got death threats filling up

Semi trucks

Tell me who I am 

Guess I don’t have a choice

All because I liked

Timothée was surprised at the choice of words you used. He genuinely felt bad for everything that you’ve been through. You didn’t deserve any of it. He hated his management team for advising him not to say anything because it could ruin his reputation.

I’m the hot topic on your tongue

In the next scene, you got a Kylie Jenner look alike to portray what she does on Instagram live and then she holds up a picture of you, gags, and rips it apart. 

I’m a rebound gettin’ round

Stealing from the young

Tell me who I am

Guess I don’t have a choice

All because I liked a boy

In the video, you were back at your house while holding your heels. A man was waiting for you and you had an argument about something.

I’m not catastrophizing

Everything’s derailing

You let go of your shoes and hugged the man from behind, but he pushed you off and walked away. You cried and sat on the stairs. Timothée’s heart broke seeing you like that.

Was only tryna hold you close

While your heart was failing

It’s not internet illusion

Just two kids going through it

You said I’m too late to be your first love

But I’ll always be your favorite

That part was true. He did tell you that. He was surprised you included it in your song. He still meant what he said. You were, and still are, his favorite. It just didn’t work out in the end.

Now I’m a home-wrecker

I’m a slut

I got death threats filling up

Semi trucks

Tell me who I am 

Guess I don’t have a choice

All because I liked

I’m the hot topic on your tongue

I’m a rebound gettin’ round

Stealing from the young

Tell me who I am

Guess I don’t have a choice

All because I liked a boy

Fell so deeply into it

It was all so innocent

Dating boys with exes

No, I wouldn’t recommend it

He proceeded to watch your video intently, not knowing what was about to come next. He watched as the man left with his belongings, leaving you crying. In the next scene you were in the dining area, holding up the newspaper from the first scene. You put it down and sang.

I’m a home-wrecker

I’m a slut

I got death threats filling up

Semi trucks

Tell me who I am

Guess I don’t have a choice

All because I liked a boy

Just then pictures of you and Timothée popped up, making him smile a bit. He missed you. There was no denying that you two were a good match; a great match. His smile disappeared when all your pictures were replaced with real headlines regarding the situation, calling you nasty names. The camera slowly zoomed in on your face to show your real emotions.

And all of this for what?

When everything went down

We’d already broken up

Please tell me who I am

Guess I don’t have a choice

All because I liked a boy

Timothée teared up and sniffed. You didn’t deserve any of that. He read the comments and all of it was positive; people immediately switched to your side after being cruel the previous year. You didn’t release that song as an intention to hurt or shade anybody. You just wanted people to know your side of the story seeing as Kylie and her team loved to fabricate the shit out of everything. You wanted people to hear it from you through song. Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint.

A few weeks later, you were invited to perform at an awards show. You were walking down the red carpet, taking pictures, and avoiding interviews like the plague when you saw him. You both looked at each other in shock. He smiled at you and gave him a curt nod. You didn’t speak to him after that. Your chapter with him already closed and both of you knew that it was done and over with. You looked away, but he stared at you longer. After a while, he smiled to himself, looked away, and went on with his night.

[mzminola]

Reading oodles of blogs' Percy Weasley tags and came across the idea of Percy becoming a werewolf sometime during the canon plot, and okay, I see the drama and emotional arc potential...

But as soon as I saw "werewolf Percy" my brain immediately leapt to him getting bitten as a kid.

We know Voldemort sent werewolves after people in the first war, that Percy was around five years old when the war ended, that Arthur worked for the Ministry and was against basically everything Voldemort was about, and that Molly's brothers were in the Order of the Phoenix.

So...yeah, final year of the war, either as outright revenge or fulfilling a threat when coercion failed either against Arthur or the Prewett brothers, V sends a werewolf (probably Greyback) after the Weasley kids, and Percy's the one to get chomped.

This just. Completely changes the family dynamics.

How is Percy gonna keep an eye on the younger kids, when he needs to be separate from everyone every full moon? Does he overcompensate as The Responsible One the rest of the time, or has that role not been pushed on him as hard?

How do Arthur & Molly handle interactions between the kids? Especially rough-housing? Percy's got a magical chronic illness now, a growing collection of scars, and possibly feeling ill in the days/before after the full moon (I can't remember how canon that was). But with all the stigma around werewolves, they're not well understood; how paranoid are all the adults about Percy scratching or biting one of the other kids during normal sibling tussles?

I think it's the extra-canonical materials that said the Lupin family moved a lot to avoid anyone figuring it out, but the Weasley's aren't doing that. They've got an established house with seven kids, they're not packing up to leave, and the Diggory & Lovegoods might be a bit far for a walk, but not by broomflight. Do the Weasleys try to isolate in their little plot of land, to avoid neighbors figuring it out, or do they just become super strict about allowed interactions? Do they make up an illness?

I could see them deciding to be strict about interacting with the Diggorys but lax with the Lovegoods, because if Xenophilius starts claiming the middlest Weasley child is a werewolf, no one believes him.

Dumbledore likely showed up immediately in the aftermath (or as soon as he heard, depending on how well hidden they kept the attack) to give the same offer of education he gave the Remus Lupin.

Alternatively, what if they can't keep it secret, because the Death Eaters told everyone? It's supposed to be a way to keep everyone scared, after all.

And of course the details of how Percy in particular got bit affect things. Was he outside when he wasn't supposed to be? To retrieve a lost toy, to get something from the garden, to fulfil a dare from an older brother? Did one of the adults miss a headcount? Did little five year old Percy throw himself in between a younger sibling and the big scary monster?

I think the most positive thing for everyone involved would be for Dumbledore to convince Lupin (because you know he wouldn't intrude on his own) to befriend the Weasleys. Lupin gets a new support network after his old one catastrophically imploded, Percy gets a role model, and Molly & Arthur get a third adult in this mess.

[cosmica-galaxy]

Wait a minute, how would the mimics react to hunter(my human), especially the fact they befriended a Orion a LARGE mimic, probably have his scent or something, and hunter is like "what's a mimic?"

Buddy finds himself suddenly nervous. The scent of a large mimic in the area is a BAD sign...but why does this human SMELL like one? Did they have a close encounter with a large mimic and lived to tell the tale? The human, who goes by the name of "Hunter", seems to not be bothered nor harmed in the slightest. Once the human tells them of the large mimic that follows them around, that of which does NOT try to eat them, Buddy is stunned and equally as worried. That beast is prone to snapping at any point. He'll keep vigilant for any signs that it is about to have an episode...and if "Hunter" gets devoured for their complacency amongst such a threat...that is a fate caused from their own ignorance. Large mimics are dangerous and should be treated as such. Pal can feel his clothe-flesh prickle at the scent lingering in the air upon "Human Hunter"'s arrival. A familiar decaying and toxic taste lingers in the air as they walk by him unbothered. The scent of a large mimic. His frill snaps to attention and his hearing is amplified to show stress. A large mimic?? This close to the base?! The damage it could do would be catastrophic! Pal is puzzled at why the human that passed him smelt so strongly of such a beast, but it doesn't stop Pal from taking to the skies and scoping out the perimeter of the base. Using his hearing and echolocation to see if that large threat is still lingering at the borders of their home. Such a strong and unnerving feeling courses through him as the human has revealed to have "tamed" that monster. He can smell the blood on its breath...this "Orion" has killed before. Who knows what it can do to the humans and to the base itself? Pal is certainly nervous and constantly listening for it now whenever he wanders the base, keeping the other mimics and children safe will always be his priority. Fiend's back spikes arch up in a display of hostility as "Hunter" walks past his dwelling with a certain scent on them. The stench of a large mimic...the taste of iron, decay, and salt fill his mouth and scent receptors, making him cringe. What is that human thinking?! A large mimic?!? They are cannibalistic and treacherous by nature! It can consume everyone in this base and it still won't be satisfied! Is "Hunter" planning on dooming them all?! They can't be tamed! They can't make friends! They are mimic eaters and home destroyers! He has heard countless horror stories from mimics who encounter such horrors...and they were lucky enough to live to tell their tales. Sickened mimics with an endless hunger...Hunter has a death wish. It is only a matter of time before it snaps! Get it out of the base!! GET IT OUT!

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Late Night Waiting

Summary: No One Knows AU Part 5, After everyone has been waiting for a couple of nerve-wracking hours, Sam and Tucker finally show up at the police station.

...

Danny wishes he could feel better about having a night off from grounding.  But at this point he’s been stuck in the police station for hours and Jazz hasn’t even managed to distract anyone for long enough that he can slip out and figure out what’s going on as Phantom, which would be much more efficient and more likely to solve the actual problem.

Instead, he’s answered the police’s questions about where he saw Sam and Tucker last (at school, like almost every other day since he’s gotten back), and spent the past three hours pacing back and forth in the room they’ve been given to wait in.  Sam’s parents are talking quietly together in one corner, Tucker’s parents are sitting silently in the other, and his family is sitting in the middle, talking about which ghost most likely did this and how best to go after them.

The one time Danny had gone to the bathroom to try and slip away, his dad had insisted on coming with him and waiting outside the door.  Something about waiting to make sure he’s safe while they don’t know what’s going on.

Give this much longer and Danny’s secret identity might slip down the ranks in priorities.

His brain can’t stop coming up with ways he could have prevented this.  Sam and Tucker’s parents called at dinnertime, he should have done some kind of patrol before then.  He should have insisted on spending the night with Sam and Tucker, grounding be damned.  He should have run out to look for Sam and Tucker the second they called, who cared how worried his parents would be when they saw he was missing again too?

It doesn’t matter, because Sam and Tucker could be hurt.  A ghost could have captured them, and he could be contacted any second with some kind of ransom, or threat, or worse.  Fuck, worse.  If Sam and Tucker don’t make it back he’ll never forgive himself—

“Danny,” Jazz says, cutting into his thoughts.  “Come sit down.”

“No thanks I’m good,” Danny says in one breath, spinning around to walk to the other way.

“Danny.”  Jazz reaches out and grabs his hand, then pulls him down onto the chair next to her.  “Stop catastrophizing.  It’s not your fault.”

“But— I could have—”

“Jazz is right, honey,” Mom says, reaching around Jazz to squeeze his hand with a smile.  “There isn’t anything you could have done.”

“As much as I loathe to admit it,” Sam’s mother says with an irritated sigh, before her face surprisingly softens.  “Your mother’s right.  You don’t need to beat yourself up over this, Danny.  You couldn’t have helped by doing anything differently.”

She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew, hisses the voice in Danny’s head.

Jazz catches his gaze and gives him a knowing look.  

Danny shakes the voice away.

He leans heavily against Jazz’s side and pushes his hands over his face, and Jazz wraps her arms around him.  “It’s gonna be okay,” she murmurs.  She lowers her voice further.  “Worst case scenario, you slip away when all the adults fall asleep and I cover for you.”

Danny nods weakly, then sits back and tries to breathe.

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that.  Because after about four hours of sitting there, when his dad has just fallen asleep across several chairs and Danny is debating trying the bathroom again, the door opens and a police officer pokes appears in the entrance.

“They’re here,” he says, and Danny is rushing for the door before he can get any other words out.

Sam and Tucker are both talking to an officer across the main room of the precinct, and both of them have barely turned and spotted him when Danny reaches them and throws his arms around their shoulders.

“Oh my god holy fuck are you okay,” he says, squeezing them tightly before pulling back and looking them over for injuries.  He doesn’t see anything life threatening or anything that looks too badly injured thank god, but he pats them down anyway, gently but firmly, checking for any strange lumps or obvious breaks.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, I— are you okay are you hurt where does it hurt I don’t know why I’m asking that I can’t actually do anything I’m not a doctor, I— are you okay?  Please tell me you’re okay,” he says, looking desperately back up at their faces.  He finds them both staring at him, at an obvious loss of what to say.

“Young man,” a police officer says before any of them can say anything else.  He reaches out and pulls Danny back, away from Sam and Tucker.  “Please step back.  I understand this is difficult for everyone but we all need to remain calm.”

“Samantha!” comes her mother’s voice, and all of them turn just in time to see her mother rush past the officer to Sam and start doing the exact same injury pat-down that Danny did.

Sam groans in obvious irritation and takes a step back.

“We’re fine,” she says, glaring at her mom.  “Honestly.  We’re not hurt.”

“Oh thank heavens,” her mother says, pulling Sam back in for a hug, and causing another annoyed groan from Sam.

Danny lets out a sigh, looking down in relief.  Now that it’s clear that Sam and Tucker are at least mostly okay, most of the nerves that have been building up around his shoulders relax, and suddenly he just feels exhausted.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns to see Jazz giving him a reassuring smile, which he returns, albeit shakily.

The police finally managed to get everyone to stand back from Sam and Tucker, at least enough that they could continue asking them what happened.

Unfortunately, they’re still close enough to hear everything, meaning Danny’s close enough to hear Sam say, “We got captured by a ghost,” and all of his nerves leap back into his shoulders.

“He didn’t hurt us,” Sam says, waving off the officer’s next question.  “Seemed like he just wanted to scare us.  He actually got distracted pretty easily, and that’s how we managed to slip away.”

Okay, so probably someone harmless like The Box Ghost if they got away that easily.  They probably weren’t in any real danger in a way that Danny was actually 100% necessary to be there for.

…That does not help.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Danny asks, drawing both of their gazes.  They look wary, probably because everyone here is still more than a little on edge.  “Ghosts are no joke.”

“You got that right,” Dad says from over his shoulder.  “You both are going to have to come back with us tonight to get a full check over from the professionals.”

“No,” Sam says quickly, at the same time her mom says “Absolutely not.”

Probably a smart move, honestly.  His parents tended to look for the wrong things, and a lot of their tests tended to be painful in some way.  Danny can keep an eye on Sam and Tucker for the next couple days, while trying to not let the guilt eat him alive.

“I’m in agreement there,” Tucker’s mom says, stepping forward.  “You two both sound like you’ve had a very long night, you need to go home and get some rest.”

“Absolutely a good idea,” Jazz says, trying to send a knowing look at their parents (of which only time would tell how successful it was).  “Sleep is important after an upsetting experience, especially if it’s past midnight.”

“Jazz has a point, honey,” Mom says, putting a reassuring hand on Dad’s shoulder.  “Just come by in the next couple days, you two.  We’ll make sure nothing’s wrong.”

Danny sighs, dropping his head into his hands.  That’s still not going to be helpful, but that’s probably the best they’re going to get from his parents that night.

“Uh, we’ll see,” Sam says, in a tone that means ‘I doubt it,’ and Danny can’t blame her.  She turns to her parents.  “Can we just go home now?”

“We still have questions,” one of the nearby officers says.

“We already told you everything, and I want to go home and sleep,” Sam says.  “It’s been a very long day.”

The officer sighs.  “Alright, but we might come find you with follow up questions in the next couple of days.”

“Fine,” Sam snaps, and she grabs her mom’s arm and starts tugging her towards the door.  Sam’s dad follows shortly after.

Danny can’t help but laugh a little bit.  Sam being just as annoyed with authority as usual is probably a good sign.

“Yeah, I want to go home too,” Tucker says quietly, and starts for the door without any fanfare.  Before he leaves, however, he stops in front of Danny.  He doesn’t look at him though, instead watching Sam.

Danny turns to watch her too, wondering what Tucker sees.  But as soon as Sam walks out the front door and steps out of sight, Tucker turns and wraps his arms around Danny.

Danny gives a sound of surprise, muffled by Tucker’s cheek smushing against his face.

Tucker pulls back a second later.  “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking down.  “I just… I had to do that.”

Danny just gives him a warm smile in return.  “Hey, if you want to talk about it, you can tell me anything,” he says quietly, with what’s hopefully the right level of a joking tone.

Tucker smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.  It barely reaches his mouth.

Danny doesn’t push, since that’s a bad idea especially now, and a couple seconds later, Tucker turns back to his parents and nods to the door, and all three of them walk out.

“Alright,” Jazz says, drawing Danny and his parents’ attention.  “We should go home too.”

“I agree,” Mom says, as the four of them all start moving towards the door.  “It’s been a very long night, and you both still have school in the morning.”

“What?” Danny asks.  “Don’t we get to stay home?  These are extenuating circumstances and all that!”

“Sam and Tucker are the ones who got captured by ghosts, not you two,” Mom says, raising an eyebrow.  “And you can’t afford to miss any more class, Danny.”

Danny grumbles something incomprehensible under his breath, though he’s thinking about how he didn’t get time off when he was kidnapped.  It doesn’t matter that it’s entirely his fault for using running away as a cover story, the universe is still being unfair.  Especially considering he’s exhausted enough that he feels himself falling asleep on the car ride back.

When he gets home, however, he shakes himself awake, and after telling his parents goodnight, he heads up to his room and transforms.

He opens the window and is about to fly out when the door opens behind him, and he spins around, heart leaping into his throat.

Thankfully, Jazz is the one who stands in the doorway.

“And what exactly makes you think that’s a good idea?” she asks, shutting the door behind her.

Danny lets out a breath of relief and slumps back against the wall.  “Don’t do that, Jazz, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Danny,” Jazz says, crossing her arms.  “Patrolling isn’t a good idea right now.”

“Why not?  Clearly I should have been patrolling earlier.”

“Well, because you need to sleep for one, and for two, I don’t want you going out there stewing in your own head and making yourself feel even worse.”

Danny looks away, trying to disguise it as a glare.  “Sam and Tucker—”

“Are fine.  They’re not even a little hurt, and got away themselves without any needed help.  You, on the other hand, need rest.  Mom already said you’re still going to school tomorrow.”

Danny forces himself to look back at Jazz.  “I’m not gonna be able to sleep until I know everyone is safe, Jazz.”

“Everyone is safe, Danny.  Your ghost sense would go off or there’d be some kind of news alert if there was something you needed to take care of.  And if the news alert was happening Mom and Dad would wake up the whole house rushing off to help with it.”

Danny looks down.  She has a point.  And he can practically feel himself falling asleep standing here.

“Go to sleep, Danny.  There’s nothing else you can do tonight.  If tomorrow Sam and Tucker are at school you can talk to them and see if there’s ways you can help, and I’ll help you out there too.  But tonight the most helpful thing you can do is get some sleep.”

Danny sighs, and glares more lightheartedly up at Jazz.  “I hate it when you’re right,” he says, prefaced with sticking out his tongue.

“You’re gonna hate most of the things I say, then,” Jazz says with a smug smile.

Danny rolls his eyes and shuts the window.  He turns back into Danny Fenton and moves over to his dresser to pull some pajamas out, then casts a glance back at Jazz.  “Alright, now get out.  Neither of us want you here for this part.”

It’s Jazz’s turn to roll her eyes.  “Yeah, yeah,” she says, turning to leave.  “But hey, I’m really proud of you, you know.”

Danny scoffs despite himself.  “I didn’t even do anything tonight.”

“I’m proud of how much you care, you dork,” Jazz says, crossing her arms with a fond smile.  “It’s obvious how much Sam and Tucker mean to you, that’s all.  And I’m proud of how much you do for them, and everyone.”

“Uh, whatever,” Danny says, looking away and crossing his arms.  “You don’t have to get all sappy about it.”

“You can’t stop me from getting all sappy about it,” Jazz says, sounding smug again, and she leaves and shuts the door before Danny can say anything else.

Danny sighs, but he has a slight smile on his face as he changes into pajamas and climbs into bed.

And it’s honestly annoying the level of right that Jazz is, because he falls asleep almost immediately.

[ghostinthegallery]

Time to overthink the Silent King!

Aw yeah, @angoryt got their request in first, so sure. Szarekh—second coolest necron centerpiece model—is up to be psychoanalyzed by me, a rando on the internet.

Szarekh is interesting for a lot of reasons, and a lot of that stems from how mysterious he is. He's relatively new to the game as it were and he has basically no story appearances because GW hates xenos and also me. Still we have some things to go on...

So what do we know? He was the one that made the deal with the Deceiver (who tbf was not called the Deceiver at the time) to turn the necrontyr into the necrons we know and love today. He had full control of everything single necron via command protocols, but he surrendered that power after the War in Heaven. He ordered the Great Sleep. He entered a self imposed exile and now has returned because he saw something out in the universe that he deemed a great enough threat to return (it's the Tyranids put a pin in that).

He may or may not have met Sanguinias. He may or may not have a plan to reverse biotransference. He has a thing for pylons. That's about all we get.

I see a character here that tried to be a good king. In many ways he was, but he failed in the most catastrophic way. Every single action he's taken has been an attempt to protect his empire and his people and all of them backfired. Biotransference was... biotransference. The Great Sleep caused so many dynasties to be lost to planetary death, scavengers, and madness. And the galaxy they are waking up to is arguably even worse than the one they hibernated to escape. Even Szarekh's attempt to atone for his mistakes by exiling himself left a power vacuum that the triarchy couldn't fully fill. The necrons are completely fractured, their empire is significantly weaker as a result, and it's partially because of Szarekh's choice.

But he still isn't giving up. Despite being haunted by his failures, he's still trying to unite his people and save them from the mistakes he's made. He's trying to protect the whole galaxy from the Tyranids, even though he and the other necrons could just let them devour everything and move on. Tyranids avoid necrons and tombworlds because they have no biomass. Szarekh doesn't have to fight them, but he chooses to because he believes that if he doesn't, he can never reverse biotransference. The necrons will just die a slow death to entropy and Szarekh will have a front row seat to watch the decay of everything he loved.

He's motivated by profound guilt and desire to protect his people, but it constantly ends in tragedy. Do I think this makes him a "good" person? No, not really. He's deeply shrewd and manipulative. He used Dante's and the other Blood Angels love and grief for Sanguinias to essentially turn them into bait for his fight with some Tyranids. Szarekh survived necron court politics for millennia, he doesn't f*ck around.

Note, Szarekh didn't just show up and try to take over immediately. He built up support, a new court, he allied with everyone's favorite robot murder scientist Illuminor Szeras. The guy isn't an idiot. He made a lot of wrong choices, but those choices came from good intentions rather than incompetence.

It's infuriating GW isn't doing more with Szarekh as a character. He's a tragic king! Loved and hated by his own empire with equal intensity. He should at least have one novel where he features (if not multiple). If they want to maintain the mystery around him (which is fair) make him an antagonist for someone like Imotekh or even Dante, Lion, or Guilliman if they insist of featuring the Imperium. Do some uneasy alliances. Get the aeldar in here! Szarekh also shows just how dangerous and terrifying the tyranids are, which is great if GW wants tyranids to be the Big Bad of 10th. You want some extra horror attached to the space bugs? Just give a hint of what Szarekh saw out in the universe that terrified him enough to break a 65 million year exile.

Szarekh is a walking Shakespearean tragedy with a sick model, and I hope he gets more love in the lore.

If you like how I think about characters l, read my AO3 nonsense. Leave a comment, I live for those.

Next on the list: Anrakyr the Traveler! As requested by @fobosfear

[fascinatedscrawls]

Phic Phight Prompt: The people of the apocalyptic future have no idea what to call this Phantom look-a-like menace, so they keep coming up with increasingly ridiculous names to refer to him as, but none seem to stick. At Dan's insistence to choose anything with a modicum of dignity, they all double down just to cheese him off. Terrible merch, puns, and awful slogans of his various names are plastered all over the city next to his face. He cannot stand it

Word Count: 2209

For Shinx

Summary:

Even in the face of a one ghost catastrophe, the world keeps spinning. Everyone copes with the new normal in different ways, some get angry, others ignore it, and Tony? Tony likes to laugh when he can, especially at the one who caused all of this. Sharing his collection of everyone's various stabs at naming the ghost terrorizing them is dangerous, but always worth it. Especially when he knows how much that guy hates every last one of them.

It's a quiet afternoon.

Well, these days it's always quiet. With a ghostly madman exacting some sort of revenge or twisted justice wherever he happened to be, most people only go out when they have to and try to go as unnoticed as they can manage while doing it. Especially this close to the ruined city of Amity Park.

Tony's second-hand store is just over fifty miles from the abandoned town where some argue this all started. That doesn't bother him though, he's got no plans to try and see it like the thrill seekers. Besides, people all over the globe have reported seeing that flying catastrophe all in the same day so Tony's pretty sure that no place can be truly safe.

He barely thinks about these days and as it as he wastes time in the back while waiting for a customer to find their way to the store it doesn't even cross his mind. He's already dusted, put out all the new supplies (the handful he received today at least), and even organized the place if one feels very generous about their definition of 'organized'.

It's only when he's unhappily contemplating the stacks of accounting paperwork piled up on his desk that he hears someone come in and he's not ashamed to admit that he lets out a gusty sigh of relief at the sound of that little bell above the door. Pushing himself out of his chair, he sweeps the papers into a drawer and makes sure everything is secure before stepping into the shop proper to greet whoever entered.

"Welcome, welcome." Tony smiles at the young lady even as she nods at him stoically. Her grim demeanor doesn't worry him - many of those who are young like her are angry or disillusioned now that they find themselves staring down a future where they'll never be truly safe, one that might be cut short even if they want to try and live under that for decades. Firmly in his sixties and with far less to lose, Tony copes in other ways. "Take a look around, I have quite the selection."

"So I've heard." The sharp cut of her short dark hair only makes the green of her eyes more noticeable as she gives his wares a perfunctory glance. Whatever she's looking for, it's not here and Tony knows what she'll be asking for before she says, "Rumor has it you have some rare collectables."

He knows he shouldn't, knows how suspicious it looks and how futile the effort is when the real threat can go invisible, but Tony still glances out the yellowing glass at the front of the store as if he might catch a sting operation in progress. As usual, the street is mostly empty with only the infrequent passerby power walking to their next destination with hunched shoulders and they all pointedly pay no attention to the things around them.

Tony's eyes catch on the condemned building across the way - its windows shattered with clawed off posters lining the walls around them. The image is nearly gone on most, but those that are left with scraps of familiar ghostly hair and only the tattered ends of a name printed at the bottom of whats left of each repeated page.

He's not sure where his old friend is, the one who used to run the place and the one who put up those signs so proudly. Doesn't know if they're in hiding or if their absence is a sign of something more final.

But he knows exactly why it happened.

Yanking his eyes away from the wreckage, he smooths out the strained edges of his smile to make it sit more easily on his face.

"Oh, I find myself collecting all sorts of odds and ends." He dithers, watching her reactions closely. "It's part of the reason I opened up the shop. Is there something specific you're looking for?"

Those green eyes narrow and her lips purse as they stare each other down. Just because he knows what she's likely referring to doesn't mean it isn't dangerous. Tony doesn't know her and with a request like this it's probably better for both of them if he keeps it that way, but if someone trusted her enough to tell her then she should know how to gain access to his most dangerous yet beloved collection.

"You know, I can't quite put my finger on it." She eventually grits out, not quite grinding her teeth, but certainly unhappy to be using a code phrase.

Tony's smile widens as he steps to the side, ushering the woman to the back with a sweep of his arm.

"Well, let's see if we can't put a name to it, shall we?"

Letting out a gusty sigh at Tony's favorite joke, the young lady takes the invitation and walks by him with a roll of her eyes. She stops far enough inside the windowless room to let him follow her, but watches him closely has he shuts the door behind them.

Tony takes in her tense shoulders, the curl of her fingers as if contemplating reaching for a weapon he can't see (though that hardly means anything, it didn't before weapons could fit into people's watches and he certainly doesn't have a better eye for them now), and the couple of inches she has on him even without his perpetual slouch.

He leaves the door unlocked.

Ghosts can go intangible. If the young lady wants an exit, he'll let her have both of them. Tony glances at the fire exit at the back of the store, the one that can't be locked from the inside, then goes to unlock the small room next to his storage area.

Technically, the place is labelled as his office, but the ruse is a lazy one with his desk in clear view as soon as anyone gets into the back. It's worked out for him so far though and Tony will admit, if only to himself, that even if he doesn't want to go to Amity Park, he's still a little bit of a thrill seeker.

Just maybe not enough to paste it all over the outside of his business.

The 'office' door opens with a low creek, as if to show how infrequently people ask to see this collection. Pushing the door open and flicking on the light, Tony looks over his shoulder to see the young lady's reaction. She doesn't flinch which is encouraging - one young man almost ran out screaming at the sight, Tony was lucky the kid's friend was there to stop him from attracting the wrong attention.

Tony can't wait to see which one is her favorite.

Stepping inside, he smiles at the mismatched collection - from t-shirts to posters, figurines to mugs, floor to ceiling the walls are packed with merchandise bearing the face of that ghostly menace that haunts them all.

Who? Well, the collection aims to answer that question.

Though, judging by the angry response each of them has inspired in the subject, likely not the one the ghost wants.

"They weren't lying when they said you had the biggest collection they'd ever seen." Mentioning no names, the woman walks in to survey the items, grudging respect in her voice. "You have a lot more of the 'Inviso's than I've seen all at once."

Tony reaches up and pulls at one of the shirts to show off another one behind it - both sharing the same angry spectral face, but bearing a different name. 'Inviso-Bob' makes way for 'Inviso-Benjamin'.

"The 'Inviso' line is the classic series - based off the old 'Bill' character that used to feature on the local news stations." Beside both shirts, Tony picks up a mug with another angle on that snarl and a faint outline of a basketball behind it. "This one is my personal favorite, I picked it up from a friend who had a set printed before companies started banning these types of things due to the inevitable damage they'd lead back to them."

The young lady takes it from him to read the name printed at the bottom and snorts, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Inviso-Baller?"

Even though it's quiet, Tony still waits half a beat before letting his smile grow. (If the ghost were close enough to hear and investigate, there would be no escape for him, not in the middle of such incriminating and insulting items, but after years of being cautious, he can't help it.)

"Not much of a pun, that one, but amusing none the less." Accepting the mug back, he places it on its little shelf before gesturing around the room. "The other, hmmm, traditional names are also present along with a few unique takes on them if you'd like to take a look?"

Traditional or original, it's hard to classify. Their problems weren't even a decade old, but after nearly a decade and what must be hundreds of iterations in multiple languages, he needs some way to categorize the memorabilia.

He watches, enjoying her quiet amusement at the different names he's collected. Everyone who gains entry loves them.

The 'Phil-tom' that looks more like a mash up of common names instead of a play on phantom, the 'Phan-Thomas' on a news article next to it. 'Spec-Ted' and 'Spec-Theodore' were popular for a while, lasting a whole three weeks and gaining quite the following before the rampaging ghost came back from wherever it had disappeared to dismantle the newsroom that came up with it.

Tony has yet to see someone read the 'El Espoo-Ken' and not snicker a little and she's no different. Shaking her head a little at the postcard that showcased it, she moves on only to stop a few steps later. It's hard to see what she's looking at from here, but after a moment, Tony follows the tilt of her head to the familiar poster half hidden behind another shirt.

"Ah, I see you've found the more dangerous part of my collection." The whole thing is dangerous, but puns are one thing.

Insults are another.

He lets the door swing shut behind him, the latch not quite engaging as usual, as he steps closer to read his friend's poster once more - this time not just the scraps left on the building outside, but a pristine version he kept for himself before it all went down.

"He came to take those down far quicker than the inventor anticipated." A life and business ruined, all over one little insult.

Printed in black and white, the ghost snarls down at them. Beneath it, eight little letters. One name. Uttered first by a child, the owner's grandchild - Tony can still remember how his friend laughed about it.

"'Spec-Turd' she said, can you believe it?"

"He would."

There is something in that clipped response that makes Tony pause. He blinks at the poster before looking at her sharply.

It strikes him then that she's not just that she's tall. If he stood up straight, forced his spine to cooperate in a way he hasn't managed in years, they'd actually be quite close. No, what he's seeing isn't just height.

This young woman is unbowed. She's unbroken.

She is angry.

And judging by the fire in her eyes, by the way she talks about that ghost, it is personal.

Tony swallows and takes half a step back, suddenly feeling that maybe the unlocked doors are less for her sake and more for his.

There are many who get fed up and take a stand against the ghost.

Few survive it.

He doesn't know what he does - doesn't know if it's a rattle of his keys in his pocket, a scuff of his shoe against the concrete flooring, or simply something in the air - but in an instant she's back from whatever terrible memory the poster reminded her of, her green eyes snapping to Tony.

He successfully fights the urge to take another step back. He can't quite stop the flinch, but he can squish it into a tense smile with the ease of long practice.

"I don't sell anything here." His usual wrap-up comes out as creaky as the door's hinge. Tony coughs a little to clear the tightness from his throat. The fierce expression he saw not moments ago makes way for faint concern which makes his next question come a little easier. "Would you like to take a souvenir?"

"I-" What is clearly a negative response cuts off almost before it starts. In the silence that follows, she cuts a glance back at the poster. As she bites her lip in thought, Tony can read her intent from her expression and he tilts his head to try and remember where he put his scanner.

"Can I get a copy of this?"

If anyone else asked for that dangerous insult, Tony would have tried to talk them out of it.

Looking at her standing tall in this tiny back room, Tony finds himself recalling the few reports of someone fighting with the ghost and surviving.

No, what are the odds?

He shakes the thought away and goes to take the poster down so they can get a clean scan.

"Of course."

[adri-2022]

The Unexpected

Fandom: Chicago PD

Characters: Jay Halstead x FemReader

Warnings: slight swearing/ slight fulff/ lot of angst

Word count: 2168

Jay Halstead Materlist

A/N: Hi guys here is an original imagine. I hope everyone likes it. Dedicated to @allisonargent144 and @shxgeosblog.

Don't be afraid to leave your comment!

--------------

Fear. That was the feeling rounding in the city of Chicago. For the last couple of weeks there had been bombs being planted, all of the emergency departments worked hard to stop whoever was doing it. Which resulted in a lot of sleepless nights for Jay Halstead and the rest for his team. His wife Y/N former firefighter was worried about him based on the current situation -you had taken a very early break from work after finding out you were pregnant-. To say you and Jay were joyful was very accurate, you were having your first baby and you couldn’t be happier. Now 5 months pregnant you were very much showing, doctors had told you that baby Halstead would be a big baby -probably got it from its dad-given he was taler than you.  

And although you were happy, you couldn’t help but worry a lot for your husband and friends. It was crazy how it all started, everyone was at Molly’s having a nice evening, when everyone’s phones started ringing like crazy -this with alerts- from their respective departments giving everyone the news of bomb threats all around Chicago. After that day everything changed and everyone with it.

People had been encouraged to stay at home -it was a state catastrophe-, which led to Intelligence Unit being one of the agencies between the crazy psycho bomber and harming a handful of civilians. Now because of intelligence involvement on this case, the whole team became an imminent target.

You woke up, like any other day but there was something different lingering in the air. Today you would find out the gender of your baby. You loved waking up like this, in Jay’s arms, wrapped around you with the palm of his hand in your baby bump. So, you laid there enjoying the little intimacy with your husband before he had to leave and potentially get himself in harms ways to protect the ones he loved most.

“I know your awake, you know” you said giggling when you felt him put his face in the crock of your neck giving you loving kisses.

“Shh, let’s pretend, before I have to go back to reality” which made you smile and hug the strong arms that kept you and baby bean safe.

Now came the worst part of your mornings having Jay walk through the door to the uncertainty. You looked at him while he put his coat on, now catching his gaze and making him stop,

“Hey- baby I’ll be fine. Okay? I’m pretty invincible you know!” he tried to lighten the mood, but you had a nagging feeling on you gut and it wouldn’t go away. Noticing it didn’t work, Jay approached you putting his hands on your waist giving you a peck on the lips, wrapping you in a hug putting a hand in the back of your neck in a protective manner.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there to see baby bean” he said now looking at you with a guilty expression. He promised he would be there for every appointment and now he had to be absent for the most important -hence there was a psycho around, so you didn’t blame him-.

“It’s ok. I’ll wait to tell you when you get home. Because you… Better. Get. Home to me Jay Halstead or I’ll drag you myself” you said while pocking his chest to make your point valid which made him smile more. “I promise I will. I love you” he said raising a hand as if he was making a sacred oath, then cupping your cheeks to give you a kiss and proceeding kneel down to cup you baby bump and kiss it,

“You, be good for momma okay, no more morning sickness, alright?” you chuckled while he looked up at you, finally taking a deep breath and kissing you again before walking out the door.

You were leaving Chicago Med with a very happy smile; you had found out the gender of your baby bean. Now while walking to your car, you couldn’t help but feel weird, as if someone was watching you, doing a spin you didn’t see anyone, so you continued you path towards the car. Before you could open the driver side you felt a material being placed over your mouth and after that everything went black.

At the district every cop was walking on eggshells, they had found the person behind the bombings and to some it felt too easy to be real. Jay hadn’t noticed the time, so when he glanced at the clock, he assumed you were out of your appointment and on your way home, but then he also noticed that you hadn’t called him yet. So, he picked up his phone and dialed your number -straight to voicemail- he furrowed his eyebrows,

“Hey, honey. I- Don’t panic I’m okay. I-I was just calling to hear your voice. I can’t wait to get home and kiss you and baby bean. I miss you both. See you at home” he said smiling lightly at the thought of finding out what baby bean was. Just then Trudy climbed the stairs of intelligence getting everyone’s attention, and by the look on her face it wasn’t good,

“We have a potential suicide bomber on Millennial Park”

“Alright everyone suit up and let’s hit the road” arriving at the park there weren’t many people around just police enforcement, a couple of fire trucks, SWAT was there as well. Getting close to the bomber, Hank stopped in his tracks turning around to stop Jay which made the latter give his sergeant a confused look, until he got a peak over Hank’s shoulder seeing who it was. His eyes went wide -scared, hell terrified- for a moment Jay forgot what breathing was,

“No…” he breathed out you were there in the middle of the chaos, scared expression on your face. Even from where they stood it was clear you were shaking badly. Jay went to move, but he was paralyzed, it couldn’t be- his wife, the love of his life being used. He took a step to get to you, being stopped by Adam.

You were looking down, waiting for the inevitable to come. You had a vest full of explosives and a timer that showed 10 minutes on it. You knew what would happen, and you were crying thinking you just wanted to go home, until you heard your husbands voice,

“I need to get to her. That’s my wife- my pregnant wife. And I swear to god if you don’t let me trough, I’ll shoot every single one of you” you heard him scream and you cried harder, you didn’t want him here, just to witness you being blown into piece. But Jay- well he didn’t give two shits; you were in the middle of it- and he wasn’t letting you go through this on your own.

“We’re ready to take the shot!” a SWAT officer said, with that Jay bolted to you, ignoring the calls he got from everyone around him. You raised your head when you felt a presence in front of you putting his arms up you knew who it was you would know that perfume anywhere -you could hear in the distance Voight’s voice, screaming at someone-,

“Baby- babe look at me please, please listen to me” you heard him say with desperation lacing each word that came out of his mouth, looking up at him through your tears, seeing his brave expression fading the longer his gaze was in yours,

“That’s it baby, just keep looking at me. I’m here” you nodded trying to stop shaking, “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice him following me and…” “No, no- hey that doesn’t matter okay. Listen sweetheart can you do something for me?” you nodded sniffing maintaining eye contact.

“Can you put both your hands up- yeah just like me, good. Now were going to rotate in the same direction…” you cut him off,

“Rotate, w-why?” he grimaced looking at you like he was having an internal battle,

“There are a couple of snipers, and they have- they have a target. We’ll just rotate- yes just like that- it should gives us some time” if you weren’t scared before now, you were pretty close to passing out. “I’m the target, aren’t I?” you said trying to act calm, but it was clear to the both of you, that neither were feeling even a bit of it. Jay could just look at you his eyes expressing nothing more than fear.

“Sarge, it has a timer. 3 minute” Jay screamed back towards the unit -radios could detonate the bomb-, you shook you head taking deep breaths, and trying to keep the tears at bay. Just then Hailey came whispering something in Jay’s ear, he then side glanced her giving her a nod, you couldn’t really hear anything since you were both still rotating-.

“Y/N, baby, I’ll have to disarm the bomb myself” you just looked at him wide eyes, your lip started trembling, thinking about all the things you wanted to say to him before it was too late, you wanted more time, hell you needed more time. You noticed everyone apart from you and Jay backing behind the cars, then and there you knew this was it.

“I- I love you so much, and I’m so sorry for every mistake I’ve made. I wouldn’t change anything. I love you and- and I trust you” you said giving him a teary smile, to what he shook his head, tears in his eyes, “No goodbyes” his voice breaking while he helped you get both of you on your knees without breaking eye contact.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. It’s just our family, no one else. We’re invincible remember” he gave you a teary close lip smile, then you put your forehead to his while you both had tears running down your cheeks,

“I wanna go home, I wanna go home…” you cried.

“We are” he said trying to give you an encouraging smile while he looked into your eyes, with nothing more than love -like it was the last time you would get to look into his eyes-.

“It- it’s a baby girl” you said sobbing, while Jay put his hand on the back of your neck kissing you deeply, cutting the wire at the same time. And there was silence. You didn’t know if you had died or not, there wasn’t any sound, until you heard a relieved sigh, and a chuckle, that made you open your eyes to see Jay starting tears in his cheeks, touching your face as if to make sure you were both there,

“Were having a baby girl!” he said laughing which made you laugh, as everyone else came running towards the two of you, relieved looks on their faces. While you and Jay kept on laughing while holding each other’s faces,

“They’re laughing?” Adam said “Adrenaline” Hailey said placing a hand on your shoulder. Helping Kim get the bomb vest off you. Once off, Jay didn’t hesitate to pull you to your feet grabbing your neck and smashing his lips on yours smiling on the kiss. He had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and that you were really alive in his arms, before pulling away and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear with one hand while the other rub your belly -as to have certainty that the baby was okay too-.

Walking towards the ambulance, you noticed a group of cars just arriving, so you looked towards Jay who pulled you closer -pissed look on his face- gazing at the group of people before passing in front of them,

“Couldn’t have done it without you guys! Arrived just in time” he said sarcastically at the bomb squad, before taking to med.

Hours later you were at home, cuddling in bed with your husband, you couldn’t sleep, the events had scared your sleep away. As if noticing you were wide awake, Jay reached for the bedside lamp, and standing up before taking your hand and making you stand on the bed. You gave him a confused look, until he swope you in his arms bridal style, walking towards the living room in the balcony direction,

“You’re not gonna throw me over the balcony, right?” “Ha Ha, give me a hand with the door, would you Mrs. Halstead” you followed instructions, he carefully sat you in the hammock, before going back inside a returning with a blanket. Slowly claiming into the hammock with you, pulling your back towards his bare chest, wrapping his arms around your baby bump and feeling little baby girl kick, which made you both chuckle.

He started humming to a lullaby you had heard together still caressing your belly, until you dossed off,

“You’re safe. I got you I promise, I always will” he whispered right after you fell asleep, kissing your cheek and looking out to the stars.  

[keldae]

Fictober 2022: Day 2

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Prompt: "Nobody warned you about me?"

Warnings: none.

The corridor leading between the airlock and the throne room was quiet, the silence only broken by the sounds of faintly humming polesabers and the trudge of footsteps. There was a lot to be learned by observing the way people walked, Arcann had learned, and now he turned to survey his two prisoners. The hulking Sith, Darth Marr, positively stormed through the corridor despite being bound, his bootsteps echoing off the transparisteel windows. He walked with confidence, despite going to his doom.

The Jedi beside him (and wasn't that a strange thing, a Jedi working beside a Sith) also walked with confidence. But where Marr made sure everyone could hear him coming and get out of his way, Xaja Taerich walked almost silently, with a subtle, deadly grace. Arcann had had time to review the Imperial ship's computers on the flight back to Zakuul, and knew Master Taerich had a reputation for being light on her feet and nearly impossible to take down.

He idly wondered what the result would be of a fight between this Jedi and Vaylin.

"We recovered the data from your ship's computers," he said, his voice breaking the silence. "Fascinating reading. You have a reputation, Jedi – I wish we had encountered you during our earlier forays into the Core Worlds."

Taerich looked up at him, brilliant green eyes narrowed. "All those attacks on the Core Worlds were done by your people? And nobody warned you about me?"

Arcann tilted his head in acknowledgement. "You're the Jedi who assassinated the Sith Emperor, defeated Darth Revan, and survived the catastrophe of Ziost. We heard stories of your exploits during our earlier incursions, but were disappointed to never encounter the woman behind the legends. You will be a magnificent trophy for the Eternal Empire."

"You don't need to be impressed by what I've done," Taerich hissed. Her eyes flashed dangerously in the dim light. "You need to be afraid of what I'm going to do."

For a brief moment, Arcann let himself feel a rush of fear at the fierce look in the Jedi's eyes. Then he forced himself to chuckle, like her threats meant nothing. "You are in the heart of the Eternal Empire – Zakuul. What could you possibly hope to accomplish here?"

"Take these binder cuffs off me and find out, if you're not a coward," Taerich growled. Arcann could just hear the approving rumble of Marr, a step behind her.

"You certainly don't lack for brash, reckless bravery," Arcann said, smirking behind his mask. "I will regret having to execute you." He turned and started walking again. "Come. Your future awaits."

He didn't believe in the prophecies of the Scions – and in fact suppressed a groan when he saw Heskel walking down the corridor toward him. But right then, he felt a prickle from the Force along the back of his neck, one that he couldn't entirely attribute to the Jedi fiercely glaring at him. One day, he somehow knew, he would kneel to her.

That made him scowl and shake his head. She would die before then – he would make sure of it.

[marmalade-mir]

MIRA I WATCHED THE THIRD LORE STREAM!! why was quackity blowing up purpled's ufo so so shocking and scary. and also a little bit funny. i am thinking but i do not have thoughts. please share any comments or thoughts 🎤

I am answering this long, long after I actually got this but. Since I know this anon is quackinquack (who knows that I’ve had this in my drafts for ages and wants to read it anyways), buckle up for this one because I went a little off the rails like oops I hardly talk about the third lore stream At All and it’s like 1500 words long and it’s really more like a character analysis of why c!Quackity behaved the way he did in that stream than anything. Because it was rather shocking, wasn’t it?

Since you brought up Quackity blowing up the UFO specifically, I would like to talk about the parallels between 1. him blowing up the UFO and 2. him letting Foolish die. In both cases, he’s taking away things from them that have been taken away from him in the past by other people: his life and his home. He leaves them feeling like they have nothing, like they have nowhere to go—the exact same way he felt right after Doomsday.

After New L’manberg blew up, Quackity was displaced from the land he called home and, perhaps more importantly, from its people. The cabinet had shared experiences. Shared history. Shared memories—good and bad. Dream, Techno, and Philza didn’t just destroy the land when they blew New L’manberg to pieces. They destroyed any sense of community that was salvaged since the last time it had been blown up.

See, the people of L’manberg still had hope after November 16th because they still had each other. Walking through the rubble and remains of their fallen country in bittersweet silence, Quackity and Tubbo looked towards each other and saw the promise of a better future. A new era.

But in the face of great and inescapable catastrophe, even the strongest communities will disintegrate. What can a person do in the face of inescapable, large-scale crisis? And, if they do make it out alive… how do you even move forward from that? In cases of individual wounds and minor abrasions, a community can offer support, comfort, a space to heal. But when the entire community faces mass tragedy? When everyone is just as lost and frantic and busy trying to work out their own shit? When its not just an issue of individual trauma, but of collective grief? Wounds have a harder time healing when there’s no one there to help treat them.

True to it’s name, Doomsday meant New L’manberg—and everyone in it—was doomed. Unlike the aftermath of November 16th, there wouldn’t be any coming back from this. There wouldn’t be any plot twists or big heroic moments or last minute saviors to turn everything around. Even the few people still loyal to the moribund nation knew it was a lost cause. Quackity was a prime example of this. By the start of Doomsday, Quackity had almost given up on… well, everything. To quote him, "I don’t know how it would work. So maybe it’s just time to take a step back and just-just leave. Not just L’manberg… maybe everything. Maybe it’s worth just… not being anywhere."

He was already painfully aware of just how politically and physically weak New L’manberg looked to the rest of the server; appeasing Dream for so long had only further proved that they could be hung up on strings and made to dance with a single threat. Here he learned that in order to be safe and in order to be taken seriously, they needed to be seen as powerful. And in spite of taking such extreme measures (the Butcher Army and the hitlist and all the blood it would take to make them feel safe again) to achieve that appearance of power, he still failed. Full netherite armor, and he couldn’t defeat a barely-armed Technoblade. The point is: he knew more than anyone on Doomsday just how futile it would be to fight against the most powerful people on the server without being powerful himself.

(He decides to fight back anyway. For L’manberg. For his ideologies. For the minutes man’s little book that read "Why does one person care so much about power?" For El Rapids and Tommy and Tubbo and not letting Dream get away with everything again.)

(…it goes as expected. The crater left behind this time is even emptier than the last.)

And after Doomsday? There was a long period of time where he just didn’t know what to do. He’d been fighting for a losing country for so long, only for it to be blown to bits before his very eyes. So he takes his horse and just wanders for months and months alone, in the wilderness, with no home to return to.

Until, finally, finally—Las Nevadas.

Or, in his own words: "It was either starting this new chapter, or rotting away in self-pity."

It’s blatantly clear and honestly rather alarming how Quackity views Las Nevadas as his final chance. To him, it’s his last attempt at having a home, having a legacy, having meaning. Without Las Nevadas, he has nothing—he is nothing.

(He has people. He has nothing, but he has people. There’s Karl, and Sapnap, and George, and they had been through hell and back together fighting for El Rapids. Finally he has a meaning again, and he’ll share it with them again, and he’ll build a wedding chapel and an Eiffel tower and a karaoke stage with his fiancés in mind, and he’ll finally get married and settle down, and it will be everything he promised El Rapids would be but never was, and it will be their home—

—but it’s been hard getting in contact with them lately.)

(Later, George looks him in the eyes and tells him Kinoko Kingdom is thriving without him. All casual, and unassuming, like he’s telling him about the goddamn weather. And when George asks him if he wants to visit, Quackity can hardly even think clearly enough to muster up a shaky smile and say ��that’s really great, maybe some other time!" If George hears the poorly concealed quiver in his voice he doesn’t mention it. It makes sense, it makes sense. He should’ve known.)

He’s lost everything, time and time again. His life, his home, his loved ones. And he’s rebuilt, time and time again. But whether it be through slow erosion or quick obliteration, the past taught him that destruction is imminent in all but one’s legacy. Las Nevadas is his last chance at that. His last chance to prove everyone wrong—prove that he’s worth something. This time around he’ll be more than a vice president, more than a cleaner or concierge, more than "Schlatt’s bitch" or a fat ass or cheap laugh or good time. And so he lives by this twisted ultimatum that goes: "If this nation dies, I die with it." Success or death.

So… a lot of the measures Quackity takes in this current arc are just… really, really fucking desperate. He’s horribly afraid of dying but he’s using his life as a bargaining chip anyway, because what else does he have to offer?

He taunts, demeans, and degrades Foolish even at the lethal end of a trident. He breathlessly reminds Purpled just how easy it would be to put his sword through his skull and leave, all with a frantic smile plastered on his face. He cons Technoblade, the very person who he’s lived and died in fear of, without so much as a single piece of armor on his being. Even before his meeting with Glatt, Quackity was scared. But he goes deeper into the cave anyway. Because he won’t let emotions get in the way of business, and because he’s got a big country with no one in it. Because he’s alone.

And if he has to gamble his own life away for one last shot at success? If he has to cheat, manipulate, and blackmail? If he has to stack the cards in his favor with his own two hands? So be it.

(There was once a time when he wanted a fast wedding. Even back then, when he still clung to the hope that those three little engagement rings promised him, he knew it might not have been enough to keep them by his side. Marriage, on the other hand? Marriage would be more than a flimsy "promise" that you’d always have each others best interests at heart. No more "You know me, you know I would never do anything that disadvantages you" and no more "Deep down, you know I would never betray you, Quackity." It was a contract, a legal binding of sorts. It was safety and belonging and love in the form of papers, law, and a solid silver ring wrapped around his finger, all with a big, showy diamond on top. Marriage was… dependable. Trustworthy. Everything people weren’t.)

(Three failed engagements, going on four. It’s almost funny how he thought the fourth time would be the charm, huh?)

And thus we return to present-day Las Nevadas. The spaces where Karl, Sapnap, and George were once supposed to live are now occupied by almost-strangers, near-enemies, and the contractually-obliged. While recruiting people like Purpled, Foolish, Fundy, and even Tubbo, it is very evident how Quackity has weaponized his own accumulation of grief. He projects it heavily onto those that he sees "potential" in—people similar to himself in some intrinsic, irremovable way. Maybe it’s the desire for a legacy, maybe it’s the hope for a place where they won’t be so lonely anymore... maybe it’s the aching need for direction which accompanies the listless wandering one does after losing a life and a home.

Quackity knows what it’s like to be vulnerable. He thinks he’ll use it to his advantage this time around.

[buryyourfavouritestrope]

An Exorcist Dance - Yukio Okumura

Author Note: So this is a break from the Arima, Nobuchika, William and Claude. am I right? I remember first watching Blue Exorcist with my Twin and my god did I fall for that show. It was probably one of my first Anime's. I just read the Manga and Yukio will always be my favourite. Followed by Mephisto and Shiro Fujimoto.

“You’re coming too Yuki?” Shiemi extolled as they made their way through the cram school corridors. Truth be told the younger Okumura had no idea what she was questioning him about and if he hadn’t had a bad feeling in his stomach, he would have said yes there and then. He exhaled as he paused the thoughts that had been distracting him.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention” Yukio confessed, he let his hand fall on the back of his neck as he smiled at his student. Anyone else would’ve been fine with it but he saw the disheartened expression that crossed over her features, and if he saw it so had his brother. He felt the impact before he registered it. The harsh thump had ricocheted pain through his arm.

“The exorcist dance, you know sort of like a prom or a ball. Like in one of those nerdy manga books you read” Rin jabbed. Yukio had no intention of attending a dance; he had never attended one voluntarily before, usually he would be working or studying.

“I’m sorry, I’m working on the day of the dance,” He apologised; he felt Shiemi sadden before she turned her attention to Rin.

“You’re coming though Rin; we could go together?” Shiemi raved. She hadn’t noticed the meaning of her words, or the way Rin’s body stiffened, and his blood pooled in his cheeks. Without speaking he nodded. Yukio stifled the laugh that threatened to cause ruckus through the air.

“No fair, I was going to ask you that” Yukio caught the mumbled whine that left Rin as they entered the classroom. He watched as his brother slunk his way into his seat, his pride damaged. The youngest Okumura glanced over the rest of the class; the girls sat off to one side whilst the boys nursed their wounds. It was clear Shima had once again asked Izuku to a dance, and perhaps Bon had asked [Y/N]. No Yukio refused to let that image enter his mind, but he didn’t stop the sense of joy that pricked at his mouth when he took in Bon’s rejected features.

“Well class, today I’ll be giving you back your recent Pharmaceuticals quiz- “Yukio began, his words fell short at the sudden crash. His head shooting towards the source. He watched as Mephisto’s form entered the classroom. This had become more than a common occurrence. For a second, he contemplated that the demon was keeping a particularly close eye on his lessons.

“I’m sure you’re all excited for the coming dance and I just wanted to stop by and inform you that everyone should be in attendance, no excuses.” Mephisto practically sung as he addressed the students. “Even you [Y/n], I’m glad to see your injuries from the recent exorcism have healed nicely.”

Recent injuries. Yukio’s head shot towards her. Worry swarmed the teen as he registered the bandage just peeking out the cuffs of her sleeve. He’d sat in a room with her for hours on end each day and not once had he noticed her wince in pain, nor had he heard about her going out on any exorcisms. She wasn’t cleared for any-

“Mr Okumura,” Mephisto’s voice snapped him clear of his thoughts. “Miss Moriyama informed me you’re working the day of the ball. Everyone is to attend, given how hard you’ve all worked recently, I think you deserve the break as well. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Uh, yes.” Yukio agreed. He’d let Mephisto win this time.

“I’ll be off then. I declare the cram school cancelled for today, we’ve got a dance to prepare for” Mephisto grinned.

“Don’t forget to grab your tests on your way out” Yukio barked as they all but ran from their seats. He observed them as they went, his eyes moving to the next as they picked through the pile of papers. Until the last left was hers, he watched as she cautiously stood, a brief wince falling across her face. She wasn’t in pain, she just…well he could see her eyes looking everywhere but him. “You got hurt on an exorcism” he croaked.

“If I’d told you Mephisto asked me to go on an exorcism you would’ve asked to join, plus I had Shura supervising me. It’s just the exorcism was in my hometown.” She smiled. She made her way to the front, her hand reaching for the paper. “Anyway Mr Okumura, I don’t think it matters what I do in my free time, considering how our last conversation went.”

This time Yukio winced. He felt the sharp blade of guilt turn in his gut. He called her impulsive and reckless when she stood against Amaimon. If Rin hadn’t caught the Demon’s attention your injuries could have been catastrophic. He felt his harsh shouts echo through the room as though the walls had remembered them.

“I-“He paused, his mouth closing as he looked down.

“If it helps, the anger from that argument helped me kick serious backside on the field. Especially when I was trapped between a rock and a demon. I won’t bore you with the details, I’m sure you’ll find the reports somewhere. Thanks for the test Mr Okumura, I guess I’ll see you at the dance tomorrow.”

Yukio hadn’t slept that night; he hadn’t even been conscious through his training that day as he kept pinging back to her words. He should’ve just told her why he’d been so angry after that incident. Not only had his brother lost control and been taken away in cuffs but his students had been injured. He’d been helpless in that moment caught between the threat and protecting them. He held seniority in that situation with Shura indisposed. Yet he let her antagonise Amaimon, whilst he patched the others up. She’d been hurt because he couldn’t get to his guns quick enough, she’d been both hurt and saved by his brother in the space of a minute.

Yukio stood with his back against a wall as the dance began. He hadn’t registered people trying to gain his attention as he swam in his own thoughts. He hadn’t noticed Rin and Shiemi laughing as they approached him in an attempt to get him to loosen up. To remember that right now he was still a teenager and that even the other Exorcists were letting themselves enjoy the night.

“It takes some level of antisocial to be stood in the dark at a dance.” Her voice had been the only one to ripple against his thoughts. His eyes blinked a few times before he straightened up. He smiled feebly at her. How long had she been stood there? How long had it been since he’d arrived, by the looks of the exhausted crowd it had been a while? The dancefloor had been all but abandoned with only a few remaining people dancing with one another. “Here I got you a drink but then from the looks of the teachers I think Mephisto may have spiked it. I’d give it a pass.”

“That clown” Yukio grumbled. “I’ve been thinking and about the other day. After the whole Amaimon fight. It was wrong of me-“ She stopped him. A hand on his shoulder squeezing firmly.

“Mr Okumura- Yukio its fine. I was angry too; they carted your brother off and Mephisto wouldn’t say anything. I asked him to give you a break and before you get angry, it was my choice. I went on the exorcism in your place. These injuries are my fault. But I’m fine. So fine that I wanted to ask you something. Yukio Okumura, can I have this dance?” She interrupted him. He felt the anger bubble for a while as he let the information sink in. He sighed, his head dropping for a second before he nodded.

“I mean considering all of our classmates have passed out, sure. But really it should be me asking you. At least that’s what I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.” Yukio uttered. He held his hand out to her, his eyes peering at her over his glasses as he smiled. She placed her own hand in his as they stood to the side, there was no need to walk into the spotlight at least he hadn’t felt the need to do that. Instead, he pulled her close to him as the music lulled into a slow melody.

Her head fell against his shoulder as he held her tight, their bodies swaying together. He pulled himself closer to her, his head resting atop hers as his thoughts that had clouded his mind for days evaporated. Right this instance, all he could focus on was her.

“I’m sorry” He whispered; his lips ghosted over the top of her head as he listened to the music. “I wanted to do nothing more than run after you after our conversation, I wanted to apologise and tell you that I was mad because I’d failed as both a teacher and a friend. You were hurt on my watch and I let you put yourself in the line of danger. I was mad because you mean more to me than anything.”

“I waited” Her words fell in line with the rhythm as she lifted her head to look him in the eye. “I waited for a while outside the door. If it helps, I wanted to go back in the room, and both hit you and kiss you. If you failed as a teacher, then I failed as a student.” She smiled. He mirrored her smile. Both becoming aware of just how little space there was between their faces, and just as they felt the breath of the other heavy on their lips; a shriek tore them apart.

“Mr Okumura, seriously. You rejected me for him” Bon’s voice boomed from across the hall. The commotion had caught the attention of most of the other students, bar Shima who had fallen unceremoniously asleep across a few chairs.

[indigowallbreaker]

can i have kiss prompt 9 for claudeleth please?

(gonna kick off prompts opening up with some requests I got while they were closed! link to my ko-fi in my pinned post for anyone interested. catto I hope you don’t mind I made this Myleth since I don’t think I’ve written Male Byleth with Claude?)

9. “War’s End” kiss

The celebration after Nemesis’ demise had ended only when the sun began to lighten the sky in the east. One by one, the Alliance army stumbled its way to bed-- some still giddy, some barely upright, some with company. 

Exhausted as he was, Claude didn’t follow. Teach had left the party hours ago but not in the direction of the dorms. Claude walked the same way now, keeping his gait casual as he looked around.

He spotted Byleth on the outer walls of Garreg Mach. Claude climbed up, intentionally scuffing his feet so Byleth would hear him. The last thing Claude wanted was the Sword at his neck after just celebrating their survival.

Arms folded over the ledge, Byleth didn’t turn when he said, “You should be in bed.”

“You too.” Claude stood beside Byleth, mimicking his position. “What brings you up here?”

Byleth jerked his chin out towards the grounds. “Keeping watch.”

“We have people for that. Not everyone went to the feast, you know.”

“I would like to watch myself.”

It wasn’t quite the truth, that much was plain for Claude to see. Claude pressed their shoulders together. “What are you waiting for, Teach?” He asked, keeping his voice soft and just between the two of them. 

Byleth swallowed. After a moment, he leaned into Claude as well. “The next thing.”

“What’s next?”

“I don’t know. Whatever Seteth will wake me up in the middle of the night to warn me about. The next catastrophe.” Byleth had yet to look at Claude, eyes still scanning the world bellow as if there was an army approaching as they spoke.

Claude wanted to say that they were safe. What could be a greater enemy than Nemesis himself? Any further threat paled in compassion to a long-dead king and his long-dead army.

But there was no way for Claude to know that. Before fighting Those Who Slither In The Dark, he couldn’t have thought up a bigger threat than the Empire. Then, after the battle in Shambhala, Nemesis has surfaced. There was no telling what other horrors lay in wait.

For lack of anything promising to say, Claude gently lay a hand over Byleth’s. Gradually, Byleth unfolded his tightly grasped hands and let Claude take one. “Whatever we need to fight next,” Claude said, “we’ll need to be rested for it. Teach, look at me.”

Byleth did so. His usually expressionless face was overflowing with nerves, betraying his tension in a way his monotone voice hadn’t. Claude leaned over and brushed their lips together. “Nothing is coming tonight,” he murmured, as if talking Byleth down from a nightmare. Which, in a way, he was.

A sharp inhale. “You can’t promise that.”

“No. But I need to believe that to get any sleep.” Another barely-there kiss. “The war’s over, Byleth. For now.”

Byleth’s nod brought them ever closer. “For now.” 

He let Claude guide him into a real kiss, his other hand finally leaving the wall to tentatively caress Claude’s beard. For a few precious moments there was no wall. Nothing to defend, nothing to fight, nothing to plan for. There was just Claude trying to calm his teacher, his friend, his... whatever this moment made them. And Byleth was letting him do it.

At last they parted. Claude let go of Byleth’s hand only to gently hold him by the shoulders, pressing their foreheads together with purpose. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Come with me?”

Claude snorted. “Going a little fast, aren’t we?”

“I’d just... feel better. If I wasn’t alone.” Byleth leaned into a feather light kiss. “Please.”

“Yeah. Alright.” Claude stepped away, sliding a hand back down to hold Byleth’s again, and lead them back toward the dorms.   

(Kiss prompts list!)

[sharkiewrites]

"you're going to die in your best friend's arms" kinda sounds like a gintama title, doesn't it? - Excerpt #1

A few months ago, I started writing a post-canon fic where Takasugi's spirit pesters Hijikata over his feelings for Gintoki and maybe flirts with Hijikata a little too. The title was going to be a Richard Siken reference. It was going to be angsty. There was going to be a giant Yakult bottle.

I ended up putting the WIP on hold because I felt like I was stretching the B-plot to meet the main plot...and a much, much funnier idea occurred to me. But there are some parts I really like and probably won't transplant somewhere else. Here's one:

-----

"Toshi, are you all right?"

Hijikata rubs his eyes. "I'm fine, Kondou-san."

Disturbing as they are, Hijikata's weird-ass dreams usually have straightforward meanings. Kondou-san, wipe your nose. Everyone, wipe your hands. If Hijikata had to pinpoint a root, he'd say it's lack of control: the fear of it: how chaos spirals from a single droplet or cell into a catastrophe. His unconscious mind fixates on mundane threats, such as snot and piss germs.

That's why the new dreams are an enigma. They're untraceable. Instead of simply absurd, they're bordering on abstract. And he's never heard that voice or laughter before in his life.

"You have bags under your eyes," Kondou notes.

"So do you."

"Oh, this? This is a prototype disguise for sneaking into the Bye-Bye Panda factory to investigate the break-in." Kondou rings more dark circles around his eyes. "Sougo's idea."

"Shouldn't Yamazaki be looking into it?"

"Normally, yes, but Sougo said he wouldn't pass as a panda no matter how many black eyes you give him."

"I'm taking over the case," Hijikata abruptly announces, snatching the eyeliner from Kondou.

"If you're sure, Toshi. Make sure you don't cry. The eyeliner isn't waterproof."

"Yes, Kondou-san."

Hijikata tosses the eyeliner into the trash. Maybe a good-old-fashioned mystery is what he needs to exhaust his brain into compliance. He stays up researching until his eyelids droop and he's dropped his pen too many times. He drags himself to bed, starting to feel old.

-----

Hijikata opens his eyes in a dream and finds himself young. He can tell because he's lighter on his feet and long strands of hair fall into his face. Plus, he feels the insatiable desire to destroy everything. You know, teenage stuff. He's walking down a battered path with no destination in mind. His dirty yukata scratches against his skin and he's also itchy inside.

A figure approaches from the opposite direction. Their outline is hazy. As they near, Hijikata's mind fills in the details without actually showing him. He knows, without seeing, that the stranger is handsome, vaguely sophisticated, and a bit short. Green eyes. They glance at Hijikata as they pass each other; take in Hijikata's unkempt hair, his swagger, his hand darting towards his sword.

"Oi," they say, "don't swing that toothpick around. You'll get hurt."

Back then, Hijikata had one way of dealing with the slightest provocation. But before he can draw his sword, someone else enters his field of vision.

This figure, Hijikata instantly recognizes — the Shiroyasha. His white garb is splattered with fresh blood. His facial features are softer and boyish yet hardened with a quiet intensity which the current Gintoki keeps muted. He jabs his pinky up his nose and stares at Hijikata expectantly.

Hijikata jerks his head towards the figure in the distance and tells Gintoki, "Don't bring that toothpick around. You'll get hurt."

[hlizr50]

Unveiled

Spoilers for From Blood and Ash

Poppy is unveiled to her new guard. Alternate POV.

Read on AO3

Everything had gone according to plan.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But the end goal had been accomplished.

Swift booted footsteps echoed down the hall as Casteel and his “commander” made their way to the Duke’s office. Jansen had been explaining how the meeting would proceed; the Maiden would be escorted in, Duke Teerman would explain the need for a new guard with the Rite coming so soon, some prattle about why they chose Hawke Flynn to be that guard, the Maiden’s unveiling, and the fealty oath…

He would see her. Finally. No ridiculous veil, no mask. He would see the puzzle complete, how the eyes as green as spring, the full pink lips, the soft creamy skin all fit together. He was sure she would be beautiful, if what he had seen and touched and tasted were any indication. He had a goal in mind, to be sure. But she had intrigued him. He wanted to see and know more of her.

And he always got what he wanted.

“Hawke. Are you listening?”

He turned his amber gaze on Jansen. “I’m sorry?”

“Do you remember the oath?”

“Of course,” Casteel rolled his eyes before reciting. “’With my sword and my life, I vow to keep you safe Maiden, the Chosen. From this moment to the last moment, I am yours.’ Quite melodramatic if you ask me.”

“Keep your voice down,” the commander growled softly. “You are a dedicated guard of Solis swearing fealty to the future of the kingdom, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Casteel sneered. “I haven’t forgotten. And it would do you well to remember who is leading who, Commander.”

“Of course. My apologies.”

The prince knew that Commander Jansen was on a very precarious ledge. Being a Descenter in the heart of Masadonia was dangerous in the best of times. In a position of power, Jansen could pull a lot of strings and make a lot of things happen. But he had a hand in a number of plots, and if just one person was found out or turned against him… his own demise would be the least of the consequences. It could be catastrophic to the schemes they had put in motion years ago and set back the resurrection of Atlantia for literal decades.

The arrived before a heavy wooden door flanked by two of the Duke’s personal guard. Jansen greeted them by name and Casteel gave each a nod. Then they pulled the door out, opening up the room to the pair. This was the beginning of the end.

So it hadn’t gone completely to plan. The prince knew he needed to get close to the Maiden, so he could steal her away right from under the thumb of the Ascended. That had meant an opening needed to come available for one of her personal guards – it wouldn’t do to just work in the castle. Jericho had been tasked with taking out her guard during her almost-daily evening walks.

And he had done it.

But then he’d tried to go ahead and take the Maiden, and that had gotten him into trouble. He hadn’t known she would be armed and dangerous, and when you cross a wolven with pointy things it’s bound to get a little messy.

And Jericho wasn’t known for being calm, cool and collected on a good day.

The Maiden had gotten in a few good strikes, but she had received quite the blow as well. He’d seen the angry swelling around her mouth and jaw at Rylan’s funeral. He only imagined the bruising extended far under the veil, over her cheek and temple.

That was unacceptable.

He hadn’t enjoyed cutting off Jericho’s hand. But he would not allow Penellaphe to be hurt. And to teach a lesson you had to be firm. Unyielding. Deadly, if warranted, and definitely a bit unhinged. Just to keep everyone vigilant.

“Commander Jansen,” Dorian Teerman greeted them. “And you must be Flynn.”

“Your Grace.” Casteel bowed to the Duke, something it almost physically hurt him to do. But he was playing a part, and he could spend more time later creating enticing scenarios in which he destroyed Teerman in any number of ways. “I have summoned the Maiden. She and her guard should be here shortly.”

The Duke hadn’t bothered to introduce his wife, Duchess Jacinda Teerman. Casteel wondered if he even acknowledged her existence much of the time. He didn’t know much about Duke Teerman, but he seemed self-absorbed, self-righteous, and cruel, which was not much different than any of the Ascended he had encountered. Their unyielding refusal to “petition the Gods” so the Tulis family could keep their third son, when their first two had already died so young, was only further proof of their evil. Of course, those first two hadn’t been lost to a “blood disease”, but to the Ascended’s bloodlust – they had been fed upon until there was nothing left. And yet the Duke and Duchess would only insist on taking the third as well. Had it been one of them who had bled those poor children dry? It made his stomach twist to stand with Jansen, making small talk with the pale blonde Duchess as they waited for the meeting to start.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open again. And there she was.

This was how he had expected to meet the Maiden. Veiled, so he could only see her lips and chin. Hair pulled back so it was not visible beneath the veil, either. That was a shame. Her hair had unlocked something in him that night at the Red Pearl. It had been so unexpected. And then there was the ridiculous, frilly, white lace and pleats of a dress that covered everything from her neck to her wrists to her ankles. Surely a garment such as that was an affront to the Gods, sleeping though they were. This was the Maiden, pure and docile and silent. It was a stark contrast to the woman who had snuck into his room not so long ago. In a brothel, no less.

“Please. Close the door Vikter,” the Duke nodded as he sat behind the black painted desk. Casteel looked toward the older guard with the sandy blond hair as he pulled the doors closed. He knew more about Vikter than he should for his supposed station, but what was most important was his closeness with the Maiden. Penellaphe. He would need to be thorough in his dedication to win over the seasoned soldier.

“Thank you.” Teerman nodded. “Please, sit, Penellaphe.”

He watched the Maiden as she lowered herself to the bench. Gods he hated that dress. It was such a pity to hide the curves that he knew were underneath. It was an effort to keep himself from smirking. If only those in this chamber knew what she had been up to.

“I hope you’re feeling well, Penellaphe,” the Duchess spoke, a sickeningly sweet voice that felt practiced and false. The veiled Maiden nodded. “I’m relieved to hear that. I was worried that attending the city council so soon after your attack would be too much.” Casteel had watched the Maiden through the entirety of the meeting, trying to decipher anything from the full lips and curve of jaw that he and the rest of the world were allowed to see. Had he seen her skin flush while the Tulis family begged for their son’s life? What had she been thinking as her keepers were tearing yet another family apart?

“What happened in the garden is why we’re all here.” The Duke’s voice was cold. “With the death of… what was his name? The guard?” It made the prince angrier than it should, that this beast could not even be bothered to know the name of the man who had given his life to protect their precious Maiden.

“Rylan Kiel, your Grace,” Vikter answered.

“Ah yes, Ryan. With Ryan’s death you are down one guard… Again. Two guards lost in one year. I hope this isn’t becoming a habit.” What that a joke? Was he trying to imply that this girl could have stopped it? Casteel had to contain a sneer. The guards would continue to fall, if it meant getting his brother back and burning Solis to the ground. Nobody would stop him – not the Maiden, not the Teermans, not Vikter, not the Blood Queen herself. “Anyway, with the upcoming Rite, and as you draw closer to your Ascension, Vikter cannot be expected to be the only one keeping a close watch on you. We need to replace Ryan, which - as I’m sure you realize now - explains why Commander Jansen and guard Flynn are here. Guard Flynn will take Ryan’s place effective immediately.”

“I’m sure this is surprising, as he is new to our city and quite young for a member of the Royal Guard. There are several Rise guards in line to be promoted, and bringing on Hawke is no slight to them. But the Commander has assured us that Hawke is better suited to this task.”

And so the diatribe began about why he was just so good at what he did that he was the next natural choice. Fresh eyes to see new threats. An impeccable record on the Rise and experience beyond it, which would naturally come in handy if the Queen summoned the Maiden earlier than anticipated for her Ascension. It could happen. Teerman Castle had been compromised more than once in the last week. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Queen Ileana determined that they were no longer capable of keeping the Maiden safe here in Masadonia.

If only they knew.

If only they knew that his sense of hearing and smell made him aware of an enemy’s presence long before the enemy knew he was there. If only they knew how much he had to dumb himself down to appear to be a mortal man, counting seconds so he wouldn’t move too fast or relaxing his muscles so he wouldn’t seem too strong. If only they knew that their Commander was a Descenter himself and was planting Prince Casteel himself – the Dark One – into the role of Royal Guard Hawke Flynn. If only they knew that today they were delivering the Maiden into the hands of the most dangerous creature in their nightmares.

“The Descenters and the Dark One are not the only things to fear out there, as you know,” the Duchess had been speaking. Gods they were making it terribly difficult not to laugh. They were so ignorant. The pale blonde Ascended turned to Casteel now. “As a member of the Maiden’s personal royal guard, it is likely that a situation may occur where you will see her unveiled. It can be distracting seeing someone’s face for the first time, especially a Chosen, and that could interfere with your ability to protect her. That is why the Gods allow this breach.”

“Commander Jansen, if you will please step outside,” the Duke gestured toward the door and Jansen took his leave. Casteel stood alone, now, looking toward the veiled young woman now standing before him. Oh, had he been looking forward to this.

“You are about to bear witness to what only a select few have seen: an unveiled Maiden. Penellaphe, please reveal yourself.”

She was too still, and Casteel could tell that her breathing was shallow. What could she be thinking? He was sure that part of her was anxious that she’d be found out.

“Penellaphe. We do not have all day,” the Duke cut out and his wife tried to soothe him.

“Give her a moment, Dorian. You know why she hesitates. We have time.”

Why did she hesitate? Of course, she was concerned about being recognized, but he couldn’t imagine the Duchess would know that. And why did the Duke have that glib smile plastered on his face? Casteel returned his gaze to Penellaphe as her lady’s maid assisted with the chains on the headdress before it fell from her head.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were dark as her gaze remained pinned on the Duke. He could only see the right side of her face as she glared at Teerman and from the corner of his eye he could see the Duke’s expression fall into icy stone. Then she took a breath and turned to face Casteel, lifting her chin slightly.

Gods. She was stunning.

Those lips, her jaw, those eyes as green as Atlantian spring. He was ready for those things, had seen them that night at the Red Pearl. He’d known even then that she was beautiful, and now with her stony gaze it was only confirmed. And then there were the scars. Two scars tracked down from her temple, one over her cheek and toward her nose and one down through her eyebrow. Where had those come from? Who or what had done that to her? He gazed at her, taking in every detail of her face before meeting her eyes. Those eyes. They were dark and stormy, betraying the lack of emotion on her face. It was as if she were steeling herself, although he didn’t know what against.

“She’s truly unique, isn’t she?” She flinched as the Duke spoke again. “Half of her face is a masterpiece, the other half a nightmare.”

That bastard. Her arms tremored slightly, and Casteel realized what she had been hardening herself to feel. He knew that this moment, where he could make Penellaphe feel small, was why the Duke had that slimy smile upon his face. Appearance was a fickle thing, and beauty and perfection were highly touted by the Ascended. The Maiden, chosen but scarred, was being raised and educated under the thumb of a man who likely took every opportunity he could to tell her what a shame it was that her face could never be pleasing to any of them. She was a pawn, a possession to them. But he saw her here, just as he had seen her in the Red Pearl. She was a person, with feelings and desires and insecurities. She was Penellaphe.

He made an oath to himself that he would only treat her as such.

“Both halves are as beautiful as the whole,” he stepped forward then, wishing he could see the Duke’s face when he said it. Her sharp intake of breath made him want to smile for her. She hadn’t been expecting that, and that was the nightmare – that she was not aware how truly lovely she was.

He gave a shallow bow and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “With my sword and with my life, I vow to keep you safe, Penellaphe. From this moment until the last moment I am yours.” Bowing to Duke Teerman had been torturous, but bowing before her was almost natural. So was swearing his fealty to her. The ease with which he did so kindled something inside of him. He had come here to play a part and set into motion the resurgence of Atlantia, and that was exactly what he was doing. But those emerald eyes, lush red lips, and two pink scars were already threatening to unravel him.

And he wasn’t so sure that he was going to fight it.

[bluwwo]

I dreamed that Yor has stopped a missile (which I discovered it was actually a torpedo, thx Lacrow) some days ago so... I made this

The image is merely illustrative

The actual thing is down bellow~

-----

The ship floats softly and calmly on the blue sheet as those men and women moved hurriedly, slyly and were maliciously running towards a thorny hole, they were walking towards their own death.

The woman, owner of such trap, used her mastery to eliminate one by one in her thorny trap. And one of them was a man hiding in the vessel's hold and who had access to bugs spread throughout the ship.

The place looked like a small command room, but the woman didn't mind because as the director had already told her, many parts on that ship were once parts used in Ostanian warships.

Next to what was once a "coworker" of hers was a small desk with assorted buttons, a control panel. Everything seemed to be fine until a green and yellow light caught the woman's attention.

Her scarlet eyes gleamed, reflecting that light as she curiously approached the dashboard. She realized that this was just a radar, with its waves trying to find some other vessel or threat. At first, Yor thought it wasn't even working until a loud and repeated "beep" caught her attention.

As she looked at the radar, her eyes widened in horror. A small blinking dot slowly approached the ship that was represented by a large triangle in the center of the radar. The radar was big, so whatever was approaching was really far.

Yor didn't have to be a Marine Lieutenant to know that it was…

"A torpedo…" Her voice barely left her throat.

Her body trembled, and the color drained from her face. A powerful weapon like that targeting innocent people, children and families?

Her muscles tensed and she quickly fled away from that place. And with her heart beating unsteadily and fearful of the impending catastrophe, she chased the Director across the ship with agony coiled in her throat.

"Director!" Her voice was a loud whisper, fraught with anxiety. "Please tell me you have a secret entrance and exit to the sea."

"Thorn Princess, why all this commotion?"

"Director, you told me this ship has parts from old warships, right?"

The man narrowed his eyes and just nodded.

"It seems that this is not the only one... According to radar, a torpedo is heading for this vessel." Yor exhaled, trying to maintain a serious facade.

The director's normally stoic, expressionless face contorted in surprise and confusion. The man gulped.

"Are you sure about this, Forger?"

"Mister Director, why would I lie about this?"

The man sighed, and the tension in the room was so thick that people around them could feel the sweat running down their spines.

"Luckily for you, there is an emergency exit in the depths of the ship that gives access to the sea, but you'll need great lungs." The exasperated man said, looking seriously at the Princess.

The woman just nodded and followed the director, Olka, who had heard everything along with her fake husband, followed the assassin.

The director had some keys that gave access to certain areas of the ship, and using that, he made his way to a deep room, and they stopped in front of a heavy door.

"And what do you intend to do with the projectile, Forger?"

"I'll deflect it up." She pointed to the sky.

"But there's still the risk of it falling somewhere else." retorted the director with mild irritation.

“And that's when you two…” She points to the director's two partners “… get into it.”

"How?" asked one of them, scared.

“My husband seems to have a lot of knowledge in military equipment, he always slips a thing or two correcting the action movies…” Yor reveals with a slight smile. "And according to him, this type of projectile can be distracted by fireworks, creating new targets and preventing it from hitting the actual target." She said, taking a box of fireworks and handing it to the man.

"I need to launch these fireworks, but when?" He replied, still pale.

"You'll know when, just look at the sky, if you see a trail of smoke, release the fireworks." Reaffirmed Yor with an inspiring smile.

“Forger, there's a pier a few miles from here, when it's done, go there and wait for the ship, one of the guys will be on deck, and I'll stay here with Olka, he'll see you and send the signal and then I'll open the way for you to board." The man explained, and the woman nodded. "And, Yor, what if it doesn't work?"

"I need to try... My family is on this ship." In a voice full of sorrow, she said. "And in case I don't make it, I'll be just another dead flower in the garden." She smiled. "If I don't come back, just say I fell overboard and drowned."

The woman opened the heavy door, meeting with a staircase.

"When you get to the end of the stairs just hit the wall twice and I'll open the passage."

The woman nodded before starting to going downstairs, the quick sound of her heels impacting the metal was in harmony with the racing hearts of the five people in that room, but the rose’s heart lost its beat and beat slower and slower, the cold sweat made her shiver and she seemed no longer able to breathe.

Upon reaching the end of the stairs, Yor gulped and with clenched fists placed her hands on her chest, asking any deity who could hear her, for a miracle, a miracle to help her save the many lives that were on that ship. And in a sudden movement, she punches the wall, making a loud noise and closing her eyes, she punches it again.

The wall in front of her reveals a door, opening a passage to the sea, her red eyes met the calm blue waves, but in her mind, that blue world was churning in waves that engulfed her, an almost thalassophobic feeling swallowed her, but closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she ran and leapt toward the ocean.

She tried vaguely to open her eyes and to her surprise the salt didn't bother her so much, surfacing quickly to catch her breath, she spotted Olka, being held by her husband and the director McHannon at the door of the sea passage, the expression on her face was worry, fear, the simple discomfort of “seeing her little brother give himself up on such a dangerous journey”, at least that's what Yor felt.

The black-haired woman just waved to the woman she was supposed to protect and dove again. Her trained legs moved quickly and skillfully, giving her a quick swim. The woman rarely surfaced to catch her breath, but when she dove once more, her keen sense felt something heavy approaching at high speed. Yor’s chest writhed in fear, fear of failing and hurting her family and others on the vessel.

She couldn't fail at that, so she surfaced again. Yor touched her chest and took a deep breath, her lips trembled and even though she was already wet, she felt her eyes watering, she couldn't deny she was terrified. She just couldn't fail.

The woman held as much air as she could and dove once more, and her other side slowly revealed itself, the fury of an assassin, a mother and a wife. Her scarlet eyes blazed with bloodthirsty anger as she clasped her arms in front of her face and using all her strength, she pushed herself, swimming as fast as she could, and that sense of impending danger increased each second.

Finally, the time seemed to have come, as Yor felt the hot, pointed tip of the projectile in her hands, the impact of the weapon was spot on, pushing the woman for a few miles, but Yor regained her strength and began to push the torpedo trying to change its direction.

However, as strong and resistant as she was, she was still a human. Her lungs were threatening to reach their limits, her chest ached and her head throbbed, her body was shaky and wobbly… She couldn't take it anymore.

.

.

.

.

Mama! Mama!

Mama! Let's play!

I love my strong and cool mama!

"Anya." Her conscience whispered, in a desperate attempt to wake her up and remember why she was there.

She needed to stop it; she needed to do it; she needed to deflect it.

She needed to survive.

She needed to see Anya again; needed to hear her voice again, needed to see her smile. She had to see her grow up; had to see her mature; had to see her become a beautiful, grown woman.

She had to be there to see this.

The red eyes snapped open and with a muffled cry across the sea, she gripped the projectile by the base and launched it with all her strength out of the sea, after the adrenaline had passed, her body remembered she couldn't breathe, so she quickly swam to the surface, where she could see the torpedo exploding in the sky, really far from the boat, along with the lights and "booms" of the fireworks.

The woman smiled as the bright lights of the explosion decorated the sky. Blowing up the torpedo wasn't quite the plan, but at least everyone was safe. Yor took a deep breath and kept smiling, if she wasn't keeping a secret, she was sure Anya would love to hear what she just did, the smile faded little by little when she noticed the smoke vestige on the horizon, she had noticed that there was also a trail of bubbles behind the projectile, if she followed that track, she might find the person behind the attack.

Again, her scarlet eyes were filled with fury as she slowly went down the water, the woman swam fast and rose a few times to catch her breath, and then she found a submarine.

While trying to approach the submarine, Yor was quickly captured by a net. The woman struggled but when she realized she was being pulled into the submarine, she faked a faint.

.

.

"Yea! It's her! Thorn Princess in person! I really thought she was going to be tougher, but it was easy to get rid of her.” A male voice spoke animatedly.

Yor woke up and watched closely the male figure who spoke exultantly on the phone. She lay a few more minutes to listen to him. The woman had to hold back her laugh as she heard the man say that "I would even try something with her… a date or such, since 'the royalty' is a gorgeous woman."

That man didn't have a third of her husband's charm… her fake husband.

Sly and furtive as a black serpent, the woman rose, her dark-colored dress giving the impression that a black mamba was on board the submarine.

The man had already finished talking to whoever it was on the phone. He was holding a file, probably his next "customer".

"In a little while, you'll be next, your little manwhore." The man chuckled to himself, looking at the file, not noticing the beast that came behind him.

Suddenly, his head was being held in one hand while a sharp needle was slowly piercing his back. Sweat ran down his spine as his mind had simply made him sure that he was just a helpless rabbit against a towering, dominant panther.

"Please, I really want to believe that you are so much more than a child with your expensive little toys." The whisper reached his ears, carrying a defiant tone.

And the coldness in the woman's words made the man shiver. He swallowed hard and didn't even try to turn around, just shivered and remained motionless, waiting for his end.

The bloody eyes continued to watch their hostage intently, waiting for some kind of reaction. But that man was simply too scared to react in any way.

"You… you really are… the… royalty." He stuttered, and Yor could feel him struggling not to choke on his impending tears.

"So I was wrong, you really are only your toys."

The man began to hyperventilate as the color drained from his body, his cheeks tinged red from the humiliation he was feeling… coming from the person he most admired.

But he needed courage, to at least make the Thorn Princess take back what she said, so, aiming at the red button on the control panel, the man tries to stretch his arm to reach it, but the powerful princess holds him back.

The man spins, making the woman fall on top of the control panel and coincidentally, triggering the big button she wanted to avoid.

The man ran through the submarine, while the red lights flashed a warning of the destruction of the vessel. He searched all compartments for his diving suit, while being chased by the princess.

The annoying sound of the alarm made the woman even more distressed, she had no idea what that button did but, whatever it was, it wasn't good. Then, she finally finds her "coworker" and jumps on him, pinning him to the ground.

"What does that button do?" she asked.

"It activates the submarine's self-destruct. If you hadn't offended me I wouldn't have activated it."

Yor's face contorted in anger as she gripped the man tighter.

"If I hadn't offended you? If you hadn't launched a torpedo, threatening the lives of many innocent people, it wouldn't have even started!" She growled.

"Too late princess." The man replied maniacally, smiling.

The woman didn't even have time to think, all she could hear was a sharp noise as the temperature inside the vessel rose. She turned around and the orangish and yellowish lights lit her red eyes. Suddenly, a loud bang was heard as it simply tore the submarine into pieces.

Yor had to hurriedly hold her breath as she woke from the sudden explosion. Looking up at the surface, she spotted the man who owned the vessel, floating in the sea. She didn't know if he was unconscious or dead, but he would give some good information anyway, so she swam to the surface, and was soon surprised by the pier the director had determined as a rendezvous point.

She swam to the building while dragging the man with her, the woman climbed onto the pier and lay down on the cool wood to catch her breath, however, looking to the side, she noticed a paper near where she had placed the man.

The woman walked over and unfolded the paper, recognizing it as the file the man was reading earlier.

The back of the file read: Twilight, Western Spy. Height: 6'1. Known aliases: Robert, Lionel, and … Forger.

The woman looked closely at the file, and her blood froze when she read "Forger". The first name was smudged by the water as well as much of the file, but the other words were more readable. This "Forger" couldn't be her husband, could he? There must be many people with that last name. Her husband is a good and respectable man. He wouldn't be a spy, a liar and… a manipulator…

Yor swallowed and reread the file once more just to be sure: Twilight, Western Spy. Height: 6’1. Known aliases: Robert, Lionel, and … Forger.

She took a deep breath and turned the file, finding a photograph of the "Twilight", her eyes widened as her hands trembled, the traitorous spy was a blond man, it was the only thing she could see of the blurry and almost unrecognizable photograph, however, unfortunately, Yor was good at deciphering facial features, and using her skill, she realized that the man had blue eyes, and was probably good looking… Just like her husband.

Yor shut her eyes and just refolded the file and tucked it inside her dress, she shouldn't make rash decisions, she trusted Loid... But, that could be a sign that he might not be who he says he is. The woman then took a deep breath and when she turned around, she was greeted by the open passageway to the ship, waiting for her.

She then caught the unconscious man on the pier and brought him with her as the woman boarded the ship again. Her scarlet gaze was lost and wavering, as well as the red sun hidden by clouds in the twilight.