#her sword looks like it goes on forever but it is only her height so it does stop eventually

[where-is-caithe]

Armor for Cross since I'm really into her as a Revenant.

[demonpiratehuntress]

Good to know you're doing great, and that's fine (and Yes Inumake Toge 😍😍 🥺🥺) How about Zoro x reader (reader is the daughter of Gold Roger but uses a different last name she's two years older than Ace and her identity is a secret, she does tell Zoro in private after they get together) them having triplets together all look like Zoro (all have his sense of direction lol) just the shenanigans of reader having three lost Marimos 😂 she's very amused by it (it makes sense considering her sense of direction is non existent too 😂 the crew has five direction challenged members yikes) also she's a fighter (has Uzui Tengen's swords lol... I'm only adding this part cause I don't really like reader not being a fighter sorry if that's inconvenient you can remove it, I'm not asking for battle scenes just a note to point out) she's his height (the struggles of my tall ass constantly having to imagine how tall a character is for them to be taller than my 6'4 ass 😂) and kinda hot headed

i love the idea of Zoro's and reader's children being directionally challenged just like him lol. i can do this idea, because i am also directionally challenged :) i just don't know who Uzui Tengen is, but I did google him to make sure! i hope you enjoy this :) so sorry it took so long!

taglist - @kabloswrld

it runs in the family

Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

summary - the ask ^-^

warnings - not proof read

It was hard enough having one lost soul to take care of. Watching Zoro was like watching a child, needing constant focus and attention to keep him from wandering off. Everyone takes turns watching him, but it ultimately ends up being your job most of the time because it's so exhausting.

"I'm going to that weapons store over there, be right back."

Your head snapped up when you heard him say that, eyes going wide as you immediately lunged forward to grab his wrist.

"It's right over there!" He protested, "I won't get lost."

You snorted and raised an eyebrow, "Babe I've seen you walk across the street and get lost. I don't believe you for a second. Sit down."

He grumbled and complained, but listened and took his seat next to you again. The two of you were waiting for the others to come back from their respective tasks, having finished your own (no thanks to Zoro, you had done it yourself). You swore you looked down for two seconds and when you turned to say something to him, he was not there. You shot up instantly, looking around for a mop of green hair.

"That idiot-"

You found him soon enough, and he was making his way to the weapons store just like he wanted. You were quick to scramble after him, knowing if you lost him now it would take you a whole day to find him. Maybe two.

"Zoro!"

The man grunted as you grabbed his ear, shooting you a pained glare as you twisted it and pulled him in the other direction.

"Dammit woman, at least let my ear go!"

"You need a leash!"

"..."

And that's pretty much how it goes every time you have to babysit your husband. It only got worse when you found out you were pregnant, and produced three exact copies of the swordsman. Three little menaces with his hair, his features, his personality, and your eyes. That's about the only thing they got from you.

To absolutely no one's surprise, they turned out to have a horrible sense of direction just like their father.

To be honest, you were a little relieved they hadn't inherited anything from you. As the daughter of the famed Gol D Roger, you were just as much at risk of being captured and locked up forever - or executed - just because of your parentage, like your younger brother. Only Zoro knew who your father was, as you kept the secret as possible. Even then, you only told him because you wanted no secrets between the two of you, which you'd promised each other on your wedding day. It seemed so long ago, with everything you'd been through, but you were more than grateful for the swordsman.

Not just for keeping your secret (you were pretty sure he forgot the day after you told him) but for protecting you to a point. He knew you could take care of yourself, he'd seen how skilled you were with your blades. He wasn't overbearing, because you were already a strong fighter, but he protected you in other ways, like keeping you from getting into dangerous situations that risked exposing who you were - like that one time in Water 7 when Garp absent-mindedly noted that you reminded him of Gol D Roger, Zoro quickly changed the conversation. He was dumb, but he was more perceptive than he led people to believe.

All these memories, of meeting him and dating him and eventually marrying him, flooded your mind as you gazed down at your sons. A soft smile on your face, you admired just how much they looked like their father, something you had hoped for but the others teased you for.

But you found out soon enough that although having three little kids running around was hard enough, it was made worse when you and the crew found out about their lack of directional sense.

"Zoro!"

You smacked the back of your husband's head hard, immediately waking him from his nap. He glared up at you for a moment before seeing the furious look on your face and immediately became nervous.

"Where are the boys?!"

"They were right over-" He pointed to the nearby swing, "-there."

"Uh huh, and where are they now?" You crossed your arms.

He scratched the back of his head, getting to his feet, "Uh..."

You smacked him again, "Dumbass. You're just lucky this island isn't as big as all the other ones we've been to!"

But as it turned out, searching for your lost children wasn't hard. They were only a block away from the small park Zoro had taken them to, huddled together on the side and looking around in confusion. In true Roronoa Zoro fashion.

One of them spotted you and yelled happily, dragging his siblings towards you and your sheepish husband. You smiled and scooped two of them up, leaving the third to be lifted into Zoro's arms.

"You guys know you're not supposed to go anywhere without me or your father," you scolded, holding back a smile at how cute they looked glancing at each other before looking down.

"Sorry, mommy. It won't happen again."

And they sound so cute, so sad, you just have to smother their little faces with kisses until they're laughing and pushing your face away.

"Ew, mom!"

But of course, it does happen again. Because they're Roronoa Zoro's children, they always manage to get themselves lost. The next time it happened, you were visiting Vivi in Alabasta. As you and the others were caught up in greeting the princess, your overeager kids found some other kids to play with and went off with them without telling you or Zoro.

Your husband, bless him, tried to go after them but got himself lost in the process. How you know? Sanji found your kids and brought them back, but said he hasn't even SEEN the swordsman.

"Babe you are the LAST person who should go looking for lost people!" You sighed when you found him, shaking your head. "It always ends up like this."

"Those are MY kids-"

"Clearly," you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Anyway Sanji found them, so let's just go." You dragged him back to everyone else, ignoring the way his eye twitched at the mention of the cook.

That's not to say you were good with directions, because you were also bad with them. Sure, you had a better idea of direction than Zoro did, but the crew was still a little wary about sending you anywhere alone.

You and your family tended to butt heads about it, especially when you were all shopping for things you needed. Zoro would claim what you were looking for was in one aisle, while you asserted that it was in another.

It was quite funny for the crew actually, watching the five of you argue and then run off in different directions, only to forget which way you came from and struggle to get back. They had a blast when you took the kids to a carnival where there was a maze, because they found their way out relatively quickly. All the while you, your directionally-challenged kids and your even more directionally-challenged husband went in circles.

"I think it's this way."

"No, no, it's definitely this way!"

"Trust me, I know where I'm going!"

"So do I!"

You two were so busy arguing about where to go that you didn't notice your mischievous children sneaking off to try and find their own way out. Much like Zoro, they hated arguing and they wanted to just take action instead of thinking. By the time you realised it was too quiet, they were nowhere nearby.

"Oh my God, not again!" You face-palmed, then whirled on the swordsman, "This is your fault!"

"Mine?! You wanted to argue!"

Steam was practically coming out of your nose and ears, but you took a deep breath and calmed yourself. One of you had to be reasonable here. So without a word, you turned and walked in one direction while your thick-headed husband went in the other.

"(kid 1 name)! (kid 2 name)! (kid 3 name)!" You tried calling, hearing their voices call back out to you every time you did. But as soon as you thought you were getting close, you would call again and their voices would be even further away.

They were going in the opposite directions.

"Hey, kids!" You called again, "Just stay right there for mom, okay? Stay where you are."

Eventually you do find them, but now you have no idea where you came from so you have no idea where to go. Outside the maze, the rest of the crew is fast asleep as they wait for the five of you to figure it out, Nami being the only one staying awake just in case you made it out earlier than they expected.

You didn't.

"We can't take you guys anywhere," the redhead complained, making you laugh.

Yeah, that was pretty much what the Straw Hat crew had to deal with.

A/N: i hope this lived up to your expectations! i wasn't sure how to piece it all together so just tell me if i missed anything in your request, or if you're not satisfied with any of the parts! :) im open to criticism!

[fu-aki]

So this is going to be my attempt to summarize the newest episodes of the ghost marriage event (episode 1 to 13) of twisted wonderland. Part 2

Again, spoiler alert since I’m about to write out everything that happened, and I apologize for my grammar in advance.

The event started with Epel, Ace, Riddle, and Rook’s marriage proposal

In your dorm -> suddenly a lot of ghosts showed up and said this would be the guest room for the princess -> you got kicked out by them -> you went and ask Crowley what is going on -> Crowley explained -> that was the ghost bride, her dream was to find a wonderful prince to marry, but she died before able to fulfill the dream, so now she wonders around twisted wonderland to find her groom, but that would be impossible -> Crowley “since her perfect prince needs to be over 180cm (5ft9) tall, a slim body without any unnecessary fat, clean and beautiful skin, charming smile, shinnying hair, and lips that make you want to kiss them.” -> Crowley “so there’s no way that anyone could fit that description, they just stay in ramshackle for a few days then leave.” -> suddenly Ortho showed up and said his brother is taken away by the ghosts -> Ortho showed you a footage from the security camera

Idia was on his way to buy manga -> the ghost princess showed up and said “I’ve finally found him… my prince!!!” -> the video cuts out -> Grim was surprised since Idia doesn’t feel like a prince at all -> Crowley “tall, slim, pale skin, and a smile… that can’t really be called charming, shinning… more like burning hairs, and his colored lips. If you think of it, he does fit the ghost’s type.” -> there was suddenly a lot of noises outside -> Ace and Deuce was there -> a bunch of ghosts showed up in cafeteria -> you all retreated to the sports field -> Riddle, Azul, and Kalim were also there -> they were studying but the ghost suddenly showed up -> Azul “Kalim, the correct term would be we were ‘teaching’ you right?” -> Riddle “just a little more and Kalim could finally understand the question…!” -> Vil, Rook, and Epel were in the classroom and the ghosts showed up and kicked them out -> Cater was also kicked out of lab room -> Leona was kicked out from hallway -> Ortho explained what happened to all of them -> everyone laughed -> Crowley “It’s no time to laugh! Do you know what it means to be married to a ghost? It means to be together forever with the dead. You will have your soul pulled out and goes to the other world!” -> Ortho “my… my big brother is going to be a ghost? I don’t want that to happen! Please, help my brother!” -> Crowley “of course, I’m sure when their friend is in trouble, all the gentle students here will help Shroud…”

 -> everyone “nope/don’t wanna.” -> (player choice: “what a wonderful harmony” / “you guys only get along with each other in a time like this.”) -> Ortho “why? Everyone lends me your strength!” -> Vil “He normally avoids us as much as possible, and only bother us in a time like this. It’s a little too much.” -> Leona “it’s your own ‘brother’ problem right, just do something yourself.” -> Ortho decided to just do it himself -> he started computer simulation and decided to just use a magic beam to destroy the whole school -> Crowley stopped Ortho and explained to everyone that mass media will soon be on their ass if Shroud disappeared -> Ortho also threatened that if nobody helped, he is going to hack the TV station to remove the mosaic on news and put on “the student that abandoned their friend” instead -> finally everyone agreed to help -> Lilia suggest to ask Sam boy since he knows a lot about the ghost -> Sam said he heard about this from his friends on the other side -> Ortho “is there any item that we can use to solve this…” -> “IN STOCK NOW” -> the ring of extinction -> it can force the ghost to the other world if you put it on her left ring finger while saying “I swear to love you for as long as you are alive.” -> Lilia “so basically, I don’t care if you are dead.” -> but how can we put it on her? -> the only way to do it is to propose her -> Crowley told you to gather all the students he called -> it was Trey, Jack, Jade, Floyd, Leona, Vil, and Sebek -> the plan is to make them propose to the ghost princess -> Riddle “wait a second, I can’t just watch my vice dorm leader do this, I will go too.” -> Crowley “you can’t.” -> Riddle “eh?” ->Crowley “there’s a common trait between all 7 of them, which is... over 180cm in height!!!!!!” -> Riddle “are you saying… that I’m short….!?” ->  Floyd “it’s fine, goldfish is fine as you are now… wait? Where’s little goldfish? Is he gone?” -> Riddle “ha? What do you mean, floy…” -> Floyd “…ah, there you are, you are so tiny that I couldn’t see you down there.”

Vil “why isn’t Malleus here? Isn’t he pretty tall?” -> Lilia “Malleus is a real prince, if he proposes there is a high chance to success, but even if it’s fake, there’s no way a future king of thorn valley will propose to a ghost, just the fact that he proposed would cause a national problem, so just let it slide and let Sebek do it instead.” -> Leona “hum, saying something so grand, we still don’t know if Malleus would be picked or not.” -> Sebek “Malleus sama is a very handsome man, of course, he will be chosen as the groom! You guys won’t even stand a chance!!!!!!!”  -> Vil and Leona are pretty mad after hearing that and are now determined to do this.

In cafeteria -> Idia is trying his best to scream for help and refuse to marry the princess -> but she won’t listen -> a ghost said 7 people are here to propose to her -> but she said she will refuse them all so Idia can just rest assure here -> Vil started to use his actor skill to act like a prince (change his pronoun from atashi to boku and his way of talking) -> Jack “Vil senpai… can you just lie to someone like that? I think love is supposed to be… more serious. I just, don’t like this con man act…!” -> Vil “too naïve, Jack kun.” -> Jack “Jack ‘kun’!?” -> Vil “this is a competition, to see who can charm the princess first.” -> Leona “disgusting, this is even worse than your normal self.” -> Vil “Leona kun… are you scared that you’ll lose to me?” -> Leona “… hey ghost! Bring the princess out!”

Everyone was brought to the princess -> princess complimented Idia and said how he is her perfect prince ->

Leona and Vil “I’m definitely better!” -> Jade “those two, completely forgot their goals.” -> princess decided to try and see if they will be her perfect prince -> princess “let’s start with you, the one with a wild style but a cute ear.” -> Leona “Me?” -> she suddenly started singing -> Leona got really confused

-> she slapped Leona -> princess “I can’t believe it…… To not sing a duet along with the princess!!!! You are not a prince at all!” -> Jack “Leona senpai… he was the only real prince among us though…” -> next is Vil, he passed the singing part perfectly, but then princess asked what is the name of his pet dog -> he doesn’t have one -> Vil got slapped too

next one up is Jack -> she asked if he knows sword art and how big of a monster have he slain -> Jack “sword? I don’t need something like that, I will use my fist…” -> SLAP

-> Sebek is next -> she asked if he knows how to play instruments -> Sebek started talking about Malleus nonstop -> SLAP

-> Trey is next -> She suddenly said “we can’t meet ever again, farewell!” and runs away -> Trey is confused but decided to chase after her -> She “ah, even though I told you we can’t ever meet again! Please, do not confuse me even more” -> Trey “ok it seems like the right choice to chase after her, but what should I do next…” -> Jade “Trey san, you should sing here!” -> Trey “sing!? Now!?” -> Jade “Yes, to create a romantic mood, you have to sing a wonderful song to make her heart melt.” -> Trey “I’m not really good at singing though…! umm…” -> Trey singing “emm, you… your… your veil…. Looks just like a bleached towel… eyes, also, looks like grapes… so juicy~~” -> her “…” -> Trey “…” -> SLAP

-> Jade “your comparison are a little too peasant, at least say something like your eyes are just like gem stones.” -> Trey “I’m just a high school student? I can’t come up anything like that in this situation!” -> Floyd next -> Floyd “this person just so annoying~~ can I squeeze her?” -> SLAP

-> Jade’s turn -> He offered her flowers -> Jade “I picked out those flowers myself, I thought you would look great with them.” -> Floyd pointed out those are flowers with strong poison -> Jade “yes, if you just touch them with your barehand, your hand would broke, but it seems like it don’t work with ghosts. I’ve learned.” -> SLAP ->

Trey “…hey, I just noticed something, to suddenly make someone lived in an all boy boarding school to propose to a princess… isn’t the difficulty a little too high?”

Everyone outside was laughing hard -> Azul, Cater, Deuce, and Lilia decided to help next -> SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP -> Azul talked too much which makes him unbelievable -> Cater treated everything too lightly -> Deuce got too nervous that he couldn’t talk -> Lilia -> Lilia was too cute that she doesn’t want him -> she complained that why is there no good man left in this world and brought Idia out -> Idia “none of you even had any use at all… everyone was slapped and rolling around like an insect… aren’t you supposed to be popular! You always hype around like an idiot, aren’t you embarrassed by this!?” -> everyone is pretty mad after hearing Idia say that -> but the princess was pretty happy so she decided to make the wedding tonight, midnight. -> Idia screamed for help -> Vil “Isn’t this great, someone picked introverted you as their partner.” -> Leona “yeah, now that I think of it you two are really fitting as a couple.” -> Idia “why--!?” -> Jack “of course, we will get mad after hearing what you said.” -> Idia “Azul!! We are friends of the board game club right?” -> Azul “to think that the hikikomori Idia would get married… I’m so touched I think I’m about to cry… congratulation. I will send you some wedding gift.”

Outside -> Ace was still laughing at what happened -> Crowley “it seems like the only thing we can do now is to find back up grooms!”

That was all for now, man this event is hilarious, especially the part where everyone got slapped, so sad that I couldn’t fit in everyone’s slapped face in here

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Game Master Akuma AU by  crisisdparity

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players. Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he’d greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively. Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item’s stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia. Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug. Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt’s history with characters dying) and he’d even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt’s usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with. Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history. He’d put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He’d carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign. In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he’d made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one. Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn’t need it anymore. —– It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app. Matt/Chat - Chat’s going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily. Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I’d advise, but it’s your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now. Matt/Chat - <photo> 17 Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone’s passive Perception easily. You’ll sneak off handily without anyone noticing. —– “Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple.” “Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?” Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt. “19.” “Okay, difficult, but not undoable… Crap.” “What’d you get?” “Nat 1…” “Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!” “Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!” “Because it’s payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish

campaigns!” “Oh, come on! You’re not the only person whose had a character die at this table! <GM> runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they’re always fair!” “What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?” “Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp.” “14!” “Not much better, dude.” “Guys, it’s fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-” “Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece.” “The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound.” “So does Carapace.” “Vesperia too.” “-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you’re all using the Dash action?, you’ve got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they’re all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this.” “Rena screams ‘What the HELL, Chat?! We’re supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn’t you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!’” “Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!” There was dead silence at the table. “Matt… What… just… WHAT?!” “Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?!” “What the hell is your problem, Matt?!” “My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I’ve spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!” “Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!” “I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY’RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!” “THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!” “NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN’T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I’M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!” “MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!” “Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time…” “It’s going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least.” Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour. He’d given so much to making sure this would work. He’d apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He’d agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he’d pull something like this. He’d nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else’s. They’d somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They’d meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening. It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he’d slaved over for months was kaput. He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it. “Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things.” This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he’d ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel. “Not

enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts.” He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he’d spent so much time on to life… What creator could ever turn down an offer like that? “I, the Game Master, accept… Hawkmoth.” “Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders.” “No.” Hawkmoth was silent for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” “I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself.” “If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you.” “No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me.” And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence. —– Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn’t remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn’t usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo. Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her. She looked up. And up. To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her. “How’s the weather down there?” Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique. “I WILL END YOU!” the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up. Characters: Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew) Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast) —– Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope. She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn’t for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she’d have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings. Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she’d have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her. “You know, people are staring…” she said as she craned her head to look at her companions. “Let them,” the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. “They’re just jealous because their boyfriends can’t carry them everywhere.” Characters: Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout) Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour) Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) —– Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin. She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she? And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor? Characters: Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party) Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew) —– Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she’d freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she’d come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she’d gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable. It might help more if she could figure out where she was. Or find another person. Characters: Polymouse - Kobold

(rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned) —– Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance. “Are you quite done?” “Almost!” Pigella’s cheerful voice answered. “Your fur is so comfy!” Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels. “I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen’ I will stick you in a bottle.” “Aw, I love you too! Hey, what’s that?” “I think it’s my character sheet?” Characters: Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory) Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned) —– “According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules,” Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. “I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master.” “Aweshum,” King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk’s robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him. “Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water.” “Gotta keep up appearanshes!” King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness. Characters: Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned) King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master) —– Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he’d never felt before. “Hmm… perhaps I can work with this…” “Speak for yourself…” Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face. Characters: Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others. Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters —– “Oh, come on!” A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. “Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can’t I join them?” “Because you’re too OP. You’d completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure.” “But sitting around is no fun at all!” “If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger.” “That’s it?! I’m on 'mysterious hooded figure’ duty? Boo! Why can’t I fight with them?!” “Because you’re too OP. But if you insist, I’ll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions.” “YES!” “Five.” “I’m sorry?” “I’ll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information.” “That’s it?” “Yes. Choose your interventions wisely.” “So… if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle…?” “Then I would allow you to join them of course.” “Score!” Characters: Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5) Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign —– Addendum When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it’s basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back. All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt’s place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he

has a similar playstyle to Matt, he’s savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians. They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

—-

oh wow- that’s- wow. good job dude, seems like you worked on this a lot. Next time You should post this on your own account though, as this isn’t getting tagged or anything. Thank you though, you did a good job with this.

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

this is not very good. you have been warned.

-

When Lorkhan dreamed of inhabiting his world, he must have dreamed of inhabiting it as Wulf. This is what Aspera thinks, watching Wulf stride through the forest as comfortably as if it were his, as if it had been crafted for him alone.

Wulf is handsome, and not only for the Lorkhan written upon him. His youth in the wilds has left him strong and muscular, his healthy diet and new civilized life on Hrothgar have made him tidy and clean. Someone has cut the mats from his hair, though he still wears it loose and long in a shiny oak veil around his thick shoulders; someone has taken a knife and shaved away the unsightly fuzz from his square jaw, and someone has clad his massive frame in long wool trousers and a fine leather belt, as if he were being made fit for Auri-el's court. But he goes shirtless beneath his trollskin cape, although the forest he moves through is glittering palely with frost, and there's still an untamed savageness in his careful silent steps, and a hint of danger in the golden sword that hangs at the end of one of his long arms, and a profound sadness in his storm-grey eyes.

He could be Lorkhan incarnate, surveying his own deeds for a span, and Aspera is as always captivated by him. Forced to assume a mortal form for this profoundly mortal act of indulgence, she sits still as she can on a bough of one of Skyrim's tall silent evergreens, and rests her chin on her knees, and watches Wulf move silent through the forest. She's as motionless as the chilly air (Kyne dares not intrude here), if her eyes could devour she's been fasting for this moment. All this time they spent together, in the Dawn era in different forms, and then in the woods not so long ago, and not once has Aspera come close to being sated for sight of him. Even now she aches with hunger. How, she wonders, can even the mere shadow of him be so beautiful?

But he's come closer, now, his head bowed and veiled by his shiny wood-coloured hair, his thick limbs hidden beneath the cape. Aspera wonders if he's aware that his walk betrays him-- he moves like something not of this world, each stride a little too long, each step a little too light for his size. He moves like his next step will be into Aetherius, into the veil of death, forever out of reach, a terrifying sort of grace. He moves past the tree Aspera perches in, and she leans forwards, eyes wide and hungry, devouring the sight of him.

Her own movement is not so delicate; with the shift the tree she perches in groans.

Wulf stops in his tracks and looks around him.

He does not think to look up (he must be getting sloppy, she taught him to always look up), but he's definitely caught the noise, and he looks this way and that, stray snowflakes snagging in his loose hair. His eyes, deep and colourless as any glacier, widen as he tries to peer through the tall narrow trees which surround him. The frost crinkles underfoot as he turns a slow circle, and Aspera dares not breathe.

"Hans?" Wulf calls out. His voice is soft, but his words rumble even through the trees.

No answer comes, so he looks in another direction. 

"Harald?”

The forest remains silent. Frowning, Wulf begins to walk again, and within moments, once again, so painfully, he's gone.

Aspera is left to slump back against the trunk of the tree, clenching her eyes shut, attempting to imprison the sight she'd so eagerly drank in. 

The loss of him from her view is unbearable; it’s as if she’s reliving the tower all over again, and each time she feels as if the grief might shatter her. She considered taking him captive, once. In her darkest moments she’s imagined keeping this piece of Lorkhan for herself, nestled close and safe deep in the heart of her realm, but she already can't stand the sadness in him and she loathes the thought of hurting him further, so she's banished the idea to the only part of her which feels guilt, and resigned herself to possessing him only in the form of these glimpses. Cold comfort, trapping his form like fire beneath her eyelid, stealing looks at him from behind Hrothgar’s walls. However, it’s all that’s within her reach, and even something so small as his silhouette in her memory is to be cherished, guarded--

A mighty heave shakes the tree and Aspera is toppling to the ground before she can even draw her daggers.

Then she stops falling, and she is in someone's arms.

Wulf never laughs-- a strange trait, because Lorkhan was always laughing-- but he has his own equivalent, for when he successfully pulls a prank, and that is a big toothy smile that burns like the sun. Said smile is burning into Aspera’s shoulders now, for Wulf has caught her on the descent and is now crushing her into an embrace, swinging her around mightily and beaming hot and triumphant against her when he presses his face into her torso.

Aspera, of course, cannot tolerate this. Aspera, of course, shouts in alarm and knees him in the stomach. This shocks him and he staggers back, and Aspera’s on him in an instant, pushing him down to the ground and wresting him into a grapple. But he's larger than he was before, heavier, and he manages to overturn them, pinning her down with his whole body, resting his forehead against her own.

"As-peh-rah," Wulf breathes through his smile.

"Wulf," Aspera replies, and flips him hard into the ground.

The blow knocks the wind from his lungs, and he lets out a hearty 'oof', but he's smiling still, his shoulders shaking with the mute mirth that's as close as he'll ever come to laughter. His eyes are crinkled happily, his hair is tangled with clumps of ice and leaf-litter, and when Aspera gets on top of him again, pinning his shoulders with her knees and wrapping a hand around his neck, he only smiles wider.

"Wulf," Aspera says again, amazed. "Did you trick me?"

"I'm Ysmir now," Wulf replies. His voice knocks snowflakes back into the air and sends Aspera’s hair fluttering.

"Ysmir? Who calls you Ysmir?"

"Paarthurnax."

As easily as if he were brushing off leaves, Wulf-- Ysmir-- rises to sitting, shoving Aspera off of him. She falls back on her rump without a struggle, only staring as Wulf shakes debris from his hair. He does not look so civilized, now, smeared with dirt and snow; she sees that he's been painted in the Atmoran fashion, with an image of a dark red gash cleaving his bare breast from collar to left nipple.

"Paarthurnax," Aspera sneers, through her nose, so that her voice takes on a mocking lilt. "Ambitious lord of cruelty. Is that who you're serving, now, little Wulf?"

Wulf frowns at her, in the way that he always used to frown at her-- taking everything too seriously, especially the jokes. “I serve nobody,” he tells her, deathly-grave. “None but myself.” 

“So what is this?” Aspera reaches out and grabs his hair, thumbing the neatly-trimmed edges.

“My hair.”

“You cut it.” 

“Hans cut it.” Flushing red (he’d always been a sensitive soul), Wulf shoves Aspera’s hand away, and even the graze of his palm feels supernaturally hot. But then the sight of her seems to rekindle something in him, a light behind his cloud-grey eyes that comes perilously close to feeling familiar, and his mouth once again splits open in a smile, revealing perfect yellow teeth. 

“Why are you smiling?” Aspera asks him. 

In reply, Wulf reaches out and clasps her face between his big palms. “Aspera,” he repeats himself, in awe. “It’s truly you.”

“Yes, it’s me. Let go of me.” 

“You’ve come back.” His palms are scratchy with callouses, smelling richly of earth. 

Affectionately, Aspera elbows his arm away, then rises to her feet. “Don’t flatter yourself, mortal. I’m not here for you.” 

Wulf ignores the lie, ignores the good-natured act of violence. He gropes around him, lifts the sword which had fallen to the side when he’d caught her, rises to his feet and stretches. He’s grown since Aspera last saw him, she can’t help but notice, not just in his considerable height; his body has filled out, his already-generous muscles now padded with a healthy layer of Nordic fat. “But you’re back,” he repeats himself, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. 

Aspera can only nod. She feels mute, breathless, winded not only by the fall; she’s being forced to consider once again that if Lorkhan ever dreamed of roaming his own world, this must be the form he would choose. The alluring seriousness of his dark eyes, the handsome downwards curl of his mouth and the sheer power betrayed by his mortal form (she recalls uneasily the strength with which he’d caught her, the magnetic heat behind his skin); as with Lorkhan, being near him feels like standing on a precipice, the temptation to fling herself in overwhelming.

He takes her contemplative silence as an invitation and seizes her hand in his own. “Come,” he bids her, “Let’s go meet Hans. And Harald.”

“Who?”

“My friends. We travel, we hunt, we’ll roam the world, like you and I did.”

“I don’t want to meet your friends.” 

“Oh.” Wulf blinks. “We won’t, then. I know where they are. We’ll go away from them.” 

“And go where? Towards the halls of Kyne’s crony?”

“Paarthurnax?” 

“Him.” 

“No, to a cabin. I left Paarthurnax long ago.” 

“Did you.”

“I told you, I travel now. With Hans and Harald.” (There’s that frown again, full of concern). “You’re mad?” 

It takes all of Aspera’s strength to wrench her hand away from him. Shaking her head mutely, she turns away. 

Time, Auri-el’s invention, does not mean much to either of them, but if one was reckoning by time they had once shared a lot of it. When Wulf was still the foundling of dragons, living alone and without language in the wilds of Tamriel, Aspera had stolen to Nirn and made herself his companion. She’d saved his life, and it had been a perfectly selfish endeavor; they had fought together, hunted together, wrestled, riddled each other, spent long nights by paltry fires cooking scrappy meals of rabbits. They had fled Hircine’s wild hunt on foot and hacked their way out of a herd of werewolves, they had crept around Namira’s corruption and looked Herma-Mora in the eye without flinching. They had shared precious moments together, moments where Aspera had forgot to feel as if something had been torn from her. And when Wulf had allowed himself to be convinced to join the storm-bitten wicked society of the Northmen, abandoning their adventures for a mountain and the mandates of Kyne, those moments had begun to seem paltry indeed.

“Aspera?”

“How arrogant you are, mortal. Asking me to return to your side, after you left me.”

“You left me. You could have stayed.”

“You didn’t give me a choice,” replies Aspera. “Was I meant to follow you, make a toady of myself for Kyne?” 

“But I left him, I told you. I’m with Hans and Harald now.” The soft crackle of frost as Wulf shifts on his feet. “So you can come with me.”

Aspera exhales. “No.” 

“No?” 

No. I’m going to the south, and we shall never meet again.”

“Don’t go. Join Hans and Harald and I. We can hunt--” 

“Typical of you. You only want me for your collection.” 

“I want you to stay with me.” 

“Haven’t I denied you enough times before, Shor? When will you learn your lesson?” 

Wulf is silent for several seconds at that, so quiet that Aspera thinks he’s left. But when she turns she finds that he’s come closer to her, and he’s still staring at her with his sad, serious expression, his eyes as dull grey as ash. 

And he comes even closer to her, painfully close, and she cannot bring herself to move away when he touches her cheek once more.

“Koraav zey, Boethiah,” Wulf says softly.

Aspera turns her head away. “I won’t.” 

“I am not him.”  

“I don’t believe you. How can you deny what you are, after all I’ve known about you?” 

“I’m not him,” Wulf repeats. One of his hands, hot despite the chill of the day, cradles her cheek, and with the other he brushes his thumb over her lips. He’s standing very close, staring seriously into her eyes with a gaze like staring into one of Kyne’s tempests, fathomless, a spark of violence beneath the eyelid. “Look at me.” 

Aspera closes her eyes and laughs a bitter laugh. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Boet-hi-ah.” 

“Do you think you know me, then, using that name? You know I won’t listen to your words, that I never have; so if you mean to say this thing to me, prove it.” 

And Aspera must have known what challenge he was planning, the single thing Lorkhan would never have given to her, for she is not surprised when Ysmir bites a kiss into her lips. 

The kiss is sweet, and tastes of ash, and burns for the beauty of it, and Aspera tries her best to bring Lorkhan’s face to mind, as if it were Lorkhan’s mouth on her own, as if Lorkhan were living and Lorkhan would have ever held her so closely, partaking of her hunger with a warm tongue and sharp teeth. It’s not exactly gentle, but she must jealously wonder where he’s gotten all the practice (who are Hans and Harald?), in the few moments before he drags her into an embrace and crushes any power of thought out of her. Later there will be time to ponder this all, to contemplate the real want behind the deed and whether Lorkhan’s memory is behind the depth of the kiss and the grasping of fingers, but for a sliver of that so-called time, somewhere between tasting ash and separating just enough to concoct a plan in breathy whispers, Aspera forgets to pretend that it’s Lorkhan she’s embracing. 

-

In a rough-shod hunting cabin, on a frigid winter night, Ysmir kneels by a straw bed and holds a sword aloft like an offering.

“What is this?” laughs Aspera. She’s perched above him on the thin straw mattress, draped in blankets like a queen. 

“It’s a sword,” says Ysmir, earnestly. 

“You’re holding it wrong, Wulf. How much have you forgotten?”

“It’s a gift.”

“Always giving me gifts. Come, get off the floor and join me again.” 

But Ysmir stays kneeling, and he might have looked a little ridiculous, naked on his knees with the blade held high over his head, if it weren’t for the deathly somberness of his eyes. “Take it,” he commands her, with no hint of humour, “It’s for you.” 

“Well, aren’t you cocky.” But Aspera knows him, and knows his stubbornness, so, without further argument, she takes the sword from his hand and lifts it in her own. It’s unlike any sword she’s seen before: the blade is golden, very thin and very long, with a slight curve to it; the balance is impeccable. When she moves her arm to cut the air with it, it flickers hotly like a candle’s flame.

She’s so captivated by the blade that she feels rather than sees Ysmir sit on the bed behind her, keeping his distance respectfully, save for the large hand that lightly cups the outer rim of her hip. 

“It’s a good blade,” Aspera declares, resisting the urge to sink back into him. The fire’s burned out ages ago and the cabin is cold, but Ysmir’s hand feels hot as any brand. “Why give it to me?”

“To know you by, when we meet again.” 

Aspera places the sword down on her bare thighs with one hand, and uses the other to clasp the hand on her hip. “Who says we will meet again?” she asks lazily, leaning back against his warm chest, so that her head comes to rest with the ear pressed just over the place where a mortal man’s heart would be. “No matter. Does it have a name?”

Ysmir bows his head, embraces her from behind, pulls her in close against that uncanny-quiet chest. And he whispers in her ear, in a voice that rumbles through the world itself: “Goldbrand.”

[king-maven-calore]

okay hi! this is going to be very long! (i’m sorry) but in response to your marecal song post:

here is my list! titles/artists are bolded and lyrics are italicized. i wrote some lyrics that stand out to me and a little explanation for each one :) i am very extra and marecal occupies my brain at all times 🤠

ghostin - ariana grande

“i’m hating myself because you don’t want to admit that it hurts you”

“i know that it breaks your heart when i cry again over him”

“he just comes to visit me when i’m dreaming every now and then”

- reminds me of glass sword when mare is reading maven’s letters while she thinks cal is sleeping

die for you - the weeknd

“you’re scared to be lonely, especially in the night”

- reminds me of mare seeking out cal in GS just to be near/hold him

“I don't want this feeling, I can't afford love”

- mare saying no distractions (lmao look how that turned out)

“the distance and the time between us, it’ll never change my mind ‘cause baby i would die for you”

- no matter what (mavens capture, both cal and mares betrayals, etc) their love never goes away

“I would die for you / I would lie for you / keep it real with you I would kill for you, my baby”

- aaaaa this line !! gives me very much mare and cal beating the shit out of samson merandus (f that guy)

see you again - tyler the creator

“can I get a kiss? / and can you make it last forever? / I said I'm 'bout to go to war / and I don't know if I'ma see you again”

- all the little goodbyes and reunions they have throughout the books, especially the end of GS and KC when they know they have to separate

“I can only see your face when I close my eyes”

- I thought of you before the end, I saw your face in the water 😩

my boy - billie eilish

- this song just gives me petty mare post KC epilogue vibes lmao

“he just sounds like he's tryna be his father”

- looking at you, tiberias 🤨🤨

“but he's such a pretty liar and by that I mean he said he'd change”

- cal’s promise to the guard and to mare to not accept the crown (even though what did she expect but like that’s a story for another day)

bonus:

let me love you - ariana grande (reminds me of “how to flirt” marecal)

“i just broke up with my ex / and you’re the one I’m feeling as I'm laying on your chest”

- f you eli 🤠🔪

“and if it feels right, promise I'll stay here all night, just let me love you”

- cal just wants to love her 🥲 dumb virgin slut boy

bonus bonus:

idk if you’re into musicals but “sunrise” from “in the heights” SCREAMS marecal to me !!! it’s so cute, it even says “calor(e)” and “lightbulb” hehe

are you seriously asking me if I'm into musicals? don't you know by now I'm an extra bitch? of course I like musicals smh😤 I loved how thorough you were with these recs and I liked ghostin so much for them!! perfection 👌 and thanks for the little HtF reminder, so sexc of you

[dreaming-of-assclass]

AssClass Halloween Costumes

I’m a few days late lmao...but here we go 👻🎃

Karma: Edward Scissorhands. A classic. He goes all out in his costume and it looks really good...scary but awesome yeah. Waves his scissors in front of people’s faces to be annoying.

Isogai: The Phantom of the Opera. Gets complaints later from his fangirls that the mask was covering his “beautiful face.” 

Okajima: A sexy devil costume. It’s not too revealing but it’s certainly quite feminine, which throws people off guard. But he struts with confidence and 3-E supports him all the way.

Okano: Princess Mononoke. She looks like such a badass with the wolf cape and the red markings on her cheeks. 

Okuda: Mickey Mouse. She looks so so cute in the little overalls and gloves, and ear headbands. Matching with Kayano.

Kataoka: Audrey Hepburn. Sis got legs for days and the tights/heels emphasizes them even more. Turns so many girls gay, let’s be real.

Kayano: Minnie Mouse. She looks adorable in the dress and cute ears headband. She’s matching with her bestie Okuda UwU.

Kanzaki: Mario!! The comical handlebar mustache looks hilarious on her, and she’s just such a cutie in the outfit.

Kimura: a Mummy, who looks legitimately terrifying with dark makeup and gold contacts. Ends up having a crisis when he needs to pee but can’t get out of the wrapping.

Kurahashi: Belle from Beauty and the Beast. The yellow dress looks gorgeous on her. Lowkey wanted to ask Karasuma to be the beast, but thankfully, she didn’t.

Nagisa: Luke Skywalker. The tunic looks really adorable on him ngl, and his lightsaber is actually so cool. Half the night, his friends keep trying to steal it and play around. Didn’t expect to coordinate with Mimura but they take a bunch of great pics together uwu.

Sugaya: Doesn’t really dress up. But he has the best and most elaborate face makeup. Dude seriously looks like a monster or demon or whatever he intended. It looks so good and professional. Other than that, he’s wearing plain sweats he just threw fake blood on.

Sugino: A werewolf umpire, of course. He’s dressed in the baseball outfit with a scary mask on. Definitely gets called a furry by multiple people.

Takebayashi: KIRITO FROM SWORD ART ONLINE FSDJHKS. He spends forever (and with some help from Hara) on his costume, having the black trenchcoat and swords and everything. His hair is messy and unlike it’s usual style, and he lowkey gets some attention for his visuals.

Chiba: Howl Pendragon. He looks so charming in the outfit. Is he blonde or does he keep his dark hair? I can’t decide. Also Kaho is Sophie.

Terasaka: Totoro. He goes as Totoro. I’m not kidding at all. He may have lost a dare to his sister, and had to wear this giant onesie of the beloved character. But as much as he’s laughed at for the night, the joke is on everyone else. He (smugly) stays warm and cozy even when it starts to get more chilly.

Nakamura: A Zombie prom queen. Bought the dress part for the costume but she made the sash herself. And her makeup is on point, it’s so scary and good. Loves making guys squirm with creepy looks, then flirting with girls.

Hazama: A ghoul. But it’s literally the most horrifying, gut-wrenching costume ever seen. Straight out of a horror movie. Super detailed, makeup is on point and terrifying. Carries weapons and scares the shit out of everyone. Makes some people even pee, and cry.

Hayami: A cheetah, in a full body costume and hat with ears. She looks so GOOD. Her sharp eyes look even more bright and feline than usual in such a dark outfit.

Hara: A ballerina!!! She looks so pretty and angelic in her pink tutu outfit, and it highkey looks so professional too. She made it herself after all haha. But yes, our Hara is a pink princess, ok?

Fuwa: Piccolo. It’s ridiculously accurate and well-made. Halfway through the night, she changes to be a One Piece character.

Maehara: Thor. Let his hair grow out a bit just for this costume. Slings the hammer around everywhere and almost accidentally kills someone with it.

Mimura: Han Solo. It’s so accurate and well made...the only thing wrong is his height lmao.

Muramatsu: the KFC guy, except he keeps advertising his ramen shop to everyone at the same time.

Yada: a bloody Alice in Wonderland, with a basket full of cookies that she carries around, and a ripped apart white rabbit plushie.

Yoshida: Danny Zuko from Grease ADJHKS. Takes out his dreadlocks for the night to have a pompadour. All his friends roast him hard and say he looks no different than he usually does lmao. Itona voice: “Are leather jackets the only things you own?”

Ritsu: Who else would she go as other than the legend Hatsune Miku. Turns her hair blue too, and sings a couple songs for everyone.

Itona: Iron Man. He looks so cute ok, this tiny little 14 year old in a bulky superhero costume that doesn’t suit his face at all.

Korosensei: Tinkerbell. One of his favorite Disney characters. Totally rocks the green dress and blonde bun. But then he starts crying and whining when his students tease him. “Tinkerbell? How fitting, Sensei! You’re both such attention seekers!”

Irina + Karasuma: They go as a sexy vampire couple, much to Karasuma’s hesitance. They look really good though. He has to hold Irina back from killing someone when the students dub her a “trampire.”

Gakushuu: A skeleton, but it’s way more elaborate than it sounds. It’s like a very detailed black tux outfit, made of 3 pieces. And every piece of it has a bone design on it, with like a blue glow so it looks he’s literally an X-ray picture. Hella cool. And he refuses makeup but reluctantly compromises with just dark eye stuff. 

[theimpossiblescheme]

“Where have you been?!”--for Goemon and whoever you want!

Goemon could already feel his heart sink a bit when a boy no older than seven answered the door, cracking it open just enough to turn on the porchlight above them.  “C-Can I help you, Mister—” he nervously eyed the sword at his side—“Mister Samurai?”

“Yes, can you tell me if… if the lady of the house is home?”  He wasn’t exactly sure what the proper form of address was.  Calling her by her first name seemed too familiar, but he couldn’t be sure if she’d changed her last name in the… fifteen years?  Since he’d last seen her.

(Had it really been fifteen years?  How had he let the time fly away from him like that?  What could he have possibly been too busy with to come back, even just to say hello?)

The boy nodded and hid a few more inches behind the door, turning his face away.  “Mom!” he called, and Goemon’s heart sunk a little bit deeper. “There’s somebody at the door! Says he wants to see you!”

“What is it, Kōhei?” A woman’s voice sounded down the inside hallway, followed by the whisper of socked feet.  Then another hand came to nudge open the door, and there was Murasaki.  Dressed in worn grass-stained blue jeans and a yellow cardigan, her long hair pinned up out of her face in a loose bun and showing a few strands of grey at her temples. Certainly thinner and more tired-looking than he remembered her, but her face lit up with a brilliant smile as she recognized him.

“Goemon!”  She sounded shocked, but delighted at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

Suddenly that sounded like a very good question.  But Goemon tried to maintain his composure.  “I… I hope I’m not intruding.  I thought I might stop by and—and see how you were doing.”

“Okay.”  She nodded slightly, as if still registering his presence, before seeming to relax a bit and opening the front door wider.  “Yeah, come on in!  Kōhei—” she ran a gentle hand through the boy’s hair—“this is Mom’s old friend, Goemon.  He’s the one who saved our whole family from the Fuma clan, remember?”

Kōhei ducked behind Murasaki’s pantleg and muttered a quick “hi” before dashing off down the hall.  Goemon couldn’t help but give a tiny smile as he slipped off his shoes, discarded his sword, and stepped inside.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s just shy,” Murasaki said as she watched him run off, tucking a few loose strands of hair back into her bun before turning back to Goemon.  “So what brings you all the way out here?”  The where on earth have you been?! was implied, even if it was a gentle urging rather than a demand, and for a moment Goemon had no idea what excuse he could possibly give.  What did one even say after fifteen years?

“I—Lupin and Jigen and I had been travelling for a while, and I had… I had started to miss home. And I figured along the way I would come and visit you… since it’s been so long.”  We’ve done so much together, Murasaki, you wouldn’t believe, his thoughts raced wildly.  We stole from palaces, we robbed the biggest casino in the world, we saved a princess and uncovered a worldwide conspiracy… and I never even thought to write to you.  And it’s been too long for any apology to be good enough.  I wish you could have seen it, I know Lupin wanted to invite you along all those years ago, and I know you wanted to see the world.  I’m sorry I never took him up on it when I had the chance.  “I hope I didn’t come at a bad time,” was what he said instead.

“No, no, it’s okay!” she quickly reassured him.  “Actually, you came at a great time—I was just making us a late supper.  We’ve been so busy today the time kind of got away from us, but you’re welcome to join us!”

Goemon blinked.  Of all the responses she could have given, that was the most optimistic one, but he’d always suspected it was just wishful thinking.  Now that he was here… “I’d… I would like that.”  

Murasaki gave him another smile, an even brighter one this time, and gestured for him to follow her. He still remembered his way around the Suminawas’ old home surprisingly well, although the large TV in the living room and the power strips with multiple long extension cords running to and from the kitchen threw him for a moment, and he almost sat on someone’s stuffed dog next to the dining room table.  While Murasaki busied herself in the kitchen, he glanced around the place through the open dividing screens, taking it all in.  It was still the same house, the same woodwork, the same art on the walls and shelves, the same view of the garden outside… but it felt very different now.  More energetic in a way, more lived-in.

“That boy, Kōhei… is he yours?”  He had to be—she’d clearly named him after her grandfather, who must have passed away years ago.  Another pang wrung through Goemon at the thought.

“Mm-hm.”  Murasaki rearranged a few pots on the stovetop before getting a new one out for tea and filling it with water.  “Kaneto and I adopted him.  We’d always wanted kids, but neither of us wanted…”  She shrugged demonstratively.  “You know.”

Goemon nodded.  At least she’d found someone else who understood what she truly wanted in a marriage, even if it might seem like comparatively little.  “What does Kaneto do for a living?”

“We both teach!  At the high school the next town over—he teaches history, I teach biology.”  Setting out two teacups on the counter and leaving the water to boil, she turned back around to face her guest.  “And one the weekends he helps me with the garden.  That’s what we were doing all day until I sent him out to go run errands for me,” she added with a somewhat embarrassed wave down at her jeans.

Goemon only nodded again. He remembered her telling him, way back when they first met, that she wanted to earn her teaching degree someday, even if she had to put it on hold to care for her family.  Now she seemed truly happy with both, and he was happy for her truly—it would be selfish of him to even entertain the slightest bitter thought…

It wasn’t bitterness exactly.  More of a heaviness that sat at the bottom of his ribs and the pit of his stomach, even at seeing her current happiness.  A feeling he’d always tried so hard to transcend over the years, but it never quite worked.

A photograph hanging nearby caught his attention—a family portrait.  Murasaki stood beaming next to a man in a smart, slightly old-fashioned suit with dark brown hair.  They were about the same height, which made Goemon chuckle, but the Kaneto in the frame still managed to smile down at his wife like he couldn’t believe his good luck. Next to her stood a much more energetic Kōhei, grinning from ear to ear, and at Kaneto’s side stood a little girl, presumably their daughter, in bright yellow overalls and a fluffy white bow in her ponytail.  All four of them looked deliriously happy, and Goemon’s heart suddenly ached so much he could feel his shoulders sinking as the heaviness expanded.  He’d missed it.  He’d missed all of it.  She’d found love again, gotten married for real this time, taken in her own adorable children, built a new life for herself…

And he hadn’t even thought to write to her.  She’d never left his thoughts, never for a moment, but thoughts couldn’t be delivered to someone’s home, couldn’t be read as plainly as words on a page.  So much time he’d never get back, so many chances gone. He didn’t even feel bitter at the loss—he just felt sad, almost ashamed, that he’d never known, never got a chance to be there when it all happened.  It felt odd, almost too simple assigning such a basic word to such a strong emotion, but sometimes the simplest explanations were the best.

“It sounds like I’ve missed quite a lot.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but a frown line in Murasaki’s forehead deepened as she tended to the tea.  “Well… you were gone for a long time.”  Her voice was still gentle and nonjudgmental, but the additional weight of her words settled at the pit of his stomach and joined the sour, regretful churn there.

“I know.”  It was silly, really… Goemon wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected.  Even years before the whole mess with the Fuma clan, they had both been practically children when they first met.  And while she’d been able to stay that way a little longer, joyous and bouncy and carefree even into her twenties, he had to grow up rather quickly.  Momochi’s treachery, Jinen’s murder, that terrible cult pursuing Fujiko… and all of this before he and Lupin found each other.  Since then he’d met three new friends, watched at least two old ones die, and forced himself to reconsider his place in the world. He could never be the same callow naïve youth he’d started as, and he could never be the same man who’d left that day, promising her he’d return once he’d completed his training… maybe he just didn’t like the reminder.

I’m not going to wait for you, Goemon!

It seemed nothing had. And it was selfish of him to expect otherwise.  He’d once though that no matter how much the world changed, he would stay the same… now he realized even that wasn’t true.  He was part of the same world as Murasaki, as Lupin and Jigen and Fujiko—time passed the same for all of them, no matter how they tried to fight it.

“I didn’t know it would be so long.”  It was no excuse, but more of a musing… no one ever did, did they?  And then the next thing they knew, fifteen years had gone by without so much as a by-your-leave.

And Murasaki, kind and forever buoyant soul that she was, still refused to judge him.  Or if she was, she never betrayed even a hint of it. “I get it.”  She poured the water and tea leaves back into the pot to let them steep a few minutes.  “Life goes on, you know?  It just… happens, no matter where we are.  That’s what Grandpa used to say.”  A silence ensued then, not quite entirely comfortable, but still companionable as Goemon pondered her words.  They were true enough—if someone had told that callow naïve youth that he’d spend years of training to be an assassin, that he’d throw in his lot (and fall in love) with a pack of thieves, that he’d turn down marriage into another proud and noble family… he definitely would have laughed.

What was the phrase? The best laid plans of mice and men… they all certainly seemed to go awry in his experience.

“But for what it’s worth,” Murasaki ventured, emerging from the kitchen with two fresh cups of tea and pressing one into his hand as she sat across from him, “I am glad you came to visit.”

“… I am, too.”  He was here now, at least.  And perhaps… for all the time he’d lost, there was still time to make it up.  He wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.  As strangely final was his last goodbye to Lupin and Jigen had felt, he loved them and Fujiko far too much to leave their sides entirely.  Besides, a samurai’s lot was to serve until death, or at least until he was no longer useful.  Retirement simply wasn’t in the cards for Goemon—he’d made peace with that long ago.  But strangely enough, the sentiment didn’t have the same… rigid structure it once had. It was less of a solemn vow, a mast he needed to lash himself to lest he be tempted by some other siren song, and more of a recognition of the way things were.  Of where his life had led him and would continue to lead.

It had led him and Murasaki in different directions.  With their own respective families, unorthodox as his own was (and he could just imagine the insufferably saccharine look on Lupin’s face if he’d heard Goemon refer to him as such).  And they were both happy.  Maybe years ago he might have resented that, but now… this also felt like the way things were meant to be.  Tea on the table, supper on the stove, sitting across from a loved one.  What more could he ask?

He did want to at least offer a little more, though—it only seemed fair.  “I will probably go back to my family’s old home for a little while, but… if you ever need somebody to help you with the children or in the garden, I’d be more than happy.”

“That sounds wonderful. Oh!”  She reached across the table to pat his hand excitedly, a quick succession of feather-light taps.  “And you have to meet Mayumi—she would adore you.”

Goemon smiled again, and some of the weight in his chest began to lessen.  “I look forward to it.”

[tigerseye46]

tell us about ur new oc!

Thanks for giving me an excuse to talk about her! I have a lot.

I’ve actually mentioned her before but before I figured everything out. I rp her in a server with my friends.

Her name is Huáng Xiàróng (煌 夏荣 Brilliant Summer Glory)! Her name used to be Yuán but I changed it. I’ve created one design for her, I don’t draw often so it’s not the best but I tried. I’ll post her demon form and picrew of her human form at the end.

Originally she was supposed to be a motherly figure. That… uhh did not exactly go as planned. I kinda made her feral instead- also she used to be a straight up villain.

She’s a rabbit/bunny demon. Specifically a Manchurian hare. She has a mix of black, brown and gray fur with three spots on the side of her face which are replaced by freckles in human form. She has a notch on her ear and some spots there too. She has slight wavy hair with braids in the back.

Her hair is black with green strands, kinda like Mei which was completely unintentional and I only realized that now. Her eyes are green but they change to red when angered and brown when annoyed. She has a frilly dress. She has a tattoo on her back, 戰士 meaning warrior. Her height is 6 feet and 2 inches. She’s around 3000, maybe a bit younger and physically looks 35 - 40.

Small tw here, she has scars from years of fighting.

Abilities:

She can shapeshift to various things including a normal bunny form and a bigger, more terrifying version of herself.

Like most rabbits, she’s extremely fast (super speed).

She has the ability to control and manipulate fire.

She can jump high.

Super strength

And friend suggested the ability to possibly summon and ride a cloud.

Backstory: (I’m just going to copy and paste her backstory that I used for smth)

Xiàróng was born in the Qin Dynasty to two rabbit demons. Her parents were fierce demon lords that loved to mess with humans with their army. Her parents trained her in the hopes that she would follow in their footsteps and she did. She became a fierce warrior with a strong love of fighting and battling.

She led her armies into villages, messing with humans and demanding offerings. She loved the absolute terror that popped up on their faces as her army swept in. She enjoyed the amusement she felt every time they thought they could defeat her along with the absolute adrenaline that came with fighting.

Her parents were extremely proud of her and at times, fought with her but they mostly stayed regulated to their hideout. One day, they passed away in the field of battle, she rose and took their place. Xiàróng became better known as a fierce rabbit demon lord and grew her armies, even allying at points with some other demons.

She became renowned as her parents always hoped she would be. She loved her army and always made sure their efforts were rewarded. She treated them as a second family to her and they shared a deep bond.

One of Xiàróng’s generals told her about a monk journeying west to get scriptures and if she eats him, she can become immortal. While initially excited at this prospect, she declined when she found out that the person guarding him was the Great Sage. She then made sure her army never crossed paths with Sun Wukong and the rest of the pilgrims.

She continued onward and she thought the whole thing could last forever.

But obviously, nothing lasts forever. Humans started advancing and her demon army started falling, either passing away in battle, getting tired of fighting or deciding that they wanted to move on and pass off as humans to live normal lives, sometimes a mixture of the last two.

Xiàróng never stopped fighting and refused to quit until she faced a fierce opponent in battle that caused her spirits to wane. She eventually realized that with humanity’s advancements she longer had the edge that she used to. She decided to sadly give up fighting about 500-1000 years prior to modern day. In her current identity, she works at a boring office job to survive all while longing for the good old days. 

The group finds her when they need her to face an opponent she had previously faced, possibly the same one that caused her spirits to wane.

(She also had might or might not have had a kid at one point when she was still a warrior. Mildly debating on the kid thing but I’m probably going with it.)

Likes and Dislikes:

She absolutely loves fighting, she loves the thrill that comes with it. She values hard workers as she had to work hard to get to where is. She loves to reminisce about the good old days when she was feared and respected. She likes the summer season. Her favorite colors are red and green. She likes drinking tea. She adores the outdoors. She likes (also dislikes) being alone. She likes people who value their family. She is a big fan of action movies. She likes exercising. She likes organization and plans. She loves her motorcycle and weapons. She loves being the leader of projects as it gives her a sense of power. She loves fire and is often entranced by it. She likes using her jumping abilities. She likes exploring nature.

She dislikes the modern advancements humans have made as she believes it puts her as a disadvantage and is part of the reason she is no longer feared. She dislikes mundane office work as she believes it to be below her skill level but does it to survive. She dislikes people who desert others as some of her army left because they were tired of fighting and wanted to move on. She hates being called cute. She hates slackers. She hates people who underestimate her. She dislikes interacting unless she has to.

Strengths and Weaknesses:

Strengths:

Xiàróng is extremely proud of her abilities. She is extremely brave and will gladly take action when need be. She is rather confident. She is observant because of her years as a demon lord. She is a strategic individual since she spent so much time with her generals planning out attacks. She is also rather smart from her years of teaching from her parents about different subjects. She will give her honest opinion if someone asks her. She is hard working. She is tidy and always makes sure to keep both her workspace and house clean. She actually has a motherly side to her and is rather gentle when interacting with children and is capable of being gentle when others are having a bad day, although this depends on who they are. She is agile.

Weaknesses:

Her belief in her abilities cause her to have excessive pride in them. Her bravery leads her to take reckless actions. Her longing to reclaim the past and become once again known as a fierce demon blinds her to the possibilities that come with the future. She holds on too much to the past and practically clings to it. She has a short temper and can snap easily. Her honesty leads to bluntness and people not liking her because of her opinion. She can also be rather dishonest sometimes. She acts as if she knows better than others since she’s been alive a long time and has a wide array of knowledge.

General Personality:

Xiàróng is not a sociable person, although she used to be back in the old days when she had her demon army. She can be quite dramatic especially when she’s explaining her past to people. She has a loud personality that appears when she’s explaining her history. This is a subtle and desperate attempt to reclaim what she used to have. Although, other than that, she is rather quiet and prefers not to interact unless absolutely necessary. 

She prefers to keep to herself a lot of the time despite rabbits being social creatures. She feels out of place and longs for a world where she can go back to fighting and a time where her army was all together, laughing and smiling. Fighting is all she’s known for the longest time and believes that’s what she’s mostly good at. 

Since some of her army has either passed away or left to find better lives, she is not a big fan of letting people close especially in a world of humans since these were people she once used to attack and mess with. She does rarely encounter some of the demons that used to be her army. She’s short tempered and aggressive. She appears cold due to her isolation and circumstances. Under her cold personality, there is a loud, bright and caring personality waiting to get out if she lets someone get close, maybe if she did, she could go back to the way she used to be.

She doesn’t care about the group at first until they keep dragging her along. She is terrified of Sun Wukong because of his reputation and is kinda wary of his successor but helps him out. She purposefully annoys Pigsy and has debates with Tang. Also I kinda ship her with Sandy but we’ll see how that goes-

Trivia:

Talents: Foraging, cooking, singing, Can expertly play pipa (Chinese lute) and piano, gardening, great medical knowledge, wrestling, sword fighting and spear fighting, stealth, hand to hand combat, whittling, excellent leadership skills, making strategies.

She has a motorcycle that she takes good care of.-Romance movies are a guilty pleasure of hers.

She is ambidextrous.

She’s bi.

She has a tattoo with the characters 戰士 meaning warrior on her back.

She has a small house in the woods near a mountain range outside the city.

She was around when the Journey to the West was happening but avoided the pilgrims since she didn’t want to risk angering Sun Wukong if she tried something.

Hobbies: poetry, training with her qiang and jian, exercising, running, singing, gardening, cooking, playing the pipa and piano, foraging, whittling/wood carving, origami, watching television

Her surname Huáng meaning brilliant refers to the family’s cleverness along with wanting to shine. Xià means summer, summer represents something in China such as the direction south, the color red, the sound of laughter, the heart, fire and a creature called the red phoenix. Red, in turn, symbolizes happiness, vitality, good luck, good fortune, energy and passion. Róng meaning glory is because her parents were hoping she’d be renowned by people all over.

Picture:

Link to the picrew I used for human form: https://picrew.me/image_maker/332600

Human form:

[hasegawasosise]

In Numbers We Trust

Summary:

Prompt master: @outoftheframework

I like the concept of each of the kids having a number or having a thing where they count off. Not in a demeaning or dehumanizing way at all, just more so to use in dangerous situations. For example, a bomb goes off on patrol, and to quickly see if everyone is okay, the kids (including Steph and Babs) automatically start counting one at a time. Bruce can breathe again once the count reaches eight. This tradition begins to carry over to civilian life when the kids yell numbers across a crowded gala after the power goes out.

Beta Agenthandler

Bruce never planned on starting a family. He made a vow to live for justice. He would be the force Gotham needed. He would be the forever bachelor. Justice was his Lady Love.

But 90% of life’s plan was just that—a plan. Bruce would never have guessed he'd end up taking in a boy who called himself Dick Grayson. Technically his ward, but Bruce suffered a mid-life crisis every day from thereon, wondering whether it was the right choice for him to adopt a kid—or why anyone sane would let Bruce Wayne adopt any kid in the first place. It was a testament to Dick’s own awesomeness that he grew up to be a mostly functional adult—Bruce definitely wasn’t.

After Dick, he recruited an amazing girl named Barbara Gordon as another sidekick. She was not officially his adopted daughter, but by day two of working together Bruce registered her in his little hind brain as “my kid.”

Then another. Jason Todd not only stole the Batmobile’s tires but also Batman’s heart. The little boy taught Bruce more about street-smarts and how to be a better person right until his death. His realized depth of parental love made him wonder why he ever adopted anyone in the first place—and ended up losing them that way.

After what he thought was the last, another one came into his life without invitation. Timothy Drake was a genius detective. Out of his first four—yes, Bruce could still count—Tim was the most similar to Bruce. They had the same kind of upbringing amidst the Gotham Elite, they were both highly focused and detail oriented individuals. Tim was even smarter than Bruce, and he was the sole reason Bruce could continue functioning after Jason’s death. Tim was also the only one to believe he was still alive and brought Bruce back from when he was lost in time.

After Time was Stephanie Brown. A cheerful ray of sunshine that had her own worries, but could function the best out of all his children. She had the kind of light sarcastic humor to brighten up Bruce’s darker days. He gained a third daughter, Cassandra Cain, the most accomplished amongst his children in terms of stealth and combat, also his one darling princess.

Then Bruce was introduced to his—one and only—blood son, a little baby assassin who had the unfortunate tendency to stab first ask later. By this time, Bruce had a better handle on raising children highly susceptible to raising hell and violence (read: still an incompetent parent, but he knew how to tune out their nagging) and had no choice but to assign Dick  with Damian’s education on humanities and socialization.

He also had Helena, Terry, Matt, Duke, and Harper.

Bruce lost count.

It was the ultimate testament to Bruce’s parenting skill. He sometimes couldn’t remember how many kids he had. He could lose them in a Walmart and forget he was missing one. But thankfully, he had a secret weapon.

Since Jason, he assigned them all numbers. Dick was one, Barbara was two, Jason three, Timothy four, Stephanie five, Cass six,  Damian seven—although he always said he was the first—Duke was eight, Harper nine, Terry ten, Matt eleven, and little Helena was twelve.

Imagine that. Bruce had twelve kids. What was his vow again? Lady Love Justice? Don’t know her.

It became sort of a tradition. When the kids entered the Wayne manor, each of them wrote their number on the info board down in the changing room. They were also listed on a desktop note of the BatComputer. It became a ritual in which the last child would add their newest sibling into the list, so they knew who the next number was supposed to be, and that next child would be who they were responsible for. Well, except Dick who accepted all of them as his baby chicks. The number also became a little part of their identity—each of them would put their numbers on everything they owned from their doors to their batarangs to the containers in the fridge.

Bruce, most importantly, used the numbering system to check in on them. It started when Penguin detonated a bank and his robins were scattered fighting all the hundred thugs Penguin hired to keep Batman busy. The blast stopped the fight and Bruce’s heart dropped when he realized his coms were damaged and he immediately couldn’t keep sight of them. He immediately tried to think what he could do, and when he did,  he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“KID COUNT!”

“One!” Nightwing shouted from the top of the next building. Apparently he flew off the bank’s  roof when he realised it was going to burst.

Oracle was two but he knew she was safe in the clock tower.

“Three,” Red Hood drawled. Bruce wondered why he joined in, but was thankful nonetheless.

“Four,” Red Robin shouted from the opposite direction, because he was the sensible one who directed the civilians and police to safety.

“Five!” Spoiler laughed and flew to his side. “That was a doozy!”

“Six,” Black Bat said as she appeared beside Spoiler where they shared a hi-five.

“Seven,” Robin pulled out his swords from a thug’s leg. “Father, I need to clean my sword immediately.”

“No stabbing, please.” “Too late.” Bruce groaned.

“...Eight?” Signal. He was still new to the numbering system.

Batman let go a deep relieved sigh.

The police and civilians who were fortunate to witness the scene, collectively said ‘Oh’. It became a trending twitter before Tim deleted the topic as much as he could.

********

The counting continued though. Citizens who have lots of children (such as parents, teachers, sometimes even the Police teams), realised it was a quick method to ensure update of their progeny/students/teams condition. So they  The counting became sort of a Gotham Trend and eventually enlisted into Gotham’s Emergency SOP. Imagine that, having too many kids to count gave birth to a crucial disaster first-aid first responder procedure.

In all actually, maybe that was one of the top major contributions Batman has given to his city.

********

The kids themselves slowly embraced the importance and fun of the numbers. It created a sort of camaraderie-- even when the numbers didn’t correlate with their height. It used to be a nice isoquant curve when they stood side by side. But after Jason’s growth spurt and Tim naught growth spurt, Steph finding high heels and Cass love for Anti-flood Boots, the nice isoquant curve just became a jagged line not unlike a heartbeat rate.  

That aside, the numbering also slowly bled into their civilian lives:

1.

All of them counted before they entered the GothMart -- Alfred was there too, and suddenly Bruce became number 0. He was there to help Alfred because herding the kids was a massive job.

Dick was back for the weekend to spend time with his “babies” and refused to stay at home, because he wanted to sneak in his grocery list (gummy bears and cereals) into Bruce’s list so he could bring it back to Bludhaven and not spend a dime on it.  

Jason was there because Alfred asked him for help--he was the only one out of the brood with cooking talent and generally all responsible in the kitchen, i.e. Alfred could trust Jason to use his kitchen without blowing it up (shoutout to Tim and Duke who blew the kitchen for the fifth time this year).

Barbara stayed at home, watching over their base, but she was ready with her surveillance just in case they lost one of the broods.

Tim was half dragged, because he had spent the last 30 hours awake doing Bruce-knew-what, and only agreed to be dragged with the promise of sweet, abominable GothMart coffee with pink glitter (a cheap imitation of Starbucks, really) because Tim was fabulous especially after thirty hours of no sleep. And the surprisingly awesome coffee was a dollar--what kind of frugal millionaire didn’t appreciate a dollar of drinkable coffee?

Steph was the one who dragged Tim, with the help of Cass who just returned from Hong Kong for the weekend. Steph wanted to buy some new bras for Cass, something cool and sexy she could enjoy immensely. Bruce was not privy in this knowledge.

Damian was there to ensure his embarrassment of siblings didn’t kill themselves or humiliate the family. Wayne was his legacy afterall, and all of them reflected on his legacy, whether he liked it or not. Duke, the only one whom he could tolerate outside Cassandra (Grayson was mother) just poked his cheek and grinned. Duke might be tolerable, but it didn’t mean Damian didn’t want to stab him sometimes (Drake, on the other hand, looked like a nice pincushion to stab his sword into).

They counted 0 to 8 before they entered, orchestrated by Alfred.  

When they were ready for the checkout, 4, 5, and 6 were missing. Bruce finally found them at the children section, where Tim was busy defending his virginity from a Superboy Plushie, while Steph convulsed with laughter on the floor and Cass video-ed the entire thing.

Bruce refused to buy the cereals (Dick) / sexy lingerie (nope, nope, nope) / kitchen knife collection in black (Damian, as they didn’t need another stabby collection). But Bruce ended up buying the superboy plushie because it had been tainted (the store manager glared at him the whole check out time). At least Tim looked ashamed enough when he was handed the superboy plushie.

2.

The gala was in full swing, full of important people and not-so important moochies. Bruce was entertaining a group of usual donors (important and fun people!) while he saw Tim seriously discussing the stock exchange trends with several old, serious men. Dick was charming the usual group of ladies and young men, while Cass seemed to be hiding behind the potted plan.

Then, just like usual in Gotham, the lights went off. The room suddenly became dark and people started to scream.

“KID COUNT!” Bruce shouted. “Zero,” he added because of habit.

“One!” “Three!” “Four!” “Five and Six!” “Seven.” “Eight” “Nine.”

Wait, did he bring Harper with him? Harper was allergic to this kind of gala--and that was why he never fully adopted her into his Wayne name.

Oh well. The more number he got, the better.

Justice Lady love who?

[handswritteeen]

(i actually used picrew for this because i didn’t have time to whip something up TT. here’s the link: https://picrew.me/image_maker/1003923 by umasan_hi)

(for @witchhazelbazel​ ‘s oc event!!)

divine name: Lunaria

goes by Akari

age: some kind of old...

height: 5’1 (because irl I’m shorter, this gives me pride)

pairing: up to you haze!

moon archon, archon of darkness/shadows/solitude

Bio: Born out of the darkness of Celestia, Akari is the archon of the moon. Although she was born into a family of immortals, she is one of the remaining archons originally from Celestia, along with her younger twin brother, Haruki. She did not take part in the archon war, seeing that her place in Celestia will not be taken away from her anytime soon. Mortals need the moon, nonetheless the waters must move somehow (which is why she doesn’t have a nation either).

Akari is quite a childish person when it comes to people she’s close to. While growing up, other archons chose to not take her seriously for the way she carelessly walked among mortals. However, she is respected among some adepti and archons for her skill in battle, wielding a sword crafted from blue moon dust (nothing special, just something random) and crystal cores. Her battle style consists of flips and tricks, quite agile moves and skills. Technically, Akari can manipulate ‘dark magic’ (I haven’t really developed this), but can use any of the elements to her will (usually doesn’t, not that necessary for her though). And of course, her abilities become stronger under moonlight.

Akari would usually roam around the mortal world, either visiting other archon’s nations or just wandering around. Mortals have piqued her interest and Celestia seems to have bored her. Her brother detests her love for mortals, saying that they are feebly souls with a weak body.

Personality: Quite intimidating at first; a glance at her would usually leave you in a stare. She’s actually talkative if you were to walk up to her and ask her something; after getting close, she’s willing to open up. Maybe a bit protective of some things.

Companions of Akari are always in the best care. She’s protective, she’ll look out for you whenever she can. She’s lost many, but none have been as close as others. Getting hurt in the end isn’t her biggest concern.

Values: friendships/relationships, gifts from anyone and everyone

Likes: cats, tends to pet them around Liyue; seelies; hydro slimes; has a thing for Diluc’s dandelion wine; guys with long hair 🤤

Dislikes: formalities, having to actually navigate to certain places, stuck-ups; cicin mages

little short story between why the twins hate each other:

Lunaria and Aelius (Haruki’s divine name) were seen as the next most powerful archons to descend from Celestia. Although Akari tends to wander around mortals and hang out with them, Haruki keeps track of his older twin sister out of spite. Akari started to become more and more distant as others in Celestia had become more uptight and formal. Haruki holds the position of a prime example to all archons, a prim and proper star (except Barbatos thinks he’s a total stuck-up). Awhile after the archon war, Akari started to get closer to a human. A mortal that had the same eyes that reflected the sky and the personality of a protective hawk (he was a very pretty mortal, according to Akari). Haruki was not at all fond of this mortal, simply because it was a mortal after all.

One night, after Akari had stayed awhile with the mortal, she made her way back to the home her brother and her shared. She came back to Haruki scolding, shouting, and pure anger being thrown at her. Haruki didn’t understand why his sister was so carefree, why she was so unbound to immortal chains, how could she trust someone so,, easily? He just didn’t understand. What was so special about mortals? Akari stormed out that night and held hands with her favorite mortal under a blue moon. She didn’t face Haruki for a thousand years, but of course, as time passed, so did her favorite mortal; moving on was just a tedious task at this point.

Eventually, Akari waltzed back home to Haruki, only to be surprised with a mortal women clinging to his side, pushing her breasts beside his arm. The look on his face was pure smitten, the sun archon was absolutely whipped for a mortal. A mortal. As surprised as she was, she greeted Haruki with open arms and apologized for her absence. Haruki was quite monotone towards his sister’s presence but introduced the mortal, Ayano. She had long, purple hair and bright brown doe eyes. Akari sensed that this mortal was after something else, as Ayano smirked and a mischievous glint in her eyes appeared after she had looked at the archon.

Ayano appeared around Haruki almost all the time, always clinging to his side, giggling and kissing his cheek (making the younger twin extremely flustered). Once upon a night, Akari was up late, watching Mondstadt’s winds from above. She heard footsteps stumbling around her brother’s bedroom; prying the door open, she saw Ayano hovering over Haruki, her hand right on his chest, chanting something, like a spell. Ayano’s hand glowed, but then she suddenly stopped after feeling the presence of a figure. Akari had already left the house in search of Morax and Xiao.

Sitting in front of them with a cup of tea in hand, she recalled her sightings to the archon and adeptus, voicing her concerns out of panic.

“She’s trying to steal his gnoses, I know it! that spell she was chanting is supposed to reveal the gnosis right in front of her!”

“Did she finish the spell?” Xiao bluntly asked.

“..No. I think she heard me leaving and stopped.”

“So you have yet to confront her, hm?” Morax hummed.

Akari held her chin up high and nodded. “She’s after his power, nothing else.”

And with that, she left her teacup on the table and rushed home with the thought of exposing Ayano’s facade.

By the time she got there, she found them sitting on the couch, all over each other.

“Ahem.” She coughed into her fist.

“O-oh! You’re back.” Haruki pointed out, pushing Ayano softly aside. Ayano huffed and puffed her cheeks out.

“I need to talk to you, little brother.”

Haruki stayed silent and got off the couch, making his was behind his twin to another room.

“Ayano is not here for you. She doesn’t love you at all. She’s here for power.” Akari explained, crossing her arms.

“What makes you think that? She’s everything I’ve ever wanted! She loves me!” Haruki argued.

“Oh please, I saw her chanting a spell on you last night! Right under the moon!”

“And? She was probably just healing some injuries throughout the night!”

“Healing spells don’t require intricate chanting! The spell she used revealed your gnoses! I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Akari, that woman loves me. You’ve always had this stupid, carefreeness, that I never got! You have everything! Let me have this woman’s heart as she does mine! You once loved a mortal, no? How did that go for you?” Haruki glared at her and pushed her shoulder aside and walked back out to Ayano.

Feeling defeated, Akari made her way to Barbatos, chugging down a bottle of the Ragvindr’s wonderful wine. Akari and Haruki don’t speak for just a couple of weeks.

A disturbance in the Sun’s cycle causes Akari to trudge home with regret.

“It’s the middle of a hot summer and your sun has shined for too long-“ Akari opened the door, sighing, only to see a knife with bright carvings pointed to Haruki’s Adam’s apple.

“Oh? Getting kinky in my home, I see.” Akari smirks. “I didn’t know you were the one to enjoy being subdued, little brother.”

“A-akari, please,,” He shuddered.

“Another word and I think we’ll be done here,” Ayano muttered. “For the archon who controls the sun, you’re so weak for lovely people like me, hm? How simple.”

“Oh please, you took the easy way and had him when he was vulnerable, human. Don’t pride yourself,” Akari rolled her eyes and walked towards the two on the ground. “I doubt you can even wield a gnoses to your favor,”

Ayano growled and plunged her hand into Haruki’s chest. Haruki wailed in pain, Akari stood aside, watching the fiasco go down.

Lifting up the glowing white gnoses, Ayano laughed.

“Watch me, it shouldn’t even be that hard!”

“W-wait, Ayano, you can’t! Y-you’ll-“

“Be quiet brother, let her figure it out, she’s gotten this far, she should know.” Akari watched as Ayano tried to resonate with the gnoses, slowly consuming it with some unknown magic.

“Oh, a witch? You fell in love with a witch? What a surprise!”

“Akari! My gnoses!”

“Maybe you’ll be fine without it.”

“Please!”

Akari turned her attention back to Ayano, who was began to cry out from the power the gnoses held. Akari pushed Ayano off of her brother’s lap and grabbed the gnoses from in between her hands, tossing it to her brother and pinning Ayano down.

“I’ll lock you in the depths of shadows forever,” Akari muttered.

“I’d like to see you try!” Ayano spat in her face.

Suddenly, a bright light blinded the both of them. Akari was pushed back onto the floor, while Ayano was chained with some kind of heavenly material.

“Get out. You have no place in Celestia, nor the mortal world, human. May you wander around light.” Haruki spoke up, his white hair, black cowlick on the top of his head, and red eyes glowing.

Akari brushed her hair aside, sighing as Ayano’s body dissipated, her screams fading into the light.

“Hey-“

“Get out.” Haruki said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Get out. You have no place here.”

“Excuse me? I basically saved your life-“

“JUST LEAVE!” He shouted, turning away from Akari’s face.

And with that, the twins have yet to face each other. The sun and moon still switch places in the sky, yet there is an ominous force that made it seem different than before. Akari goes to Morax after that night, groaning in despair and ranting about her idiot younger brother. Barbatos has heard the story enough to recite a song about it, the tale of a split moon and sun. Xiao has the urge to bring his spear up to Haruki’s neck and make him explain for such foolish actions.

Akari’s love for mortals waver, as her broken relationship with her brother has changed forever. Until, one day, a bright, yellow star falls towards the outskirts of Mondstadt, a traveler of the prophecy will appear.

[mydarlingwitcher]

Ok for the fluff prompts Geraskier 15. Possibly made into a part 2 of the glitter prompt? I just want these dorks to be happy. Pretty please? I love absolutely love your writing💖💖💖

Hey, thank you so much, I’m blushing 💗 here’s part 2, from Jaskier’s pov. I wrote half of this while very hype and happy so I hope it turned out decent haha! Tagging @disasterboysandtheirgruffloves too because she’ll want to read this :’)

prompt #15 - “yeah, well, if you weren’t so drunk maybe i would.” - read part one [here]

________

The surprise birthday party is a resounding success. Ciri squeals in delight at the sight of her father and Jaskier wearing long capes and she is overjoyed when she discovers she gets both a sparkling tiara and a toy sword.

That’s still one more toy sword in the hand of his child than what’s strictly necessary, as far as Geralt is concerned, so for a while he watches Ciri like a hawk. Jaskier finds the view so endearing that he could compose a song on the spot.

Sadly, that can’t happen, because they’ve got a dozen eager kids on their hands and Jaskier will be damned if he lets this day be anything less than glowing, sheer perfection.

Geralt will kill him if they have to deal with the complaints of an overprotective parent, so Jaskier puts on his performance smile and cries out “Lords and ladies, I’m taking song requests!”, brandishing his trusted ukulele.

Soon enough he’s strumming the notes of songs from Frozen and Moana for an enraptured, if slightly rowdy audience. He makes a show of twirling his feathered cap after each tune and he doesn’t miss the way Geralt guffaws at him.

That sunny laugh very nearly takes his breath away.

Yennefer and Triss stay until the birthday cake and are extremely helpful, even if Yen keeps pretending she doesn’t know the words from the songs. What a liar.

The evening ends with a pile of presents, well fed children and only a minor bruise on the knee for Dara, so Jaskier is ready to call it a victory.

And christ, he’s lost count of how many times he had to tear his gaze away from Geralt and keep his comments to a PG-13 level.

He’s seen Geralt with Ciri plenty of times by now, he should be used to this. He should not, under any circumstances, feel the desire to go down on one knee and offer his life to this man while they’re surrounded by a horde of kids.

There’s generally an order to the intricacies of love. Jaskier happily mocks and defies rules more often than not, but even he knows better than to utter the words “I love you, marry me” out of nowhere.

It’s just the effect Geralt has on him. Honestly, this man. This mountain of a man with a gorgeous soul and a sinful voice to boot. It’s his fault!

For the first time, being in love feels a tiny bit scary too. Because he thinks that this is it. As in, he dreams of a future when he can call this adorable family his own. And what if it sounds sappy? Maybe he doesn’t mind being a silly romantic at heart.

Jaskier manages to turn his full attention to the party, in spite of Geralt’s extraordinarily tight, black t-shirt - of course he ditched his costume right after the obligatory pictures. Traitor.

When all the guests have left and Geralt finally puts Ciri to bed with the promise that they’ll have cake for breakfast tomorrow, it’s already past ten. Which isn’t late by any of their standards, but the celebration has taken its toll and Jaskier feels wobbly and dizzy with happiness.

“This was such a wonderful day!” He’s spinning around the kitchen, broom in hand, as he and Geralt clean the better part of the mess that every party entails.

“It was” Geralt hums, pausing for a moment to look at him. He’s got a few strands of hair plastered to the forehead and a ketchup stain on his shirt, but he is handsome. As always.

Jaskier is very tempted to elaborate on his comment. Because it’s becoming harder and harder not spill the beans. And it’s not just a matter of physical needs, even though he’d very much like to get his hands on that toned body.

He’s just so contented, and he can see that Geralt is too - he knows all the man’s tells by now. There’s just a different air to him, when he unwinds and he sheds his sober exterior.

Every single time he cracks a witty joke or he tells a story just for the sake of it, Jaskier feels his heart soaring to impossible heights.

“Phew! Oh, Geralt, I think I got drunk on apple juice. I feel giddy” Jaskier declares after five minutes or so, tying the last garbage bag and almost tripping on his shoelace.

“Doing shots with kids now?” Geralt quips from the sink, where he’s battling a pile of dishes.

Jaskier huffs and decides that he can be a little reckless. He tip-toes closer and drapes himself over Geralt’s back, trying to reach for a sponge.

“Hey. Heeeey. Let me help” he whines as Geralt swats his hand away.

“Yeah, well, if you weren’t so drunk maybe I would” Geralt turns and flicks off some water at him with a wry chuckle.

“Oh, you beautiful bastard!” Jaskier doesn’t back away by an inch and is pleased to note a faint blush on the tip of his nose.

“Why’d you call me that?”

“Bastard?” He teases, a cat-like grin stretching on his lips.

Geralt huffs and rolls his eyes, as if to say you’re insufferable. But the intensity of his lingering gaze suggests another train of thought entirely, and wow they’re standing incredibly close, aren’t they?

Fuck it, here goes nothing.

“Because you are. Beautiful” Jaskier croons, taking Geralt’s still wet hands in his. They fit together so well. All they need is a messy kitchen, glitter, two tired smiles, and there. Magic.

He’s not sure which one of them moves first, but suddenly they’re kissing. A soft press of lips, then an eager chase. Geralt tastes like birthday cake. Vanilla and sprinkles.

Jaskier moans into the kiss as two strong hands grab him by the waist. Soon he’s overwhelmed by the sensation of finally, finally crossing that invisible line together, and he has to gasp for air.

Geralt is staring back at him like he’s just unlocked the key to all the secrets of the universe.

“Wow” Jaskier breathes. Not to be overdramatic, but he feels like he could faint. Hence the lack of more coherent words. Again, totally Geralt’s fault. He’s even more stunning after being ravished.

Geralt chuckles, makes a keen sound and draws him in for another, longer kiss. This time he just tastes like Geralt. Which is to say, fucking amazing.

Delicious warmth trickles from their lips and sets Jaskier’s body alight. As first kisses go, this should be pretty standard.

But he’s never felt so in love as he does now, and it makes all the difference. He runs his hands through Geralt’s lovely hair and he prays to every divinity to let him have this, now and forever.

“I should have kissed you sooner” Geralt admits, later, when they’re sprawled on the sofa and making out like teenagers.

“You are so right. You’re going to pay for that. This is an official warning. Geralt Rivia, you’re in trouble” Jaskier counters, before pinning the man’s hands down and diving in to nuzzle at the soft skin of neck.

“Hmm. Bring it on, Jask.”

[atlasfreak]

hell is hot from your mistakes

chapter four; Tumblr edition

notes: song is ode to l'manburg by beetlebug, all rights to the song go to them

ArchiveOfOurOwn Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073104/ or THIS

Wilbur names the strider Schrodinger's Strider - If we can't see it, we have no idea if it's dead or alive, he jokes.

"Schrodinger sounds like another word for dick."

I mean, yeah, but- y'know, shut up, Tommy.

Mama stays like she's always been; watching over Tommy like a nesting eagle. It's a miracle Schrodinger's Strider hasn't been killed by her hand. It sits where Tommy's brother used to and it crackles at him all day long, blinking slowly whenever he glances over.

He pats its head.

Mama Piglin has been trying to teach Tommy combat, desperately. She's so very, very hesitant to leave her little child alone and unguarded and vulnerable - it's her only solution. He's a little young for it, sure, but he more than makes up for it with past experience - the muscle memory of life before, of being a soldier of L'Manburg.

Is it a good thing that he was a skilled warrior at 16? No, it really wasn't. It has its benefits, though.

(Wilbur doesn't regret teaching Tommy to fight for his life. It's saved him more times than they can count.)

His mother swipes again - Tommy bobs, blade just almost grazing his little ears. He exhales and gets ready to avoid another slash.

Tommy hasn't been hit yet. He doesn't want to be hit yet. He's afraid to be hit. He won't be hit.

So he jumps and he weaves and he dodges, and he doesn't get hit. The sword flies over his head as he ducks. Mama Piglin purrs when Tommy falls to the floor, exhausted, not a scratch on him.

"You are a very very good fighter," she crows. "Especially for a child."

Tommy smiles.

You know what he's not very good at, though? Piglin. The language. His bane, the real challenge; it's learning to speak in Piglin.

They're in a small clearing, him and his mother. She stands in the center of the nycelium, eyes narrowed, trusty sword in her hands and a smaller blade slung across her back. Tommy doesn't wanna know where she got it from.

Isn't it morbid that she's so awfully protective of you guys - and so awfully sad now that one of you died - but she's fully willing to put another sow through that pain, without hesitation? Hypocrisy, I do say. Hypocrisy.

"Shut the fuck up, Wil." Tommy snorts. He jumps at the sound of a low rumble, glances up - his mother is glaring. She holds the small sword in her hands now, almost offering it to him.

"Repeat, child," she instructs. "'Give me the sword.'"

You'd think it'd be easy for Tommy to just do it- to just say "Give me the sword" and be done with it, but you'd be wrong. Very wrong.

Here's where the issue lies: phonetically, his mother's language is very, very, very different to English. It doesn't matter how similar a piglin's vocal system is to a human's if Tommy doesn't know how to pronounce piglin words. He doesn't know how to make the sounds he needs, and his mother is not very happy about it.

"Wilbur, help," he begs - in English, one might add -at the same time that his mother snaps, "Wrong! Try again!"

I don't know what you want from me, Tom.

"I- how do I make a fuckin' pig noise, huh?" Tommy turns back to his mother and squeaks, another damned attempt.

She huffs. "Wrong. Try again."

You're the piglin here, not me, Wilbur chuckles. His voice is distant today, but not horribly so. I can't help you.

Tommy hides his face in his hands. "Mama, please. I don't know how to make that noise."

"I need to understand you!" she growls back. "Try again or no sword. No sword, no fighting. No fighting, no going out."

(She's been almost as adamant as Wilbur - he can't die, he won't die. She's protective, now; even more so than before. Tommy rarely leaves her sight.)

Wilbur breaks into his thoughts. Tommy, translate.

"'I need to be able to understand you. Try again or you don't get the sword.' No sword, no fighting. No fighting, no going outside."

Ha.

"No, Wil, not ha! I need to be able to fight, remember? To go the fortress? I have to be able to fight as a stupid little pig, you said - that was your rule!"

I remember. That's why it's funny.

Tommy groans. "This is shit! It wasn't a problem before, why does she only care about me speaking fucking English now?"

Wilbur cackles at him. Tommy would flip him off, but he only has three fingers.

His mother narrows her eyes. "I will say it again. Child, repeat. 'Give me the sword.'"

"Why do I need to know Piglin?! I can understand you just fine, that's good enough!" Tommy groans.

Do you have a name? Wilbur asks suddenly.

"Wh- you were the one who named me, Wilbur! Yes, I have a bloody name!"

No, no, no- in Piglin. Do you have a piglin name?

"Child!"

Tommy sighs. He clears his throat and he decides, I'm just going to say oink, and he does just say "Oink", and his mother crosses her arms and he's ready for more disappointment.

But he doesn't get it. "You said a word.," his mother nods. "Wrong word, but a word. You have a very strong accent, child - you speak too much player! Say- say 'Mother'."

Tommy! Answer the question!

"I- uh, yeah, I do," Tommy mutters. He tries his best to copy the squeal, but his mother sighs. "What, did you think she just somwhow knows to call me Tommy?"

What is it? Is it like.. like Techno's? Two words stuck together?

"Uh, I can't pronounce it," Tommy is staring up at his mother, waiting for her next instruction. "It's like... she calls me 'child', but pronounced differently to how she said my brothers' name, which was also child."

Wilbur breaks out into laughter. Your name is child?!

"Child! Say mother. Easy- easy enough word for you."

Tommy exhales and he's ready to be scolded, but he does try. Again, to his complete surprise, his mother claps instead. The sound of hoof on hoof is almost jarring.

"Yes! Good child! You can speak Piglin! Good job, child. Say it again!"

Tommy is appalled, but he copies his own odd sound and his mother tosses him the little sword. "Good child! We will fight with swords now. You will learn to kill - then you will not die like your brother!"

What happened? Tommy, what happened?

"I said a word right," Tommy gasps. "I called her mother and she's very happy."

Wil cheers in his ear. Woooo! Good job Tommy, you can talk! You're officially at the same level as a piglin toddler!

Tommy ignores him and he holds the sword gingerly, examining it. It's very light compared to what he's used to - compared to iron or diamond or even Netherite. He swipes it around experimentally. His mother's eyes widen, but she rumbles in approval. Wilbur is quiet.

Tommy crouches. Finally, something familiar.

His mother unsheathes her own sword and she lunges.

That's what they do, now. In the mornings, whereas Tommy used to play with his brother, Tommy will now instead ride Schrodinger's Strider around the cave or talk with Wilbur. At noon, his mother will quiz him on Piglin words, and then they go out and train. When he gets tired, she tucks him into the rocks, hides him among the red, and she tells him to stay, and she goes out to get food for them. There's not a single day where Tommy doesn't worry she won't come back for him, that she met a hoglin too fierce for her blade, that he's alone and hungry with only a quiet voice for company.

But, despite his darkest worries and fears and thoughts, she always, always comes back. She always comes back and she always purrs when she comes and finds him, nestled softly exactly where she had hidden him, tail waving.

They eat, then sleep, then it starts again.

It's nice.

Tommy's heavy enough to leave tracks, now, and his mother shows him how to hide them. He has little tiny tusks, and Wilbur jokes that they'll be as small now as they'll be forever and that he'll look always like a child. Tommy's half the height of his mother and he's lost some of his fluff, soft down replaced with patches of slick, short fur.

"How many days has it been?" Tommy asks.

Wilbur smiles. In Overworld time, it's been two months.

"What, is Nether time different?"

No, but also yes. Piglins age faster and stay adolescent for longer. You're a few months old, sure, but it's the equivalent of roughly 16 months.

Tommy grumbles. "Piglins are complicated. How do you know? You're a little research boy?"

No, I just I asked Technoblade & Philza, Wilbur explains. You remember that Ghostbur exists at the same time as me? So I can track the days. I went to talk to the Arctic boys - Phil theorizes that aging is almost sped up here because Nether mobs typically don't live long, so they need to be fully grown sooner, and-

He pauses. Tommy turns to look for the source of his voice - he figures Wilbur is probably sitting on Schrodinger's Strider - and he tries his damndest to make eye contact with the invisible. "And what, Wil?"

..and, uh- and Techno is suspicious of me.

"They don't know I'm alive, right?"

They don't, no, but Techno doesn't- I think he knows that I'm not really Ghostbur. I think he recognizes me as- you know, me.

Tommy blinks. "That's not good, is it?"

It's not.

"...Do they miss me?"

Techno and Phil? They.. don't believe you're dead, really. They haven't seen your body or your ghost - they think Sam is lying. It's sad to watch.

"What about everyone else?" Tommy whispers. "Tubbo? Quackity? Sam Nook?"

There's silence. Tommy takes a sharp inhale. "Wilbur? Wilbur, what about Tubbo?"

Wilbur does not respond.

Of course, this fragile little peace, this tranquil calm - it can't last. No matter how powerful she is, Mama Piglin can't always be there to save the day.

And this is that day.

She's slinking through the forest brush, foraging for food. Tommy is watching her, laying up in a tree that he'd scrabbled up like a baby cat, and Wilbur is daring him to eat a shroomlight.

Come on, it'll probably taste like, fruity.

"Aren't you the one who always fucking says 'Tommy, you can't die. Tommy, it's super important you don't die'? Why are you trying to kill me?"

Wil laughs in his ears. It won't kill you! And it'll be funny. Phil will be proud.

"What, are you gonna tell him I somehow found a fuckin' shroomlight in the Aferlife, or...?"

.... ok, nevermind.

Tommy laughs. His mother casts a look back up at him from below, a quiet warning: Shh!

He shuts his mouth.

Wilbur is distant in his ear. He says he's still in the cave, hanging with Schrodinger's Strider, and Tommy groans. "Why can't you come hang with me? You can leave your little friend alone, it's ok. You have TommyInnit, you don't need a strider friend."

He'll- he'll get lonely without me.

"Ok, and?"

Hush your mouth. I'm allowed to get attached. Anywa, what's Mama up to out there?

Tommy peers through the red. "She found some hoglins. She's climbing up a tree so she can jump down on them - two, an adult and a baby."

Tasty.

"What. The fuck."

What?

"Why would you say that!?"

Well- you're gonna be eating them, aren't you?

"Actually," Tommy decides, "that's fair."

He watches with mellow interest as his mother drops down - her sword cuts right through the soft skin of the baby, it's dead in seconds. The mother roars and Tommy watches with wide eyes as Mama spins round and rakes her blade across the swine's great, ugly face. It rears with a scream, blood tripping down from its eyes and eyelids firmly shut tight. It warbles and snarls as Tommy's mother tries to jump onto its back.

Tommy grins. "Yeah! Good job, Mother!" he cheers. Piglin Mama glances up at him - at his Piglin - with wide eyes. The swine knocks her off with a grunt.

Tommy's smile falls. The hoglin sniffs at its dead child for just a moment while his mother blinks, dizzy. The hog turns to stare at her, almost if to shout, to accuse; You killed it!

His mother gets back up and crouches again, sword shining yellow and dripping red, ready for round two. The great beast narrows its eyes and runs the other way, towards Tommy. His mother yelps as its beady little eyes spot him on his perch in the rickety old branches and he sees the maniacal light in its eyes.

Revenge.

Tommy's mother screams.

Tommy gasps as the hoglin slams full force into the tree, powerful tusks tearing weak roots out of the ground. Wilbur screeches in Tommy's ears as he grabs onto his branch for dear life and the ground shakes but all of his attention is on the stinging, the humming pain, the wet red trickling from his nose, just like it did months ago, months ago; months ago, when Dream killed him.

He shuts his eyes tight and he prays to any god that'll listen.

Please, please don't make me go back to the void, please.

The thundering of the ground - of great angry hog hooves - stops suddenly with an awful, wet squelch. Tommy stays stock still among the red wart branches, hands over his ears and hoping desperately that he's hidden well. Light leaks through his eyelids but he still doesn't open them. He doesn't open them when he's lifted out of the tree wreckage, or when he's held close by wet, red hands, or when he feels warm breath checking for life.

"It's ok, little child. I have you, it's ok. No more hogs, no need for fighting or blood. Please do not cry. Never will hogs get to you again. Never, ever. I will never let it happen. I promise. I promise. Please do not cry."

So Tommy doesn't.

She doesn't really let him out of her sight anymore.

There's no more hunting, no more foraging - only patience, hunger. She sits by the entrance to the cave and she waits for something to pass by, something to kill. That's what they eat - anything unlucky enough to pass by their den.

Tommy eats more rotten flesh these days.

"I am sorry, child. But it is not safe for me to go away."

He doesn't reply.

Wilbur sings to him more, now. When he feels low, Wilbur will notice. Schrodinger's Strider will rub against his piglin cheek and Wilbur will hum to him, keep him company. He doesn't talk about the SMP anymore. Part of Tommy is grateful.

It's not bad. His mother still him trains to fight here, in the cave, and she's still kind. She'll always be kind, Tommy reminds himself. She's just been through a lot.

That's what happens when she tries to raise main character, Wilbur tries to joke. It falls flat.

His mother watches him so much more closely, if possible - he's not seen her sleep. He wakes up under her gaze and he falls asleep with her eyes boring into her back. Once upon a time, weeks ago, she wouldn't be caught dead letting him curl up to her.

Now, it's more common than not that he falls asleep with his face burrowed into her side.

They fight with their swords - his mother's hits are harder, faster, and Tommy bites down the memories every time he ducks a moment too late, swallows the panic. His mother remains on the offensive, insistent - "Get up! We'll go again!"

That's how it is now, really. Tommy wakes up, he trains, he sleeps and his mother waits, maybe he'll eat and then he trains, and when his muscles hurt or he has one blade's nick too many, he'll sleep. Then he opens his eyes to his mother's watch and it starts again.

It's only so long that the cycle can last.

And Wilbur ruins it.

It's an average day, really. Tommy lays in his soul soil patch, humming. He's had a shit morning - he woke up with Dream's burning green eyes boring into him, with the cackle of his voice in his ears. Wilbur notices immediately, of course. His mother doesn't. She went as hard as always in combat training, and Tommy still feels the awful, awful sting of the cut she left on his arm. The worst part is, it's a sting. A little tiny slash, already scabbed over, and he's overreacting. He can't blame his mother, really - she wants him to be safe. He understands that.

It still sucks his breath out when he shifts and bumps the wound against something.

Wilbur pities him. He hates it.

Theseus, do you need help?

"I don't need fuckin' pity, Wilbur. Leave me be."

He hears Schrodinger's Strider crackle, bump him gently. Fire shoots up his injury. Tommy snarls.

I'm sorry, Tommy, Wilbur murmurs.

"Good. Keep your pity to yourself and get this fuckin' strider away from me."

To his surprise, the strider backs up. Tommy huffs and goes back to laying in the dirt, staring at the red roof.

Wilbur's quiet voice fills his ears. He narrows his eyes, but doesn't comment.

It all started on a day like any other, Tommy hears. All the salmon had swum to the sea. But my lover she darted away down the stream, with the heart that she'd taken from me. Tommy, do you know this song?

Tommy doesn't respond, but Wilbur continues.

And my chest, though it ached, there was hope - a little beacon of light. Though my sunniest days are now stolen away, I still have our son by my side. You know, that's Fundy. Sally would've loved him, I think, if she'd bothered to stay and get to know him.

Tommy doesn't respond.

And as he looked up with me with those wondering eyes, I just knew that I must protect him with my life, Wilbur sings quietly, And make a land that is good and a land that is free, for the better of you and of me.

Tommy doesn't respond.

We'll build these walls with our own fair hands, through the wind and the rain and the snow-

"It never snowed in L'manburg, Wilbur," Tommy responds.

-and I swear by my life that I'll stay by your side, whatever the world has to throw.

"That aged well. When's the last time you even saw Fundy?"

So I summoned my men to my side, Wilbur hums, And we sung a familiar tune - as a final goodbye with our fists to the sky to our past as we started anew.

"I don't wanna hear this anymore, Wil."

We built these walls with our own fair hands, through the wind and the rain and the snow - and we swore that we'd keep an unwavering faith in the land that we carved for a home.

"Wil, quit it. I'm fucking serious. I don't wanna hear about L'manburg."

Oh, the thought of the day lit our country ablaze as the sun rose bloody and true, Wilbur's voice breaks. Arrows- arrows burned through the sky as we swallowed our pride, and we ran with our backs to the moon-

Tommy sits up. "Wilbur, shut up."

And Wilbur doesn't respond - he keeps singing. Tommy falls back with a thump.

-to our demise.

"From a friend full of lies," Tommy murmurs. He remembers it so clearly - he's there, almost. Staring. He hears the hiss of redstone, but no click of pistons, no crack of pearls. Instead he smells burnt flesh and sees a crater that was once his home, sees the bloodied body of a brother, sees hands strained gray in gunpowder.

Oh, the break of the day shed its light on our hearts, left battered and bruised.

"All the hopes that we'd made on the home that we made," Tommy sings with Wilbur now, "Torn to pieces and left in the blue."

Pain shoots through Tommy's ears - so many voices, so many, too many - but Wilbur leans against Schrodinger's Strider with fond, visible brown eyes.

"But my friend, with an angry cry, held the weight of our-"

And just like that, it's ruined. A sword swipes through an incorporeal body and Wilbur squeaks as it goes through his torso and nicks Schrodinger's Strider. It chitters in surprise as blood wells up on its side.

Wilbur is gone in an instant, and the voices quiet down, and his mother screams.

"A player! A human player! Oh, danger! You're not safe! Why are you not safe?! It's meant to be safe! It dug through the wall, it must've- it must've broken in! Child, you are ok, please tell me you are ok," Mother Piglin wails, sniffing at his head as always.

Tommy stares blankly at where Wilbur had just sat, eyes so kind, so very very kind - kinder than they'd been in months.

Wilbur's voice is quiet, but not distant. A nervous whisper. I'm so sorry, Tommy, I forgot.

Tommy swallows as his mother continues to ramble and hold him close.

"It's ok, Wil."

When Tommy is too quiet - when his eyes don't focus or he shakes or he wakes up breathing too quick - Wilbur would sing. He would sing and he would hum and Tommy would shut his eyes tight and he'd relax and Wilbur would always, always sing for him when the life was unkind.

He sings more often now.

[edelwoodsouls]

maybe in another universe - ch. 2 [fic]

Jon isn’t expecting anything good when he’s evacuated to the countryside. Living with his crush rival he can just about handle. The secret magical world in the upstairs wardrobe, on the other hand, might just break him.

AKA: Narnia AU

Word Count: 3,570 | Also on Ao3 | Chapters: 1,

chapter two: in the land of the watcher

It's raining.

No, that's not really a good word for it. The skies have split open and are casting down an ocean, and usually Martin would thrive, curl up with a collection of Keats or Wordsworth and have melancholy thoughts as he stares at the grey clouds above.

But no such luck. He's been forced out of his room by Ms Perry, the iron-fisted housekeeper - all four of the teenagers have been relegated to the library, where they can supposedly do as little harm as possible.

It's a tense affair. Basira is curled on one of the sofas with an Ancient Greek to English dictionary and a battered book that looks like it's been set on fire several times. Melanie has managed to pry one of the ceremonial swords off the wall, and is practicing swinging it at precarious angles.

Jon is most definitely not reading the crumbling tome clutched in his hands, though he's trying very hard to pretend. Martin can feel the eyes boring into him, sat where he is in the middle of the room, legs crossed in front of a large, malfunctioning radio.

He's been trying to get it fixed for what feels like hours now, to cling to the pulse of information that has been snatched away in this remote and antiquated house. He can feel Jon getting closer and closer to the end of his very thin patience with every jump of static.

After what feels like the millionth time of almost, when he can feel Jon's irritation about to froth at his lips, Martin finally throws his screwdriver on the ground. The silence in the room is overbearing. "Let's play a game."

"Yes," Melanie says immediately, accentuating the word with an alarming jab of her sword in his direction. "What're you thinking?"

"Hide and seek," Basira chimes in, looking up from her book with a smirk. "This house looks brilliant for it."

"I second that," Melanie nods. "Martin?"

"Yeah," he nods. "Sounds like fun."

"Three votes for hide and seek. It's decided then."

"Don't I get a vote?" Jon mutters, not looking up from where he's gripping his book very tightly.

"No, Jon, you don't, because you're a spoilsport and you'll suggest something like re-alphabetising the library or being good little so and sos. And even if you did, majority rules. So-" Melanie thrusts her sword an inch from Jon's face, "buck up and join in, or fuck off."

Jon looks about ready to attempt murder with his bare hands, but before he can get a word out, Melanie throws her sword dramatically onto the floor with a loud clatter, and closes her eyes. "ONE... TWO... THREE..."

Martin grins as he pulls himself off the floor and flees for the door. It's been a long time since he's felt young enough to play games, let alone had the friends to play them with. There's something so childish, so delightful, about running in a place not meant for running, folding himself into somewhere hidden and waiting with baited breath to be found.

Being hunted, without the consequence of failure.

Jon barrels past him, arms flailing. Martin's never seen him run but god, he's fast. He shoots down the corridor and vanishes behind a flurry of curtains.

Martin continues on until he reaches a closed door. Behind him he can hear Melanie's counting, yelled at the top of her lungs - no doubt the housekeeper will kill them later for disturbing the professor. She's nearly finished, and the adrenaline pounding in Martin's veins is reaching heights it hasn't in weeks, and he needs a hiding place now.

There's a spider's web strung in the corner of the doorway, a tiny house spider nestled at it's centre. Almost invisible, if not for Martin's keen eyes, his bone-deep expectation that he'll find at least one no matter where he goes.

It's just a spider, he tells himself, and the thought sounds hollow even to him.

But he throws open the bolt of the door anyway and tumbles into the room, slamming it haphazardly closed.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, leaning against the door, and that's why it takes him so long to notice the ornate wardrobe at the other end of the room. There's nothing else here, as if this space was designed solely to house a single piece of furniture.

And it's beautiful, deep maroon wood carved with all sorts of imagery Martin can't make sense of - eyes staring out unblinking from one door, webs strung across the other, both surrounded and wreathed in flames.

Some nameless thing in his gut calls him forward.

The click of those carved doors opening sounds too loud, like the snap of fingers right beside his ear. A breeze dances across his cheeks, though the doors and windows are closed, and the collection of coats inside are still.

Without thinking, he delves in.

<linebreak>

He should be surprised by the winter wonderland at the back of the wardrobe.

Somehow, he isn't.

The world in the wardrobe seems to go on forever. He's been wandering for miles, he's certain of it - the chill is beginning to set into his fingers, kept at bay only by the adrenaline still humming through his body at the sheer magic of it all.

Suddenly, ever pretending that magic wasn't real seems like such a childish thing to do. It's right here, in front of him. The snow soaks through his shoes, collects in his hair. His breath puffs in little clouds before his face.

Just an hour ago, he was staring at a dreary English afternoon.

He's definitely not in England anymore.

Still, even with all this magical strangeness, he's not expecting the lamp post. Stood proudly alone in a clearing, as if the other trees have shrunk away from its alien material. It's lit, casting a faint glow on the snow, and he can hear the burn of gas inside the glass.

He stops short. "What."

He hovers at the edge of the clearing, unwilling to disturb the perfect snow circling this strange spectacle. It feels reverent, deferential - something that shouldn't be here, even with all its magic. It feels wrong.

"You're not from around here."

Martin yelps, attempting to spin around too fast to look behind him. Instead he trips over his own feet and goes tumbling into the snow, sending eruptions of white powder up into air.

The voice that startled him laughs, a low and dry sound. "Sorry, friend. Didn't mean to startle you."

Martin's view is obscured by his damp curls and the snow beginning to drip into his eyes, but he just about makes out the hand gloved in fingerless black leather thrust into his face. Each joint is marked with ink, and Martin could swear every symbol is a wide, unblinking eye.

He accepts the proffered hand instinctively, hauled up with surprising strength into standing on his feet.

"Thanks," Martin says, cheeks bright pink not just from the cold.

The figure laughs again, shifts into the pool of light under the lamp post - and Martin gets his first real look at the man. Long, inky hair falling into his eyes. His clothes are a mismatch of leather and dark-dyed fabric that look old, in a way that defies a specific era of fashion but gives a distinctly archaic feel.

The guy brushes his hair behind his ear, revealing his face - five o'clock shadow curving along his sharp jawline, and the longest eyelashes Martin's ever seen, and bright, dark eyes.

For a moment, Martin short-circuits.

"Do you have a habit of falling head over heels for strangers?" the man grins. From deep in his pockets he procurs a metal lighter and a pipe. He leans easily against the lamp post, as if it's totally meant to be there, and takes a drag. The smoke that reaches Martin is strangely sweet and spiced, like cinnamon and cloves.

"Uh, no," Martin says, brushing the snow off his clothes distractedly. "You just startled me."

"I'm very sorry," the guy says. He sounds more amused than anything. "Where are my manners? I'm Gerry."

"Martin."

"Nice to meet you, Martin. You're not from around here, are you?"

"No," Martin frowns. "How did you know?"

"Well, for one thing, you're human."

"I'm- sorry?"

"Human. Homosapien. Son of Adam. Take your pic, really, there are so very many labels."

"I guess? Are you-"

Martin cuts himself off as Gerry shifts his weight and the folds of his clothes settle differently, revealing his legs. Unlike the rest of his ensemble, they're clothed in fur that looks like it was originally some ochre shade, and has been dyed rather shoddily black.

Except they're not clothed...

"You're a goat," Martin blurts out, nonplussed, the filter between mouth and brain paper thin.

"I'm a satyr," Gerry frowns in mock admonishment. "Hint two that you're not from around here - that's incredibly rude of you."

"Oh! Uh, sorry."

"I'm messing with you, Martin," Gery grins, a glint-toothed expression that makes Martin slightly dizzy. "But yes, I'm not human. No one born under the eye of the Ceaseless Watcher is."

"I'm sorry, the...?"

"Ceaseless Watcher." Gerry's easy grin flickers, his eyes darting towards the trees. Martin follows him instinctively, but sees nothing except the vanishing darkness of the trees. "The god of Magnus."

"And Magnus is...?" Martin feels very far behind in this conversation.

"This land. Everything you can see in this winter world, from sea to mountains to sky- that's Magnus."

"Right... so I got here how?"

Gerry shrugs. "Who can say, really. The magic here is- unpredictable. Has a mind of its own."

"Magic," Martin repeats. Unsure how to feel about this word being thrown out like they're talking about gravity, or the alphabet - institutional. Factual.

"Magic," Gerry agrees, smirking at Martin's bemused expression.

He should really be getting back. The thought appears distantly, lethargically. He's getting cold, and the others will no doubt be getting worried about him. Or Melanie will, at least. He can imagine Jon rolling his eyes. He's probably gotten stuck somewhere and can't get out. He'll come wandering in eventually.

But Martin doesn't really want to leave. He wants to continue on this adventure, explore this world that believes in magic like it believes in the sunrise each morning.

He wants to keep talking to this mysterious, incredibly pretty man. Goat. Satyr.

"You look cold," Gerry notes, offering Martin a drag of his pipe. Martin accepts more out of instinct than anything, cringeing as the fumes make him choke. "Come back to mine for tea? I just got some amazing jasmin tea from a dryad who owed me a favour, and I promise it's worth the walk."

Martin hesitates, for just a moment. Considers the risks of wandering off with a strange man he met in the woods.

"Just as long as it's not oolong," he says eventually, with a shudder. "I'd love to."

Gerry loops their arms together and begins leading him into the woods. "No oolong, I promise."

<linebreak>

Gerry, as it turns out, lives in a cave.

It's a very nice cave, Martin has to admit. The walls are lined with bookshelves packed to bursting - tomes titled in some language he can't read that, as he stares at the letters, suddenly begin to make sense. The floor is covered up by rugs, vibrantly coloured and filled with detail. He feels almost guilty stepping onto them with his wet shoes, walking over intricately stitched faces and landscapes.

He turns to see Gerry tapping the snow off his hooves with a cute little dance, before shrugging off his long leather coat, revealing a waistcoat - and nothing else - beneath. Martin can see now, without a doubt, the thickly haired legs beneath his long grey skirt. There are burn scars crawling across his bare arms - across most available skin.

There are more eye tattoos, too, starkly black against his pale skin. When Martin stares for too long, he's convinced he can see some of them blink.

"Take a seat," Gerry says, nodding towards a pair of invitingly soft arm chairs positioned next to a fireplace.

As Martin sinks thankfully into the chair - he hasn't had to walk that far, possible ever - he watches, transfixed, as Gerry flicks his hand in the direction of the fireplace.

It bursts to life instantly.

"How did you do that?" he asks, eyes wide.

"What?" Gerry blinks momentarily. "Oh, that- magic. A gift from the Lightless Flame."

"The Lightless Flame?"

"One of the gods of Magnus."

"I thought you said the- the Ceaseless Watcher was the god of Magnus?"

Gerry lets out a laugh, low and bitter. "The only one that matters. All the others have... not faded, exactly. Retreated, you could say. Bowed down. The Ceaseless Watcher rules these lands. All others pay subservience."

"Right." The dark tone in Gerry's voice is beginning to unnerve him.

"Doesn't mean there aren't those of us who don't give a shit," Gerry shrugs, that easy demeanour plastering over the top of whatever just slipped out - though now Martin has seen it, the mask doesn't quite seem to fit. "We pay what we have to, to stay alive."

Martin nods wordlessly. He can understand that.

"I'll just make some tea," Gerry continues, darting up some steps towards what Martin assumes must be a kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable!"

Martin adjusts in his seat. Breathes in the quiet, broken only by the steady crackling of the fire beside him. He can feel it, already, beginning to scare the chill from his fingers, beginning to lull any of his hesitations.

A strange rush of adrenaline floods him suddenly at the thought. He sits up, threads his fingers together, eyes darting around the space.

He's forgotten what it is to be comfortable, he realises. This feeling lowering him gently into calm is unnatural, alien - and not to be trusted.

Before he can begin to think about that too deeply, Gerry reappears, two steaming cups in hand. Martin accepts it gratefully, trying to shelve his discomfort for another day's mental spiral.

He'd hate to ruin the first nice thing to happen to him in a while.

"Is it always so cold here?" he asks, taking a careful sip and sighing as it warms him almost instantly. "Where I came from, it was summer. I mean, it was a horribly rainy summer, but still."

Gerry lets out a small laugh. "It's always winter here."

"Always? Like, never anything else?"

"That is the definition of always. But yes, that's the general idea. Summer is too- positive, for Magnus. Winter is hopeless and dreary and lonely. There is far more to fear in a winter's night."

"That's not at all ominous."

"The lack of change is terrible, too," Gerry continues. His eyes are fixed on the fire, the flames casting strange shadows across his skin. "We don't even get Christmas to look forward to."

"You have Christmas?" Martin frowns. "In Magnus? As a concept, at least? I thought that was a particular religious holiday in my world."

Gerry shrugs noncommittally. "There are many winter traditions that overlap. Some things bleed from one world to another. Maybe it started here, for all you know."

Martin opens his mouth to argue about the improbability of all this, but quickly shuts it again. He's only just been introduced to magic and other worlds - and he's pretty sure logic isn't going to enter the equation any time soon.

"What's it like in your world?" Gerry asks suddenly, fixing Martin with a curious, almost hungry look. "Much better than here, I'd suppose."

"I wouldn't count on it," Martin laughs sharply. "There's a huge war going on. Thousands die on the battlefield. Thousands more die back home as the world sets itself on fire. It's- a nightmare."

Martin curls his hands close around his cup, letting the heat burn his hands. The pain sharpens his senses, grounds him in this moment, before memories of smoke and flame can consume him.

"I'm sorrry," Gerry says softly. "That sounds awful."

"Heh," Martin tries for a weak, concillatory smile, though he's sure it falls short. He covers it up with another sip of tea.

Gerry starts talking again, but Martin can barely hear the words. There's a sudden distance to the world, for all that he clings harder to his scalding mug, for all he tries to keep his eyes wide. The sound is muffled, and his vision of the room is beginning to blur.

He has just enough time to look at his cup of tea, at the earthy sediment he can just about make out swirling at the bottom, before understanding, and horror, and a hundred other things crash into him.

But he's asleep before his cup hits the floor.

<linebreak>

He wakes slumped in the armchair, and for a moment can't remember where he is. The fire has been snuffed out, leaving only smoking remains, and the chill is beginning to leach back into Martin's bones.

The cave is dark. Martin shifts, groggy- and regains his senses with a suddenly sharpness as he catches movement on the other side of the room.

Gerry is hunched on the stairs towards the kitchen, staring vacantly at his hands, at the eyes on his knuckles. He doesn't seem to notice Martin at all.

"Gerry?" Martin says softly, standing up carefully. His cup lies in shards on the floor, a pool of stone-cold tea leaking from the ruins. He can't remember dropping it.

He can't remember falling asleep.

"I'm sorry," Gerry whispers, so quietly it's barely more than a snatch of air.

"Why?" A chill trickles down Martin's spine; it's nothing to do with the cold of the room. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I didn't- I don't want-"

"Gerry," Martin says, and there's an edge of steel in his voice that doesn't leave room for debate. "Tell me what's happening."

The satyr looks up finally, and somehow Martin isn't surprised that his eyes are glowing bright green, like lanterns in the dark.

"We pay what we have to, to stay alive."

The chill in Martin's veins solidifies to ice. "What did you pay? What do you have to do?"

He already knows the answer, in the hummingbird beat of his heart, in the shortness of his own breath. And still, it feels like a hammer blow, like the slam of a coffin lid, when Gerry speaks.

"You."

"Me?"

"Humans," Gerry says, voice rough and shaking, like he's barely holding himself together. "They aren't native to these lands. They don't exist here. If they ever come, if there's enough of them, they say the end of the Ceaseless Watcher will be near. The world will finally change."

"I'm just one person, though."

"Not for long," Gerry shakes his head emphatically. "Where there's one, more will always follow. So- he kills them."

"Who kills them?" Martin demands. "Stop being so fucking cryptic and explain things to me."

"The pupil of the eye."

Martin is just about ready to hit this guy.

"We're supposed to give him any humans we find," Gerry rushes to explain. "I'm supposed to send you to him."

"But you're not going to, right?" Martin says slowly, inching towards the poker by the fire. It's an impromptu weapon, but it just might buy him a few seconds. "Because I dazzled you so much with my company that you've decided to have a change of heart?"

For a moment, the silence stretches, and Martin is certain he's about to have to fight for his life.

Even with all the unexplained magic in his life, he doesn't like his chances.

Something changes in Gerry's face. He sets his jaw, balls his fists. He blinks, and his eyes return to their normal, unfathomably dark shade.

"No," he says. "I'm not going to. Come on."

Before Martin has a chance to register anything, Gerry seizes his hand and drags him out into the snow.

They run. For what feels like hours, rushing past a blur of trees and ice and rock so fast Martin is sure it must be some type of magic. Gerry's grip is vice-like, but Martin only clings harder.

He imagines bombs falling behind him. A world of darkness and debris, too hot for the season as fires burn through its skyline.

Has he really just traded one daydream-turned-nightmare for another?

When they reach the lamp post's clearing, Gerry skids to a sudden stop, kicking up snow in a shower. He turns to Martin, wild-eyed with a feverish adrenaline.

"You know your way frrom here?" he demands, gripping Martin's arms and searching his face for the answer before he has a chance to speak.

"Uh- yeah- I think so," Martin stutters.

"Good. You need to run. Don't stop, don't talk to anyone - or anything, not even yourself. The trees might hear you."

"The trees?"

"There are eyes everywhere."

Somehow, Martin gets the feeling Gerry isn't being figurative.

"What about you?" he asks. "If the- pupil of the eye, what if he finds out you didn't turn me over?"

Gerry gives him a pained smile. "Run, Martin. While you still have the chance."

"But-"

"I'm so glad to have met you." The way Gerry says this, so softly, so sincerely, brings Martin up short. "Now go."

He doesn't need telling again. With one final, memorising glance at Gerry, a dark figure among a landscape of snow-

Martin flees into the dying night.

[bytheangell]

A Few Good Points

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Sports AU for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Clace, and  Clary & Alec friendship Rating: Gen  – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: fencing, college au,  Summary:   Clary didn't imagine the first time she'd meet her boyfriend's brother would be standing across from him with a sword in her hand.  ------------- “I’m not going to go easy on you just because you’re dating my brother,” are the first words that Alec Lightwood ever says to her.

Clary stares up at him, willing her mouth to not drop open, and gulps.

“Quit scaring her,” Jace says, elbowing Alec in the side. “How about, ‘Hey Clary, nice to meet you. Jace has told me so much about you’.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “This is a training evaluation, not family dinner,” he points out. “But I’ll make you a deal. For every point you get against me in the next twenty minutes, I’ll tell you an embarrassing childhood story about Jace. You get more than 2, I’ll throw in a photo.”

Clary doesn’t know if she should be glad he doesn’t seem to completely hate her at first sight, or upset that he doesn’t even think she’s going to get 2 hits in 20 minutes worth of evaluation. Then again, already fully dressed in his back-zip jacket, white pants, and plastron, he makes an imposing figure to stand across from.

“Deal,” she says with far more confidence than she feels as she goes to change into her own gear.

Clary met Jace when she took fencing as a physical education elective in college, just for the randomness of it all. Jace was one of the TAs since he played for the school’s fencing club. So, naturally, when the two of them seemed to hit things off during classes Clary decided to take a much more invested interest in fencing… enough to actually get half-decent at it in her attempts to spent more time with Jace under the guise of trying to join the club herself one day. It gave her plenty of excuses for some extra one-on-one time that had the end result she hoped for, and she and Jace have been dating for about two months now.

She didn’t count on actually loving the sport as much as she does, still wanting to join the club when all is said and done.

What she also didn’t count on was for Jace’s very intimidating older brother to be the Captain of Idris University’s fencing team.

Jace warned her that Alec can be a little abrasive at first but promised her it’s all for show and he’s actually very caring. She isn’t sure she believes him.

She feels the need to win Alec over just the same. What she has with Jace… it’s new, but she can already feel that it’s special. It’s different from any other relationship she’s had and she wants this to go well.

But first, she has to focus.

The good thing is that Alec is about the same height as Jace, which means she’s working with a height difference she’s used to. It isn’t much of an advantage against someone as skilled as Alec but it’s better than nothing, doing her best to remember the tips Jace gave her every time she went up against him. Attack in counter time. Build your stamina. Improve your speed.

They salute and begin. Clary takes a deep breath to calm herself, hanging back. Allow the taller opponent to close the distance. Of course, Alec knows exactly what she’s doing, and isn’t about to let her do it easily. He knows she’ll waste much more energy than he would to close the gap between them and he tricks her into it time and time again, leaving himself open just long enough for her to think she can sneak in a hit, only for him to block her time and time again as well.

She can barely make out his face through the black mesh of the mask but she knows he’s smirking. In fact, she’s pretty sure she hears him laugh once or twice. Or maybe that’s just one of the onlookers watching her barely hold her own against him. Once she’s brave enough to get close she uses the infighting to her advantage, staying close enough that her shorter arms get her one point (to Alec’s 6, but she’s trying not to think about that) while she’s too close for Alec’s longer arms to get a hit on her with the tip of his sword.

Of course, the crowding technique doesn’t last forever. The distance Alec can cover with a lunge is impressive, and he keeps Clary from getting that close again for the remainder of their time. She gets one lucky hit in while Jace screams something from the sides and Alec glances over at him, momentarily distracted, which brings her up to 2 (to Alec’s 11 now, which she’s still trying not to think about) with just a minute left. Remembering the bet she made with Alec before they started, Clary moves fast in that last minute, getting in one last hit that feels way, way too easy.

“You let me get that point,” she accuses with narrowed eyes as they both remove their helmets and meet in the middle to shake hands.

“Maybe,” Alec admits with a shrug. “But it was for my own benefit. I have some great embarrassing photos to share. It’d be a shame if you didn’t get to see them”

Clary laughs. “Next time I’m earning that 3rd hit fair and square,” she insists.

“With a little more work? I think you can get more than 3 points next time. You’re really good for a beginner,” Alec says.

“Really?” Clary asks, surprised. “You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

“Really,” Alec promises, and Clary beams.

“Why do you believe him when he says it, but not me?” Comes Jace’s voice from behind her, just before he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her into him, both of them swaying slightly on the spot from the sudden shift.

“Because you do have to say that to be nice,” Clary reminds Jace, turning her head to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “But something tells me if I was actually awful Alec would just say so.”

“She’s a quick one,” Alec says with a slight smirk, still guarded, but friendlier now. “You might not be half-bad, Fray. I hope you stick around.”

Clary’s surprised how relieved she feels at those words even if they’re far from a ringing endorsement. It’s a start.

And later, at dinner, after a few drinks and many more than the 3 promised embarrassing stories and incriminating photos of Jace from Alec (and vice versa), she can tell that Alec meant what he said earlier.

“Hey,” Alec says during a few moments where Jace isn’t in the room. His voice is too loud to be a whisper even though by the way he cups his hand around his mouth it’s clear that’s his intention. “I really hope you two last, because this is the happiest I’ve seen Jace in a while. I think you might actually be good for him, and I don’t immediately hate you. Which is good, because I’ve immediately hated everyone else he’s ever dated. But don’t tell him I said that.”

Clary can tell he’s only admitting this because of the alcohol but that he’s sincere just the same, and she gives Alec a soft smile in return.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but I hope you’re right because Jace is good for me, too,” Clary loud-whispers back conspiratorially. “And I don’t totally hate you, either,” Clary adds with a wink, just as Jace comes back into the room.

“I leave for two seconds and you’re already teaming up against me,” Jace laments, dropping dramatically back onto the sofa. “What did Alec say about me now?”

Alec straightens up and places a finger over his lips while looking at Clary, who mimes zippering her own lips shut.

“Ridiculous. I knew I never should’ve let you two meet,” Jace huffs, but leans over to kiss Clary’s ‘zipped shut’ mouth anyway, and all three of them are laughing over it a moment later.

Clary meant what she said to Alec - she really, really hopes this lasts, because she’s already starting to feel like she might have a place here and she doesn’t plan on going anywhere any time soon.

[iam93percentstardust]

17 with *drumroll* stuckony!

This took me a few days but! Here it is!

17. Viking AU - Person A is traded to the Vikings for safe passage and is subsequently married to the jarl’s oldest child, Person B. 

Rumors had it vikings ruled these parts. Tony hadn’t believed it when the sailors on his father’s ship had first told him. He believes it now.

He looks up at the great, hulking beast of a man currently talking to his father. He wishes he could ask their translator what’s being said but they only have one and Yinsen is already with his father. Tony isn’t allowed close enough to overhear what’s being said so he has to make do with facial expressions. Unfortunately, his father’s back is turned to him and the Viking’s face is impassive. They could be discussing what they had for breakfast for all he knows.

A couple times he sees them look over at him. Each time he straightens up the way his mother had taught him. He can still hear her voice even after all these years: a good omega is always prim and proper. Well, Tony isn’t much of a prim and proper omega but - he gulps as he glances around the ship; his father’s men had fought bravely but they had been no match for the battle-hardened Vikings - but he can put on a brave front. He doesn’t know why it’s so important that he’s there however, the least he can do is smile demurely and look as calm as an omega should in the face of such turmoil.

Howard waves him over and Tony goes. Much to his surprise, Howard meets him halfway, embracing him tightly, an action which is unusual for his strict father. “We’ve made a deal with the jarl for safe passage,” Howard breathes into his ear.

“That’s wonderful,” Tony says, more confused than ever.

“Don’t worry. We’ll present our case before the Bains.”

Tony frowns. Why would they need to-

Someone grabs hold of his arm, starting to pull him away. He yelps, as much as in fear as pain. Howard pulls him back in. “We’ll come back for you. This isn’t forever.”

“What?” he cries as he’s ripped away. He looks up into the face of the Viking holding onto his arm. He struggles, trying to break away but the Viking is too strong. Tony is passed off to another Viking, one who binds his hands together with cruel rope and heaves him over his shoulder. “Father!”

But Howard only watches impassively as he’s carried from the ship. 

~

Tony is blindfolded not far from the ship. He knows that he’s carried some distance though he’s unsure how far that may be. Eventually, he’s dropped to a hard wooden floor, wincing as his knees impact the ground.

He hears someone ask a question and the Viking who’d taken him answers. Someone rips his blindfold off and Tony blinks. Even the low light of the room is jarring when he’s been blinded for hours. He looks around at the men in the room, unsure of what is going on. He can make out a rough sort of hierarchy, judging by the relative heights of the tables in the room (a dining area, his brain supplies). The highest-most table is occupied by only two men: a blond alpha, sitting up straight, and a brunet alpha, who is slouching in his chair. The brunet opens his mouth, repeats his question. Tony recognizes the voice of the one who’d spoken earlier.

The Viking jarl gestures at him and calls him something. Even Tony knows this word: spoils of war. But his father hadn’t been at war with them and Tony is not a thing.

Much to his surprise, the brunet alpha laughs. “You must be joking,” he says, abruptly switching to Tony’s language.

The jarl says something else in his native tongue. Tony doesn’t know if it’s that he just doesn’t know Tony’s language or if he doesn’t want to speak it.

“I am already married, Father,” the brunet replies and gestures to the blond alpha beside him. Tony looks at him in surprise. Marriages between alphas are rare and it’s rarer still to find two male alphas who are unable to have children.

Another sentence from the jarl.

“Look at him!” the brunet snaps, sitting up in his chair now. He gestures at Tony and Tony suddenly wonders if it was such a kindness that the brunet is speaking in his tongue. “Is he even old enough to wed?”

Tony flushes. He may look young but he is old enough, old enough to be promised to the Bains’ oldest alpha child. “I can speak for myself,” he says, startling everyone but most of all himself.

The brunet alpha looks at him and leans back in his chair, a lazy, indolent smirk spreading across his face. “So the mouse can fight back,” he drawls.

“I am not a mouse,” Tony spits. “And I am old enough to wed, you worthless knothead.”

The brunet shoves away from the table, standing abruptly. The blond alpha reaches out a hand to stop him but he just shrugs him off. He stalks around the table, fury emanating from every inch of his body.

“What did you call me?” the alpha growls, coming close enough to Tony that he can scent the anger rolling off of him.

Not a native speaker then, Tony figures. Possibly studied his language but not enough to know the insults. Tony opens his mouth to repeat the phrase but, quick as a flash, the alpha draws his blade, the point kissing Tony’s throat as he raises Tony’s chin to look at him.

Tony’s never been so close to death before and it terrifies him. His father had sent him below before the battle with the jarl. He keeps a slender dagger hidden in the sashes at his waist but he’s only barely trained in how to use it. He trembles, remembering that his father had said they were coming back for him. He just has to hold on for their return.

“Thank you,” he says instead, “for your kindness in speaking my language.”

The blade doesn’t disappear from his throat. “Ah little mouse,” the alpha chuckles. “That was no kindness. That was so that you would know your fate.”

“A kindness unknowingly given is still a kindness,” Tony quips, reciting something that his mother had often said. To his surprise, something like respect flashes in the alpha’s grey eyes but it disappears quickly enough into an indulgent expression.

“Don’t you want to know what your fate is?” the alpha asks. Tony doesn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing. The alpha sheathes his sword and crouches down, drawing his finger along the cupid’s bow of Tony’s lips as he croons, “You’re to be my omega bride to warm my bed.”

Tony bites him.