#in case anyones curious its the cover of 'dancing around in circles until my little feet fall off' by spellcasting

[anarchopuppy]

i think itd be fun and silly to have a section of my tumblr bio change every time the page is reloaded, like scp-3211. does anyone know a good way to do that?

i think i could just embed an image so that it lines up with the text and host it in a way that the embed url directs to a different image in a set every couple seconds or something, and i think ive seen that done before, but idk how to set something like that up or if its even possible short of buying a domain

[m0srael]

Torch Your Inhibitions

2k | E | Read on Ao3

Third installment for @magpiefngrl's 2021 Summer Writing Challenge. Prompts: Bonfire + Sex Pollen + Unreliable Narrator. I joked about making this just a whole lotta nature-based group sex and...well... Thanks @nv-md and @devilrising for making this even better!

“Malfoy, are you sure the invitation says no pants allowed?” Harry says to the mirror as he grimaces and tightens the rope holding his robe closed around his hips.

“Yes, Luna has been very clear about the order of this evening’s events, and frankly it just seems... neater to me. You disagree?”

Harry forgets to reply for a moment, distracted by the broad swath of pale chest Draco’s own robe has left exposed, one hard, pink nipple on full display. Draco doesn’t notice that Harry’s jaw has gone slack as he’s too busy readjusting himself under the thick, burgundy fabric that makes his hair seem more golden than usual.

“Well, I mean, she’s not going to check, is she?” Harry manages to say, despite the marked blood deficit in his brain. “Bloody hell, what am I saying, it’s Luna of course she’d check.”

“Right. So…” Draco murmurs , matter-of-factly, as he moves to stand close behind Harry, making eye contact in the mirror, “knickers off, Potter.”

Harry tells himself he doesn’t know what Draco is about to do, but the moment he feels the fabric shift against his arse he freezes, hoping beyond hope that he has guessed correctly.

“Alright?” Draco whispers on a smirk into his bare shoulder as an unsupressable shudder shakes through Harry.

Harry can’t speak, so he just nods.

Draco slowly gathers up the bottom of Harry’s robe in his fingers until he can slip his hands underneath it, letting it cascade down his wrists. He hooks his thumbs in the elastic band where it wraps around Harry’s hips.

Harry’s eyes fall closed as Draco’s fingers drag against his skin, down and down Harry’s thighs, until his pants fall to the ground.

Draco makes a soft sound. When Harry’s eyes fly open he realizes that Draco’s gaze is fixed to the tent in his loose robe, all the more obvious now that his cock is free.

“Steady, Potter. We haven’t even made it to the party yet,” Draco growls, before turning quickly and stalking out of the bedroom.

Harry groans and covers his flaming face, letting his head thunk against the wardrobe door. He doesn’t understand what it all means.

He and Draco have been living together for a year and a half. For the first six months they avoided one another almost entirely. The eight or so months after that had been punctuated by short, fiery conversations as they felt each other out, slowly arriving at some mutual understanding and even cautious friendship.

The last few months, including the very moment Harry finds himself in presently, have been an unending nightmare. He never realized how tactile Draco is with friends, but he touches Harry all the time.

When Draco needs a glass from the cupboard over Harry’s head, he plants one hot palm firmly on Harry’s lower back to steady himself. When they sit on the couch watching films, Draco always slides his cold feet under Harry’s thigh for warmth. It only takes half a pint at the pub before Draco’s leaning into Harry’s side, and another half before Draco drops his head onto Harry’s shoulder and presses his nose into Harry’s throat.

Draco also apparently has some aversion to closed doors. Harry is sure it has something to do with growing up in the Manor, being shut in for so long with such terrible people. It doesn’t really bother Harry, who also hates feeling trapped.

Though...he did accidentally walk in on Draco in the shower, mid-wank, last week.

Harry had stood, mesmerized in the doorway, watching for longer than he would ever admit (even to himself). He only averted his eyes when Draco noticed him, and said, “Are you going to stand there gaping, or are you going to help, Potter?” He laughed mockingly as Harry hurried down the hallway shouting apologies.

A tiny part of Harry’s brain recognizes Draco’s behavior as flirtatious. The other part--the louder part--knows that never in a million years would Draco Malfoy share Harry’s secret desires. This is just how Draco is with everyone. Harry only started to notice it once they lived in the same house.

“Harry...I know you told me to stop asking, but...you’re sure you’re okay with this? You want to go? The details of the ritual were pretty clear, and Luna did say that no one was obligated to--”

Gods, did Draco think he was that naive and squeamish? No, he would see this through, if only to prove a point.

“Yeah, yep...yes. I’m okay. I mean, I want to go. I’m...curious. NO! I mean, well...I want to...support Luna, so…” Harry trails off as he joins Draco on the front steps.

“Uh huh. Convincing,” Draco smirks, “if you want to leave, you can. Okay?” he finishes in that soft, pedantic way of his before taking Harry’s hand and apparating them to the coordinates from Luna’s invitation.

*

Luna had insisted everyone arrive rested and well-hydrated, and Harry was glad he’d taken her advice.

Before the sunlight faded completely, they set up the May Day altar together, followed Luna in a series of prayers for fertility and abundance, and danced around the maypole. Neville had even brought everyone a seedling to plant somewhere in the forest or take home to plant in their garden.

Harry would be feeling a little silly about all the neo-pagan pageantry, if his stomach weren’t tying itself into knots the further the sun falls below the horizon.

Before he knows it, Seamus is tossing a lit torch onto a giant pile of logs in the center of the forest clearing.

“Happy May Day, everyone!” Luna sing-songs as they all assemble around the bonfire.

She reaches into a fold in her robe and pulls out a small pouch.

“It’s time for the most important rite of the evening. I hope you all took the time to read the pamphlet I included with your invitation. If you’d like to forgo participation, I suggest you step away from the fire before we begin. If anyone is still unsure about what this part of the evening entails, please let me know now! There are no silly questions!”

Harry watches as a few people say their goodbyes and apparate away. He lifts one foot slightly as if to move away from the fire before catching Draco’s eyes across the circle. His brow is furrowed—he looks upset. His eyes are glowing in the firelight and he flicks his tongue out along his bottom lip. Harry plants his feet, nodding slightly as if to say yeah, I’m okay, I’m staying.

“Alright, everyone! Take the hands of the people beside you!”

Harry’s hand closes around Neville’s on one side and Pansy’s on the other. He makes eye contact with Neville and can’t stop the manic, high-pitched laugh that ekes its way out of his throat. Neville just smiles warmly and squeezes his hand. Harry’s stomach flutters.

“Have you all got the kits we sent with your invitations?” The group murmurs affirmatively. “Good! Just in case, there are extras in the basket over there! Can’t be too careful!” says Luna as she opens the pouch and dumps sparkling powder onto the fire.

The flames turn a brilliant deep purple color and leap up six or seven feet, giving off thick plumes of lavender smoke. Neville inhales and sighs deeply.

Harry closes his eyes and lets the fragrant smoke overwhelm his senses. He feels a soft breeze caress his hot skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He gasps as his robe rustles around his thighs.

Every ounce of nervousness melts out of him and into the earth. He’s distantly aware that there are people moving around him but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes and look at them; he feels better than he’s ever felt in his life.

Gentle fingers slide into his hair, making his mouth fall open to receive an eager tongue.

“Harry…” Neville whispers into his mouth before kissing him soundly. They stand for a while, lips sliding over each other’s mouths and palms moving over each other’s bodies.

“Mm, s’good…” Harry slurs as someone unties the rope around his hips and slides his robe off. He shivers at the sudden kiss of cool air and curling smoke.

When he finally pries his eyes open his view is full of the top of Neville’s head, now on his knees in front of Harry. Harry rolls Neville's head in his palms until their glassy eyes meet. Harry hadn’t realized he was so hard--he groans as Neville takes him in hand and begins to stroke him lazily.

A hand slides around his chest from behind and a soft, warm body presses flush against his back.

“I always thought you were fit...” Pansy mouths against the back of his neck. Her small fingers tease his nipples as she rolls her naked body against his.

Harry shivers again when the thick smoke parts and his eyes land on Draco across the fire. He’s kissing Seamus deeply, one hand wrapped around the back of his head, as he strokes them both with one hand. He gasps when Draco opens his eyes and turns his head slightly to look right at him.

Making sure he didn’t chicken out, probably.

Harry’s head falls back onto the top of Pansy’s as Neville takes him into his mouth, inch by inch, humming around him. Harry’s first orgasm rolls through him almost without his knowledge, every cell in his body pulsing as Neville moans and licks him through it. He watches as Neville pulls off and strokes himself to completion, one hand gripping Harry’s thigh tightly.

*

He’s on his knees in front of Pansy, who he’s backed into a tree at the edge of the clearing, his face wet and hot, when he hears that voice.

“My loves,” Draco purrs. The clearing is filled with the sounds of heavy panting and urgent moans.

As Draco leans over Harry’s shoulder to kiss Pansy, his cock rests hot and heavy on Harry’s shoulder. Harry slides his tongue out of Pansy, replacing it with two fingers, to press his mouth to Draco’s throbbing flesh. Draco curls his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling hard.

“Harry...need you…now...” Draco pants, pulling his head further back so they can make eye contact. Pansy moans loudly and Harry can feel her tighten around him, hips rocking forward onto his fingers.

Draco pulls Harry away from the clearing, the light and sounds from the bonfire growing distant and muffled. He urges Harry onto his back on the forest floor before straddling his hips.

“So...beautiful,” breathes Harry as he runs appreciative hands over Draco’s scarred chest, “want you so much…”

“Want you too, for so long, Harry,” Draco replies as he pops open the cap of the little bottle of lube Luna had sent them. The handmade label reads ‘A Happy May Day is a Lubricated One!’ complete with little drawings of butterflies.

“What?” replies Harry, hands stilling in confusion.

Harry can’t temper the sound that tears out of him as Draco wraps his wet hand around them both and begins to roll his hips. Harry thinks he’ll come again from that alone, but before he can Draco’s hand is gone.

“Aren’t you glad, now, that you listened to the no-pants rule--ah--Potter?” Draco quips as he lowers himself slowly onto Harry.

“Mmmm, yes, yes you were right,” hisses Harry as waves of heat and sensation roll up his spine.

“There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Draco teases on a breathy laugh that quickly becomes a low moan.

Harry’s hips press up to meet Draco’s every slow, languorous thrust. Harry drifts, pulled under by Draco’s fingers and his lips at Harry’s ear whispering all kinds of incredible things.

You’re all I want, Harry. Need you, all the time, not just tonight. Please, I’m yours, I’m yours, Harry.

When Harry comes, he cradles Draco’s face in his hands, open mouth pressed against the corner of Draco’s mouth. Draco immediately follows, breathing out Harry’s name again, and again.

Harry can’t stop the laugh that forces its way out of his chest, and he’s delighted when Draco laughs along with him, folding forward to rest his forehead against Harry’s.

*

When Harry wakes up the next morning his memory of the night before is complete in his mind, but it feels wrapped in a purple-tinted haze. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s not alone in his bed--Draco is tucked up against his side, breathing gently.

Harry turns to watch him sleep in silence for a moment, finally admitting to himself that Draco really had been flirting with him the whole time. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he doesn’t want to wake Draco.

It takes him a moment to notice that Draco’s eyes have blinked open sleepily.

“Mine?” whispers Harry.

“Yours, Harry.”

[daddywanken0bi]

Breaking and Entering

gif is not mine

word count: 2.5k

author: Allie

warnings: smut, slight master kink, female reader, idk it’s sex but it’s pretty mild

a/n: Sorry it’s been so long since we last posted. The beginning of the semester has been insane but don’t worry, we’re cooking up some fun stuff for y’all. Hope you like this one!

Breaking and Entering

You weren’t sneaking in.

Sure, you were entering his room uninvited - never mind that he was off world on a mission. But it wasn’t like you were breaking and entering. He wouldn’t have given you a code if he didn’t want you to use it, right? And you did everything in your power to be discrete about it, too. You waited until the middle of the night, you checked the hallway before you turned the corner, you wore your hood to cover your face. You even brought a journal with you to fortify your alibi in case you ran into anyone.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you’d say, “I thought I’d go for a walk and do some journalling.”

It wasn’t that far from the truth, anyway. It was true you planned to write in your journal eventually. It was true you had been walking. And it was true you couldn’t sleep. Sleep was nearly unattainable every night Obi Wan was away. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw visions of him overrun by droids, or flattened by tankards, or gunned down in his ship. No matter how much he proved his skill and strength, you still feared the worst whenever he left. It was detrimental.

But you’d learned to cope. You found writing down all your thoughts helped release them from your mind. You also found staying active helped distract your brain from these horrible images. Something about rushing adrenaline and aching muscles and shortness of breath eased your worries. Not to mention, it kept you in shape for when Obi Wan needed a sparring partner. Although, sparring with him always lead to love-making in one way or another. It kept you in shape for that, too.

However, when the sun set and ink spilled its way across the Coruscant sky, your coping mechanisms tended to prove obsolete. Curse your creativity because it always conjured new ways for your lover to perish. You trusted your warrior whole-heartedly to come home to you. But your head, well, it had other ideas.

That’s why you found yourself navigating the halls of the Jedi temple in the earliest hours of the morning. You held off almost the entire time he was gone. You told yourself you were strong enough to make it through the night on your own. But on this night, you caved. Your day had been particularly burdensome, with difficult diplomats and insufferable insurgents - life in law enforcement was far from glamorous. When you returned home, you craved the late night conversations over freshly brewed tea that Obi Wan offered on days like this.

So you thought, perhaps spending the night in his bed would soothe your suffering. He wasn’t due back until the following evening. You would go in the middle of the night and leave before he returned. Nobody would have to know.

You opened the door as silently as you could, wincing when the duristeel clamped shut behind you. You surveyed the room as you removed your cloak, leaving you only in your silk shift. It was familiar, yet you’d only been here twice before. You still felt like you might be caught, painfully aware of how criminal it was for you to be here. Partially due to the consequences your affair would have on your careers, but mostly because you were in Obi Wan’s quarters, uninvited. It felt like you were decimating sacred ground.

Nevertheless, your lovesick heart drew you to the circular bed at the back the room, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Coruscant traffic. With your cloak draped over the sofa and your journal discarded on the dining table, your tentative feet padded their way to the welcoming mattress. Your knees hit the soft blankets and you crawled up to the plush pillows. You were enveloped by spicy, earthy, sweet, a smell so distinctly Obi Wan, and you allowed yourself to splay out over the comforter.

You dipped your toes into the smooth, cream-colored sheets, tension escaping your pores with every inch you pulled them up your legs. The pillows swallowed your head as you curled up under the covers, and for the first time in days, you were asleep within seconds.

**********

You couldn’t have slept more than a few hours when a ghostly graze tickled across your cheek. Your eyes fluttered, curious to see the sensation that brought you out of the bliss of sleep. Sparkling blue eyes and a halo of golden hair stood over you, and you thought for a moment that you might still be dreaming.

“What are you doing here, little one?” The ethereal being asked.

Then realization hit you.

“Oh, Obi Wan!” You scrambled to your knees to meet him at eye level. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me!”

“Darling, it’s alright-“

“I didn’t think you’d be back for another several hours!”

“We finished up early.” His hands immediately find your lower back. You glance to the window beside him. It was still dark, but the stars were fading. It must have been very early in the morning.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I missed you so much, I thought this would help-“

“Shhh, you don’t have to explain, dear one.” He brought his hand up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, then letting it rest under your jaw. “I planned to see you first thing upon my return, anyway.”

You relaxed your shoulders, relived he wasn’t cross with you. Yet your arms remained at your sides.

“I came uninvited…”

“Darling,” he sighed, humorously exasperated, “I gave you a code, didn’t I?”

“But you were away-“

“You still had a code. Besides,” he fiddled with the minuscule strap of your shift, innocently letting it fall off your shoulder. “I like the idea of you waking up in my bed.”

The hand on your shoulder slowly smoothed its way down your clavicle. Then between your breasts, across your stomach. It twisted, and reluctantly returned to your back. Your breath caught as you watched his eyes follow his hand, it pricked goosebumps into your skin.

“Even when I’m away.” He added, his eyes returning to yours.

“But you’re home now,” You said, snaking your arms up to land behind his head. “And that’s all that matters.”

He smiled warmly, hands still caressing up and down your back. You take this time to study his face. You traced the lines in his forehead, thumbed the crows feet by his eyes and settled your hand at his cheek. Despite the adoration in his eyes, he looked older, weary.

“You must be exhausted.” You murmured, and his eyes closed in agreement. “Come, lie with me, Obi.”

A chuckle puffed through his nose.

“Dearest, I’m filthy.”

“I don’t care,” You cling to him, pressing your chest to his, ghosting your lips. “I like it when you’re filthy.”

A groan emitted from low in his chest and no longer did he stroke his hands over your skin. Instead, his fingertips dug craters into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.

“I’ve missed you so much, little one.” He hovered over your lips.

You hummed, a thought danced in your mind. You sat back on your heels, leaving Obi Wan wide-eyed, confused. Through your eyelashes, you gazed expectantly at him, wordlessly telling him to undress.

“Show me, then,” You purred, slowly pulling at the silk of your shift to reveal more skin. “Show me how much you missed me.”

His eyes were fire, ablaze with a passion you’d only ever seen on the battlefield. He kept his eyes trained on you as he toed off his boots, watching you drag the sheer fabric over your head, leaving you bare. He raked over your body, swallowing hard. You sat up again and splayed your hands across his broad chest. He watched you intently as your hands circled his shoulders and smoothed down his arms. You took his right hand in both of your own.

“Touch me, Obi Wan,” You brought his hand to your breast. He ran his thumb over your nipple, watching it harden at his touch. You gasped and your head lulled between your shoulder blades. Your response was all the encouragement he needed. He encased you in his other arm, mouth ravenous on your neck, hand still massaging your breast. After days of nothing, his attention to you was almost too much. You tugged at his hair, unsure of what else to do with your hands, too lost in Obi Wan to even think.

His lips carved a path from your neck to your mouth, kissing you with a frivolity that only came from two lovers reunited. He kissed you with everything he had. You felt every moment he thought of you while he was away, every instance he reminded himself to return home to you, every desire he couldn’t quench without you there. And you met his intensity. You poured every worry into his mouth, every doubt, every qualm. But also all of the love you could possibly give to another being - you wanted to give it all to him.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” You mumbled against his lips. He chuckled.

“I agree.” He kissed you once more before undoing his belt and casting it to the side. He shed his tunic and pulled his undershirt over his head while you worked on the buttons of his trousers. Once undressed, his hands found your waist again, albeit gentler this time. He gingerly drew you close to him, pressed a tender kiss to your swollen lips. You tangled your arms around his shoulders and felt the press of his erection on your stomach. He cherished you, cradled you as he laid you back on the bed. You let your eyes close as you kissed and kissed and kissed him. You were so wrapped up in his mouth that you barely noticed his hand sneak down to the pooling between your legs.

But when his thumb found your clit, you noticed. Your eyes flew open and you gasped, Obi Wan snickered at your surprise. His mouth morphed into a smirk as his thumb started circling, slowly, slowly. You screwed your eyes shut and gnawed on your bottom lip. Your knees constricted your lover’s abdomen as he stared at you with unadulterated admiration. He reveled in your whimpers, astonished that he, of all beings, had the privilege of pleasuring you.

“Obi,” You wined, “I need you-mmph-I need you inside me.”

“Darling, it’s been so long. I won’t last.”

“Neither will I.”

He removed his thumb and the loss of contact provoked a sigh from your lips, but it’s quickly swallowed by two of his fingers curling inside you. Your jaw unhinged, the sensation absolutely overwhelming.

“I forget how wet you are for me.” He breathed into your ear. “And you’re even tighter than I remember. Did you touch yourself at all while I was gone?”

“No,” You moaned, “Not once.”

“Not once?” He smirked, the cocky bastard. “You waited for me?”

“Yes,” You looked him dead in the eyes, “Master.”

You didn’t think his pupils could dilate more, but somehow his sparkling blue eyes blew black with desire. Suddenly, he yanked his fingers from your pussy and shoved them in your mouth.

“Lick them clean for your Master.” He demanded, watching you closely has you hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue.

If you knew using his title would elicit such a reaction, then you would have used it a lot sooner. You got the idea from Padme in a conversation about your Jedi boyfriends. You confided in her one night that Obi was gone, asked her how she dealt with being away from Anakin for so long (everybody pretended not to know, but everybody knew). After a few attempts at denying it, she finally caved. It turned into a long dialogue about sexual escapades and romantic gestures.

“You should try calling him by his title,” She suggested after your third kettle of Obi Wan’s favorite tea, “Anakin looses his mind whenever I do.”

It turned out she was right. You would have to thank her later. But for now, you were too preoccupied with Obi Wan’s fingers in your mouth and dick teasing your folds.

“Tell me what you want, little one.” He removed his fingers and planted a sloppy kiss on your mouth. You bit at his bottom lip, encouraging a growl from him.

“Fuck me, Obi Wan,” You pleaded. “I want you to fuck me into the next galaxy.”

The sound that came out of your mouth was nothing short of animalistic. He rammed into you without any warning and didn’t give you any time to adjust.

“That’s right. You take me so well, little one.” He pounded into you.

The force hiked your leg over his shoulder and burned phantom hands into your flesh. Your body ignited, Obi Wan exuded so much energy, it radiated into your pores. You’d lost any and all touch with reality, reduced to a moaning mess. All you see, all you feel, all you taste, all you know is your master, your lover, your Obi Wan.

“You’re so good for me,” He panted above you. “Waiting for me to return, calling me master, taking my cock like it’s made for you.”

“Fucking hell,” You cursed, “I’m so close.”

“Me too, darling, me too.”

The phantom hands focused on your clit, furthering the already tightly-wound coil in your core. The air clicked and sparked with energy, the Force encouraging, applauding your union.

“Together,” Obi Wan breathed, you nodded.

“Together.”

You force your eyes to remain open, despite gravity weighing them down. He pushed into you once, twice, three times more then-

“Oh, Master!-”

“Maker!”

Warmth spread through your body as Obi Wan released inside you. You shook with your own release, pleasure coursing through your veins as he collapsed on top of you (careful not to harm you, of course, ever the gentleman). He remained inside you while his breath returned, his heartbeat slowed. You tangled your fingers in his hair as he nuzzled his nose beneath your ear, whispering sweet nothings as you returned from euphoria. Before long, you felt the adrenaline leave his body and the weight of his exhaustion reappear, a reminder that he still needed to recover from his mission. You pushed gently on his shoulders, a silent request to release you.

“‘M sorry, darling.” He mumbled as he reluctantly pushed himself off of you. You winced as he pulled out, tender and unused to the feeling. He rolled off to your side and snuggled you close, the hot breath of his nose tickling your neck.

“Come on, Master,” You nudged, “Lets get in the shower.”

“Hmmm why?” He groaned.

“You’re filthy, remember?” You teased.

“Right, I’m the filthy one.”

“I’m not the one with a Master kink.”

He growled and nipped at your ear, making you laugh.

“Let’s wash up, Obi” You combed his scalp with your fingers. “Then we can spend the rest of the day in your bed.”

He lifted himself onto his forearm to meet your eyes and tucked a stray hair behind your ear with his free hand.

“You can spend the rest of your life in my bed, dear one,” He was sincere, “if that’s what you so desire.”

[mortuarybees]

It looks like this:

The aquarium is cool and dark and, apart from the occasional screams of delighted children, it’s quiet. Aziraphale is holding onto Crowley’s arm, fingers pinching the folds of his worn leather jacket, beaming all around, and Crowley feels warm pride blooming in his stomach. He gave him this. He looks like he’s entered a whole new world, the childlike glee and fascination naked on his face; and even better, he looks at Crowley like he’s handed him all its wonders on a platter.

They don’t get to do things like this often; they make the rounds of the British Museum, the Tate, the parks and public gardens, they’ve probably been to every free museum in the city at least three times over, and they enjoy it; but they don’t often visit places like this, places that cost £40 for just one of them to get in. Christ, the last time was probably for their tenth anniversary, Les Mis on the West End, and they’d saved for a year for seats in the dress circle and a bottle of wine.

(It looks like this:

Crowley waits tables at a posh restaurant in Mayfair, Monday-Friday. It’s miserable, but the tips are better than he’s ever had anywhere else, and it’s there that he met the Dowlings. Their son is a menace; nothing calms him, nothing satisfies or entertains. He threw pasta at the German ambassador’s son and made him scream so loud every wine glass in the place vibrated, and Crowley had seen the helpless look on his mother’s face, the storm brewing in his father’s, and swooped in without another thought, putting on an exaggerated posh accent like some butler from one of Aziraphale’s boring, oddly captivating shows and waited on him the rest of the night as if he were a little despot, pointing out that pelting ones subjects with bread was quite unbecoming of a little prince. He laughed and adopted a dignified air, delighting in ordering Crowley about and racking up his parent’s bill, but he didn’t throw a plate at anyone, so it was an improvement.

At the end of the evening, Mrs. Dowling hadn’t so much asked as told him she’d be hiring him; their nanny had demanded Saturdays off as a break from the little beast, and they needed someone to babysit, because Mrs. Dowling couldn’t possibly be expected to watch him herself. The pay was good, and with living expenses in London what they were and Aziraphale getting his hours cut, he wouldn’t dream of saying no.

There were other perks, too, like Mrs. Dowling throwing him tickets to the London Aquarium some MP had sent them for Warlock’s birthday; she’d taken him once, and he’d tried to steal a little shark from the touch tank. Never again, she said, take your girlfriend. She glanced at his ring. Wife?)

“Oh, Crowley, dear, look,” Aziraphale cries, pulling him towards one of the tanks. He presses the hand that isn’t on Crowley’s arm against the glass, his eyes wide and bright as a full moon. “A jellyfish! Don’t they just look so marvelous? It’s like they’re dancing.” Crowley smiles and presses closer to his side. "They're my favorite fish, I think. They just look so ethereal."

"Jellyfish aren't fish, angel," Crowley says, bemused. "They're...I dunno, jello."

"Don't be ridiculous, Crowley, it's in the name," he tells him, very patiently. "They wouldn't be in an aquarium if they weren't fish."

"Dolphins aren't fish and they're in the aquarium," Crowley points out, quite sensibly. Aziraphale still hasn't looked away from the jellyfish, and Crowley still hasn't looked away from Aziraphale. He likes the fish, he does, but there's something a thousand times more fascinating about watching Aziraphale watching them.

"Of course dolphins are fish," Aziraphale says. His brow furrows. "They live in the ocean, dear, I've seen Planet Earth."

(It looks like this:

Crowley practically runs home from the bus stop, barely getting his wild grin under control before he barges into their flat. Aziraphale is cooking, doing whatever it is he does that makes store brand pasta and sauce from Tesco's taste less like chalk. He hides the tickets behind his back--he held them in his hands the whole way home, leg bouncing, feeling as giddy as he had on the way to their first date--adopting an innocent expression, but Aziraphale isn't fooled; he gives him a suspicious look the moment he sees him and says, "What are you up to, you old serpent?"

"Oh, nothing," he says, very convincingly--he did theater in college, he's an excellent actor, thanks--and strolls over to give him a kiss in greeting, slides up behind him and puts his chin on his shoulder to peer down into the sauce. "Smells good."

"Thank you, dear," Aziraphale says, preening.

"What are you doing tomorrow after church?" he asks, and Aziraphale cuts him a curious look out of the corner of his eye.

"Thought we'd feed the pigeons," he says. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Oh, thought I'd take this handsome man I picked up somewhere to the London Aquarium," he says, as casually as he can with the excitement buzzing in his veins. "Make a date of it."

Aziraphale laughs. "Is that so? If you're busy, I suppose I'll make a trip to Paris, pick up some crepes."

"That'd be for the best," Crowley agrees, and he puts his arms around him, casually fanning the tickets in front of him. "You wouldn't believe how hot this guy is, and I'm hoping I'll get lucky. I'll put a sock on the door in case you're back early."

Aziraphale gasps, putting the sauce spoon carefully on the trivet so he can grab the tickets, squinting at them as if he's afraid they're forged. "Crowley! Oh, my dear, you didn't!"

"He's a classy one," Crowley says, grinning. "Takes something special to impress."

"But how can we afford these? We're behind on the electric bill, dear, and my hours--"

"Relax, angel, Mrs. Dowling gave them to me," Crowley says, running a reassuring hand down his arm. "Totally free. Well, at the cost of my sanity, maybe, but that's not a bad deal in this economy."

"Crowley," Aziraphale breathes, and he turns in Crowley's arms to face him. He's looking at Crowley like he's hung the moon, and he leans in to kiss him like he could live off the taste of his lips alone.)

They enter a room that's mostly empty; watch a mother play peekaboo with her daughter, the father holding the girl on one side of a tank, the mother ducking behind fish and corral on the other, making the girl squeal with delight.

Crowley has glitter in his hair--from the night before, but he also just likes the way it looks, so he put more in this morning, gold bright in his red hair--and some of it has stuck to Aziraphale's cheek, and the otherworldly light of the water catches it just right, makes it shine like stars. It is not uncommon for Crowley to cover Aziraphale in glitter; so much is ingrained in the fibers of the tweed jacket he wears it looks gilded in the right light.

"He doth teach the torches to burn bright," Crowley says softly, touching the glitter on his cheek, and Aziraphale smiles at him, cheeks coloring. He gets an idea, and waits until the family has moved on to take Aziraphale's hand in his. "If I profane with my unworthiest hand / This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: / My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand / To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."

Aziraphale beams at him. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much," he says. "Which mannerly devotion shows in this, / For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, / And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." He presses their hands flat together, and leans in to kiss him, but Crowley steps back. Aziraphale's brow furrows, his lips pulling into a pout, and he clasps their hands together again to keep him from moving away. Crowley goes anyway, darting to the other side of the tank to peer at him through the impossible water, and God, he looks so good in blue. Aziraphale's breath hitches, his lips parting.

(It looks like this:

They met in an Intro to Philosophy class in 1996, nearly coming to blows even on the first day, the simple question of 'What is Philosophy?' Crowley couldn't help but antagonize him, loved how he looked when he was frustrated and indignant, how he thumbed the cross around his neck when Crowley had gotten into his head. He threw an argument about Kant, who he frankly considered to be full of shit, so Aziraphale would be in a good mood after class.

He wasn't, though, he was just suspicious, demanding to know why he'd conceded when he'd spent all semester insisting there is no Categorical Imperative, no supreme moral code, that the only consideration that should be taken in a course of action is the consequences it will have, and he was as frustrated as he'd ever been in the heat of an argument, and he looked beautiful.

"I was distracted," Crowley said. "Thinking about this poster I saw, for that new Romeo and Juliet movie. You like Shakespeare, don't you?" He did. He knew he did. He'd noticed him, furiously annotating in the margins of an old copy of Hamlet that was more notes than text; he had this wretchedly charming little Stratford-upon-Avon tourist pin he wore all the time.

"I...am?" Aziraphale said, blinking at him. He had the most wonderful eyes. Crowley had noticed the very first day, when they'd gone wide at some horribly blasphemous comment Crowley threw out to shock and impress.

"Do you have plans tonight?" Crowley couldn't help bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with excitement; he'd seen Aziraphale in the audience of their production of Twelfth Night, alone but looking like he was in Heaven, hanging on every word, and then he'd seen that poster, and he'd known, that was the ticket. Well, the tickets would be the ticket. Anyway.

"Not...really?" Aziraphale said, brow furrowing.

"Great, so you wanna go with me?"

"Go where?"

"To see the new Romeo and Juliet," Crowley said, and he felt he'd been quite smooth about it all, even if his palms were sweating.

"With you?" Aziraphale looked completely baffled.

"Yes, with me," he said. Please, please, please, Crowley didn't pray, because he hadn't prayed since he was thirteen and realized that if they expected young men to be straight, it was kind of ridiculous of the church to make Jacob Wrestling the Angel look like that, and the whole foundation of the church in his mind just kind of tumbled from there; but he did put it out into the universe, just in case someone was listening. Please, please, please, I never ask for anything. Not of the universe, anyway.

"I...you want me to go with you?" Aziraphale looked like he was doing a particularly difficult math problem and none of the numbers were adding up right. It would be charming, and might make his chest feel a little tighter, that he was this unused to being asked out on dates, but it was more just frustrating. He was losing his nerve.

"Just meet me at the theater with the discount tickets for students at seven, alright?" Crowley said impatiently, and Aziraphale, still confused but looking relieved at having specific instructions, nodded. The moment he'd left the building, he'd pumped his fist, grinning like a madman, unaware that Aziraphale could still see him through a window in the corridor.)

"Have not saints lips?" Crowley asks from the other side of the tank, giving him a coy look. "And holy palmers too?"

"Ay, pilgrim, lips they must use in prayer," Aziraphale says, with a delighted smile.

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do," Crowley says, and darts around the tank. Aziraphale dodges him, going to the other side to throw him a mischievous look. "They pray," Crowley whines, "grant thou, lest faith turn to despair!"

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake," Aziraphale says; and the breathless joy as he'd watched the jellyfish was nothing compared to what's on his face now, and Crowley is dizzy with it.

"Then move not," Crowley begs, crossing to the other side of the tank slowly, "while my prayer's affect I take." Aziraphale stands still, watching him, and tilts his chin just a little, lips parting.

(It looks like this:

Leonardo Dicaprio sees Claire Danes through the aquarium for the first time, and Crowley leans in, his breath ghosting against the shell of Aziraphale's ear. "That's how I felt when I first saw you," he says.

"You do know how the play ends, don't you?" Aziraphale says, voice shaking just a little. He's trying to tease, but there's a note of sincerity too.

"They were kids," Crowley says. "I know better than to trust a friar. Besides, it was beautiful, wasn't it? How they loved each other despite everything."

Aziraphale looks at him; he really looks, his eyes bright in the dark theater, and then he turns away. Crowley's heart sinks, but before he can start kicking himself, Aziraphale takes his hand, his cheeks pink, and Crowley glows.)

Crowley kisses him as tenderly as he has for twenty years. Their first wasn't after their first date, or their second, or their third; but it had been worth the wait, their shaking breath and trembling hands, the certainty of their lips, and Crowley knew then, the moment their lips met, with the same conviction he felt now after two decades, that he would spend the rest of a long and glorious life with Aziraphale.

"Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged," he whispers, and Aziraphale's hands grip the lapels of his leather jacket.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took?" Aziraphale says, and Crowley grins wolfishly.

"Sin from thy lips? O, trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again," he demands, and Aziraphale pulls him into another kiss, smiling against his lips, letting Crowley press him back against the cool glass of the tank until they hear footsteps echoing and the chatter of voices. Crowley breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Aziraphale's, catching his breath, though the waver of light across his face isn't helping, nor is the way the light from behind makes his curls look like a halo. His angel, indeed.

"You kiss by th' book," Aziraphale whispers.

"Teenagers," grumbles the voice of a man, when he sees the outline of two figures embraced on the other side of a tank, and Crowley barks out a laugh, taking a step back. He takes Aziraphale's hand, and leads him blushing into the next room, feeling smug when he hears the same voice exclaim that they're older than he is, they ought to know better.

"Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon," Crowley says, pulling him closer to link their arms again. "Who is already sick and pale with grief, / that thou art far more fair than he."

"Don't be rude, darling," Aziraphale laughs, but he's beaming, gentle as the soft lightening of the horizon, bright and radiant as the sun beneath it, and Crowley--oh, Crowley loves him.

(inspired by 1996 romeo and juliet; conversation with @saaliyah and @genderqueercrowley about r+j and Them; conversation with @transsouthernpansy about Aquariums; when john mulaney said That about his wife annamarie tendler; please read @genderqueercrowley‘s fic i keep a window for you (it’s always open) that makes much better use of shakespeare; part of human au)

[honestsycrets]

Ivar the Boneless || Love Alphabet

A = Affection (PDA, what sort of affection he gives)

“Kisses, my sweet.” He shifts. “Anywhere-- and everywhere.”  

Definitely someone who shows his affection day to day. He enjoys not only showing you that he loves you-- but making sure that everyone else knows that too. Both for your friends to know and any suitors that he might potentially have.

B = Babies

“Don’t play stupid.” He turns his head. “You know I want want to populate the earth.”

Ivar wants babies. After all, he was always someone that was told that he simply couldn’t have babies by all his brothers. Once he rids himself of stress-induced impotency, he’s just too excited to actually have one with you. Well, more than one. But one is a start!

C = Cuddles 

“In bed.”

Lazy in bed. He wants to spend his time completely and totally with you when he can. Ivar is a man that is constantly busy so his time is valuable. He best finds it in bed under warm furs, your legs in his under the warm crackle of the fire rather than going out.

D = Darling  (pet names)

“Are you complaining of them?” He twists his head to look over his shoulder. “I have others.”

My love, my sweet, my queen. He’s a little cheesy-- but after thinking that he would never have a love, he’s making up for it plus some.

E = Enamored (how hard do they fall when in love)

He looks down, a small embarrassed smile perking upon his lips. He has a hard time admitting it-- even to you.

Hardest of the hard. When Ivar is in love, its all or nothing. For Ivar there must be an instant connection. Once in love, he’s prone to listen to even things as silly as “get me the moon!” and he would consider it.

F = Firsts (a first on anything you pick)

He’s a ball of nerves. He won’t admit to anything, pouring you a glass of ale and motioning for you to sit down beside him, but you can tell in the way he moistens his lips so much.

Nervous. Nervous. Nervous. He’s a complete wreck trying to get everything together for his first date with you. He rather just spend time talking with you whether that is over the pier of Kattegat or taking a walk around his town with you.

G = Good Morning (how do they wake you)

“Wake up, sweet.” He rolls in the furs, laying the first of his kisses upon your neck that morning.

Wakes up cuddling close to you. He loves feeling your body in his bed after being so alone for so long. Tends to try to lay small peppering kisses along your neck, nibbles on your ears for softer wake ups. Though, sometimes waking you up isn’t always so innocent.

H = Hugs

“Hugs are for friends.” He grouches. “Do I look like a friend?”

He rather kiss your hand or lips rather then bother with hugs. He feels that hugs are intended for brothers-- not that he himself got many of those growing up. He’s a lazy hugger and gently runs his fingers down your spine when he is holding you tight.

I = In Labor

He stares from afar.

Ivar is anxious. No, anxious doesn’t even cover it! He’s a hot mess, drinking just to blur out your screams or cries. He’ll most definitely stay in the room while you’re in labor, smiling when you finally get a hold of his child.

J = Jealousy

“I hope you know how much I love you.” 

He’s a jealous creature. It doesn’t take much for Ivar to look over and consider who you are talking to. If they are a threat-- or if they aren’t. Axes will fly. But if you’re lucky, maybe he’ll just walk over to scare off the suitor himself.

K = Kisses

“I can give you more, if you like.”

Daily life with Ivar is filled with kisses. Some on your wrist, neck or lips. He expects that his day will be filled with them. If he doesn’t get enough, he’ll assume you don’t love him as much that day or that he did something wrong. 

L = Loyal 

“What use is there in having someone else?” He reasons. “I see none.”

As a hopeless romantic, he isn’t one to venture out of the marriage or relationship. He’s there until it ends-- one way or another. He always hopes that this one will last.

M = Memory

“On Freyja’s night-- in the spring.” He recounts with a little start and stop. The way he stops in between his words lets him know that he was reliving the moment.

Watching you dance in front of the flames of a crackling fire during Freyja’s festival. Keeping his eye and swirling about in tight little circles until you were in front of him-- the first night that he met you.  

N = Never!

Lies. Don’t lie to him or hide things from him. He doesn’t end up being quite forgiving in regards to it and will often remember it for quite a long time. He can forgive, in most cases, but he’ll definitely remember it.

O = On the Rocks

“I’m sorry.” You’re the only one he would apologize to like this, reaching out to set his hand upon your feet.

Ivar doesn’t apologize often. But if he were to, it would be to you. He knows that he’s a lot to handle... and so he’ll often appear at the front of your bed, rubbing your feet to see if he can slowly ease his way closer and closer to you. If you’re in the ‘dog house’ he’ll often ignore you until you do the same.

P = Playtime

Ivar is an eager lover. Out on raid or back at home, he knows just how he wants you. Ivar loves to be spoiled by you, sure, but his favourite is spoiling you the way he likes it. If he’s been away long, it will be hard and fast. But most of all, he likes taking his time with you.

Q = Quiet Time

“What quiet time?” He sighs. 

He doesn’t get that much quiet time anymore-- mostly because of all the children he’s asked you for. More often he spends his time drunk with a child crawling over his lap, teaching his sons and daughters how to shoot properly and making a mess of the Great Hall.

R = Rapture

“Tell me about our child.” He’ll ask, rubbing his hand over your round stomach. “How is he today?”

He is most filled with infectious smiles and laughs when he hears you tell him something about your future with him. Accepting a date, accepting his offer for marriage-- those are all things that make him intensely happy.

S = Soulmate

“There are such things?” He asks. “I did not even know what a soul was.”

Ivar doesn’t believe that he has a soulmate until you tell him. Even still he is skeptical... but if anything, the dreams he has fortifies his belief in actually having a soulmate. 

T = Together

“Come sit with me!”

Ivar tends to keep to you more than others. He’ll interact and tolerate his brothers, enjoy Whitehair’s company, but most of all-- he likes to be together with you in his free time. 

U = Unyielding

“Whatever needs be done, I’ll do. You only need ask.”

Of all the brothers, Ivar is the least likely to give up on you. He’s not the type to let anyone get in the way of what he wants and if it has to be done with interlopers, he’ll be sure to get rid of the interlopers too.

V = Vulnerable

“I’m alone.” He says. “In everything but you.”

In all things war, no one can tell him anything. However... when it comes to you, kissing down his neck or asking him the most intimate of questions, he might fall silent. In the beginning of the relationship, you might need to take the lead.

W = Wedding 

In his opinion, “The best of weddings is showing off your bride.” 

Everything Ivar does is a little extra. So this is nothing new. He wants all of Kattegat to see his new bride-- and so you’re probably going to feel the pressure to be his perfect bride. In the end, Ivar comes to console you about the whole thing.

X = (E)x

“I don’t do exes very well.” By that he means, they don’t usually live.

In the case of his ex not being killed... he would be very much a balance of hateful and curious. Ignoring and showing off his new woman is of course something he would do, but when you don’t look, he might just be watching...

Y = Yearning

“I’m eager to get home to my wife.” He would tell his brothers, lost in frivolous moments with whatever thrall they chose overseas.

Ivar is good at separating raiding from loving. But as the war dies down and it’s time to go home, missing you gets too much to handle. Unlike his brothers, he’s not a rapist. He simply enjoys the time to himself with his hand and visions of home.

Z = Zzz...

“You’re precious to me.”

Ivar is a light sleeper. His mind is going-- constantly fretting over things that he cannot control. When he cannot sleep, he’ll spend his time watching you against the sheets. 

[iprincezzinuyoukai]

Before anyone says it, yes, I know it sounds like the title of a GRRM book, but I actually thought about it when I was listening to HTTYD’s OST. So you’ll know what this is all about then.

I swear that I read several articles and even saw several videos so that I could decide what kind of ritual I wanted, but considering that originally Rodan was going to have the characteristics of an eagle and I’ve seen one or another cartwheel, those are magnificent to see in person, by the way, so that’s how this came to be. By the way people doing these drawings and fanfictions are doing God’s

I’m not sure if I did a good job with how I put it, it was one of my best attempts as a writer, if I’d been an animator or an artist maybe things would be different, so I hope you like it... And yes, there will be a next part soon.

Again Tumblr didn't leave me put a read more! Once again this goes to my AO3 (same username, don’t blame I was very lazy to think of different usernames)

Dance of Titans

Isla De Mara soon got used to the presence of its Titan. It wasn’t as if they’d any other choice, the world was slowly beginning to accept the idea of living with the Titans, after being assured by Monarch that Godzilla, their new King, kept them all at bay from harming humans or interfering.

And it’s not like Rodan was a bad choice, at least the fire demon was already flying in the opposite direction to the town, thus preventing his strong winds from destroying the remodeling of the town and everyone getting shot in the air. It seemed that over time the Titan learned more and more about how to interact with the citizens of Isla De Mara.

Maybe Rodan being with them wasn’t so bad, the Titan seemed to care little about human affairs and Monarch expeditions near his volcano, as long as he could fly and come back whenever he pleased without having missiles exploding near his body or some curious bug near his nest.

And while fishing had been terrible in the last few months since the Titans revived and the U.S. military dropped the Oxygen Destroyer, excavations at the foot of the volcano had made them discover a new kind of valuable minerals that helped the island’s economy and tourism. Economy for the mineral, tourism for the Titan, as it seems that people found it interesting to tour any city that has been visited by a Titan.

Rodan was somehow paying for what he’d damaged.

They hoped to say the same about the other Titan, well, if they could actually be considered theirs, or Mara theirs.

The three-headed dragon, King Ghidorah, as they were recognized worldwide, had begun to follow the lava bird everywhere, an action that didn’t go unnoticed either for Monarch or for the islanders, never approaching the island, but always flying around, summoning lightning and storms, but only rain hitting Isla de Mara, as if they had no intention of destroying it as they did a year ago...

But it was fine, the citizens told the tourists. If their ancestors could survive next to a magma bird made of volcanic rocks, then so could they, and with two Titans.

◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆

Instincts awoke in him when he saw that golden material on the trains leading to the human nest. It was shiny, just like his partner’s skin. Rodan screeched, flying over the sky, screaming in the air before landing near the train.

Humans stopped their metal worm when the Titan approached, usually Rodan stayed in his nest when they were near, always looking at them with curiosity, but eventually turning his back, analyzing them or rather the wagon that contained those gold pieces.

His beak opened, taking the wagon before the bewildered and confused eyes of the humans, who quickly got off the train and away from the tracks, only to watch Rodan spread his wings and take flight to return to his nest in the volcano.

The golden stones were soon covered by the magma of their volcano, into which Rodan immersed himself, taking the larger ones and starting to cover the edge of the volcano with the golden material, reinforcing them.

The next day was the same, as the first train of gold material appeared on the tracks, Rodan landed nearby and just as the day before, he took the wagon and resumed his flight to begin what was soon routine.

So it was that for four nights and four days Rodan kept stealing from the islanders the precious golden they extracted from his volcano, until the edge was completely molten with lava and gold.

The villagers on Isla de Mara had no choice, but to wait for Monarch to do what they needed to do. As soon as Rodan stopped adorning his volcano, in the distance they could see a colony of huge clouds with yellow lightings, a sign of a huge storm, and Rodan’s song seemed to be drawing it towards him.

Inside the rising storm Rodan heard his partner’s call, singing back, the fire demon spread his wings, flapping them while volcanic rocks fell over the molten mineral and in contact with the golden material these caused bright, colorful flames.

King Ghidorah sang once more inside the storm, and with a simple movement of theirs yellow lightning formed around them, showing their powerful form.

Rodan screeched once more before leaving his volcano completely and taking flight, heading into the storm, and the rain that fell on the island.

◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆

“Rick, the storm’s already here.” Dr. Chen was watching from the monitor the tropical storm King Ghidorah brought.

The doors opened to let in Dr. Stanton, who was holding a flask in his hands and taking a seat next to Dr. Chen.

“Our favorite bird adorned his nest to attract his mate.” Rick left his flask on his desk and took control of the drones. “Everyone owns me twenty dollars.”

The doors opened again this time by letting Dr. Coleman in, who was completely wet and out of breath, Chen handed him a towel with which he could dry.

“It’s done.” That's what the redhead said before he took a seat behind Chen and Stanton.

“Thanks, Sam.” Chen thanked while she had her notebook ready and her computer beside her, while Coleman opened the sound frequency detection program.

“Are you sure these drones will be strong enough in the storm?” Stanton was asking as he started the drone program and the drones were rising in the sky, following Rodan. “Let’s hope they’re fast enough for our romantic flight, too.”

“I’m more worried about this, should we? I mean, we know it’s for science and all, but this is intimate.” Coleman said, he was worried, mostly in case King Ghidorah noticed them. He watched Chen, after all, this would be the fourth ritual she analyzed and looked so serene, he hoped one day to have her confidentiality.

“I can tell you weren’t a boy scout.” Rick said, teasing, “You saw them the first time, of course that was more of a cartwheel than a proper courtship dance. An aggressive cartwheel... Considering Rodan is almost an eagle it makes sense to do that.”

“Gentlemen,” Chen caught their eye, “We have a behavior to study.”

“Why don’t we call Mark? He’s an expert on behaviors in nature.” Coleman asked, the program finally started, now it was only a matter of seconds before the drones would start sending the sounds and records.

“Maddie starts her 8th grade early. Mark wants her to have at least one year of normal education before he brings her to Monarch.” Chen responded, waiting for the drones to finally enter the eye of the storm.

“Besides, do you think we’re gonna ask him to come help us figure out how one of the Titans, who killed his wife, mates?”

Coleman nodded, focusing at the monitor instead.

Rodan’s singing was what was heard both on the frequency wave and near the outpost.

“It seems that it has already begun.” Chen said, tapping with her index finger the screen, the drone had finally entered the eye of the storm and found Rodan, who appeared to be flying confused inside.

“Do you think we should play mood music?” Rick chuckled, “I got Careless Whispers. Although Elton John is always a good option if you’re trying to romance someone.”

Chen looked menacingly at Stanton.

“Aren’t we not supposed to interfere?” Coleman asked awkwardly.

◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆

The storm around him didn’t bother him, the rain on the other hand did. But as soon as he reached the center of the storm, the rain disappeared leaving only the dark clouds around him and the sound of lightning and thunder tearing the sky apart. Any minute, his partner would show up. He was sure of it, something inside him assured him.

An object flew by very close to him, and even though Rodan was the fastest flying Titan, he couldn’t see it any better. He felt the same presence behind him again, but he still couldn’t see it. Even though he was the King of the Skies, his partner was cunning at giving surprise attacks.

It was then that lightning struck the clouds, revealing a huge golden figure with a pair of gigantic wings and three roaring heads, electric rays came out of their snouts and a pair of tails with spikes vibrated vigorously.

The song of the three-headed hydra caused Rodan to approach his partner, and just as Ghidorah demonstrated their speed seconds ago, the fire demon did the same by flying around Ghidorah. Once the King of the Skies had the attention he needed from the Golden Demise, he didn’t hesitate to fly up, moving his wings and his body in a roll while his wings dropping sparks that fell upon his partner.

Three pairs of golden eyes watched from their place between their throne of clouds and lightning, watching the movements the fire demon made in the air, demonstrating speed, strength, perseverance... Everything that proved how valuable it was to keep him by their side.

Roaring once again the three-headed hydra flew to Rodan’s side, flying in circles around him, as if he was their prey.

However, Rodan took advantage of an opening between the golden wings and escaped the alien dragon. He’d King Ghidorah as his alpha and soon-to-be mate, yet he was sure his instincts told him he couldn’t just leave it easy to them. The first time it was an accident, this time it would be on my own.

Ghidorah watched Rodan fly and hide among their clouds, listening to their partner’s call to follow him. The three heads looked at each other and roared, showing more lightning around them and flapping their wings more fiercely, hoping that their lightning would light up those clouds to let them find their partner.

Both Titans’ songs resonated with lightning and thunders, a strange, unusual melody, but that somehow seemed to be in tune, in perfect synchronization.

If someone had been brave enough to stand outside their homes in the storm, perhaps they could see, when the strong lightning struck and lit up the sky, two magnificent and elegant figures, one gold and one red, flying around each other. No, dancing. Making it official that this ritual was on the right track.

Rodan soon lowered his flight speed, allowing himself to be curled up slowly between King Ghidorah’s tails.

Once the golden dragon felt their mate finally between their grasp, they squeezed a little, trying not to hurt him, intertwining their heads. Ichi roared a little, nuzzling his snout against Rodan’s horns, San did the same, but with part of the beak, while Ni nuzzled against his neck.

Rodan had little mobility, but his body was in charge of producing the heat, which when felt by his body the three heads seemed to purr with pleasure. The fire demon was pleased with himself, looking for Ghidorah’s talons he locked them to his own.

All that was left was to do one simple thing and this would have ended successfully to make way for the next step.

Rodan squealed a little, drawing the attention of the three heads, which the middle one seemed to nod and close their wings.

And then, they fell.

During their fall, Rodan had never felt more confident and secure before. It was clear that King Ghidorah was the perfect mate for him. Maybe the first time things came out too different from a simple dominance fight, but the fire demon couldn’t say he was sorry, no matter how much trouble that got him into with Godzilla and Mothra, Rodan wasn’t going to give up this compatibility.

The three-headed golden dragon was satisfied with themselves, there was something about this mating, about all this that made them feel something completely new — A feeling that had been born since the first time they were here, since the first time they heard Rodan’s calls, was absolutely new, and they had all the time in the world for their mate to explain it to them.

They were already near the end of the storm, clearly they could see the ocean beneath them.

In perfect synchrony, King Ghidorah and Rodan spread their wings and separated their talons to begin to fly up, returning to the inside of the storm, without stopping. And in a quick movement they were over the clouds, over the storm, over everyone else.

Both Titans were flying around each other, exchanging songs that only the moon and stars could witness and listen to.

Rodan joined his beak with King Ghidorah’s middle head, soon being nuzzled against Ni’s and San’s heads.

Ichi watched his brothers and mate continue to share songs — It was then that he noticed a tiny glow behind the fire demon.

Flying away from his mate, King Ghidorah opened their mouths to throw lightning in the direction of that intruder.

◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆

LOST CONNECTION.

“And we’re out of the game.” Stanton sighed, turning around in his spinning chair. “I guess we collected enough data, Chen?”

The short-haired doctor nodded thoughtful, moving her head, her fingers moving her pencil rhythmically, “At least enough to confirm that the mating ritual was a success. Comparing them to other rituals, Rodan and King Ghidorah are the closest thing to birds. Specifically eagles...”

“So they’re mates for life...” Stanton concluded, tappin the tip of his pen against his chin. “Congratulations, the bride’s family pays for the wedding.”

“Do you think anything will come of this?” Coleman said from his seat, saving the audio files, Chen would probably look at them later, “I mean, the biology of both are male, is conception possible? We haven’t had much reproductive material since the Mutos.”

“I don’t think the Titans understand our concept of gender.” Stanton said, “Rodan’s biology and Ghidorah’s alien one could be studied a little better now that we have records. Maybe conception it’s possible, maybe not, the point is at the end of the day, mating was because they needed genetic compatibility.”

“Even if there never was — ” Chen interrupted without raising her eyes from her computer, “Their relationship could be completely symbiotic. We’ve seen that they work well together.”

“You mean like Godzilla and Mothra.” Coleman compared.

Since the battle in Boston, with a dying Mothra appearing in Godzilla’s thermal radiation, the study of relations between Titans was one of the priorities in Monarch, especially considering the ancient murals and civilizations. King Ghidorah versus Godzilla had been the first of many, but apparently each Titan also had its opposite. Rodan appeared to be in conflict with a snake-like Titan, Mothra seemed to be facing a species similar to hers, and there was even Behemoth versus Leviathan, but without a doubt the most striking one to date had been Kong versus Godzilla, as if it’d been foretold. It wasn’t just a battle between Alphas.

The world was more complicated than it seemed.

“Barnes never forgave you for not taking him to Infant Island.” Stanton laughed when he remembered the chief.

“You know very well that neither Mothra nor Godzilla would allow me or my sister to bring strangers.” Chen explained.

“Yeah, Shobijin stuff.” Stanton murmured, opening his flask. “Still, I do think something’s gonna come out of all this.”

Coleman nodded with him, looking at the image of Rodan and King Ghidorah flying together over the storm, one of the last images the drone managed to capture before being charred. For some strange reason, both Titans seemed to be made for each other, perhaps it was genetic compatibility as Stanton remarked, or something more mystical and deep.

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a close eye on both of them.” Chen joined his two friends, contemplating the image, “We don’t know what Godzilla could do now that his rival finally had a successful mating ritual. Worst, if they get hatchlings.”

The other two males nodded.

Only time will tell what will come of all this.

[a-deluded-banana]

a shot in the dark

a shot in the dark

She had no place to be and no promises to keep. It was one of those lazy, Kool-Aid-sipping, porch-swinging August afternoons, the ones that feel as if time is just ambling along or maybe pausing for a nice long nap. There had been so many of those afternoons that summer. The freedom would be pleasant, she thought, if only there were something to do with it. There hadn’t been a speck of excitement in the town of Douglasville since Mr. Hobbes’ cow disappeared three months ago. Curious and adventure-hungry, she was a loaded spring.

“Maisie, what did I tell you? You’ll break your neck. And don’t let your skirt fall down like that.” Her mother’s voice cut into her thoughts. Reluctantly she swung down from the porch railing where she had been hanging by her knees and fixed her mother with a glare from across the yard.

But her sulkiness dissipated at the sound of familiar footsteps. “Maisie, Maisie, c’mon!” It was Thomas, one of the neighborhood kids, a red-headed, freckle-faced wisp of a boy. He was Maisie’s favorite—although she’d never admit it—because he had a rebellious streak and never missed an opportunity to stir up mischief at school. Everyone knew him by the way he walked, a distinct long-short rhythm, the mark of anyone crippled by polio. The other kids teased him for it. He was in the sixth grade, a year older than Maisie, but in the summer that didn’t matter.

“What?”

“I gotta show you somethin’. C’mon!” In his eyes danced the excitement Maisie had been waiting for.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.” His lanky, sunburnt arm beckoned her to follow.

With a cautionary glance over her shoulder at her mother, who was hanging up a pair of underwear and humming busily to herself, Maisie fell into step beside the boy, the dirt road’s dusty exhales rising in their wake. When they had reached the corner before Thomas's house, he slackened his pace, a finger to his lips. Staying close to the side of the house, he led Maisie into the backyard.

They stood before Thomas's father’s toolshed. Rusty hinges creaked twice as the door opened and quickly closed again. Once they were out of sight, Thomas's eyes changed. “You gotta swear not to tell anyone, okay?”

“Why?”

“‘Cause if my dad finds out, I’m dead meat. Got it?”

Maisie nodded, her interest piqued.

“Pinky promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in--”

“Come over here then, and remember, be quiet.” The shifting of some crates, a box of white paint cans, and the broken frame of a washboard revealed as wooden chest, which Thomas opened.

Maisie had never seen a gun before—not in real life, at least. It lay on a neatly folded bed of blue velvet and looked like it would hurt her if she made it angry.

“I found the key under my dad’s bed.”

“Does it work?”

“Yep, she’s all loaded up and everythin’.” He lifted the gun out of its holding place as if it were a sleeping princess, and cradled it in his arms. “A big one, too.”

She let him swoon over it until curiosity got the better of her. “Can I hold it?”

“If you’re careful. Don’t drop it.” He held out the weapon, albeit reluctantly. “Well c’mon. It’s not gonna jump out and bite you.”

She hadn’t expected it to feel so heavy in her hands. Nor had she expected the thrill that travelled up her spine or the peculiar sense of boldness. Still, she tried not to let Thomas see her shaking hands.

“You’re holdin’ it like a girl,” he laughed.

“Well how do you know the right way to hold it?”

“Every guy knows how to hold a gun,” he replied, puffing out his chest slightly.

“Show me, then.”

He guided her fingers around the weapon. “You wrap your right hand over your left, and your pointer finger—no, not that one, your pointer—goes along here like this. And when you wanna shoot, you put it here.”

Her finger leapt off the trigger as soon as his guiding hands were gone. “You don’t plan to use it, do you?” She gingerly returned it.

“Naw, I wouldn’t actually use it. It could come in handy, though.”

But when she looked up at him to ask why, all she saw was the angry black eye of the thing, hovering inches from hers. “Put that down!” She backed up, skittish suddenly, nearly upsetting a small tower of boxes.

“Gee, I was only joking.” But Thomas pointed it at the window instead, cocked his head, and winked down the length of the gun, a John Wayne drawl coming from his licked lips. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

“What kind of adventure?”

“Remember that old crank Mr. Grimm?”

Of course she did. Everybody knew Mr. Grimm. The infamous town drunk lived at the outer edge of the village, in a droopy-eyed house that stood directly next to the dump; rumor had it the old man had been born and raised right in that very dump, and Maisie suspected he’d die there too.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“Well, he’s always sayin’ things about my leg on my way to school. I’m ‘bout to show him what I’m made of.”

Not a soul in Douglasville knew of an anger quite as bitter or as deep-rooted as Mr. Grimm's. Every morning at sunup, already scowling, he would hobble down the street, making sure to tromp on someone’s flower bed on the way, and take his usual place on the stoop of the corner post office, where he sat and commented on ladies’ dresses and grumbled about the state of politics and generally cursed everything under the sun—but his favorite pastime of all was tormenting schoolchildren. Especially Thomas, with his leg brace and funny walk.

“...What do you mean?”

“Oh, just tease ‘im a little, you know how he gets all worked up over things.” He had slipped the gun down his pant leg and now stood with a hand on the doorknob. “You coming?”

“You’re not… bringing that along, are you?”

“Only in case of an emergency. And to scare ‘im.” He shrugged as if people went out every day with guns hidden under their pants. “Aw c’mon, it’ll be funny!”

Maisie picked at a scab on her elbow. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t be such a sissy.”

He might as well have slapped her square in the face; there was nothing Maisie hated more than being called a sissy. “Okay,” she said, but only to nurse her wounded pride, and because she was left with no other option. And besides, Thomas had a point; it would be pretty funny. And so the adventure was on.

--------

Crows ruled the dump from atop heaping thrones of discarded things, pecking and perching and ruffling their dust-coated black feathers. To Maisie, as well as most of the kids of Douglasville, the dump was a land of endless possibility. What was tossed out when someone died or moved out could be salvaged and take on a new life for another. So Maisie had come to know her way around the dump like the back of her hand.

Now Thomas was shushing her. “He’ll be gettin’ home right about now.” As if in response, Mr. Grimm came staggering up the sidewalk, sending the two daredevils darting for cover behind the nearest mountain of junk. Mr. Grimm’s door slammed.

Thomas peered over a worn-out tire. “Looks like we can hide under the kitchen window. He won’t be able to see us down there. I say go, we make a run for it, got it?” Maisie got a little thrill and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Go!”

They made it to safety. Crouching in their hideout, Maisie looked above her head at a gnarled mass of vines, shriveled by the summer heat and clinging to the trellis. It whispered as if threatening to tell their secret.

“Go look in the window,” Thomas hissed in her ear, “and tell me what you see.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Maisie whined.

“‘Cause I gotta be on the lookout in case we need to get out of here in a hurry. Go on.” But his leg brace glinted the real reason as the sun beat down on his twisted frame and his eyes full of brewing storm.

Against her better judgement, but out of pity that Thomas couldn’t, Maisie trusted the trellis with her weight as she craned her neck to see over the windowsill. Even from outside, the air in the house felt stagnant and thick. Flies circled over a half-eaten loaf of stale-looking bread on the counter, and there was dust in the kitchen sink. Finally she noticed the man asleep in an armchair, one wrinkly arm dangling by his side as if he’d been dropped there by accident.

When she reported the news, Thomas visibly deflated. “We’ll just wait until he wakes up then.”

Their hiding place was smaller than it had looked from afar, and their clammy skin was pressed together in some places. In their pre-adolescence a shared self-consciousness descended upon them. Maisie busied herself by wrapping bits of dead vine around her finger. She’d never really thought of people in terms of boy or girl; were they really that different anyway? Why did she wear a skirt and not pants to church? What was it exactly that made a boy a boy and a girl a girl? She had extracted some vague clues from scraps of overheard grown-up conversation and a magazine she’d found in her dad’s coat pocket, but these were mismatched pieces of a puzzle she sensed you didn’t ask about anyway.

Above their heads, Mr. Grimm’s radio crackled out something about President Kennedy having made an appearance at a baseball game last Saturday. “My dad says President Kennedy is a blockhead Catholic,” Thomas whispered, wiping a trickle of sweat out of his eyes.

“You think we really will get a man on the moon someday?” Maisie pondered.

“Naw, I don’t think so.”

Maisie thought about it. “I do.”

“My dad says it’s a load of nonsense.”

Silence settled in. Beside Mr. Grimm’s house stood a quite healthy-looking apple tree Maisie hadn’t noticed before. She found a rotten apple and rolled it around with her toe. The fruit was small and green with a light dusting of pale red like a baby’s cheek. She wondered why death had come so early in its lifetime; perhaps a squirrel had accidentally knocked it off its branch. In any case, here it sat in Mr. Grimm’s dirt, decayed and full of worms.

Over time a lurking black shape became visible in Maisie’s peripheral vision like a shadow. As soon as she realized what it was, her heart leapt into her throat and she whisper-shrieked, “Put that thing down! Put it down!” The gun had been so close she had practically felt its breath on her temple—just like in the toolshed, only this time she didn’t know how long it had been there. By instinct, she had shrunk back against the trellis.

“Why do you do that?” she demanded.

“Shh! Stop being so loud.” He was polishing the weapon with the hem of his shirt.

“Why do you point it at me like that?”

“For practice.”

“Practice for what?”

“C’mon, you know I’m not gonna hurt you.”

"I know," Maisie said, "I just... I just hate it bein’ so close.”

“I’m gonna scare ‘im good,” Thomas was saying. “He’ll think he’s under attack, and when ‘e comes over to see what’s goin’ on, we’ll hide. Then, just when he’s startin’ to settle down again, I’ll shoot his hat right off, or somethin’. That’ll scare ‘im good.” Thomas's ginger hair flamed in the sun.

Maisie could hardly blame him for wanting to torment the old man; Mr. Grimm was a good-for-nothing bully, that part she knew—but the boy's eyes had a strange light, she thought.

But a noise in the house left the thought suspended in midair. Both children froze like deer in headlights as Thomas's eyes locked with Maisie’s.

As soon as Maisie could haul both of them up without causing a racket, the children were peeping over the windowsill by the stale bread and still-blabbering radio, the gun poised between their heads. Mr. Grimm stirred in his armchair. A tendril of dead vine crunched under Maisie's foot on the trellis and both children held their breath.

For the first time Maisie wondered what had happened to Mr. Grimm to make him so bitter. Perhaps the man had never been anything except angry in his life. A bony, blue-veined hand clutched drunkenly at a half-empty bottle arm’s length away on the table, knocking it to the floor. He swore at the broken fragments, then fell silent again.

“Well,” Maisie hissed, eager for the gun to be back in its cabinet, “wanna call it a day?”

But Thomas made no reply. A vein in his forehead was pulsing like the pounding of Maisie’s heart.

Maisie’s trembling grip on the trellis slackened with sweat. Through the window on the opposite wall of the house the sun was hanging heavy in the sky, and Maisie longed to be swinging on the porch railing again, without a care in the world. Besides, her mother must be wild with worry by now.

When Thomas looked at her, her stomach felt like it was being squeezed by a fist, and she felt like yelling out in powerlessness. In her confusion the thought came to her that Thomas could pull that very same trigger on her if he pleased, with only Mr. Grimm and the junkyard crows to bear witness. All earlier excitement was as stale as Mr. Grimm’s bread. Thomas's finger twitched. Would he? Could he?

Maisie tried to reassure herself. It was just a game of hide-and-seek—or better yet, they were a pair of secret agents waiting to expose the bad guys and save the day--only Maisie wasn’t sure who the bad guy was.

Then time went from barely moving to racing. With a considerable amount of effort, Mr. Grimm stood up from his chair and turned around. When he saw them, a look of drunken loathing contorted his face. The crows understood; they scattered, cawing their warnings. Maisie closed her eyes. Thomas cocked the gun, and in that moment she knew that whatever he was going to do, she couldn’t stop if she tried.

[hauntinghilarity]

SLRP Lore: The Wendigo

I had a grand ole time skulking about as my Wendigo. I made the avatar in second life, and if curious of the parts, I have this photo on my flickr with the item list.  I plan to rewrite the descriptions in the Flickr album so they relate to my character Curro, the photojournalist who I write as on my second life flickr albums, but for now what is pasted below is a placeholder. 

As with the Lickyface event, this is an event I created for the players of a roleplay sim. I was quite pleased with it, so I kept it. Here we are. 

The text is written in a gentle script before being magically replicated. Someone seems to be leaving a half-hearted attempt at a warning. Instead of telling anyone, he appears to have simply left his notes around. The top of the page was signed ‘Doc Boots’. It also had a page number. As most normal books do not have page numbers in the thousands, it is safe to say he ripped this from his personal, obviously magical, journal. Why he decided to leave it around is anyone’s guess.

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

“     The forest has been in an uproar lately. Something happened recently to turn the tide from general anger to talks of violence. They whisper of a darkness coming. What is particularly concerning, however, is that it appears that the forest does not speak of this growing beast with malice or fear. The forest seems uncertain to their stance, regardless, but the words they whisper are not lost on me. I have yet to learn whether it is one lone spirit or the work of a species, but regardless the word still fills me with equal parts of dread and wonder. Anything taught to me by the same being who was a master of skinwalking was always something to be dealt with with worry.      The Wendigo. The winter always seems to stir the spirit. An accidental ritual seems to bring it to life. It always starts with some group of people who are traveling. Lost in a forest, stuck in a blizzard, locked in a cave, the cause of their being stranded is inconsequential, though winter blizzards do seem to be the most common. I feel I know why. At first, they always try to survive the ‘moral’ way. They wouldn’t dream of eating their own kind, such things are taboo among the humanoids. Eventually, the conditionings of civilization bleed away. Eventually, your buddy begins to look like nothing more than a piece of meat. Like your lone chance to survive.

    I surmise that the reason the winter blizzards cause a higher rate of their creation due to the preservation of corpses. Should a friend die from exposure, or possibly other reasons, you are stuck staring at a perfectly good piece of meat. It might have your friends face, but as it lies there stiff and perfectly preserved... Your reservations bleed away.

   This first chunk of humanity stripped away causes the whole dam to break.

   It starts with just a finger.

   Then the entire arm.

   Soon enough, your whole family has become nothing more than a horrified collection of bones. Ones you have attempted to pose, because madness is beginning to set in.

   This means it is too late.

   Obviously.

   Your spirit has been infected. Your mind will rot, but it is not like it matters. The whispers of the Wendigo are the only purpose you’ll follow.

   Searching for more food.

   DEMANDING for more food.

   The taste of human can be quite addicting after all, not sure about body-warpingly good though.

   The previous host will be nothing but a memory.

 Their body stretching out.

 Sadly, no matter how many poor sods they eat, the Wendigo’s host will never seem to gain any weight.

 In fact, they just seem to become progressively skinnier until they look like nothing more than a skeleton wearing leathers.

 I have even seen one somewhere that had their own vertebrae rub through their skin until it poked out. This is not something that seemed to merit concern from the Wendigo.

What is most fascinating is what happens to their head. It takes a number of forms. Some a wolf, some a deer, but the most common as well my personal favorite involved a deer skull. Some merely find, decorate, and place one on their head. Possibly due to a remnant of humility, and what the spiritual infection does to the face is quite grotesque. My favorite method, I believe, is reserved to those most faithful to their corruptive spirit. They tear at their head, seemingly crushing and pulling at their own skin. The same magic warping their frame seems to give them material to work with. In my eyes though, it looked like it was stretching the upper portion of its own skull. Tearing and fussing with it like a sculptor with clay.

It would do this until the signature deer skull was formed. The area below, almost always hidden thanks to the deer skull itself, nothing would remain of the humanoid they once more minus the gaping mouth of a predator. The petals of flesh he tore away didn’t get removed either. Instead, they just seemed to collect along the edges of the skull. Instead of falling away like the world often dictates, it instead just collected. Until strands of this meaty substance hung from its skull like braids.”

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

Doc was about to leave, only for him to stop and think a moment. Did he trust the meat bodied cityfolk to actually find the book? If he was closer to the Mage’s guild maybe. This far from the forests? They might just pass the book by without even a gander! Though, he supposed if he left it in the forest something would just eat the damned thing. Right, he had a fix for all of this.

So, instead of a note, Doc did a complex ritual to create a new familiar. This living book would hover and rotate, mumbling and repeating the contents of the note to itself, until someone passes. The moment this book sees a target, the book would let out a loud noise, before loudly reciting the contents of the note as it magically copies it, before rapidly spitting these copies at its poor target. It will do this, getting louder in its recitation, until they take the note and place it somewhere the book deems proper. Their pocket, their pants, their cleavage, whatever makes the book believe that the person has properly taken it.

Do not let the book see you throw the note away. DO NOT.

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

Doc’s containment Ritual

I made a backup plan in case the players didn't figure out a way to contain it forever, or in case I wanted to bring it back. Sadly, the sim (Crest of Vrek'mar) has gone inactive last I heard, and they found a means of taking the Wendigo out.

Doc made it a little pointlessly complicated. They chopped down the tree of life though, deserved some damn difficulty.

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

   To prepare for the ritual, a smoke must be burned using a mixture of sulfur and minerals. As these materials burn, a special mixture of herbs (particularly sage, sweetgrass, and jasmine) soaked in humanoid blood before being dried is to be sprinkled over just before the ritual itself begins. One participant must play a hypnotic tune using a specially prepared gemshorn carved out of the horn of a musically inclined Satyr. Two more participants must perform a dance that satirizes the movements of the Wendigo, they are to both stand on opposite sides of the circle, always moving at the same speed so that continue to stand perfectly opposite each other. They are to keep this up until the ritual has completed. This portion of the ritual is to ease the natural spirits and prevent them from interfering with the ritual. As with all parts of a ritual this vast, this is highly important.

​

    The ritual will begin by drawing a large sigil into the dirt. The sigil itself will be made in the image of the Guardians of the Eldrich symbol, only with a complex series of shapes and runes within the tree. Placed in the space centered between the roots at the bottom of the tree drawn in the sigil, the heart of the first victim the Wendigo Spirit has possessed within a given cycle. Opposite the heart placed in the space centered between the branches, a piece of the host’s former life must be placed. As the tree of life the sigil called to has been destroyed, the branch of a mythical tree given willingly or a portion of a Dryads body, also willingly given, will be required to draw the required energy into the circle.

​

    On one of the roots at the bottom of the sigil a white quartz is to be placed, while on the top of the sigil, a smokey quartz is to be placed opposite of the location of the white Quartz. This will help conduct and regulate the energy coming into the sigil from one and escaping it, transformed, from another. Regents will continue to be placed in pairs. On at the bottom of the sigil on a root, the other on the top on a branch.

​

   The skinned flesh of a convicted and executed serial cannibal is to be draped over the heart while covering the two roots that are on either side of it. Draped over the reagent that represents the Wendigo’s former life will be the skin of a Stag (One that ISN’T a supernatural messenger or otherwise wildly important to the spirits and inhabitants of the forest) that had been honorably hunted using no weapons beside’s the hunter’s own bare hands. The meat of the Stag is to be prepared and given away before the ritual begins, while the rest of its remains are not to be wasted. Failing to do so may very well corrupt the spirit of THAT stag, and we’ll just have more problems to deal with. This shall represent the transformation of the Wendigo, and assist in releasing the souls that it has captured in this cycle.

    On the final root, the grave dust of a cannibal who has laid in its grave for at least a decade and never paid for their crimes. Opposite of this on the final branch, the placenta cord of a loving mother who has not known the feeling of malice or hatred. This is to represent the natural cycle, which the Wendigo stands in opposition of.

​

    A large quantity of Calcium, Phosphorus, Potassium, and Sulfur is to be CAREFULLY poured in separate circles surrounding the outside of the sigil, the dancers must make certain not to disturb this circle. Given everything that has been done to the forest lately, you need to, put bluntly, essentially bribe the forest itself with some of the nutrients it desires. Giving it to the forest in large quantities and in its most natural state MIGHT just help.

​

    Finally, a human skull specially carved with runes and soulstones embedded in its eye sockets is to be placed in the center of the sigil. The one who is going to recite the incantation will slice their finger and let enough blood drop onto the skull so it may dribble off over the side and touch the dirt. Care MUST be taken not to allow your blood to touch either of the soul stones. This is Doc’s main way of containing curses, but this particular evil spirit is a special case. The skull itself must be taken from a human with divine roots. A cleric would be the best. The contributor does not have to be murdered for the skull to be obtained, it may be obtained from a corpse.

​

    Should the preparations be performed to a T, the ritual will force the spirit of the Wendigo into the skull, but it is unlikely to do so calmly. It is recommended that magic users or warriors capable of harming spirits are at the ready once the incantation begins. Should the skull be broken, the spirit of the Wendigo will be able to wander the forests once more.

​

-Wendigo Heart-

​

    After removal, the heart will continue to give a faint, labored beat. The torn veins that once transported blood will, at first, splurt out a horribly putrid substance. A mixture of all the rot and decay that has accumulated in the horrid beast. Not long afterward, necrophagous blowflies will begin to swarm from inside the heart with each small pulse. The heart will not stop beating, and the swarm of flies will not stop naturally.

​

   To obtain this reagent, the Wendigo will have to be fought and subdued (Beaten) before the heart is removed. The Wendigo will be incapacitated, but the spirit that possesses it will be determined to obtain it.

[hayjeon]

When War Runs Deep | 05 You don't understand

→ angst, implied smut, vampire/war!au, 3k words → when a forbidden relationship between the general’s daughter and a vampire used as a military tool takes place during the war. → prologue: “I know” | 01 | 02 [M] | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

Yoongi watches as you sneakily skirt the edges of the brothel, satchel of money in your hand as you peer over the wall at the scenery of the party. He smirks and watches you from a few feet behind, hidden in the shadows as you beckon the little girl to come to you. 

He’d taken you here around four more times, and every time you’d stepped into the market, you always had some expensive jewelry that you sold to the stand owners, or books that you sold to the bookstore. It was little by little, but he noticed that the satchel in which you kept your saved money grew larger and larger until one day when he jumped onto your balcony to pick you up, you’d rushed out with a smile and red cheeks, grinning because you’d collected enough money to buy the girl her freedom. 

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and the wind blows towards him, carrying the scent of your hair in it. It’s sweet and addicting, and its the scent that tortures him whenever you bury your face in his neck to deal with the motion sickness when he carries you and the scent that covers your entire room, settling in the curtains and your covers. He goes to bed in his cold home, and often thinks of the scent, remembering how it entices him like no other but also calms and soothes him down. 

You are an interesting creature, he thinks. You are exactly like the other humans, blood rushing beneath the skin, heat emanating from every inch, and he can see and hear every sign of life in your features. But there is something more, that draws him into this little bird who refuses to stay in her cage. He desires nothing more to sink his canines into the lithe, pale neck of yours, but he decides with a grumpy scowl, that he’d rather let you survive for just a bit more. He’s just a bit curious, he convinces himself, to see what you have in store. 

The little girl who you whisper to widens her eyes as you tell her your plan, nods, and rushes back to a burly man sitting at the entrance of the house. He’s a burly man with a long beard and eyes that are filled with greed and lust. When she whispers in his ear, his eyes grow angry but he beckons her to bring the guest over. 

You emerge from the shadows, confidently striding up to the man. He takes a look at your expensive riding outfit and seems to calm down to give you a chance to speak, but Yoongi watches carefully just in case the brothel owner or the other male customers who are currently raking their eyes over your legs make a move. He can hear your conversation as you negotiate with the brothel owner and thrust the bag of bills and coins in his face. He grunts and opens the satchel and Yoongi can see from here how his eyes turn dark and a sinister smile spreads over his face at the hefty sum. 

“Why are you willing to buy this bitch? For so much?” He asks. 

You don’t waver. “I’m going to use her as a maid in my estate. Trying to buy a maid elsewhere is too complicated. I want her.” You point a finger to the shivering girl who looks up at her owner in fear. 

He seems to be deep in thought for a moment before nodding. “This is much more than she would make me in the years she’s useful for. Go on, take her.” 

You smile and the girl rushes over to your side, gripping your pants and hiding behind your figure. You hold her to your side, not backing down from the master’s stare. 

He warns, “But if word of this gets out to anyone, I’ll slit your lovely neck and she’ll be next too.” 

You smile back, not hesitating. “Same goes for you. Word shouldn’t go out that the elite are now resorting to buy prostitutes as maids. Keep that secret to yourself and we have a deal.” 

He lustily looks down your body. “If you ever need more services, love, don’t hesitate to return. We have plenty of fun here at this house and you definitely qualify.” 

“I think i’ll pass for today. Good night sir.” You bow to him politely and the girl grabs her things and immediately follows after you as you make your way over to the road. “Let’s go,” you whisper to Yoongi, who stands aloofly on the side with his hands shoved in his pockets. He stops you for a second, and you watch as he removes his coat to put it gently over the shaking shoulders of the young girl. 

She flinches when he draws near, but you reassure her with a warm hand on her back as Yoongi maneuvers the fabric around the girl. Your heart breaks that she cannot keep eye contact with either of you, always speaking to the ground and shying away from any touches. 

You crouch down to her eye level, rubbing her arm. “I’m here to help you okay? You have to trust me. You have to be strong from now on.” 

She looks up at you, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “W-what’s gonna happen to me? Are you gonna sell me too?” 

You almost cry but you choke back the tears and smile at her sadly. “No, honey. We’re gonna find you a home, and a family.” 

“A family?” 

You nod. “I know some great people who are going to love you and keep you safe. You don’t ever have to go back to the brothel again.” 

She smiles, and a little hand comes up to stroke your cheek. “Thank you.” You smile and stand up, gripping her hand in yours as you gesture for Yoongi to lead the way. “I think we should walk today, since we have company.” 

He nods, and shoves his hands in his pockets, but as he makes his way toward the direction of the vineyards, he sees how you and the girl linger behind as he walks too quickly. He rolls his eyes and slows down, crooking his elbow. Grumpily he offer his arm to you, and you smile shyly as you take his arm with your other hand that’s not hiding the girls’. And you two slowly make your way over to the vineyard servant quarters. 

When you arrive, the families are shocked to see the general’s daughter with an unfamiliar man and girl dressed in riding clothes. They bustle about, in shock, whispering “missus,” over between themselves as they rush to put on presentable clothes. But you gently assure them not to worry, and pull the head of the house aside to speak to him, and ask that the other servants help the girl get dressed in warmer and more modest clothing compared to the sheer dress the brothel owner had given her.

“Sir Lee, you’ve served our family for years and you are an incredibly loyal and gentle man. I know you understand the importance of family and that you love your children deeply, and cared for me like your own child and have given me the same amount of love. Could I ask you for a deep favor?” 

“Miss, of course.” He is now an old man, nearing his seventies, but his eyes shine with wisdom and gentleness as he gazes on you like his own granddaughter. 

“I have just paid the brothel owner to set this young child free. She was doomed to live in the brothel forever, but after running across her, I couldn’t bear to leave her there. She’s so young, she deserves better. Would you be kind enough to take care of her, to teach her the skills to be able to fend for herself and maybe find a job soon?” 

He nods, thinking deeply. “Of course, she can stay in the girls’ bedroom, and she can help with the vineyards until we can find her a safer and more fitting job. But miss, if your father found out you traveled to the marketplace, he would have a fit!” 

You nod, “I know, Mr. Lee. It’s only because of Yoongi that I was able to avoid all the guards all along.” Mr. Lee peers over your shoulder, where Yoongi is picking off some grapes and popping them into his mouth. Frowning, he turns back to you, “I-Is that who I think it is?” 

You frown, “You know Yoongi?” 

He nods. “Your father introduced him to us so we wouldn’t think he’s a stranger. Miss, you must be careful. He is not of our kind, he was brought here to fight the war.” 

You nod, “I know. But he’s gentle, and kind. He’s the one who helped me find her in the first place. You must trust me.” 

He nods, taking your hands in his. “Of course, miss. What is her name?” 

You look back at the girl, watching as the daughters of the servant household swarm around her and braid her hair, giving her a cup of warm water and dancing and singing around her. She shyly let’s them have their way, wide eyes wandering round her and the beautiful vicinity of the servant cabins until she meets your gaze. She smiles, and you return it, knowing that she will be safe here. 

“She said she doesn’t have a name, but I think we should call her Bekha.” 

“Bekha like the lotus?” He inquires. 

You nod. “Bekha, like the lotus.” 

“Dear, isn’t the steak Mrs. Jeon cooked, so lovely?” Your mother asks sweetly, glancing at you from her place at the table. You smile back, grinning at your future mother in law. “Yes, it’s delicious ma’am.” 

You return your gaze back to your steak, the smile falling from your lips. 

It had been a few weeks since you’d rescued Bekha. But your father had suddenly decided to have you take a few more classes from your tutor, shutting off your time to focus on devising a plan to get another girl out of the brothel and a plan for her to reintegrate into society again. You had become too tired, too piled with work to focus and the meetings with Yoongi had become scarce as the battles he was required to fight increased. 

Both of you felt guilty in your daily life but duty called in reality. The girls would just have to wait. Nevertheless, you worked tirelessly throughout the night whenever you could, and you could tell that Yoongi was also putting in as much work too. 

The dark circles were prominent that your mother had someone come in and apply some makeup to you before going to the Jeon estate for a dinner. The weight in your cheeks had been lost and your cheekbones and collarbones were much more prominent. 

And Jeongguk, who sat across from you, noticed as well. Your sad gaze was now just tired, and your bright complexion had lost its shine, now dull and sickly. He was worried. After the meal, he noticed you weren’t feeling well enough to entertain the adults and their talk of war, so he excused himself with you, to the delight of your parents. 

“Mother, I apologize, but Y/N looks like she’s not feeling well,” He addresses your mother, “May I take her outside for some fresh air?” 

Your mother practically jumps up at the opportunity and gives an excited yes as she glances between you two. You only smile weakly and let Jeongguk lead you outside to the back of his manor, where an immaculate rose garden is in bloom. He offers his arm to you, and you take it to steady yourself. Recently, you’d been so busy and tired that you hadn’t been getting enough meals, and when your maid brought you some food, you weren’t feeling up to eating. 

Lightheadedness had become an everyday thing. 

“Are you feeling alright Y/N?” He asks. He sits you down on a fountain and when he notices you shivering from the crisp night air, he shrugs off the coat he wore to dinner and tucks around your figure. You thank him. 

“I’m alright. Just...a few things on my mind.” He hums and waits for you to continue, but at your silence, he clears his throat. “Let me take you out somewhere, to relieve your thoughts.” He reaches out his hand and you take it, and he helps you up. 

After telling your mother, he helps you up on his horse before getting on behind you. He grabs the reins from behind, arms coming forward around your waist and you stiffen as you feel his breath on your neck and his chest on your back. If he notices your discomfort, he says nothing and just silently guides the horse towards the vineyards of your manor. 

And right now, as he rides with you up to the vineyards, his tongue itches to bring up the incident. But he cannot at the moment, for he knows that you do not trust him yet, that you would lie to him in order to conceal the servant girl’s identity and Yoongi’s as well. And a surge of anger rises in him at the thought of you protecting Yoongi, a vampire who was clearly up to no good, carrying a to-be-betrothed woman out of her room when the moon was at its highest point, and taking her to the marketplace without any of her servants or parents discovering.  

So when he finally arrives at the clearing that has a view of the marketplace, he helps you down from the horse and silently walks over to the edge and sits. You follow, warily gathering your skirts and gingerly sitting on the lush. You remember this hill, the place where you first met Yoongi and had a conversation with him, the place where you argued about Romeo and Juliet with him. But it shocks you that Jeongguk knows this place, this secret area that you thought was only for yourself. 

His voice cuts through. “Are you feeling alright these days?” You hesitate, leaving your hands folded on your lap. “Y-yes, Jeongguk. Why do you ask?” 

He leans back. “You’ve been quite occupied these days, and you look quite disturbed. Is it all the talk of the war that you dislike?” You sigh, “Well, yes. I’d like to, for once, just enjoy a thoughtful conversation with someone instead of speaking of battleships and war tactics and the economy. It’s all my father talks about, and my mother always seems to direct the conversation towards that topic.” 

He nods, “I think so too. It’s quite difficult in a household with two men in military ranks to hold a conversation about anything other than that.” Glancing over at him, you smile. “But you don’t. I appreciate that.” 

He smiles back at you, the grin stretching towards his eyes and crinkling his nose. You find it incredibly endearing, to know that the general who commands thousands of ranks and men and guns is looking at you like a child, smiling so big. “I’m glad. I’d like to one day come home to you away from all this and just be able to enjoy home without thought about killing and fighting.” 

You turn your head back to the view, eyes scanning the rolling hills and landing on the speck of light that indicates the servant household where Bekha is probably sleeping. Jeongguk watches as your shoulders sag and wonders if its because of the talk of your future marriage that your demeanor suddenly changes. 

He speaks up, stammering in an attempt to cover up his previous statement, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up. W-what I meant was, not that I’d come home to you, well actually, maybe—if you’d like, but,” 

His words bring you out of your thoughts as you place a gentle hand on his arm. “No Jeongguk, it’s fine. I know what you mean. I wish that as well.” 

And you lock eyes with him, and he gazes at you under the bright haze of the moon, seeing how the shadows dance under the curves of your jaw and how your white dress dotted with floral designs catches the blue haze of the moon and makes you look like you’re shining with white light. And as he returns the gaze with fierce intensity, you begin to feel uncomfortable, unsure what to do with your hands or your eyes. And so you make a move to remove your hand from his forearm, and scramble up to where the horse is tied.

And the spell is broken.

Jeongguk lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, heart thumping a hundred miles per minute, and breath coming out in short gasps as he watches you retreat to the horse with a heavy heart. He’d wanted nothing more than to grab your pretty little hand in his and wrap his arms around you as he pressed his lips to yours. 

But he gulps and composes himself before helping you up onto the horse and silently riding back to your manor. 

Your parents are already home getting ready for bed as you arrive, indicating that the dinner was now finished and the Jeons were probably cleaning up at this point at their estate. 

Jeongguk helps you down from the horse, large hands framing your waist as he hoists you down from the saddle. You grab his shoulders for balance, and when you shoes hit the dirt, you find yourself looking up at him as none of you move. It’s the same look he gave you at the hillside a few moments ago, the same burning gaze with dark hazel eyes that he gave you. You glance down to his lips, which are pressed into a firm line, neither smiling the familiar smile nor frowning at you. 

Jeongguk is locked again in your eyes, searching desperately to see whether you return his feelings, whether you care enough to stay up when he goes to battle, whether you would be happy during the day of the wedding. He imagines you gazing at him with the same care you did back at the hillside, but instead in his imagination you look at him from your shared bed, in your shared home. You’re dressed in nothing but the wedding ring he carries right now in his pocket. And then he sees you wearing white, pristine lace covering your body in a demure but conservative way as you’re walked down the aisle towards him. And he desires nothing more at this moment but to make you his, to make you happy. 

He whispers, “Y/N…” before slowly moving down slowly to match his lips against yours. 

You freeze, eyes wide open as he just gently presses his mouth to you, not moving and only asking for your consent. He is so close, closer than when you were on the horse together, closer than when you’d shared your first dance as fiancees, closer even than when Yoongi hugged you close as he ran towards the marketplace. 

At the thought of Yoongi, you feel a surge of shame and guilt wash over you, face heating and mind rushing into an unrecognizable flurry at imagining how Yoongi would look at you when he remembered that you were a woman who was to be married to Jeon Jeongguk, the son of the man who intended to rid the country of creatures like Yoongi. 

So you break away with a gasp, pressing your palms against his broad chest and lowering your face as you blink to try and clear your thundering thoughts. You glance up at Jeongguk to see a flash of hurt and deep sadness cross his handsome features before it morphs into pure apology. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

You cut him off. “Ah, n-no. I d-didn’t mean to push you away, I just… I-I’m feeling a bit ill and I wouldn’t want you to catch anything in the case that I am coming down with a cold.” 

He hesitates for a moment, obviously seeing through your attempt at politeness. But he has nothing more to say, for he has seen the implications loud and clear even before you spoke a word. 

And so he releases you, stepping back to allow a comfortable and polite distance between you two. Now he can clearly see, what he was unable to see before, the invisible line between the two of you. Fiancées, yes. Promised to wed, yes. But in love, no. He realizes with a dark surge of anger and hurt that this invisible line between the both of you will probably never be broken or crossed. 

And as you politely bid him goodnight and retreat into your estate, he settles his gaze on your balcony where he sees the light blink on and then later, off to indicate you’re in bed.

And he stays there, standing in the same spot he’d stepped into right after the kiss, heart aching and fists clenched as he cannot bring himself to move, afraid that this spot right here is the closest he will ever get to this line. 

He’s afraid that once he steps away from this line and accepts his own reality, that he will never, ever be able to love you like he’d imagined and wished he’d be able to do, that you will never look up at him with the adoration and love that he’d wished to be looked upon with. 

And Jeon Jeongguk, he realizes with a start, feels scared for the first time in his life.

[chlstarrbaby]

Hearts and Souls Are The Same Thing Down Here chp 9

Happy 2nd Anniversary Undertale!

“It sounds like it came from over here…Oh! You’ve fallen down, haven’t you…Are you okay? Here, get up……Chara, huh? That’s a nice name.

M Y  N A M E  I S…”

Sora and the others woke with a start, and found themselves either on a bed of golden flowers once again or the debris of the plank they were just standing on, the main difference being that there was a bit of water on the edges instead of more ground, their various limbs were getting soaked. Donald had the worst luck of it, having gotten a ton of water in his mouth, enough that one could swear that he also spat out Jiminy…scratch that, he did. However, that wasn’t important at the moment.

“Did anyone else just hear a voice refer to Chara by name?” Donald asked in a low and calculated tone.

“Gwarsh, you too? I thought it was just me so I didn’t wanna say anything!” Goofy quipped.

“Yeah, I heard it. How ‘bout you Frisk?” Sora asked as Frisk sat up.

Frisk nodded and wanted to add on, but noticed Jiminy wasn’t in immediate line of sight and looked around frantically for him, just managing to spot him floating away on a loose flower. With a silent gasp of panic, Frisk quickly got up and leaped for him, since there was a waterfall along the wall and another one on this level further up ahead to worry about.

“Thanks, Frisk, that sure was some current.” Jiminy thanked, brushing off gobs of water droplets from his top hat. “I heard the voice too for the record!” He announced so that the others would hear.

“So, what was that Frisk?” Sora waded over and asked, the water was ankle deep for all of them and somehow he managed to ignore Donald quacking furiously in the background at something in favor of an answer for the curious situation.

Frisk gave a look that wondered how to go about it, or not at all given the circumstances of the truth in the long run. Then they thought of the best answer to give the others as well as why it was so strange for all of them to have heard it.

“Huh, Frisk says that it’s extremely strange that all of us heard it since it’s a piece of Chara’s memories.” Jiminy translated, then he got distracted by Donald’s incessant quacking and decided to loudly ask the water fowl what was up. “Alright Donald, what’s got you so riled up now?”

“GARBAGE! GARBAGE IN THE WATER EVERYWHERE! I SPAT YOU AND THAT SAME WATER OUT! EEWWWW!” Donald shrilled. Everyone else finally took in their surroundings and noticed the piles of garbage, they instantly felt bad for the duck, and gave their own sounds of disgust…

Except Goofy, he was more fascinated by what he could find in the garbage piles, and boy did he find a lot.

“Hey! There’s a bunch of neato stuff in here that’s pretty useful!” He called over his shoulder to the others. As they came up behind him, Sora gasped in pleased surprise and joined him in digging. There was an Aero spell and an Aeroa as well as a ton of Potions, Hi Potions and at least one Mega Potion. All of which Sora happily pointed out to Frisk since they seemed very interested in how pretty the various potions looked in comparison to each other, as they looked like bottled jelly cosmos of various sizes even though they were drinkable.

Other than the foragables, there were only a few brand names on random junk that Frisk recognized, and a few that neither Frisk nor the others recognized, something about Chocobos…whatever those were, but judging by the faded out picture and text of whatever promotional thing it was supposed to be, it was a yellow bird that was chubby in its infancy and ridable in its adulthood. Everything else in the trash heaps that were scattered further into the next room were simply garbage.

There was also a save point on a plank of its own, hard to say if it was part of the plank they fell from or not, but it was wedged between the waterfall on the wall beside them and the waterfall that was the source of the current that threatened to flush Jiminy away. Just to be safe, they saved. The waterfall here seems to flow from the ceiling of the cavern…Occasionally, a piece of trash will flow through……and fall into the bottomless abyss below. Viewing this endless cycle of worthless garbage…It filled them all with determination.

They continued on into the next room finding more garbage piles, a rusted bicycle with a horn that wheezes in despair, a beat-up desktop computer that was empty, a cooler with two freeze-dried space bars of astronaut food that they took for safe keeping, a desperately scratched up DVD case of an anime, and finally a training dummy that was fairly identical to the one Toriel made them practice on. The group stared into its eyes for a moment and then continued moving on, unknowingly incurring the wrath of something that was watching them back.

No sooner than they were mere steps away from the bar of land that would get them out of the ankle deep water, did they all feel the presence of something and it was behind them. Slowly they all turned their heads just in time to see the training dummy they just passed by gain angry eyes of absolute fury. It was so mad that it jumped and floated before them, blocking their way forward.

“Hahaha…Too intimidated to fight me, huh!? I am a ghost that lives inside a DUMMY. My cousin used to live inside a DUMMY too. Until…YOU LOT CAME ALONG!” It bellowed angrily. “When you talked to them, they thought they were in for a nice chat…But the things you SAID…! Horrible. Shocking! UNBELIEVABLE! It spooked them right out of their dummy! HUMANS! I’ll scare your Souls right out of your bodies!” And thus started the ‘Fight’ with the Mad Dummy blocking the way, as the white walled interface surrounded our heroes.

The Mad Dummy had an attack power of 7, and a - 40 defense, because they’re a ghost, physical attacks will fail if attempted.

“Futile! Futile! FUTILE!” the Mad Dummy screeched as it sent little lesser dummies to shoot scribbles at Frisk and Sora’s Souls. It wasn’t until the shots came from the back most walls that they noticed the Mad Dummy could get hit with them, and since physically attacking wasn’t going to work it apparently counted if it was a magical one and a taste of its own medicine. As evidenced by the very helpful slip of the tongue the Mad Dummy made in frustration.

“OWWWW, you DUMMIES!! Watch where you’re aiming your MAGIC attacks!” Then the Mad Dummy realized what it just said and tried to cover it up but did so poorly. “…Hey! You two! Forget I said anything about MAGIC! ! !” The Mad Dummy started to look nervous. Frisk and Sora tried talking to the Dummy…It, like it’s cousin, didn’t seem much for conversation. No one is happy with this.

“I’ll defeat you both and take your Souls!” Mad Dummy snarled, and started bossing around its bullets. “I’ll use either one of your Souls to cross the barrier!” Then the next hit of scribbles made Mad Dummy change tactics a little and start floating back and forth to make it harder to hit with perfectly dodged scribbles. “I’ll stand in the window of a fancy store!” It bellowed its dream, and became hopping mad with each hit of a scribble that came in waves. “THEN EVERYTHING I WANT WILL BE MINE!”

Mad Dummy kept getting sneakier as it stayed in a corner to make it even more difficult for the dodged scribbles, but Frisk and Sora were able to manage it anyway. Mad Dummy then started to get cotton all over the dialogue box. In terms of turns, the humans had no other option but to spam the spare button each time it was their turn.

“Huh? Yeah, I guess that’ll avenge my cousin.” The Mad Dummy said in a white lie, as their eyes looked off to the side nervously. The little dummies added a tactic, they turned red and dropped from the ceiling of the white walls. “What was their name again…?” Gravity went whichever which way for the little dummies when they turned red, as their aim was for the opposing wall though they left a space for the Souls to pass through unharmed. More scribbles were dodged and hit the Mad Dummy. “Whatever. Whatever! WHATEVER! Foolish. Foolish! FOOLISH! Futile. Futile! FUTILE!” Another wave of scribbles and Mad Dummy decided to up things a little.

“Hey guys!” Out popped all the little dummies on all four walls. “Dummies. Dummies! DUMMIES! Remember how I said NOT to shoot at me? Well…FAILURES! YOU’RE FIRED! YOU’RE ALL BEING REPLACED! ! !” The little dummies sadly went away. “Hahaha. Hahaha! HAHAHA! Now you’ll see my true power: Relying on people that aren’t garbage!” Mad Dummy bellowed maniacally. Mechanical whirrs filled the room.

“DUMMY BOTS! MAGIC MISSILE!” Mad Dummy ordered, and out came little dummy robots that fired missiles that looked like little rockets. They were Soul seeking missiles as they followed Frisk and Sora around with ease, but were easily shaken off with one little circle so the missiles could loop and careen right into a direction that they had to somehow calculate, for the moment they missed Mad Dummy of course and the Mad Dummy responded in kind.

“DUMMY BOTS! TRY AGAIN!” So they did, and Frisk and Sora missed Mad Dummy again. “DUMMY BOTS! You’re awful???” The Dummy Bots were fueled with some determination to prove Mad Dummy wrong as a whole slew of them showed up and fired at the Souls. It was enough that Frisk and Sora managed to loop some of the missiles into Mad Dummy this time, and it seemed to be a smidge more potent than the scribbles. This was evidenced by the fact that Mad Dummy was already progressively floating in distinct halves, nearly doing some kind of ska dance, but not quite. The Mad Dummy glared into a mirror, then turned to the humans with the same expression.  

“DUMMY BOTS! FINAL ATTACK!” More like one Dummy Bot actually…at first anyways, as only one fired a missile while the little dummies that were fired decided to come back for one last round of turning red and bouncing off a wall to careen into the opposing one. As one could guess this was not easy to dodge all at once. Then another slew of Dummy Bots showed up and fired missiles, and Frisk and Sora expertly dodged and made them fly into Mad Dummy, who was losing its cool in a few ways.

“(N…no way!) (These guys are even WORSE than the other guys!) Who cares. Who cares! WHO CARES! ! I DON’T NEED FRIENDS! ! !” Mad Dummy shrilled and conjured a knife out of nowhere. “I’VE GOT KNIVES!!!” Mad Dummy threw the knife at the humans Souls, and they dodged it easily. Mad Dummy stopped hopping around and looked awfully bashful. “I’m…Out of knives.” They went back to hopping mad. “BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER! ! ! YOU CAN’T HURT ME AND I CAN’T HURT EITHER OF YOU! YOU’LL BE STUCK FIGHTING ME…” They stopped hopping for one word, then progressively continued hopping until their halves were flying all over the place. “Forever. Forever! FOREVER! ! !” And laughed manically.                                        

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA-!” Mad Dummy was interrupted by drops of something. “Wh…What the heck is this!? Ergh! Acid rain!?! Oh, FORGET IT! I’m outta here!” Mad Dummy finally relented and scooted off to the side and out of sight with the scowl still plastered to its face.

As it turned out, it was not acid rain that had hurt Mad Dummy, but in fact the only thing that could hurt it, a ghost taking a corporeal form…ghost tears. As Napstablook phased in to apologize.

“…sorry, I interrupted you, didn’t I? as soon as I came over, your friend immediately left…oh no.. you guys looked like you were having fun…oh no…I just wanted to say hi…oh no…………………………………………………………” Napstablook faded out from the white walled interface, but was still floating there before our heroes as soon as the white walls went away.

“Well…I’m going to head home now…oh…umm…feel free to ‘come with’ if you want… but no pressure…I understand if you’re busy…it’s fine…no worries…just thought I’d offer…” With that, he headed on into the next room. The gang followed, and found themselves in a lobby of sorts, as there were multiple paths and some save points. Napstablook had actually noticed that they followed him this far and decided that if they actually wanted to come with he could direct them to his house at the very least. “Hey…my house is up here…in case you all want to see…or in case…you don’t…” Then Napstablook continued down the middle path across the way from the save point.

Since it was for the best, the gang saved before doing anything more. They all felt a calming tranquility. They’re filled with determination.

Frisk then pulled out the cell phone and called Papyrus, for a very important and informational reason.

“HEY! YOU’RE NEAR UNDYNE’S HOUSE! THAT’S TO THE LEFT-UPWARDS. LUPWARDS. ALL THE OTHER DIRECTIONS GO TO THE WRONG HOUSE. NORTH: GHOST HOUSE. EAST: TURTLE HOUSE. SOUTH: TRASH HOUSE.” Papyrus then hung up after having said his piece.

“You lead Frisk.” Sora quipped cheerfully. Frisk turned to Sora and smiled at him, and promptly lead the group left just to show the gang the little bird that proudly gives a shortcut….for Frisk anyway. As Sora and the others, hopped the gap like they usually did to cheat the ‘puzzle’ and waited for Frisk and the little bird that carried them over the small gap with heroic sounding music coming from nowhere.

The shortcut lead right to the area where Sans had his telescope that gave them a black eye. Frisk went to the box to sort their inventory before they headed back across the gap, which Frisk took the offered flight of the small bird again while the others hopped across.

Then they went to the upper left path to see Undyne’s house, it was half black and half white and looked like an angry fish or sea monster since it actually had a tail on the darker side of the house. No one was home, but there was a training dummy that could talk and judging by its tone, it was the Mad Dummy from before but calmed down….ish.

“What. What? WHAT!? It’s a living.”

Frisk pulled out the cell phone and called Papyrus. He picked up after two rings. He was loud enough for the others to hear.

“THAT’S UNDYNE’S HOUSE. LET’S GO THERE AND HANG OUT SOMEDAY!!!” Then he hung up since that was all he had to say on the matter.

There wasn’t anything else to see here so they went back and on their way to Napstablook’s house. They found two houses actually, but the pink one was locked so they went into the blue one instead and found Napstablook at his computer.

“oh….you really came…sorry, i….wasn’t expecting that. it’s not much, but make yourself at home.” The ghost greeted.

Frisk, still leading the way went straight for the refrigerator. They pointed at it, not opening it since they were a guest.

“oh….are you hungry… i can get you something to eat…” With that Napstablook glided over to the fridge and took something out without even opening it. “this is a ghost sandwich…do you want to try it…”

Frisk and the others nodded vigorously, but as Frisk attempted to bite into it, they phased right through it…

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that, even though it probably should’ve been.” Donald grumbled in his breath, not wanting to insult the already sensitive Napstablook. Thankfully the DJ ghost didn’t seem to hear it because of his headphones.

“oh…nevermind…” Napstablook said dejectedly because the ghost sandwich couldn’t be enjoyed. After a pregnant pause, the ghost came up with something else to do. “after a great meal i like to lie down and feel like garbage…it’s a family tradition…do you want…to join me…?”

Again the gang nodded eagerly, wanting to do anything to make Napstablook happy…even a little bit.

“okay…follow my lead…” So they did, following the ghost to the center of the little abode and they all plopped down on their backs, and because of the tight quarters they circled up. “here we go…you’ll lie down as long as you don’t move. so…only move around when you want to get up, i guess.”

Ten seconds later, they all could somehow see the cosmos, not even their cosmos specifically, just a generic cosmos of the universe outside of all the separated worlds as they could see galaxies as far as the eye could see and just felt relaxed and soothed. For Sora especially, it was like waves on a shore as the cosmos around them swayed rhythmically.

It was all so fascinating, but so soothing that they fell asleep again. They didn’t scoot closer to each other to cuddle, not after the last time they tried napping.

Sora opened his eyes again to darkness, but this time it wasn’t like the darkness from when he himself turned into a heartless a year or so ago, this was more like the cavernous darkness of the Underground, just a part of it that he hadn’t seen before…or yet as it still looked like Waterfall just by the still darkness and a long boardwalk bridge.

“Yo.” Came Monster Kid’s voice. Sora blinked and saw three figures again, that of both Frisk’s ghostly form, and Chara still looking more like Frisk and wasn’t blinking to look like their true form, and of course, Monster Kid in front of the Chara controlled Frisk.

“What in Sam Hill are we watching?” Came Donald’s voice from Sora’s right. Sora jumped at the suddenness of his voice as did the ghostly Frisk, as well unfortunately as the Chara controlled Frisk.

Sora scrambled to cover Donald’s beak and Goofy’s mouth now that Sora noticed him on his left, Jiminy stayed quiet on top of Donald’s head because he was so invested in what was going on. Ghost Frisk subtly turned to give the silent sign of shushing so the not quite memory dream thing could play out without Chara looking even crazier than they clearly already were.

“Undyne told me to stay away from you. She said that you… You hurt a lot of people…. Monster Kid said dejectedly but in a way that they just couldn’t believe it even as they said it and proved it in their next question. “But, yo, that’s not true, right!?”

Ghost Frisk still seemed to have some control over their body as they forced Chara to turn away in what seemed like guilt and contemplation.

“……yo… Why won’t you answer me? A…a… And what’s with that weird expression…?”

The trinity trio only got a glimpse of what Monster Kid was referring to before Ghost Frisk lost control again and hissed Chara’s name in a pitiful attempt to get them to stop whatever they were about to do. In any case, the expression on the body of Frisk’s possessed face was a creepy grin that sent shivers down all of their spines.

Especially since Chara turned back to Monster Kid with an obvious intent to kill as they took a step forward, and Monster Kid took a step back.

“Oh…Oh man…” Monster Kid said sounding panicked. Then they turned away and whispered to themselves, “Man, my h-heart’s pounding right out of my chest……what would Undyne do?...” They then turned back around in a small burst of courage derived from thinking of Undyne. “Yo… Y-you’d b-better st-stop r-right where you are…’Cause if you w-wanna hurt anyone else…you’re… You’re gonna have to get through me, first. A…and…. and…”

And Monster Kid was in Chara’s way, looking like free EXP with just an ATK and DEF of 2.

Just as Chara struck out at Monster Kid, Undyne came out of nowhere and took the hit. Without her helmet, the trinity trio witnessed for the first time that she really was a fish lady, with an eye patch over her left eye. The attack completely depleted her HP to zero, but she didn’t turn to dust right away.

“Undyne…You’re… You’re hurt…” Monster Kid choked out looking ready to cry since they themselves were obviously about to die and now their hero was hurt really badly.

“Hurt? It’s nothing.” Undyne replied encouragingly even through the pain. “Next time, listen when I tell you to leave, okay?”

“Undyne… I…” Monster Kid whimpered guiltily.

“I’ll take care of this! Get out of here!” She ordered, and Monster Kid didn’t hesitate on following that order.

As soon as they were out of sight, Undyne was now struggling to keep her form from turning into dust as her feet waivered in staying whole.

“…heh… ‘It’s nothing’…No…s-somehow…with just one hit…I’m already… Already…D…damn it…” The wavering of her feet pulsated faster even though she continued. “Papyrus…Alphys…Asgore… Just like that, I… I’ve failed you.” The wavering ran up her whole body, threatening to turn her into dust.

But somehow… She stayed Determined.

“…No… My body… It feels like it’s splitting apart.” She admitted in pain, as the wavering moved back down her and pulsated from the waist down. “Like any instant… I’ll scatter into a million pieces. But…Deep, deep in my soul. There’s a burning feeling I can’t describe.”

That’s determination alright, the trinity trio and the real Frisk thought.

“A burning feeling that WON’T let me die.” Undyne smiled at the thought and it sparked back her inner strength but a sudden thought occurred to her about the human situation. “This isn’t just about monsters anymore, is it? If you get past me, you’ll… You’ll destroy them all, won’t you? Monsters…Humans… Everyone….”

The real Frisk flinched at this line but it went unnoticed.

“Everyone’s hopes. Everyone’s dreams. Vanquished in an instant. But I WON’T let you do that.” Undyne smiled again. “Right now, everyone in the world…” She opened her good eye and the colors were a reverse pallet of what they had once saw. “I can feel their hearts beating as one. And we all have ONE goal. To defeat YOU. Human. No, WHATEVER you are. For the sake of the whole world… I, UNDYNE, will strike you down!” Her whole body suddenly wavered but only for the sake of her growing determination. When she reformed again, she was whole, no lingering wavers, but her armor had changed into something that looked tougher, despite hearts being a main motif on her chest plate and gloves, and even her voice sounded slightly otherworldly.

“You’re gonna have to try a little harder than THAT.” She cajoled. A laser beam was constantly shooting out of her eye-patched eye and she was labeled as Undyne the Undying, the heroine reformed by her own DETERMINATION to save Earth. With 99 ATK and DEF it was obvious that she would be tough, but not as tough as Sans.

“This is earlier in that bad timeline, isn’t it Frisk?” Sora inquired finally, since Chara was too busy fighting to bother to pay them any mind, and released Donald and Goofy from the forced shushing hold.

“Yeah, it is. No matter how hard I tried, as soon as Chara started I could never stop them. And as soon as Undyne is finished, its easy pickings to Chara until the fight with Sans at the end.” Frisk explained sadly.

Before Donald, Goofy, or Jiminy could even begin to make a comment, Chara had already brought Undyne’s HP to zero, again.

“Damn it… So even THAT power… It wasn’t enough…? ...Heh… Heheheh…” Undyne chuckled weakly and then broke into a huge grin. “If you… If you think I’m gonna give up hope, you’re wrong. ‘Cause I’ve got my friends behind me.” Her big grin lessened into a smirk and she was sweating profusely but continued nonetheless. “Alphys told me that she would watch me fight you… And if anything went wrong, she would evacuate everyone. By now she’s called Asgore and told him to absorb the six human Souls.”

“He won’t.” Frisk quipped.

“And with that power…” Undyne continued, and started to literally melt as the Determination was giving way. “This world will live on…!” Her melted body was worse, but at least she’d go with that huge grin on her face.

Then she became dust.

And thankfully it was enough to startle the gang to wake up before Chara could properly react to their presence.