#is the current world doomed to become the first circle

[corvid-cr0w]

Roman Empire this Roman Empire that, how much do guys think about the Roman Empire?

Real question is how much do you think about Dante’s Inferno?

[masiethewriter]

Honored Eternal Path of Demise CH. 12 - Regaining Health

Instead he moves closer to Shen Qingqiu’s head. taking hold of his hand and shoulder, he pulls him up, so he is forced to sit back up again. Luo Binghe does not release his grasp, but even with his support, Shen Qingqiu can’t manage more than a slouch. "Senior Shen. We need to get you somewhere dry. And find medical supplies. You think you can manage that?" Luo Binghe gently asks.  Shen Qingqiu does not think he can manage that. But for whatever reason, his head still nods.

First Chapter ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ AO3 Link

Low hanging branches and sharp leaves grasp at them as they run through the garden forest. There is no road to guide their way and their only light is a far away lamp post, whose glow only barely allows them to see the way.

They are moving too slow.

Shen Qingqiu can only limp as Luo Binghe carries most of his weight. What is left of his leg is stuck in hell and the world around him becomes more blurry with each second. Were Luo Binghe to let go of him now, he would definitely fall, unable to get up or move away. The entirety of his survival hinging on Luo Binghes kindness.

A kindness that puts them both in danger. 

The shrill screams of the Killer have turned into roars of rage. The pain from the poisonous bushes can only distract him for so long, having instead left him a hunger for revenge. 

He is on their trail. 

They have no hope of outrunning him.

Shen Qingqiu can’t think. Mindlessly he can only follow wherever Luo Binghe goes. When he suddenly throws them both to the side, he can only fall along.

They land in between two tall bushes with barely an opening between them. Trees from above cover them with their long branches, water drops dripping down from them. Luo Binghe is quick to drag them further in, until they barely can see the way they came from.

His foot howls for mercy at the rough treatment, but Shen Qingqiu almost bites his hand bloody in an attempt to keep in his cries of pain. Only when he believes he can control his voice, does he instead move to cover the bleeding of his leg. Warm blood spills through his fingers as he does his utmost to keep it from further pouring out.

His foot is still attached. But with how deep and destroying the axe went, it might have been more of a blessing if it had just been cleanly cut off.

Luo Binghe leaves him to it. Once certain Shen Qingqiu is hidden behind him, he moves forward to peek through the bushes. A hand held to his mouth keeps his breathing quiet as he looks out. 

Shen Qingqiu can see nothing from his vantage point. The crashing of the underbrush tearing apart as the Killer bursts through is not possible to miss, though.

The Killer stops. Only his strained breathing can be heard in the silence. Luo Binghe stands completely still. Shen Qingqiu holds his breath.

Seconds that last eons tick by. The Killer walks in a careful circle around the area, twigs cracking under his heavy weight. Slowly, oh so slowly, does he move closer to their hiding spot. With each step, the tension in Luo Binghes body tightens. With each splitting stick, Shen Qingqiu runs out of air. With each beating of their terrified hearts, they both come closer to their doom.

In the distance, splintering can be heard. With not a second of hesitation, the Killer follows the sound.

Finally he has lost their trail.

Shen Qingqiu gasps for breath. He is cold, he is dirty and he is in so much pain that he should not be conscious. Nothing of what he is doing seems to hinder him bleeding out.

But without the Killer to worry about at the moment, Luo Binghe returns his attention to him. Crouching by his side he assesses the situation at hand.

"Fuck," He curses. Shen Qingqiu couldn't agree more.

Words are too much for him, though. He can't tell Luo Binghe what they need to do next. Not that he would even know what that would be. Their current predicament is nothing like anything that has happened in the game before. 

"Okay. Okay! We can work through this. We just need-" Luo Binghe mutters as he looks around the small space. Suddenly his eyes catches on Shen Qingqiu’s jacket. 

"Sorry Senior, but please let me get that. My own got lost earlier."

Shen Qingqiu is too exhausted to fight him. He lets Luo Binghe pull off his jacket, limp body going along with the movement. Letting go of his leg releases a burst of pain that catches his breath. Unable to react with more than a weak whimper, he can only let Luo Binghe continue whatever he is doing.

Luo Binghe does not put on Shen Qingqiu’s jacket. Before he can return to provide pressure against the bleeding, Luo Binghe delicately picks up his leg. 

That slight movement is enough for the agony to sap the last of Shen Qingqiu’s strength. Falling back into the mud, his mind is pure static, blurry eyes dumbly watching Luo Binghe and his actions.

As carefully as he can muster, he ties Shen Qingqiu’s jacket around the wound. First he covers the foot with the cloth, wrapping it up like a cocoon. Afterwards he ties the sleeves around it, pulling them as tightly as he can. Each jolt breathes life in the inferno that is Shen Qingqius leg, the jacket quickly reddening with his blood. But as Luo Binghe finishes the improvised bandage, he does not put the leg down.

Instead he moves closer to Shen Qingqiu’s head. taking hold of his hand and shoulder, he pulls him up, so he is forced to sit back up again. Luo Binghe does not release his grasp, but even with his support, Shen Qingqiu can’t manage more than a slouch.

"Senior Shen. We need to get you somewhere dry. And find medical supplies. You think you can manage that?" Luo Binghe gently asks. 

Shen Qingqiu does not think he can manage that. But for whatever reason, his head still nods. 

"Good. Then we need to go. Can you keep your leg up? I will help you in a moment, but I don't want it getting in the mud."

Another nod. Luo Binghe releases his hand and gets up. Shen Qingqiu manages to keep his foot above the ground, using both hands to hold its weight. Once Luo Binghe is standing again he hurries to lift Shen Qingqiu, once again throwing their arms around each other so he can keep his weight. A stable force, he keeps them both balanced as they move on once again. 

Without the Killer chasing them, their pace is slower. Luo Binghe is much more careful about not hurting Shen Qingqiu further, no matter how impossible an act it is. Still, he finds each bump along the way only leaves a flaming ember instead of the blazing hell that consumed his foot before.

Once again his mind goes static as Luo Binghe leads the way. His only focus is his breathing, unable to think further than the pain in his leg and the kinder warmth seeping through from Luo Binghe. 

He must lose some time. Suddenly they are no longer surrounded by trees and plants, instead finding themselves in a small clearing. The first strand of moonlight lights the area, revealing their sorry states. Both are drenched to the bone, Shen Qingqiu almost completely covered in mud. Each of their steps have left footprints in the grass, the muddy ground breaking apart under their weight.

Miraculously, Luo Binghe has managed to find a shed.

While it can be argued whether Luo Binghe is the actual protagonist of Honored Eternal Path of Demise, he certainly bears the halo of one. Shen Qingqiu can only think of this, as Luo Binghe carries them both inside.

The inside isn't particularly remarkable. A single lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, which releases weak fluttering light as they turn it on. It reveals that the shed mostly contains tools for gardening and the like. Still, there is a small stool on which Luo Binghe places him on. Once he is certain Shen Qingqiu can carry his own weight and won’t fall over, he turns to sort through the mess.

Shen Qingqiu leans his head against the cold wall. It is a relief to no longer be under the onslaught of the harsh weather. He also finds it easier to deal with his leg when he isn’t moving around. Really, if there is any place where Luo Binghe could leave him, this wouldn't be the worst...

The luck of a hero continues to impress. From his search, Luo Binghe manages to find a small medical kit. Hurrying back to Shen Qingqiu's side, they both open it to see what it contains. 

It is not much. A few rolls of bandages and an almost empty package of pain killers. Looking at the supplies, Shen Qingqiu hardly thinks about it for a moment before he reaches out for the pills. 

"Give me those."

"Are you sure Senior?" Luo Binghe asks, but only hesitates for a second before he does as he is told.

Shen Qingqiu knows the pills could be a trap. He doesn't care. They are going to relieve his pain either way, whether that is by doing their function or putting an end to his suffering. He does not care which.

Swallowing the pills dry, his head returns to the wall. Luo Binghe has rolled out one of the bandages and carefully unties the bloody mess that is Shen Qingqiu's jacket. For the first time, both of them can get a clear view of the damage. 

His foot looks horrible. There is too much blood to clearly see the wound, but angry red skin still reveals the edges of the cut. His pant leg also got sliced, with bits of it mixing in with his open meat. How he hasn't died from blood loss yet is a mystery. Likely the same forces that kept him alive long enough to fully experience his grotesque deaths are the ones behind this. 

"We have nothing to clean it with," Luo Binghe mutters as he studies his foot. "If we don’t find anything else we risk it getting infected."

Risk it getting infected? Shen Qingqiu could laugh. He has barely managed to survive for half an hour in this wretched game, when would he have time to get it infected? If he survives the next couple of hours that would be impressive in itself.

"We can worry about that later. We need to deal with what we can for now," he manages to grit out. The painkillers will take a while to kick in, so it still leaves him exhausted to speak. Luo Binghe seems to understand though.

"Don't worry Senior Shen," he tries to reassure. "Just give me a minute."

Then Luo Binghes full attention is on Shen Qingqiu’s foot. The first thing he does is try to loosen Shen Qingqiu shoe. At his harsh intake of air, he hesitates. Instead he checks his pockets until he pulls out a small pocket knife. 

Ahh, this Shen Qingqiu recognizes. The small knife is a tool unique to Luo Binghe. The backstory is that he got it from his foster mother before she died. It is cheaply made, the plastic handle meant to imitate that of jade stone. The blade itself is so short that it could never be used as a weapon, requiring to be almost in an embrace to reach anything vital. Still, Luo Binghe has kept it in good condition, edges sharp as he cuts open Shen Qingqiu's shoe. 

Like this he is able to peel it off. Soon after he does the same to his sock and pant leg, until his foot is completely free. They don't have the supplies to remove the fabric already caught in his wound, but now more won't get stuck in it. 

The entire process is agonising. Shen Qingqiu has his eyes closed through most of it, his focus on controlling his breathing. He must remain patient as Luo Binghe does his best to patch him back together. 

With the cloth out of the way, Luo Binghe begins to roll the bandage around his foot. His movement is precise, showing that clearly this is not his first time tying a bandage. The pressure he has to apply to stop the bleeding is enough that Shen Qingqiu can't hold in his sobs, fists clenched at his sides. 

But finally, after a lengthy process, Shen Qingqius leg has been properly dressed. Or as properly as is possible given the circumstances. 

Now they just have to wait for the painkillers to kick in.

Luo Binghe prepares to wait. Sitting down on the floor and leaning against the wall he puts the bandages away. Quietly Shen Qingqiu watches him through hooded eyes.

Luo Binghe looks like a mess. His shirt is almost see-through from the rain and multiple curly locks have slipped out of his ponytail. Mud is splattered across his pants, which is still not as horrible to see as the blood splatter covering his hands. 

His face is pale, dark shadows under his eyes. But considering the traumatising experience he has just gone through, he seems mostly put together. Staying strong in the face of adversity like a hero should.

Shen Qingqiu himself on the other hand must look like a total nightmare.

The dirt and blood on Binghe is nothing compared to Shen Qingqius appearance. Even when looking past the state of his foot, he is covered with mud from head to toe. It is impossible to wipe any of it off as his hands are just as dirty. It sticks to his clothes, it sticks to his hair and no matter how he tries to move to loosen it, it sticks to his skin through his uniform. Nothing but a full bath could save the sorry state that he is in. Though that is not likely to happen anytime soon. Especially since he still has no trust in any body of water they might stumble upon.

Basically, there is nothing Shen Qingqiu or Luo Binghe can do but wait. Until Shen Qingqiu is in less pain, he is in no state to decide on their next course of action. Even now, Shen Qingqiu is still unable to really focus his attention enough to analyse what has happened or why Luo Binghe would save him. Instead, he just rests his head against the wall, carefully breathing in and out, as he exhaustingly slowly waits for his agony to lessen.

Suddenly Luo Binghe breaks the silence with the last statement Shen Qingqiu would have ever thought he would make.

"You shouldn't have come back for me." 

Shen Qingqiu has to take a minute to get his mind on track and return to the here and now. His first instinct is just to yell "What the fuck?!" at Luo Binghe. Why would you ever say something like that? That is fucked up!! What the hell protagonist??? 

But before it can be released, he manages to remember that it is not Shen Yuan that Luo Binghe is talking to, but Shen Qingqiu. And even in his miserable state, he has to play the role he has been given.

Wishing they could have this conversation when his foot isn't a mess of burning suffering he manages to grit out: "And what exactly... would you want me to have done instead?"

"You should have run away, like I told you to!"

Luo Binghe isn't exactly angry. Rather the eyes he sends Shen Qingqiu's way are confused and upset. Like he couldn't imagine any world where the other would run back for him. Were it the original goods, he would have been right. Shen Qingqiu, on the other hand, can only feel pity at what he sees. Still, he has to muster out much harsher words.

"Tell me, what would I then have said to Ning Yingying? That I just abandoned you to a crazy killer? Don't be stupid-" He first tries to dismiss, but Luo Binghe interrupts. 

"That you had no choice! The killer was between you and me, what could you have done? Isn't you being hurt like this proof that this was the stupid thing to do?"

"Not as stupid as you dying! I am your senior. It is my responsibility to keep my juniors safe. What exactly would you have done if I hadn't turned back?!"

"I would have been fine! I had already seen an opening and knew how to get away. You coming back only put you in unnecessary danger!"

Shen Qingqiu finally can't keep it in and explodes: "Are you really so incapable of a simple thank you that you argue for your own abandonment!?"

Luo Binghe is silenced, eyes as wide as saucers. When he tries to open his mouth to argue further, Shen Qingqiu refuses to let him.

"I turned back. I got hurt. We got away. We can't change any of these actions. So instead of telling me everything I did wrong, the least you could do is show some goddamn gratitude!"

Luo Binghes mouth snaps shut. It takes him a second to fully take in Shen Qingqiu’s words. Then he turns his face away, in what Shen Qingqiu can only assume to be shame.

The shouting match stole his breath away. First when it becomes clear that Luo Binghe has nothing more to add, does Shen Qingqiu allow himself to rest again. Pure calm is hard to reach though, his temper still prickling at him underneath his skin. What was before a somewhat comfortable silence between them is now thick with tension, awkward and bitter.

The thing is, Shen Qingqiu doesn't need Luo Binghe to tell him how much of a moron he is. He knows! Of course he knows! He risked everything to save a character that can't permanently be damaged! And every time he is about to forget it, a flare of pain from his leg reminds him of it all over again! This was totally not worth it!

And that just leads to the question of what their next course of action will be. 

They have to get back to Ning Yingying, first of all. In order to correctly progress through the game, they have to solve the upper floor of the mansion. They have already wrecked the sequence more than once and the faster they can return back on track the better. If they can just find their way back from where they came while watching out for the Killer then-

Suddenly Shen Qingiu's entire body runs cold. Everything around him is forgotten as he has one horrible realisation.

In the original order of the cutscene, Ning Yingying would be forced to run back from where she came. The same as Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe needs to do. And in order to do so, she would have to navigate back through the maze of poisonous bushes until she was safe on the other side. 

This navigation only possible with the use of the flashlight.

The same flashlight that Shen Qingqiu yeeted at the Killers head, sealing his fate, as it broke and turned into pieces of junk. 

(Which, BTW, wouldn't have been changed by the fact that he had actually been aiming for the Killers back. Luckily he didn’t completely miss his target.)

Broken flashlight = No going back through the bush maze.

No going back through the bush maze = No way to return to the entrance of the mansion.

Shen Qingqiu has softlocked them!

Motherfucking, goddamn, shitty ass bullshit of a-

Nope! Nope, Shen Qingqiu is not going there. This is completely, undoubtedly his fault. Of all the things he could have thrown, the flashlight was the absolutely worst! What can he do now? What can they do now? Luo Binghe is maybe meant to spend his time outside, but that is by himself! Not only is Shen Qingqiu not meant to be here, but with his leg crippled as it is, he will only drag them down! Also, he doesn't even have any idea where they can go from here? He doesn't know where they are and he doesn't know where anything is. This is completely uncharted territory, even when compared to when he first played the game. 

For the first time since he woke up in this world Shen Qingqiu has absolutely no idea what to do. 

He doesn't want to break the game further and worsen their situation, but they also can't just stay here and do nothing, that will lead them nowhere, and if they go out they might stumble into the Killer, but maybe that would be for the best, maybe reseting and returning everything back to the start is the best solution, if Shen Qingqiu just dies once more, in the grand scheme of things, another death would make no difference-

"Thank you Senior Shen."

His thoughts halt. Looking down, he is almost shocked to find Luo Binghe staring directly at him. He looks almost shy, head slightly bowed and words hesitant like he is not used to muttering them. But as Shen Qingqiu’s eyes are caught by his, he finds himself unable to look away, the honesty too pure.

This time it is Shen Qingqiu that is left speechless. Mouth slightly open he tries to formulate a response. A tiny voice in his mind screaming at him to stay in character. But nothing sticks and Shen Qingqiu is stuck just staring back at Luo Binghe.

This serves to strengthen Binghe's resolve. He adjusts his posture so he is properly kneeling. Like a student looking up at his master, he gives a determined nod before he bows down once.

"Thank you for coming back to save me!"

[rake-the-leaves]

Analysis of Ring-Verse

I’ve been thinking about the Ring-verse, which opens most copies of Lord of the Rings, and I can’t stress how MUCH of a good opening it is.

Again, it runs thus:

“Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his Dark Throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the shadows lie.”

It sets a perfect tone for the book and for many of its central themes. Chief among these is the sense of the darkness (which the rest of the book seeks to contrast with light), an overpowering force, one which is in many ways greater than the forces of light. And in the context of it being a sequel to the Hobbit, where the ring there was nothing more than a neat treasure, it adds importance and seriousness to the fantasy (a thing Tolkien has personally noted many scholars don’t do in their approach to reading what might be called “mere” “fairy-stories”). It feels like stumbling into a vast conflict with background, and it instills peril and gravitas.

I find it interesting how it provides characterization for the fantastical races of his world. The numbers of the rings themselves displaying the amount of magic, power, and enchantment lies with each of the races. Elves are named first (which sidenote funnily enough follows his cosmological order for when each race woke up before or after the others) and only need 3 Rings of Power to strive for magic they have and still do possess; the Dwarves need 7 Rings, a greater number for perhaps a less magically “graceful” group; and the most rings, 9, is given to Men, because they for the most part approach our current age, being mostly unmagical. The beauty of Men is not one that has passed out of this world, like it has gone with Elves and even Dwarves; needing more Rings to equal the same strength, and showing how that power is more further divided than the others displays how it is in some degree a lesser, non-magical existence that we live in reality (an almost encroachment of reality within the fantastical, at least so far as it is a remnant of what in his cosmology leads us to today’s age). Anyways, they’re characterized in more than just hierarchy; the ending part of each displays their aspects and to a degree the themes that go with them. Elves are “under the sky”, in the open air amongst that all-important thing to Tolkien: nature. Them being “under” it also suggests the nature elves to be tied to the circles of the world. Dwarves are also located in “halls of stone”; this shows their craftiwork, their striving for grandeur and home in great works of statue and construction. For Men, they are “doomed to die”, which is a peak into Tolkien’s philosophy that a story dealing with men by its nature deals with mortality; and it’s a concept he explores further in Lord of the Rings.

It’s also partly important to look at Tolkien’s theories on fantasy, specifically one idea, in which fantasy and the use of monsters as enemies rather than other men brings a story to a higher, more glorious display of human light fighting darkness. Its monsters aren’t just ideas or wholly symbolical, but also real and incarnate, a higher ambition for what can be fought. And in this verse, Tolkien introduces the origin of and the incarnation of all darkness and high evil; he makes it incarnate with a name, Mordor. It’s where “the Shadows lie”, capital S, the evil that lurks within and outside of people becoming one incarnate, the Enemy, the Foe.

The definition of who this evil is is also interesting, the lord of the dark, the “Dark Lord” with his “Dark Throne” who make One Ring. One because that is as much room that power and selfishness will allow, and because to Tolkien, darkness is more powerful than light even if the latter is more good; “history is but a long defeat” as he says. This evil seeks to control every other (every other ring), “rule them all”, and it has a terror to pursue one (it does not wait, but grows should one live through the world as static and inactive against it) to “find them” to get its hands on power however necessary. Then, the ultimate goal of all evil hearts, domination of all, “bring them”, “bind them”. The repetition of “One Ring” puts stress on it obviously, yet as each step is a progression in the plans of evil, it feels as though the peril grows in each. Whoever ends up controlling the Ring, will give themselves up wholly to evil ends, and whoever stands in their way will be made to suffer too before the end. And the other repeated word makes clear that what stands against them is “all”, everyone and everything. This is the destruction that will be brought on earth and people utterly in the success of the Ring. The final repetition, of “In the Land of Mordor, where the Shadows lie”, shows in some sense a sorrow and contempt for the gravity that this origin of evil made physical has unleashed upon the world. A darkness growing in the poem as much as it will be seen to be growing in the world through the reading of the story. Despair, that later in the story, the miraculous hope that’s held on to seems noble to fight against.

One last element to talk about is its place within the world he created. It reads in rhyme to balance the rhythm of what is given stress, as could be useful in lore, as it is a rhyme meant for memory of the history of the Rings by the Elves. This can be guessed at, as a warning of sorts by some inhabitant of the world for first time viewers. And the fact that the One Ring part is a quote from the inscription on the ring itself, places it further as a poem residing in Tolkien’s created world. The One Ring part shows Sauron’s intent for evil with the ring…

this also gives a commentary on language later. These words are through the enchantment of magic given power over the rest of the power structures within the world of Middle-Earth at the genesis of the Rings in the Second Age. Language has power, and as the inscription isn’t in English but in Sauron’s Black Speech created by him and him alone, we see how this power put in the hands of a unitary figure (who has room for only One, themself) erases the beauty of history and of living goodness that can reside in their meanings and diversity.

So… from this one short verse, it introduces themes of nature, mortality vs. immortality, ordinary light vs. overpowering darkness; as well as vital concepts outside the work, such as language, the importance and effect of fantasy. As well as introducing the reader to the rules of his world and the plot to unfold, and setting tone.

[jamesintherye91]

Just recently bought online for £6 (which given how more costly other collected volumes of this comic can be is a good bargain) and I thought it was fine. Not having read everything and only know about certain parts of the IDW Sonic series, it was decent at least compared from what I've read in the recent Sonic Riders 4 arc which just felt padded and filler to tedious effect.

The art by Thomas Rothlisberger, Aaron Hammerstrom, Mauro Fonseca alongside inkers and colourists Matt Froese, Gigi Dutreix and Valentina Pinto was easily the best about this miniseries which the new flowing of colours and effects throughout it. This miniseries of course introduced new rivals Surge The Tenrec and Kit The Fennec who are gaslighted and manipulated by Dr Starline to carry out his master plan to unsurp Eggman, Sonic, Tails and the rest to take over the world.

As a story as written by long time writer Ian Flynn, it's serviceable but I keep thinking they've could've been a much better way to introduce these new "heroes" and unpack everything that arises throughout but I can understand the limits of writing a four issue miniseries that has to tie with the main ongoing series. Surge and Kit at least to me look kind of cute but slightly creepy which I think is a balance that the Sonic franchise should play into much more but considering the direction their characters end up going, as stated introducing them as characters who Sonic and friends first meet before being slowly into their social circle before Starline sets his final plan in motion to deal with the heroes whilst having Eggman having to face them as well.

The fact that before the climax, both Surge and Kit openly postulate their whole reason for existing and purpose and only to get beaten subsequently and effectively be rendered as minor nuisances/potential good guys (?) is almost indicative of how the status quo works in this series and how despite what past horrors are afflicted upon the community of the animal public, nothing really changes and how inevitably Starline's plan to unsurp it was doomed to fail from the start. Nothing really changes. No evolution. No vision. No future. Surge and Kit of course hate the current status quo and so they must "burn it all to the ground" and be rendered as monsters until again they decide to become a part of it in the wake of their first few confrontations with Sonic and friends.

[sburbian-sage]

Hey its me, triforce dude again

So a lot of shits gone down and a lot of interesting things

So first off time travel is seemingly completely locked as is a lot of sburbian stuff in general though we keep like basic 'magic' relating to our aspects

Me and my coplayers kinda got a reverse four sword thing going on

Honestly they were kind of pissed off at the beginning but we all seem to be having a damn good time now

It's nice to break up the routine every now and then you know?

Also fairy fountains are busted as fuck, as far as we can tell and from what the fairies have told us they have a 3 time limit (rule of threes baby!) on complete resurrection but can also heal all wounds at any time and drinking the water from the fountain acts like a healing potion

Also it's neat interacting with the four races, game constructs they may still be but they definitely have more to talk about than the carapacians or consorts, more like actually people

Sadly our sprites seem to have completely vanished and our lands are like, fading away? For lack of a better term

They seem like they're slowly being unrendered and our denizens are gone (maybe they're in hyrule somewhere?)

Ill keep you updated but for now we're having a blast :D

>time travel is seemingly completely locked

Considering how influential Ocarina of Time was on the series, you must have rolled shit on whatever lottery caused this.

>the four races

Of course, the four races of Weasels, Elves, Clowns, and Hogs.

I actually struggle to imagine that any NPCs ad-hocced into existence through what is either a severe bug or a hostile takeover of Skaia by a foreign divine presence would have a more intricate internal world than the Carapacians, who are themselves fairly complex and well-realized if you actually emotionally invest in them. I know replaying can dull that facet of the game, because we're getting acquainted with infinite versions of Ms. Paint and you get disillusioned with it, but it does actually kind of grind my gears when people act like they're Skyrim NPCs.

>our lands are disappearing and our denizens are gone

WAY TO BURY THE LEDE. So off-handedly as well. I'm glad you guys are having fun, but if your Denizens vanish, your Session is as good as dead. Once a Session becomes nonviable, or enters a Doomed Timeline, they ollie-outie unless they need to facilitate some "grander purpose", usually that which pertains to delivering critical information to the Alpha Timeline. Your Lands vanishing is similarly concerning, but the absence of your Denizen is basically a sure shot, "you fucked up and the game is unwinnable".

By all means, keep playing. This is the copium speaking, but maybe if you defeat Gannon and help Morshu pay for his college tuition, the Denizens will come back and clap for you in a circle while the Door comes back and you win. In general though, I do not have high prospects for whatever's going on here, or what happens next.

PREDICTION: If the Door Beyond The End does show up, the "replay" option will probably say "Second Quest". It will either do the same thing "replay" usually does, or you will be stuck in Zelda Purgatory forever, in what must truly be a mega-fucked version of whatever it is we're already going through, with no way out.

SECOND PREDICTION: If the above happens, people will theory spitball at me about how we might see a "Triforce singularity" as SBURB becomes Zelda. I will refuse to listen to them, because this current thread is implausible as it is. There is a ceiling to the amount of silliness that can be going on at once!

[revolversandlace]

Our Pretty Little Condemned Souls | Chapter One - The War Was Never Really Won

Harry Potter | Hermione POV

Explicit Rating - 5.2k Words

Chapter Tags & TW - Minors DNI, Alternate Timeline, Psychological & Physical Torture, PTSD, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, DDDNE, Attempted SA.

Summary - The war was lost. Hermione does her best to survive the camps and the debasement around her when she is reunited with an old friend. 

Hermione could never have said which turn of events would take place, either during the war or the aftermath that would follow. 

Harry Potter, their saviour, was to live or die—either of which would change the course of history forever. However, no one predicted his disappearance, nor did anyone know the reason as to why. 

Speculation spread across all those who turned an ear to care, each time the stories grew more elaborate. Some said he had fled through cowardice, some said he was strengthening forces in Bulgaria. 

Yet none of the fabrications mattered to anyone anymore. Most just thought that their enemies had killed him, along with everyone else. Hermione meanwhile could only deny the betrayal and assume that one day he would rise again to claim peace.

Peace. A word Hermione thought about often, yet she could never make sense of the obsolete word. They defined it as freedom of disturbance; so far that privilege did not reach her currently doomed experience. She scoffed at the idea of freedom. After all, no liberties remained for the former Gryffindor Princess.

The war itself was traumatic enough for anyone involved and none were expected to remain as they once were; but this... whatever this was, it was different. It was hell.

The environment in which she had been hurled into, lashed its menacing shadows and sounds around her. Darkened veils slithered along the walls of the confined and sullied tent. All was bare besides the varying degrees of samples left from the previous occupier. The red hues of blood smeared across the panelling shone over her, like the sun rising over their new world.

The flooring of the tent wasn’t much of an improvement either, shamefully playing host to too many unwanted guests. Several carcasses from rats and birds disintegrated in the corner with little thought from Hermione. All she could do was to wait. After all, she had been incarcerated for months now and luck could only carry her so far before they would commit the inevitable.

They ran riot, did as they pleased, committing monstrous crimes as they did so. Screams, yells, laughter... Hermione heard all the sounds that could possibly be emitted by humans, from every possible hideous act. Yet it was the laughter, the deep cackles of men signalling to their comrades the damage was once again done that etched itself under her skin. Many countless nights she spent listening to the cries, wondering who it was tonight. Cho? Katie? Hannah? First Years? Little Gabrielle? Was it her turn tonight?

Regardless of their evident pain a relief swirled darkly within her. After all, if their screams could have been heard, at least the Death Eaters were too busy with them rather than with Hermione. This wasn’t the time to play the hero, that much had already been made clear to them. Any chance of salvation had been lost amongst the rubble that once was the glorious Hogwarts. Now was the time for survival.

Eight months she had spent like this, allowing dark circles to engorge her eyes that seemed to sink deeper within her, as if protecting her from the sights that were bestowed to her so frequently. The strain of them was unbelievable; so many tears had been rinsed out of them that no moisture could possibly remain. Even the involuntary reaction of blinking had become a painful process.

Her bright eyes were now bloodshot from various damaged vessels from various damaging beatings. The windows to her soul held the helplessness she felt and her whole being had been transformed into an exhibition of her suffering.

Her lips were cracked and stained with dried, crusty blood. Time after time Hermione brutalised the inside of her mouth for the sake of silence, the unwilling force to somehow survive the torment. Her emotions had overtaken her appearance even before her arrival, however now, the evidence of misery was all too apparent. Her hair, once bushy, lively and thick now draped like broken straw across her shoulders.

She was lucky, in small ways. Before Hermione had been placed in the camps, all of those that had been snatched prior were forced into having their heads shaven – male or female. The mystery of the revoked procedure ignited an ounce of happiness for some, until it was discovered that without hair, it became much easier to perform a wandless spell, thus protecting the last dignity she had left.

Her weight too had demised terribly, leaving the prominent lines of her skeleton up and down her. Around her joints a painful fluid sack compassed around them, reducing her ability to move even in the smallest of ways. However, this didn’t affect Hermione too much as she always assumed a particular position for hours on end, cradling her knees in an attempt to obtain some kind of solace.

Her nails were the worst - those that remained were dirty, split and coated in blood which filled every morsel of her, corrupting, excavating, creeping into soul. Her own blood, Death Eaters, friends... Ron’s...

The war was never really won. Harry did not die. This was the thought that carried Hermione on. Out of all the suffering, she needed something to hold on to. She had been degraded so much in the past months she didn’t even feel human anymore. So many horrific things had happened. Some she bore witness to and others were too unbearable to think about. Haunting memories filled her with terror as the ghostly faces manifested around her.

-

The rain fell heavily, cutting through the air as it was propelled by the wind. Every drop felt like a knife against Hermione’s exposed skin - ricocheting against her already shivering body. All had been given crude, discoloured and ripped robes to wear regardless of age or size. Her legs were painful and the thought of sitting down would not leave her mind. Hours she stood standing, standing, standing, nothing else.

The heavens above them had opened, releasing the torrential conditions of what Hermione could only assume was an April downpour. Her feet were bare, suctioning her even further into the thick, sticky mud and at least twice their guard had been changed. 

However, she was like so many others. Another thirty girls stood around her, identical in their soaked rags. The only one identifiable was that of Susan Bones and already she too, had become a picture of the persecution they had been sentenced to.

It wasn’t just about Mudbloods and the purity of magic anymore; it was anyone who dared to speak, act, or fight for themselves and others. However, it was only Mudbloods and Half-bloods that were sent to camps. Most Purebloods were trapped in the castle with Lord Voldemort and his most trusted servants or sent as personal slave to those with the Dark Mark.

Her knees had begun to shake, a sure sign that she could not stand for much longer. This time nobody had collapsed so far, but Hermione wasn’t prepared to be the first. Anyone who did faint or refused to stand was taken away for the Death Eaters’ entertainment.

The biting cold and lashing rain stapled the now transparent and wet material to her bruised skin. After being exposed to the elements; blisters formed a raw graze across her visible body. She had been in this situation so many times the embarrassment of exposure was a meagre complaint compared to the never ending torture of standing for hours.

The sheer terror of knowing that any movement could cause a Cruciatus curse to any of those who didn’t obey was constantly mounted around the prisoners. There was no purpose to the standing, only the sanctioning of their creed.

A violent spasm shot through Hermione’s core, pushing her mass to the sludge beneath her. Her hands vacuumed into the mud, followed by her knees and face. A soul etching howl was freed from her pathetic form on the ground. Nobody dared to look at her as they too would incur the same discipline. With the crashing of the downpour surrounding her, two Death Eaters worked their way through the group until they reached Hermione.

Her being was so encased in the weather ridden ground all movement was impossible. She wanted to kick, to punch, to bite, anything to stop her being dragged with the men. Refusing to look at either of the wizards, two large hands wrapped around her arms, pulling her up from the ground. As they did so, the surrounding deluge sucked her back down, creating a tug of war between the two forces. Hermione continued to wail, begging incoherently the same as all the others that she had seen being yanked so unsympathetically.

A loud high pitch conch signalled throughout the camp, informing the captives that they no longer had to stand. Hermione’s soul broke in two as all she needed to do was to poise herself a minute longer. However, now it was too late. A small stone hut resided just in front of her, with a looming black door. She didn’t dare look behind as her entrance to hell crawled ever closer.

Closing her eyes tight in terror, she could find no fight left in her, and the eruptive bang of the Death Eater to her right kicking open the door before her, only increased the horror of what was to come.

-

Hermione continued to stare at the sheathing, reliving the memories that flowed through her mind like a carousel. When she first arrived, every night she would cry not only for herself but for everyone else who had endured anything near what she had. Now she couldn’t even care for herself and as far as she was concerned, it was always better to happen to somebody else rather than herself.

It seemed impossible to believe that her life had become this, an eternity of pain, humiliation and misery. She felt like an animal, dehumanised by those who were spawned from evil. They were built for it, designed flawlessly to not only torture with magic but to take away every civilized right. It seemed that they enjoyed that particular torment the most as it proved to be highly effective.

No longer could she identify herself as a witch, a Gryffindor, as Hermione. They had made her feel lower than a Mudblood, more unworthy than any other creature. She wasn’t even sure if she was still alive. How could she be?

Everything had spiralled so deeply out of control; after all, it was believed that victory was theirs until six months before her capture.

Against all odds, they had managed to escape the battlefield with Harry. It was surely just a matter of time before they were found. So many had died in order to defeat Lord Voldemort and so much had been put at risk. They had been so close to victory and Hermione cursed herself silently for her stupidity and naivety.

But he promised me!

His last words to her danced through her mind as the image of Harry faded away. She rolled awkwardly onto her back, resembling a broken Muggle doll. All of her was bent and creaked painfully, as most of her joints had fused at a certain degree.

Stones and lumps of dried mud dug into her back and she could feel the blood rushing around her head. Her fists collided with the canvas flooring, impacting with what lay beneath her. Hermione stared above her, searching for something. Perhaps in an attempt to dwell on another awful memory, perhaps in hope of an epiphany or saviour.

Nothing would ever appear apart from maybe a foreboding shadow. Yet somehow every day, she laid waiting for whatever was to come, as there was no fight left. Sleep would not come either, her mind and body were impossible to rest. If she was awake, if she had some warning, there might be a chance to survive.

The emptiness didn’t aid her sleep either; god knows how long it had been since she ate. Although her starved frame longed for food, she could not bring herself to digest the stale rations she was given. It was enough to keep her alive, but in no way nutritious or easy to chew.

The sun had slowly begun to sink, encouraging the cool air, a contrast to the suffocating heat of the day. It whistled through the tent softly, mildly soothing her constant discomforts. The blue of the sky started to roll into its bright tones of pink and orange, with the night lingering not too far away.

Unfortunately, the tent had started to paint a foul divergence to the outside world as the combinations of odours became sulphuric around her. Thankfully, it was so foul whenever a Death Eater did decide to come her way; they assumed no living thing could possibly stay in such a terrible squalor. Even a Mudblood.

As the night had begun to commence and crawled past slowly, it teased Hermione with sounds of the monstrosities that seemed to occur once the sun had fallen. Everybody became far more vulnerable at night as the Death Eaters drowned themselves in Firewhisky and gratified whatever needs they had. Eventually, the screams would die down, and at some point, the camp would rest.

As she lay there, she wondered how many did the same routine, replaying the self torture over and over in an identical fashion. All had been committed to the same abyss of nonexistent hope. It was foolish to still think, but Hermione was convinced of the one hope that still perhaps remained. Yet what good was he now?

Each day the hope grew less and less, but she needed something. At no point could she explain why she tried so desperately to grip on something. After all, he left without hesitation, abandoning his two best friends with a slither of an empty promise.

‘Coward!’

She spat ferociously at her hollow surroundings with only the stench to hear her. A bomb of frustration had begun to build under her ribcage. Out of all that had happened, this was the ultimate treachery.

Her throat was exceedingly dry, creating harshness at the back of her mouth. It was not often she spoke, yet each time she did, it always resulted in regret. It was always wise to make as little noise as possible, especially around twilight, yet the anger was undeniably justified. However, before she could reflect on her actions, a looming silhouette crept at the front of her tent.

The smears of blood and earth over the covering distorted the presence, but not enough for Hermione to know it was her turn. She glanced around as fast as her stiffened neck would allow. A shot of adrenaline rose through her, biting at her sides.

As useless as it was, it was instinctual to not give up the fight. What fight? 

She had no choice. She was theirs for the taking, and all she could do was to wait. Yet whatever they were to condemn her to, she would not cry and she would not scream. That they did not deserve.

As the shadow increased its size with louder footsteps to accompany it, a low growl released itself from the wizard outside. It sounded so animalistic and barbaric it could only prove one thing - that this was not a man.

Hermione breathed in, suppressing a sharp squeal from the fear that she felt for the monster that lurked beyond her sights. In the months she had spent there, she had managed to avoid the claws that would indeed tear her apart. His oppressive stature only preceded his reputation, which was increased greatly by the black shapes sprawled over the tent. Once he was about to enter, her life would surely end. And painfully. 

‘What the fuck have you been told, Greyback?’

Her heart burst rapidly inside her with her worst fears confirmed. Yet the other man, one she could not see but became perfectly audible, made her freeze her to the floor, rendering her impossibly stiff.

‘You filthy dog, you really want something that’s been fucked about by the Lestrange whore? You make me feel fucking sick.’

Her stomach churned at the reminder of her most torturous encounter. The pearlescent trails remained on her skin - even in the darkness, the scars up and down her body were unmistakable. Her legs lay bare from the vulgar rag that she had claimed as clothing and the contamination - with endless amounts of unhygienic bodily samples - irritated her open wounds. It barely covered what it needed it to but did provide the most amount of dignity possible - at least she wasn’t in the freezing rain.

Echoes of curses and hexes embossed her skin, leaving no escape from that horrendous day. Her arms were no better, the word Mudblood tattooed into her from a dagger, from the same evil being. It was clear she deserved no identity, no individuality, only to be herded like cattle and wait for her unquestionable fate. The unknown man’s voice broke through her silent thoughts.

‘We’re throwing this little bitch in there before you get any ideas.’ He allowed a pause to pass between them.

‘They’re off limits Fenrir, The Dark Lord specified. I don’t see why you give such a shit about these with all the choices you’ve got. Anyway, we’ve got a new batch coming in, picked up a mile outside Hogwarts. Fucking idiots. It’s like they wanted to get caught. Mind you, half of them were part of Dumbledore’s Army. Ballsy little fucks, I’ll give them that...’

He pulled open the tent door without even acknowledging the girl stationed in the centre. Throwing someone in, the flap fell back down as quickly as it was opened. The shadows left with no exchange, leaving both girls to their shared torment.

Much like Hermione, the girl was without a doubt neglected and defeated. Her hair, once so vivacious and startlingly bright, lay limp and dull. An apparent black eye began to present itself, manipulating her features. However, it was clear this girl was once very beautiful.

Her hands were a mess, and she shook violently like an animal that had been caged up for so long it had forgotten how to live. This was not the girl that Hermione remembered.

Hermione attempted slowly to hoist herself to her, as sat where she was thrown. If she did indeed recognise Hermione, she made little inclination towards that thought.

This was exactly what it looked like to give up, to allow the evil deeds to continue. Crawling pathetically towards her friend, she examined the newly found bruises across the girl’s body. Their clothing was not too dissimilar, both designed to show as much as possible, which, of course, it did triumphantly.

‘Ginny... Who did this to you?’

Her speech, no more than a whisper, was hoarse and cracked. Words seemed so unfamiliar, like everyone else cries of distress and misfortune were the only thing to leave her lips - as well as a tooth, if she was lucky enough.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to be united with one of her friends again. She would even happily have taken one of the Patil twins for the sake of a familiar face. Now the situation had presented itself and Hermione wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

However, this wasn’t just anyone. It was Ginny whom she had fought side by side with, whose hand she had held as they watched loved ones ridiculed and persecuted. Yet neither of the girls were the same. How was it possible to rekindle a friendship made by two entirely different people?

Shame rose to her face. No longer did she feel the innocence she once took for granted, the kind hearted spirit, nor the strength required by Ginny to fix this mess.

Unfortunately, the mess was so much more than that. Hundreds had been imprisoned indiscriminately, the boys were mainly executed in the first instance and some came to the camps for Death Eaters with an acquired taste.

Mostly they were surrounded by girls around the same age, some were drastically younger. Like so many others, Ginny and Hermione fought through the aftermath of war, hunting down as many of the Dark Lord’s followers as they could find. Of course, it never proved that easy. Six months was all it took for the evil to triumph once more. That was the last day she saw Ginny before this moment.

A strange feeling crept over her. Exhaustion was present, to say the least, yet this was different. Suddenly, the numbness edged away, releasing the vast amounts of suppressed emotions. Now she was given the opportunity to share the hate, the anger, all the pain. She never realised how truly lonely she was and now to be joined by one of her best friends sparked a hope that had been lost.

Maybe it isn’t over, maybe there’s a way...

Yet all the emotion drained whatever feeble amounts of energy she had left. It was not long before the darkness consumed her into the realms of unforgiving dreams.

Hermione awoke early that morning as usual, greeted by the heavy smell of damp. However, it was never very wise to have a few extra hours of sleep while the Death Eaters took their morning patrol. The hazy days and humid nights caused the tent material to be terrorised by condensation. A thick smog had apparently built up over the night, restricting Hermione’s breathing.

The familiar pain that belonged to her head, among other parts of her body, forced her to leave her half conscious state. Not that this bothered her too much. It’s not like she ever had a decent night's sleep, anyway. Yet who would in such circumstances?

The horrors of war had plagued her mind all night, the never ending screams of the innocent and the stench of blood was singed into her nostrils for all eternity, bitterly stinging her senses.

When her misty amber eyes finally opened to her reality, it was to the surreal frozen sight of Ginny. Whom she, in all honesty, wished that she was a fragment of her distorted dreams. Hermione rose awkwardly from the floor - the mornings were always difficult.

Lack of nutrition, hydration and civilised toileting left her dizzy most of the time. She nursed the constant soft thump on her right temple, pacing herself gingerly. Her stomach growled within her, clenching at her torso she submitted to its punishment as she bent over. Food... No, I mustn’t... It’s not like I’ll be getting it anytime soon.

Ginny made little response to Hermione’s actions, as she remained cross legged, eyes closed and fought with her own demons. The pain continued down Hermione’s knees, crippling them dramatically, forcing her to the floor. The memories of forbidden thoughts came to her with little warning. Before she had time to think, her eyes were flooded with tears. A rush of panic engulfed Hermione back to that day as their long ago surrender was all she saw.

-

She cackled, with her wand raised high as utter glee was painted on her condemned face. Bellatrix stood on a fallen pillar subsequent to the battle, twisting her wand as her feet pranced like a spoilt child’s. Harry was suspended in midair, his arms stretched out on either side of him, his already beaten body on display.

The blood began to trickle more freely as his features contorted to the pain, his once strong green eyes full of tears. His yells reverberated throughout the grounds, showcasing the torture that was bestowed to him as they all watched their Messiah reduced to the victimisation of the evil. His rounded glasses had been bent and shattered like the souls of the forsaken as the Dark Lord clutched them sickeningly in his long, grey fingers. 

Bellatrix moved the wand in her fingers as if it was a ribbon. 

‘Crucio!’ her laughter chased into every ear present. Harry screamed, thrashing in the air, his body almost giving up hope. Bellatrix spun him slowly on his invisible pedestal for all to see. He was being tortured in front of the whole school, the DA, the Order. The Death Eaters at last finally had their long awaited prize.

Voldemort stood by, casually laughing in rhythm to Harry’s screams, merely exhibiting his success.

‘Make the Potter boy dance for his Lord!’

His cold high pitch demeanour threatened the sanity of most. Bellatrix flicked her tongue across her thin lips in excitement. Voldemort, with little hesitation, had his wish granted. Hermione stopped watching the disgusting sceptical before her by this point, soaking her tears into Ron’s woollen jumper.

Nobody moved.

Not only had they taken Harry, but they had taken their hope along with it. His screams surged towards Hermione. Her best friend, nothing short of a brother, an innocent boy thrown willingly to a fate worse than death.

He was a celebrated hero, now dancing for the Dark Lord. It was an insult to his life, a sham to the memories of his parting. Humiliation and torture. In one swift flick of the wand, Harry’s body dropped unforgivingly to the ground, leaving only the echoes of his screams in his wake.

-

The tears continued to stream, staining her face. Hermione fell to her side with a thud, gripping onto the tent flooring as if it would bring her strength. Her hands possessed her hair, clutching at the dull strands forcing the emotional anguish out of her. It brought nothing apart from more despair. 

‘Harry...’ she whispered between her rasped breaths. Hermione fell into a silent cry. If Ginny noticed, she gave little inclination.

Both girls were wrapped up in their own torment. No amount of comfort Ginny could bring would rectify the death of those she loved, her would-be consoling was far from Hermione’s mind, however. She at least had comfort in Ron’s death. She knew he was trying to do the right thing. Harry merely disapparated when he had the chance.

It had been a long while since Hermione had a sense of time. Upon her arrival, her existence was to not end up like so many others. The only time that was distinguished was that of the movements of the sun. So how long Hermione lay there with her inner turmoil running wild, she could not say. She squeezed at the flooring as she rocked herself, hoping it might relinquish some emotion, that maybe it would materialise either of the boys in front of her. Eventually, she drifted off into the realms of past antipathy.

She was awoken by the intense midday heat of the summer. The flap was pulled back, spilling the brightness into the girl’s tent. Ginny had not moved from her previous position and Hermione reacted unnaturally slowly to the intrusion, prying her face from the canvas flooring, her cheeks sticky from the incessant crying.

Her eyes felt chapped, as though they were made of glass. She had little idea why her body decided to cry. It only did more harm than good. She raised her head slowly to the entrance, only to find someone she really did not wish to see. Greyback stood there with hunger in his eyes and blood on his breath. His filthy claw-like nails ran down the side of the sheathing before he decided to enter.

‘Well, well, well. What do we have here? Two little beauties, fit for lunch...’ His eyes traced down the barely covered thighs of Hermione, licking his lips in anticipation. ‘Among other things...’ 

He smirked a wicked grin, advancing towards her. She had little time to shuffle herself backwards into the corner of the tent, even if she wasn’t any safer.

‘I like to make the meat tender before I eat it. Pound it in.’ He growled in a long and low frequency, baring his serrated teeth at Hermione with the stench of her dead friends still lingering in his mouth. 

He slowly reached for his belt buckle, allowing the metal to harshly clasp against itself. Before Hermione could prevent the forcible penetration that was about to be committed to her, a loud bang erupted just outside the tent.

‘Fenrir! Get the fuck out of that tent!’ A man nearly as tall as Greyback and nearly as broad pointed his wand directly at the werewolf. Judging from his voice, it was the same man as last night. He entered the appalling conditions, refusing to lower his wand. Greyback froze, not even attempting to hide the scenario.

None of them ever would. It was their world now.

The Death Eater Hermione recognised as Dolohov held his silence and his gaze. The last time she had seen him was during the chase for the prophecy at the Ministry.

Although her first memory of Dolohov was him digging his hands into her scalp, the thoughts somehow warmed her. A place where all of her friends had been together, surviving, with hope.

‘You know the fucking rules, you mangy piece of shit!’ Dolohov continued. ‘We got their request this morning.’

The werewolf appeared very unconvinced, expressing something very disagreeable on his disfigured face. Dolohov, in one final attempt, began once again, ‘besides it’s that Malfoy prick who owns them now. There’s fuck all you can do about it.’

Dolohov inclined his head to leave, inviting the werewolf along with him. Greyback did so reluctantly, but not without saying goodbye.

‘I’m sure I’ll be seeing you two in good time. Have fun being fucked by Malfoy. You’ll wish you had me instead.’ He leant forward, snarling his teeth in Hermione’s stunned face. He left without another word, kicking the tent upon his exit. One last fright while he could...

Ironically, the fear of what could have happened dissolved like sugar, barely registering with her. It was what Dolohov said that chilled her very core regardless of the exotic temperatures.

Malfoy.

Of all the people they were to be sent to, nobody made her skin crawl the way he did. How could he so easily have betrayed them? How could he so easily walk into the open arms of Voldemort without so much as looking back? 

Yet it wasn’t a simple coincidence they were sent to him, he requested them, both her and Ginny. He wanted them as his slaves, more than likely as a sickening trophy - the best friend and the girlfriend. What could be better for a disgraceful ferret like him?

What could she do? Escape? That would not be an option, for those who tried were delivered a fate worse than they could ever imagine. It was a horrific thought, considering the worst had already happened to most.

For attempting to runaway, was one very sure way to end at the merciless hands of the Dark Lord, who was known for his patience in torture. The only reason they were kept alive for so long was to be as condemned to the devil as much as possible. Not like anyone had actually managed to escape, anyway.

Now she was being sent to the jaws of someone she never even believed had the capability of being a Death Eater. Yet that was a long time ago and now a new dawn engulfed the horizon, painting the blood of even more of the innocent.

[catboy-sucking-girlcock]

lol this blog is a mess. exploring some feelings rn

not requesting help atm, just wanna get my voice out

something's been wrong within the system for a while now but no one knows wtf is going on

"trauma" was one explanation we were given, which seems to explain /some/ things but not everything

it's true that when we first noticed something was "off," it started around the same time as the anniversary of one of our major traumas, but this didn't explain the various feelings of frustration we've been having

these are multi-year reoccurring feelings we've been having, and it's not something that the anniversary of our trauma can explain. some of these frustrations have existed long before our trauma took place

maybe the trauma has exacerbated the frustrations, but it seems more likely that our overall health has been gradually worsening over the years

maybe that's the issue all along: our health is declining

everything is becoming harder to do, and it feels like it's only a matter of time before we can no longer work a job, which would lead us into a cascading spiral of financial doom. we can't work full-time due to disability, and working the few hours that we do is becoming a challenge but we can't financially afford to work any less

and getting disability benefits is likely out of the picture for us because the ableist government doesn't believe that our disabilities are "bad enough." maybe if we completely lost our ability to work, we could get some benefits, but we're not expecting it

our current home situation isn't great either and it's likely been contributing to the overall issues we've been experiencing. it's kinda stressful living here

our lack of social support is prolly also a contributing factor. if anything, our social circles are causing a lot of headache for us and is a source for a lot of frustrations

in an ideal world, we could simply walk away from those who are hurting us, but we don't live in that ideal world. if we walk away, we will lose the little bits of social support that we still have

it's a toxic situation

we've been trying to push ourselves to venture into new spaces and meet new people in the hopes that we can foster a new community of people whom we can rely on and support in return, but with our health declining, it isn't as easy as it used to be

we keep hoping that maybe things will get better with time as long as we keep working little by little. maybe our health will get better once we're no longer suffocating in toxicity, or maybe if we can find a job that pays more for fewer hours, or maybe if we can find a place with cheaper rent or better roommates, or maybe if we find a sugar daddy/mommy

we need a break

[yanderes-galore]

Fandoms

All the fandoms I'm doing and taking a break from. Always up to date, check often :)

Last Edited: 11/4/24

Bold -> Written Before

Not Bold -> Hasn't been written before.

Adventure Time

🔪Fandoms I am currently writing for🔪

A

Arcane

Alien vs Predator (Just Alien movies or Predator movies are also included. Also books and games.)

Apex Legends

Arknights

Assassin's Creed (Games)

Assassination Classroom

A Song of Ice and Fire/House of The Dragon/Game of Thrones

Black Clover

Attack on Titan

B

Beastars (Season 1 + 2 of the anime)

Bendy and the Ink Machine

Bioshock (All games)

Black Butler

Blue Exorcist

The Boys

Borderlands (Including 1, 2, Pre-sequel, and 3)

Carmen Sandiego (Netflix show)

Bungou Stray Dogs

C

Call of Duty

Cookie Run

Creepypasta/Gaming Creepypasta (Not everyone, it depends)

Cult of The Lamb

Cuphead (Game/Show)

Danganronpa (Games only)

Cyberpunk 2077 (Anime/Game)

D

Dark Deception

Dark Souls/Souls-Like games

Dauntless (Creatures will all be pet-like)

DC Comics (Comics, Games, Movies) [Injustice and Arkhamverse mainly, but let's discuss]

Dead By Daylight (All Survivors and Killers along with costumes)

Dead Space (1-3)

Deltarune (Both Chapters)

Death Note

Demon Slayer

The Devil is a Part-Timer!

Detroit: Become Human

Ducktales 2017

Devil May Cry

Disney Mirrorverse

Don’t Starve (All Survivors and Costumes)

DOOM

Fire Force

Dying Light (1 + 2)

E

Evil Within (1 + 2)

Evolve (Creatures will all be pet-like)

F

Fallout (New Vegas 3, 4)

Far Cry

Fear and Hunger

Final Fantasy (Primarily anything past 7)

Five Nights at Freddy’s (All Games, Books, Fluffy AU) (Animatronic or Android)

Friday Night Funkin (Base game)(?)

G

Gears/Gears of War (Yandere Fics)

Genshin Impact

God of War

Halo RvB/Red vs Blue (All seasons)

Gravity Falls

H

Halo (Reach, CE, 2, 3, 3 ODST, 4, 5, Infinite, Wars 1+2)

Halo Books (Fall of Reach, The Flood, Contact Harvest, The Cole Protocol, First Strike, Ghosts of Onyx, Cryptum, Broken Circle, Hunters In The Dark, Last Light, New Blood, Envoy, Retribution, Smoke and Shadow, Bad Blood, Renegade, Point of Light, Divine Wind)

Happy Tree Friends (Anthro Animals or Hybrids/Humans [Like my OCs])

Haikyu!

Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss

Hiveswap

Hollow Knight

Homestuck

Honkai Impact

How To Train Your Dragon

I

Identity V (All Survivors/Killers and their costumes except Hastur and younger characters are depicted as Platonic)

Monkie Kid (Lego)

Invader Zim (Original series and Enter the Florpus)

J

Jujutsu Kaisen

L

The Last of Us

League of Legends

Left 4 Dead (1 and 2)

Legend of Zelda

Lobotomy Corporation

M

Madness Combat (Game and Series)

Mario Franchise

Marvel Cinematic Universe (Up to Endgame)/Marvel Comic Universe (SPECIFY WHAT COMIC PLEASE-)

Metroid

Metal Gear Solid (All games, although I like Revengeance the most)

My Hero Academia

Mortal Kombat (9 through 11)

Murder Drones

My Little Pony (FiM and a New Generation)

Naruto

Mystic Messenger

N

Ninjago

Noragami

No More Heroes

One Piece

No Straight Roads

O

Obey Me!

OFF

One Punch Man

Pirates of the Caribbean

Outlast

The Outer Worlds

Overwatch (All characters/Costumes)

P

Payday 2/3

Persona (3-5)

Pokemon (Just Trainers Right Now) (All games)

Portal (1 and 2)

Puss in Boots

R

Rainbow Six Siege

Ratchet and Clank

Red Dead Redemption (Mostly 2)

Resident Evil (All Games)

Saiki K

Rick & Morty

S

Spooky Month

SCP (Not everyone, it depends)

Silent Hill

Skyrim

Slashers/Horror in general (Please say what movie your slasher is from)

Solar Opposites

Sonic (All games + The Paramount Movies + IDW Comics. All characters are aged up except characters Classic! Tails, Movie! Tails, Cream the Rabbit, Ray the Flying Squirrel, and Classic Amy, which are Platonic as I can't see them as aged up.)

Splatoon (Manga/Games)

Star Wars (Movies + Clone Wars)

Steven Universe

Terminator (All movies)

Street Fighter

T

Team Fortress 2 (All Classes and characters like Miss Pauling and Saxton Hale)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Media (2003, 2007 movie, 2012, 2014/Bayverse, 2018/ROTTMNT)

Tokyo Ghoul

Transformers (Animated, Cyberverse, Earthspark, Generation 1, IDW comics, Prime, Robots In Disguise, War for Cybertron)

Toilet Bound Hanako Kun

Twisted Wonderland

U

Ultrakill

Undertale

V

Warframe

Voltron: Legendary Defender

W

Walking Dead

We Happy Few

Wednesday

The Witcher (Show)

X

~~💜~~

Xcom

Y

Yandere OCs I have (Look at this list)

🚫Fandoms I am taking a break from🚫

- South Park (All aged up of course, Show and games)

[aphrodites-law]

How did human Lexa and witchy Clarke meet? How did they start dating? Are witches a known thing in the world or did Clarke have to gently reveal it to her one day?

Witches are a completely integrated part of the world after their big ~liberation~ over seventy years ago. They were definitely known then and existed alongside humans for centuries, but were more low key about their identity and craft. Then there was a huge business boom and now there’s magical shops alongside “human” ones on most streets, they’re totally open about being witches etc. And the world is a better place for it.

However, it’s a simple fact that longterm romantic relationships between witches and humans are very difficult. Witches sleep much less, have more energy in general, have different living and working hours (many actually sleep from noon-4pm, it’s their body’s best rhythm), have different traditions, and obviously have magic. Adapting to each other’s lifestyle—and making compromises—can be hard and a lot of relationships fail because of it. So they’re not frowned upon or anything, and flings are common, but they’re definitely discouraged. Marriage in particular is a contentious topic that has led to ugly breakups. Witches simply don’t have marriage and if you try to get on one knee and put a ring on a witch you WILL get chewed out. Instead they have a bonding ceremony where they entwine their spirits together, which is very daunting to humans. Recently witches have integrated some fun human traditions into the mix, like the bachelorette parties, but it’s still a very different approach to commitment. They also don’t use terms like wife or husband.

Here’s a little excerpt on Lexa’s conflicted feelings regarding that, which will be explored:

Clarke kissed her again, her hand brushing against Lexa’s thin bracelet. It was gold with a ruby, and inside the gemstone were their names bound together. It wasn’t a ring; it wasn’t what Lexa had dreamed of ever since meeting Clarke, but it was still theirs. It was what witches did. Rings were too possessive. There was a complicated history there—witches forced to conform, decades ago, long before their liberation—which Lexa had learned about too late. She had gotten Clarke a ring already; had been so certain it was the perfect design and the perfect fit. Then Clarke’s best friend, Wells, had taken her aside and advised against proposing with it, saying it simply wasn’t done among witches. A life partnership was symbolized with bracelets made from the same gem and precious metal. You’d be hard pressed to find a ring on any witch. But Lexa couldn’t bring herself to let go of it, so now it remained in one of her old socks, at the bottom of her sock drawer, and would remain there forever.

Anyway, about their meeting. Clarke has always been very inclusive and loves hanging out with humans just as much as witches. Unfortunately her social circles don’t really overlap and since she has a potions & magical ingredients store, her clientele is also mostly witches (curious humans do come in but they aren’t allowed to handle ‘high magic’ items like potions / need special clearance). So imagine her excitement when she spots Lexa at Raven’s ~celebration of life party~. Lexa who is new to the city and has been dragged there by her college classmate, Echo, who’s currently having casual fun with a witch. Lexa who couldn’t look more like a fish out of water, wide-eyed but also so very intrigued by the food and the drinks and the magic in the air. Lexa who comes from a small town and has never seen so many witches in the same place.

Naturally Clarke gravitates toward her. And she feels if immediately—this pull between them; it’s magical but also something else. Lexa doesn’t know what to do with herself first—with a gorgeous witch who so obviously flirts with her and wants to dance with her and spend more time together. Because aren’t these relationships doomed? She’s never been the casual type, and she can’t imagine being able to keep feelings out of it when it comes to Clarke. They become friends so fast it’s almost dizzying. But Clarke still flirts, and still genuinely laughs at Lexa’s stupid jokes, and one night when they’re alone, having finished a movie, whispers in her ear how amazing they would be together.

And Lexa’s not very good at resisting such words and such a smile. So she kisses her, and Clarke pulls her closer, and they don’t stop. But it’s not easy to be together. Lexa exhausts herself sometimes. She ruins her sleep just to bring Clarke flowers and pick her up when she closes the store at 4am, and Clarke is torn between loving this romantic fool and hating that it makes her so tired. She exhausts herself because she thinks Clarke will be frustrated that they can’t do more things together otherwise, because humans need double the sleep and yet still have less stamina. They’re from different worlds and bringing those two together is hard work, but they keep at it through the tears and the arguments and the fears that it won’t be enough. They communicate and they compromise and eventually it starts to fall into place. Eventually they find their routine and they make their own little world together.

But even after years of learning about her favorite witch, and trying her best not to get caught in magical messes, Lexa still manages to eat the wrong cookies all the damn time 😌

[the-sympathetic-villain]

Life or Death

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: The prompt for this one-shot is this animatic, “Wires” by Anna Midnight, which I highly recommend you watch before reading the first chapter. Word Count: 2368 Chapter Warnings: Self Doubt, Guilt, Self-blame, Injury, Verbal Abuse, Injury, Crying, Hurt/No Comfort, Angst/Whump, Blood mention, Suspension, Choking, Dark Side!Logan, Death Mention (Let me know if I missed anything!)

---

     Patton stared up at the gnarled branches of the weaving deciduous trees as they twisted over the path ahead of him. The barren branches grew together, barely allowing narrow slits of moonlight to reach the ground and illuminate his way. It was as if the forest itself was trying to keep him here wandering in circles forever.

    This place was part of the imagination. That much, Patton had figured out, and logically, Patton knew that shadows moving around him shouldn’t be able to hurt him. That had been the truth for as long as he could remember, but ‘Logic’ had left the game. Nothing he thought he knew made sense anymore. The rules of Thomas’ mind had gone out the window and the shadows that currently danced in his periphery seemed more sinister and unnerving than even in Remus’ part of the imagination.

    The snap of a twig brought Patton’s eyes darting up as he scanned the trees once more. A thin veil of mist drifted from between the trees, blurring his vision as his heart pounded in his chest. He closed his eyes and reached his hands over his ears, trying to block out the world as he regained his bearings.

    This wasn’t right.

    Virgil had left him. Patton had spent hours wandering through the forest before he'd spotted the familiar purple hoodie. He'd moved to rush to his friend's side before being stopped in his tracks by the guilt in Virgil’s eyes, tears streaming down his face as Patton stared him. Patton had wanted nothing more than to curl Virgil in his arms and reassure him, but to his horror, his hands had passed straight through his friend. He had nothing to offer but empty words and empty promises as Virgil inevitably disappeared back to whatever corner of the mind where Remus was keeping him.

    He kept reappearing again and again, his sense of self falling way with each cycle. All the while, Patton seemed doomed to wander the same path again and again, tortured by the knowledge that his friends were disappearing and he was doing nothing. Patton shivered as a breeze rushed over his arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as he dropped his arms back to his sides. His head felt heavy as he looked back to the sky for any inkling of where he needed to go.

    His kiddos needed him. They needed him more than ever before and there was nothing he could do. He'd told Virgil he was coming for him, but truth was he'd been moving for hours and he seemed no closer to any part of the mind he recognized. A dozen crossroads had passed him and he’d taken a different turn each time, only to find himself circling back to where he'd started.

    This was useless.

    He was useless.

    The last he'd seen Roman, Logan had encased him in stone. Virgil, on the other hand, had made it clear he was being held somewhere by their own darker side of creativity. He didn't know what had become of Janus but it was clear that Patton seemed to be the only one free to move under Logan’s control. All he had to do was break free from this forest.

    It should have been a simple task.

    That’s probably why Logan put him here in the first place. Patton sighed. He knew Patton wasn't as brave as Roman or as observant as Virgil. Even Janus seemed to have an intuitive sense of the right thing to do most of the time. If the last few videos they done together showed him anything, it was that everything he thought he knew was wrong. He’d thought he was helping, but he'd ended up hurting everyone.

    No wonder Logan didn’t seem worried to let him roam about on his own.

    He wasn't a threat on his own. The others brought value, but he was just a happy voice to play the mediator when the other argued, and he wasn’t even good at that anymore. Patton stared at his feet as he made his way down the trail. The forest had faded to grey around him, as though Thomas’ mind itself was growing bored of Patton’s struggles.

    “I ask for help, Pat.”

    Virgil’s words replayed in his head for the thousandth time as he absently took the left fork of the next twist in his path. If he could ask for help, he already would have. He'd have been grateful for anyone to show up and take the lead. Anyone else would be doing better than him.

    Another loud crack shook the twisted branches over his head, sending a chilled down his spine as it echoed around him. Patton shot up, his back straightening as his fingers curled into fists and he scanned the thick underbrush. Adrenaline flooded his body as he stood stalk still, waiting as the crisp forest air became silent once more.

    “What was that?”

    “Patton?”

    A rasping voice broke the silence as Patton’s head spun around. His breath hitched in his throat as he turned to find Janus sprawled out on the ground before him. His limbs were still as his head lifted to blearily stare at Patton through the darkness.

    “Janus—”

    “Stay back.”

    Janus' sharp hiss stopped Patton in his tracks. The lying side's glare turned hostile as he bared his teeth at Patton.

    "What are you still doing here, Patton?”

    Patton chewed the corner of his lip as a pit of guilt dropped in his stomach. “I'm lost, Janus. Can you please—”

    “You were supposed to be out of this place by now.” Janus growled as his body shuddered with pain. “You’re the only one that's free. Why are you coming for us?”

    “I'm trying—”

    “Do you think trying is going to get Virgil back from Remus?” Janus’ breath grew unsteady. “How is trying going to free Roman from his prison?”

    “I know. I'm coming—”

    “Stop lying.” Janus hissed,  his voice pained as he tried to force himself to his feet. “You don't know what you’re doing. You can't even give a straight answer to the simplest of questions.”

    Patton took a half-hearted step back as his stomach twisted. “I—I don't know the answers anymore."

    “Then, what good are you?”

    Janus' figure straightened upright, staggering toward Patton as he quivered on the path. His shadow darkened as he loomed over Patton, as though his very presence was sucking the light out of the forest. Patton felt the guilt burning in his stomach. His face flushed as tears brimmed in his eyes but he couldn’t deny what Janus was saying.

    “Maybe, it's best you’re finally on your own." Janus snarled in disgust as Patton dropped to his knees. “No one should have to waste their time taking care of you.”

    Janus' dark shadow lingered for a moment as Patton quivered on the ground. The breeze whistled through the trees as tears streaked the moral side's cheek. Soft moonlight glimmered on his cheeks as Janus turned down the path to leave him.

    “I want nothing more than to believe you. It'd be simpler if I could just accept I was a bad person.”

    “What?”

    Patton forced himself up to one knee. His mouth hung open as he collected his thoughts, wiping away his tears as he looked up to Janus’ shadowy figure.

    “I know I’ve messed up a lot lately, but I know my friends don't expect me to be perfect.” Patton whispered to the ground. His voice, nearly lost to the wind at first, began to grow with confidence as he tipped his head up to the figure in front of him. “And Janus knows even better than I do that mistakes are okay. He knows that you can’t sacrifice all of yourself, no matter how bad things get—Which means, you’re not him!”

    “What a clever boy.”

    Patton’s confidence started to falter as a hollow laugh echoed through the air. The wind shifted rushing over Patton’s arms as the mist swirled around Janus’ shadow. Moonlight shimmered as the fog rushed around the figure, obscuring Patton’s vision until the wind slowed and allowed the vapors to dissipate.

    “Logan!”

    A thin smile curled on the logical side’s lips as he stepped out of the shadows. He tucked his hands neatly into the pockets of his silver suit, strolling forward as a massive coiling figure rose out of the darkness behind him.

    “Janus.”

    Patton sucked in his breath, taking a timid step back as he took in the twisted wires holding Janus suspended above them. His body was stiff and unmoving as he settled in place and Patton could see the red welts in Janus' skin where the wires had cut in, making him bleed.

    “Logan, what are you doing?”

    “Oh, Patton. Don’t tell me you’re worried about him.” Logan chided him, his voice cold as the wires tightened on Janus' wrists. The movement pulled a pained grunt from the lying sides lips and his eyes fluttered open, blinking as he stared absently at Patton. “After all, it's not like he hasn't done the same to you. It seems to me that it's only fair he pays for impersonating us both.”

    “Let him go!” Patton shrieked, his voice cracking as the metal cords twisted over Janus' limbs. “You’re hurting him, Logan.”

    “Stay back, Patton.” Logan interrupted with a wag of his finger, stopping Patton with the cold tone of his voice. “You have a choice to make, but you won’t get the chance if you break Janus prematurely.”

    Patton stopped moving. His hands shot to his lips as the wires loosened from Janus' lips, allowing him to sputter out a weak cough. “Logan, please don’t—"

    Another loud crack sounded in the distance and Patton's head snapped toward the sound. His heart pounded in his chest as a soft light started to illuminate the sky. Whatever the sound was had begun grown louder as he moved through the endless forest, growing with the lights that now danced over the trees.

    Logan’s empty smile grew as the colors started to swirl in the sky above them. Bright shades of pink blended into the sky, spreading across the imagination like the lights of the aurora borealis in the sky.

    “It would seem that our dear prince has started breaking from his shackles.”

    Patton swallowed the lump in his throat. “No—Logan, you can't—”

   “Ah, so now everyone's favorite father figure is figuring it out.” Logan’s smirk returned to his face. “You can only choose to save one and its time to make your choi—”

    “I choose Janus."

    Patton spoke without thinking. His eyes stayed focused on where the cords cut into Janus' wrists. His heart ached as another crack filled the sky but Janus was hurting and he couldn’t look away once he saw Janus' eyes widen with shock.

    “Interesting choice.” Logan blinked, sounding bored as he looked away from Janus' shocked expression. “Care to share your reasoning with the class?”

    “He's hurt.” Patton stuttered, struggling to pull his words together as Logan stared at him. “I wouldn’t—”

    “Patton, don't—

    “I didn’t ask for your opinion Janus.” Logan interrupted with a snap of his fingers, ignoring Patton’s squeak as a coil of wire tightened around Janus' neck. “He's consistently undermined your decisions and turned the others against you, Patton. Why would you waste your breathe on him?”

    “He's our friend, Lo. ” Patton’s voice went quiet as he stared up at his former friend, but Logan’s face remained unmoving. “Janus helps keeps us all from burning ourselves out. He takes care of Thomas and all of us.”

    “Patton—Just go find Roman.”

    “Janus,” Patton glanced warily at Logan, but the logical side seemed lost in thought. “I'm not going to leave you.”

    “Just go—” Janus rasped, fighting to speak against the wire around his neck. “I can handle Logan.”

    “But—”

    “I suggest you take his offer, Patton.” Logan stated, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your little move was enlightening, but ultimately fruitless. My pawns will move as I expect from them.”

    Another crack sent Patton stumbling as red and pink lights danced through the sky. His gaze turned to the sky as a scream erupted from the forest behind him.

    “Go find Roman, Patton.” Janus rasped as the coiled wires dragged him to the ground, forcing him to sink out. “Save him.”

    “We'll be back for you, kiddo. Don’t you worry.”

    Patton blinked as Logan stared back at him, a strange look in his eyes a he sunk out. Once he disappeared, Patton dug his feet into the ground to take off in the other direction. He looked to the sky of the imagination, following the dancing lights as he rush forward to save the prince.

    Logan let out a breath as he rose up into his room. He strode past his rows of books, barely glancing at the aisles as he moved to the back of his room.

    “Where are you going?”

    Pausing, a sour smirk spread across Logan's face as he turned to look up to the wall behind him. “Suddenly curious, are we?”

    Janus felt the tips of his extremities tingle as the cords around his wrists pulled him into the air. His vision blurred as his muscles stiffened from the rough treatment.

    “If you ask me,” Logan mused as a hint of a emotion twitched on his lips. “I think you were rather quick to sacrifice your only chance to get out of here.”

    “If this is the worst you can do,” Janus huffed, straining against the cords. “then I can handle it.”

    “That’s a rather short-sighted assumption. Don't you think?”

    Janus' movements slowed as the cords tightened their grip on his limbs. His breath hitched in his throat as he struggled to keep his eyes fixed on Logan.

    “What I have planned is far worse than you can imagine.”

    “And what's that, Logan?”

    “Tell me, Janus.” Logan cocked his head back towards Janus, pausing before turning back to his books. His fingers drifted along the spines as a curious grin spread across his face. “Have you ever considered what it takes to kill a side?”

---

General Taglist:

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck @shadowyplaidpurseegg

Choking in the Dark Taglist:

@fantasticfangirl21 @doveinthestorm @simplestoryteller

[weaselle]

Ant Cthulhu

Tumblr ate my story! Goodbye to. just. so many thousands of notes. This was one of my first stories that people on tumblr liked. So I’m making it a new post, so that people can find it. Plus, of all the thousands who read the first one or two installments, not nearly as many discovered that I had written a third and final installment that ends the story, so here is a chance at that. 

The story was inspired by a pair of observations on Tumblr, where users probablybadrpgideas and 20thcenturyvole said, respectively 

“if Cthulhu can be summoned by humans who are so far beneath it, why can’t humans be summoned by ants? The answer is they should be.” and “Well if a bunch of ants formed a circle in my house I’d certainly notice, try to figure out where they’d all come from, and possibly wreak destruction there.“

It gets just a little dark, but any story named for Cthulhu surely must have some death and destruction, right?

ANT CTHULHU

That’s why knowing and correctly pronouncing the true name is so important to the ritual. Imagine how impossible it would be to not go take a look if the circle of ants started chanting your name. And they’re like, you can’t leave because we drew a line made of tiny crystals - now you have to do us a favor. And you’re like, let’s just see where this goes “yup, you got me… what’s the favor?” and usually the favor is like, “kill this one ant for us” or “give me a pile of sugar” and you’re like… okay? and you do, because why not, it isn’t hard for you and boy is this going to be a fucking story to tell, these fucking ants chanting your name and wanting a spoonful of sugar or whatever. And SOMEtimes you get asked for things you can’t really do, one of them, she’s like, “I love this ant but she won’t pay any attention to me, make me important to her” and you’re like… um? how? So you just kill every ant in the colony except the two of them, ta-da! problem solved! and the first ant is like *horrified whisper* “what have I done” …. _____________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile another colony of ants invades your house, and evidently that last ant has gotten some of them to join her in a circle and taught them the ritual because you’re coming out of the bathroom one day and you hear the ants singing your name. Sure enough it’s that ant, but she’s dark and fucked up now, and she’s like, “kill the queen. I will rule this colony” and you’re like, sure, I guess I kinda owe her, and you do it. And she manages to become queen, and they worship you. Which is cool, you’re not, you know, very important in the human world, but to these ants you’re practically all-powerful.

Your beloved Naya doesn’t understand your fascination with the ants at all, but you easily train her to leave them alone. She’s such a good dog. The ants are horrified that you command such a beast.

You begin to realize can’t be just, doing everything a bunch of ants tell you to all the time. When would you watch Netflx? So you tend to only show up for super important ants; you teach them some extra words and when hear them you go see what’s up. Usually. Also though, you’ll show up to just your name, if you’re bored and you hear it. And, sometimes some of the ants are like, tell us more human names, and you’re kind of jealous of the idea of some other human diluting your private godhood, so you refuse. Your roommate Greg is like, yo, that’s fucking awesome, I want ant worshipers! But whenever he approaches any, they run away, because it turns out that the illusion of control from the named summoning is what makes them feel safe around you. That’s great, because Greg is a dick who never does the dishes, and one day you decide to teach Greg a lesson. So you show up at the colony, and you’re like, “yo, witch queen, did you think there would be no price for all these things? Your colony must do something for me, go to the Room of the Housemate, I will meet you there.” And you go sit on the couch and play Overwatch for a while. You’re like, right there, you can clearly see the ants all marching along the wall to Greg’s room, but to them you’re not even there, you’re so far away they can’t see you. It takes them, like, an ant week to make the journey. They have to figure out ways to get over and around things. Some of them drown, or get stepped on by the dog, or whatever. You win a game, you lose a game, you look over, and they’re trying to get through some cobwebs… looks like they’re mostly going to live, you keep playing, you look over, okay they’re all in there, and you stand up and walk over and by the time they’ve chanted your name once, you’re there. “right, hold on” and you look around and you see a twelve-pack of Greg’s precious fucking soda, that he keeps in his room and refuses to ever share, even though it’s a communal food household and you share your hot chocolate with him all the time. So you gather the ants unto you, and you poke a little hole in each of the sodas and you leave the room to the sound of the ants rejoicing. Greg will suspect of course, but he’ll never be able to prove the ants didn’t chew holes in the plastic and steal his stupid drinks.

He actually tries to blame it on Naya. What a prick. You insist with wide eyes that the ants must have found it somehow — maybe he shouldn’t leave soda pop laying around his room. But later, while you’re at work, Greg destroys most of the colony in a rage, and you come home to find the witch queen gasping her last. “The Dew of the Mountain, which you had us steal, was cursed - and so I lay my curse on you” she manages, and then she dies. Well first of all, you don’t really believe in curses, but last month you didn’t believe ants could know your name, so that’s unsettling. And second of all, you feel kind of bad. You know, not SUPER bad, cause she’s like, an ant. But still. And most importantly, third of all, Greg must pay. Like some kind of movie villain, you pet your loving Naya and say out loud “Oh yes, and pay he will.”

But Greg has done more than kill a bunch of the colony. As you wait for eggs and pupae to replenish the ant population, you discover he has found some ants that didn’t go on the Mountain Dew raid, and he’s spared them, told them his name.

He’s made himself a good sized cult in YOUR fucking ant queendom. Greg has started locking his door. So now you NEED the ants. Once again you direct the ants loyal to you to journey to Greg’s room. You meet them at the door. A locked door means nothing to the ants, they don’t even know there is a door, and can barely perceive the difference between it being open and shut - either passing the threshold on the floor regardless, or being on its surface no matter the position. But you need them to get inside. You’re going to put itching powder in his underwear drawer and leave a raw fish under his bed. So you instruct the leading party of ants how to go into the Cave of Keyhole, and position the Magic Megaliths inside just right to enable the opening of the Great Door and allow you to pass into the Realm of Housemate. Crouched by the door, you can hear when your ants are met by a party of Greg Cultists, who insist that if the Great Door is opened, the colony will be doomed. There is fighting. Your ants prevail, the lock tumblers are moved into place, and you swing the door open… To find Greg! In his room all along! It’s a trap! His cultists attack you! I mean, they can’t do much real harm, but it kind of hurts and it’s super annoying. You order your ants to attack him, and they do, but he storms over and pours bleach down the colony entrance.

It’s the end of their world. Now you and Greg are at war, and you both understand the unspoken rules to your fight. You can’t do things directly to each other, why, that would be assault. But anything you can get your ants to do is fine, because “she told the ants to do it to me” isn’t going to get very far with any authority figures that get involved. Later, nursing your anger, you confer with your few remaining ants and stare moodily at your new prize, the ant farm that came in the mail. It will take time to integrate them- your ants have to get access to the new ants’ scent marker chemicals and go undercover. Meanwhile, you’ve got a laptop schematic to go over with your high priestess. It’s finals week, and if you time it right, he’ll lose everything. … You look down into the summoning ritual. The current high priestess, Zé, is an ant of great influence and personality - you quite like her, inso far as a human can be friends with an ant that worships them. You thought the new queen would become the next high priestess, but according to Zé the queens don’t like to come out of the colony after they shed their wings. Plus they are very busy laying eggs and supervising the care of their ant larvae. Zé says it’s a better deal for you, this way your high priestess can have the time and energy to really serve your interests, and wield an authority among the colony that is purely yours - no conflict of interest, and no baby making duties. It’s really just what’s best for both you and the colony queen to have her as high priestess, she informs you, making you laugh at her flattery-wrapped ambition. There’s no laughing this evening though. It’s serious business on the docket tonight. “O wise and ancient entity of power, you grace us with your presence!” and for formality’s sake, she intones the additional ritual greeting from their holy books “You Look Fantastic, Have You Done Something New With Your Hair?” Ants don’t really understand hair. You respond as you have become accustomed “Thank You, Yes.” It’s just easier. They mean well. Mystic greeting complete, Zé and the rest of the dark clergy move straight to business. Several 10s of them line up in formation, creating a diagram of the apartment complex. You had to coach them into how to make it, as far as they are concerned it’s a complex sigil that conveys knowledge to you - for creatures that traverse the building in long journeys along the pipes in the walls and in the spaces between the lower ceiling and upper floor, it looks nothing like the apartment complex as they know it. Zé claims to understand it, but secretly you suspect she’s just mostly cementing her authority among the clergy. She has, usefully, memorized which parts of the sigil correspond with what parts of the building, and that’s good enough for your purposes. “O mighty being, we have done as instructed. Our scouts had to search wide for them, but we have left the corpses of many termites in all the locations you specified, every night this week. “Very good,” you assure them, “and the Greggorites?” “Our spies among them have learned of their next attack. We should be able to influence their timing somewhat.” “Good. And..” your eyes narrow, “the other thing?” “Ah, yes.” Zé’s antennae wave and dip in that way you know means she is uncomfortable. “to the best of our ability to find out, the… Antifreeze initiative was entirely conceived of by the Demon Lord Greg.” “Just Greg,” you tell Zé with bitter hatred as tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. “Greg is not a lord, just a fucking prick who’s going to get what’s coming to him. I swear by all of creation he will.” “Is there…” Zé trailed off and tried again. “O Deity of my heart, far be it from me to question Your Exaltedness, but help your poor servant to understand… your plans have become, ah, they seem perhaps, I am sure I am wrong, but they seem, overly audacious? Your recent change in demeanor has made some of us nervous - not me! - but some of the less devout among my sistren, have become… concerned.” Your fists clench. “I don’t expect you to get it. I’m pretty certain none of you could possibly understand.” Your voice breaks. You clench your teeth. You won’t, you won’t cry in front of your ant worshipers. You lean down and say in the strangled half whisper that is the only way you can force the words past the lump in your throat, “He killed my dog, Zé…” The ants flee the sound of your terrible wailing. The great Finals Erasure had worked to more devastating effect than you had anticipated, and things had… escalated. Then Greg proved himself to be less human than the ants , who themselves had turned out to be such surprising little beings. So. The orders for the heinous deed did in fact come from him. Now, there are things that have to be done. You call the ants back out of hiding and get to work. In the end, it was easier than you thought it would be. You talk to all the neighbors, without Greg. You hide the relevant pieces of mail. You have the scuba gear and the stuff from the sex shop shipped to a friend’s house. You ensure your spies among the Greggorites have escape plans, though Zé assures you they are ready to sacrifice themselves to the cause. “I’m not that kind of Deity,” you tell her. The night before, your ants slip a double dose of tylenol p.m. into Greg’s milkshake. You almost laugh; all your efforts to make sure there is only soup to make for dinner, and he comes home with Burger King. He sleeps so soundly that he never comes close to waking the whole time you are attaching the padded bondage equipment to his limbs and hiding with him in the closet. The walk through by the company inspectors that morning is a tense moment, but as you suspect, they don’t open the closets. After they leave to do their work outside, you finish your work inside, tying Greg to his bed. By the time he starts to wake up, you are sitting in a chair in the doorway to his bedroom, with your mask on. The air is beginning to thicken and discolor. Greg coughs around his ball gag and opens his eyes. You feel curiously calm and empty. “Hi, Greg.” Your voice is muffled, “You like my dive mask?” Greg makes an angry questioning noise, spread eagled to the full extension of his limbs. “Oh, yeah, that must be uncomfortable. Can’t give you enough slack to jerk against the ropes, though, or you might leave tell-tale bruises through the padding.” More angry noises, coughing. “Hhhmm? Oh, did I forget to tell you? It’s termite day, Greg, they’ve tented the house. That’s Sulfuryl Fluoride you’re breathing. You’ll cough for a bit, you’ll throw up, and your heart will stop.” He’s thrashing around as much as the ropes will allow, which isn’t a lot. He’s pretty energetic about it, though; maybe he can’t hear you over his efforts. “You shouldn’t have meddled around with godhood, it didn’t suit you. Power compromised your judgement. You definitely shouldn’t have fucking killed my dog, Greg” You’re suddenly filled with rage. You need to know he hears you. You stride over to the bed and grab him by the throat. Not too hard, you try to remember through your anger, no bruises. The grip is enough to make Greg stop thrashing and look at you with wide wide eyes. “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE FUCKING KILLED NAYA YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! WHY? WHY? HOW COULD YOU!? SHE NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU!” Just as suddenly, your anger is gone. You feel tired. You look down at him and shake your head.”Time to die, Greg.” You cross the room and sit back down in your chair in the doorway. Watching him die isn’t easy, but it’s not as hard as watching Naya suffer through acute kidney failure. Afterwards, you take off all the bondage gear, throw it in a duffel bag. You leave through the back, rolling out from under the fumigation tent against the back fence, and packing the scuba gear into the duffel before you climb into the neighbors yard. A month later, you’re moving from town to town. The colony has become so large you’re going to need a bigger truck full of clay for them to live in. Maybe an old Uhaul. The ants bring you a newspaper. They bring you everything now, food, money, information. Word of how you value the life of each individual ant has spread through the colony, and reports brought back from the apartment by scouts confirming your status as a godslayer has …elevated… their worship of you. You open the newspaper to find Greg’s death has made the papers. No suspicion of foul play despite the exterminator company lawyers insisting on an autopsy. Tylenol p.m. in his system accounted for his presence in the building, it was decided, and the failure of the inspectors to notice Greg in bed during their walk through was settled out of court, paid off by their insurance. The ants bring you a conga line of grapes, peeling them for you while you stare off into space. A small line of ants brings the peels back to the colony larder. You’re going to have to teach them how to disable cameras - the leaked security footage of hundred dollar bills slipping themselves out under the bank doors has caused a bit of a stir on some parts of the internet… you eat another grape, and count your money. As usual you put half of it in an envelope, uncapping a sharpie to write “From Naya” on it. The ants will slip it under the door of the local animal shelter for you tonight. END

_____________________________________________________________________

so, looking back, I feel I should tell you that when I wrote the final chapter of this I had just become homeless and had to leave my dog in a better home than I could provide. It’s cool, we still see each other a lot these days, I was just real sad about it and it effected what I wrote. Anyway, that’s the Ant Cthulhu story

[maxwell-grant]

Any thoughts on Darkman, the Liam Neeson movie? I heard it was originally going to be a Shadow movie.

I love Darkman very much, but I've realized recently that this love comes with some pretty bittersweet feelings at the story behind it.

Michael Uslan: I was going to produce a Shadow feature film with Sam Raimi, but Sam got consumed by back-to-back movies and we ran out of time. We were headed in a good, period piece direction and managed to do so without relying on yet another bout with Shiwan Khan. I later had another major director passionate to do The Shadow, but a person at the company wanted to do a modern day TV series instead, which ultimately did not go... - comment saved from a post in The Shadow Knows Facebook group

For those of you who only now got into The Shadow or don't remember, for much of the early 00s, when The Shadow basically had no current projects and Conde Nast was taking down webpages and fan content left and right, the only things that kept this "fandom" alive were occasional fanfics (many of which are gone now), and the dim light in the horizon that was the rumors that Sam Raimi was finally going to make his Shadow film. Dig back on The Wayback Machine for Shadow web page and you're gonna see this as consistently the only thing they had to look forward to in regards to the character. These rumors floated around for over a decade, at one point Tarantino was even supposed to direct it, but he confirmed in 2013 that it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with him at the helm.

The project has been dead for a while now, and Conde Nast seems to be shuffling around plans for the character, and I deleted my Facebook months ago so I haven't kept up with any news, although it seems the James Patterson novel wasn't received too well, so I'm not sure what other plans they have in the pipeline.

Back in the 1970s, after the release of Richard Donner's Superman and in line with The Shadow's pop culture resurgence, thanks to the paperback reprints and the 70s DC run, there were plans to make a Shadow feature film, and there were quite a handful of scripts being tossed around for the following years (Will Murray states most of them were horrible), several names attached to the project at one point or another. The plans died down a bit following Gibson's death and only really picked up again after the 90s, and of course we all know that the 1994 movie came out with spectacularly bad timing. From what I recall, it seems Sam Raimi wanted to make his Shadow film in the 80s, was unable to secure the rights, and then just made his own version, which would go on to be his first major motion picture.

Even after making Darkman, Sam Raimi still wanted to make The Shadow. I guess that's ultimately the bittersweet part for me. I imagine the current state of Shadow media would be significantly better if Sam Raimi, who was a fan of the character and the pulp version (and even knows of The Shadow's connection to Houdini and stage magic), got to make his Shadow film, years before Blood & Judgment, years before Burton's Batman made it impossible for a Shadow film not to be compared to it, in a time period where it wouldn't have had to compete with The Lion King and The Mask for box office. And second, I have been drawing up my plans for Shadow projects for, what, 5 years now? And I have just barely got my foot off the door as a filmmaker. Sam Raimi had a decade-long career as a cult filmmaker before he got turned down, and decades later, after becoming a household name in charge of Marvel's biggest icon, the project still fell through. It doesn't exactly get my hopes up, y'know.

I love Darkman, it's the best Shadow film that doesn't technically star the real Shadow, and it works pretty well on it's own regardless of that association, but I do get pretty sad looking at it from the outside, because I just can't help but think on what it could have been.

In some aspects I do think the film benefits from not being about The Shadow proper, because it means Raimi got the freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted. The character of Darkman already existed separately from Sam Raimi's plans for a Shadow film, already carrying off the Phantom / Universal Monster influence, and what Raimi did was basically combine the two ideas together.

He took the basic iconography of The Shadow, a terrifying urban crimefighter in coat and slouch hat, and add in other Shadow traits like his mastery of disguise, his disfigurement, and that wonderful scene where he's invisibly running circles around a panicky triggerman while laughing maniacally, a moment which definitely feels like Raimi taking a second to indulge himself to do what you can call The Classic Shadow Scene with a character he's, for the most part, succesfully convinced us (and Conde Nast's lawyers, most importantly) isn't supposed to be The Shadow.

But then he filters these through his own influences and style to make him a new character, so instead of a mysterious mastermind with lots of resources and a enigmatic background, instead he's a disfigured and psychotic scientist with a vengeance against those who made him that way. He's like Night Raven, in the sense that he's built off traits that The Shadow has, but develops them differently to the point he stands on his own as a character. It's The Shadow combined with The Phantom of the Opera, filtered through a 1930s Universal Horror lens, played for greater tragedy and a dash of Evil Dead 2 wackyness.

He hides away in trashed up ruins and bickers with a cat, he has fits of rage that make him endanger innocents, he has a doomed love affair, and sometimes he gets so batshit he gives us hilarious moments like "TAKE THE FUCKING ELEPHANT" and "SEE THE DANCING FREAK! PAY - FIVE - BUCKS! TO SEE THE DANCING FREAK!". Moments that really show why he was such a good fit for Spider-Man despite the liberties he took with the source material.

I think the big thing that helps to make Darkman works as a property in it's own right is also that, ultimately, these influences are ultimately at the forefront of it, and the core of it works on it's own. Darkman is a believable, engaging character in his own right, one who tells a story that would be more at odds with The Shadow proper. 

In some aspects, Darkman tries to be The Shadow, he is forced to become The Shadow by literally picking the clothes off a dumpster after he escapes the hospital, and it's a miserable, wretched existence, in a way rather befitting his status as a legally safe knock-off. He is a creature of nightmare who lost his face and takes on a dozen others to fight crime by turning terror against them, except he is still just a man in the end, and no man was ever supposed to live like this.

Raimi was also inspired by the Universal horror films of the 1930s and 1940s because "they made me fear the hideous nature of the hero and at the same time drew me to him. I went back to that idea of the man who is noble and turns into a monster".

He originally wrote a 30-page short story, titled "The Darkman", and then developed into a 40-page treatment. At this point, according to Raimi, "it became the story of a man who had lost his face and had to take on other faces, a man who battled criminals using this power"

A non-superpowered man who, here, is a hideous thing who fights crime. As he became that hideous thing, it became more like The Phantom of the Opera, the creature who wants the girl but who was too much of a beast to have her

I decided to explore a man's soul. In the beginning, a sympathetic, sincere man. In the middle, a vengeful man committing heinous acts against his enemies. And in the end, a man full of self-hatred for what he's become, who must drift off into the night, into a world apart from everyone he knows and all the things he loves.

For the role, Raimi was looking for someone who could suggest "a monster with the soul of a man"

It's the fact that Darkman is ultimately played for vulnerability and tragedy that really sets him apart. While I wouldn't go far enough to say The Shadow is a man with the soul of a monster, still, the difference in presentation is still there when it comes to these two. The Shadow is The Other, Darkman is You. Darkman is the victim of extraordinary circumstance that affects his life, The Shadow is the extraordinary circumstance that affects the lives of others. People react to The Shadow, Darkman reacts to people (and rather poorly).

One is the man who takes off his skin (or yours, staring back at you) to reveal the weird creature of the night ready to prowl and pounce and cackle at those who think they hold power over it's domain, and the other is the monster who falls apart bit by bit until you are left staring at the broken man within who has no choice but to be something he was never supposed to be.

The Shadow is The Master of Darkness. Darkman weaponizes the dark, but in the end, he's still just a man, lost within it. Not everyone can be The Shadow, and you would most likely turn into Darkman if you tried.

[moonbeambucky]

Friday Night Fights

Pairing: Wrestler!Bucky Barnes x Reader [AU] Word Count: 5948 Warnings: action, fluff

Summary: A night at a wrestling show proves more than you may be able to handle.

A/N: I’m so excited because I haven’t seen this before and I’m really, really happy with how it turned out! Thank you to my pizza love @all1e23​​​ for beta reading 🍕❤️ Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated! gif source (x)

It was early in the evening but the sky showed otherwise. Its pitch black blanket draped the world in darkness; a consequence of winter where night rolls over earlier as the days go on. Y/N is huddled together with her friend Wanda, teeth chattering as they brace for a gust of wind, the kind that’s so cold the icy breeze burns your face. They’re standing in a line that wraps around the block, hearing the excited chants from people all around them. Some are a little louder than others and Y/N suspects a few have been keeping warm thanks to those beers wrapped in paper bags. While she was too cold to physically show how excited she was, inside she was thrilled. It was the first Friday of the month and Y/N was spending it the way she’s spent all of them over the past year, front row at a local wrestling show.

MWF had been running monthly shows for a few years now but it wasn’t until Wanda’s brother Pietro begged them to come with him that she was hooked. It was so much fun to watch the athletic matches and even though there were some storylines that bordered on ridiculous they were a lot of fun. Y/N can honestly say she’s never laughed harder than watching a man named Doctor Doom wrestle The Invisible Woman. He was so convincing in kicking his own ass she was almost positive he really was in a match against a woman that no one could see.

Tonight was different though; Y/N and Wanda were alone, waiting to get inside the venue without Pietro because he was making his debut! He caught the wrestling bug from the moment they all went to a show and after speaking with some of the wrestlers he found a local school and started training. Things were rough, as Y/N remembered the day after his first lesson, Pietro was so sore he couldn’t even get off the couch of the apartment they all shared. As his training continued so did his injuries; his body was covered in bruises from all moves he was learning but he didn’t care. Pietro loved it so much and eventually his body got used to the new brand of workouts he was putting it through.

While he was training Pietro still went to shows with Y/N and Wanda but now things were different. He was on hand to help set up the ring during the day, staying after the show to help break it down and pack it in the truck. He no longer viewed each match through the eyes of a fan but as a student, carefully studying each move and the story the wrestlers were telling. Watching them interact with the crowd made him hopeful, imagining himself in that ring one day with a crowd of people cheering for him. That day had finally come.

The show wouldn’t start for another half hour at least so Y/N and Wanda went to the line for refreshments, saying hello to a few people along the way. They had grown familiar with some of the crowd, seeing familiar faces that were also dedicated fans. Besides the regulars there were always new people, fathers with their young children either using this as a replacement for expensive WWE shows or just bonding over more wrestling in their lives. It was always a treat to watch the kids yell at the bad guys as they walked around the ring, pointing fingers in their face before recoiling back with fear if they were snarled at.

There were a lot of women there too, some older ones where it was clear they had grown up watching classic wrestling. Sometimes it was obvious that they were there to meet their favorite stars from the past. Usually the shows had one match that featured someone that used to be really popular. They were older now, a little slower but still put on an entertaining match. During intermission they would sell signed 8x10 pictures from a table off to the side. It isn’t anything compared to the money they used to make but it’s something of a living, and taking a selfie with their fans makes everyone happy.

Other women filled the crowds, young ones that hoped to get in the ring themselves one day or those who were only there to support their boyfriends or other friends who were in the show. You could always tell who was there to support who, watching their disinterested face lift up from the phone it’s been glued to all night to cheer for someone, and once the match was over you could see how quickly they got back to their phone, furiously texting away probably asking when they could finally leave.

After the shows some kids would wait around hoping to meet their favorite wrestler, full of nervous joy as they took a picture with them. It wasn’t always the kids who were anxious to meet someone, a lot of times there would be some women blatantly flirting with some of them. Y/N’s seen a few wrestlers take someone by the hand, pulling them behind the curtain to get lost for a few minutes. As long as everything was consensual there was no issue with it though she couldn’t help but grimace as she watched it happen unbeknownst to that wrestler's girlfriend hanging around and waiting for him to leave the locker room.

Pietro always told her not to say anything. “Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.” It’s a lesson he learned the hard way after confronting someone about cheating on their girlfriend. They took it out on him during training, leaving a red handprint shaped welt on his chest for days for not minding his business. This was not a side of wrestling that any of them liked.

Making their way to their seats they were taken aback by the presence of the large ring assembled in the center of the room. It was always a beautiful sight and being there felt like home. The cold metal chairs brought comfort, the bright fluorescents that shined down on them from the vaulted ceiling brought warmth like a cozy fireplace. This was more than something to do on a Friday night; it was tradition, creating new memories with every show.

Y/N took off her jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. “Do you like it?” she said, turning to Wanda, proudly showing off her sweatshirt.

The bright blue fabric was eye catching but the design on the front really stood out. It was the symbol for a wrestler that everyone knew was her favorite; red and white circles surrounding a bright white star in the center meant for “Captain America” Steve Rogers, the current MWF heavyweight champion. He was a blue eyed, blond haired, six foot wall of pure muscle with the sweetest baby face she’d ever seen.

Steve was enthralling. Women would scream extra loud as they ogled him (those tights don’t leave much to the imagination) and kids would jump up and down cheering as he gave each and every one a high five. Steve was an all American wrestler, a good-hearted person who believed in clean matches and rushed out from the back to help others if their own opponents were cheating to win. And lately he’s been coming out a lot.

There was a faction known as Hydra that Steve has been feuding with for some time now. A man named Red Skull, whose face was painted to look like one, served as their leader, standing ringside as his assets would fight their way to the top for a shot at the championship. For a while he pushed Crossbones, a real sleazy villain that took cheap shots at the audience, sneering at them as he told them how lucky they were to be in the presence of his greatness. Steve had many fights against Crossbones but he wasn’t alone.

Steve used to be a tag team, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the Howling Commandos, brothers in arms that were the reigning tag team champions. Fans adored them, cheering as they took on Crossbones and his partner Baron Zemo. One night Steve held up his belt over his head, rejoicing in another win for himself and Bucky, proudly showing it off to the crowd and never expecting what happened next.

A vicious blow knocked him to the mat, the belt dropped from his hands. Confused, Steve tried to get up but a heavy boot kicked him back down. He wondered who was attacking him and if Bucky was faring better than he was, that is until he was able to turn around. Bucky was standing over him, his foot kicking Steve in the ribs. He groaned in pain, his body feeling the agony of the attack but his mind suffered more. “Buck, why?” But Steve never got an answer.

Bucky grabbed his head, forcing him to his feet but Steve fought back to defend himself. He blocked one punch but not the next two blows that came out of nowhere; a swift kick to the stomach from Zemo that sent him right into another strike from Crossbones across his back.

Steve wobbled to his knees disoriented and Bucky took advantage of his former friend’s weakened state. Bucky pulled Steve by the top of his tights setting him bent over between his legs. He smirked feeling his attempt to find the strength to fight back, clawing at Bucky’s thighs to break free. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist and with all his might he hoisted him up, flipping Steve’s body up quickly so his legs were straddling Bucky’s head and just as fast he used all his force to slam Steve’s back down onto the mat.

Bucky got up, laughing as he stared at Steve laid out in the ring, joining Crossbones and Baron Zemo as the newest member of Hydra as the crowd roared with anger. Ever since that day Steve has been facing Bucky Barnes now known as The Winter Soldier– an enemy with the face of a friend.

The main event tonight was Steve against the Winter Soldier who was fighting for a shot at the title. Everyone was excited. Y/N wasn’t the only one in a Captain America shirt although some people in the audience smudged black paint around their eyes, emulating their new favorite villain to show their support.

The Winter Soldier had become an intimidating figure, wearing a black mask that covered the bottom half of his face, piercing blue eyes stood out against the smear of black war paint. His left arm was wrapped in silver electrical tape from his wrist and up his forearm, the sections making it look like his arm was replaced by metal plates. A final piece was taped just above his bicep as if to show off the prominent muscle.

He traded bright blue tights for a dark black fabric with a jarring red star on his thigh. It was like he had it just to taunt Steve, showing him he remembered his roots and all the years they spent together as a team but now he no longer cared, twisting the image of a patriotic star for one that was blood red, dripping with the hate that fueled him.

Like everyone else, Y/N couldn’t wait for that match but first the show had to begin. A man walked out from the curtain to a roar of cheers. He was an older man with grey hair that bordered on silver and bright teeth that flashed against tanned skin. He entered the ring with all eyes on him, partially because of his striking gold jacket, beneath it an even bolder red tie that stood out against a bright cobalt blue shirt.

Bringing a microphone to his mouth he spoke, “Welcome to the Marvel Wrestling Federation. I am your host, the Grandmaster!” The Grandmaster smirked, taking in their enthusiasm. The crowd was pumped and he knew it was going to be a great night. “Please welcome your referee for the night Phillip Coulson!”

“COUL-SON! COUL-SON! COUL-SON!” The crowd cheered as a man in a striped shirt entered the ring, a modest smile spreading across his thin lips.

With that the first match of the night began but Wanda could hardly pay attention. Pietro had texted her saying he was going to be in the second match and her leg bounced nervously. She vacillated between feeling excited and nervous, wanting to cheer on her brother for his debut but in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but fear for his safety.

Sure, Pietro had been training for a while but that didn’t mean that things couldn’t go wrong. Y/N looked over at Wanda, taking her hand and squeezing it, hoping to provide some comfort to her, realizing how hard Wanda was squeezing her own hand back as the first match ended.

“Making his debut, all the way from Sokovia, here is Quicksilver!” the Grandmaster’s voice boomed as music hit, and suddenly a figure raced out from the curtains to the sound of fast paced music.

Y/N and Wanda shot up to cheer for him, proudly screaming as he ran around the outside of the ring, slapping hands with everyone before he jumped up on the apron. Stepping inside the ring he went to the corner, standing on the middle ropes as he raised his arms up, smiling at the crowd.

He looked incredible. Neither of them had seen his outfit, ombre blue pants with a white lightning bolt going down the side of his leg. His white boots shined brightly, their luster not yet marred by the history of a long career. His chest was bare and though he was not as tanned as some other wrestlers he still very much looked the part with bright blue elbow pads on his arms. He winked towards Y/N and Wanda, who was filled with nervous energy she could barely hold her phone steady to record his match.

“And his opponent, from Queens, New York he is the amazing Spider-Man!”

Everyone jumped up from their seats to cheer for a masked wrestler who was always a crowd favorite. He was a few inches shorter than Pietro but much slimmer, wearing a full body spandex suit in red and blue with a webbed designed all over it and a small black spider in the center of his chest. His eyes were blocked by a white mesh surrounded by black trim but somehow you could see the expression in them.

Pietro began clapping his hands, a rhythmic beat for the crowd to join in as he and Spider-Man circled each other in the ring. Once they began both men showed off their skill of high flying moves and near pinfalls for each of them with nonstop action throughout and the crowd loved it. Wanda’s smile was stretched proudly across her face as she watched her brother. The match was over before anyone wanted it to be, with Spider-Man climbing to the top turnbuckle and doing a backflip splash onto Pietro for the three count.

Ref Coulson raised Spider-Man’s hand in victory but he quickly went to his opponent and helped him to his feet. Pietro was half-keeled over with one arm across his stomach, feeling the pain from where all of Spider-Man’s weight had landed. Spider-Man took Pietro’s hand, celebrating Quicksilver as a mutually respected opponent.

Wanda and Y/N stood up and cheered loudly, sitting down again once Pietro had gone back through the curtain.

“He was incredible! Did you see that? My. Brother. Did. That!” Wanda exclaimed.

Y/N was just as proud of him, knowing how hard Pietro trained. His first match was a great success and she hoped it would be the start to an incredible career.

The next match saw Quake take on Black Widow, another member of Hydra. She was a short redhead but her opponents should know not to be intimidated by her size. Though she was a strong fighter Black Widow was also conniving, cheating to win whenever it seemed victory was just out of reach.

She walked around the ring with a slow stride, ignoring the boos and comments from the crowd. As she was approaching Y/N she noticed the Captain America shirt she was wearing and her red lips pulled into a disgusted scoff. Black Widow snarled at Y/N, unable to bear the mere sight of her enemy’s symbol.

As soon as the match began the crowd was behind Quake all the way which only seemed to upset Black Widow more, anger that she held firmly inside. She launched a vicious attack, raking Quake in the eyes to impair her vision as she tried to pin her right away. Quake kicked out, and after a lot of back and forth it seemed like Quake was finally getting the upper hand.

Not wanting to lose Black Widow found the strength to stop herself from being thrown into the corner, reversing the move and whipping Quake right into Ref Coulson who dropped to the mat in pain. With Quake and the referee both down Black Widow smirked, using this opportunity to slip out of the ring and grab a metal chair.

Black Widow raised the chair above her hands, about to slam it down onto Quake before she noticed from the corner of her eye that Ref Coulson was using the ropes to ease himself up. Not wanting to be caught, she slammed the chair down onto the mat. The sound alerted Quake who turned around and just as quickly Black Widow threw the chair to Quake and fell down onto the mat. Ref Coulson turned around and was stunned to see Quake holding the chair above her opponent. He refused to listen to her protests as she was caught red handed, signaling to the announcers to end the match and the bell rang.

The Grandmaster’s voice echoed through the room, “The winner of this match as a result of a disqualification, Black Widow!”

The crowd booed as Quake continued to argue with the referee. He helped Black Widow up from the mat, unable to see the wicked grin that spread across her face. Her expression was one Y/N saw again that night as Crossbones and Zemo fought against Falcon and Hawkeye but unlike Black Widow, their opponents would not fall for Hydra’s tricks.

Hawkeye spotted Zemo hiding by the apron of the ring, trying to hold Falcon’s foot down so he couldn’t kick out as Crossbones attempted to pin him. Racing towards him, Hawkeye speared Zemo into the guardrails, knocking him out. Crossbones and Falcon were trading punches and Falcon was stumbling in the center of the ring. Crossbones began to climb to the top rope, setting himself up to jump off and hit his signature move, the Strike Force.

Seeing this Hawkeye jumped to the apron, knocking into Crossbones who landed crotch first into the turnbuckle, letting out a painful groan. Hawkeye called out for Falcon who turned around, and both men climbed to the top rope, lifting Crossbones to a standing position as they threw his arms over theirs.

This was their finishing move, the Birds of a Feather, as Falcon and Hawkeye did a simultaneous backflip off the top rope, while holding Crossbones who flipped along with them, slamming furiously onto the mat. Thunderous applause carried through the room as the referee counted to three and Falcon and Hawkeye remained the MWF tag team champions.

There were so many other matches that kept Y/N and Wanda entertained, like Thor against his brother Loki, the two having their own long standing feud but now it was time for the final match and Y/N was full of anticipation.

The Grandmaster stood in the center of the ring again, commanding the microphone as he spoke to the crowd. “Wow, what a show, what a night! And now, without further ado… it’s main event time! Making his way to the ring at 240 pounds he is the fist of Hydra, The Winter Soldier!”

The faint sound of music is heard over the crowd, like a scream heard underwater. The tension builds with a growing hum, the cry is louder yet different, mechanized, like someone is trapped inside a machine. A motorcycle hums, revving its engine, racing louder and louder until a crash of metal clangs.

At the height of tension the Winter Soldier takes a solid step through the curtain as the haunting scream blares out. It’s as if the person he used to be was still inside, Bucky Barnes, Howling Commando, friend to Steve Rogers, trapped inside the shell of a brainwashed assassin, scratching at the walls and screaming to free himself. But the Winter Soldier is nothing like Bucky Barnes.

His movements are deliberate and slow as he stalks the ring. Blue eyes visible through the darkness of black around them. They speak volumes with every glare as he makes his way around the ring. Kids who are brave enough scream at him but the Winter Soldier doesn’t react. He’s cold, devoid of emotion, as mechanic as the sounds of his entrance music. Y/N does see something in his eyes, the subtle squint as he sees her Captain America shirt. She, like many others, boo him as he passes by.

Not everyone hates the Winter Soldier though; he has his own fan base that doesn’t care about what side of good he’s on. Y/N can hear the difference in the tone of their screams, lascivious howls as he steps in the ring. They cry out as he undoes the buckles of his leather jacket to reveal a broad chest and she wouldn’t be surprised if they had dollars ready in between their fingers to stuff down his pants. His hair is dark and stringy, falling just on top of his muscular shoulders. He removes his muzzle, rolling his neck from side to side as he awaits his foe.

“From Brooklyn, New York, weighing in at 225 pounds, he is your Heavyweight Champion, Captain America, Steve Rogers!”

Patriotic horns blare along with rhythmic percussion, building triumphantly until Captain America pops through the curtain to a clamor of cheers. The belt shines brightly around his waist as he takes a second to pose, hooking his thumbs into the top, proud to be the champion.

Y/N stands up, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound of her cheers making them rise above the rest. Steve was slapping hands with a group of children but he heard her, his boyish smile growing as he turned to see her in the front row wearing his symbol.

As Steve approached Y/N he took her hand, pressing a kiss to the top of it that set her cheeks on fire. She sat down giggling in her seat with Wanda, hardly able to look at Steve anymore even though she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Her breath got caught in her chest for a moment as the Winter Soldier glared in her direction. She swallowed the hard lump in her chest uncomfortably, feeling on edge by the intensity of his stare.

The Grandmaster leaves the ring as Ref Coulson pats down the legs of both men to make sure none of them have any weapons. Steve would never but you can’t put anything past Hydra. The bell rings and the match begins, both men circling each other. Steve puts his hand out to shake, an honorable sign of respect he shows towards all of his opponents but his former friend roughly slaps it away. The Winter Soldier lunges towards Steve to spear him to the ground, unleashing an assault of vicious punches to the champion.

Steve blocked what he could but it seems like the Winter Soldier is on a mission to take him out. Steve is able to push him off, rolling over to try and stand but his opponent is on his feet first The Winter Soldier grabbed Steve and squeezed him into a headlock, tightening his grip as Steve hissed. Steve tried to get out of the hold, clawing and punching his way to get the man who used to be Bucky to release it. Instead he bends his knees and gets his arms under the Winter Soldier’s thighs, with all of his strength Steve flipped him over his shoulder but the reprieve did not last long.

Just as quickly he was attacked again but Steve grabbed the Soldier’s hand, whipping him into the ropes. As the Winter Soldier ran back towards Steve he was caught with the strong force of Steve’s drop kick that sent him to the mat. Steve went to cover him for the pin but the Soldier kicked out. The match had everyone on edge, back and forth as they traded powerful moves until both men were laid out in the ring.

“Come on Steve!” Y/N shouted.

He was dazed, trying to get up as the ref began a countdown from ten. He slapped the mat with his palm slowly and the crowd joined him; slow claps that built with speed, encouraging Steve to get to his feet. The Winter Soldier stood before Steve did so he grabbed him by the back of the head, slamming his face into the turnbuckles. The Winter Soldier set Steve up in the corner, slapping his chest with a violent thwack. Steve screamed in pain, the sting burning his skin.

The Soldier slapped him two more times before he grabbed him by the hand and violently threw him into the other corner. Steve’s back hit the turnbuckle and he groaned in pain. The Winter Soldier ran towards him but at the last second Steve lifted his foot to kick him in the face. The Soldier stumbled and Steve hoisted himself up to the middle rope, jumping off and locking his arms around the Winter Soldier's head; the momentum allowed him to swing his body around and as Steve landed on his back the Winter Soldier was stunned from the impact of the top of his head being driven into the mat.

Steve goes for the cover but the Soldier just barely kicks out. The crowd groans in frustration with Steve who gets up. With the Winter Soldier still down Steve gets up, he leaps to the center of the ropes, springboards off the top rope and does a back flip. It’s the Star Spangled Splash and the crowd goes wild as Steve crashes down on the Winter Soldier. He goes for the cover again, the referee counts, one, two, thr– The Winter Soldier kicks out at the last second.

Frustration washes over an exhausted Steve. He grabs the Winter Soldier by the hair to get him to his feet. Steve gets the Soldier in a front facing headlock and tosses his left arm over his own neck. He hooks his own arm behind the Soldier’s left leg, cradling the Winter Soldier against him. His hold is locked tight and then Steve throws himself backwards, tossing the Winter Soldier over his head. He’s pinned to the mat, his head and leg still locked in Steve’s clutches, and Steve does a bridge to add more pressure to the hold.

Steve is waiting, holding the Winter Soldier down expecting the referee to be counting. He’s been holding him down for longer than the count of three so where is the ref? The crowd is screaming, telling Ref Coulson to turn around but he doesn’t hear them. He’s too busy dealing with Red Skull and Black Widow who had rushed out from the entrance. He knew it was almost over for the Winter Soldier and he wasn’t going to let Captain America have another victory over them.

Red Skull made Black Widow jump up on the curtain to distract the referee as Crossbones and Baron Zemo snuck inside the ring, stomping on Steve’s stomach. He released the hold, groaning as the men continued to stomp him.

“Turn around! Ref, turn around!” Y/N, Wanda and so many others pleaded.

Crossbones grabbed Steve, lifting him into a fireman’s carry as Zemo climbed to the top rope. He swung Steve around to disorient him, inadvertently knocking into Ref Coulson who dropped to the mat. Zemo flew off the top rope to add to Steve’s pain as Crossbones spun him out, spiking his head into the mat.

The Winter Soldier rolled out of the ring, going over to the table where the Grandmaster was sitting. He grabbed the championship belt in a vicious tug of war that the Grandmaster had no shot of winning. Steve was using the ropes to get to his feet and the Winter Soldier ran full steam, hitting him in the head with his own belt.

Chaos broke out as the bell was ringing for the match to end but no one inside the ring seemed to care. They used every opportunity they could to continue their assault on Steve.

Y/N got to her feet, leaning over the guardrails as she screamed at all of Hydra. The Winter Soldier whipped his head in her direction, his eyes flaring with rage. He signaled to Crossbones and Zemo who dragged a half-conscious Steve to his knees. He was in the corner, his head dropping forward as both men held his arms back.

The Winter Soldier jumped down from the ring with determination, stomping towards Y/N who was still giving him shit, screaming “You knew you could never beat Steve in a fair fight!”

Wanda was trying to pull Y/N down to her seat as the intimidating frame of the Winter Soldier hovered in front of them but it didn’t stop her. Y/N’s arms were in his face as she continued to defend her favorite wrestler. “You’ll never win! Steve will always kick your ugly, frostbitten ass!”

A round of “oohs” spread out from around her, the sound that quickly turned into “ahhs” as Y/N screamed. Her words were enough to break the Winter Soldier who grabbed her with two hands by the throat, lifting her over the guardrails. Her legs kicked furiously to get out of the chokehold as she struggled to breathe.

Wanda was screaming as the Winter Soldier placed Y/N down, only to quickly toss her into the ring. Confused, she crawled to the corner in an attempt to get out, feeling the unfamiliar padding under her palms but she didn’t get far. The Winter Soldier pulled her by the foot, dragging her back.

Y/N screamed for help and the Grandmaster shot up but Red Skull saw him coming and kicked him in the face, laying him out before he could make it into the ring. Cowering on all fours, Y/N began screaming as she felt the bottom of her sweatshirt being pulled off. She held onto the hem of the shirt she had on underneath; far too thin to be worn alone, her arms prickled with goosebumps but Y/N couldn’t think about that. Fear ran through her veins and she stumbled backwards, leaning against the turnbuckles. The Winter Soldier held up her sweatshirt that bore Steve’s symbol to the crowd and facing her again he ripped it in half, tossing the shredded fabric at Steve.

This jolted him alert and Steve looked around, getting his bearings. His eyes shot open wide as he realized one of his fans was in the ring. Steve struggled to break free and Red Skull saw the determination in his eyes. Steve was straining his muscles to loosen the hold but Red Skull came up behind him, locking Steve’s head in a chokehold as Crossbones and Zemo strengthened their hold on Steve’s arms.

Black Widow sauntered towards the fearful Y/N, who begged mercilessly to be left alone but she should have known Hydra only cares about themselves and they needed to make a point. There was nothing Steve could do but watch as Black Widow lifted Y/N above her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, the girl helpless in her arms.

Wanda screamed in fear as Black Widow popped Y/N’s legs up, throwing them behind her as she locked her arms around Y/N’s head, magnifying the impact on Y/N’s neck as she hit the mat.

The crowd lost their minds, screaming as one of their own was unmoving in the center of the ring. Steve fought harder to be free of his hold and his enemies let him go. He walked straight into a fierce kick to the stomach from the Winter Soldier who quickly hooked Steve’s arms behind his back, locking his grip around them.

This was it, his finisher– the Dead of Winter.

He lifted Steve into a vertical position with his back against the Soldier’s chest, holding him there as if to prove to the fans that he was obviously the stronger of the two former Howling Commandos. The Winter Soldier then dropped to the mat, driving Steve’s head straight into the unforgiving ring.

“HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!” The crowd went wild as the Winter Soldier bared his teeth, a growling scream as he defeated his former friend.

Steve was on his back unmoving as Black Widow dragged Y/N’s lifeless body and draped it over him. The Winter Soldier laid Steve’s belt on top of her, as he and Hydra taunted the crowd, showing them what they thought about Captain America, his fans and his stupid title.

Security was finally called in but it was too late, Hydra had left the ring. Ref Coulson was dazed but awake, horrified to see a fan in the ring. Weakened, he called out for medical attention the girl in the ring and Steve, telling them not to touch them.

Most of the crowd filed out of the building but some of them stayed, like Wanda who cried as she watched Y/N being loaded onto a stretcher, carefully taken out of the ring with a collar around her neck.

Y/N opened her eyes to find a massive shadowy figure standing over her. Through a curtain of dark hair she recognized the blue eyes of the Winter Soldier. A smile spread across his face as his hands came for her throat… removing the collar that was stabilizing her neck.

“How’d I do Buck?” she asked with excitement bursting in every word.

“So good doll,” Bucky said, taking her hand so she could sit up.

He stood between her legs, his arms finding their spot on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her lips. She tasted salt from his sweat but it was something she was used to after so many nights of training together.

“I can’t wait for you to make your debut. You and Steve versus me and Tash.”

She nodded, smiling just as widely as he was. “I think Wanda’s more excited to seek revenge on what ‘the Black Widow’ did to her friend,” Y/N joked. “Did she tell you she picked a gimmick name? Scarlet Witch.”

“It suits her,” Bucky said, taking his hand to gently rub away some dirt from the mat that was on Y/N’s cheek. “How ‘bout we get cleaned up and maybe tonight you can try and pin me?” A smirk pulled at his lips, the glint of mischief twinkled in Bucky’s eyes.

“Try?” Y/N scoffed, looking into the eyes of her boyfriend with a smirk of her own. “Oh I don’t need to try Bucky, I can get you on your back with ease.”

Bucky grinned, pressing another kiss to her soft lips as he helped her off the stretcher. Y/N already won his heart, a match that Bucky happily lost.

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[popurikat]

Newtmas essay when?

Finally getting to this, thanks for waiting, I needed to go over a few bookmarks. (Warning, this post contains spoilers from the MAZE RUNNER book and FEVER CODE book, so if you haven’t read either or yet and want the jist of my analysis; just know that in general the fandom interpreting Newt as gay before it was revealed on a twitter post was not just a random headcanon and that Thomas in general is portrayed to have very strong unconditional love for Newt throughout the series; and it shows. To the point that even the director for the movie has stated that Newt and Thomas have a strong bond and portrays that in the movies. I will also preface that I am NOT adding personal opinion anywhere here, these are just backings from quotes and how they are thus meant to be taken/read as. My words are taken as a reader who is currently reading Scorch Trials has yet to fully read Death Cure or Crank Palace.) Anways, without further ado at 3AM today, I’ll try my best to explain how even though Dashner tries his best to make Thomas have other, female love interests; he creates a not so subtle gay subtext for Tommy boy here when in the context of interacting with Newt throughout the lore. Apologies beforehand for any grammar mistakes along the way.

To commence, I am going to start with FEVER CODE, as its supposed to act as the story’s preface to the actual events that play out later. Newt and Thomas upon meeting each other describe their presence as “familiar” and or as a “long lost friend” and they genuinely hit it off from the start to the point that Newt is okay with having Thomas see him cry over the fact that he and his sister are separated since he is doomed to be WCKD’s control analysis as he’s the only one lacking immunity from the flare itself. Once Newt is done being emotionally vulnerable we get our first instance of his personal nickname for Thomas: “That’s the way things are Tommy,’ he said his voice not quite steady. ‘The world outside’s gone to hell. Why should we expect any different here? [...] He said it as if they’d been friends for years” (ch. 14).   An interesting note here is that Thomas doesn’t bother to correct him or stifle the moment by feeling that all this information was too much, he genuinely wanted to hear Newt out and is fine with seeing this side of him; if not slightly taken aback by how natural it is that they can converse about such aspects of their lives. In fact, Newt makes such an impact on Thomas that Thomas ends up that same night dreaming of him: “Throughout his shortened night, he dreamed of Newt and Sonya. Of Newt and Lizzy“(Ch. 14). The thing with Thomas though is that the idea of comfort and connection is very foreign to him as he’s been basically isolated all his life with only the adults like Ava to talk to and the one exception being Teresa as his only kid companion. So Thomas didn’t even think he could make others like him for being himself unless they were vital to the overall production of WCKD. Seeing this portion right before the end of chapter 14: “Alby, Minho, Newt, Teresa. Thomas had friends.” shows that Thomas really had to deep dive to see how he deals with personal connections and why he was excited about the notion of friendship. He could’ve been happy with just Teresa, but only fully cemented her bond to him as “friend” when his circle grew and these kids he got to hang with taught him he can be himself, a concept he didn’t realize was possible when all his life was dictated on what he was supposed to learn or do. It becomes especially clear just how controlled his life is with the aspect of sentiment when later on Teresa’s mental communication evokes physcial pain and fear in Thomas. I’ll get back to that later as its more of a small tid bit of Thomas’ view on his forced love interest, Teresa. And yes, I say forced because multiple sentences with Thomas have him even wish he could cease all communication with her. Moving on, let’s talk about mimicking for a second. As humans, we mimic as a behavioral response to become closer to the person we care about. It’s the reason why yawning or laughter is contagious and or why we copy the posture of the person we converse with face to face. Thomas is seen to do this the most with Newt’s quirks. I’ll give the example in chapter 15: “Newt has been promising them that he was saving something special, and he did that annoying zipped-lipped sign every time [...] the little light in his eyes showed he enjoyed every second of their torture” versus Thomas: “Thomas did Newt’s zipped-lipped gesture, and that got him a sharp poke in the ribs”. So, we know enough that Thomas’ mannerisms are developing as a sign that he wants to be closer to Newt and to continue this sense of playfulness they both enjoy from the other. This is the start of their budding bond and a clear indication that they hold each other at greater fondness than the rest through this unconscious copying. Through this copying, they also pick up on emotional cues the other lets up on. Newt is especially good at noticing small things like when Thomas is anxious or overthinking: “He was just shocked that with all their exploring, the others hadn’t already discovered it on their own. And there were supposed to be TWO mazes. How had Newt and his friends not stumbled upon either one of them? ‘Tommy?’ Thomas realized Newt was staring straight at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Sorry,’ he said embarrassed, ‘wandered off for a second there what did you say?’ Newt shook his head in admonishment. ‘Try to keep up, Tommy Are you ready to see the grat outdoors?” (ch. 15). Also in chapter 23: “Tommy?’ It was Newt, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘I can see your wheels spinnin’ up there.’ He tapped the side of his head”. This furthers Newts perceptiveness on his friend and Thomas’ ability to pick out when he is being looked after. And they bounce off each other really well in that aspect. To the point that Newt can crack a joke he knows will land right on Thomas’ sense of humor: “Newt waggled his fingers in front of Thomas’ face [...] A laugh exploded out of Thomas’ mouth that sent a spray everywhere. ‘Sorry’ he said, wiping his lips on his sleeve” (ch.15). It’s enjoyable to know that at least at a surface level, they have fun together and can cheer the other up if needed or know when to ground the other to reality. It is also through these instances that as a reader I pick up that Thomas’ nervous ticks perhaps allude to an anxiety disorder he has; of which Newt is aware of and never puts Thomas down on for exhibiting. He in fact understands it and deals with it accordingly as he himself has a similar circumstance. SO, what does all this paying attention lead to? Thomas’ devotion to protect Newt. Yeah, thats right I said devotion. Thomas’ actions are influenced by his developed instinct to protect Newt at all costs. Here is the biggest example that comes to mind: “What in the world happened to Newt? -- Less then two hours later, Thomas had spliced together a series of camera clips [...] Thomas turned off the feed. He couldn’t take it anymore...Newt, Newt, Newt, Thomas thought, feeling as if the very air around him were turning black.”(ch.52). Essentially, Thomas seeing Newt plummet to his near death by falling from the maze wall as a result of Newt’s ongoing depressive state, this is the moment that makes Thomas realize WICKD isn’t as good as they seem and that he is going into the maze to save Newt. Its admirable how much self sacrifice Thomas does for someone he cares so much about, to the point that their name is like a mantra. Thats a sensible area of passion and fighting spirit for someone who is “just a friend”.    Oh and, the feeling of fondness is mutual mind you if I haven’t been clear. After experiencing the horrors of cranks for the first time, realizing Newt was not immune, and watching Newt until they entered the pits it has been months since they last interacted; this is their first reunion: “What’s up Tommy?’ Newt exclaimed, his face filled with genuine happiness at the pleasant surprise that’s been sprung on him. Thomas couldn’t remember exactly how long it’d been since he’d seen Newt. ‘You look bloody fantastic for three in the morning” (ch. 23). I need to preface this that Newt DOES NOT mean that sarcastically and that out of all the people in the room (Minho, Chuck and Teresa are there in this scene), Thomas only reacts this way specifically toward seeing Newt is okay and back.   The characters are also not afraid of being physically close. “Well, look who the bloody copper dragged in,’ Newt said, pulling Thomas into a big hug” (ch.31), “They shook hands, and then the two of them set off...” (ch. 31), and my favorite: “Thomas jumped at the sound, then stumbled. Newt tripped over him, and then they were both laughing, legs and arms tangled in a pile on the ground”(ch.32). I don’t think this far in the novel, Thomas has been AS (emphasis on as) comfortable with touch  with anyone else other than Newt. And thats a big step forward on the aspect of trust in a relationship, being able to be comfortable with the presence of another person enough to be as intimate with them as shown here.  And all this, is just fever code itself. Mind you this is not the MEAT of the novels as it came out later. But even without it, lets look at Thomas in Maze now, I’ll try to keep this segment a lot more brief. Here’s Thomas looking respectively at boys his age: “A tall kid with blond hair and a square jaw...a thick, heavy muscled Asian kid folded his arms as he studied Thomas, his tight shirtsleeves rolled up to show off his biceps [...] Newt was taller than Alby too, but looked to be a year or so younger, His hair was blond and cut long, cascading over his T-shirt. Veins stuck out of his muscled arms”(ch. 2). Thomas’ initial reaction to being surrounded by boys is to deeply analyze their rugged good looks and heavily emphasize their best physical traits. When reading this the first time, my mind immediately thought this boy at the very least is supposed to be portrayed as bi, especially when later down the line Teresa gets a similar descriptor: “...despite her paleness, she was really pretty...silky hair, flawless skin, perfect lips, long legs.” So right off the bat, we know that be it boy or girl, Thomas emphasizes how attractive someone looks in his eyes when he truly does have a sense of attraction to them. Case closed. Within the same chapter we get Thomas also immediately clinging onto Newt for a sense of grounding, it is now ingrained in him at this point that the boy is his lifeline, a person to rely on. “Thomas looked over at Newt, hoping for help.” And help he does, Newt in this chapter helps ease his worries, explain a general idea of what the glade is and even pats him on the shoulder a bit to ease tension. And Thomas doesn’t bat an eye in the same way he’s weary of literally everyone else. In fact, he’s eager to stay put with him as shown with; “If Newt went up there, then I wanna talk to him.” And if none of that seals the deal, we got early bird Newt being so touch starved he flattens himself next to Thomas to wake him up at the crack of Dawn in chapter 6: “Someone shook Thomas awake. His eyes snapped open to see a too-close face staring down at him, everything around them still shadowed by the darkness of early morning...’Shh, Greenie. Don’t wanna be waking up Chuckie, now, do we?’ It was Newt --the guy who seemed second in command; the air reeked of his morning breath. Though Thomas was surprised, any alarm melted away immediately”. This whole scene follows firstly by Thomas once again impressed by how strong Newt is and then Newt giving him a rundown of what everyone else was too afraid to show Thomas, the grievers. And you know, this scene could’ve ended well and everything as totally platonic, but then we have “Newt turned to look at him dead in the eye. The first traces of dawn had crept up on them, and Thomas could see EVERY DETAIL OF NEWT’S FACE, HIS SKIN TIGHT, HIS BROW CREASED.” Now, look me in the eye and tell me there is a hetero explanation on looking at your best bro like they are the sun reincarnated themselves. But let’s not hog all the homosexual undertones with Thomas here. Wanna know what Newt’s initial reaction to having a girl in the glade was? “It’s a girl,’ he said [...] Newt shushed them again. ‘That’s not bloody half of it,’ he said, then pointed down into the box. ‘I think she’s dead” (ch.8). It’s actually a stark contrast to the other gladers eagerly wanting to know her age, how pretty she looked, and calling dibs to date her; Newt isn’t interested in any of that, he’s more perplexed on her status and not even bothering to remark on her looks, he was the only one not to and even remarks a few other instances that girls are more Thomas’ domain. For instance, he makes a joke in fever code when Thomas remarks that the girls in the institution were going to tackle him down, Newt proceeds to point out sarcastically something along the lines of “wait, isn’t that YOUR dream though?” So Newt is pretty out spoken of his disinterest in girls, and his full admiration and attention on Thomas. Oh, and yes, Newt immediately switches over to “Tommy” the moment Thomas mentions he hates being called greenie, and once again it just becomes a thing between only the two of them. Newt is also the one to be straight forward about the whole Runners business. He warns Thomas about the dangers and doesn’t necessarily turn him down on his desire to be one, he in fact encouraged him to just wait until the right moment. “No one said you couldn’t, but give it a rest for now”(ch. 15). So once again, Newt is the voice of confidence and reason for Thomas to prosper. In turn, this time around Thomas is the one to catch when something is bothering Newt. For instance, “Newt chewed his fingernails, something he hadn’t seen the older boy do before...he was genuinely concerned -- Newt was one of the few people in the Glade he actually liked ”(ch.16). Interesting how we went from fever code “friend” to “like”. And also, when Newt explains his concern about the runners not coming back yet, Thomas pieces together how scared Newt is of the Maze without being told and goes to stand next to him as a physical presence to ground Newt as they wait near the entrance. In fact, this piece is trivial to understand why Thomas does what he does next. When everyone else had given up on the Runners still outside with 2 minutes left til closing, and Newt was escorted away from the entrance, Thomas waited. And when Thomas saw them, he yells to Newt, realizes he’s too far to do anything, and makes a decision himself. He KNEW how much Newt cared about his fellow Gladers, they were like family or “kin” as its said in the book, so what does he do? “Don’t do it Tommy! Don’t you bloody do it!’ ... Thomas knew he had no choice. He moved. Forward. He squeezed past the connecting rods at the last second and stepped into the maze”(ch.16). Yes, Thomas does this because of his empathy for the Gladers, but the chain reaction of Newt’s concern is what sets his decision in stone. And yet again, Thomas enters the maze for Newt.  And that’s pretty much the constant for the rest of Maze Runner the book, Newt just sticking up for Thomas and Thomas in turn just being happy that: “He was at least relieved that Newt was there” (ch.17). And thats basically their entire dynamic. Newt just going: “If you really did help design the maze Tommy, it’s not your fault. You‘re a kid -- you can’t help what they forced you to do” to ease the survivor’s trauma Thomas has, as well as saying “I actually believe you. You just don’t have an ounce of lying in those eyes of yours. And I can’t bloody believe I’m about to say this...but I’m going back in there to convince those shanks we should go through the griever hole, just like you said”(ch.51); and I think thats the most romantic thing to hear from him. Just right out being all for supporting Thomas no matter what happens as long as he stays alive and continues to fight, he doesn’t care about what happened before. And Thomas eats that up because it fuels him even more to seek out a means to escape for the people (Newt) that deserve a life outside of running from monsters forever. So essentially, I’ll state again, it’s always been Newt the catalyst for Thomas to run head first into the Maze and seek freedom. And with all this I can clear that these two are shown to if not be romantically involved, at least have unconditional love for the other that transcends the author’s original intention.  And with that in mind, here’s the thing with Teresa as a love interest. I can list here quotes of every time she mind speaks to Thomas and how that affects him, but then this would be too long. And this is a newtmas post gosh darn it. Teresa is gleeful to humiliate, control, hurt, and force Thomas to believe they’re in love. In multiple instances we get her barging into his mind unwarranted making him understand that she has full access to his inner most thoughts. Theres nothing romantic about that, and I think its why Thomas ends up being so perceptive to the smallest of gestures that allow him to think on his own and feel like his own person. Something I’ve seen Brenda do later in scorch, and something I’ve seen Newt do since the very beginning is that they allow Thomas to come to his own conclusions in order to create his own opinions on the matters at hand. Thomas’ love language revolves around words of affirmation. He likes it when people confirm his thoughts are valid and that remind him that WICKD can’t hurt him anymore now that he has the power to be his own person. This is where Newt comes in very handy. He allows Thomas to grow in ways his female love interests have yet to show, sorry Brenda but I’ve heard you were trying to unite all immunes together to the safe haven by the end and in a sense still only using Thomas to get by; I still think she was the better call than teresa of course and I have no remorse for Teresa getting smushed by a boulder. But essentially my point here is that, how do you fail to make your initial love interests clash so badly where one has no real care about the others well being so long as everything goes according to WCKD by using a form of gaslighting and manipulation? AND THOMAS HAS STATED HIS DISCOMFORT ON THIS MULTIPLE TIMES, but the narrative always erases these instances from his mind in place of pity for Teresa’s well being (as you can tell, Teresa through this becomes my least favorite character, I can rant about her some othe time though with proper backing). The narrative in turn treats it all like a joke. I understand there are scenes where Thomas is worried about her and looks out to make sure shes ok, but even then he doesn’t know how to react with mental images of her kissing his cheek or when she screams the next minute that she doesn’t know who he is or how hes speaking into her mind. And thats because they can’t properly communicate their emotions to the other, not even in fever code could Thomas give a forward answer if he loved Teresa or not, she just assumed. Come to think of it, Thomas really doesn’t show much affection to Teresa of his own accord. So then, how DOES Thomas show his affection? Thomas provides acts of service as his love language, if he cares about you enough he will risk his life for you. Why? Because Thomas values putting the people he loves foremost knowing full well they are what help him have purpose and succeed in continuing on. In a way, Newt and Thomas’ dynamic works in this instance because they balance the other out and because they have seen each other at their worst and at their best. In a way, that's why knowing the ending of the books makes it harder to accept that Thomas would just easily take the shot...when all his life clung to Newt’s survival. But that’s a story for another time where I compare the movies (of which let me make that clear, yes I prefer) over the books. For now just know that the book may have done this by accident, maybe not, but at the end of the day theres solid proof that Thomas and Newt care about each other in a way that is separately portrayed from their connection to the other glade members, and have this consistency of soft moments running through the entirety of the series. In conclusion; newtmas. Newtmas. NEWTMAS, etc.

[ammocharis]

OC Interview: Vatna

Thanks for the tag @cleverblackcat, @mageofholyandraste, @darethshirl! It sounds fun!

Introduction

This event was organized a few weeks prior to the Winter Palace ball. Ambassador Josephine Montilyet had invited a few Orlesian journalists to Skyhold to interview the newly appointed Inquisitor.

Can you introduce yourself?

Vatna Einarsdotten Selkesdotten of Two Falcon Hold. (a moment of silence) In the Frostback Mountains. (another moment of silence as the interviewers wait for her to say something else) Inquisitor of the Second Inquisition. (it seems that she won’t say anything more, so one of the journalists asks the next question)

What are your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

Is that what you ask every Lowlander? (grumbles) Alright. I see myself a woman. Who I invite or don’t invite to my bed is my very own matter. I am unmarried and have never been before. If you’re curious, yes, the Avvar may marry multiple times in their life if they wish so. Does this answer satisfy you?

Where and when were you born?

I was born in Two Falcon Hold, eighteen... no, nineteen winters ago. (she corrects herself as she remembers that winter came and went when she was away from home, making her one winter older than when she left)

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

I am a mage. Unlike most spellweavers in your Circles, we in the mountains train with all sort of weapons, just like any other warrior. I prefer fighting in close quarters. When I came of age, I chose an axe as my preferred weapon. It was commissioned from the dwarves of Orzammar. The blade is engraved with runes and the handle has lyrium core that I can easily channel my magic through. It has been... misplaced for the first few months that I spent with the Inquisition, but it was recovered. Fortunately, the gods blessed me with another weapon in the meantime - the fire-staff that belonged to the Avvar-Mother. I’ve been told this topic is a source of confusion, but I’m not sure how to explain it better. Yes, I do use both an axe and a staff now. I had a battleaxe when I arrived into the Lowlands. Then I lost it. Then I claimed the staff of Tyrdda Bright-Axe. Tyrdda was called Bright-Axe because she had a staff with a fire-focusing crystal. But the word ‘axe’ used to mean every hafted weapon. Then I got back my axe, my regular axe... Let’s go to the next question.

Are you happy?

I’ll be happy when the Lady’s Veil is fully repaired and Corypheus lies dead. Until then, I have work to do. Would you be happy if there were world-dooming critters in your house? Because there are. There are cowards in Orlais scheming together with Corypheus, maybe even people you know. (a lady in a pale blue mask exchanges looks with the others and suggests a lighter topic)

Family and friends

What should I say? Just talk about my family and friends? Well, my father is called Einar, my mother is called Selke. In my hold, we take bynames after both our parents, so I actually already revealed their names. My father was born is Two Falcon Hold, my mother moved from another hold further south. They’ve been married for twenty three years now. They were rather mad to promise such a long marriage without extensions. Eighty-eight knots, can you imagine? I mean, they could always as the Thane to cut the rope short if they grew tired of each other... But it works well for them. I hope they’ll live together until it the last knot. (the interviewers prompt her to explain what she meant by knots and ropes) Oh, I run away with that. The number of knots is the number of years the marriage is supposed to last. Before the wedding, the bride ties a number of knots into a rope, and the groom’s task is to untie them. On the wedding day, the bride starts to sing hymns to the Lady of the Skies. The groom begins to untie the knots then. However many he’ll manage to unravel before the hymns ends, that many years they shall be married together. After the promise ends, they can get married again if they wish. But my parents vowed to get married for eighty-eight years right away. Eight is a blessed amount. Eighty-eight, doubly so. I’ve been told the ritual took all day to complete. By the end of it, my mother’s throat was sore and my father’s knuckles were raw. But they got married how they wanted, and the bond has been steadfast for many years now.

I have a younger sister, Hirka. She’s only four winters younger than me but she can be a real brat sometimes. We used to be inseparable as children. Then we both grew a bit. I got my magic and had to spent a lot of time mastering my abilities. She had other things to do too. But she’s my sister no matter what.

I have some (she pauses to rememeber the right word in Common language) aunts and uncles, but most of them and their families live in other holds, so I haven’t seen them a lot. Only a few times, never in some cases. The word still travels through the Mountains, so we do hear news from them every now and then. 

In the end, the whole hold is your kin.

Have you ever run away from home?

Once or twice, I skulked outside of the hold and refused to go back until well after nightfall. But I never really run away, I wouldn’t abandon my family like that.

Would you consider marriage or having children?

I don’t know.

Do you secretly hate any of your friends?

No, I do not. Those who I call my friends, I think as such. I make my dislikes known. Too easily, I’ve been told.

Which friend knows everything about you?

There is someone who knows my soul, but I’m not going to talk about it.

Asked by fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

Yes, I can read and write. Not everyone in the Mountains does, but more than you imagine, I think. Augurs, skalds, merchants, those who aspire to be thanes... Many are able to tell the numbers, in order to trade with dwarves, but haven’t practiced beyond that.

The augurs learn how to read so that they may study old magics. I was an apprentice to the Sky Watcher of my hold - uh, a Sky Watcher is like a... priest to the Lady of the Skies. I was supposed to become his successor. So I studied something almost every day since I was eight. One day, I would memorize the shapes of protection sigils, and then try to draw them myself. Another day, I would study the uses of all mushrooms found in caves. But we don’t have any schools like there are in the lowlands. You learn from your mentors and from the gods, and most importantly, from your own mistakes.

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

Eeriest? I’m not sure. I dreams of many things. Some come true, but not in the way I imagined them to.

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realise?

I had no idea those lap dogs your Orlesian ladies carry around are really dogs. I’d never guess they share blood with wolves. I thought they’re some sort of magic toy.

Do you have mental or physical problems?

Do you honestly expect me to reveal my weaknesses to you?

What is your current main goal?

As I said before, restore the Veil and kill Corypheus.

Drink or food?

Am I supposed to choose between the two? Food, I guess. I could live on soups and stews, maybe. Does goat milk count as drink or food?

Cats or dogs?

Birds.

Optimist or pessimist?

I learned these words only recently. I must say, I do not fully understand why your sages would divide people like that. Is there someone who truly sees everything in bright colours? And someone who sees everything in black? Isn’t everyone a little bit of this and a little bit of that? Perhaps I’m more on the pessimist side.

Sassy or sarcastic?

Eh, sarcastic.

HAVE YOU EVER:

Have you ever been caught sneaking out?

Yes, I once got so bored with my healing lessons that I decided to sneak out while Jokka wasn’t looking. She of course noticed me right away. I never tried to sneak out again.

Broken a bone?

I broke my left wrist while climbing. My mentor healed it quickly but he left a scar to serve as a reminder to not be so reckless.

Received flowers?

I... (she bits her tongue) Josephine tells me I had received several bouquets of flowers this last week. She had placed them in the guest hall where everyone can enjoy them.

Ghosted someone?

Ghosted? (a man in a green mask explains mirthfully) No, never. I wouldn’t leave someone hanging like that. I’d tell him straight in the face. (she replies sharply)

Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn't get?

I have yet to learn how to pretend so well as to laugh at something I don’t understand or find funny.

~

Tagging (no pressure, of course, this is just for fun): @dreadfutures, @tejaswrites, @serenpedac, @molliehaswords, @crackinglamb, @a11sha11fade, @rakshadow, @samuraisaucefrites, @noire-pandora, @1000generations

[rosecolouredmind]

Savior

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Two:

The Morningstar

For a moment, you panicked.

You were in an unfamiliar place and everything was the color of blood. As if the chilling red wasn’t enough, there was an uncomfortable cold seeping into your skin, like bugs needling their way into your pores. Everything felt...wrong. You felt your body getting smaller and the space around you getting larger, daunting. A persistent, grating ringing in your ears was making your head throb; the crown of your head to the bottom of your toes, a...feeling. A wrong feeling. Your head, your chest, your bellybutton; discomfort clenched tight and refused to let you go, but it was deeper than that. This atmosphere, this place. The screaming red, the screaming silence, the screaming sounds. Hopelessness. Despair. Doom. You can’t do this.

You can’t do this.

Your senses were going haywire as you tried to find your bearing, crashing to your knees in a dry heave. Your chest felt as if it was caving in, your tears twinkling like raindrops on their way down. You can’t do this, why did they send you here? Why did it feel like this? A gasp, a clutch of the chest, and a desperate look up --

And there he was.

Your eyes landed on a figure a few feet in front of you, studying you in surprise and interest. His appearance was handsome, but his bearing—

He stood as if he stood before the world, lying beneath his feet. He emitted a dark dominance, a dark arrogance, all-encompassing. It was encompassing you as it encompassed the world, it seemed; and deeper, an inherent cruelty you’d never want to experience beckoning beneath the darkened irises staring at you. He began rotating around you, his figure seeming to blend into the lengthened shadows, towering over you. You felt like a prey animal surrounded by not just one, but a pack of violent predators stalking you just behind the darkness. Eyes glued to your trembling figure, searching for the best way to devour it.

You were terrified.

“And who might you be?” he drawled, circling you.

Your heart would have just about fallen out of your chest if it were possible, a startled gasp ripping from your throat. Your breath began to quicken, sharp inhalations through your nose causing you to go lightheaded. You were completely lost, you lost your thoughts, you lost your senses, you lost your damn mind coming here --

“Answer me girl,” a sharp demand pierced the air. Your body began to tremble as you started to mutter.

Fate is with me.

Fate is with me.

You nearly cracked under the pressure, the rising pressure;

Yes, for a moment, you panicked.

But then you started to focus on your core, the small area of your body where your fate lies within you. Stelas carried their fate, their star, with them at all times. It was inherently a part of them, and like destined, it began to help you now.

“GIRL.”

You slowly began to circulate your energies, every rotation lessening the burden placed on your body by another fold.

You felt as if you could breathe again.

“I am Fate coming to warn you,” you breathed. You took your time rising to your feet, and by the time you came to your full height you were back to yourself again. Your powerful, fates-blessed self.

And you were here to fulfill your destiny.

“I, Stela (Y/n), consular of the fates, have come to take control of my domain, Lucifer Morningstar. And that begins with you.”

For a moment, the man just gaped at you. Then, a booming laugh rumbled through his body as he threw his head back, the shadows dancing around flaring up with the rise of his voice, reminiscent of hellfire.

How fitting, your eyes could have rolled right out of your head.

“Fate? What does fate have to do with me? And of all things, it comes to me in the form of some weak little girl?” he sneered.

Any intimidating effect Lucifer had had gone out the window the moment you clocked the irritatingly childish lilt in the man’s voice.

“Not even God himself could control me, let alone you dastardly little “fate” slaves.”

The man is a child.

Biting back the urge to comment on his little jab at your occupation, you continued along your explanation.

“I don’t know what you did, or how you did it, but you have a fated star now, Morningstar. You have a soul. That means Fate has officially locked onto you, whether you like it or not. This is causing problems, you are causing problems. And it is my job to fix it,” you replied firmly.

“You are clearly mistaken, there’s no possible way for the fates to contain me or my existence. I am simply above all! I am Lucifer Morningstar!”

“Is that what you’d like to name your very real star of fate, then? The Morningstar? It would only be proper,” you mocked. The aghast look on his face had you sniggering, the now chaotic strands of shadows that were twirling about wildly behind Lucifer amusing you greatly.

“You dare mock me, you filthy little girl?”

The rage in his voice was clear, but that only made you even more certain that Earth’s resident dark lord had even less maturity than you did, and that was saying something.

He continued to bellow and whoop at you for a good minute, unable to get closer due to your conflicting energies.

Earth had now become your domain, after all, so even after just arriving you were able to exert a small amount of influence.

But at some point, his rage had melted into stone cold fury, and you were reminded of why the man in front of you had earned the title of the Devil himself. He threw a mean tantrum when he wanted to, and you felt a small bit of that fear from earlier seeping into you again.

“No.” he hissed, his form warping above you, the beautiful face he displayed earlier having been replaced with the head of a goat. The Baphomet, you realized. The conceptualization of his status here on Earth, and your reminder that this man is still a celestial, and this situation is not normal.

This man, this being represented everything it meant to not have a soul.

“I am the Dark Lord! Satan, the DEVIL; your kind shall have NO control over me!” he spat viciously, the rank saliva sputtering from his mouth and spattering onto your face. The goat head was grotesque, his figure was grotesque, the surroundings grotesque. Lucifer was truly angry, and you felt it was about time to calm down the situation.

You close your eyes for a moment, reminding yourself of who you are and why you are here. The very existence of Lucifer’s should be nonexistent soul was why you were sent here, meant to commune with Satan himself. A figure you’d only heard nightmares about, stuff of fiction as far as you’d been concerned. Earth was a fairytale to you and should have stayed as one, and yet now you were here.

As a celestial, it should have normally been impossible for the fates to grasp his tangible sould, yet here he was. And as somewhere chock full of them, Earth should have been impossible for the Constellation Map to grasp and assign, yet here you were.

Fate was truly cruel at times indeed.

“How about we figure out how this happened then? This situation is clearly not working out for either of us,” you finally suggested. “You are the Devil. But where has the Devil found himself a soul?”

As curses were rained down upon you, it took you a few moments to realized that they weren’t directed at you, but at someone else. The current bane of Lucifer’s existence, and according to him, the real cause of all of this, the —

“Fucking witches! Traitors, all of them! They dared to defy their god and trap me here; those bitches! I’ll kill them all!” the ungodly screeching continued as you stared dumbly for a moment, your brows furrowing.

“Trap? This isn’t hell?”

The deeply offended look on the man’s face said all you needed to know, the interruption clearly not welcome and apparently very off mark.

“Of course it isn’t, you bloody idiot! This is merely the mindscape of the poor fool they stuck me in here with; I’ve only merely tampered with it. My underworld is much more impressive and intimidating.”

Despite the childish delivery, you couldn’t help but shiver at the notion that this place was merely an illusion Lucifer put on. You could only imagine what the poor souls actually stuck in hell must be going through.

It took quite a while for you to calm Lucifer down enough to extract the full story out of him, and if you were to be honest you were quite impressed with the sheer balls on the Greendale coven along with their sense of self-preservation.

“That explains the appearance of your star. Your soul must be entangled with the person you’re trapped here with. His star…” you trailed off, eyebrows furrowing. In the star chart, alongside the Dark Lord’s fated star was a dim, dying one. The Morningstar was obviously feeding off of the energy of the lesser one, weakening it’s owner’s connection to their fate.

What this meant for that person, you don’t know.

After coming upon this thought, you finally register the faint sound you realize had faded into the background this entire time. It sounded like light sobbing, the kind a person lets out once they’ve exhausted themselves past emotional intensity and fallen into a pure hopelessly pitiful state of despair.

Your eyes wander around the space, trying to find the source of the noise. Finally, they land upon a small figure hunched in a far corner. Watching carefully, you observe an adolescent boy rocking back and forth, hands over his head and mumbling to himself. He did not seem well, and it wasn’t until a closer look into his core did you notice the same odd split in his soul you clocked in Lucifer when you first confirmed with your own eyes it’s existence. It was the most miserable soul you’d ever seen.

The horror is quick to spread through you, the dizzying effect ignored as you twirl yourself around to face Lucifer again.

“Is that him? The boy you’re trapped with? Why is he like that? Have you been torturing him this entire time?”

Your anger was prominent, and Lucifer’s attention snapped over to the boy. His eyes narrowed and he let out a long, drawn out hiss. The boy’s body shuddered violently, and his already small frame seemed to shrink into itself even more. Rage crept through your veins as you watched the scene, intense pity and disgust shocking your core.

“Ah, yes, him. The bloody idiot volunteered to be the acheron, for my insolent daughter no less,” he claimed indignantly. “It is only right that he be punished for his offense.”

Lucifer continued to insult the boy who hailed from the same coven of witches that betrayed him, and you’d finally had enough.

“Shut up.” You inflected, voice thick with irritation. Ignoring the same offended and murderous look Lucifer has given her several times through their exchange so far, you raise your palm, cutting off any attempt at retribution.

‘If you want things to go back to normal, we need to work together. Whatever you are, you’re under my domain now. That means you help me, I help you. If you don’t,” you shrugged. “You and this entire world will more than likely be destroyed. Doesn’t mean much more than a demotion for me, but for you…”

Honestly, you were definitely underexaggerating the ramifications for yourself should you fail at your assignment. But you were also 100% telling the truth that the Dark Lord didn’t really have a choice in complying with you if he wanted things to go back to how they were. The man seemed aware of that, because he immediately began pacing, his voice once again an insanely thunderous growl.

“I WILL KILL THEM FOR THIS. THEY SHALL SUFFER FOR ALL ETERNITY. THEIR SOULS ARE MINE, YOUR SOUL,” he suddenly snaps his head in the direction of the boy, “IS MINE.”

Lucifer’s attempt at launching himself at the boy, shadows surging and flames of hellfire dancing in his eyes, frightened you beyond belief, and you found yourself forming a sigil from your studies before you could really even properly register what you were doing.

And then suddenly, quiet.

*

Author’s Note: Please request if you’d like to be added to the tag list. Thank you!