#magic through pain via the pen

[the-universal-sun]

Part two of the fic about Lee going little after Ford pushed him, please?? ❤️

Okay! So a couple of you wanted a part 2 to the drabble about Stan regressing after being burned, and I am more than happy to oblige! Sorry it took so long for this, personal stuff, you know? I’m also going to bounce between Ford and Stan’s POV!

(there are mentions pain medication and sedatives being used on Stanley for his burn, but don’t worry, it’s not super nefarious (it’s ford) and it’s only a quick sentence or two that starts around

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice.” and ends at “back of his refrigerator”)

Stanford looked down at his brother, sleeping soundly on the couch with his raggedy looking stuffed bear clenched tightly in his arms. Stanley was acting…odd last night. After he was…branded for lack of a better term, his mental state seemed to almost dissolve? No that’s not right, he didn’t act unhinged or crazy, just younger? Stanford details his brother on his Journal page, sketching out the soft lines that make up his sleeping face; the worn Teddy Bear. Could the symbol have caused this phenomena? He didn’t know exactly what the symbol meant-an oversight on his part-just that Bill had told him to put it there. Was that just another one of his tricks and treacheries? Did Bill know this would happen and purposefully tell Ford to put that there so he’d burn his brother, leaving a permanent reminder of this encounter engraved on his skin? Ford has to set aside his Journal before he rips a hole in the page with his pen. He sits there, barely rested after locking himself up in the specialized cage he made, it was his first time using it. He had made it with padding on the walls, no sharp edges, and can only be opened via retinal scan; Bill can’t get out and can’t hurt him too badly, not with his hands wrapped up with excess padding. He wasn’t well rested but it was enough for some of the brain fog to dissipate, he can finally think.

He’s thought a lot in the last couple of hours; how he could apologize to Stanley for the burn and his words-looking back they’d been so cruel, so much like Bill how he could find a way to at least keep Bill from this dimension, and most recently, what happened with Stanley. He doesn’t think the burn had anything to do with his mental state-at least not the symbol. He already had that ragged looking stuffed toy with him in his knapsack. And Ford, upon looking through Stanley’s meager belongings, found a worn but seemingly well-loved large patchwork quilt-neither the bear or the blanket were things he can ever remember Stanley having back in Glass Shard before he was kicked out left. So he must have gotten them somewhere between that time and now, and judging by the looks of the comfort items, they were acquired a while ago, probably when Stanley was still in his teens. Which… that thought brought forward unpleasant feelings about how young they both were in Ford that he’d rather not think about right now. ‘

Is Stanley used to this phenomena? Has it happened before? Could it be psychological? I wish I knew where F left his psychology books, somewhere in my living room I think…’ Ford’s pulled out of his thoughts, pulling his hands down from tugging on his hair, by movement on the couch beside him. Stanley seems to be waking up, the light of the sun hitting directly in his eyes. Hopefully Ford can get some answers from him about what happened last night. He watches as his brother stirs from his sleep, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, Stanley was never much of an easy riser, always wanting to stay asleep and bundled in his warm blankets. Ford gets a look at Stanley’s eyes, just to make sure they weren’t yellow with slitted pupils; a sign of possession. They were his regular eyes, the iris color matching Ford’s own, but the look in his eyes was the same as last night, when he acted off. When he acted like a child. Perhaps…perhaps the issue is more psychological than magic or anomaly-induced, in which case, Ford’s going to have to deal with this with a light hand, he doesn’t want to mess up Stanley’s mind as well as his body. He still cares for his brother, even if he’s mad at him. He’ll try his best to help Stanley, even if that means that, for now, he has to treat him with near literal kids gloves.

Ford does his best approximation of a gentle smile as he can muster, he doesn’t think it turns out well though-he can feel the corner of his mouth slightly twitching and his eyes are probably entirely too wide with his ever present dark circles on display. Something must work, because Stanley, sleep now rubbed out of his eyes, is giving him a small smile back.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Stan snuffles into Poindexter as the sun wakes him up. He wanted to stay in his blanket of warmth, he hasn’t been this warm in so long. But he remembers where he is, at Ford’s house, and Ford has never wanted to sleep in, and he wants to spend time with Ford, so he gets up anyway. He rubs the sleep and eye crusties away, squinting against the light burning his eyes. He goes to look for his brother and finds him on a chair next to the couch Stan slept in, giving him a weird smile. He looked…Stan didn’t know how he looked. Crazy? Like a mad scientist? He doesn’t seem like he’s mad at Stan or wants to hurt him, so he smiles back, clutching Poindexter to his chest and wrapping the blankie further around him. Ford’s house-Sixer;s house?- is warmer than his car, but Stan gets cold easily, so while he can, he’ll bundle up. It’s not his nice and big blankie with all the cool patterns some granny in New York gave him, but Ford’s sweater and blanket will do for now.

“Stanley, can you tell me how you’re feeling? Do you feel any different from last night? Physically and mentally? Do you know who I am?” Ford lists off too many questions for Stan to think through at once this early in the morning. And Stan can’t answer him anyways, not in the ways he wanted. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to find the ability to speak in him, bunching up Poindexter to his face and rocking slightly, feeling a tiny distressed. When the idea hits him. He holds up Poindexter and points between him and Ford like he did last night, trying to form the word in his mouth.

“The bear? Stanley I am not-Yes! We went over this last night, the bear and I have the same glasses!” Ford isn’t getting it! He’s supposed to be the smart one! Stan guesses he’ll have to try his best to speak, even if he’s not happy about it.

“P-Poinde-x-ter.” Stan tries to slowly say the word so he doesn’t mess it up. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Ford made fun of him for how he spoke when he was feeling all fuzzy in his head. He points between Ford and Poindexter while saying the word. Ford better get it this time, because Stan’s tongue is feeling really thick in his mouth now-and his body hurts too.

“Poindexter? Stanley, I-” Ford stops and just stares at Stan, making him fidget nervously. Was Ford made he named his Teddy after him? It was one of the few comfort items Stan had, he cuddled him even when he wasn’t feeling all fuzzy headed like now. It reminded Stan of hugging Ford.

“Did you name the bear after me?” Stanley nodded shyly, hiding his face in Poindexter’s back, scared of Ford’s reaction. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other that he COULD get mad at Stan for naming his Teddy after him, kicking him out into the cold again, to be alone and scared and to never see Ford again-

“I see. That’s…that was sweet of you, Stanley, thank you. A-are you okay? Are you in any pain?” Ford’s voice was softer than it was before, when he was asking all those questions. Stan wonders why. He lifts his face up from his stuffy and looks at his brother, his Sixer, and sees his face. It looked softer than when he was smiling before, he was sitting on the edge of the bed too. Stan didn’t even feel the bed move, and he had gotten really good at that after all these years. Ford must have had some sort of ninja training to be so sneaky when moving. The thought of Ford being a ninja makes him giggle, his shoulder moving with his laughs makes him wince, though. He points to his shoulder, the one that hurt. Now that he’s focusing on it, it hurts really bad, like really REALLY badly. So bad he wants to cry, but he can’t cry because then Ford will think he’s a big stupid baby. And Stan’s NOT a big dumb-

“I thought that would be the case. I never got to give you any pain medication,” Stan cringes at the thought of medicine, “and I doubt I have anything truly strong enough to numb the pain of a burn to that extent. I do have a mild sedative that I could give you, it would make you loopy for the duration until it wears off, but I…I doubt that would be a problem with how you’re acting now.” Stan doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with how he’s acting, Ford’s just a Fuddy Duddy sometimes, like right now. He pouts at Ford from behind Poindexter where he’d hidden his face again, his brother looked like he had this thinking cap on and working at full capacity, holding his chin in his hands and thinking with his eyes closed. Stan can’t help it, while Ford’s not looking, he sticks his tongue out at him.

“Are you still afraid of needles? If you are-” Just the thought of needles or any sharp object of any kind has Stan clutching Poindexter and hiding under the blanket, body shivering. He HATES needles and anything involving the doctor’s office. Distantly, his mind knows there’s other reasons he hates needles, but he can’t bring himself to think of them right now, not when Ford wants to jab him with a big giant needle! He whimpers as his shoulder moves, making it hurt even more than before. His face hurts too. So does his whole body. He just wants to go back to sleep, but he knows he can’t, not with the pain and not with Ford here, who probably wouldn’t even let him go back to sleep.

“Relax, Stanley! No needles, I promise, I’ll find another way to give you the sedative, so please just relax. I need to look at your shoulder and change your bandages, can I do that? Please? Let me take care of you, at least for this.” Ford taking care of Stan? He hasn’t thought about that at all, he thought he was hated by his brother, but if Ford put him in a cozy sweater, let him sleep in his house, and says he wants to take care of Stan, then it must mean that Ford still loves him, right? Stan sits up, blanket still draped over his head and eyes Ford, his hands are up and his eyes still look soft, but they look tight at the edges, like he’s stressed about something. Stan’s gotten good at reading faces. Is he upset because of Stan’s burn? That’s stressing him out too, he doesn’t like pain, not one bit. He nods his head and moves to get off the couch, blanket still wrapped around him and his Teddy still in hand, and Ford moves off it, too, standing in front of Stan. He grabs Ford’s hand before he starts to walk forward, making Ford just stop and stare super intensely at Stan, and Stan stares back. Are they having a staring contest? He doesn’t know if he’ll win or not, he’s still pretty tired and his eyes still burn, but Ford has some BIG dark circles under his eyes, so who knows? They don’t seem to be having a staring contest, his brother looking away and starting to walk forward, gripping Stan’s hand very tightly.

They end up in the bathroom again, with Stan’s shirt off and his brother fixing up the ouchie on his shoulder. He bites his lips, and then Poindexter’s ear (He’s sure his friend wouldn’t mind if it helps with not crying out) because his ouchie hurts worse than last night, and the pain is making his head go even fuzzier, fuzzy like last night, which is the bad way because when it gets even fuzzier then he really is just a big baby. But…but Ford said he’d take care of him, so is it really bad, right now at least? He doesn’t think so, it’d be real nice to be taken care of when his head gets so fuzzy he can barely think. It’s probably for the best that it happens with his big brother here, because he blinked and suddenly he’s at a table, not in the bathroom anymore, and he has a new sweater on. He still has Poindexter and Ford’s blankie in his arms, though, so he doesn’t panic as much as he thought he would, especially not with Ford sitting next to him at the table. He just lets his mind go into that nice, super fuzzy feeling.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ford’s getting worried about Stanley. While he was redressing his burn in the bathroom, Stanley’s mental state seemed to worsen, reverting back to the glaze eyed and clingy person he was yesterday, except it seems that this Stanley seems more…stuck in his head? Ford doesn’t know and he’s internally panicking because he cannot tell if this is indicative of some head injury Stanley had gotten-unlikely as his pupils contracted all the way and his head had no bumps, cuts, bruises, or scars-or if this was something to do with his inner psyche, a concept Ford has scoffed at and derided but is in sorely need of a deeper understanding of it now. It does seem like Stanley can understand him, if not slowly, which is good because that means that he still has his cognitive abilities about him, but he can’t find any reason as to why his brother would be acting like a child. It doesn’t seem like Ford’s done anything wrong beyond mentioning needles-driving Stan to hide pitifully under the blanket he still has clutched in his hands. It’s fine, he’s fine. He’s Stanford Pines, he can take care of his brother, he’s capable and in control enough to do that.

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice. It’s-um- peach juice? Maybe?” Ford had taken the sedative from his first aid kit and emptied a dose from the needle into a cup of some juice he found in the back of his refrigerator. The label was mostly rubbed off, he can’t tell what the flavor is but it smells like peach so it might be. He can’t remember getting it, but the best buy date printed on the side has it listed for still being good for a week, so he’s sure it’s fine to let Stanley drink it! He holds the cup steady when it appears that his brother was going to just lap at it from the table, which would just end in an all out sticky mess that he doesn’t have the energy to deal with. It’s a bit tricky trying to get Stan to go up the stairs after that, the juice working fast and making his legs quake and look close to giving out, but he makes it to the room eventually, gently depositing Stanley on the couch and looking around for his Journal to write down his observations. He left it here when he tended to Stanley’s wound. He finds it and opens it to the bookmarked page, a rough sketch of a sleeping Stanley greeting him. Hmm, now that he was looking at it, Stanley did seem almost…cute…in a way. The look of peace on his face with the way he was clutching the bear-Poindexter, Stanley had called it (Ford is going to ignore the feelings it stirs in his chest and the ache it brings to his stomach, imagining a young teenage Stanley holding the bear tight and calling it Poindexter like-). He pulls the ear of that bear from Stanley’s mouth, the sedative mixed with all of the tension in his brother’s body must be having a toll on him, he can barely keep his eyes open. But he still has such a tight grip on the bear and the blanket, luckily Ford was able to take the quilt from Stanley’s bag while he was in the kitchen, and he tucks it tight around his brother, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips as a small sigh is released from his brother’s at the feeling of such an obviously loved item surrounding him.

Ford’s about to get up and head down to the basement to find a way to stop Bill the portal when he feels a hand tightly grip his own-it’s Stanley, of course. The first time he had done it, Ford could only bring himself to look at his brother, his eyes not seeing the almost 30 year old man, but the younger, gapped tooth version who insisted they hold hands on the pier so as not to get lost. It stirred feelings long pushed down inside of him-taking care of Stanley in this way has been doing that, bringing these feelings he pushed down up the the surface. He looks at the hand gripping his vest, then looks at Stanley’s face, his eyes, hazy as they are, seemed downtrodden and he let out a whine. He did this last night, didn’t he? Holding on to Ford and silently begging for him to stay. And who was he to deny Stanley, really? He knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate much down in his labs, not with Stanley up here like this. All alone and in a very vulnerable state of mind. No, he’d better stay now, too, to keep watch over Stanley, who knows what kind of side effects the sedative could have, either? He settles down on the bed, sitting next to Stanley, just brushing his hair back with one hand and writing down the events of the morning in his Journal with the other, his mind feeling a bit more peaceful now than it had in a while. He’ll talk to Stanley about this later, hopefully he’s feeling better. Hopefully he may let Ford take care of him like this again. Ford doesn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, slowly sketching out another image of Stanley in his Journal, for his own safekeeping, this time.

[pootimedes]

YAPPING ABOUT SCULK WOOOOO

i have this weird obsession with the deep dark. every time i start a new world, it calls out to me, like it's where i belong.

it all started back in early-ish 2023, when the animator for dan bull's "quiet, please" (warden rap) created a sculk themed smp to go along with the song. sculk could spawn anywhere, and spread on its own. based on the strength of the players on the server, mobs would have special abilities, and at a certain level, wardens could spawn at night like any other monster.

there was this roleplay that went on, about someone finding a "sculk soup", and taking it to their lab (or smth along those lines, i wasn't invited i just read the chat) and someone ended up drinking it, who we'll call 'drey' (he was the host's younger brother btw)

he ended up getting sone sort of infection that turned him into a sort of mini-warden (more on that later), with a strong drive to protect the sculk. his first words upon being fully overcome by the infection?

"want some soup?"

there were no takers. but can you guess who came barreling to the plaza for some sculky suspicious stew? me :3

turns out it had lasting effects that stuck even after the smp closed down.

anyway, i just thought it would be funny to be the only taker. i took the soup, and then let the spores eat my brain. after my magical girl transformation, me and drey reviled in our newfound power, and then drey went on to recruit other members of the smp to the way of the sculk. this is where the racism arc began.

everyone was fighting while my dumbass just sat in my house writing in my stupid girly diary with a fuzzy pen about my violent hallucinations and the hot wardens in my area. i can't remember all the details, but after a lot of fighting, a truce was called.

fast forward a month or so later, i start a sculk cult of my own, with a mini ancient city built by me. i ended up writing a whole biological analysis on the sculk creatures, which was unfortunately lost when the server was closed down, but i still have a good general idea of what it talked about.

That being said,

SCULK BIOLOGY

Sculk is a parasitic, mold-like fungus, generally found in deep caves, emitting a blue fluorescent glow. While beautiful from a distance, close contact without proper protection can pose serious risk. While most fungi are decomposers, sculk tends to go for living prey in order to spread, often favoring humans as its primary means of reproduction. It can enter a human host's body via inhalation, injestion, through an uncovered wound, or even enlongated physical contact, where it will begin the process to take over the host's body and mind.

STAGE 1. The host will start to notice symptoms such as itching, numbness, or chest and stomach pain, depending on how the sculk made its way into the host. These symptoms will start to start to devolve into those reminiscent of a flu, including, but not limited to;

-High fever

-Nausea and vomiting

-Sore throat and consistent coughing

-Dry, flaking skin and/or rashes

STAGE 2. Depending on where the sculk started in the body, the sculk will start to feed off of the corresponding areas. The host might notice unusual weight loss, and if they're experiencing rashes, a blueish discharge seeping out of them.

STAGE 3. Sculk starts to spread in patches on the host's skin. This stage is extremely painful, as at this point, the sculk starts to directly attack the host's nervous system, causing significant damage in order to numb the host.

STAGE 4. The sculk starts to take hold of the brain. It starts by forcing it to release mass amounts of dopamine to distract the host. At this point, the host's sense of touch is gone, unable to feel pain, as the sculk has near fully consumed their body.

STAGE 5. The host starts to experience severe memory loss, and begins to exhibit unusual behavior, such as extreme paranoia and heightened aggression. They start to feel the overwhelming need to wander into a cave, and return to the sculk, believing it's the only way they will be at peace. They will find a patch of sculk, lie down in it, and allow it to consume what remains of their body, and to absorb their soul.

The sculk surrounding the area the host dies in will condense into a catalyst, allowing sculk to further spread. Their soul will be stored in a nearby sculk shrieker, where it lay dormant for up to hundreds of years. As the soul rests, it grows stronger with time. And when the time comes, the soul will be granted a new physical form once the shrieker is disturbed by an outside force, causing the reborn creature of sculk to rise from the earth, known as 'sculklins'. These creatures are covered head to toe in sculk, dawning blue fluorescent antler-like tendrils on either side of their head, commonly having exposed bones on their arms and legs, and are completely blind. But their most notable features is the gaping chest cavity, with exposed ribs, and a glowing blue soul. This soul, along with the sculklin themselves, can vary in size depending on the amount of time their soul remained dormant, larger souls having been dormant for longer periods of time.

(im tired i might keep edit this or yapping later idk)

[avisafterall]

made this blog for my writing, but i don't yet have anything shareable for the book i'm working on now... so (beside this being a call to the void to connect with other writers on tumblr hi hello) i thought i'd share an old story with OLD versions of some of the wayfarers characters!

this is back from one of the first iterations of their story - a more superhero-esque universe, where a small percentage of kids born after a certain year were born with innate Gifts (powers) that ranged from simple enhancements, like a perfect memory, to dramatic physiological alterations, like turning into shadows - these Gifts are taxonomized in levels, with Level 5 being the mundane and 1 the extraordinary, guidelines permitting. this is not a super unique premise, but it's one i always eat tf up because who doesn't love cool powers c'mon

this particular story features lolha, back when she was a level 4 (psionic) with Empathic Insight before I changed her to being a Level 0 (unidentified, ooooh), and fitz, a level 1 (enhancement) with Enhanced Dexterity. of course, these labels mean nothing to their characters as they exist in Wayfarers (a realistic, no-magic adventure saga), but it still carries my idea of who they are and how they engage with their identities.

fitz and lolha have always been a tough duo for me to nail down. they're very similar in that they're stubborn, outspoken ride-or-dies, but very different in how they approach the world - lolha, with dedication, rigor, and a healthy dose of rule-breaking, and fitz with a lackadaisical optimism that forms the protective exoskeleton of a rather unforthcoming character. they're besties, they're worsties, they're found family, they would die for each other and they're always at each other's throats.

regardless, fitz is a FUN character for me because she is SO chatty but says so little about herself, down to the ultimate reservation of never sharing her first name. in this story, i ignored my better judgement and any sense of storytelling for the greater narrative to brainstorm a scenario in which lolha's power - empathic insight, a sort of divination or mind reading via others' feelings - works differently than how she interprets and reveals a snippet of a very buried memory. hehe!

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. 

The rain is warm on her face but sharp, falling in sheets that slice through the dense treetop overhead. 

Her heart races in her chest, blood rushing through her ears and branches snapping underfoot. The forest doesn’t have a footpath, and frustration wells up inside her, stuck in her throat with all the cries she’s swallowed since she first started running. Thunder and pounding footsteps and the acrid burn of fear are overwhelming, clawing at her senses as soon as she’s gathered them, but just like every other time she’s ended up in this nightmare, they’re never the first thing she focuses on.

“My hands are bleeding,” she tells Mischell, her voice wavering. “They’re wrapped up, and- I must have hurt them again on my way out.” 

The bandages were white once, she knows that much. She has a faint memory of gentle touches at her wrists, the ghost of concern pulling gauze across scored hands, pain ebbing away under the touch. She can see pristine fibers peeking through even now, but they’re scarce between grime and blooming stains of deep red. The skin beneath the wraps is aflame. Whatever recovery her palms had made has been ripped open in her escape. Despite every other pressing concern, this fact alone is enough to make her eyes prick with tears.  

“Your way out?” Mischell repeats.

“Out. I’m leaving. Today’s the only chance I’ll have in a long time, I think, and I can’t wait until the next.” 

“I see.” Pen against paper pierces the forest for a split second. “Why today?” 

Thunder cracks overhead, and she looks to the canopy, squinting as the rain falls harder. “It’s a storm. The biggest one we’ve had in years. Everyone was talking about it, how they’re scared it’ll tear a house down or something. No one is going to follow me out here- they might even think I’m dead. They might never look for me again.”

“But they may be looking now.” She flinches against the rain. Her racing step has paused, but his words light urgency in her chest once more. “Have you considered that you might die, if the storm is so bad?”

And urgency flickers out, just for a second. “I’ll still have gotten out.”

-- 

Seren is silent when she visits them next. 

“We’re almost done,” Lolha says finally. The park is the only one on school grounds, near the edge of the campus and cut off by thick woods. There’s a single park bench they sit on to meet with Seren, dressed in identical uniforms, save for Fitz’s gloves. Seren, perched on the edge of the bench, the toes of her shoes poised in the mulch to sprint, just nods. 

“It’s taking us longer than we expected.” Lolha clears her throat. “But we’ve got a plan. We’ll need to do it soon- do you know when you can get away?” 

Seren’s eyes are locked on the main school building. “I’m not sure.” 

Fitz sends a short glance at the same time Lolha grits her teeth. 

“Well- actually…” Seren straightens up, her eyes flickering to the sky. “Actually, there’s a storm coming.”

Fitz’s glance is longer this time. “A storm,” she repeats. 

“I think. One of the girls is- her Gift is something to do with storms or rain, I don’t know, and they have her on lockdown for the next week. I heard some Track Two girls talking about it.”

The memory of rain and blood mingling on her palms sends a shudder down Lolha’s spine. 

 --

“I’m wearing pants.” 

She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know Mischell tilts his head. “Important details, Lolha. Focus on what’s driving-“

”It is important.” 

Mischell goes silent, the scratch of pen paused.  

“I don’t usually wear them,” she explains, breathless, and in her mind’s eye she spares a moment to feel the waistline, fingering the rough belt around her middle. “They don’t fit me quite right. They’re big, and I- I tied them with rope. I couldn’t run in the skirt.” 

Furious scribbles cut through the downpour in her ears, Mischell taking down notes faster than she can finish them. Her clothes are soaked through, clinging to her skin, slick against the burlap pack pressed to her back, but the urge to peel the cloth away as she idles is overrun the instant she hears rustling behind her. It’s quiet - everything is muffled in the downpour - but hot, prickling fear crawls up her throat. 

“Someone is out here,” she whispers. “Someone is looking for me.” 

“Who?” 

“I don’t know.” But she does. Somewhere deep inside the memory is a name, a face. She searches for it in the gaps between trees, eyes flitting wildly, chest heaving, and prays she won’t find the answer. That she won’t fall prey to whatever is hunting her. “It’s a man. Older, I think.” 

“Your father?” 

She turns the word over in her head, but before she can answer, another step rings out behind her, and she’s sprinting again without a second thought. 

The rustles behind her turn to thuds, crashes against the ground that echo in her ears between her racing heart. 

“Lolha,” Mischell’s voice cuts through, calm, even. He’s at ease beyond the forest and frustration bubbles up in her chest, a scream lodged in her throat, help me or get out of my way. “What’s happening? Who is it?” 

“He’s behind me,” she grits out, “chasing. He’ll- if he catches me-” 

“How close is he?” 

She strains her ears, swallowing panic to focus on the rapid footfall approaching, and a shard of something almost hopeful settles inside her. “Close,” she says, “but I’m quick, much quicker than him, and steady.” 

Mischell is silent. When he speaks again, what feels like hours later, his voice is hushed. “Steady?”

Her hands are trembling in her lap, bleeding heavier in her mind, but her voice is even. She takes a deep breath and sees the forest floor is a blur underfoot. 

“I’m bleeding. There’s things in the way- rocks, and roots.” She swallows fear down, breathes out her one victory. “But I never trip. Not once.” 

--

Rolling stormclouds are gathering in the sky above them. Fitz glances up at them every so often, her eyebrows furrowed together. 

“She should be out by now.” That furrowed look turns to Lolha. “She said she’d be out here by now to meet us. We told her the right building, didn’t we?”

“The fieldhouse,” Fitz confirms, turning back to face the forest and crossing her arms. There’s nothing between the trees - no chase scene yet, even as Lolha searches for racing shadows and listens for running in the leaves - but Fitz stares silently at the woods, her eyes unreadable. It’s hard to tell if she’s worried or bored. Sometimes it seems they’re one in the same for her. 

Lolha’s attention is pulled away from her blank stare as thunder cracks in the distance. Wind carries the smell of rain to their rendezvous, and dread wells up in her stomach as she looks around, squinting at the school’s entrances in the distance. The twinge of fear flickers brighter with a flash of lightning - Seren is nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe she’s not coming,” Fitz says.

She doesn’t look away from the forest when Lolha glances over. “What?” 

“Maybe she decided not to leave and we’re waiting here for nothing.”

“She didn’t-” Lolha forces a deep breath. Another wave of twitchy something washes over her, fear and panic mingling in her chest, constricting. It’s unpleasant and growing stronger, but she prays that it means Seren is on her way. “Why would she not come?”

Fitz just shrugs. She’s still staring at the forest, and Lolha wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake urgency into her. 

“It’s a stressful thing to do,” Lolha snaps, and Fitz’s gaze flickers to hers, eyes flashing. “It doesn’t mean she bailed.” 

Movement dances in the treeline. Fitz’s mouth snap shuts before she can retort, eyes torn to the woods as quickly as Lolha’s. Buzzing silence settles between them as they both go still, watching the gap in the trees, waiting, when the storm siren starts to wail from beyond the forest. 

Lolha tears her eyes away as she catches motion in her periphery. She looks over, down, and the prickling dread in her chest stalls. Fitz’s hands are shaking.

--

The fear before had been suffocating, tight like a vise around her heart and crawling up her throat; each breath was a desperate struggle, cries nonexistent. That fear feels kind beside this one. 

Panic encompasses her, spreading to every end of her body, crackling in her fingertips and pounding through her footsteps, and her heart is beating so fast that her chest feels empty as her lungs. She doesn’t dare stop for a breath - she knows if she pauses for even a second, her chance will be gone. Rain bleeds into her eyes and muffles the sounds behind her. She hopes - and hope is just as painful as the fear, sharp enough to pierce through the haze of escape - that the storm muffles her footsteps, too. 

The backpack thumps painfully against her spine, but now she knows it’s less of a backpack and more of a satchel she’s wound around her torso, crossing the strap over her shoulders and waist to keep it against her back. It’s not her bag; somehow, that bothers her most, a worm of guilt gnawing away even as she sprints through the trees with heavier things at hand. A name flickers in her head with the gnawing. It disappears before she can grab it, drowned out by the sound of twigs snapping in front of her. 

She skids to a stop. She knows this scene - the man will be there, waiting, smug and seething, and only moments later, he will be writhing on the ground, blood pouring from a mutilated socket. The fear of confrontation has twisted now, though. At last she identifies the prick in the back of her mind from before: it’s anger, a burning thing that sears her thoughts, cauterizing the panic for just a moment as she claws for the dagger tucked into her makeshift belt. 

It’s not a dagger now, but a sharpened kitchen knife, and the weathered handle is comfortable in her bandaged hands. She grips it tighter.

The battle is how she remembers for the most part, though she feels shock course through her body with anger when the knife is in his hands, knicking her face as she kicks from under him. She lands a knee to his stomach and he doubles over; the knife is in her hands and swiftly in his eye. The spray of his blood is warm and sticky across her face. Just like the first time she was thrust into this sequence, she suppresses a gag, knowing now that escape is more urgent than disgust. She kicks again, and he topples over, grotesque and bleeding on the wet earth. She’s up and running before his screaming can reach her ears. 

The forest is a blur underneath her feet, and it’s only then that she realizes where her mistake has been. Her sprint is not a feat of speed; she’s quick, yes, but she can feel her body protesting the unfamiliar endeavor beneath the high of adrenaline. What is truly natural is her balance. She doesn’t need to look at the forest floor as she runs; she knows, despite the fear and speed and lack of a true destination, that she can correct any stumble before it ruins her. Her muscles scream, but she’s in perfect control of them. 

And as she reaches the end of a stretch of wood - the first time she’s ever seen where the trees taper off, the first time she’s free - she is no longer her. She is no longer Lolha playing an unwitting lead role. She pulls away at last, and she sees a flash of red hair.

Blood pours from Fitz’s brow where the knife caught her face, spattered across her nose and cheeks from the man’s mangled eye. She’s older than Lolha expected; she barely looks different than they know her now, just more gaunt, disjointed in the unfamiliar clothing and glaring fear on her face. Her eyes are wide and wild as she stares at the clearing in front of her - her bandaged hands and high-necked blouse are mottled with dirt and blood, and she glances down at them once, shaking, before she sets off in another sprint toward the long stretch of road in the distance. 

Lolha watches from the edge of the forest as she disappears into the storm. Footsteps pound closer behind her, and as her grip on the memory fades, her mind returning to her own present, she hears at last what the voice has been screaming after her. 

[spoiler ;)]

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Arlison share new single ‘What Did I Think Would Happen’, a first look at their forthcoming album seeped in unrequited love

As self-proclaimed “sad song specialists”, Arlison have been making quite the name for themselves. Paralleling their journey growing into their late twenties and early thirties, as well as the life experiences that come with that age, the duo have found their works connecting with listeners worldwide. Through their ever-evolving, genre-blending sound, they’ve got it all. Now as they ramp up for the release of their forthcoming album, the pair share first snippet in single ‘What Did I Think Would Happen’

As a whirring tape recorder sets the scene for ‘What Did I Think Would Happen’, listeners are invited not just into the tune, but the opening of the upcoming album too. With such raw, stripped-back sound effects, a soft humming tape rolling and vibrantly climbing piano keys, it’s hard not to feel part of this completely magical but aching moment. Transporting listeners to a tranquil but aching scene, ‘What Did I Think Would Happen’ unfolds as though it were a quiet part of nature, a solitude hidden amongst the trees and wrapped between pouring water and shining rays through the leaves. The rich soulful vocals take the lead in a way that feels just as a part of this grounding experience as everything else, haunted by backing echoes of lines both low-toned and dreamily high. Cascading along with bright piano keys and intricate backing elements, the soundscape shines as a vision of ambience and heartfelt admissions.

Progressively building through clashing drum beats, rising atmospherics and layers upon layers of voices, this immersive experience builds like a journey you’ve lived through for yourself. With gorgeous guitar strums, powering emotion and distorted synth, it only further finds its footing, delivering some of the most poetically beautiful and yet devastating lyrics you might hear for a long time to come.

As Arliston explore the record's primary narrative of unrequited love, ‘What Did I Think Would Happen’ stabs you in the heart like those thoughts swept up under the carpet, allowing yourself to accept reality despite wishing to live in the delusion of hopes and dreams. Between the leading question ‘what did I think would happen?’, the pair have penned a story that’s heartbreaking. With admissions like ‘as the time slows, we would walk into the Sainsbury’s, in search of why’ , we feel like we’re at the end of a movie watching the car crash finale, wondering why our protagonist is broken and alone. This sense of beginning at the end only continues as they sing ‘if I remember right, I think back then I was fine’ , reflecting on what once was. Yearning for someone that’s no longer there, they longingly share ‘said your messages kept me sane… in a bad month, I clung to them’ , knowing that can no longer be a respite. Everything about it is truly real, and truly pained, an experience better felt than explained.

Keep listening to ‘What Did I Think Would Happen’ for yourself here, there are few and far between musical releases that will stick in your soul like this one.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[tomatoluvr69]

hiiiii im shmwednesdsy night shmashed. anyway how do you remain existentially optimistic in the face of . It All

Omg loooooove that for you, bask in the youth of it all and lmk your cocktail of choice.

I think to maintain optimism you MUST become a casual hedonist. Like yes open a retirement account, make smart long term decisions, etc etc etc. but if you lean into and mindfully luxuriate within every pleasure that falls in your path, and make an active effort to seek/create pleasure you can learn that actually at this unique juncture in history we are incredibly equipped for euphoric and ecstatic sensory experiences upon demand. I have an entire world’s selection of spectacular foods: chocolates! Spices! Wine! Olive oil! Peppercorns! Citrus and tomatoes! It’s kind of a mind blowing expanse of riches. And the music, christ…stream some music and really listen…you don’t need 36 members of a live jazz band, because there’s a recording from 1954. Films, whenever you want them. And literature, straight to your library or your phone…unreal. Absolutely unreal. Think of the first printing presses, or the days when to have a manuscript someone needed to copy out each letter by hand with a pen nib and some reed fibers. Not to mention the millions of people who never even conceived of the written word. Or a citrus fruit, or a pinch of fenugreek, or a short documentary about those monkeys somewhere in Asia who visit hot springs every evening in winter…the location escapes me. But though the lack of knowledge of alien life within my lifespan plagues me, im regularly awed by the scope and breadth of knowledge and experience I have lucked into by winning the temporal lottery basically.

I focus a lot on that kind of thing whenever the unique stressors of modern life are wearing at me. It helps ease the pain of the job grind, or a long drive I don’t want to be doing…it helps so much to just live for pleasure I promise

But also it’s important to note that I’m not a universal optimist!!! I have an INCREDIBLY bleak outlook re: globalized society at large, and more specifically due to proximity, American life; it fucking KILLS me. I feel close to melting down sometimes in the grocery store when I snap out of the rut of habit and heuristics and I perceive the horrific quantities of plastics and styrofoam leaching into our food and bodies and children and watersheds. And I beat myself up constantly over my failures to find sustained romantic and sexual connections. And I’m also a survivor of an incredibly serious eating disorder, without the money to seek the ongoing maintenance treatment I need, which affects my ability to function normally every single day, not to mention gender and body issues, and struggling to come to terms with the resultant arthritis/dental issues etc. I think maybe my persona on here is altered by the times when I feel so overwhelmed with enthusiasm and zest for life that it can appear im better adjusted than I am? Im very messy and I’m still learning to be a living adult every single day. But the TLDR is that if you slowly build up the mindset of focusing on life’s incredible pleasures (food, friendship, gardening, sunlight, hygge or whatever, literature, film and the unique solidarity and emotional catharsis it brings, music!!, shared moments of humanity, small or large scale travel, FREE KNOWLEDGE about every topic online, art via viewing or creation…etc etc etc) I’ve found it can buoy you through the tough parts.

PS also…seek magic mushrooms and take twice the dose you think you want

[obutsuwrites]

work friends (miruko x reader, part 2)

summary: basically, miruko convinces reader to meet at the mall. possessive behavior and fingering ensue. 

warnings: light dom/sub, thigh riding, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, mommy kink

part one

my ao3 for more shitposts

my ko-fi~!

word count: 3,729

A high-pitched chirp pierced the woman’s dreamless sleep. Setting such a deafening ringtone was supposed to be an advantage. Hot stories don’t stop once night falls, an unfortunate truth the woman had already learned. The woman rolled over; tired hands latching onto her phone.

「UNKNOWN NUMBER」 | 12:45 am

ur laugh was almost cute 🤪

Speak of the devil, and she will appear.

Air caught in her throat, somehow worse than a punch in the gut. Crimson eyes burned in the woman’s mind. Cherry pits she couldn’t ignore. She exhaled. The act was almost orgasmic as greedy lungs resumed function.

What… what do I say? Naturally, words came to the woman like magic. A gift she attributed to countless All Might articles. All Might. His name felt heavy somehow now. The woman sighed and typed a short response.

「XXX」 | 12:47 am

This is Miruko, right?

Three dots appeared as half lidded eyes struggled to maintain focus. What does this stupid bunny want this late? Her mind felt fuzzy, as if she hadn’t slept at all. Exhaustion was rooted in her bones; a slow ache.

「UNKNOWN NUMBER」 | 12:48 am

wats ur addy

Of course. Wait. Is… is she trying to hook up? A lump of disgust and anxiety swelled within her stomach. Casual sex wasn’t foreign to the woman. It was a concept she celebrated, but the image of hungry, crimson eyes plagued her. Carnivorous orbs that threatened to eat her alive.

「XXX」 | 12:49 am

You woke me up. It’s *midnight*. I can interview you tomorrow.

This was a bargaining chip. Perhaps ignorance would save her. Or maybe I’m committing career suicide, she mused. Rumors and whispers of reporters doing “favors” for interviews wasn’t unheard of. Morality wasn’t a concern for the perfect article.

The woman stared intently at her phone, eyes bleary and heavy. Dread mounted in her stomach as minutes passed. The woman rubbed her eyes. Maybe she’s asleep already. The thought brought her comfort as sleep dusted over her. Fatigue had won.

≛

A hearty exhale left the woman as throbbing muscles stretched against morning light. Another dreamless sleep with a side of awkward sleeping positions. Nothing out of the ordinary for her. She layed in bed, determined to absorb the early sunlight. Eventually, the woman rolled over and began to check emails. Ignorance was a blessing. The woman’s phone vibrated in her hand, the motion jarring and obnoxious. Right. The rabbit.  

「UNKNOWN NUMBER」 - INCOMING CALL

Red eyes flashed through her mind. Soft hands trembled, knuckles white and taunt. Her finger hovered over the answer button. The notification was imposing; a beast that dwarfed her. An electrical wave crept through the woman’s spine. Anxiety now rooted in her stomach.

“H-hello?”

The pro hero snickered. “Finally ya answer, kit. Think you owe me your name for the wait.” She could almost feel Miruko’s hot breath through the phone. A sweltering gust that starved the room of oxygen.

The woman swallowed, saliva thick and tongue bulky. She muttered her name like a prayer.

“Cute name, kit. You never replied to my text. Still game?” Miruko’s voice cut into the word kit, as if it were an insult. Belittling.

She shifted in bed, words unable to become tangible. Prey caught in the powerful jaws of a predator. Shivers continued to assault the woman as she opened Miruko’s text.

「UNKNOWN NUMBER」 | 12:55 am

watever. meet me @ hiro mall.

Hiro Mall. Hiro Mall! She giggled; the sound unnatural and falsetto. A laugh she hated. Hiro Mall was thirty minutes away via car, but… I don’t own a car. No reliable transportation!

“I don’t live near Hiro Mall. S-sorry, can’t do it.”

Miruko’s thin lips pulled a mischievous grin. “Don’t apologize, it’s annoying like that laugh. I’ll pick you up,” the Rabbit Hero insisted, tone assertive and deep. Like rich chocolate.

A sour expression spread through the woman’s features, panic in her veins. An icy chill ran into her skull. The beginnings of a migraine.

“N-no it’s fine. You’re probably too far away.” She glanced around, desperate to escape the call. “We can arrange an interview later in the week.” A mall is too unprofessional anyway.

“C’mon. I gotta scoop for you, little kit.” Miruko sounded almost eager. A tight edge to her voice.

Another laugh left the reporter as she spoke, “Listen, M-Mi-Miruko… I appreciate this offer I really do. I just can’t today. I have -- I have other arrangements today.”

The Rabbit Hero released a hearty chuckle. Playing hard to get, huh?

“Can’t clear your schedule for an interview with the number seven pro hero Miruko?” She teased.

She feigned a smile. “I did agree, didn’t I? O-okay. I’ll text you my address.” There was no escape from the rabbit. Coils of anxiety refused to unravel within her gut. Painful, hot bundles that tore into her.

“Good kit.” A click followed the rabbit’s voice. The woman released a pent-up whine.

Are all pro heroes this rude?  

≛

“I like your hat,” the woman mused, her sentence punctuated by a gentle chuckle. Miruko’s ears twitched at the sound.

Pro hero Miruko stood before her in casual attire; denim shorts, a plain t-shirt, and a brown baseball cap. It felt almost wrong to see the number seventh hero like this. Vulnerable. Human.

“That laugh was cute. Why don’t you laugh like that?” The ghost of a smirk rested against Miruko’s lips. Blush for me, kit.

A yell echoed through the mall before the woman could reply, “Hey! It’s Miruko! Miruko, can I get an autograph?!” Like magic, a young boy appeared in front of the couple, his smile was sunlight. Too bright to ignore. Pen and paper in tiny hands.

Crimson eyes observed the child with anticipation. She was not a rabbit, but a peacock. A peacock that revelved in attention.

“Sure!”

Miruko bent down and lightly grabbed the parchment from the boy; signing an indecipherable signature. The action seemed too gentle for the carnivorous woman. She’s creepy when she’s nice, the reporter thought as a shiver crawled down her skeleton. Like a dull ache in her bones.

The boy’s face broke out in a boyish grin; a smile too big for his face. Curious orbs drifted from the mythical hero and stuck to the unfamiliar figure beside the rabbit.

“Hey… are you a hero too? Are -- are you Miruko’s friend?” the boy prodded, his voice soaked in excitement and stars in his eyes.

The woman awkwardly shuffled and inspected her shoes. A pit began to widen in her stomach. The feeling left her empty and anxious. Starving. “Sorta. Work friends.”

“What’s it -- “

Before the child could ask, Miruko interjected. The woman’s tone was hard and rough, like sandpaper. “Sorry kid. We gotta bounce.”

Calloused hands reached for the reporter, finding purchase around her waist. A quiet yelp was exhaled from the woman; the sound sharp and sudden. Maroon rage bubbled under Miruko’s intense gaze as she ushered the woman away.

“Friends?” Miruko hissed, a dangerous glint in her eyes. The woman felt like injured prey, ready for the slaughter. “We’re not friends and you fucking know it.” Snowy ears twitched in annoyance. Little kit doesn’t know her place. The thought was venomous and ravenous; a lion starved and wild.

Her hand burns.

"Miruko… Are we not friends?" Curious eyes locked onto the rabbit. Begging for Miruko's attention. Was a pro hero a liar? Her brain felt branded by the question. Burnt. Ruined.

Large hands released the woman. Strong arms encased the woman; like a dragon hoarding gold. A wolf with teeth trained on a young doe. Poised, prepared. Miruko's heart threatened to leap from her chest, the sound like thunder. The woman couldn't ignore the roar against her.

The hero swallowed. "I want you to call me Usagi. No, Usagi. It'd sound cuter coming from you." Miruko grinned, lips too tight and teeth too sharp.

"Usagi, let me go. This is too intimate," the woman stated plainly. The situation was too familiar. Too similar to last night.

"You like my hat?"

Gross hot carrot breath.

Silver strands hung over muscular shoulders as a confident voice tickled the woman's ear.

"I'll try some on for you, because it's you!" Stars danced in Miruko's eyes. Crimson orbs now enveloped in joy.

≛

The couple sat on a bench, both parties tired from a day of giggles and coy smiles. Hidden signs of affection between the two. A genuine laugh from the woman made Miruko’s ears twitch in excitement. It was the same feeling she experienced before; the hero’s stomach was in knots. A hot, tangled mess that stung.

Miruko watched as the reporter gingerly checked her emails. She demanded a detour to rest and get her bearings. Miruko peered over her shoulder, unaware of the anxiety that began to bubble in the woman’s throat. Like mucus stuck in her nose. Thick and suffocating.

The woman turned to her, lips tugged into a curt grin. Too formal, too polite.

“I was thinking,” she began; still enamored by work, “you promised me an interview. We can grab lunch and I can pick your brain.” Finally, I’ll get my story. The woman vibrated with elation. It was a buzz that warmed her down into her bones. Her dreams were within reach; so many opportunities.

Miruko’s calloused palm slid across the woman’s thighs, creeping along as if to memorize the supple flesh. The rabbit wanted to bury herself between them. Pillowy thighs that touched deserved to be worshipped.

She caressed the woman’s thigh as she spoke, “Don’t live too far from here… You like your coffee black?” The hero’s casual attitude left a horrible taste in her mouth. A bitter, rotten taste. Miruko’s hand was scorching against her thigh, a juxtaposition to her clammy skin.

“No, tea. I know… I know of a cafe not far from here.” Words were impossible again. Intangible things. The woman’s sentence was punctuated with a shrill chuckle, another sign of internal concern. A part of her dreaded being alone -- in a private space -- with the hero. Famished eyes still regarded her as prey. Oval cherries.

“Got tea, too. I think you’re just scared. I don’t bite!” Much, Miruko thought, playful lips stretched into a lop-sided grin. She was desperate to taste the woman, to spread her apart and worship. Miruko kneaded the doughly flesh underneath her, as she waited for a response.

Finally, the woman looked away; too ashamed to face the rabbit.

“O-okay.”

≛

Miruko’s apartment was unexpected. It was plain -- almost unbelievable to imagine a hero living here -- much less the number seventh hero. The only noteworthy addition were flowers, as if the room had exploded in a bomb of flora and perfume. They looked out of place with morning dew still fresh on vibrant petals. Was she anticipating this? Hints of flowers assaulted the woman’s nose; the smell was nauseating.

“I redecorated!” Miruko blurted out, a move uncharacteristic for the headstrong woman. She felt exposed like this. The object of her desires was so close -- and yet the rabbit had to be vulnerable. It wasn’t uncommon for Miruko to bring a woman home, but a sea of flowers wasn’t her normal. She was inexperienced in...  this. The hero’s heart began to tremble again, the sound booming, leaving her breathless.

The woman only nodded, as if aware of the lie. “Flowers are pretty, aren’t they? I suppose we can start with the first question; Miruko… you don’t have a scoop for me, d-do you?” Her voice faltered as the woman lost her conviction. Plush lips quivered, afraid of the answer.

Her lips look so soft. Without thinking, a tanned finger brushed against the woman’s lips. Miruko quickly withdrew her hand. A muted pink dusted her cheeks, like a child caught. The hero’s snowy ears burned with embarrassment.

“Do it again.”

“What?” Miruko asked, hungry eyes wide. Saliva pooled in her mouth. A predator drooling over wounded prey.

“D-do it a-again.” The woman’s tone was pleading, in need of attention.

My attention, Miruko thought as she swiped a thumb across delicate lips. The flesh reminded the rabbit of her thighs. A familiar heat began to pool in the bottom of her stomach. The rabbit inched closer; the woman’s chin cradled in her palm, thumb still caressing her lips like ritual. Touching the woman was electric. A shock that left Miruko in a daze of want.

Hot breath tickled the woman’s nose as Miruko spoke, “I’m going to kiss you.” Chapped lips collided against the woman. The kiss was forceful and hungry. A lion finally ravishing a meal. Miruko continued to lean into her, as if trying to establish dominance. Gentle hands rested against the rabbit’s toned chest. Miruko tasted like carrots and mint. An obvious attempt to hide the vegetable. The weight of Miruko caused the woman to stumble, and the pair landed awkwardly on the carpeted floor. Miruko landed on top of the woman, hard muscles pressed against delicate flesh.

“Sorry, kit. Guess I got a little too excited. Are you okay?” Miruko’s tone was laced with worry. The genuine concern was new to the woman. Humanizing. Patches of red decorated the woman’s cheeks and her heart pounded against her ribcage like a drum. The sound was deafening.

Red orbs watched with interest and long strands of silver hair settled across small shoulders. Her hair tickled. The woman tried to stifle a chuckle and nodded, even now her soft frame was dwarfed by the hero.

Abruptly, Miruko kissed her again, grinding wide hips into the woman. The rabbit’s hands transversed the woman’s body, starving for her touch. Calloused palms cupped large breasts and massaged. Miruko’s touch wasn’t gentle like a lover’s, but rough and greedy. An involuntary moan slipped from the woman, who was now unable to keep composure. The hero took advantage; seeing the moment of weakness as an opportunity, and jammed a wet tongue into her mouth. Miruko’s hot tongue explored the damp chasm. She wanted to commit every part of the woman to memory.

The rabbit pulled away, the act only to allow her companion fresh air. Lungs gasped for air. Hungry and starved. Before she could force in another lungful, Miruko pressed further against her, and roughly grabbed tiny wrists. The woman was puzzled by the action until she felt the warm presence of Miruko’s finger hooked around her waistband. Miruko licked her lips in anticipation as drool threatened to leak out.

Crimson orbs locked onto the woman, as if to ask permission.

“Please,” she begged. Her voice was small and quiet. Too ashamed to admit the burning ache that settled into her core. The need for Miruko hurt. The woman was racked with impatience. She wanted needed the hero’s greedy fingers in between her.

A thunderous laugh vibrated from Miruko as she discarded the woman's undergarments. “You’re so cute. Submissive and begging for Miruko the hero.” The rabbit shoved a thick finger in between large thighs -- thighs Miruko wanted to dig into. Miruko’s finger curled inside the woman’s craving, wet core. Vicious teeth were bared in a smirk; she could just eat the woman. Devore her whole. On instinct, Miruko’s mouth latched onto the woman’s neck. Her pulse was rapid against the hero’s tongue as Miruko began to suck upon the supple flesh. Erotic sounds of pleasure escaped the woman. Her face was flustered and on fire, a sweltering heat that ravaged her.

Determined fingers pumped into the woman’s slickness. She lifted her hips into Miruko, franic for the hero. Her stomach twisted as shivers shot through her spine.

“Tell Mirko the hero how needy you are. Beg for me.”

"U-Usagi --"

"Miruko," the hero corrected, her sentence punctuated by a second finger. The sudden intruder caused the woman to gasp. Such a cute noise! Miruko curled the second finger and pumped both digits in rhythm. The woman continued to lift her hips, greedy for Miruko's touch.

A low whimper drifted from the woman, "Mi-Miruko, please, please, please … Kiss me. Claim me." She shrunk under the rabbit's gaze. The heat across her cheeks felt permanent. The woman quickly turned away, too embarrassed to allow Miruko a peek.

Miruko grabbed her hips and shoved the soaking woman against her. A small puddle began to pool against the rabbit's shorts. The woman -- too enthralled by Miruko's fingers -- was blissfully unaware of her mess. Delicate wrists were released as sturdy hands palmed the wet spot.

"Look at what you did, kit," Miruko said, placing the woman's hand against the puddle. Gentle orbs locked onto the mess; her cheeks now a vibrant red. Like poppies on her cheeks. She quickly withdrew her hand; as if the puddle was fire.

The woman's voice was muffled and hushed. "I’m s-sorry…” she mumbled, her face hidden by trembling hands. Embarrassment was segmented back into her reality; the woman left too conscious of Miruko’s gaze. It was uncommon for strangers to see the woman so… exposed. Even past lovers weren’t afforded the treat.

“You’re just leaking for me. So fucking wet for Miruko.” She wiped a finger across the mess and used another hand to free the woman’s sight. “I want you to watch.” Miruko’s sentence was entwined with lust. An insatiable need. The rabbit brought her juice stained finger to her mouth and sucked, cannibalistic red eyes locked on the woman. Her pink tongue swirled around the digit. A line of saliva connected the rabbit’s finger as she slowly dragged the apendenge from her mouth. After teasing the woman, Miruko shoved the spit covered digit into the woman. Her cunt now ached with three thick fingers. It felt like too much; her core stretched around Miruko.

The hero didn’t continue to finger fuck the woman. Like a predator playing with injured prey. Enjoying her meal.

Pleading eyes bore into Miruko as she pulled her soaked fingers from the woman. Lips held a dirty smirk. “Rub your clit against my thighs, mommy wants to feel your cunt.” The woman winced at the word. It sounded so dirty, so inappropriate… and yet she shivered at the hero’s words. Desperate for relief, desperate for stimulation; the woman began to rub her slickness against the hero’s exposed thigh. Her face almost sizzled with a crimson blush. She felt the heat up to her ears. Molten lava.

The woman was unable to face Miruko’s starving eyes. Cherries that wanted to rip and tear into her. Muffled sobs racked the woman; the sensations of embarrassment and pleasure blended together in a blur of pathetic arousal. Her body betrayed her as she grinded harder into Miruko’s thigh, the stimulation proving not enough for her swollen clit. The woman could feel the hot blood that pulsed through her core.

“Mi-Miruko, f-fuck me,” she begged.

“Look at you, kit, using such dirty words. You call this begging? This is pathetic. Tell Miruko how much of a slut you are.” Her tone was aggressive, as if the woman’s pathetic nature was an offense.

She swallowed, her mouth devoid of spit as she sobbed, “Please, Miruko! I’m such a slut; I need your fingers! Please, please, please.” The woman’s sentence was chanted, almost like a mantra. A perverted prayer.

Sharp teeth clashed against the woman’s ear. “Sit on my face. Wanna fuckin’ drown in you.” Miruko’s voice was no higher than a whisper. Like a secret between friends. Without hesitation, the woman nodded and stood up as Miruko positioned herself between pillowy thighs. The rabbit’s mouth salivated in anticipation. I’m going to fucking devour you.

The woman slowly lowered herself onto the hero, afraid of injuring her. She wasn’t small and fit like Miruko. She was big and jiggly. Like jello. A body Miruko wanted to grab fistfulls of as she fucked her into a mattress; letting the woman know how beautiful she was. Her aching, wet cunt finally made contact with Miruko’s pink tongue. Sandwiched between gigantic thighs, Miruko began to run her tongue down the woman’s folds. The woman released a lustful moan. She clamped a hand to her shy mouth as Miruko’s tongue slipped into her. She yelped at the sudden action. Miruko snickered underneath the woman, her sounds were like calls from heaven. Honey that coated her ears in a thick sweetness.

She worked at the woman’s mound, only encouraged by her lewd sounds. The woman could no longer muffle her moans; her body stuck in a sea of shivers. Her tongue -- her tongue felt so fucking good. Wide hips grinded into Miruko, hungry to have her tongue deeper within. Two thick fingers plunged into her hole, replacing Miruko’s tongue. The rabbit’s digits slapped into the woman’s drenched thighs. Her tongue wandered up to a swollen, red clit. She took the bud into her mouth and swirled the blood filled nub.

“F-fuck…” A long moan punctuated her sentence as Miruko began to suck on her clit; her fingers scissoring within her, stretching her. The woman’s greedy walls contracted around Miruko. The woman’s large chest heaved as breathing seemed impossible. Hot, short breaths mixed with wails of ecstasy. Miruko continued to suck on the woman’s clit, treating her puffy nub like a treat. Her tanned face now slick with the woman’s juices. The room was filled with the sloppy sounds of the woman’s cunt and her moans. Miruko’s ears couldn’t help but rapidly twitch, the rabbit almost too excited.

“Stop… stop, I’ll cum!” The woman whined, her voice lecherous and heavy. Like a fog. Her confirmation caused Miruko’s fingers to ramp up in speed, fingers now curled inside. An audible pop sounded as Miruko released the woman’s puffy nub. The rabbit’s sharp teeth grazed the sensitive flesh. She alternated between sucking and nibbling the woman’s clit. The woman felt an uncomfortable tremble crawl through her stomach, settling at the bottom. Her body begged for release.

A string of profanities erupted from the woman as she came, juices squirting down Miruko’s chin. The hero licked her lips, still hungry. With her moment of bliss gone, and her body weak, the woman gingerly stood up. Her ears and face were a bright pink; like cotton candy.

Miruko gazed at the woman, a lop-sided smirk ghosting her face. “You got me drenched in your pussy. C’here and clean it up, kit.”

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Wallice has shared her subversive new single 'Hey Michael'. 'Hey Michael' amplifies her blood-thirsty nature, a revenge anthem that finds Wallice turning into a worse villain than her erstwhile love interest. A song about toxic tendencies and how they manifest in our lives, 'Hey Michael' twists and turns around American Psycho imagery. Wallice labels "a revenge anthem for anyone who has encountered a gaslighting, manipulative person. It’s what I wish I would have said to all the ‘Michael’s’ I have met in my life. It can be substituted by many names, we all know or have met a ‘Michael’ though. Somehow the world revolves around them and they just can’t catch a break, because they never do anything wrong and it’s usually your fault. You should have listened to your gut instinct and swiped left on this Michael. This isn’t a man-hating song, it’s just something many people can relate to. Sometimes it’s embarrassing to admit just how bad a friend, date, or romantic partner was and a lot of the time, I would just smile and laugh off stupid remarks but when I think back, I wish I had told them off. But at the same time, my persona in the song is not the best person either. I literally say: I think I want to start a fight, which one is your girlfriend? The whole song is funny because I am so focused on how shitty Michael is that I don’t even think about how shitty I might be as well." Directed by Phil Stillwell, the video takes place at a house party, with Wallice interacting with various 'Michaels' before her behaviour spirals into something much, much worse. [via Clash]

In the same vein as Massive Attack’s suburban groove and social commentary in the mid 90’s, KITA have captured the rhythm and heartbeat of suburban Pōneke; a city abuzz with a vibrant music and dramatic performance scene in their brand new track and official video, ‘Private Lives’. Weaving together elements of vintage rock, pop and soul, and warm hints of synth, KITA have created a skin-prickling piece of magic with ‘Private Lives’, a deeply beautiful track penned in 2020’s lockdown, that delves into the unknown of what happens when the blinds are shut – the parts of life that are unseen by others. "Standing from my kitchen window during lockdown in Aotearoa, sinister thoughts entered my mind about what could be happening behind closed doors for people”, says front-woman Nikita 雅涵 Tu- Bryant. The video tells the story of a father and daughter’s relationship amongst snapshots of everyday life and its monotonous anonymity, while things aren’t always what they appear on the surface. Late at night the father can finally reveal his true self, adorning makeup and sequins, only to be spied by his daughter. The two then share a special moment of dressing up and dancing together, a true celebration of individuality, self-love and the beauty of self-expression.

'Just Chemistry' is the third single from Dance Lessons, a London-based, female-fronted and produced trio, creating what they define as Serrated Pop. 'Just Chemistry' is a delicate hymn to the unspoken. Dance Lessons return with their signature sound – minimal production, sleek vocals and intricate arrangements. Ann says: “'Just Chemistry' is about the over-complication of our relationships. It’s about the things that are left unsaid in-between the awkward text messages and conversations, and how the absence of knowing can be misinterpreted as doubt. Last year was a difficult one. For a long time, I felt at the mercy of my emotions. I doubted where things were going. I lived in the future and found it hard to commit to the present. But these moments of not knowing can be equally thrilling and beautiful. And that’s what the song is about: finding beauty in the unspoken. In most cases, it’s chemistry that makes us fall in love. Things end, all is temporary. Let’s not go to war with one another over it.” Nat says on the video: “A friend told us about this weird and wonderful house in North London that feels a little like stepping into an acid trip. We obviously wanted to check it out. It’s completely surreal, all over the place (in a great way) and generally eclectic, which felt inherently us. We instantly wanted to do something there and asked the owner for permission to shoot a music video. We filmed during lockdown and were let loose embracing all the oddness of it. Ann also designed and created the outfit she wears in the video, something she does with most of her wardrobe. It was shot, directed and edited by our hugely talented friends Ben Hanson and Simon Frost from Borderland Studios.”

Returning with her first offering of the year, North London’s rising star Laurel Smith is ready to reveal her anticipated new single, ‘Out the Cage’ accompanied by an action packed and thrilling cinematic style music video directed by Jeremie Brivet and Jai Garcha. Sticking to her winning recipe of moody, dark, electro-pop production paired with effortlessly edgy tales of narrative lyricism, ‘Out the Cage’ is the next huge single from the young, innovative artist that is sure to follow the same trajectory of success as its predecessor, ‘Game Over’ released late last year. A songwriter and recording artist, Laurel Smith has been writing songs since the age of sixteen. With each single she’s released, Laurel has continued to adapt her sound and aesthetic, consistently honing her craft and evolving her brand. She has carefully carved out her place in an ever crowded industry and proceeds to turn heads at every corner. “‘Out The Cage’ is a song about breaking out from your constraints, both physical and mental. Although it can be interpreted in any way, when I wrote it I created a story around a bored housewife, falling out of love with her husband, she fantasises about tying him up and leaving him to be a badass assassin in a video game type world, roaming the city at night and living a life of unpredictability and excitement”.

Hailing from the Philippines, singer-songwriter Laica is coming off a breakout 2020. Now the 21-year-old is gearing up for the release of her debut album I’m so fine at being lonely. The first single off the project, 'love u lately' is here, accompanied by a music video directed by Cooper Leith. 'Love u lately' is a relatable and infectious track. The song revolves around dating, understanding mixed signals, and the confusion that surrounds that world. Lyrically, Laica walks us through her experiences here, voicing her thoughts and frustrations about someone who she just can't seem to read right. Production-wise, the track is carried by a pulsing synth and a groovy bass. Together, the track feels upbeat. The vibe created by the production stands in contrast with the more emotional lyrics, making the track complex and interesting. The music video takes the concept of 'love u lately' to the extreme, in a fun and playful way. Laica is seen capturing her dream boy and attempting to use witchcraft to finally win him over. The video has a very DIY feel, which could serve to add to the reliability of the track. It’s a great extension of the track and taps into everyone’s most fantasy-driven realities. [via Earmilk]

At first, Emily C Browning wasn't sure what to think. Spurned, rejected, and cast aside, she was angry, furious, and - at times - utterly bereft. Usually she'd utilise songwriting as a vessel for her emotions, but when she was so conflicted, and feeling so negative, that it just didn't enter her mind. The Christchurch, New Zealand artist needed to take a step back, and when she located some perspective, she was ready to act. New single 'I Wasn't Into You Anyway' is a soaring slice of revenge, one that finds Emily C Browning taking full control of her music. Her first solo production credit, its reminiscent of those surging, empowering Maggie Rogers bops, while also containing similar DNA to Sharon Van Etten's work. Lyrically, it's absolutely her own creation, with Emily leaning on those often-hidden feelings. She comments... "Everyday for a month I wrote in my journal: I want to write a song about feeling rejected. But I couldn’t figure out how to keep it light and funny, it can be quite a painful topic and I didn’t want to sound too heavy. But I kept working on it everyday and came up with this song. I then spent another month recording it, trying to capture a sound that stayed upbeat and playful. I put so much time and energy into the song that I ended up completely forgetting about the person who rejected me in the first place (honest, I swear)." [via Clash]

Alt-pop force Holly Humberstone returns with new single 'Haunted House'. The songwriter's potent debut EP Falling Asleep At The Wheel was a sensation, racking up more than 100 million global streams. A bona fide phenomenon, Holly returns with a single that displays a more nuanced, reflective side to her work. 'Haunted House' digs into childhood, and looks at the way memory can frame the way we construct our identities. She comments: "I wrote this song about the old and characterful house I grew up in. The house is such a huge part of who I am and our family. With my sisters and I moving out and living separate lives, coming home feels very comforting and one of the only things keeping us all connected." Playing with concrete imagery and no small degree of invention, 'Haunted House' connects art to life in an enchanting fashion. She adds: "The house is almost falling down around us now though, and we’ve realised that pretty soon we’ll be forced to leave. There’s a cellar full of meat hooks and a climate so damp mushrooms grow out of the walls. Loads of people have probably died here in the past but I’ve always felt really safe. It’s like a seventh family member. It’s part of me." [via Clash]

In 2019, the Boston-born and Brooklyn-based indie rock album Crumb released their debut album Jinx. Crumb haven’t yet announced plans to follow that album up, but they’re definitely working towards something. Last month, the band came out with a one-off single called 'Trophy.' Now, they’ve followed that one with two new tracks, and they’re both winners. The new songs 'BNR' and 'Balloon' both fit nicely into Crumb’s comfort zone. The band’s sound is a rich, sophisticated take on psychedelia, with blissed-out lead vocals from Lila Ramani and with some great funky drum action. The band co-produced both songs with Foxygen’s Jonathan Rado, who’s done great recent work with people like Father John Misty and Weyes Blood and the Killers and who knows how to make oblique ’70s-style pop sound good. But Crumb themselves deserve a ton of credit for coming up with a sound this layered and weird. They’re the rare circa-2021 band who might remind you of Broadcast. In a press release, Ramani says, “‘BNR’ is an ode to my favorite colors. I had a weird obsession with those colors in winter 2018-2019 and felt like they would follow me around everywhere I went." 'BNR' also has a cool music video. Director Joe Mischo starts the clip off as a hallucinatory reverie, but he turns it sharply towards horror at the end. [via Stereogum]

Last year, Limerick poet/musician Sinead O’Brien released her debut EP, Drowning In Blessings. It was a unique work, a handful of songs featuring O’Brien’s sing-speak over spindly, post-punk guitars. It garnered O’Brien a bit of buzz overseas, and it left you wondering where she might take her music from there. Now, O’Brien’s back with a new song called 'Kid Stuff.' “‘Kid Stuff’ shows up all different tones on different days,” O’Brien said in a statement. “There’s something alive in it which cannot be caught or told. It is direct but complex; it contains chapters. This feels like our purest and most succinct expression yet.” Like Drowning In Blessings, 'Kid Stuff' found O’Brien working with Speedy Wunderground mastermind Dan Carey. Musically, it hints at a level up moment for O’Brien. There was something alluring and jagged about Drowning In Blessings, but 'Kid Stuff' places her usual approach over a song that is surprisingly groovy — maybe even a little danceable. It comes with a video directed by Saskia Dixie. [via Stereogum]

Das Beat are made up of German actress and vocalist Eddie Rabenberger and Agor of Blue Hawaii. The pair have just shared their first single 'Bubble' online now and are set to release their debut EP Identität on June 4 via Arbutus Records. Born in Berlin during 2020’s legendary lockdown, Das Beat seeks to blast both boredom and boundary. Dabbling in German New Wave, Italo Disco, Indie & Dance, their sound is unified by vocals from Eddie Rabenberger, sung in German and English. Amidst playful lyrics one finds a strong underlying pulse (das “beat”), pinning down the duo’s meandering atmospherics, dreamy synths, guitars and percussion. The duo is half-Canadian and half-German. Agor (of Blue Hawaii), moved to Berlin from Montreal in 2018. Eddie is a theatre actress originally hailing from a small town in Bavaria. Together they find a strange but alluring symbiosis - like Giorgio Moroder meets Nico, or Gina X Performance meets The Prodigy.

St. Vincent has fully embraced the ’70s aesthetic for her retro-sounding new record, Daddy’s Home. Now, she’s diving headlong into the animation styles of the era with the video for 'The Melting of the Sun'. Presented as a “betamax deluxe release” rip from “Candy’s Music Video Archives,” the clip blends live action shots of St. Vincent herself with the wavy, intermittent animation frames any Schoolhouse Rock student is familiar with. The psychedelic lines fit a song called 'The Melting of the Sun' perfectly, as do the drawings of the legends mentioned in the song’s lyrics like Nina Simone, Joni Mitchell, and Tori Amos. St. Vincent co-directed the clip with Bill Benz, while Chris McD provided the animation. [via Consequence]

Bay Area slowcore trio Sour Widows have released a new single, 'Bathroom Stall,' from their forthcoming EP Crossing Over, which they announced last month with its title track. The song’s build-up is subtle and poignant like Sufjan Stevens, but Maia Sinaiko’s evocative, sweeping vocals are one-of-a-kind, and the lyrics are graphic and tragic: “Do you remember it like I do?/ Your lips turned blue I had my fingers in your mouth/ And I couldn’t get them out.” Sinaiko said of the song: "This song is about a relationship I had with someone who struggled with addiction, who very tragically passed away three years ago while we were together. It’s about some moments we shared, and how it feels to walk around carrying that person and those experiences with me while the world stays normal. I wrote the song because I wanted to preserve and document what happened to me. to write out the scary stuff and just let it sit there forever. I think its funny that its called 'Bathroom Stall' and that it has that image in it: the song goes from heavy and dark to ordinary and totally pedestrian in a sentence, which feels absurd. And that’s kind of what it’s like to grieve. That’s kind of what’s hard to explain about grief, how absurd it is. Part of you goes to a different planet and part of you stays walking around like an alien on Earth, going to the bathroom and looking at the moon and shit." [via Stereogum]

As JUNO-nominated singer Kandle Osborne prepares to launch her new project, Set The Fire this spring, she shares the album’s third single, 'Misty Morning.' From being penned on a napkin while abroad to a Vancouver studio, 'Misty Morning' is a sonic journey that echoes soulful vulnerability and an honest reflection of realizing true love. For the video, Kandle reconnects with 'Honey Trap' director, Brandon William Fletcher, to create classic 40s noir-inspired cine-magic, filmed along the Vancouver coastline and within the lush landscape of Stanley Park. Kandle says: “‘Misty Morning’ is my first real love song, captured on a napkin while in Ischia, Italy when I was truly happy. My songwriting usually comes from a place of turmoil and catharsis, but this was simply a snapshot of a perfect, vulnerable moment. In recording it, I wanted to hide behind lush orchestration, but my producer/ best friend Michael Rendall had other ideas. He wanted to strip it down to just piano & a single vocal to take me out of my comfort zone and re-capture the open-hearted feelings I had while writing it. The song and the recording both hold for me a time when I dropped my guard for pure authentic love in spite of all my flaws and failures. In that moment, I felt my true value as a whole person for the first time.”

On 'Vertigo,' Alice Merton’s first single of 2021, the 27-year-old describes the long road from uncertainty back to self-confidence. It emphasizes the unrest that seizes her again and again, the thought: “Why can’t I just let it go?” These contradicting thoughts and emotions that are so familiar to all of us sum up to an overwhelmingly positive effect - 'Vertigo' leaves you empowered rather than anxious: A powerful indie pop arrangement with distorted guitars, plus Alice Merton’s crystal-clear voice. The result is reminiscent of the British Invasion, with no air of self-doubt. With its energetic live qualities, 'Vertigo' feeds an appetite for summer festivals and concerts that will definitely return at some point. Largely responsible for this is the Canadian producer Koz, a multiple Grammy nominee, who has worked with Dua Lipa ('Physical') among others. Here, too, he adds on to what has already made Alice Merton stand out from the crowd in the past - her classic pop appeal - with an uncompromising and indie attitude. This enables Alice to take another big step: She equally encourages a shaken generation and herself that there will be easy summers again. That you can dance again and lie in each other's arms. That it is absolutely fine to have many facets, to not always be clear, and that strength and weakness are not mutually exclusive.

Canadian artist Olivia Lunny's new release 'Sad To See You Happy' is a shamelessly poppy track centering an acutely relatable break-up narrative. The Canadian artist follows up her breakthrough success with a bouncy cut to soundtrack 2021’s long-awaited spring. There's a relatable tale of break-up at the heart of the gloriously poppy new single, belied by percussive instrumentation that creates a warm, nostalgic feel. [via Line Of Best Fit]

After sharing the single last month, Charlotte Adigéry is now revealing the brand new video for ‘Bear With Me (and I’ll stand bare before you)’. The first new music since her 2019 debut EP Zandoli, Charlotte says of the video, “The video is about being confined thus confronted to the way we live. The cruel irony of having the privilege of standing still, questioning and observing my life in all safety while others are fighting for theirs. On the other hand, the video is about trying to stay sane while feeling that the walls are closing in on you. Embracing boredom and finding joy in the little things in life.” Director Alice Kunisue adds, “When I listened to Charlotte’s song and what it meant for her and Bolis, I wanted the video to visually encapsulate that feeling of being stuck inside and confronted to our deeper selves while paradoxically sensing the chaos going on in the outside world without being able to do anything about it. Choosing to film an apartment room from one single angle was a way to reflect that narrowness of thought that we all experienced, but also a constraint that allowed us to explore and develop visual ideas within a narrow system, in a way having to think only inside the box, which artistically was a fun challenge.” [via DIY]

Millie Turner has shared a video for ‘Concrete Tragedy’. It’s a cut from her upcoming mini-album Eye Of The Storm, set for release on May 16, which also features a rework of breakout song ‘(Breathe) Underwater’. “This video is a visual representation of dancing on your own,” she says of the clip. “Combining the many parts of who we are when we’re by ourselves, I wanted it to feel like you’re entering a world of imagination that comes alive when we express ourselves.” [via Dork]

Doja Cat and SZA have come together for a new single called 'Kiss Me More.' When the song was announced Wednesday night, the internet flipped out, which is to be expected with these two — especially Doja Cat, who is regularly going viral these days for all kinds of reasons. When it comes to collaborations, she always finds the best people. That includes Saweetie, who appeared on Doja’s recent 'Best Friend' but then claimed that it was released against her wishes. Given SZA’s long history of public frustration over TDE Records holding back her new album, she is probably happy to have any new music out. Despite recent single 'Good Days' hitting the top 10, her restless fanbase is still awaiting a follow-up to 2017’s iconic Ctrl. 'Kiss Me More' is the first single from Doja’s new album Planet Her, scheduled for release this summer. It returns to the disco vibes of Doja’s #1 hit 'Say So,' this time with no apparent resemblance to any Skylar Spence song. [via Stereogum]

[kerra-and-company]

🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊 - one for each member of the Storm warband because I am Curious about them :)

Oh my goodness look at all the pens!!! I am thrilled and happy to talk about them, thanks so much @shimmerwing-skyscale :D (LWS4 and Icebrood Saga spoilers below!)

🖊: If any of these folks fell into the "lawful" alignment, I think it'd be Ari. She no longer has any particular loyalty to the legions, but she values structure and respects orders given to her by superior officers in the Pact. She's also the reason that her warband, when they were all together, wasn't just a complete wildcard. They were all loyal to her, and she generally steered them in the direction of following orders from their centurions and imperator.

🖊: Brook lived with the Olmakhan for about a year and was in fact present when the Commander and Dragon's Watch run into them during LWS4. With their 'band scattered and broken (and Casca presumed dead), they had no reason to stay with the legions, and they went on a journey to make a new start that ended up with them in the Sandswept Isles. The Olmakhan are never quite the home for them that they become for Rox, but they come pretty close.

🖊: While captured by the Flame Legion, Casca spends her time wreaking as much havoc as she possibly can via a combination of her mesmer magic, claws, and any weapons she can get a hold of. She's only kept alive because a particular shaman thought she could be useful to them. (She's not. Not even a little bit. She is actively detrimental to them and proud of it, especially the fact that when she's finally rescued, she manages to convince a few of the female Flame charr and their cubs to come with her.)

🖊: Weylon is a very flawed person and the king of making bad decisions (as you might have guessed if you've seen any of the things I've written about him, haha). He first listened to the Flame propaganda because it felt good to be told that he was important, but he eventually chooses to wholesale believe it and to betray his 'bandmates. Afterwards, he clings to their way of life and to their lies for years because admitting that he fucked up on that scale is very, very difficult. Efram Greetsglory is one of the catalysts for him fully leaving that behind, and the new Flame kinda-Imperator is the closest thing he's had to a real friend in a very long time.

🖊: In a very painful mirror to Weylon's story, Lifa eventually becomes Frost Legion. After losing Weylon and refusing to follow Ari (who she holds responsible for his betrayal), she looks desperately for a leader and guidance and (very unfortunately) finds Bangar. Currently, she's in a medical tent, recovering from the...melting...she experienced post-Jormag. She has a lot to piece back together and a lot of crap to unlearn. She plans on seeking Ari out when she gets back on her feet, if only because she doesn't think she has anywhere else to go.

🖊: Pol is (somehow, incredibly, considering all of the things this group has gone through) the only member of the warband to no longer be alive, and he deserves lots more things written about him that I never seem to actually do (my apologies, Pol). He was Ari's best friend and the gentlest of the 'band, while also most definitely being the largest and very knowledgeable about fighting techniques. He'd have been great at poker if he ever learned--he mastered the art of the poker face in order to avoid reacting to bullies when he was a cub. He was a ranger who favored the shortbow and had a pet devourer by the name of Flint who loved to snack on any dried-meat rations he happened to be carrying.

[pulaasul]

The Dark Lord Rises

After the prophecy was thwarted, Harry found himself captured and sent to the graveyard where he and Cedric ended up during the Triwizard Tournament.

[FFN] [Ao3]

----------

As much as Harry despised it, Dumbledore still had him return to the Dursleys at 4 Privet Drive, for some unknown reason. The only reason Sirius Black didn't get custody of him was for the trial he should've had back when he was first arrested.

Apparently, Madame Bones insisted on the trial.

All three of the Dursleys were at the table as Harry preparing their dinner. Not much has changed. He was still treated poorly by his relatives.

"Boy, place a plate of your own on the table," Vernon ordered. "Somehow my client knows I have nephew staying and he could arrive at any time."

Harry rolled his eyes at the supposed act of kindness that his uncle and aunt were projecting to the public, still, he couldn't argue with them. He supposes he still owes them a debt of gratitude, which he doubts he could repay.

Not even suffering the Cruciatus curse before them could ever change them to be at least sympathetic towards him.

Harry placed the plates on the table as Petunia was doing last-minute touches to groom her son's hair.

Not before long, all four inhabitants of the house started eating their dinner silently. Dudley was complaining on why Harry was eating with them.

Vernon and Petunia agreed with their son's sentiments, but could not do anything about it as Vernon's client somehow knew of Harry staying with them. It wouldn't be good if a scandal would erupt just because Harry wasn't eating at the table with them.

Soon after, the four of them heard a knock on the door.

"Harry, would you be a dear and open the door for us?" Vernon stated in a sweet tone.

Harry rolled his eyes at his uncle's poor attempt at being sweet with him. He nonetheless obliged and opened the door.

"Minister Fudge?"

Harry was surprised to see the Minister of Magic at his uncle's home. Most people in the Wizarding world refuse to interact with muggles if the remote areas where the magical families are living were any indication. He has not cast any magic since his arrival at the Dursleys to be visited.

"Mr. Cornelius!" Vernon greeted. "Please join us."

"No need." Fudge droned out.

The new arrival retrieved his wand from inside his coat and pointed it at Harry. A piece of rope was conjured and latched onto Harry's left wrist and tied it on the stairs' railing.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Vernon growled.

The minister ignored Vernon's outburst and shot out pieces of ropes from his wand and bound the Dursleys to the chairs they were sitting in and Harry's other hand to the railings.

"Minister! What is the meaning of this?!" Harry tried to question.

"The Dark Lord will rise once more!" Minister Fudge declared, ignoring Harry's inquiry.

"Crucio!"

Harry started screaming as soon as the spell took effect on him. He was screaming as he felt excruciating pain rock his restrained body.

Harry struggled and struggled against his restraints in an attempt to escape the pain and escape altogether.

It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar... he wanted it to end... to black out... to die.

"What are you doing?! Stop it!" Petunia yelled, unable to take Harry's screams any longer.

"Right, you were living with your muggle relatives." Fudge walked towards Dudley.

Harry heaved as he got a break from the torture he was experiencing. His heart sank once he saw the minister walk towards his cousin.

"Stop!" Harry yelled. "They have nothing to do with this!"

"Shut it!" Fudge growled and threw a plate on Harry's head, breaking it.

The Minister walked towards Dudley, a sinister smile on his face as his wand was pointed at the young Dursley. He can see the panicked looks the muggle parents had as he continued to approach the young boy and he was relishing the effect he had on the muggles.

"Minister Fudge! Please!" Harry begged. "Kill me if you want, just leave them out of this!"

Vernon and Petunia stared at Harry. They didn't think that the boy they so heavily abused would readily give up his life for them.

"On the contrary Potter, muggles were the problems, to begin with." Fudge smiled.

"Crucio!"

Dudley's screams of pain echoed in the house.

The young Dursley was sheltered to the point that he was a bully to a lot of kids, including Harry. He was used to inflicting pain. He didn't know how to process receiving pain in return.

"Please! Stop!" Petunia begged. "Spare my son!"

Fudge ignored the mother's pleas.

"Fudge!" Harry yelled.

"You'll get your turn Potter!" Fudge sneered.

The Minister stopped casting the Cruciatus curse on Dudley, who fell unconscious and walked towards the boy's mother.

"Let us go, you buffoon!" Vernon growled as he continued to struggle. "The police will hear about this!"

"Do muggles know how to shut up?!" Fudge growled in response and pointed his wand at the Dursley Patriarch.

"Crucio!"

Vernon was in excruciating pain, he was feeling the pain Harry and Dudley experienced a little while ago. He screamed, screamed, screamed, and screamed loudly that his voice took on a higher pitch. It was excruciating, it wasn't like anything he ever experienced.

"Stop it!'" Harry screamed. "You want me, you can have me!"

Fudge continued to ignore Potter as Vernon was still under the effects of the Cruciatus curse.

Petunia was now sobbing, helpless at what was happening to her family. It wouldn't have been an issue if she had the same abilities as her sister, but she doesn't and she's helpless to help her husband, son, and nephew.

Did Harry ever experience this kind of torture at school?

Did Lily?

"The Dark Lord is impatient." Fudge sighed as he put down his wand.

Vernon went unconscious as soon as the pain ceased.

"I'm impressed Potter, you managed to endure the Cruciatus curse, despite being under its full effects for the first time." Fudge praised. "The Dark Lord awaits."

Fudge approached Harry's bound form and held the boy's head and disapparated out of the house.

Petunia was full-on sobbing with what she has experienced, her husband and son unconscious, her nephew kidnapped.

The Dursley Matriarch struggled to free herself from the ropes that bound her to her chair, but she eventually did, rope burns on her skin notwithstanding.

She immediately went up to Harry's room and she found that all of his things were still there, even the owl that she and her husband were grumbling about.

She got a piece of paper and pen and immediately wrote some words on the paper before rolling it and tying it on the owl's talons.

"Dumbledore, quick." Petunia let the owl fly out the window before she collapsed, sobbing.

--------

"You called for me Albus?" Professor Mcgonagall asked as she entered the Headmaster's room.

Moments later, Snape arrived, equally curious of the summons he received.

"Harry's Owl is here," Dumbledore pointed at the Snow owl. "Bearing a letter, from Harry's aunt."

"Petunia," Snape murmured.

"What did it say? I thought she hated our kind?" Professor Mcgonagall questioned.

"Just two words, help us."

"Albus, what could this mean?"

"I don't know Minerva, you and I are going to find out." The Headmaster shook his head. "Snape, keep things in order in our steads."

"Of course."

Dumbledore and Mcgonagall arrived at the Dursley's via Floo.

--------

This perplexed Mcgonagall to no end, why was a muggle household connected to the Floo Network. It did not make sense at all.

"How can this be?!" Mcgonagall asked as soon as she appeared at the Dursley's.

"Molly mentioned once that her husband used the Floo to pick Harry up to see the Quidditch World Cup." Dumbledore looked around the house.

With a quick scan of the house, both Hogwarts professors found the unconscious and bound bodies of Vernon and Dudley Dursley. They immediately waved their wands at the unconscious men and lied them down on the couch.

Not a moment later, Petunia, eyes as red as it can be, stumbled down the stairs.

"Petunia, what happened?"

"S-someone c-came in." Petunia sobbed. "We thought it was one of Vernon's clients and then everything went south."

Petunia narrated how the events in her house, from Harry's capture to Vernon's torture to Fudge and Harry disappearing.

Mcgonagall, as much as she resented the Dursley matriarch for the treatment of her student, levitated a glass of water from the dining table and handed it to the sobbing mother.

"Who was it, Petunia? Where's Harry?"

"H-harry identified the man as Fudge," Petunia answered. "He keeps using the word Crucio then everyone's yelling."

Mcgonagall's eyes widened as she dropped the glass she was holding.

"A-an unforgivable? Albus, you said the boy would be safe here?!"

"The wards are still active Minerva," Dumbledore informed. "Fudge isn't a Death Eater hence he was able to pass through the wards."

"The Imperius Curse?!"

"Where are they, Petunia?"

"T-they disappeared right after stopping whatever he was doing to my husband."

"Can you remember anything else, anything at all?" Dumbledore asked calmly, dreading what was happening.

"When he was here, he also said something about some Dark Lord will rise."

As soon as she answered the Headmaster's question, Petunia fainted. It was a wonder how she remained conscious despite everything that has happened.

Dumbledore and Mcgonagall looked at each other and sprang into action. They called for the assistance of St. Mungo's.

----------

"Headmaster." Snape greeted Dumbledore. "We have lots of problems." He handed the Headmaster a Daily Prophet magazine.

--------

Barty Crouch Jr. and Peter Pettigrew Escapes Custody

By: R. Almeidus

Earlier this day, Madam Amelia Bones has announced the escape of the people responsible for tampering with the Triwizard Tournament and the subsequent kidnapping of Hogwarts's Champions, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory.

It is still unknown when and how the suspects managed to escape, their cells in the Ministry weren't tampered with. (more on page 6)

---------

"Fudge has attacked the Dursleys and kidnapped Harry Potter," Dumbledore informed the Potions Master. "Apparently used the Cruciatus curse on them."

"Potter was there, surely he could have defended himself and his muggle relatives." Professor Snape scoffed.

"They were in the middle of dinner, Harry probably left his wand in his room, as he ate dinner with his relatives," Dumbledore speculated. "You know how hateful of our kind Lily's sister can be."

"Albus, do you have any idea where Fudge could have taken Potter?" Mcgonagall asked her superior, worried for her student.

"I'm afraid not Minerva." Dumbledore sighed. "It's one bad news after another."

"Surely Fudge's attack on the Dursleys is connected with Crouch's and Pettigrew's escape from the Ministry." Snape offered.

"Severus is right." Mcgonagall nodded. "We can check the graveyard where we rescued Potter and Diggory."

---------

Mcgonagall and Dumbledore apparated at the graveyard where the Hogwarts's Triwizard champions were taken to as soon as they touched the Triwizard cup.

What greeted the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress was a duel between Voldemort and Potter. Red and Green beams of light met in midair as golden beams of light arched from the convergence point all around them, creating a dome of golden light encircling both wizards.

The pair of Hogwarts's Professors saw white figures resembling people rushing towards Voldemort and his band of Death Eaters, obscuring their vision of Harry.

"Harry over here!"

Harry found the source of the voice so immediately rushed towards his Professors who immediately disapparated away from the Graveyard leaving behind the newly resurrected Voldemort, his death eaters, and the corpse of Cornelius Fudge.

The former two attempted to chase after Harry Potter but never did quite catch up.

"Nooooooo!" Voldemort wailed.

---------

Dumbledore, Mcgonagall, and Potter apparated right outside the Burrow.

"Bloody Hell Harry!"

Ron and Hermoine immediately relieved the Headmaster of Harry and helped the Potter inside the burrow and laid him on the couch.

Molly was already by the couch ready to administer some calming droughts on the boy.

"Harry, tell me exactly what happened."

'He's back Professor!" Harry wailed. "Voldemort's back!"

Everyone in the house, sans Mcgonagall and Dumbledore gasped at the revelation. They knew how close Voldemort came to returning back during the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, thwarted by Trelawney's prophecy and the teachers' will to save the students.

"Th-they killed Minister Fudge right after bringing me to them." Harry sobbed.

"It's alright Harry, it's alright." Dumbledore comforted. "You got away from there."

Harry continued sobbing until he fell unconscious on the sofa.

The Weasley's looked at each other, unable to form any words at what just happened.

"Molly, contact Sirius and Lupin, they need to know what happened to their godson, Minerva, have some Mediwitches from St. Mungos here in the burrow, Harry needs looking after, after experiencing the effects of the Cruciatus curse more than once," Dumbledore ordered.

"It's alright Harry, you're safe."

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 3

Somehow, by some amazing miracle, Billy Butcher and I did not implode and take out the building we used as headquarters during the two months we’d coexisted. Did he still bristle anytime I tried to offer a less extreme tact for one of his plans? Yes. Did he look like he was considering tossing my short ass out the fucking window as often? No.

I was on the phone with the still acting deputy director when he walked into my office’s open door. I hated having to jump up every fucking time someone came to speak to me, so I kept it propped open with a door jam most of the day. He looked like thunder, but I was in the middle of learning another fucking assignment that the higher ups felt fell under my new position’s heading.

“Are you sending the files over digitally or am I going to have to-” she told me that she was sending them via courier and I told her I’d be waiting. I hung up and looked up at the storm that was waiting to be unleashed. “Yes, Mr. Butcher?”

He started to pace and rant, and the jist of it was his irritation that he was running into walls when it came to dealing with one of the administrative shills that we were stuck with for reports or updates to reports. “How am I supposed to plan any fucking thing if Kevin in-” and on he went. I let him vent, waiting the rush of words out, until he finally seemed to hit the end of his stride. “What are you gonna do to fix it?” His eyes locked on mine where he was hovering in front of my desk.

“Me?” Sitting back, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m confused about why you came into my office thundering instead of thundering to Kevin?” His lips quirked into a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. “Is this THE Billy Butcher showing maturity in how he deals with an irritating situation?” My tone coupled with the mock surprise did it. He laughed and it changed his entire bearing.

“Aren’t you the one who told me to calm my tits?” I snorted at the imagery of his uptight tits. “Here I am, calming my-”

“Tits, yes, I got the picture firmly in my head.” I shook my head. “Of course I want you to not fly off the handle and blow up anyone who is causing you frustration, but I assure you, unless you planned to throw Kevin off the roof of the building for his lack of skills, I’m fine with you giving him hell. Just hold back on the urge to light him on actual fire, ok?” I could swear the twinkle in his eyes was back. I’d seen it flash here and there over the course of two months, but it made me grin almost every single time. I say almost, because I tended to get heartburn when it came after me forcing a promise from him to NOT go to extreme measures.

“Toss him off the roof?” He shook his head and the smirk turned to a grin. “Thought you knew me better than that, Doc.” And then he was gone again. Shit. I REALLY hoped I wouldn’t have to write an incident report on Kevin, wait, did we even have a Kevin on staff here?

 We didn’t have a Kevin on staff. His name was Joseph, and he was in my doorway not an hour later looking like he’d seen a ghost. Smiling in what I hoped was a reassuring way, I invited him into my office. He looked like a scared mouse, his eyes glancing at my open door.

“You can close it, if that would make you feel more comfortable?” I offered, and he nodded and nudged the door jam out from under the door and let it click shut. “Now, Joseph, what has you in such a flutter?”

He haltingly told me about his run in with Billy Butcher, swallowing often and eyes darting around my office like he expected the man to hop out from behind a bookshelf and throttle him. I sighed as he painted a picture of the man, the myth, the pain in my ass scaring this poor report jockey shitless. Once he was finished, eyes still flickering around the room, Adam’s apple bobbing with every hard swallow, I sat back in my chair.

“Did he put his hands on you?” He shook his head, but looked confused by the question. “I need to know when I reprimand him, you see, if he was physical with you that would have to be addressed, Joseph.” A nod to show he understood. “He verbally threatened you?”

 “He said,” a gulp and more eye darting, “that he’d ‘toss my sorry ass off the roof’ if I didn’t make things simpler during his requests, but-”

I had to swallow my laughter. The asshole had used my words against me. Fucker. “But?” I managed to choke out.

“There are procedures that we have to go through, you know that Dr. Taylor.” He was pleading, begging almost for me to understand his hands were tied. And I had a flash that if we didn’t fix the situation, his hands WOULD be tied, and his ass might end up in the ocean.

I sighed again. “I’m well aware of the procedures, Joseph.” Rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck, I considered how to make everyone happy and safe. Or at least happier and not dealing with a chance of ending up fish food. “I suppose that Mr. Butcher can start running his needs and requirements past me, and then I can run them up the flagpole.” Joseph looked relieved and I felt a burning in my chest starting to grow. I was going to end up with a fucking medical condition from all the extra fucking stress and shit I was putting my ass through. Damn it. “Go, Joseph. I’ll let Mr. Butcher know that I’ll be his-” another sigh. “I’ll take care of it.” Dismissed, he started for the door. “Don’t replace the jam, please.” I needed quiet and fuck it if I had to get up and answer the damn knocks for awhile.

 I called Billy in for another meeting later that day. I swore I could hear his fucking grin over the phone and nearly growled when he told me he’d see me soon. Fucker. I was up to my elbows in boxes and boxes of files that the couriers had delivered soon after Joseph had left when a knock sounded on my still closed door.

Groaning, I made my way barefoot to the door and opened it. There he stood, the smug bastard, and as I turned to go back to the desk, ignoring the dozen boxes that I’d been sitting with on the floor.

“Cute toes,” he mentioned, and I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t take you for a red polish kind of-”

“Cut the shit, Billy.” I gestured to the empty chairs in front of my desk and he took one. “You’ll be happy, I’m sure, to know that I will be handling ALL of your op requests personally now.” His smile grew and I had to fight picking up a stapler and tossing it at his head. “Thought you weren’t thinking about tossing his ass off the roof,” I raised an eyebrow and he had the fucking nerve to laugh.

“I wasn’t, that was YOUR idea, Doc.” His smile held. “Worked, didn’t it?” Shaking my head I watched as he took in my new additions. “What’s all this?”

Giving a truly forced smile of my own, I let out another sigh. “This,” I offered, standing and walking back to the spot I’d been sitting in when he knocked, “is the rest of my new assignment.” Leaning down, I pulled a file from the first box I came to. “Matthew Alexander Rogers, born May 3, 1998. Given his first dose of Compound V days after his premature birth, after Vought convinced his parents that it would not only aid in his health issues, but make him stronger. Died July 6, 1998 when his heart gave out from the strain of his newfound strength.” I put it carefully back in the box it came from and pulled a file from the box next to it. “Joann Sylvia Constantine. Born September 3, 1978. Codename Angel. Current whereabouts unknown. Powers of flight, strength, and-” I tossed the file back into the box I pulled it from. “Seems that I’ll be dealing with the supes that AREN’T part of the Seven and ones that didn’t survive the dosage.”

“There are at least a-”

“Dozen,” I nodded and moved back to my desk. Ignoring my chair, I perched on the surface closest to Billy. “There are a round dozen boxes, I had to sign for them.” I knew my shoulders were slumped, but it was overwhelming how many babies and children had died from Vought’s bullshit. “They aren’t sorted by any discernible means. Birth, death, names. None of those are used to put them in order. I could have just as easily pulled three files from three different boxes that all told of dying children or babies. They fucking experiemented on babies, Billy, with no proof that the outcome would be successful.” I shook my head and felt the weight of it all.

“And I just added to your fucking load with-” I rolled my eyes. Now he considers my load. “Doc, if I have to, I’ll go back to dealing with Kevin.”

“Joseph.” I corrected him and he looked confused. “His name isn’t Kevin, it’s Joseph.” Hopping off the desk, I went back to my chair. “It’s fine, Billy, I can handle it, I just hate reading those fucking files and seeing people die so Vought could create a new fucking species.”

“Makes you wanna burn the entire fucking operation down, don’t it?” I shook my head. “Come on, Doc, you know the more you read them files, the more likely you’re gonna come down on my side of the fucking debate.” Shit, I knew he was right, but I couldn’t go rogue. Not my fucking job.

“Acting on wants isn’t necessarily the best course of action, Billy.” I pulled a legal pad from one of my drawers and uncapped my pen. “Now, tell me what you were willing to threaten Joseph over so I can work magic to make some of it happen.”

 Once I finished the list, handing it to him so he could confirm it, I stood to walk him to the door. Still barefoot, and he took notice. “Your toes are still pretty damn adorable, Doc,” looking up at him, I caught him licking his lips. Ew, don’t be a weird foot fetish guy, I thought, but shot it down. What did it matter what William Butcher’s kinks might be? His eyes met mine and for once I didn’t feel irritation, I felt an entirely new twist in my gut and nearly groaned. Nope, not happening, Veronica. Not him. Any fucking one but him. “Gonna have to visit more often to see what else you toss off to get comfy in here.” Shit.

“Just the shoes, Mr. Butcher,” I opened the door and nearly sighed in relief as he started to leave. I could feel the heat from him as he walked past me, but then his hand touched my arm and my eyes shot back to his face.

“You only call me ‘Mr. Butcher’ when you’re trying to knock back your irritation with me, Doc.” his fingers were still on my arm, and I was trying to focus past the feel of it to listen to what he was saying. “It’s Billy, just Billy.” I swallowed and nodded with what I hoped was a smile on my lips.

“Veronica, then,” I offered back. “‘Doc’ reminds me of Bugs Bunny.” He smiled, but his fingers didn’t leave my skin. I felt like his touch was burning me. “I have a lot of work to do,” leave, please, so I can freak out in private.

“So do I, Ronnie.” And then his hand and he was gone. I closed the door behind him, and leaned against it to try to make sense of what the fuck just happened.

No flirting with him, Ronnie, I thought. Then growled when I realized that I just used the nickname he’d given me to address myself and then really growled when I noticed that I was having an entire internal debate with myself. Fuck. I was going to end up committed by the end of this assignment.

[echoedfates-archive]

Hey you know that one headcanon a few artists use of dark magic leading to a user’s hands going black? Yeah Hubert’s got that.

All those capable of using dark magic in the game are linked to TWSITD in some way, and the only ones not experimented on are Jeritza, and Hubert, so it should be safe to assume that the other three gained the ability through alterations made to their bodies, but that it is not the only way.

As Jeritza is a physical unit by default and not even my muse, I will not be commenting on how he may come to use dark magic, if he does at all.

Some documentation relating to dark magic can be found in Fodlan, as it is possible for most to learn the miasma spell. It it a weak spell however, so unlikely to be of much use to an individual who is likely already comfortable with black magic, and the added difficulty of learning even the basics my seem a wasted effort. Additionally, dark magic takes a greater toll on the user’s body, though the simplicity of miasma means it is not too noticeable with that one spell.

It is nigh impossible to study the dark arts without resorting to the black magic to procure research, or by being trained by a user. With that style of magic being heavily tied to the Agarthans, knowledge of it became highly restricted due to the Church of Seiros, with only the bare minimum surviving history.

To their credit, it wasn’t just the spells’ origins that made it a hidden art: if used irresponsibly, dark magic could harm the user’s own body, with only miasma spells being mostly harmless. All magic carries its risks, but without the appropriate training and precautions, dark spells can destroy the user from the inside out, with prolonged use.

That is unless, the body is used to such magic. It is an art that comes naturally to those of Agarthan blood, having originated from them. Or if a body has been adjusted using their science. In such case, the risks are minimal. Those naturally capable of dark magic are also much more likely to discover more powerful spells. All magic comes from within, which is why various mages are more inclined to certain elements, be it wind, thunder or fire. Though not impossible to study magic types not compatible with one’s affinity, it will not come naturally. When one’s general magical potential is worked on, the potential for new spells native to the caster are also developed. It’s why an ice mage can be taught by a thunder mage. Dark magic is the same, simply a much rarer affinity but also much more dangerous to those not adapted.

So what about Hubert? He isn’t Agarthan, and there’s no sign they did anything to him.

Whilst the fates of the Hresvelg children were still unknown, Hubert had begun training in magic. In terms of dark spells, he perfected his miasma casts but always found it odd that the spell didn’t fit into any of the categories the other commonly known black spells did. No amount of research seemed to explain the stand alone spell but then, he hadn’t found out about Abyss yet, and the censored information that could end up down there.

Eventually, he would be reunited with Edelgard and from there, plans that included her former captors formed. Working with them in close proximity, Hubert witnessed with his own eyes just how much more powerful their magic was to his own, and how different. Nothing he had ever read in a textbook.

A deal was struck. Eventually, Hubert would have access to all of House Vestra’s resources, making him a useful ally. In exchange for one day giving them access to said resources and occasionally handling some of their dirty work, they would teach him how to access that kind of magic. A purely practical arrangement; Hubert hated Those Who Slither in the Dark, but he was pragmatic. Besides, they would need to keep them happy to some extent anyway, if they were to make use of them.

These days, Hubert has essentially forgotten how to use regular black magic for practical applications. Of course, he still understands the theory and can conjure other elements with time and focus. It’s more that the equivalent to muscle memory is no longer present. He keeps up just enough practice so that if he is given the time to prepare it, he might unleash a meteor in an emergency. Otherwise, he relies on the might of dark magic.

Such power comes with consequences, however. Hubert casts his magic as if he has an affinity for it and though he is mindful of his limits, some damage can be seen. Dark magic can be a corrupting force, and with it rushing through the veins, there’s always risk for an unqualified user.

Magic is concentrated at the fingertips as a means to conjure a spell. By the end of the war, Hubert’s very flesh looks as if it has been mired in black. It gradually spreads from his hands to part way up his forearm, where the effect is more scattered, until it merely appears to be affecting his veins. For the most part, one could be mistaken for assuming it is only a visual defect, but there have been battles where Hubert has struggled to hold a pen for a few hours, and he is at much higher risk of developing arthritis before what could be considered a normal age.

Should he continue the way he does during the war, he risks loss of fine control in the rest of his body, as well as increasing pain. Should the damage spread too far, it risks organ damage and even death, the quickest manner being via heart attack.

Thankfully, the latter isn’t too much of an issue, as even if Hubert is perfectly willing to die for his liege, he understands that he is of more use to her alive and in good health. Dark magic damage can be permanent if gone too far but for the most part, it is treatable. The road to recovery is slow however, and any notion of reversing the harm will require Hubert to seriously cut down on his conjuring.

[soundofez]

for @mastar-week 2020, day 3// legacy

yet another star-centric side story to We Fill the Skies, set as always in the Leagues & Legends universe. i have a lot of emotions for both max albarn and sebastian black and i need to compensate for how little screen time they had.

(slight spoilers to we fill the skies, btw, but who cares about that when you can have Feelings.)

—

Max Albarn was usually all wiry strength and indomitable pride, a ramrod straight spine and perfect square posture, but now his back was bowed, his shoulders quietly sloped. Oscar had never realized before how thin his classmate was, how small and fragile. It looked wrong.

He turned back to his paper. They weren't friends, he reminded himself. And Albarn had plenty, anyway, if he needed a shoulder to cry on.

- We Fill the Skies, Chapter 2: Promises to Keep

—

Sebastian Black was tired.

It wasn’t the exhaustion of travelling for two weeks— travelling didn’t tire Seb like that. Seb didn’t get tired, usually, except from Elsewhere storms, and that wasn’t exhaustion so much as it was nauseated sickness, brought on by the feeling of magic trying to escape from his body to that mysterious other plane via fishhoks in his gut.

Seb didn’t get tired, except that now he was.

He hadn’t seen the note when he’d gotten back— it had been late, and he hadn’t want to wake the roommate he’d thought asleep in the next room. Instead, he’d crashed straight into his bed and gone to sleep himself, already looking forward to catching up in the morning.

Now, the desert sun was shining through the kitchen window, promising a hot day. Seb stood at the kitchen table, note in hand, and he was tired.

Papa died, the note read. I’m taking his ashes back to the Forest. Be back a week before classes start.

—

Seb was the only University affiliate to come home from the expedition. He didn’t like thinking about that, about how his professor and his classmate had gone missing, about how the other three students had all stayed behind while he’d gone home like a coward.

They hadn’t told him, either. That’s what hurt the most, if he thought too hard: that they’d simply agreed without him. And maybe Seb hadn’t talked to Ford much, but he’d spent every day with Kilik and Casper, and still they’d said nothing. They’d waited until the last second to tell him, too late for him to do anything, when even the Academy people had seemed to know what they were up to. They hadn’t given him a choice.

Max hadn’t told him, either, back before they’d even left on the expedition. Max had been chosen, not Ford, and yet when Seb had first arrived at the announced point of departure, he’d found Ford waiting there instead.

“What are you doing here?” Seb had asked.

“He didn’t tell you?” Ford had replied. “He gave me his place on the expedition.”

Max hadn’t told him. Seb hadn’t admitted that to Ford, had ignored Ford’s silent pity. It wasn’t Ford’s business.

And Ford had seemed to agree. They’d talked on the expedition— the group was too small for them not to— but Seb had kept him at a steady distance, even as he’d listened with rapt attention to Ford’s many stories.

Maybe he shouldn’t have kept that distance. Maybe Ford would have said something if he had.

Seb didn’t do regret. The concept was anathema to him. You couldn’t change the past: your only option was to do your best in the present. He got frustrated with Max, sometimes, because Max seemed to regret everything.

Seb didn’t do regret, and he wasn’t about to start. He stuffed some coin into his pocket and left the empty apartment to find some food.

—

Ford wrote to him first.

Seb was surprised. He wasn’t much for letters, preferring action instead. (Max scolded him for this all the time, but Seb was vaguely aware of the hypocrisy. Seb wasn’t the one who furiously applied twice to the University with different genders to prove a point, and then had to scramble for housing when the point was proved.)

Seb wasn’t stupid. He knew he wasn’t normal, not just because his already-rare gift for magic was especially strong, but because his mind ran on different tracks from everyone else. His classmates teased him for asking dumb questions in class, but Seb had some of the best grades in the University, and it was only a little bit because Max helped him study. (You’re an auditory learner, Max had once told him. There’s nothing wrong with that.)

Point being, Seb could read, he just didn’t like to because it took so much effort. It was with some surprise that he found his eyes on Ford’s neat signature, having devoured the rest of the letter. He’d enjoyed listening to Ford’s stories during the expedition, but he hadn’t expected the enjoyment to transfer to Ford’s writing.

His eyes dropped to the last line, tucked plainly under the signature:

P.S. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.

Seb read the postscript several times. It would be just like Ford to get it, the creep. He shook his head, but he grabbed a pen and paper from the kitchen’s junk drawer and sat down to write a reply.

When he was done with Ford’s letter, he grabbed more paper and started another.

—

Max’s letter came a day before Max did. It sounded almost normal, filled with their usual banter (You picked up a pen without me? Is there someone you want to tell me about?), but it also told Seb when Max would be home.

Seb spent the entire day at home doing chores. When he heard Max’s familiar footsteps on the stairs outside, he immediately positioned himself at the front door.

It worked. Max opened the door and walked directly into Seb’s open arms.

“You should have told me,” Seb grumbled into Max’s hair. It had grown since he’d last seen her. Underneath the smell of sweat and desert sand and sun was a hint of green earth. “I would’ve stayed.”

“I didn’t want you to,” Max mumbled, and burst into tears. “Damn it. Damn it.”

Seb hugged her tighter, rocking gently on his feet. “They didn’t wring you out in the Forest, did they?” he teases gently. “Amateurs.”

They didn’t bother untangling themselves as they sank onto the couch of their tiny living room. Seb shared memories of cool mountain air, of red dust seeping into his boots and staining his clothes, his chin knocking against the top of Max’s head. Max returned the favor, recalling the damp shade of the Forest’s enormous trees, the looming closeness of the canopy as it blocked out the stars, her breath warm against his collar.

When their stomachs growled, Seb shooed Max away to clean up while Seb toasted some bread with the Elsewhere’s fire. They settled around the kitchen table for a simple meal of buttered bread and a wedge of cheese, and this time Max asked after Ford.

Seb snorted. “Why do you care about that creep?”

Max shrugged. “He knows what he’s doing. After me, he’s the obvious choice.” She scowled. “And I want to make sure he didn’t mess around too much. I recommended him, so his performance affects me, too.”

“He stayed.”

Max looked up. “What?”

Seb’s throat was unexpectedly tight. He tore off a mouthful of bread, chewed slowly, swallowed. “It went wrong. The expedition.”

Max looked livid. “What did he do.”

Seb shook his head. “No, it wasn’t Ford’s fault, it was Kim.” He made a face.

Max’s anger didn’t complete subside, but she still snorted. “I should’ve known.”

Seb grinned at her, but the expression died quickly. “The expedition went wrong,” he repeated. “Everyone else... stayed in the mountains.”

Finally, Max seemed to sense his emotions. “What happened?” she asked.

Seb exploded, suddenly frustrated. “Nobody told me!” he snapped. “First Jack and Kim go missing, then Professor Montero disappears— they say he’s dead! And then we just— kept researching with Professor Yumi, and I thought maybe that was it, because what the hell was anyone supposed to do?

“Then, as we’re leaving, Kilik and Casper and Ford all say they’re staying, they have ‘relatives’ or something—” he adorned the words with finger quotes— “but I know they’re looking into it! And they didn’t tell me— they’d all let the University know, or something, but not me.

“Professor Yumi escorted me home. Just me!” He looked at his hands, dragged his fingers like claws through the air, yanking at the magic that hung there and everywhere else. Gold fire pooled into his palms. “Because I’m a mage. Because I’m powerful, but that puts me in danger up there, or something. But hey, Kilik got to stay, and he’s a better mage than me!” He ripped more and more gold from the air, snarled, “Stupid Sebastian doesn’t know anything, so why bother telling him?”

He quieted when Max wrapped her hands around his fingers. He was shaking, he noticed dimly. His vision was a golden blur. His lungs heaved with the effort of drawing so much raw magic.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know I should have told you. I just— I couldn’t. Not then. I c-couldn’t say anything about Papa, not then, so I just... didn’t.”

Seb didn’t get it, not really. It felt like their differences surrounding regret: he simply didn’t look at the past, but Max overflowed with what-ifs and if-onlys. He sensed it now, something fundamentally different about them, that while he sought company to relieve his pain, Max retreated from people to... to drown in it, maybe. (To digest, Max would tell him later.)

Seb didn’t get it, but this wasn’t the first time he didn’t get something. At least he knew how to ask.

He breathed, and slowly the gold faded from his vision. All the remained was just Max, just Maka, his oldest friend.

“What happened?” he asked her, and this time she told him.

The bustle of the Albarn clan had felt so much like her Papa, yet not. Maka hadn’t grown up in the Forest, and Spirit Albarn hadn’t spoken of his family, only of his beloved wife, Maka’s mother. The Albarns had loved Maka, but she hadn’t been family like Spirit was. It had hurt, so much, to see her Papa’s smothering affection directed at everyone but her.

“I would have gone with you,” Seb said. (I would have smothered you, if only you’d told me to, he would have said, if only he could find the words.)

“I know,” Maka replied, and smiled sadly. “But it wouldn’t be the same.” But she let him hug her anyway, and instead of going to their separate rooms they curled up on the couch together and fell asleep catching up.

[troll-for-initiative]

Codex Umbra #10

19.11.2019 - Session #34 - Lv.9

The group had one minute to brainstorm about what they wanted to do with the Kraken after Cloud entangled it with a Wand of Binding. After a lot of back and forth, they finally managed to talk to the Kraken. The baby titan didn’t answer them in words but it looked like it could at least understand now them. It wasn’t hostile at all, it was just defending itself previously, when it grappled and threw the group around, followed by gentle - really really painful - electro shocks. They told the baby Kraken to hold still and open its mouth so that a polymorphed wizard could enter its digestive system and get the key out. It didn’t quite work since the belly of a baby Kraken is already quite big. Cloud couldn’t find the key. So Dirodan used his Detect Magic and a Mage Hand to get the key - and the wizard - out via a magical endoscopy. (No, this is not the weirdest thing that happened that day...)

Now, they had the key to the already open door. The group went back to the room, placed the small orb in its hole and... nothing happened. It took them a couple of seconds to realize that they had to open the door from the inside with the key inside its hole. When they did, they found a giant icy corridor instead of the narrow staircase, which was supposed to be there. Upon entering this hallway, the group was faced with a sudden cold and the slippery surface of the ice. Luckily, they are all hardier than they look and managed the cold and the ice. Except Valaris, who fell on his butt and decided it would be best, to just slice along the group instead of walking. (I like to mention that I, as the DM, never said anything against him just standing up)

The group walked through this enormous hallway without any indication of what was or is living here. There were no decorations within the hallway or on the walls. The only thing besides the white ice were destroyed bodies frozen within the walls. All of the bodies seemed to have been nibbled on.

They continued around a corner into another large hallway. This time there were inticrate carvings of landscapes on the walls and giant statues of bearded warriors. Still no sign of anyone or anything living in here. Eventually, they reached a giant door. Said door was not closed but slightly ajar. Inside it looked like the giant room had collapsed inward. A quick look around though showed that the walls and the ceiling were intact. But there was this weird, rythmic wind coming from within the room...

The group decided, it would be best to proceed stealthily. They turned themselves invisible and ereased their tracks. Which was good, since the rythmic wind was actually breathing. A large, snake-like creature with six limbs was sleping on a giant icy boulder. They. Went. Right. Past. That. Thing. Without waking it up. 

Behind this pen for the worst pet ever was a smaller room. Still big in comparison with everyone in it but smaller. Here, two stone chests caught the attention of the group. Dirodan discovered that one of them had an evocation rune etched into the lid. Which started a ridiculous scene where the group tried to take the whole chest instead of its contents. Didn't quite work though and they got frosted. After that, they took everything from inside the chest, namely an Armor of Cold Resistance, Boots of the Winterlands, and a Frostbrand Shortsword. In the second, not so trapped chest were five Fire Elemental Gems. (Combined with their Marid Bottle from the Black Market in New O'Noa they now have expanded their joke plan of just bombing the bad guys out of Kraghammer)

The next section of their tour led them to the biggest door yet. Around it was a giant sculpted head of a Dragon which made it seem like the door was leading into its guts. There was also a small little riddle. But since the door asked them to „Kneel down before the King of Eternal Winter“, they figured it out pretty quickly.

Behind the door lay a roaring blizzard. This problem got solved in the same (idiotic) way as all other things in the groups life: The complicated way.

Valaris jumped into the Bag of Holding, holding his breath indefinately as an Air Genasi. Dirodan took the Bag of Holding and mounted a mammoth aka a polymorphed Cloud. Together they went into the blizzard, gaining no benefits from their „preparation“ what so ever. They reached the giant throne of Errevon, which had a glowing orb on top of it. Dirodan tried to get it, but it was stuck and his noodle arms didn't help. The mammoth on the other hand ripped it from the throne, ending the blizzard in the room. The orb – now exposed as the White Dragon Orb - immediately tried to take over Clouds will – and succeeded since he had to use the mammoths stats which were everything but beneficial. The orb told Cloud to get out of the building. So he ran. Dirodan – still mounted on the mammoth and very inclined to get the orb for himself / his mysterious patron – held on for his dear life while the mammoth was storming out of the building by ramming doors and making a lot of noise. While holding on, Dirodan also tried to get the orb out of the mammoths trunk. Eventually he succeeded but the damage was already done: On their way out, the mammoth had woken up a second weird snake pet, which was now on the hunt. So they proceeded to run. Dirodan – after overpowering the Dragon Orb with his will – had the amazing idea to get Valaris out of the Bag of Holding so he could help.

It was a close call but they somehow managed to escape the giant blue snake thingy before it could take a bite out of them. They slipped though the door, closed it and ripped out the key to what they assume to be a pocket dimension with the remains of the ice citadel of the Rimelord in it. And now, Dirodan has two Dragon Orbs.

The group didn't waste any time and went back to the surface of the cold Formare Basin. They found their bird and made their way over to the Ironseat Ridge, looking for something that they only know as the Seat of the Titan. Cloud used a Legend Lore spell to gain more information about the Darkbeast (you know, the monster currently nesting on top of Kraghammer) and got the exact location of the cave of a Behir.

After a short climb up a steep cliff they found the cave and underneath a ton of bones they found money and letters. The letters spelled out the word NETHEGON. Whatever that may be...

[momtemplative]

Watching My Diet.

Of Words and Images, That Is.

As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested.—Oscar Wilde, from The Picture of Dorian Gray.

1.

When I was pregnant, I was astounded by the amount of shit-advice people felt entitled to force upon me, thanks to the visual whistle-blower of my growing belly.

I kept the book, Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, by Ina May Gaskin next to my bed like a sacred text. The second half of the book contains a collection of empowered women sharing inspiring stories of their natural birth experiences. I read at least one story every night to off-set the deflating stories that were pushed at me. (One, still clear as day in my mind over a decade later, came from a woman who had never had kids! She said, in low tones and with concern in her eyes, “It’s the most painful thing you will ever experience. You WILL NEED DRUGS.”) 

I would often fall asleep with Ina May’s book on my chest, thinking maybe the positive messages would cause seep into my being, like a topical treatment.

Now, during the era of COVID19, the news is an IV drip of mounting catastrophe into all of our collective veins. And the way we receive news during these current times is 24-7, on screens, visual, relentless and without limits. (PS: as said in Time, “media images can be so intense that they can cause symptoms of acute stress or even PTSD.”) 

Like many, I find myself falling into the habit of using my few-far-between windows of space to either read updates from the Post and the Times, or to check social media. While informative at best, these word-venues are, nutrient-wise, anemic crumbs not suitable for a bottom-feeder.

So why the impulse to keep going back?

According to Time Magazine, “The human brain is wired to pay attention to information that scares or unsettles us—a concept known as “negativity bias“. Meaning, our brains are predisposed to go negative, and the news we consume reflects this.”

On a personal level, my intake of news is rising by the day—sometimes seemingly out of my control. I’ll just be grabbing my phone to check the weather and suddenly I’m well into an article on the pandemic, as if in a trance. 

Without clear boundaries and a bit of mindfulness, the news and media we are ingesting can be far more toxic than beneficial. The effects of constant negative-news consumption are real and complex. 

And I feel the wear-and-tear in my mental state, to be sure. I’ve been taking in the news every night, just before bed, via my tiny phone screen as if that makes it less potent and more manageable. Not the case. I can easily slip into helplessness, along with tasting the vinegar of potent rage in the back of my throat, even as I’m trying to settle in for sleep. 

Anxiety and stress create cortisol, which can wreak havoc throughout the physical body and beyond. My neck and shoulders feel like they are clutching with white-knuckles for some unseen disaster, pretty much all the time. Yoga and breathing provides a world of help while doing it, but the muscle memory is so deep, that the bad patterns often return within moments of back-to-life.

This is not to say the solution is to bypass the news entirely. But if we are in this for the long haul, deliberate choices need to be made, for the stability of everyone.

2.

Last week, my dear friend, Steph, mailed a box of crafting goodies to my girls. An eclectic mix of junk-drawer extractions and art things—things that have the potential to clutter up a house. But, when assembled in a package with intention and love, feel like vintage treasures from another world. Girl scout patches, circa the early 1990’s, ribbon in original packaging from the Carter administration, an untethered bouquet of white plastic glitter flowers. And in the midst of this treasure chest: a hardcover copy of the Oscar Wilde book, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

It was a fancy, old-timey edition that I had read through and written-in during college, using the same red ink from the same red pen the whole way through. My handwriting is young—an un-mastered version of my current script. But my brain is searching and inquisitive. I’m not sure why Steph wound up with the book, but there was a time when I passed out Oscar Wilde books like a communist would pass out propaganda and I likely forced it upon her.

Back then—over twenty years ago, more than half my current age—Oscar Wilde spoke to me in a way I was not accustomed to being spoken to, and brought about feelings that literature rarely provided. I indulged in Him, collected photos, quotes, and bought multiple used copies of his books. He became an unwitting spiritual guide of sorts. I carried the story of his tragic incarceration and subsequent death with me the way a god-fearing man would hold the image of Jesus’ crucifixion close to his heart. If they sold Oscar Wilde on a necklace, I’d have bought one, for sure.

Placing my hands on the cover of that book—while my girls squealed and unpacked the rest of the boxed treasures—was not far from the feeling of placing my hands on a body to massage. Flesh—living, breathing flesh. Cracking open the book brought with it not only the slight sigh that takes place in the inner ear during a good stretch, but also a swell of emotions. I flipped through the pages, feeling saved.

The article, What You Read Matters More Than You Might Think, in Psychology Today discusses the difference between “deep and light reading.” Deep reading is defined as reading that is slow, immersive, rich in sensory detail and emotional and moral complexity. It is distinctive from light reading, which is little more than the decoding of words. The author continues by saying deep reading is great exercise for the brain and has been shown to increase empathy, as well as inspiring reflection, analysis, and personal subtext to what is being read. 

A passage from The Picture of Dorian Gray—”Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there is in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?”

Another passage (how can I resist?): “In this country, it is enough for a man to have distinction and brains for every common tongue too wag against him. And what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead themselves? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.”

How I missed that man. And what a time for him to pay a visit.

3. 

Last weekend, I was feeling particularly ill-at-ease. My speech had edges like so many sharp river rocks. Tears and sadness rotated through in unpredictable gusts. 

On the particular day I refer to, a book called Ordinary Magic, Everyday Life As Spiritual Path all but did a swan dive from my bookshelf and landed at my feet. The cover-image was dated and sun-bleached. The font and spacing came directly from the early 90’s, which is when it was published. I have a vague memory of buying this book at Half-Priced Books in Columbus, just before I made my move out west, in 2002, eighteen years ago. It’s a collection of Buddhist essays that focus on sectioned-out, topics—creativity and community, for example. It did not take long to realize that the editor, John Welwood, steals the whole dang show. His intros to each chapter sparkle with the quiet wisdom of one who is not the headliner, but knows his own worthiness.

(As with Oscar Wilde, I could include countless quotable phrases, but a taste is all you need.) In his introduction to the creativity essays, Welwood said, “By being still and receptive, instead of busily trying to find solutions, we give our intelligence the time and space it needs to find an appropriate way to proceed.” I read that line and gently set the book on my lap to take pause and think to myself, Thank god.

Another account of being liberated by the right words.

The Unknowing. Yes, that is the landscape we all inhabit now. How do we work with such potent feelings of lack-of-control? A classic solution would be to distract the hell out of ourselves so the low hum of anxiety doesn’t seem as loud. Or, we could try to re-frame our reaction, teach the brain that there could be another approach. 

Our lives are, in many ways, on hold as we await a vaccine to protect our collective physical health. But our mental health is not on hold. Our intellect is under non-stop media siege and our sanity begs to be nourished and protected now more than ever. An essential piece of that puzzle (the puzzle of avoiding going clinical insane, that is)—more so than what’s contained in a bottle or that can be purchased online with a credit card—may very well already live on our bookshelf.

John Welwood also said, “What is fresh and alive comes only from the unknown.” I’m pretty sure I’m going to have that phrase tattooed on my forearm  in old-english script after this whole thing is over. 

May 17, 2020

[sourwolfstories]

Hey! Can you rec some sterek university AUs pls? Thanks you!

Oh boy… okay so this is one of my favorite tropes and I have a crap ton of these. I couldn’t fit all of my faves on here (well i could have but it would have taken forever and the list would have been HUGE) but here are several for you to enjoy!! :)

No Homo by orphan_account

Stiles’ sophomore year starts something like this:3 FourLokos+ 1 peer-pressuring cat- 1 best bro to end all best bros= 1 Craigslist ad headline that reads “str8 dude - m4m - strictly platonic”.Derek is the fool who replies.

It Started With A Whisper by allyasavedtheday, warmth

“I’m Stiles, by the way. In case you did, you know, need something, cause Librarian is kind of an old lady term and… yeah. So, Stiles. S-T-I-L-E-S, like that one dude in that band from the UK.”

Or the one where Derek and Stiles are both in college, Stiles is the school’s librarian, and Derek is just trying to study.

The Company I Keep by secondstar

Stiles has a favorite table at the library. Then some asshole comes along and steals it from him.

Maybe by MellytheHun

Tumblr Prompt:

my fave overheard on campus moment of all time was the two guys who sat behind me in pop culture theory

as class was starting one of them was like “so… do you want a blowjob after this” in a rly bored voice, and then the second guy was like [pause][dejected sigh] “yes”

Not Mine to Love by Sabeley

It should have been awkward then, as the haze of lust left them, but Derek really didn’t mind the fact that Stiles was collapsed on his chest, breathing heavily. He didn’t care that he was naked in his roommate’s bed, coming down from the best orgasm he had ever had. He didn’t even care that he had just lost his virginity to someone who wasn’t Jennifer.

“That can’t happen again,” he said simply.

It happened twice more that night and it never really stopped.

The Hunt by HenryMercury

Stiles wakes up with a hangover and the phone number of the most attractive (and the frowniest) guy he’s ever encountered.

…Who also happens to be the front-man for the band Scott’s just joined.

Pushed to the Limit by kittylovessterek (kitty_fic)

Watching Stiles get ready to go out is torture. The universe is obviously testing him. There’s only so much temptation one werewolf can take.

I Keep On Fallin’ by xKookiesandCreamx

Ow fuck!“

Stiles sprung up out of his slumber, dazedly looking around for the cause of his roommate’s pained sounding exclamation.

He got his answer when he flicked his desktop lamp on and looked to see Derek sprawled in a graceless heap on the floor by Stiles’s bed.

~~~

Or a little college au ficlet in which a middle of the night accident actually turns out to be a not so bad thing after all.

Hot Nerd Alert by alisvolatpropiis

Derek can’t believe he’s actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move.

Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share.

In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it.

Love Comes in Spurts by talktowater

Stiles has always had sort of a hero worship thing going on with Scott’s step-brother Derek so moving into a house with him freshman year was basically fulfilling a childhood fantasy. Discovering how Derek was putting himself through college, well that was a whole other fantasy that Stiles didn’t even know he had.

Your First by Simone (fvckyourfandoms)

It’s Stiles freshman year of college and he decides to rush a fraternity. He becomes Vice President Derek Hale’s favorite pledge and they end up much closer than expected.

or

A story in which Derek can’t keep his hands off of Stiles’ sweet, irresistible, virgin ass and fails at not feeling him up.

A Comprehensive Study in Getting a Boyfriend via Persuasive Essay-Writing by Luddleston

Stiles is a junior Journalism major who takes Rhetorical Strategies because it covers his English requirement. He’s also trying to be subtle about the way he keeps checking out his professor.

Derek is a grad student teaching his first class ever. He also has the most annoying student on the face of the planet, and is done reading essays about the history of male circumcision.

Flirty e-mails are exchanged, Stiles spends way too much time in Derek’s office, and they fall in love over a mutual hatred for APA formatting.

take two and hit to right by gottalovev

Stiles enjoys ogling the very handsome shortstop of the varsity team while in class. One day, when he cannot have the seat he prefers to watch the baseball diamond, he starts a conversation on his desk (including cartoon characters and eventually sharing secrets).

Unfortunately, Stiles’ first meeting with the hot shortstop - crowd darling Derek Hale - doesn’t go well. When Hale turns out to be Stiles’ desk pen pal, will they be able to move past first impressions?

If You Wanna Be My Roomie (Lover) by xKookiesandCreamx

Realistically, Stiles knew that the local University’s popularity and commonality meant that many members of his graduating high school class would be starting the Fall 2016 semester alongside him, but he never expected his longtime crush to be one of them. Even more so, he never expected said crush to be assigned as his roommate…oh boy.

Just to See You Again by MellytheHun

A sterek college!AU where writing student Stiles specializes in love letters, runs a blog about it and can be commissioned to write love letters on behalf of lovers who are at a loss for words.

He makes some cash, he’s good at what he does (especially when he gets to be a little more explicit in his letters), it pays for his textbooks and that’s all he’s really looking for and life is fine. That is, until someone anonymously commissions him to write a love letter to mathematics student, Derek Hale.

It’s Happening by isthatbloodonhisshirt

Derek stopped listening to him, brain going a mile a minute.

Derek, it’s fucking happening!Derek, please!

He would recognize that fucking voice anywhere.

Two years. Two fucking years had passed, and now this little shit was standing in front of him, speaking his name, and grinning like an idiot.

“It’s you,” Derek said, earning him a confused look from Stiles. “The phone call. Two years ago. It was you.”

Beauty and the Ex by aggybird

Stiles doesn’t want to screw up his chances with Josh, so he does something he may regret: he goes to Derek Hale, Josh’s intimidating ex-boyfriend, for dating advice.

Things don’t go according to plan. But with a little magic (and werewolves) they might go all right.

We’re caught in stone, you know we might not make it by LunaCanisLupus_22

He does this thing then, while Stiles is watching, rolls his left shoulder a little as if he’s adjusting the books in his arms and suddenly Stiles recognises him from the gesture.

“Oh my god,” he cries, dumping his books, bag and coffee into one big mess on the ground and rushing over to them at once.

Or the one where Derek and Stiles are childhood buddies who lost touch and reconnect by chance at college. Only they end up doing a lot more than just reconnecting.

There is a Brotherhood by minusoneday

So far, college has taught Stiles three things:

1) Eight am classes are cruel and unusual and should be avoided at all costs, even if it means having to enroll in something truly hideous instead, like Econ 101.

2) Dorm security is just as tight as Stiles’ orientation leader had promised it would be, and the dude guarding Scott’s dorm in particular does not respond well to bribes.

3) Mrs. McCall clearly had no clue what she was talking about when she’d insisted that Scott and Stiles needed to branch out and room with strangers, so it’s all her fault that Scott ended up with a total dick of a roommate and Stiles got stuck all the way across campus with some guy who has a girlfriend two towns over and is thus never around.

‘Linski’s Late Night Antidote To Lame by WhoNatural

Where Stiles has his own college radio show, and the mysterious, faceless Derek is his number one fan.

Also there’s this really hot guy he keeps meeting in the library who totally hates his guts.

Inside This Place Is Warm by wolfcloaks

Coming down; One love, two mouths

Stiles Stilinski:

-Senior at Berkley-Double majoring in Human Biology and Biomedical Engineering-Student Librarian-Closet Artist-Basket case extrodanaire-Hopelessly crushing on Derek Hale (read as: pining)

Derek Hale:

-Grad Student at Berkley-Philosophy Major-Dog enthusiast-Does not cry during The Notebook, fuck you,Laura-Is definitely not pining over the librarian with the cute moles-Would very much like to tell the librarian’s curly haired boyfriend to fuck off

Or

Where Derek and Stiles are complete dweebs in love and jump to horribly inaccurate conclusions

Or

When your meet-cute turns into a bit of an (light) angst fest but it’s all ok in the end

———————

If you want to find more college/university goodness you can check out my tag for it here

[swanqueeneverafter]

Guardian Dragon, Pt.2

Set during Season 4 and the events of 'Best Laid Plans'.

While Regina is undercover with the Queens of Darkness, Emma is desperate to make sure she's all right.

During a private rendezvous, can Regina and Emma keep their relationship a secret, or will they be discovered by prying eyes?

Storybrooke. Mayor's Office. Present. (Regina Mills is sitting at her desk going over some paperwork when her phone rings. Glancing at it, the scowl on her face immediately lifts and she presses the speakerphone button with her pen.) Regina: (Casually:) "Yes?" Emma: "I'm soooo booored!" Regina: (Smiling:) "How can you possibly be bored?" Emma: "Because there hasn't been anything to do at the station for weeks. Even David's given up and spends most of his time at home with my brother." Regina: "Well, I have stacks of paperwork on my desk and two meetings after lunch. Both of which you're supposed to be attending by the way." Emma: "Ugh, more meetings? That's even worse than breaking up a dwarf fight at the Rabbit Hole." Regina: (Shaking her head:) "I simply don't share your point of view." Emma: "That's because you live for paperwork and boring meetings. Don't they teach you to enjoy that kind of stuff at Mayor school?" Regina: "There's no such thing. I did learn to serve my subjects diligently as queen, however." Emma: "Yeah, and then kill most of them as the Evil Queen."

Regina: "Be that as it may, the fact remains that I still have work to do. (Emma groans:) I thought you said you were working on digitizing the case files at the station?" Emma: "I'm not THAT bored. I'm more the 'Let's finish work early and have sex' kind of bored." Regina: (Scoffs:) "Well isn't that romantic." Emma: "Come on, Gina, let's blow off work and do something fun." Regina: "We already blew off most of last week at your suggestion. Why do you think I have so much work to catch up on?" Emma: "You have magic, don't you? Just snap your fingers and you're done. Then you can bring those fingers over here, if you know what I mean." Regina: "A Hestian virgin would know what you mean, Emma." Emma: "Ooh, Hestian virgin huh? That's one we haven't done in awhile." Regina: (Rolling her eyes:) "Is everything about sex with you?" Emma: "No! Not everything. (A long pause:) The cuddling is spectacular." Regina: "That's true." Emma: "See? Come on, I'll let you be the little spoon." Regina: "Of course I'd be the little spoon, who wants to be the big spoon?" Emma: (Chuckles:) "Makes you feel safe and protected sleeping in the arms of the sheriff, right?" Regina: (Hesitates:) "I know what you're doing and you won't tempt me, Miss Swan." Emma: "All right, I tried. Talk to you later." Regina: "We'll see. I'm very busy and important, after all." Emma: (Laughs:) "Yes you are, little spoon. Bye babe." (Frowning slightly at Emma's abrupt concession, Regina hits the speakerphone button again and resumes her work. However, after only a couple of minutes, Regina's cell phone receives a text. Picking it up, Regina realises it's a photo message from Emma. Opening it immediately, she sees a picture of Emma from the neck down, wearing only her red leather jacket with the message 'Making filing fun'. After staring at the picture for a long time, suddenly the pile of paperwork on her desk doesn't seem so important.) Sheriff's Station. (Feeling extremely pleased with herself, Emma, still clad in only her jacket, begins moving several items off her desk in preparation for Regina's imminent arrival. Positioning herself seductively, Emma waits. And waits. Sitting up, the sheriff frowns at Regina's apparently lack of response. Just as she's beginning to feel self conscious, Emma's phone buzzes. Swinging her legs off the desk, she rushes over to her phone. Picking it up, she sees a video message reply from Regina. Captured from the waist down, the video shows Regina pouring champagne into a strategically placed glass. Behind the glass stands the deliciously naked form of Regina Mills.) Regina: "The Mayor of Storybrooke would like to invite the Sheriff to a champagne luncheon in her office. Please RSVP to this message at your earliest convenience." Mayor's Office. (Standing ready with a champagne glass in each hand, Regina offers one to Emma the moment she appears in her office via a cloud of smoke.) Regina: (Impressed:) "You're getting good at that." Emma: (Taking the glass:) "Yeah, well, seems all I needed... (Drinks from the glass, draining its contents:) Was the right motivation." Regina: "Glad I could help." (Regina brings the glass to her lips, but Emma stops her.) Emma: "Uh uh. (Taking the glass and placing it on the desk:) Enough foreplay." (They close the distance between them, their bodies merging in a fervent embrace.) Regina: (Running her fingers through Emma's hair:) "Couch?" Emma: (Nods, placing kisses on Regina’s collarbone, she then lifts the naked woman into her arms:) "Couch." (Carrying Regina as gracefully as one can while being kissed feverishly, Emma lowers her lover down gently. After allowing Regina to remove her leather jacket, Emma sinks back into the brunette's warm embrace.)

Storybrooke. Beneath The Library. (Having tried desperately to stop Cruella and Ursula from resurrecting Maleficent, the Charmings have fallen right into their trap. Cruella cuts Mary Margaret’s hand then David’s.) Mary Margaret: “Ah!” David: “Ah!” (Cruella pours a drop of blood onto Maleficent’s ashes.) Mary Margaret: “What the hell did you do?” Cruella: “The dark magic we’re using to raise Maleficent requires something with a little more kick.” Ursula: “The blood from the people who wronged her most.” Mary Margaret: (To David:) “We’re too late.” (The ashes swirl and then surge into the sky. Transforming first into a mummified creature, then into the fierce dragon that was trapped beneath the library for 28 years. Before finally reforming into the shapely body of Maleficent.) Maleficent: (Gasps and breathes deeply:) “It’s good to be back.” Mary Margaret: (Steps forward, hands up:) “Whatever it is you think we did, you don’t know the whole story.” Maleficent: “I know enough.” Cruella: “Patience, Mal. We have a plan.” Mary Margaret: “You wanna hurt someone? Well, hurt me. Leave David alone.” Maleficent: (Circling them:) “Hurt you? No. That would be far too easy.” Mary Margaret: “You’re going to tell everyone what we did first.” Maleficent: “I don’t care about your secret. You can keep it as long as you like. I only care about one thing… Your pain, and that it be as long and terrible and unyielding as my own. The pain you caused.” Ursula: (To Cruella:) “I forgot how much I missed her.” Cruella: “It’s going to be entertaining.” Maleficent: “I’m gonna revel in every torturous moment. And you? You’re gonna watch your world crumble. See you soon, dears.” (The Queens of Darkness leave the ‘heroes’ to their thoughts.) Mary Margaret: “This is all our fault. If we hadn’t been so determined to keep our secret… If we’d just asked for help…” David: “You’re right. We can’t keep lying. We have to tell Emma everything.”

Storybrooke Heritage Park. Night. (Regina and Mary Margaret have a secret meeting in the park.) Regina: “What’s with all the cloak-and-dagger?” Mary Margaret: “Maleficent’s back.” Regina: (Sighs:) “I should’ve known fish sticks and pound puppy were here for more than a second chance.” Mary Margaret: “They want to destroy our happy endings. All of them.” Regina: “How do they hope to do that?” Mary Margaret: “That’s where you come in. We need to find out what they’re planning. We need to get someone close to them, someone they believe to be a villain. We want you to go undercover with them and help us stop their plans.” Regina: “And you think they’re just going to welcome me into their coven with open arms?” Mary Margaret: “Regina, you used to be one of them.” Regina: “They think I’m a hero now. They’ll never believe I want in.” Mary Margaret: “So find a way to make them believe.” Regina: (Irked:) “You want to see a villain, keep using that tone with me. (Takes a deep breath:) What makes you so sure they’re dead set on destroying us?” Mary Margaret: “Because of something David and I did a long time ago. Regina, you once asked me to… Regina, you once asked me to keep a secret. And I couldn’t. But I’m gonna ask you to keep one for me. One Emma can never learn.” Regina: (Scoffs:) “Now you want me to keep secrets from Emma? (Annoyed, but nonetheless intrigued:) What is it?” Mary Margaret: “Emma was born with the potential for great darkness.” Regina: “She’s the Savior. A hero. Her magic’s as light as it gets.” Mary Margaret: “Because David and I went to extraordinary lengths to make sure it was.” Regina: “If you ensured her goodness, why can’t you tell her?” Mary Margaret: “The same reason you don’t want Henry to hear about all the terrible things you did in your past…” In The Woods. (Maleficent stands overlooking the town of Storybrooke, flanked by Cruella and Ursula. In her hand she holds a baby rattle, which she stares at with tears in her eyes.) Back In The Park. Regina: “I don’t understand. What exactly did you do to Maleficent?” Mary Margaret: “Because of David and I… Maleficent lost her child.” Storybrooke. That Same Evening. Granny’s Diner. (Striding confidently into the diner, Regina sees the Queens of Darkness sharing a booth. They are the only ones present.) Regina: “So, the rumours are true. You are back from the ashes.” Maleficent: “What are you doing here, Regina?” Regina: “Making it easier for you. If you want to try to kill me, I’m right here.” (Maleficent magics herself from the booth to stand directly in front of Regina.) Maleficent: “So that’s why you think I’m back… To kill you.” Regina: “I trapped you underground for 30 years, and you’re not big on forgiveness.” Maleficent: “That’s true. But what you did is nothing in the grand scheme. There are far worse crimes that must be answered for.” Cruella: “Careful, darling. She’s thick as thieves with those heroes.” Regina: “Not by choice. You know how much I wanted my revenge. But in this town, I had to play nice to survive.” Ursula: “You can’t expect us to believe that.” Maleficent: “Of course she doesn’t. That’s why she’s here. She wants us to see she’s still one of us.” Regina: “I am.” Maleficent: “Then let’s find out. (Hands Regina a shot glass:) Are you still a bad girl, Regina?” Regina: (Takes the glass, downs the contents then crushes the glass in her hand:) “The worst.”

Blanchard Loft. (David, Mary Margaret and Emma enter the apartment.) Emma: “I’m sorry, Regina’s doing what?” David: “She’s going undercover.” Emma: “With someone who could turn into a dragon? Are you out of your minds? Why didn’t you call me?” David: “There wasn’t time. She told us the plan. That was it.” Emma: “You should’ve told me.” Mary Margaret: “I assumed Regina did.” Emma: (Annoyed:) “Well, she left a message saying she’d be late home but didn’t say why and now she’s not answering her phone.” Mary Margaret: “Maybe she didn’t want you to worry?” Emma: “I could’ve helped. I was a bail-bonds person. Pretending to be someone else was part of my job.” Mary Margaret: “I know that, but I really think Regina can take care of herself.” Emma: “Yeah well I hope you’re right. When is she supposed to check in? (The Charmings both look away, guiltily:) Mom? Dad? When is she supposed to check in?” David: “About an hour ago.” Storybrooke Outskirts. (Cruella drives in the forest with her friends.) Regina: “Now, will someone please tell me where the hell we’re going?” Cruella: “What, and spoil all the fun? You’ll find out soon enough.” Regina: “Fine. But out of… Professional curiosity, I have to know, just… How did you two resurrect her?” Maleficent: “First things first. You see, some of us don’t exactly trust you.” (Cruella stops the car on railway tracks. A train is coming.) Regina: “What are you doing?” Cruella: “Playing my favourite game. It’s called ‘don’t be a hero.’ First one that saves us, loses.” Regina: “You gotta be kidding me.” Ursula: “You don’t like it, then just poof us out of here.” (As the train barrels towards them, Regina finally whisks the car out of danger inside a cloud of smoke.) Regina: “Come on. Don’t look at me like that.” Cruella: “I told you she’d gone soft, Mal. Pay up.” Maleficent: “She’s just rusty. It doesn’t mean anything. (To Regina:) What do you think? Are we playing too rough for you?” Regina: “I think we should get out of here… And go find some real trouble.” Regina's Vault. The Following Evening. (After reuniting at the Library and agreeing to work together to disrupt the wicked trio's plans, Emma and Regina meet privately at the vault.) Emma: (Agitated:) "So we're keeping secrets now?" Regina: "Emma, there wasn't time to explain. As soon as I knew Maleficent was back, I had to act quickly." Emma: "But she could've killed you." Regina: "Better me than the people I care about." Emma: "What?" Regina: "I trapped her underground for thirty years, you don't think she might've wanted revenge?" Emma: (Begins pacing:) "And you thought surrendering yourself to her was the best way to go? You didn't even say goodbye." Regina: "Emma-" Emma: "What the hell was I supposed to tell Henry?" Regina: "Emma, I knew Mal wouldn't have killed me. We've been through too much together." Emma: (Stops pacing:) "Like what?" Regina: "She was my mentor, for a time." Emma: "Yeah, so was Gold and he sent a Wraith to kill you the first chance he got." Regina: "Things were different between Mal and I." Emma: "How different? (Regina gives her a look:) You mean... You and Maleficent?" Regina: (Nods:) "For a time, Mal and I were very close." Emma: "And now she's back. (Suddenly louder:) Is THAT why you didn't tell me?!" Regina: "Of course not."

Emma: "Suddenly your old girlfriend is back in town and you just had to go and see her?" Regina: (Standing:) "You're being ridiculous." Emma: "Am I?" Regina: "You think I'd sacrifice what we have? That I'd throw away the family we've both been searching for all our lives, for anything?" Emma: "Well... (Looks down, quieter:) No, not when you put it like that." Regina: "I love you, Emma. I love our family and god help me I would do anything to protect it. Even if it means aligning myself with those who'd seek to destroy us. Will you trust me to do that?" Emma: (Sheepishly:) "Of course I do. You know I do." Regina: "Good. Not that I don't enjoy it when you're feeling jealous." Emma: "I wasn't-" Regina: (Smiles:) "Oh, you so were." Emma: "Well, maybe a little." Regina: (Checking her watch:) "We have a little time." Emma: "Good, cause I need to ask David to borrow his truck. Following you in my car might just be a little obvious." Regina: (Walking closer:) "No, I meant we have time for me to reassure you that you have nothing to worry about." Emma: (Smiles:) "Regina, I'm fine really." Regina: "Shh. (Whispering in her ear:) We may not get another chance for awhile." Emma: (Shivers:) "Mm, I see. Well, in that case..." (Chuckling, Regina walks away from Emma, removing her jacket and draping it over a table.) Regina: (Turning to face her:) "Do you like what you see? (A nod of approval from Emma:) Would you like to see more?" Emma: (Tilting her head slightly:) "Take off your shirt. (Smiling, Regina crosses her arms and removes her shirt in one fluid motion, revealing her bra. Placing her hand on one hip and arching an eyebrow, Regina waits for Emma's next instruction:) Lose the skirt." (Keeping her eyes firmly on Emma, Regina loosens her belt and lets it drop to the floor. Then, reaching behind her, she begins to unzip her skirt, turning her back on Emma to let her watch the leather slide over her lusciously curved backside. For a moment, Regina catches sight of something in the walled mirror at the far end of the vault. She quickly dismisses this however when she hears the gasp from Emma as her skirt falls to the floor.) Regina: (Turning back to face Emma, clad in only her bra, underwear and heels:) "Now you." Emma: (Looking Regina up and down:) "When I'm ready." (Regina slowly makes her way over to Emma, pressing her body against her.) Regina: "I think you're ready. (Pulling Emma in for a kiss, Regina smiles as she feels Emma succumbing to her desires. When she eases Emma's coat from her shoulders, Regina once again catches a glimpse of movement in the mirror. All thought of investigating further immediately leaves her mind when she feels Emma's hands unclasping her bra. Moaning softly as she runs her hand through blonde hair, guiding Emma's mouth towards her breast:) For the longest time, I didn't feel anything. I was numb. (Gasps as she feels Emma's breath on her nipple:) Then you came into my life and stoked the fire within me. Please... let me let me feel the heat once more."

(Closing her eyes when Emma's mouth makes contact with her breast for the first time, Regina arches her head back in ecstasy. Emitting a low moan as Emma pays the same attention to her other breast, Regina shivers with excitement when she feels Emma lowering to her knees before her. Clutching Emma's head in her hands, Regina opens her eyes and leans down to share a loving kiss with her. Upon feeling the insistent hands tugging at her underwear, Regina moans once again, this time lifting her head and giving one last glance towards the mirror before joining her lover on the vault floor.) Antechamber. (Watching with great interest from behind the two-way mirror is Maleficent, who dabs at her neck with a cloth, clearly effected by the steamy scene playing out before her.) Gold's Cabin. A Short Time Later. (Maleficent and Mr. Gold have a little chat.) Maleficent: "I've seen them together. Regina and the Savior. Why didn't you tell me?" Mr. Gold: "It wasn't my secret to tell. And we both know how Regina feels about secrets." Maleficent: (Scoffs:) "You expect me to believe that matters to you?" Mr. Gold: "Don't make the mistake of thinking you're the only mentor who cares for Regina. As unbelievable as it sounds, I want only happiness for her. Through Regina, I was able to see my son again. Because of her I was reunited with Belle. It may have taken me a long time to realise, but I owe the queen a great deal of thanks." Maleficent: "Then why do this to her? Why take away the woman she loves?" Mr. Gold: "It needn't lead to that. If all goes to plan, Regina and Miss Swan can still be together." Maleficent: "You know what they share, don't you?" Mr. Gold: (Nods:) "True Love. Surprisingly, as the Dark One, I've seen my fair share of it." Maleficent: "No, this is more than that. I've felt the power that courses between them. It's-" Mr. Gold: "More powerful than either one of us could hope to be? I know. But fortunately, they do not. Which is why we must act quickly." Maleficent: "Do you really think it's possible? For villains to get their happy endings?" Mr. Gold: "You think power like theirs comes along every day? Regina wants the same as us, to find the Author. We must use that to our advantage. Now go, fetch the boy and bring him back here." (Maleficent nods and leaves the cabin.) Outside The Library. (Regina is waiting for the Queens of Darkness while Emma is in David’s truck ready to follow them. Cruella’s car arrives, empty.) Maleficent: (Appearing beside Regina:) “Ready to take a drive?” Regina: “You want me to get in that?” Maleficent: “Cruella enchanted it to drive itself, or you could take the wheel if you prefer.” Regina: “Yes, I’d very much prefer. Where are the other two?” Maleficent: “Don’t worry about them. It’s just you and me tonight, like old times.” Inside Cruella's Car. (While Cruella's car drives them to their destination, Maleficent and Regina catch up.) Regina: "So you're saying you don't remember anything during your time underground?" Maleficent: "Bits and pieces, nothing I could swear by. It's not as though I had a lot of visitors. Except Killian, and you." Regina: "I... I am sorry for what I did to you." Maleficent: (Chuckles:) "No you're not. Regret isn't something either of us indulge in. But it's fine. After what those supposed heroes did to me, being trapped in my dragon form was a blessing. (At Regina's curious look:) It helped numb the pain. If I had to endure that time alone with my memories... I wouldn't have made it." Regina: (Shaking her head:) "I thought I was punishing you for trying to help the Charmings stop my curse." Maleficent: "I didn't care what happened to me after losing my child." Regina: (Hesitates, trying to comfort:) "I.. I know it's not the same thing, but I know what it's like to lose a child. (Maleficent turns to her:) Henry... I lost him for over a year. It tore me up inside and... well I can only imagine what you feel." Maleficent: (Looks back towards the road ahead:) "You're right. It's not the same thing. (Regina nods and falls silent. Looks back at her:) I'm happy things worked out for you, Regina. With Henry... and you know who." Regina: (Startled:) "Excuse me?" Storybrooke Streets. (Meanwhile, using the tracker on Regina’s phone, Emma follows Cruella’s car as it stops outside Marco’s house.) Maleficent: “We’re here.” Regina: “This can’t be right. This is Marco’s house, the town handyman. The only magical object you’ll find here is duct tape.” Maleficent: “I assure you, there’s something far more valuable. Actually, someone… That knotty little piece of pine he calls a son.” Regina: “The magical object you’re after is Pinocchio?” Maleficent: “He has information about the Author, and we intend to make him tell us.” Regina: “Which would be a good plan if I hadn’t tried already. When August was turned back into a boy his memory was wiped. He doesn’t remember anything.” Maleficent: “Maybe the trouble was you not asking your questions more forcefully.” Regina: “What’s that supposed to mean?” Maleficent: “I’m beginning to worry Cruella and Ursula were right. You’ve spent so much time around heroes, you’ve forgotten who you really are.” Regina: “I’d be careful questioning my commitment.” Maleficent: “You want to prove to me you’re the Evil Queen I remember? Go inside there now and steal that little boy.”

The End.