#my most recent case of this is from watching maws

[lambsquatch]

having what I can only describe as a special interest in recognizing voice actors is both a blessing and a curse, because after awhile you just start hearing the same people everywhere and you start to develop this sort of one sided rivalry with the ones you hear regularly

I will be getting into a new show and suddenly I hear matt mercer again and I have to resist the urge to just grumble at the screen

[mmkin]

Get You Some Arlong ch 8

I'm considering adding a subtitle to the title of this story. 'Get You Some Arlong' was meant to be a tongue in cheek title since I couldn't seem to think of a good one (they all sounded silly and cheesy) but now I would like to add a more serious one. Suggestions welcome

Ch 8 of the story is now up for those who enjoy my Smexy Fishmen stories. Chapter is NSFW/18+ but all consensual. TW mentions of biting/blood but consensual.

As a treat here is a new picture of Arlong and Squid I drew yesterday. I wanted Squid more feminine looking so I put her hair down, but now i can't help but think of the Rachel haircut and the outfit Luann wore for most of King of the Hill lmao. (these drawings I've been doing recently take about 15 min each in case anyone is wondering) Chapter is also included here under the cut.

VIII

When I first started planning this fic, it had been meant to be a fun one or maybe two-shot of smutty headcanons featuring that smexy sharkman, but after I watched the Sabaody and Fishman Island arcs, I wanted to do something more with Arlong, especially given the flashbacks we see of him in the Fishman Island episodes. I mean, how could I not?

Now we’re at 8 chapters and it feels like Arlong’s Reader has become more of an OC because of how much I have invested in this story and now I’m even wondering if I should write about Arlong having a child with his little squid. But hell, I had fun writing this, and falling down the delightful rabbit hole that is One Piece, and I’m happy for the new buddies I made in the fandom. If you enjoy this story, please check out the companion piece I am working on, ‘Get You Some Arlong Pirates’ which is a collection of stories featuring Arlong’s Big Three.

All reviews, feedbacks, recs and reblogs are sincerely welcome and very much appreciated by this author who works so hard to bring you smexy fishman stories.

o0o0o0o

Tempers were high. So was drunkenness. You were pretty buzzed, but unlike Toma, you weren’t the type of person to get volatile after a few drinks. Arlong, on the other hand… well, pissing off a drunk Arlong is never a good idea. No one needed to tell you that, but seeing a drunk, angry Arlong in action is not something you’ll forget. Especially when Arlong is angry because he’s defending you.

Toma's friends desert him, melting into the shadows or diving into the water as Arlong takes hold of his misbehaving subordinate. You see the panic in Toma's eyes, the realization that he absolutely, positively fucked up, and that he'll be lucky to get out of this alive. Part of you feels sorry for him because you remember how terrified you'd been after confessing to Arlong what you did for Nami. Arlong's maw is not something anyone wants to be looking at, especially if there's the chance they'll go down it.

Arlong doesn’t rip Toma apart, but the fishman got a bite from his captain that he’s not going to forget anytime soon, however superior fishmen may be to humans in terms of durability. It’ll be a while before he can do any work, and the ones who egged him on will be responsible for his care as well as the work he was supposed to do.

You sit in the corner of the foredeck, processing what just happened. You have to admit to yourself that it was nice having Arlong come in like he was your knight in shining armor. You might not be a captive princess, but all things considered, being a pirate is much more fun.

You nurse a bottle of rum, letting the buzz soothe your nerves.

“Do you really think we shouldn’t sell them?” you hear Chew ask. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you do not realize immediately the question was aimed at you. You turn to where Arlong and the Big Three sit, lounging in the chairs that would normally only be used by the top-ranking officers of the ship and their guests.

“There’s several reasons. I was serious when I said we shouldn’t bring ourselves down to their level. I have nothing but sympathy for those of us who spent time as slaves. There are plenty of things we do to retaliate against those who would harm us, and we are called many things. Let’s not add ‘slaver’ to that list, all right?” you ask, but before anyone can answer, you continue, “Sure, there would be a profit in Berries, but humans are generally the cheapest on the slave market, so in the long run, I do not believe it would be worth it, especially as the Marines are bound to notice when a number of their own turn up on the market. And last but not least, engaging in the slave trade would just bring us more attention. There’s already enough to deal with because of the new additions to your territory and the extra manpower needed to maintain these holdings. Plenty of people hate slavers – humans, too. You see how they enslave one another, not just other races.”

Arlong stares at you but says nothing. Chew gulps his drink. Kuroobi has his arms crossed, looking at you. Hatchan simply nods.

“With this many Marines in our custody, I am sure we can find at least a few that can be bought off. Nezumi can only oversee so much territory, after all. As for the rest, this is the biggest vessel we’ve captured, so I don’t doubt we have some skilled people down there. We can use them and have them teach what they know to fishmen.” Despite the World Government’s official stance on equal rights for various races, there is one glaring fact – there is not one single fishman in the Marines. Nor are you aware of any other race than humans or giants being enrolled in the Marines.

“They can still be a source of income… just a more steady and permanent one. With slaves, once they’re sold, they’re gone, and so are any useful skills they might possess. If we keep them, others can’t use them against us. We have Marines here, not just civilians. Let us use them for the glory of the Arlong Empire,” you add coldly. At that, you see a smile stretch Chew’s pert lips while Kuroobi looks at his captain.

“I do not disagree with the idea,” Kuroobi concedes. “We can always threaten or kill anyone who refuses to cooperate.”

“There we go," you say dryly, raising your bottle to him before taking a long swig. After they talk a bit more, Arlong's friends leave one by one, leaving the two of you alone, the sound of waves lapping against the hull and cries of seabirds fill the silence. The morning will come, with plenty of work to do, so you are happy for these quiet moments with him.

“Thank you for being a gentleman and so gallantly coming to my aid,” you tease him. Moonlight catches in his eyes as he looks at you, and the corners of his mouth pull his expression into an appreciative smirk.

“I can not have anyone disrespecting my mate,” he comments with a faint growl.

“When did that happen?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

“This is not the first time you’ve called me that,” you say quietly. “But we never courted, or made an agreement…” You trail off, knowing that’s going to sound pretty weak to someone such as Arlong as soon as the words slip past your lips.

“So?’ His gaze is cool and predatory.

So… what? “I…” You pause, unsure of how to express your thoughts.

“You object?” He leans closer to you. You ponder your answer. You do not object to the position you are currently in. You just… sort of wish you had been asked. Maybe it’s the romantic side of you. You know that this man is a predator. He is selfish, possessive, easy to anger, and prideful. Still, you let him have you. You can’t say that he hasn’t treated you well.

“… No,” you reply quietly, but in a firm tone as you look at him. “I don’t know if I sound silly to you, but…” You look down.

“You do sound a bit silly. I will not hold it against you, little squid." You feel his hand under your chin. "Think about it. You have told me in no unclear terms, multiple times that you were mine. Whether in answer to my questions or making these declarations on your own."

You blush at that, and he grins, baring these sharp teeth that had just torn into someone to defend you. There is still a bit of blood just past his lower lip.

“You took a great risk with Nami, knowing my wrath. You did it because you cared for me.”

“I do.”

“That is when I knew you would be a worthy mate. And you did not object the first time I called you that, did you?”

“… No, Arlong,” you concede. “Though that’s not entirely fair… you had me in a position where I could not really think to object…”

He chuckles at that, taking pleasure in the fond memory. Fond, indeed, since you were right there with him, sharing and making these memories.

“After all the time we’ve spent, and what we shared, do you have doubts?” he asks.

“No, Arlong. That’s not it…”

You feel his other hand grasp your forearm, forcing you to scoot your chair closer to his.

“I just wish you had asked me. I know it’s a small thing considering what we’ve done, but it still startled me when you called me mate the first time,” you admit.

“Is that so?” You feel his fingers trail along the inside of your arm, and that sends pleasing shivers down your arm and spine. “What’s done is done, little squid.”

So it was done. Many times in the past, and the future holds the same. You do not pull away as he caresses your arm or other places.

o0o0o0o

You and Chew are sitting at the bar, going over the most recent messages. Arlong and Kuroobi are away with a troop of fishmen, leaving Chew in charge of Arlong Park. You’re not a leader in Arlong’s crew, but being his mate does place you firmly in a position of respect, especially among those who know about you.

And since Arlong’s friends are a big part of his life, it means they’re going to be part of yours, regardless of how you feel about them. It’s a good thing you’re already solid friends with Hatchan, and it seems that your relationship with the other two may become more than polite. Which would be nice, you have to admit. You normally didn’t stay long enough in one place to make more than acquaintances, but you know that you’re here for the long run, as a member of Arlong’s crew and as his mate. And Arlong’s friends were fiercely loyal to him and their shared goals, so you were going to be spending a fair amount of time around one another.

“I miss him.” you sigh almost without thinking as you flip through some papers to make sure you didn’t miss anything. You woke up this morning hot and irritable, and cursed the fact that Arlong had to be fucking gone when you were starting one of your heat cycles. You would find things to distract yourself with, and once you were done meeting with Chew, you were going for a long, cold swim.

You feel a little embarrassed once the words slip past your tongue. You don’t want to sound needy or whiny. After all, Arlong had to deal with the loneliness at home when you were out on a mission. You were a grown adult, and you’d deal with this.

“Hm.” Chew lets out a quiet hum as he glances over a page before he speaks. “You really care for him.”

You’re not sure if that’s a question or a statement. But a nod works either way. “So do you,” comes your soft reply. “As a longtime friend and nakama, I mean…”

He nods in affirmation. You make notations on a couple of the papers. So you both care about Arlong and share the same desire to see him home safe. How warm and cozy.

“I am happy for my brother.” He looks up from the paper to meet your gaze. You get the feeling that he has something he wants to say, but is not quite sure if you’re close enough to share his confidence. You give him an encouraging smile.

“But I do wonder if you have any lady friends who might want to come here…" He raises his eyebrow, and you let out a small, warm laugh. It's as you've noticed since you first arrived here, it's pretty much a sausage party even though now there are a few fishwomen in the village. There is quite a ways to go, but it's a start.

“I’m working on it.” You raise the tumbler of tangerine juice you were sipping. “To friendship… and happiness.” you offer. Chew raises his bottle and you clink the glass together.

After you’re done with Chew, you go for that swim, trying to tire yourself out with mad laps around the island.

But it seems like it’s going to be a restless night.

Arlong doesn't keep toys around, nor does he want you to keep any. After all, as Arlong reasons, whatever do you need such things for when you have him? His fishman pride disdains these toys that humans use for their pleasure, pointing this out as another example of their inferiority.

And yes, when he’s around, you don’t need any of these toys you’ve seen in advertisements in certain magazines. But when you’re alone, what the fuck are you supposed to do to satisfy that ache in your loins? Your fingers and tentacles just don’t cut it, however much you try to use your tentacles to fill your passage in an attempt to stimulate the fullness of Arlong’s cock(s), or when you use your fingers to try to stimulate what Arlong does to your clit.

Any pleasure you achieve is minimal. You would be lying if you said that propositioning a fishman didn’t pass through your mind.

“Fuck, Arlong!” you exclaim in an angry whine. Part of you wants to give up, knowing that you’re not going to get full satisfaction without Arlong’s help. The other part of you is stubborn, demanding at least some release from the heat that aches between your legs.

Fucking heat. It’s awesome when you have a mate to share it with, but absolute misery when you’re on your own. You’re curled up on your side, working at yourself frantically and commanding your body to release some of that pressure already so you can move the fuck on and hopefully get a few hours of sleep before the sun comes up.

“Fuck… come the fuck on…" you pant and gasp. You can feel how engorged your clit is against your fingers, and your insides respond to the friction against its surfaces, but your body also knows that it's not the real thing. You arch your back and curl your toes, increasing the intensity of your self-ministrations while imagining Arlong being the one to give you such attention. You're so lost in your work and muttering heatedly that you do not hear the door to the bedroom open and then close.

Arlong stands there for several moments, eyes adjusting to the semidarkness as he watches you try to bring yourself some measure of satisfaction. The scent of your heat is heavy in the air within the confines of the room, with the effect that one would expect. His shorts become too tight as he listens to your frustrated mewls, your hips rocking, your appendages making soft, wet sounds as they work at the most intimate part of you.

“Y/n,” you hear a growl, and you’re so feverish with pent-up energy that you think you’re hearing things.

“Arlong…” you breathe, trying to visualize him. It’s not as if you don’t have enough memories of his face, his voice, his touch, his smell, his taste… but what is an illusion compared to the real thing? It’s not until you hear cloth dropping to the floor that it dawns upon you that your desires are manifesting themselves into reality.

Your eyelids flutter open, and you gasp softly to see Arlong standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at you. It takes a couple of seconds – and the sound of his breathing – for you to realize that he really, truly is there, in the flesh, and from the looks of his cocks and hungry grin, ready to ravish you.

“Arlong…! How did you…” you manage to gasp out.

“The job was a success, and so I hastened back home. None too soon, from the looks of it…" he says in that lustful chortle that makes you feel so dirty but in such a good way…

“None too soon," you agree, withdrawing your appendages from yourself, and spreading out for him. He had better not tease you…

Fortunately, it seems like being apart from you has built up his need as well, for he climbs on top of you, giving you the attention you so crave. He pounds into you with a ferocity that pushes all non-sexual thoughts from your head. Your cries and shrieks fill the room, as do his roars and growls.

After several rounds, you indicate to him that you want him to clasp his cocks. This is a rare treat for him, and he is all too happy to oblige. The soreness that will come from this is well worth the abatement of that maddening heat, and you arch against him as he pushes the fullness of his manhood into you. It almost seems as if he might break the bed itself with the way he’s going at you, not that you’re doing anything to stop him.

Aren't you just so happy that he came home early? He only leaves your side to get drinks and towels to refresh or clean up. You cling to him and he keeps his arms around you as you lay there together, basking in the afterglow of a passionate session. You run your hand along his chest and arms, savoring the feel of his sharkskin. You rub your cheek against him and kiss his chest, feeling his heartbeat and breathing. He has a nose and fangs that can tear you apart and arms that can break you, but there's no safer place in the world for you than his embrace.

You love him.

Love. It’s not a word to use around Arlong, and you’re not sure if it will ever be. Love, in Arlong’s eyes, is a weakness, a human sentimentality, a silly dream fed by romance books and old tales of chivalry. So it’s a word that you do not allow yourself to voice.

It’s not that he’s not capable of caring. You know he cares about his crew, especially the Big Three. And there’s no doubt he cares about you. But Arlong is Arlong. The words he chooses to express his bonds with the people he cares about are more pragmatic. ‘Brother/sister’, ‘nakama’, or 'mate' are roles he assigns with respect.

You wonder if, in the future, Arlong will ever soften in his feelings towards this 'pathetic human sentimentality' because even though you accept that Arlong is the way he is, you'd be thrilled if one day he were to ever tell you that he loves you. Maybe you've spent too much time around humans and some of their notions have rubbed off on you...

“I’m happy to be your mate,” you say as you look up at him, placing kisses along his jaw as you hook an arm around his neck, your chest flush against his own as you drape a leg across his hip.

“Mmm. Good,” Arlong rumbles as he runs his hand through your hair. “You are a worthy mate, indeed. I could not ask for anyone more pleasing,” You feel his lips press against your forehead.

You did not realize it at this time, but that is one of his ways of telling you he loves you. You bask in his affection, studying how the moonlight drains nearly all the color from his skin to leave it a pale silver tinged with just a bare hint of color, the sun on his left chest standing out in a red so dark it's almost black.

‘I could hear you moaning outside the door before I came in,” Arlong comments. His fingers trail along your hairline. “And the scent of your heat… I’m almost surprised there wasn’t a pack of fishmen thronged outside,” he adds with a tone that is a mixture of lecherousness, smugness, and pride. You blow a raspberry at him, and he rumbles out a low laugh.

“You had best get some rest, Y/n. There’s plenty to do in the morning.”

“Only if you hold me,” comes your reply. He tightens his embrace, and you smile to yourself as you cuddle with him.

o0o0o0o

“I don’t think I’ll ever be used to that,” you comment as you see the headless body of Buggy the Clown struggle against his restraints for several seconds before going slack, a curious trophy among the prizes displayed in the games of Arlong Park. Arlong might have simply disposed of him as he has done to many others who challenge him, but in the clown's case, it was because he was trying to run his own operations in Arlong's territory.

However, this Devil Fruit user and his particular abilities have caught Arlong’s interest, so your captain has decided to make use of him as suits his skills. His head is safely secured within the building, on a level where just Arlong or his Big Three have access, at least when he’s not being used elsewhere. Chew has taken to taunting Buggy, keeping his head firmly tied in the sack while walking by the body several times, Buggy’s white glove-clad hands reaching uselessly for its head. The clown will protest, of course, but his head does not come out of the bag unless there is enough distance between the two parts of his body, or Arlong locks his body in a trunk as he’s done a few times. The clown was being especially mouthy this afternoon, so Buggy will be in solitary confinement for the rest of the night.

You have to admit, there's a certain charm about that human, at least when he's not being too annoying. You've kept mostly out of the way, simply listening as he goes back and forth with Arlong or Chew. It's a weird kind of dinner theater, and you have to admit it does make the park a bit livelier when Arlong puts Buggy's head on a table for show. On occasion, you feel bad for the clown, because hey, it has to be an absolutely weird experience being separated from your body and completely helpless to the whims of a pissed-off sharkman pirate captain.

The clown was quite resistant to his situation at first, but the need to be reunited with the rest of himself is wearing him down, and Arlong knows that. So the sharkman just shrugs and laughs at your comment while his crew sits around him, drinking, playing games, and gambling with their cut of this month’s tribute money while Buggy fumes and schemes and you have to admit to yourself that you wonder what the clown might do or say when Arlong brings out the head tomorrow morning. Buggy might not have intended it, but he’s now providing Arlong Park with entertainment, with Arlong as his defacto manager.

o0o0o0o

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” you whisper as you stroke the hair from Arlong’s face. The blue is cold and clear, terrifying when he is angry or predatory, and brings out the cool lavender tones in his skin.

But right now, you see his eyes gleam with warmth as he looks up at you. You press your lips to his temple as you caress his cheek. Several months have passed since that fateful night on the Marine ship. There is a definite shift in the way some of the fishmen regard you. Toma serves as a clear lesson – or two of them. First, do not assume that the mighty Captain Arlong will allow himself to be controlled by anyone. And secondly, don’t fuck with Arlong’s mate.

What’s done is done.

“Oh, before we get too comfortable, I have something for you.” He rises, the back of him almost as impressive as the front. His dorsal fin juts out from the wild mane of black hair that’s spread between his wide shoulders, and you are also afforded a nice view of a glorious ass and legs that almost seem to go on forever. You wonder what this little interlude will bring and what could distract Arlong from getting ready to climb on top of you as you know he was about to.

He pulls a small velvet bag from a desk drawer before returning to the bed. Your curiosity is piqued and he knows it.

He pulls out a stacked gold chain bracelet, seven strands of golden chains almost as thick as your pinky, connected at both ends with matching gold bars that clasp together. It is an ideal piece of jewelry for someone who spends a lot of time swimming, with no jewels or embellishments that are vulnerable to salt water. The design is simple but elegant, and you imagine how it will look on your arm. You wonder if there is any special occasion for such a lavish gift, and try to remember if there's any significance to today's date…

“I know I told you before that what is done is done,” you hear him say as you stare at the bracelet draped across his palm, shining that deep, rich yellow under the lamplight. You blink and look up at him in surprise.

“But I am asking you now.” He lifts his hand. “Do you accept?”

“Yes,” you breathe You repeat the word more loudly, lifting your left arm so that he can put the bracelet around your wrist. His large fingers struggle for a moment with the toggle clasp, but the bar slides home and the cool metal rests comfortably against your skin. It’s an appropriate complement to the thick gold chains around his wrist and neck.

“Looks good on you,” he comments. You regard him with a happy smirk.

“I know that’s not the only thing you have to offer,” you reply. Not that you’re not grateful for the gorgeous – and quite valuable – gift he’s just given you, but Arlong is Arlong. You know him too well, and the gleam in his eye tells you that he knows exactly what you meant. You can’t deny that Arlong was – is – right about you being his mate.

One might even call you his Siren, even if you do not count singing among your abilities. He’s inexorably drawn to you as you are to him, since the first moment you laid eyes upon one another, before either of you quite understood what you were feeling.

He rises on his knees, leaning over you, and the familiar lust surges fresh in you as you respond to instinct, your loins pulling toward him. A downward gaze reveals both of his cocks on full display, and there is no denying the visual appeal of an attractive man displaying his arousal for you.

“Arlong,” you purr as he closes in on you.

o0o0o0o

(Arlong’s POV)

His mother is lost forever. His father abandoned him. Even his sister became distant from him. Fisher Tiger was dead, and Jinbe… hm.

He leans over his mate, looking down at her as he strokes her arm and back, careful around the area on her shoulder where he’d bitten her. Marks from his nose were visible on her neck and cheek. There was another bite on her hip. He was careful to not do these sorts of things to her too often, and the mark on her cheek was no accident – he was mindful about his nose in regards to that lovely face of hers.

He will mark her again and again. The tattoo is not going away. Cum can be cleaned off, but he can always produce more, and enjoy himself while doing so. The bites and sawnose cuts heal and he is sincerely glad for that, for his mate’s sake. But there is something about the act of biting or marking her in itself, committing the deed on her, the thrill of knowing she is his and that she accepts and even welcomes it, tasting her blood and the vitality she brings into his life.

He places kisses along the puncture marks on her shoulder, careful with his nose as he nuzzles her. She is his mate, and he knows he will never let her go.

It honestly surprised him, what she'd said that night after he'd disciplined the fishman who'd tried to bully her. At that time, he didn't see why a seemingly small matter should bother her so much when she'd come to him freely. He did not doubt her loyalty or care for him.

He told her that what was done was done, and why not? He asked her if she objected to being his mate, and she said no. The matter was settled, and she accepted his amorous advances, making fierce love with him in the captain's quarters, christening his newly-acquired Marine ship. Life was good.

But what she said nagged him. It was such a small and trifling thing, so why should it bother him? And why was she bothered about it in the first place? It wasn’t until a conversation with his officers about tributes and collections that he started to understand. When he came here, he’d taken the island. Then the others surrounding it. And so on. He wanted something, he took it. He did not ask these weak humans if they wanted to be part of the Arlong Empire, or if they wanted to pay him tribute for their pathetic lives.

She wasn’t simply something to be taken – however much their intimate activities might indicate otherwise – but something to be valued. Making this simple gesture would make her feel valued, and didn’t she deserve to feel valued by the mighty Arlong the Saw?

Arlong hated to admit that he felt a bit nervous when trying to decide what he would give her as a physical reminder of this gesture. Finally, he’d decided upon the gold bracelet, something practical but valuable and a status symbol that speaks well of both its giver and recipient. And it did look good on her, the polished metal setting off the cool tones of her skin.

“You do know that this means I am never, ever letting you go, mate?” he asks with a growl, his hand running along her arm, feeling the gold on her wrist. Although he’d already made that decision a long time ago, he thinks with satisfaction, he would enjoy reminding her now and then.

She is his mate, the velvet glove to his iron fist, the voice of reason to his power and rage. He curls up around her protectively and possessively.

“Is the big, bad sharkman threatening me with a good time?” she replies with a smirk.

“Shahahahaha!”

o0o0o0o

And that’s how you got you some Arlong. All the Arlong, in fact.

SHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

This picture is what I imagined for the gift that Arlong gave Y/n.

[just-emerald-star]

I've been hooked on My Adventures With Superman for 3 weeks now and you know what, I now know why.

This is the first superhero/action media I've been obsessed with in a long while.

To be clear, I've been obsessed with The Spider-Verse films thus far and the MCU's last hold on me was WandaVision. But outside of those, not much else has caught my attention. And I finally understand why.

I'm fed up with cinematic universes.

There's a reason my relationship with the MCU broke off post WandaVision. After that show, I pretty much lost interest in having to watch what's next cuz shared universe lol and how they'll try really hard to convince you to see all the films & TV shows just so you can keep up with the universe.

Between the fact that I'm a broke bitch, movies being expensive and having spent 10+ years keeping up with ALMOST every fucking film the MCU has offered...I may be a bit burnt out ngl.

Combine that with my immense disappointment in how Young Justice S3 turned out or whatever the fuck the DCEU ended up being as of it's recent offerings and you just have me facepalming repeatedly for the past couple of years.

The studios wanna keep making these interconnected films but keep forgetting the most important part when creating their 10+ films & TV shows: They're all reliant on what's coming rather than what's in front of them.

There are exceptions but not by much. Regardless, I'm genuinely tired of hearing about plans for a rebooted universe or how the MCU plans on giving us more shows & movies but can't be bothered to pay their workers fairly and rush their CGI artists to near death.

Which brings me back to My Adventures With Superman (or MAWS as I'll be calling it going forward cuz long title lol.) This show was the first time an action/superhero show has me hooked. Action shows used to be my shit and I'd obsess over them. Young Justice was the last show to hype me up. And sadly that show fell into mediocrity as well due to it's inability to know when plots should end and having too many characters on screen.

MAWS however is solely focused on Superman characters and has a much smaller cast as a result. It's not focused on expanding any bigger universe but instead focus on Supes' beginnings and how he becomes the great man of steel who protects Metropolis. For once I don't worry about anything beyond what's being established in said show's plots.

I can't wait to see what's coming next at the moment cuz I know the season finale will tie up most of the plots established while leaving us hanging with what's coming for S2. And honestly, that's all I really want. More self-contained media that isn't reliant on having a shared universe.

"But what about the DCAU back in the day???"

All those shows worked and ended up coming together for Justice League quite nicely cuz EACH SHOW WAS MOSTLY SELF-CONTAINED AND FOCUSED ON ITS CORE CHARACTERS FIRST. They weren't entirely worried about Justice League. Even then, the crossovers were solid cuz they were often one-offs and damn good ones as well.

If they choose to have MAWS be the start of some DCAU reset, I'd be down for that but I'm also ok with just having self-contained superhero projects from here on out. I am completely burnt out from shared universes and the severe case of FOMO I get when I choose to save money.

TL;DR Go watch MAWS and support this lovely cartoon. Superman is back y'all and he's amazing (so are Lois & Jimmy too.)

If you made it this far, I shall leave you with this meme-worthy pic of my son Jimmy from MAWS. Enjoy <3

[astronnova]

because why did she say that "hunter's importance to the story and even his personality is entirely a fabrication of the fandom" and she suggests the only reason people care about hunter is because he's white.

people care a lot about hunter because they can see themselves in him, and his personality is there, it's just dana terrace did a thing called "show dont tell" so he isn't staring at the camera or the audience-surrogate and explaining his mental state. he's behaving naturally. people also really latched onto amity at the beginning and stuck with her because, news flash, people like the archetype! the snarky/mean rival character is nothing new and has always been loved by fans. amity became more mellow throughout the seasons and that's why a lot of love was sparked for hunter, because he started the same way amity did: like a snarky, condescending asshole. people like that kind of character.

in pokemon swsh, the reason people latched onto bede so much compared to hop is because, even though he's watered down, he's still basically the "jerkass rival" character. which, like i said, is something people like, especially in pokemon! the most popular characters are red and blue! and blue was an asshole, that was the whole point! yeah, bede was. really bland. but compared to happy go lucky friendly travel partner #6, its much more fun to have a pokemon battle against somebody you want to beat instead of someone you feel bad for winning against, especially if that someone is your game rival.

the reason why people commented so much about lois lane's suicide baiting in my adventures with superman is because its a new time period. the last superman origin that was widely seen was like. 2013 ish with the synder reboot of superman or something around then. where women's actions in stories were usually just played off as "oh, haha! silly girl love interest, you're so crazy!". but now, especially with the audience maws has, people notice that kind of behavior and aren't trying to slide it under the rug. the audience respects lois' character a lot because she's well written! and they treat her with respect by wanting to see her held accountable, just like how people want to see clark held accountable. the only difference is that clark in the show does own up to his mistakes while lois never owns up to the suicide baiting. especially in a show that takes a lot of effort portraying clark as clark, and not this emotionless guy like movies have been recently, you'd think they'd have an emotional conversation about it. hell even jimmy in the next episode says something emotionally intelligent about the situation while lois never even acts or thinks about apologizing for scaring clark to death.

and then the amber from invincible thing is. augh. because no one would have a problem with amber for being reasonably mad that her boyfriend keeps ghosting and leaving her. what ruins the audience's view on amber is the fact that she says "ive known you're a superhero". she knew, so she knew that mark wasn't ghosting her, he was off saving the world, or saving a city, or helping real people in a real way since she's very adamant about helping the needy. by having her know, it makes her seem like an asshole for still putting mark under emotional stress knowing he was being a superhero. no one would have cared this much if she just didnt know, but still dumped him. because thats reasonable on her end! what wasn't reasonable was her acting high and mighty because she already knew and still acted as if mark was just simply ghosting her and not. saving an entire city or something.

i wont comment on the other characters, because i dont know about the other pieces of media she's referencing, but god going off of what i know about the shows that i watched she is not making a good case here

and that sucks because she has a point, there is a lot of racist undertones in fandom that favor fairer skinned characters. but literally all of these examples aren't it.

lily orchard continues to prove she does NOT know what she is talking about dawg

[ratsmp4]

holding myself accountable .

i would like to start off by saying that no one is required to forgive me for what i've done, both in the past and in recent weeks . depending on how long you've followed me, you may have seen this post from a few months ago . it was poorly worded and written in a moment of anger, where i was not thinking straight . i was in a very dark place when i posted it, and i was encouraged by one of my good friends, who will not be named for their safety . additionally, you may have seen this callout post made by one of my former mutuals . if not, i encourage you to read over it, as it could provide much needed context about what happened .

more about the situation will be included under the cut .

Garrett is the protagonist of the Thief games - a cynical master thief who wishes nothing more than to be left alone to steal in peace, but who unwittingly becomes embroiled in a series of epic events.

Garrett exhibits a strong sense of survival and self-interest. While on the surface Garrett is callous, cynical and sarcastic, with loyalty only to himself, he does seem to have deeper feelings for a few of his contacts: Artemus, the Keeper that recruited and trained him; Basso the Boxman, a fellow thief; Cutty, his fence. In extreme cases this seems to extend to even to past antagonists such as Viktoria, although that may be a result of Garrett's own self-interest.

Garrett also exhibits a strong sense of professional pride as a thief: he usually refuses to kill while on the job, saying that he's a thief, not a murderer,[1] though Constantine and Karras died as a result of Garret's actions only because he was able to sabotage their evil plans. Lotus was a mercy killing, as he begged for death due to the inhumane conditions that Garrett found him in. Other than that, Garrett has not killed any humans in the Thief canon. It is implied Garrett also never steals from his allies or the poor.[Fact Check]

Orphaned, Garrett spent his youth on the streets surviving as a pickpocket and message runner.

One night, he saw Artemus walking on the street as people, 'just passed him by like he wasn't there'. Thinking the man had some valuables, he decided to make a grab. However, he was caught, and Artemus, impressed with his ability to see a Keeper, offered Garrett a new life. Garrett was then recruited into a secret organization known as the Keepers, dedicated to observing and maintaining stability in the City.[2]

Not much is known about Garrett's education with The Keepers, except the fact that he was given initial training in the arts of stealth and subterfuge practiced by the Keepers. But, he found that it was much more profitable to make use of these skills as a thief than to continue working for the Keepers as an agent.[3] He was called "the most promising acolyte" in the Keeper annals, but left around the age of 20 due to his "imbalance." It was brought before the council to deal with him using the Enforcers, but Caduca informed the council that Garrett would be needed in the future.[4]

At some point in time, Garrett is now working as an independent thief in the City, making contacts with people such as Basso the Boxman, Cutty and Farkus Bernard. Garrett's first known large score comes from stealing an expensive scepter from Lord Bafford. After which, he breaks into the Hammerite prison to spring his fence, Cutty (who dies while still in prison). This leads him deep into the old Hammerite catacombs looking for treasure. Shortly after this thugs working for the local Warden, Ramirez, attempt to kill Garrett for non payment of tribute. Garrett turns the tables, escaping and going on to humiliate Ramirez by looting his mansion, even going on to rob the local thieves guild. This brazen display of skill attracts the attention of Viktoria, a somewhat mysterious independent fence. She contracts Garrett to steal a magical sword from the eccentric nobleman, Constantine.

Upon successfully returning from Constantine's bizarre mansion, Viktoria reveals that she and Constantine are old associates who were testing Garrett. Constantine offers Garrett a fortune for the job of retrieving the gemstone known as The Eye. Getting to The Eye means Garrett must venture through the abandoned and walled-off Old Quarter of the City to the old Hammerite Cathedral. A mysterious catastrophe, rumored to involve great fires and many undead, caused the area's abandonment decades ago. Garrett finds the cathedral sealed, but the Eye itself tells him of an old Keeper library hidden nearby. Writings there tell of where the talismans that open the cathedral are hidden and how the Keepers almost revealed themselves in order to assist the Hammerites and the Hand Brotherhood in containing a great evil. The first talisman was found in a place called The Lost City, the ruins of an ancient civilization buried beneath the existing city, its entrance hidden by the Keepers. To get the second talisman, Garrett enters a Hammerite temple in disguise. The third talisman was kept with a brotherhood of Mages. The fourth lay inside Keeper secured caverns. Unbeknownst to Garrett, the Talisman was recovered by the guards of the Opera House above the caves. Successful, he then returns to the cathedral and collects The Eye from amid the many undead, escaping with the help from the ghost of Brother Murus, a long dead Hammerite priest.

Garrett visits Constantine to hand over The Eye and collect his payment. Instead of paying, however, Constantine reveals himself to be the fabled Trickster (aka The Woodsie Lord), the entity worshiped by the Pagans, and Viktoria, his consort.

They bind Garrett in vines and Viktoria plucks out one of his eyes, using it to seemingly activate The Eye stone, and leave him for dead. Some time later two Keepers find and free the unconscious Garrett from the vines. The Keepers then leave Garrett to escape by himself through the caverns beneath Constantine's mansion and amongst some new and strange beasts. Once he reaches the surface Garrett decides the only thing to do is visit the Hammerites and tell them about what has happened in the hopes they would provide assistance. He heads for the temple but discovers that the Trickster's minions have gotten there first. Venturing inside he finds the remaining Hammerites in a hidden sanctuary down in an underground cavern. With stealth being the only hope against the Trickster's army, the Hammerites provide Garrett with a booby-trapped copy of The Eye. Garrett descends into the Trickster's realm, where he finds the Woodsie Lord performing a ceremony with the Eye. Garrett stealthily swaps the Eye for its trapped copy, which then explodes, thus striking down the Trickster as he attempts to finish the ritual.

The coda shows Garrett walking back to town alone through the snow. Life appears to be returning to normal. A Keeper approaches, Artemus. The two converse and The Keeper warns Garrett, telling him of a book he should read, and that he can't run away from life. Close observation reveals Garrett now has a mechanical eye. Garrett rejects the Keeper's 'help' in his life and says to tell the other Keepers that "I'm through. Tell them Garrett is done". He then walks away into the city streets. Artemus answers quietly "I will tell them this: Nothing is changed. All is as it was written. The Trickster is dead. Beware the dawn of the metal age.", foreshadowing the sequel, Thief II: The Metal Age.

Garrett's role in The Metal Age begins innocuously. Garrett provides a favor to an old acquaintance, Basso, helping him rescue his love Jenivere, so that he may retire from thievery and elope. Next Garrett breaks into the dockside warehouses to get some extra cash for rent. It soon becomes clear that the City Watch, lead by the zealous Sheriff Gorman Truart, is waging a war on crime, brutally persecuting thieves and conducting nighttime raids on the poor neighborhoods with the intent of rounding up criminals. Truart stages a sting operation in an attempt to assassinate Garrett, but he escapes by using a Flash Bomb. With the newly strengthened police force making burglary more difficult, Garrett begins to wage a personal war against Truart, attempting to blackmail him into loosening his grip on the City by exposing his corruption. In the process, Garrett acquaints himself with the Mechanist Order, a splinter faction of the weakening Hammerites led by the charismatic Karras, whose robotic security devices have begun to guard the City's wealthiest businesses and residences. In addition, he discovers that the Mechanists are manufacturing some sort of weaponized "Servant," made from a human body and emitting a substance known as Rust Gas, and that Truart has agreed to round up vagrants under false pretenses to be used for the project.

When Garrett confronts Truart, he finds that Truart has been slain by a strange creature. Trying to unravel the conspiracy, Garrett reunites with Viktoria deep in the Maw. Viktoria identifies the Mechanists as the true enemy, and the two form a tentative alliance. The combined skills of Viktoria's pagan operatives and Garrett's stealth abilities reveal that the Mechanists are gifting the Servants to the City's nobility, and that they are working on a top-secret endeavour known as the "Cetus Project." The Cetus Project turns out to be a gigantic submarine, the Cetus Amicus, and that the Mechanists are using it to access the remains of The Lost City in search of ancient artifacts. By interrogating the head of the Cetus Project, Brother Cavador, the pair discover that the Mechanists have recovered an object known as a Cultivator, and that they have already begun mass-producing them and installing them inside of the Masked Servants. While Garrett stakes out the Gervaisius Estate and steals a mask and the prototype Cultivator, Viktoria's agents observe Karras hermetically sealing Soulforge Cathedral. The pair conduct an experiment with the Cultivator, revealing that the Servants could be commanded to release Rust Gas, which would react violently with the plant matter inside of wealthy nobles' gardens, wiping out all life in the city, with Karras safe inside of Soulforge Cathedral.

Viktoria claims that there is no time to spare and proposes a plan: Garrett must gain control of the beacon controlling the Servants and command them to return to Soulforge and trick Karras into releasing the Rust Gas, while Viktoria fills Soulforge Cathedral with plants, to wipe out the Mechanists instead of the city. Garrett claims the plan is "suicide", claiming he will think of a better plan, and re-affirms that he works alone. As he leaves, a Keeper informs Garrett that Viktoria has begun an assault on the Cathedral herself. Garrett hurries to the Cathedral but is too late to save Viktoria as she is attacked by an onslaught of Mechanist forces. Her dying action is to fill Soulforge Cathedral with plants, as promised. Left with no better plan, Garrett proceeds to assemble a new guiding beacon and redirects the Cathedral's signal towers back to the Cathedral itself. The plan succeeds, and Garrett locks the servants inside the Cathedral. When the rust gas is released, Karras is killed and Soulforge Cathedral is left in ruins.

Garrett returns to the Cathedral after the reaction is complete and is met by a Keeper, who explains that the events of The Metal Age transpired exactly as written, and that the prophecies contain even more predictions. Garrett, previously skeptical of the Keepers' mysterious ways, reluctantly requests to know more.

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 19/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain, Allan Schrieber Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting, Spiders Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: The group settles on a course of action much faster than Martin imagined they would.

Chapter 19 of my post-canon fix-it fic is up! Read at AO3 above or read here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Martin was still tired as they drew close to Hill Top Road the next morning. It wasn’t surprising; the best sleep he’d gotten, other than the first few hours he’d slept before the spiders, had been in Allan’s car on the way out. He’d slept completely through their stop in Canterbury, where Allan had picked up his lab equipment. He woke up with his head on Jon’s shoulder in the back seat of the car, just a few miles from their destination.

“Ow,” he said as he straightened up, his neck cracking.

“I told you you could stay home,” Jon said. “You barely slept.”

“Don’t.” Martin was cross as he rolled his neck, trying to work out the cramp, and Jon put a hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s all right.”

That about doubled the number of words they’d said to each other that morning—and now they were here, back at Hill Top Road. From the street, the house appeared less foreboding than it had the last time; it seemed brighter, somehow, despite the cloudiness of the day. Maybe the owner had been back—or maybe the most recent occupant had left.

Martin waited for Tim to get out of the seat in front of him, then got out of the car himself. He hadn’t really spoken to Tim directly since he’d shown up yesterday, and wasn’t at all sure how Tim was feeling toward him. He was therefore both reassured and taken back when Tim put a hand on his shoulder on his way to the boot of the car.

I must be looking pretty good, he thought. They’re not even asking if I’m ok anymore.

It was just the four of them; Elias and the others had opted to stay together at the house. Jon had of course wanted to go, and that meant Martin went too; Tim had also made up his mind to go once he knew Jon was going. Martin watched as Allan opened the boot and began to pull out a number of padded carrying cases of different sizes, handing a few to Tim as he did.

“I know I fell asleep, sorry—what exactly are you—”

“We’re going to attempt to measure this—gap between the dimensions.” He handed Martin one final bag, and closed the boot as he did. “All of these instruments are designed to measure different types of energy.”

“They’re all from your lab?”

“Most of them,” Allan said, a small grin on his face; Tim shook his head.

“If I get in trouble for any of that—”

“I told you, no one will even know they’re missing. We’ll get it all back this afternoon.”

“So wait—this will show what, that the gap—exists?” Martin asked.

Allan shrugged. “Well—in all honesty, not really. If we get no unusual readings, that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It could just mean we don’t know how to measure it. And if we do—it doesn’t really tell us why. It would just be—well, consistent with some combination of my ideas about the entities and dimensional travel, really.”

“Um—oh. Ok.”

Jon sighed, and Martin recognized it specifically as Jon’s impatient sigh. It was one he had heard a lot in the past, although not so much recently. He supposed from Jon’s perspective, it was kind of a waste of time to not really prove the existence of something he already knew was there. As far as Martin was concerned, though, they could take all the time they wanted.

As they approached the porch, Martin found his impression from the street had been correct. There were many fewer cobwebs on the porch than there had been the last time. The lock, however, was still broken when Jon tried the door, which suggested the owner had not been back.

“You think she’s gone?” he asked Jon.

“Yes.”

“Who?” Tim looked at them suspiciously.

“Annabelle,” Jon replied casually.

“Annabelle.” Tim halted at the top of the steps on the front porch. “She’s here? Was here?”

“Was. I would have said something if—" He trailed off as he saw the look on Tim’s face. “Yes, well, the point is she’s not here.”

“Sure,” Tim said, in a way that made it clear he was not at all sure, but he did follow the rest of them into the house.

“This way.” Jon led them back to the spot in the center of the house where the scarred floorboards resided.

He’s so confident. Martin remembered how different it had been the last time they were here. Jon had been so sick; he had been grasping at straws for any way to regain his connection to the Eye. Martin certainly hadn’t wanted that to happen, but he also hadn’t wanted him to be miserable. Now, though, Jon was pushing ahead, jumping in—he was eager, excited even. Given the circumstances, Martin didn’t like it much more than he had liked things the last time they were here.

“That’s it?” Allan said, staring down at the floor. “Not really what I was expecting.”

“Well—obviously it’s not the gap itself,” Jon explained with slight irritation, as if he were offended at Allan’s disappointment. “It’s a representation of it. Certainly someone would have reported it if it were a cavernous maw extending into the infinite reaches of—”

“Yes, all right,” Allan, unbothered, set down the equipment he was carrying and seated himself on the floor next to it. “Let’s see—Tim, bring those over here, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Tim set his bags down on the floor next to Allan and stepped back near Martin to observe.

“So I’m thinking—hmm—let’s just start with this.” He unpacked a small handheld meter and held it up for them to see. “This is a Geiger counter.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That’s for radiation, right?”

“Yes,” Allan replied, as he pressed a button and the instrument’s screen flickered to life. He looked up in their direction just long enough to catch the anxious look on Martin’s face.

“No need to worry,” Allan said cheerfully as he stood up. “I’ll be looking at this from several angles, and this is just somewhere to start. Don’t let the idea of radiation bother you. There’s some level of radiation around us all the time—background radiation, it’s completely—well, not harmless, exactly, but well within the bounds of what the human body can withstand. This particular instrument is sensitive enough that we should be able to see relatively minor deviations from what we’d expect.”

“Oh,” Martin said, not knowing what else to say.

“All right, here we go.” Allan held the instrument up in the air and pressed a button and waited while it emitted an uneven series of a few clicks, and then checked the screen. He repeated this several more times, then nodded.

“Well?” Tim asked.

“Oh, sorry. I haven’t really done anything yet, just measuring background levels. Nothing out of the ordinary, pretty much what you’d expect for this part of England. But now I’ll know what I’m comparing to when I measure—that.” He gave another unimpressed look at the jagged mark running over the floor before bending over it with the instrument in hand. He moved it close to the mark and repeated the same process of measurements—pressing a button and then waiting for the clicks, then repositioning it to another spot, pressing the button and waiting again. “Huh.”

“What?” Martin couldn’t read Allan’s expression at all.

“Nothing,” Allan said, shrugging as he stood straight again. “I was averaging in my head, of course, so I might not be quite right, but—it would be like taking your temperature and reading 37 degrees exactly.”

Martin was relieved, but Jon, standing apart from the rest of the group, did not seem to be feeling the same way.

“Well, let’s move on,” Allan said, returning to his equipment pile and choosing a new device. “Let’s try this one. It’s for—oh—electromagnetic fields, radio frequencies—it’s sort of a cheap piece of equipment, actually, not very precise—but it should give us a good general picture.” He squatted down next to the mark on the floor again, adjusted a dial on the instrument, and began to move it closer and further away. He adjusted the dial several times as he continued to move it around the floor.

“Still nothing,” he said after a few minutes, sitting back on his haunches.

“Then that’s not the right way to measure it,” Jon said.

“I said when we came in that was a strong possibility,” Allan said, but it was clear Jon didn’t like this turn of events. “I’ve got a few more things we can—"

“It’s here,” Jon said.

“Can’t you just know the right way to measure it, then?” Tim’s tone was sarcastic, but Jon paused.

“Well…” He concentrated for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Apparently I can’t.” His growing frustration was obvious.

“Hey.” Now that Martin was starting to feel a bit easier about everything, he felt a little bit bad for Jon. “That’s—that’s all right. That just means we’ll need more time to—”

Martin’s attempt at soothing him didn’t work. “But it’s right there. Damn it, I know it’s there. I can feel it, it’s like it’s just on the other side of—”

“Oh,” Allan said. Martin’s eyes jumped back to the instrument in his hand, still hovering just over the mark in the floor, and there was some kind of movement on the digital screen. A moment later, it had gone quiet again.

“What was that?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know.” Allan frowned. “It’s like there was a sudden—pulse of electrical activity. A lot of it.”

“Jon,” Tim said, looking over at him, “did you do something? While you were talking?”

“That couldn’t possibly—” Allan started to say, but Jon cut him off.

“Yes,” Jon said. “I—I don’t know, I was looking for the—well, really, the tape—it’s—”

“Oh,” Allan said again, as the numbers on the screen resumed their movement. He walked it intently over different parts of the floor, then moved it further away and then closer again. Martin couldn’t really follow the whole thing from where he was standing, but Allan’s body language was enough to concern him. “This—this doesn’t make sense. Even if—Jon, stop. Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

“All right.”

“Incredible,” Allan said after a moment had passed. “That really shouldn’t be possible. There’s no—” He stood and walked toward Jon, and extended the meter toward him. “Do it one more time.”

“Don’t—” Martin started.

“I’m all right,” Jon snapped, but then softened as Martin felt the slight sting of his tone. “I’m—I’ll be careful. I’m fine right now.”

Allan was concentrating hard as he looked at the screen. “What was—have you done it yet?”

“No, I was—”

“It’s just that—never mind. Do it again. If—if you’re ok.”

Jon nodded, and glanced briefly in Martin’s direction. “I’m ok.”

Martin watched as Allan moved the instrument around Jon for the next thirty seconds or so, again switching the dial several times.

“Well?” Tim asked, as Allan stepped away.

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “Tim, can you—can you fetch the Geiger counter for me again?”

Tim did, and Allan stood back from Jon as he held it up into the air again. They heard the occasional irregular click as he did.

“So for now, don’t, um—just don’t,” he said as he stepped toward Jon. The frequency of the clicks began to increase as he moved the meter closer to his head, and Allan made a small sound in his throat as he flipped a switch on the instrument. “Let’s just—keep the sound off for right now.”

Martin could feel some of the blood drain from his face.

“Ok, now—know something,” Allan asked.

“What?” Jon said. “Sorry, it’s always difficult to think of—”

“Anything. Just not the—the gap. I want to see if—”

“Did I have coffee or tea this morning?” Tim asked.

Jon thought. “Coffee.”

“Stop,” Allan said. “Stop.” He took a step back, white faced, and looked at Jon as if he had just appeared there.

“What?”

“Can I ask—how long did you say you’ve been doing this?”

“Knowing things? Uh—a few years? I mean—not always like this, at first it was much harder, and—"

“A few years.” Allan turned the thought over. “Ok. I’m going to say this once—because I think you should know. I don’t see—I don’t see how you’re—well, alive.”

There were long seconds of silence before Jon answered.

“I’m fine.”

Martin exploded. “You are not fine.”

“I just meant in the sense that—”

“I know, and—”

“I am alive. That is the point.”

More long seconds ticked by.

“You heal though, right?” Tim said quietly. “Like—after you—like when I found you in front of the Institute.”

“Yes.” A look of sudden understanding passed across Jon’s face. “Yes, that’s right. That—that would make sense.”

“Would it?” Allan looked at Martin. “You, um—sorry to—you’re—well, you’re sharing a room, so—I imagine you’re—close?”

Martin wasn’t sure what Allan was getting at. “Um—”

“Yes. He heals too. Or, he has, in the past.” Oh, Martin thought, after he heard Jon’s answer.

Oh.

“Wait. Are you saying that being near Jon is—”

“I don’t know,” Allan said. “I really don’t know. This is entirely unprecedented. It really shouldn’t—” He started to say something else, but hesitated.

“What?” Jon asked.

“I—” he hesitated again. “I want to do more tests, but I’m not sure if it’s—well, entirely ethical.”

“To ask me to keep going, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Allan looked at Martin.

“It’s not up to me,” Martin said.

Allan looked between Martin and Jon. “I’m, uh—I’m going to run out to the car for some extra equipment. Tim, come with me? I could use your help.”

“Sure,” Tim answered, and followed him out.

Martin waited a moment after they were gone, then said quietly, “I’m not sleeping away from you.”

“Martin.” Jon walked over to where he was standing and reached out to touch Martin’s hand. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

“Good.” He had more to say, but he didn’t.

“Come on. That’s not what this is about. You don’t want me to do this.”

Martin sighed. “Fine. No, I don’t. I don’t want you to do any of this. Not just the tests, or whatever. Like—any of this.”

“I have to,” Jon said. “You know that.”

“Why do you think I didn’t say it? I can’t stop you. And I’d rather you not shut me out.”

“Martin, that—” He stopped himself, and squeezed Martin’s hand instead. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Martin let his hand fall away as Allan and Tim returned; Allan had put on a long-sleeved lab coat, and was holding a pair of gloves and a mask. “Just a precaution,” he said. “If you want to go ahead.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “I do.”

Martin watched as Allan pulled out yet another meter from a different bag. “Martin—can you hand me that?” he asked, indicating the case Martin was still carrying. He’d forgotten about it.

“Oh. Sure.” Martin handed it to him and he began to unpack that as well.

“So—this is so I can record the readings,” he said, as he pulled some wires out and began to connect them to the new meter. “And this is—it uses a more powerful method of detection than the Geiger counter. It’s not as sensitive, but that’s, uh—well, that’s not going to be an issue.”

Martin suddenly realized how much he didn’t want to be there anymore.

“I’m going outside. I’ll just be out front.” Without waiting for anyone’s reaction, he made his way back to the front of the house. He stood on the porch, his arms folded and resting on the railing. He looked out over the lawn. The rest of the neighborhood, apart from this house, really was a suburb. It seemed nice enough; maybe not a great neighborhood, but not a bad one, certainly. It hadn’t really done anything to deserve this awful place.

He sat and watched the clouds roll overhead and wondered it if would rain. He tried not to think too much about what was going on inside the house, what they were doing and where it would lead. He had no idea how long he had been standing there when he became aware that he wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” Tim said, as Martin looked over at him.

“Hey,” Martin answered, then went back to looking up at the sky. “So—what’s going on in there?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said. “It’s like some sort of weird playdate? It’s over my head. Allan keeps turning dials and saying things like incredible and amazing and then Jon—”

“Never mind,” Martin said. “Just—is he keeping himself together? Jon, I mean?”

“He seems to be.”

They looked out at the sky and lawn together.

“Martin,” Tim said eventually, “I know I said this before, but I want you to know I meant it. Jon is lucky to have you.”

“Hm.”

“Listen, I know—I know this has to be hard for you. Before we—before we make any decisions, I want you to know that—”

“Don’t,” Martin said coldly.

“All right.” Tim nodded and returned to looking back over the railing. “Do you want to be alone?”

No, Martin thought. I don’t ever want to be alone again. He wanted to scream it.

Instead, he just said, “Not particularly.”

“Good,” Tim said. “I don’t particularly want to go back in there.”

***

“So—wait,” Melanie said, looking at Allan over her half-empty dinner plate. “You’re saying you don’t really know anything at all, then?”

“Well, yes and no.” He was struggling to find words as they sat together in the great room again. “What I’m saying is—from a scientific perspective, which of course is why I’m here—there’s no way to know what any of this means. I’ve never heard of anything like this before. It’s completely unique, as far as I know.”

“So we can’t prove there’s a gap between dimensions, and we can’t prove the entities exist,” Sasha clarified.

“Correct,” Allan said. “I can’t even begin to suggest a mechanism for anything I saw today.”

“But you did see something today,” Melanie prodded.

“Well—yes,” Allan said. “That’s an understatement. We saw massive fluctuations of energy just—across almost the entire spectrum. And—again, I have no way to explain it or understand it, but—Jon does appear to be able to manipulate it, to some extent.”

“Well, that’s definitely something,” Melanie said. “You said you recorded your readings. Do you think you’ll learn anything else from going back through them?”

“Not—not in a way that could help us. It will take years to even begin to make any real sense of this. As—as a scientist. To be perfectly clear, I—I can’t vouch for any particular course of action. I have no way of verifying that there has ever been any travel across dimensions, or that—starting an apocalypse would provide the energy required to do it again, or—or that anything we discussed yesterday is even a possibility.”

“As a scientist,” Georgie repeated. “What about—as a person? What do you think?”

“I’m—I’m not sure that’s really what’s important here.”

“Yes, it is.” It was one of the few things Elias had said at all since they’d come home.

“I agree,” Sasha said. “I’d like to know what you think.”

“Well—personally”—he looked around at the group— “after what I’ve heard from all of you, and after talking with Elias last night—I believe Jon.”

It was quiet for a moment as the group absorbed this. Martin’s stomach, which had already rejected even the concept of any food he’d thought about putting in it that night, tightened painfully.

“Ok,” Georgie said slowly. “Well—for the sake of argument—Jon, do you really think you could do it? Could you—could you really move us to another dimension? In a way that—well, will actually help things?”

“I can do it,” Jon said, without hesitation.

“No,” Martin said.

The discomfort was tangible; Martin could tell nobody wanted to speak.

“Martin,” Sasha finally said, “why—why are you so against this?”

“I’ve already said. It’s too dangerous.”

“So you think he can’t do it? That it won’t work?”

Martin drew his hand down firmly over his mouth.

“Say what you have to say,” Jon urged him. Martin didn’t care for how calm he was. “They should hear it.”

Martin stared at him. “Ok, fine. Fine, I’ll say it. If you think you can do it—I’m sure you can. I’m just not sure you will. What if—what if this time—what if the Eye finally just takes you?”

“It won’t. It didn’t last time.”

“Didn’t it?”

“No. Not—not like that. I still—I still got to choose.”

“And we still don’t know what Annabelle’s been trying to get you to do.”

“She doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, really?”

“Do you believe me that I’ll never let them out of here? The entities? That’s what she wants.”

Martin paused; he knew his panic was coming across to everyone. “Yes. But that’s not—even if you don’t—look, if it fails, that’s it for us. We’re stuck in an apocalypse. This world is stuck in an apocalypse. You said that yourself.”

“And it’s still true. It is a risk. But I don’t think I’ll fail.”

“But what happens to you? What if—what if we lose you?”

Jon looked away.

“Jon?” Georgie prompted.

“It’s—it’s a possibility.”

“How much of a possibility?” Georgie asked.

“It’s—um—” Jon cleared his throat. “It’s not unlikely.”

“I see,” Sasha said.

“That matters, right?” Martin somehow managed to get the words out. “Tell me that matters to the rest of you.”

“Of course it matters,” Sasha said. “I didn’t—"

“No, it doesn’t,” Jon said.

“Jon—”

Several people began to talk at the same time, but it was Tim who won out.

“Listen,” he said. “Listen. I know—I know this is going to sound awful, but—I agree with Jon.”

“It does sound awful,” Sasha reprimanded him. “It sounds completely awful.”

“Just hear me out.” Tim spoke his words slowly and deliberately. “If I were Jon—if I could stop this—if I had this chance to—to save the people they haven’t hurt yet—I would. I wouldn’t hesitate. And I wouldn’t want anyone to stop me.”

“Yes, you would,” Jon said. “You did.”

“And—I know I’ve been angry—but this isn’t about that. It’s not because I blame him. It’s because he’s the only one who can. I think—I think this should be Jon’s choice. That’s all.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Jon was still calm, controlled. Martin hated it.

Tim briefly met Martin’s eyes before looking down to the floor in front of him. “And I wouldn’t wait. I’d—I’d want to just do it. If we really can’t learn anything else, I say we do it soon. Tomorrow, if we can. Prevent as much further damage as possible.”

“I agree,” Jon said.

“No,” Martin said. “That’s insane. Are you insane?” He looked around at the group; none of them would look back at him. “Have you all lost your minds? Are you considering this?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sasha said, finally raising her face. “Are we?”

“Jesus Christ.” Martin got to his feet, not really sure where he was going; he was halfway there before he realized he was headed for the door to the back of the house. Behind him, he heard several people speaking, although he had no idea if they were talking to him; he couldn’t process it anymore. He couldn’t think at all until he felt the cool night air on his face. He stopped, heart pounding, and crumpled onto the porch against the back of the house. For the first time in his recent memory, he wanted to cry; of course, now he couldn’t make the tears come.

Behind him, he heard the door open and close.

“Go away.” He didn’t really care who it was.

“I’d rather not.” Beside him, Jon lowered himself onto the porch; for some reason, Martin had assumed it would be one of the others. He was surprised to find he felt slightly mollified. “We don’t have to talk. It’s just—I don’t have anywhere else I want to be right now.”

“Come off it. Go back in and keep explaining why you need to martyr yourself.”

“I’ve said what I need to say. It’s better if they talk without us.”

Martin sighed heavily. “They’re going to go for it, aren’t they?”

Jon didn’t answer him. Instead, he moved closer to Martin, leaning into him and resting his head on his shoulder. Hollow as he felt, Martin didn’t even think; his automatic response was to put his arm around Jon, pulling him in even closer. He pressed his lips to the top of Jon’s ear.

“We never had a chance, did we,” he said. “The two of us.”

“We still might.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“I never believed we’d be here, either.” Jon said.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Jon turned so that his back was against Martin’s chest, and Martin did what he always did; he slipped his hand up under the edge of Jon’s shirt, bringing it up to the scar on Jon’s ribcage. Instead of protesting or merely tolerating it, though, this time Jon brought his own hand to rest over Martin’s on the outside of his shirt.

“I loved you here too, you know,” Jon said quietly. “Before this, I mean. In this world.”

“Oh, I know,” Martin said.

“Well. Here I thought I was making a grand romantic confession, but—never mind, I guess.”

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” He kissed Jon’s temple softly by way of apology. “Thank you. I just meant now that—now that we’ve been together, now that I know what you’re like when you—it’s sort of obvious, looking back. Plus, there was your pin.”

“My pin?”

“You know—when we had forgotten everything when we first—and you couldn’t remember your pin number on your laptop.”

“Oh,” Jon said, and even in the dark Martin saw a smile play across his lips. It had been too long since he had seen Jon smile. “Right. I used your birthday. That’s—is it odd that I feel embarrassed?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Sasha just—she insisted I set it in front of her, and then she kept guessing them—”

“Because you kept typing 1234.”

“Well—yes, but—anyway, it just came into my head, and I knew no one would ever guess, because—because I was never going to tell anyone how I felt. Especially not you.”

“Yeah, well—I wasn’t going to either.” He held Jon tighter. “We’re a couple of idiots. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” Jon turned his face up and back, and Martin couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Martin,” Jon said, “I know—I know I’ll never change your mind.”

“If it were me, you would never go along with it. You would never let me—you didn’t, actually.”

“I—” Jon paused. “No. You’re right. I’m asking you to do something I couldn’t do.”

“Thank you.”

“I just—I want you to understand. I want you to hear me.” He paused.

“I’m listening.”

“Nothing will ever fix what I’ve done.”

“You didn’t do this. Jonah Magnus did this. The Web did this. The—never mind. Go on.”

“Nothing will ever undo it. Every day I think about—about Sasha. And Tim. And Daisy. The other ones, the ones who—and an entire world of human beings who suffered because of things I did. And then there’s everyone here in this world who—none of them should ever have—” Jon’s voice cracked. “But I can stop it. I can make it so it doesn’t get worse. Or at least—at least give it a real chance. And I have to try.”

“And you have to try tomorrow.”

“Tim was right, Martin. Every day that passes like this is—”

“Tim is just worried about Danny.”

“Is that wrong of him?”

“I—no. No, I guess not. My point is just that it’s not like he’s—it’s still completely selfish.”

“He’s not being any more selfish than you.”

“I know that.” His chest ached as he breathed in, and he sighed reflexively. Jon turned just enough to tuck his head against Martin’s collarbone, and he felt his chest loosen just a little. “Ok, but really—what about Annabelle? That’s not being selfish. We both know what she wants—but we have no idea how she’s trying to get it. And we’re probably walking into it.”

“Probably.”

“Well then, why—”

“Because I don’t intend to give it to her.”

“But that’s exactly the point, we don’t know how—”

“Do you really think that waiting will solve that? Even if she is trying to push me—do you really think that she won’t just—change tactics? Adapt?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“If we wait to—I don’t know, learn something, let something happen that she doesn’t want—do you really believe she won’t have some other plan?”

He hadn’t ever thought that far ahead, to what would happen after they waited, whatever that meant. He realized with a sinking heart that no, he didn’t really believe it.

“But then—why are we doing anything at all? Why are we even bothering? If we can’t ever do the right thing—”

“Because we have to try. I have to try. I just do. Doing nothing would be—and maybe—maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Yeah. That—that’s our thing, for sure. Luck.”

Jon reached for Martin’s free hand, the one that wasn’t against his heart, and pulled it to his mouth; he kissed each knuckle in turn. “We haven’t been entirely unlucky.”

Martin was out of things to say. Once more, Jon had already won. Everyone in the room behind them was deciding to go ahead with this stupid plan. There was nothing he could do that was going to stop it.

Well—as he thought about it, he did have one more thing to say.

“Jon—I don’t—I don’t want to go into this like—like last time. So—just so you know—nothing’s changed. I’m going with you. Wherever that is.”

Jon held his breath for a moment before answering. “And if I can save you—"

“Then you’d better save both of us.”

“Martin—”

“No. You know what’s out there for me without you, and—I don’t want it. You can’t—" Jon turned suddenly in his arms, so that Martin’s hand slid from his ribs to his shoulder.

He kissed him.

“Jon—”

“Please.”

They were still kissing several minutes later when Jon abruptly sat up; he opened his mouth to say something, but then learned back in toward Martin.

“No,” Martin said, putting a hand up to Jon’s face. “You know something, don’t you? They decided and you know.”

Jon nodded, sliding his hand over Martin’s as he did. “Yes.”

“Ok.”

“They want to do it. Tomorrow.”

***

It was hours later; Martin didn’t know how long he had lain awake. He’d come back to the bedroom on his own at first; he’d stayed for some of the planning, listened to their excitement, their nerves, their arguing—but it had quickly gotten to the point where he couldn’t do it anymore. He knew where he would be anyway, and that was with Jon; he had nothing else to contribute. The looks he’d gotten when he’d stood up had been seared into his consciousness, a mixture of worry and pity.

“Martin,” Sasha called to him as he was leaving, “are you—”

“Yes,” he’d said.

He’d gone to brush his teeth before getting in bed. He didn’t know what possessed him, particularly, but when he saw his reflection in the mirror, he did something he hadn’t done in a long while. He removed his shirt to look at his own scars. They were still there; they were exactly the same as they had been on the day he’d first seen them, dark red to pale white, torn and jagged and alternately smooth.

He was tired, he’d realized. He wanted to sleep, of course, he was still exhausted from the night before—but it was more than that. This was all just enough. Maybe it was all right. Maybe he and Jon had already had more time than they were meant to. Maybe it was time to let it go. Just—just so long as he didn’t end up alone.

He’d gotten in bed. He’d almost fallen asleep before Jon had come in, but after Jon had undressed and slipped under the sheets next to him, the restlessness had begun. Each time Jon moved, or sighed, or breathed even a little bit out of rhythm, Martin’s brain nudged him awake again. And now, here he was, sleepless and empty.

He breathed out, trying to reset his mind.

“Martin.”

“Sorry.” He’d thought Jon had been asleep.

“What—no, don’t apologize, just—go to sleep. You need rest for tomorrow.”

“I can’t.”

There was silence, and for a moment, he thought Jon had drifted off again.

“Martin, I’m—I’m not leaving you. I won’t go without you. You need to sleep.”

“I—I know.” He was lying, and Jon knew he was lying.

“Martin, this isn’t—this isn’t like last time. For one thing, I’d—I’d have to steal a car to get back to London on my own. All right? Can you trust me?”

Martin swallowed; that was exactly the problem, he realized. “I want to. I just—”

“Ok. All right. You’re right, of course you—that’s not fair for me to ask. I—hang on.” He saw the light from Jon’s cell phone; he heard him stand up and rummage through the suitcase on his side of the bed before sitting down on the mattress again.

“Jon—”

“Here. Give me your hand.” He held up his arm; Jon grabbed his hand, and Martin realized Jon was trying something around their wrists in the light from the phone.

“What—”

“It’s an old drawstring that pulled out from a pair of shorts. I never took it out of my suitcase.” He grabbed one end of the string in his mouth and pulled with his other hand. “There. I can’t possibly untie that without waking you up.”

“Are you going to be able to sleep?”

“I think so.” Jon turned off the light on his phone, and Martin felt the tug on his arm as Jon leaned over to put it back on the table next to the bed. “Anyway, I’m—I’m all right. You’re—not.”

“This—” Martin started to laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yes. It is. Does it matter?” Jon interlaced his fingers with Martin’s and carefully folded up their bound arms between them; he brought his head to rest on the pillow next to Martin’s shoulder.

“I—I guess not.” He didn’t even realize he was finally crying until Jon reached up with his other hand to touch his cheek. He felt better for it, somehow; feeling something was good. It was better than the emptiness.

“Sleep.”

He did.

[arkannis]

Hello,

I just recently got into the Old Republic Fandom, and the Eternal Empire is my favorite arc. I do wish there was more story content to give more development to the characters, particularly in Arcann's case. While I love his romance scenes, I wish there were more scenes about his redemption and relationship with the Outlander or a dark side ending where the Outlander or Arcann takes the throne with the other as a consort. I found your blog while trying to find content further developing his character. Thank you so much for posting all your headcanons and musings!

With that being said, what are your headcanons for Zakuul culture? And could you post a masterpost compilation of your Arcann headcanons? I am trying to find the post where the romance novels headcanon originated in the tags and not having much luck.

Hope you have a nice day!

Hi anon!! Sorry for a late reply. First I’ll answer the second part of your message. The romance holonovels headcanon originated from the this post ; the post doesn’t outright say it, but some people in the tags (when they reblogged it) mentioned that Arcann probably seemed like the type to read romance in his free time. As of what I can remember the tags were from this reblog and this other reblog and both say that Arcann reads romance holonovels. The continuation of this headcanon were in replies or tags, so it’s hard to track them all down! Secondly, my Arcann tag is a mess, and I probably threw in multiple headcanons in reblogs or tags so it would be hard to find them all... I’ll think about making a masterpost, but I don’t think I have time for something like that right now. Ok, now that’s over with... I 100% agree with you, anon! I HAVE so many things to say about the possibility about that dark side ending. I don’t think devs were planning to make Arcann a possible romance option in the beginning, so it wouldn’t have been possible to be his LI and rule as emperor/empress. I also agree with the development of the characters... however, Arcann’s redemption and relationship with the Outlander was definitely rushed, because the plans to make a third expansion was apparently cancelled due to the backlash from fans who wanted pub vs. imp back. I made a whole post complaining about that... Otherwise, I definitely think they would have had more time to flesh out his characters and the other Zakuulan characters as well (Vaylin, Senya, Koth, etc.). I’m like pretty much sure content was cut out from KOTFE/KOTET to make them shorter. Due to such lost content, I have to create my headcanons from extrapolation based on the Sacrifice trailer, available codex entries, existing dialogue, and implications of existing issues. As well as other people’s hcs and commentary!! WARNING: SUPER LONG BULLET POINTS for Zakuulan culture headcanons.

The reason why I don’t have that many Zakuulan culture headcanons is because.... I feel like it’s so weirdly explored in the expansions.

I think the arts is a big thing in Zakuul! The Dragon’s Maw chapter gave me that kind of vibe. I also discussed this mildly (not) with Arcann. Most specifically THEATRE, PERFORMANCE AND SINGING. 

Evidence: Senya sings and composes and there’s the famous Zakuulan holoperformer, Malita Tal. No, I don’t have evidence for theatre, but honestly? Zakuulans are so goddamn dramatic, they most definitely have reality TV series or drama series... 

arcann be like oh you listen to malita tal? name all of her albums in alphabetical order or you get exiled

Zakuulan culture most definitely has idol culture, based on Malita Tal (and reportedly her performances were watched by millions). And those fans apparently also protested against Arcann’s rule. personally i think if they had twitter the u.s. gov*rnment would be wiped out.

I just think singing is a big thing in Zakuulan culture. I mean, even Valkorion sings (if you decide to kill Senya, his force ghost appears. They both have an exchange and it’s actually sweet for like 0.1 second). 

I also think there would be typical Zakuulan fairytales embedded in the culture. Hear me out. Most specifically those type of royal fairytales with the princes and princesses. This can be heavily contributed to the fact that a royal family is essentially in power. 

You cannot expect me to believe not a single person in Zakuul has written a Prince Arcann x reader holofic. You just can’t. Or Prince Thexan. Actually, I think Thexan would be more common, I think he was perceived to be more compassionate and kind compared to Arcann by the common folk? Since I know there’s that NPC dialogue where one of them goes how different it would be if Thexan took the throne instead. 

The fairytales would probably involve a lot of references to the Old Gods. I kinda imagine that the enemy would be some sort of serpent, that is, Zildrog, because apparently he’s just a bedtime story to scare children away. 

I think these Zakuulan fairy tales would contribute to the theatre and performance, acting culture that Zakuul has. 

Furthermore, I just think the Tirall kids probably read these fairytales as well. francis dont talk about arcann reading again

I want to talk about the Old Gods and that religion, which is one of my favorite things ever... probably because the Gods are machines. Superweapon machines... ok ill shut up

Even if Valkorion basically got rid of the religion, it’s clear that the religion is still incorporated into heavy talk in Zakuulan culture (e.g. eyes of Esne, heart of Scyva). 

My headcanon is that there are sanctuaries or small secret churches (?) for those who want to worship the Old Gods. Obviously the Herald of Zildrogs who believe in the Old Way are a cult, so I think people would look for an alternative. 

I think there would be great effort to hide these places, as it can get you exiled. Thus these would probably be located in the Old World, rather than in a more obvious position like the Spire. 

The beliefs of the Old Ways isn’t exactly clear, they aren’t exactly touched upon, which is a shame. I think people would ask for help from each of these gods depending on what they want.

Those who ask for Izax’ guidance want to seek success, accomplishments, power, and glory.

Those who ask for Scyva’s guidance ask for her to guide souls peacefully to death (she is described as someone who weeps beside Zakuulans as they march towards Izax - basically death) , or ask for help/compassion from her. Maybe maternity as well? Or parental love?

Those who ask for Aivela (goddess of passion) want her to guide them with her passion (Aivela accompanies Tyth, who is kind of a god of war/warrior). I think there would also be romance related stuff as well. If someone asked for help regarding their love related issues, it would probably be from Aivela!

I’m not sure about Esne - but maybe in a similar sense, if someone is suffering with jealousy - in any situation, they would ask guidance from her. I don’t know where I read this but I think the “eyes of Esne” expression meant like having eyes of jealousy.

Nahut? I don’t think he was worshipped.  “Nahut was considered to be gray, formless and cold, and was denied worship by all except his mother Scyva.” But regardless, I think he still had a role to play. 

After the Outlander takes the throne, and Zakuul renounces their membership from the Eternal Alliance, I think people would be allowed to openly express their religious beliefs, that is, the Old Ways. Oh, personally I headcanon that they would build beautiful places of worship in the Spire with similar geometrical pyramid designs...!! 

Yeah...I think that’s all I got! I’ll need to see how I can somehow make this post easily found, lol. This is quite a long list, and I have to emphasize that these are my headcanons! They are based on what I see and I just kind of fill in the gaps to fit my own stories. This took a while to write because I KNEW I had these headcanons, but they just didn’t appear at the time I saw this anon ask. Anyways, I’ll probably create more headcanons in the future. Also:

a dark side ending where the Outlander or Arcann takes the throne with the other as a consort

I have so many things to say about this. I know the game won’t permit it, because if you think about it, both the light side choice (Eternal Alliance) and the dark side choice (Eternal Empire) are happy endings for your characters anyways. They can continue as the “hero” or the “protagonist”, so I don’t think this route could ever be implemented. However, I think it would be absolutely interesting if throughout the gameplay, players are given a choice to flirt with Arcann. The Outlander and Arcann agree to get rid of Valkorion, but thats if the Outlander decides to betray the Alliance and joins Arcann instead. And should they join him, they have the choice to romance him... and I guess it’s a happy ending for you both :P Obviously this won’t happen, but maybe it will. I wouldn’t mind being the prince consort of Arcann lol idk! me and vaylin are gonna be besties and we’ll paint each others nails or something Oh and have a nice day too anon...!!

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (kmart’s haunted)

Summary: (part 1) Reader has joined Douxie on the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company. (part 2) - Missouri 1     (part 3)

Warnings: swearing, very light spooky?

Word Count: 2245

A/N: so we’ve established that Doux wasn’t the one who burnt the bookstore, but they don’t know that. look, have you been in a Kmart recently? its apocalyptic. also, you know that post about people repeating their default work greetings by accident? yeah

“Do you want me to split the bill or?” The waitress asked, not sure if the group at the table was a young couple and their child or just three college kids hanging out. It was kind of hard to tell. On one hand, that one kid was so small, wearing a little deer costume, and had been helped to order. The other two radiated the energy of an old married couple and talked mainly to each other. But on the other hand, college kids are just like that sometimes.

“Nah, I got it.”

“What? No. I’m paying for us.” Douxie insisted.

“I have the cash, Doux.” (Name) turned to the waitress. She put some honey in her voice. “Just bring us one bill, please.” The waitress nodded nervously before heading off.

“No. I don’t want you paying for too many things while we’re traveling. You’re unemployed.”

“And who’s fault is that Mr. Mephits-Are-Vulnerable-To-Fire? You fucking burned down the store and put us both out of work here.” Nari was squirming at the negative vibes going on. It helped that she didn’t exactly understand what was going on.

“It was magic fire!” Douxie interjected in outrage. He looked so cute when he got defensive.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” (Name) shook her head, looking up to the ceiling. She let out a huff, “look, I invited myself onto this trip, Douxie. I want to pull my own weight. You’re going to have to let me pay for something eventually.”

“We’ll see about that, Love,” he said as he grabbed the ticket from the waitress’s hands as quick as lightning, tucked his card in and gave it right back before (Name) could further protest.

“Ugh! FINE! Then I’m getting the tip.” She pulled out a tenner and slapped it onto the table. She glared right back into Douxie’s hazel eyes. He glared right back into hers with a matched intensity. Nari looked back and forth between the two and whimpered. (Name) broke the standoff to assure Nari that they weren’t actually angry at each other so she shouldn’t be worried. That seemed to ease the forest child a bit but not by too much. She could still feel the weird aura they were putting off.

“Okay! So here’s your check back and here’s that lox bagel you ordered to go.” The waitress handed (Name) a doggy bag.

(Name) took the bag gingerly. A big fake smile spread across her face as she was momentarily possessed by that good spirit of customer service. “Thank you! I hope your experience was spellbinding! Have a magical day!” (Name) said on autopilot in that high-pitched voice and winked exaggeratedly. It was like she was an NPC and her talk button had been accidentally pushed. The waitress laughed forcibly and scurried away to the kitchen. Douxie cracked up.

“You do know that when I told you to say all that stuff after ringing people up, I was hazing you, right?”

“Oh yes, I am completely aware, Doux. Did you think I’d not pick up on how ridiculous that sounds? But I still say it to spite you.”

He shook his head. “Of course.”

***

Archie scarfed down his bagel sandwich with almost disturbing speed. It was like watching the void consume, well, a bagel sandwich. It just disappeared. Down his furry maw and out of existence. Being a dragon works up an appetite, after all. (Name) was a bit baffled and asked him if she should go get him another bagel. He assured her that the one was just fine and said something about trying to catch some birds later. She leaned back on her elbows against the boat’s railing, trying and failing to not think about the details of that.

Douxie cleared his throat. “So,” He folded his hands together for emphasis, “Since the subject of money came up earlier, I think we should also discuss the topic of our accommodations.”

“Well, you two obviously cannot afford lodging every night.” Archie snarked, flicking his tail.

“Thank you, for that, Arch. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a tent.”

“A tent?” the cat asked incredulously.

“Oh, that could work.” (Name) pointed at Douxie animatedly, “keep us close to nature for Nari. And also could keep our possible property damage bills down. Good idea, Doux.”

“Thank you,” Douxie puffed up, “see Arch? Someone appreciates my ideas-”

“Wait. That’ll be a short-term solution. We’re just barely into September. It’s going to be much, much colder in about a month. By October it’ll be too cold to bear. Even if we all huddle together like penguins.”

Doux looked away to hide his blush at the suggestion. “That is a problem. Okay, um-”

“Maybe we could just cross that bridge when we get there? Who knows what could happen between now and then. We could find so temp work in a little town somewhere.” (Name) shrugged, smirking at Doux. She didn’t want to admit that ‘we could be dead by then’ was also definitely a possibility on the table, so she tried to further distract from that thought. “Maybe we’ll find a creepy abandoned cabin in the woods we can squat in. Maybe some nice trolls will take us in as novelty pets. Maybe my rich Aunty Josie could just suddenly die under some ‘mysterious circumstances’ and leave her lavish fortune to her beloved niece,” she smirked at Doux, “I dunno, just spit ballin’ here.”

“I’m electing to ignore that you just suggested we ice your aunt because you were onto something there.”

“I was?” Her tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disbelief.

“Yes! New Jersey!

“New Jersey?” The wheels turned. “Oh! New Jersey!”

Nari looked confused. “What is special about this ‘New Jersey’?” she asked

Both Douxie and (Name) turned to her, “Trolls.” They said in sync.

***

(Name) stood there with her hands in her pockets. Somehow this Kmart was still standing, out here in The-Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere, Missouri. She was standing here, in a Kmart. It might as well have been 1986. There was barely anything on the shelves. Half the shelves themselves were missing. The floor had a layer of grime to it, in spite of the wet floor sign along with the shiny patches that said that it had clearly been mopped recently. The air smelled like something (Name) couldn’t quite place, but it was nostalgic. A strange scent that took her back to her childhood. Or at least she thought it was her childhood. It had to have been. Taking deep breaths, she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

Continuing that vibe, a muzak 80’s tune played over the speakers. Funny enough, despite (Name)’s brain seeming to recognize that it was playing a song from the 80’s, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it as to which. Every time she thought she’d figured it out, she’d hear a few notes that would somehow change her mind. It was a pop song at least, to narrow it down. It’d been going on for about six minutes now. Must be one of those extended tracks.

She’d ask Douxie what he thought the song was. She turned her attention to him and noticed he was still just staring at that same shelf like he had been for, what, ten minutes now? Even though this fucking Kmart barely had any shelving in it, by some miracle it not only had exactly what they were looking for but an entire aisle of them. How lucky was that.

Douxie was taking very careful consideration into this tent purchase. This was going to be their new home, after all. He just couldn’t decide which one was best. They all had fancy camping terms on the packages that meant nothing to him. He’d been trying to decipher the code. The secret outdoorsman code. Nari shifted uncomfortably in the basket.

“Hisirdoux, you should maybe, hurry this along?” She sounded strained.

But she was right. He should just pick one already. It’s all a gamble anyway. He decided on a dark green one that boasted a water-proof material. Good natural color, not easily spotted, and it wouldn’t soak through with rain. That should work well enough, he figured.

“I’ve hurried along. Sorry Nari.” He casually tossed the box into the cart next to her. She sniffed the box and nodded to him.

Now that they had their goal item, the quest party started for the checkouts. Douxie could have sworn that it had been on the side of the store they were in. They had passed it when they came in. Now it was completely across by the other door. Did he get turned around? Or maybe they did come in from that side of the store. He actually couldn’t remember.

As they walked, a few things caught (Name)’s eye. They passed a display of dark leafy plants in oddly shaped pots, a table stacked high with various books and a clearance sign, a knife case that had been left open, a candle display with a few that had already been lit and were dripping wax, a bargain bin of CDs, and lastly a sad box of no-longer-in-season pool noodles. There was a sale on bloodmeal apparently. Perfect for perking up those roses after the summer heat.

They arrived at the checkout after what felt like an endless journey. (Name) hadn’t noticed any other customers the entire time they had been there, and yet the line for the only check open had seven people in it. She grabbed a couple bags of red licorice from the impulse shelf to add to their cart while waiting.

Nari was really interested in that checker. (Name) took her in. The teen was taller than most and had very, very long blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a shiny golden waterfall. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in. Must be going through a diet phase. Poor girl.

The young woman was obviously not one for small talk. Name couldn’t blame her. Retail sucks. Her perfect red fingernails clicked against the keys of the register in a practiced beat. She turned around and told them their total in a bored monotone. As Douxie fiddled with his wallet and payed, (Name) found herself staring right into the cashier’s eyes. They were such a light icy blue, they were almost white. It was striking. (Name) was almost in a trance. It was broken as the cashier turned around swiftly to rip off the receipt off the machine, and, in an uncharacteristically cheery voice, told them to have a nice night. Night?

They returned the cart back to the stack, grabbing their one singular shopping bag and helping Nari out. Of course Nari could easily just jump out herself, but that wouldn’t be something a human child could do. They didn’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves here. They made their way to the automatic sliding doors that lagged so that they didn’t open until you were standing right in front of them. This allowed Douxie time to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the glass. The reflection of the store was completely devoid of people. Not even the checker was at her station. He sucked in a breath. After walking through those first doors, he stopped. He took a moment to turn back. There she was, right where she should be, checking out another customer with three more in the line.

Douxie hurried along the doorway to catch up to (Name) and Nari. It was darker outside than he expected, and he was taken aback. He found them right outside the store, waiting for him. In one hand, (Name) was holding Nari’s, in the other, the plastic shopping bag. Her head was tipped up to the sky, transfixed by the moon. He came over, grabbing her shoulder as he pulled her along, in an attempt to urge her away from this place. She looked back at him, eyes wide with distress. He tried to convey that he understood with his eyes. All three of them instinctually knew not to say anything more why they were still in this parking lot.

It had barely been half past noon when they had started this little Kmart side quest. It was now at least seven by the looks of it. They had spent six and a half hours in a Kmart? How had they spent six and a half hours in a Kmart. There went their entire travel day. But no time to dwell on this, they needed to get back to Archie and the boat as soon as possible.

As they walked back towards the ship, (Name) and Douxie both took one of Nari’s hands so that she was in the middle, like how those couples walk with their children. The streetlights glared up at them in the slick pavement. Apparently, it had rained while they were in shopping limbo. Poor Arch. (Name) let out a puff of air.

“Well. That sure was something.”

Douxie nervously chuckled, “If we had stayed in there any longer, I think we might have died.” (Name) mirrored that nervous chuckle.

“Oh, no, dying would be much simpler than what would have happened to us.” Nari said sweetly, like what she was saying was somehow better. Nari liked being helpful. (Name) put on her best fake smile.

“Thank you, Nari.” She tried her best to sound as sincere as possible to spare the veggie lady’s feelings.

[jcmorrigan]

001 - Tales of Zestiria?

Favorite character: It's a tough call between Maltran and Symonne, and Lunarre is trailing right behind both. I tend to call them the "Heldalf Squad," but make no mistake, Heldalf himself isn't part of it. I just like his swagalicious minions. The dry and sarcastic political manipulator, the sadistic and wordy theater nerd, and the flamboyant cannibal who hates everything. Yes. LOVE. But I have to give a shout to my boy Dezel on the hero side! Angsty/stoic characters are very hit-or-miss with me, but Dezel is the flavor I love - obvious soft spots and quirks, and slowly he builds from being antisocial to showing how big his heart is. When he stops the woman from leaping off the Guinevere tower...that's one of my favorite scenes in the entire game, because you can see when the switch flips, when he realizes that he CANNOT stay aloof any longer when there's a stranger's life on the line. He's still a grump about it but a compassionate grump.

Least Favorite character: Heldalf. His backstory is really clever, and I like the curse on him. But he himself just feels like Ganondorf but more boring. I kinda hate that he's so vanilla when his three lieutenants are in my arsenal of pet villains from the vastness of fiction. Also shout-out to Chancellor BART in the opening Ladylake act, because I distinctly remember liveblogging this to a friend, and I played Zestiria *after* Berseria (I'd loved Berseria and that's why I eventually sought out Zestiria) so here I am just comparing up the corrupt church in Ladylake to the Abbey's suave rogues gallery like "Yeah no BART has nothing on Lady Teresa Linares." Thankfully BART was never seen again.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): DezeRose, SorMik, Symonne x Coco Atarashi (The World Ends With You), Alisha Diphda x Sergei Strelka, and...I swear you have to bear with me here...Zaveid x Anna (Frozen). I also kinda wanna note a couple ships I'm on the fence about for my other favies - those being Maltran x Ebony Maw (Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel Ultimate Alliance) and Lunarre x Arkham (Devil May Cry).

Character I find most attractive: Dezel. It is a scientific fact that guys with pointy teeth are just hotter.

Character I would marry: Maybe Dezel, maybe Sergei. I wouldn't want to take them from those I see as their wifeys, but at the same time, they are husband goals, both of them.

Character I would be best friends with: Catch me clinging to Maltran's train and she drags me along annoyedly as I yell "PLEEEEAAASE LET ME HANG OUT WITH YOU GUYS" and Lunarre is losing it laughing while Symonne rolls her eyes

a random thought: So I toyed around with basically every accessory I picked up, and I decided to put the sideburns on Rose because fuck gender roles. Well then I just got used to seeing her with facial hair in every cutscene where her 3D model was used, and now I headcanon that she does get it. Maybe nonclassical CAH intersex? Like, I don't necessarily see her as trans (but I support everyone who hc's her as such) but moreso "a cis woman, but I grow this stupid damn facial hair like a dude and I don't get why." And this is why you shouldn't let me play with customizable accessories on RPG characters because I can and will abuse my privilege to headcanon.

An unpopular opinion: That this is actually a very good game. Listen, I think I get it - the initial marketing promised something far different. And that's disappointing. But coming back to it several years after its release, after the release of its PREQUEL, when I never had that hype building up...it actually exceeded my expectations. I held off from it for a while because I thought Eizen's fate would make me too sad, but that didn't end up the case at all. I actually had just come off playing a more recently-released triple-A game that was hyped up for years, and I completed it to my satisfaction in 20 hours. $80 for 20 hours. Zestiria gave me my money's worth in comparison; it took me about 60, and I loved just how MUCH story it had to offer me. I honestly like Rose better than Alisha anyway (Rose was one of the biggest aspects that interested me about playing it in the first place). I've also seen complaints that the characters weren't well-developed enough? Which I just kinda take to mean "They didn't angst enough." Listen. There are PLENTY of games out there if you want angst and sad stories. I don't really like sad stories in my games. I like adventures where the party is a goofy foundfam that jokes around with each other and helps each other work through shitty situations, and that's EXACTLY what I got. (And Berseria really worked on me too because it kinda started at the bottom of the angst barrel, then worked its way up through "The edgy and tortured protag has gained a party of idiots and oh noooooo she's learning friendship and happiness.") Dezel's death is one of the few game deaths that just made me SATISFIED to watch instead of depressed because of the closure he got and the themes tied into his final moments and sacrifice. I loved going on this adventure, I loved the idiots who I went on it with, and I loved seeing what Glenwood had to offer me in world design the further I explored.

my canon OTP: There's not much for canon romance in this game, come to think of it. Just subtext and some flirting. So I'm blanking on if there actually were any canon couples at all.

Non-canon OTP: DezeRose! Which maybe can be considered almost-canon based on the amount of subtext, but still. It's adorable. (And it's the exact same dynamic as EiRoku except M/F and a thousand years later. I need these four to double date...the dual-wielding goofs with their edgy, grumpy Reapers...)

most badass character: Rose! Not only able to wield the Shepherd's Armatization powers, but also to be a dang good assassin on her own, able to hold her own against Heldalf before she even had her eyes opened to seraphim! Though a shout-out goes to Edna because her armatization was my favorite to play with. There's something just satisfying about bashing the enemy in front of you with a pair of GIANT FISTS

pairing I am not a fan of: RoseAli. To be honest, it was at one point something I kinda enjoyed as a third-tier ship for Rose (Dezel first, then Lailah in second). But then...Alisha's Story. I didn't actually purchase it, thank goodness, just watched it on YouTube, and it was the most grating addition that anyone could've made to this game. First of all, I can sum up the issues with Alisha's Story by reminding everyone that it canonized a secret entrance to Camlann that was much easier to get to and wasn't protected by Muse's sacrifice. But the real thing that hurt to watch was how far down they had to knock Rose and Alisha's friendship to get them to rebuild from scratch. Rose claiming she was never Alisha's friend because she's grieving Sorey? The two of them getting into a PHYSICAL FISTFIGHT over it? Nope nope nope. That's not my Rose. Even less my Rose is that whole scene where she...you know...pounces on Alisha to dress her in the silly noblewoman's dress, and it's framed like...let's just say it's really uncomfortable to watch if you don't know the punchline is just a silly outfit. Even though Alisha's Story isn't canon in my head, it still really killed any buzz I had for RoseAli. I will also say I'm not a big fan of Eizavie - first of all, EiRoku or bust in this house, and second, I have a little bit of a hard time seeing Zaveid as mlm due to how much he goes on and on about The Ladies(TM). (Though I could see Eizen as having a tiny crush on him, though. Just like "Oh no he's hot but he's connected to Aifread's disappearance help")

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Mostly just in Alisha's Story. I was mad about the aforementioned Rose stuff, but also...like...they undid Lunarre's original cathartic death, they did so to team him back up with Symonne and then do a whole fakeout that they had Maltran with them too, but Maltran is just an illusion and immediately after this, Lunarre and Symonne just decide "Yeah, we're not gonna work together anymore, have a nice life." Why does Maltran need to stay dead if LUNARRE somehow survived EXPLODING? And just...look to next question for more clarification:

favourite friendship: I just want to imagine that Maltran, Lunarre, and Symonne were weird evil friends. The kind who'd take artistic selfies and caption them "Murder and mayhem with my besties!". Maybe they even had a sibling dynamic. They were all pretty dang jaded, so I like to think they sat around sometimes talking about the things in this world that did them wrong. The reasons they were drawn to Heldalf. Heldalf himself wouldn't have cared, he would've kicked them around like disposable tools, but the three of them were too entrenched in his dogma to see it. Maybe if they met up again after he was off the board...then they'd sing a different tune. Realize they're all three better than this, and now they're gonna do things THEIR way, because remember when they made a three-point attack on Glenwood and Sorey was barely able to keep up with them wrecking Lastonbell AND Pendrago AND Glaivend? Remember when Lunarre and Symonne had each other's backs the night Dezel died? Now they can do what they want on their terms! And I just - I have many MANY feelings about these three.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Okay silly self-insert time but the thing is, Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls) and Roman Torchwick (RWBY) are my two favorite parental f/o's (and also my OTP to end all OTPs), and I have this thing about how they'd be PERFECT crime dads to Symonne in particular because she's like a little, more theatrical Neopolitan. So there's a universe in my head where Symonne is basically already my little sister, and I look out for her - well, okay, she's a seraph with powerful Artes and I am a powerless mortal so really she looks out for me because "I suppose SOMEONE has to make sure you don't die" and I am grateful to her for it.

[avehi-the-adamant]

Are We Dead Yet? Pt. I - Piercing the Veil

[[ Co-written with @sylaess​ & @kidcatgemini​ ]]

~*~

The summons came for all of them. 

Every single Knight of Acherus could hear that call, knew that call. It wasn’t one you fucked around with. 

They stood in ranks, watching the portal open. Waiting. Somehow, they were going to help. The icy winds atop Icecrown snatched at cloaks and fur-trimmed armor alike. Stole the wispy breath of the living and tossed it to the glacier beyond. A very solemn time.

A very anxious time.

They filed through. Rank by rank.

It took forever, in Sylaess’s humble opinion. All for a bloody portal. To the deadlands. Shadowlands. Syl hated portals. They always fucked her up. She cut a glance to see if she could spot Avehi one more time. Had tried to get into formation with her, but who knew if they were still near each other? There had been so much shuffling about. 

The rank before her moved up. Started popping through, one by one. So the rumors were true, then. Bolvar had had his ass handed to him by Sylvannas. And then she messed everything up. Again. Sylaess was careful to keep herself still, steady, and cool. At least outwardly. It was tiresome. But she did an excellent job of that mask.

Sigh.

Syl stepped forward unthinkingly. Just muscle memory in the line, headed into the portal. The less she thought of the insanity she was about to partake in, the easier it got.

That was a bold-faced lie, but she was grasping every thin thread to keep herself from launching off the side of Icecrown instead of into the afterlife. Both options sucked, to be fair. 

Took a breath, hands on her swords hilts like they were a lifeline. Stepped through the blue-black mass of magic that would lead her to the exact place she’d been avoiding all these damned years. Literally. 

Tried not to scream.

The Maw was unchanged from when Avehi was here last-- but it was still an entirely new experience. Before, merely a fragment of her consciousness could wander freely through the desolate wastes beyond the veil. Now, she was here wholly, fully… with no guarantee of any way out again. Her body never felt more cumbersome, reminiscent of when she was first risen. That bitter, ashen taste. The way the air felt so thin and yet stifling at the same time. The amber skyline was piercing, a burning contrast to the somber grey dust beneath her hooves. Immediately, the wailings of the damned assaulted her ears, in a symphony of suffering. This was no place for a mortal. 

Thankfully, she wasn’t one.

Foolishly, however, she’d brought two along with her. She looked back to her companions; imposters, both adorned in Ebon Blade recruit armor. Argonas’ barely fit over his muscular physique. An oversight on her part-- she should’ve procured a Tauren-sized set for him, just in case. Raetos’, however, fit just fine. Though his brighter skin tone betrayed his Light-suffused body beneath the dark Ebon plating. Both of them would’ve been easy enough to pick out… if anyone were looking hard enough. Too focused on Bolvar, Avehi presumed. She wasn’t sure about the Highlord. Helm or no helm, it was hard for her to reconcile how she felt about the presence that had set up shop in the back of her mind since the fall of Arthas Menethil. Familiarity, yes. But overwhelming distrust trumped it. Like an estranged brother.

She put it from her mind, for now, attention back on Argonas and Raetos. 

“Muster your senses.” she instructed. “We must move-- quickly!”

Argonas did just that; he was much more prepared for the terror this place instilled in the depths of the soul than Raetos was. Having died somewhat recently, he was already accustomed to this place, and the heavy draw that permeated the air. He expected it. Prepared for it. Shrugged it off, and moved to follow Avehi into the wastes. Somewhere here, they’d find Sinafay. And he’d make good on his promise to free her from this terrible place! That alone was all the drive he needed to suffer through.

Raetos wasn’t as fortunate. Despite all the time he’d spent on the Fel-suffused planet of Argus, it did nothing to protect him from the wave of absolute dread and hopelessness that permeated his senses.

“--Light,” he muttered under his breath, kneeling down and throwing his helmet off to bring his hands to his head. 

Thankfully, his Lightforged body offered him some protection. He couldn’t imagine how much more horrible this place would be without it’s soothing properties. It took him a moment, as he waited for his senses to acclimate. When he looked up, Avehi and the others were already far ahead. He removed some of the extra pieces of plate armor Avehi had told him to wear. The atmosphere was already too heavy, and the weight of the gear was unbearable. At this point, it didn’t matter if the Ebon Blade realized they’d brought a mortal through. 

Not like they could force him to go back...

Gritting his teeth, he got back on his hooves and followed after his companions. He was one step closer to finding Fable.

Sylaess’ skin felt prickly. Like someone had chopped the sides of her neck with the blade of their hand and jolted all her nerves at once. A cold sweat made her armor lining cling uncomfortably.

She wanted to vomit.

Two steps onto the other side, and she held it all back. Held her breath, too. Did a half-turn to check for an ambush and--

Came loose from herself. Drifted away from her own body. 

Ah, shit. The thought was haphazard at best. A remote acceptance. The world went away.

Sylaess stiffened up like she’d been struck on the head and went over like an ominous pillar of saronite. No hand came out to break that fall. Crashed to the ground unceremoniously with a dull thud. Absolutely unresponsive for a solid moment, other than a faint tremor in her hands. Unnatural.

“I waited, nonetheless.”

He took another bite, and  chewed that one too for a while. Thoughtfully. The only times Argonas was really so quiet was when he was eating or sleeping. His mouth stopped running long enough for his thoughts to get a turn. Most of his thoughts were on Sylaess, and his gaze followed them. He swallowed.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, motioning roughly over his own face where Sylaess’ exacerbated scarring was. “It looks as if you took a few hits. Did you learn anything of the truths you are seeking?”

She blinked at her hands, considering the question for a hanging moment. “...I don’t know if I feel qualified to name worth about this, but I learned enough that I...” Want to take a scalding damn bath, my friend, badly. “...want to leave. I have enough control, I feel.” No, you don’t.--

The taste of rust and dirt in her mouth. Black, watery rushing in her ears. A flicker of lights. Pushed away from the fragmented memory. Didn’t recognize much of it, anyway. Didn’t make too much sense.

And awake again. 

She gave a hell of a start. Limbs felt loose, uncoordinated. Standing up felt a little clumsy. Shit, how many times was that? Sylaess tensed, willing herself to look like iron again. Hoped beyond whatever frail hope she had that most of her companions looked past that little... episode. Destarion had made sound mention of her new ailment. She had an idea of what happened, but never a full understanding. Her skull felt like it throbbed, and yet was airy all at once. It was incredibly hard to refocus.

The fragment of memory, or fictitious image was fleeing her mind already. Little snippets. Some were true, but she couldn’t tell what was real. It was harrowing to try and winnow it all out.

Truthfully, she felt like her bones were made of windchimes. Hollow.

Avehi eyed the elf, a mixture of worry and annoyance upon her countenance. The poor thing shook and wobbled like a newborn talbuk finding its legs in this treacherous place. The Draenei couldn’t fault her too terribly for it, though-- everything about this place was an affront to the senses. She was, in truth, surprised Argonas seemed to take it in such stride. But then… he’d been here before, rather recently. She examined the trio, and grunted. This was it. This was the team. With no plan to get back out, and no telling what to expect inside… they proceeded.

“Stay close.” came her only instruction; her only warning.

The Vindicators trudged forward, driven by their respective purposes. Avehi had finally made it to the other side, and took strides now in correcting this problem that had haunted her for so long. Argonas’ purpose was far more specific. Yet both moved, in a show of their shared training, keeping a close-yet-loose and wary formation. Hammers drawn and ready for the horrors the Maw would surely throw their way.

Raetos stayed further behind, both to watch their backs, and also to keep an eye on Sylaess. She was the only one in the group he didn’t know at all. She was such a tall and skinny thing, so lanky and sickly looking. And from the looks of it, she’d taken the entrance into the Maw harder than he had. He wondered how long she'd been dead, but then Avehi had made it clear that it wasn’t a question to ask a Death Knight. A sensitive subject. 

Now wasn’t the time to make friends and start conversations anyway. Quite the departure from his regular self. Instead, his golden gaze scanned the rocky cliffs. Oddly enough, it wasn’t too far off from the rocky and desolate landscape that Argus had been… except Fel was replaced by… well… death and mist of some kind. So he had no issues blending and moving quietly about the area. Thankfully so, because the mist made it hard to see at a distance, and there were constant eerie screams in the background that made things difficult for his ears to pick up other sounds --not to mention the sounds of battle! It would make hunting the enemy harder for him. 

He wondered if Avehi knew where she was going. She seemed to anyway… So he followed. For now.

The worst of it faded slowly. Not that the ominous air of the Maw itself was helpful in any sort of recovery. 

To be fair, she’d been here before. A few times. They had to find Sinafay as fast as they could. Every second in this place was a threat to the very fabric of a soul. 

She should not be here. So many should not be here. That would have to be solved later. It was a much grander scale issue.

Sylaess shook her head slightly, chasing off the thoughts before they took hold. Glanced over the rest of the party and resolved to ignore her indiscretion. Such as it would be. A brief flicker of concern for Argonas, but she let it slide. Had to. No room for that here. She wasn’t particularly concerned with Raetos, disguise or no. 

There was a feeling that the Jailer would be able to sense them regardless of any shade or misdirection and that bothered her. Bothered her a lot. She slid a hand into her cloak, a hidden pouch there. Reassurance. The tiny vials were wrapped securely in cloth and leather layers, protecting them from a lot of damage. They seemed intact. “Avehi, do we have a specific direction, or should we try to command a soul to give us an idea?”

Her voice was quiet and gravelly, but clear enough. Such an odd thing to hear out of her own face. She sighed softly through her nose. At least she’d spent the last few weeks with the ritualists in Acherus, learning what she could of the other side of being a death knight. Less battle, more magic fuckery.

"Once we have our bearings, that's a good idea." Avehi replied without breaking stride. "Let's get up this ridge, and see what we can see."

"--Command a soul?" Argonas repeated, clearly uncomfortable with the notion. "Have they not suffered enough without such compulsions?"

"Probably. You can ask your wife the specifics after we compel a wayward soul to lead us to her." came Avehi's curt response.

It silenced Argonas well enough.

“Geez… I mean, it doesn't hurt to ask nicely at first,” Raetos couldn’t help but throw his opinion in, “If they’re being a pain in the ass, then by all means, but Argo’s right. No need to hassle an already suffering spirit if it’s not putting up a fight.”

He held his rifle ready, keeping his senses sharp despite his mouth working. 

“Like… from the looks of things, there are some obviously bad things picking on helpless looking spirits,” he mentioned, taking a peek over the ledge where he spotted the commotion, “We intervene, the nice spirit tells us what they know out of gratitude, and then we can compel the baddies for extra information. Win win. Oooh! Leave that hound-thinger down there alive, though. I want that.”

“Was it worth it?”

The memory echo gave her half a pause, but it slid away like oil on water. She sighed softly, the tightness in her jaw not settling.

Maybe it was the half-echoed whispers from the souls damned to this place. She could hear them. Assumed Avehi could, too. “More than half of these souls are ... remnants. Shattered pieces. The Maw is where they are sent to be slowly obliterated. Now that all souls are sent here, it's ... the worst fate you could wish on anyone. No hope for rebirth here, just swift annihilation if you’re lucky.”  Sylaess said. Gave pause, side-eyeing Raetos. “They’re constructs, but ones that feast on souls. Fine sport, I’m sure.” She had meant to be calming, reassuring even. But her words raked like gravel, gashing out the hideous truth of this place. The end was colored by sarcasm. No mercies indeed. There was regret, but she couldn’t pluck the words from the air. Nor did she feel she could’ve found better to say. The elf tugged her cloak over her shoulder, black hollow eyes scanning the area in a slow sweep. Old habits were never far. At least, she assumed it was a habit.

She eyed the hound. Then it came together. “But we could harness it to travel faster. At least, one of us.”

This place was grating on Avehi’s nerves. The sounds most of all. Words no mortal could hear, but registered as whispers to the Death Knights, one foot in and one foot out of their graves. Half-truths and intrusive thoughts given soundless voices, all speaking directly to her mind.

“You belong here, too.”

“None escape…”

“The Jailer sees all!”

It was distracting. Overwhelming. And Argonas’ and Raetos’ sanctimonious protesting only irked her further.

“Feel free to see how far asking nicely gets you.” Avehi chuffed, growing in irritation. “But if you want your respective loved ones saved from this infamously-inescapable place? Cast aside your Light-bleached sensibilities and be prepared to do whatever it takes. Let the undead handle the undead, if you can’t stomach it.”

The ridge crest overlooked everything… and nothing. There wasn’t much to see of this desolation. A ‘river’ of aetherial miasma cut through the land some distance ahead. And following it to their left revealed ramparts of some manner of fortification. Beyond that, ever-looming in the sky, was an infinitely tall tower. Unsettlingly menacing, it dominated the skyline, casting its shadow over the already dismal landscape. 

“--There.” Argonas spoke up, motioning to the fortifications. “I… I saw Sinafay near there, when I died. I remember the wall.”

“You’re certain?” Avehi asked, turning to him.

He nodded once, eyes affixed to the distant keep. It was recent enough, still fresh in his mind. Avehi grunted, but nodded in response.

“Then we make our way there. Any soul we manage to find on the way, we question.”

She waved her hand dismissively at the construct and his ‘dog’ down below.

“Leave those sentries be, if we can. The creature will serve us no purpose, anyway.” she directed. “Splitting up here is the worst thing we could possibly do.”

And yet, that was exactly what Raetos decided to do. As the others turned away and continued their journey, the Lightforged kept his eye on the hound and its rider. He always worked better alone anyway. And it would be easier to sneak around without the heavy plate wearers. Brows knit into a frown as he looked over to his friends once more, only to see them already a good distance away; pushed forward by Argonas recognizing a rock formation. 

Fable wouldn’t be with Sinafay. It was a gut feeling the Draenei had. Their times of death had happened so far apart and differently. The chances of finding them together in this hell hole was slim to none. His three companions obviously cared more about finding Argonas’ mate than his. Avehi had promised to bring Raetos into the Maw. That done, it was time for him to walk his own path. His partner needed him, and he wasn’t going to waste any time following the wrong trail.

Silently, he stepped away from the group and hid into the cliff. And just like that, he was gone, silently moving down the cliff to stalk the hound and rider, hunting rifle in hand.

“Perdition...” It was more of a mumble to herself, thinking over the location. She frowned, watching Raetos go--but who was she to stop him? If you want to disappear into hell, literally, by yourself, then that’s on you. She honestly wished him well. 

The wash of voices became loud in her ears for a moment. She grit her teeth.

“If we’re headed that way, we should get going. “ A pause, and she stared at Avehi. Tried to gauge how much she knew of this place, gave up. “He’s watching.” Softly. “There’s not much I can do about it.” Stepped up to be vaguely beside the other Knight a moment. “The best thing is that he’s busy with the sudden swarm of Acherians. He can’t focus.”

The Draenei’s tail flickered in irritation, as Sylaess put so well into words what she was feeling. The master of this domain exuded a too-familiar omniscience in this place. The power behind the Helm of Dominion worn by the Lich King could be felt here. Its origins, perhaps? It felt far too similar to be coincidence. 

“There’s nothing any of us can do about it.” she affirmed, bluntly. “May his focus be elsewhere as we get done what we’re here to do. Everyone stay cl--”

She narrowed her eyes in search; the brightest of their group was nowhere to be found! For his otherwise inept and naive countenance, Raetos was particularly adept at forging his own path and vanishing when he felt it was time. His impatience and disobedience would be his doom here, Avehi thought, as she shook her head.

“We need an escape. A rally point. Somewhere to fall back to and regroup as necessary.” she grunted, eyes flickering to Sylaess. “Can you secure one? Argonas and I will go ahead into the keep, and see if we can’t find Sinafay.”

Sylaess nodded. “I’ll hold to one spot as well as I can, but I feel I might need to move. May this be a quick endeavor.” 

(( Mentions: @avehi-the-adamant / @argonas / @raetos / @sylaess / @sinafay1 / @darkestfable ))

[alleiradayne]

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part III - Unsolved Mysteries

Summary: Sam, Dean, and the reader head to the Old Dutch Cemetery. Warnings/Tags: General elements of horror and fear, graveyards, coffins, sorta-not-really-death... Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 5,385

The Impala jostled over the transition from street to gravel path as Dean turned for the graveyard. Tall, stout trees lined the trail to the Old Dutch Church, their long sinuous branches reaching out as though to grasp and pull unwary travelers into the shadowy depths of the surrounding forest. A chill ran down my spine as the car lumbered on, descending into the darkness, and a foolish sense of fear filled my stomach with dread. I had vanquished many vengeful spirits with Sam and Dean. The last decade of our lives had been nothing but. And yet, something about the case had me on edge.

Around a shallow bend in the path, the church materialized from the darkness atop a hill as the Impala’s headlights flashed across it. Dark windows and a distinct lack of exterior lighting shrouded the building in impenetrable black despite our approach. The car climbed the steep hill, and as it crest the top, I saw a thick stone wall and a tall iron gate in the distance.

“At least we’re alone,” Sam mentioned as he followed the church.

“Good,” Dean started, then squinted through the windshield as we neared the gate. “Is it open?”

“I’m guessing the graveyard isn’t maintained if the church is abandoned,” Sam stated.

As he pulled up to the gate, Dean put the car in park and climbed out. Sam and I followed, and between the three of us, we managed to pull the gate apart wide enough for the Impala to pass. Dean returned to the car and, as he pulled into the graveyard, that chill, loitering beneath my skin, clawed deep into my bones. The Impala entered the great yawning maw and slid into the belly of the beast.

When I remained still too long, Sam ushered me along with a reassuring hand at my shoulder. His wide stare betrayed his crooked smile, and that creeping dread seeped into the very marrow of my existence.

“This feels too easy.” I had intended to speak with more conviction, but my voice faltered.

“Don’t jinx it,” Sam retorted.

“I’m not trying to,” I said as I rubbed an ache in my left arm. Drawn to the darkness, I scanned the graveyard from edge to edge. “I’m… something feels off. Like we’re forgetting something.”

He turned to me then, and the warmth of his large hand enveloped my shoulder. An odd sense of calm replaced my looming anxiety. And his voice assuaged my worst concerns. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. I’m here, Dean’s here. You know what you’re doing, too. I believe in us.”

And I believed him. I didn’t just know it to be true, but felt it, like that deep ache in my bones. But the case, the urban legend. It all had me on edge. Despite my oscillating emotions, I smiled a wry smile and looked up to him. A slanted ray of silvery moonlight illuminated his own crooked smile, and the last of my concerns receded to the edges of my mind. “Thanks, Sam. You’re really good at that.”

He turned for the car as Dean stopped up the path. “At what?”

I followed with a skipped step and said, “Making a lady feel special.”

His subtle smile turned into a devious smirk I’d not seen on him in age. “Good. You are,” he said. A hitch in his breath hesitated his next statement, but then he turned to me once more and said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but I’ve been feeling pretty shitty myself since Chuck.”

Dean remained in the car, illuminated by the glow of his cell phone. Safe, for the moment at least, I figured it couldn’t hurt to hear Sam out. “What’s on your mind?”

“Dean and I care a lot for you,” he stated as he closed the space between us. He scoffed before he said, "But I… Dammit, we weren’t supposed to be in fucking graveyard when I finally told you… and especially not on a case. I’ve wanted to say this for months, but we haven’t taken a break, and I never get five minutes with you alone—”

“Sam.”

His teeth clicked shut at my interruption. A thick swallow bobbed his throat before he said, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“I can tell,” I replied with a short laugh. “But I get it. I am, too. I’ve… felt the same way for a while.”

Despite the darkness, his entire face brightened at that. “Really? Like… how long?”

I turned for the Impala and said over my shoulder, “Longer than I care to admit.”

He trotted to catch up to me at the trunk. When he opened his mouth to speak again, the driver’s door opened, and Dean’s boots crunched on the gravel. Before he squandered the moment, Sam slipped his hand to the small of my back and whispered in my ear, “We’ll talk more later?”

I sucked a breath through my nose as I bit my bottom lip but managed a quick nod as Sam straightened. There is a reason I don’t play poker; Dean spotted the obvious a mile away, his approach slowing and his glare narrowing on me, then on Sam, who had busied himself on his phone.

“What’s going on?” he grumbled as he unlocked the trunk.

Sam hardly looked up. “Hm? Nothing, just waiting for you. C’mon, let’s go,” he said as he grabbed a shovel and flashlight, then strode away for a set of plots.

Dean’s glare fell to me then, as though he measured me under a microscope, and I shifted on my feet. “Y/N…”

“What?!” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he declared as he rummaged through the trunk. “You look… do you need to take a leak or something?”

The surge of sensations from Sam’s attention passed, and I stilled. “No, I’m fine. Just… graveyards, right? This whole case has me kinda freaked.”

Look, I’m not dumb, and I know Dean isn’t either. But thankfully, he let my half-truth slide and grabbed a shovel. “You know the drill. This’ll be quick once we dig it up.”

I took the shovel from him, then the flashlight. “Got it. I’ll start helping Sam look for this needle in a haystack unmarked grave.”

“Good idea,” he replied. “I’ll catch up in a minute. Need to grab a few more things here. Go on ahead.”

With my shovel shouldered, I turned and hesitated. Headstones sprawled to the opposite tree line three hundred yards away, and between them rolled a thick mist. Cloud cover rolled in almost as if it were on a schedule. Darkness masked the moon and plunged the graveyard in a night so deep, and my flashlight flickered like a tiny shivering candle flame.

One foot in front of the other. That was all I needed to do. Just walk. Read headstones. Find the unmarked grave. Not that hard. Lost count of the graves I've dug up over the last decade. Like I mentioned earlier, Sam and Dean changed my life—for the better—the day we met. Digging up graves happened to be a part of the gig.

As I traipsed through the graveyard, headstones passed beneath my flashlight, materializing out of the dark mist. The light lingered long enough for me to see any sort of epitaph, then moved on, the stone vanishing into the fog once more. My mind wandered as that monotonous repetition seeped into my muscles, weary and aching. Hypnotized by the swinging flashlight—left, right, left, right—the graveyard faded away, the headstones ceased to exist, and I wandered aimlessly.

"Over here!"

Sam's booming baritone echoed through the darkness, a bodiless voice carried on a bone-chilling gust of wind. Another shiver coursed along my spine, and my flashlight quivered in my white-knuckled grip. Strange trees and unfamiliar headstones surrounded me, appearing and vanishing in the thick mist that languidly coiled through the graveyard. Sam's voice breached the silence again, emanating from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Each echoing thump of my heart beat faster than the previous. Each breath filled less and less of my lungs, shallow and thin. And each thought muddied the waters further as I waded through the muck until not a single coherent idea remained. Silence settled in, stilled the graveyard's night sounds, and death's icy breath lashed out at me.

Long seconds stretched so thin, one tick of my watch marked an entire lifetime. As my heart raced, its sharp staccato strikes drowned out the world. A moment, one terrifyingly calm instance of hyperawareness passed before I realized that thumping no longer beat in my head but from through the ground and into my chest. Horse hooves raced in the distance, and with each expeditious plot, they neared.

Pressure. A shift in the air behind me snapped my instincts into action. I wheeled about and brought the shovel to bear only to find more of the thick graveyard mist ambling between headstones and trees. Sam's voice echoed again. And again. And again. I tried to call back, but no sound escaped my throat, dry as the desert in a drought. Though desperate to move, my feet refused. Rooted in that hallowed ground, I firmly remained where I stood, my head spinning.

That was until I heard the most terrifying sound in recent memory.

The blood-curdling bray of a horse screeched through the night air, so shrill and ethereal. Impossibly sustained, the cry lingered an eternity. That haunting melody accompanied the thundering hooves’ rhythm, both building in a wild crescendo until out of the mist burst the stuff of nightmares.

Black as pitch, a horse bearing a headless rider barreled through the graveyard straight for me. Fire fanned from the steed’s wide eyes, and smoke blacker than his coat roiled from his nose. Bones and ligaments jutted through his muscles, and his jet black hide scored with whip lashes, runnels of blood, and burns beneath crimson and iron tack.

And yet, the horse paled in comparison to its burden. Astride the cursed beast sat a giant of a man clad in green armor so dark, it was nearly black. He wielded a fiery whip that cracked like thunder with a flick of his wrist, and in the other hand, he manifested a flaming cannonball. He hefted it high over his head—the empty void where his head should have been—and aimed.

Never in my life had I run so fast. Like lightning, I leaped through the graveyard, racing for whatever outlet I could find. Reaching tree branches snagged my coat, my jeans, and one sliced a gash across my cheek. Pain and fear fueled my survival, and the last ounce of hope I had desperately clung to echoed once more, so much closer.

“Y/N?!”

Sam’s shout distracted me a second too long; the fiery cannonball singed my hair as it hurtled past my head and destroyed a headstone. Graveyard turf caught my toe as I threw my arms up to shield myself from flying stone, and I crashed to the dirt face first. Blood poured from my nose and soaked my shirt as I scrambled to my feet. Whitehot pain rolled in waves across my face, and tears blurred my vision as I searched for my thrown flashlight and shovel. Thundering hooves closed on me, drawing closer and closer until my hand seized the metal grip of my shovel. I torqued my entire body and swung the bladed end with all my might.

The rider’s whip coiled high above his shoulders, then unfurled with a wicked snap of his arm. Inch by inch, the flaming bones rolled to me until time raced to catch up. The last foot disappeared in a single heartbeat. An earth-shattering crack of thunder rattled in my teeth as the bone whip wrapped around the steel shaft of my shovel. He snapped it from my hands with little effort and freed his whip, then raised it again for another strike.

Despite the fact that I knew I had no chance of escaping, I ran. Thunder rolled once more as the whip descended upon me. Sudden clarity steadied my heart as death’s icy chill breathed down my back once more. Final heartbeats counted down my last seconds as the whip’s scorching grasp coiled about my neck. Where time had once moved too fast, it slowed again, creeping until it stopped.

The world faded away to nothing. No sound, no light. No racing hooves or hearts. No shrill horse’s cry. No fire and no ice. No pain. Suspended in a nothingness sea, I drifted aimlessly. Lost. Even time’s relevance ceased to exist. The threads of my consciousness unraveled as though tugged by anxious fingers. Soon, I knew that I, too, would unweave until I remained nothing but a mere memory in other's minds.

Then a cry pierced the silence, muted, as though it belonged to someone else’s. Desperate, I focused every conscious sensation that yet belonged to me on that singular sound, a siren’s salvation, and clung to it. The voice thinned and focused, sharpened as though I dialed in on the perfect frequency until it burst through the emptiness and rendered me senseless.

And then I fell. Hundreds of thousands of feet, I descended, plummeting faster and faster as the shout continued to grow. Another voice joined, bellowing my name as I sank. The onslaught of vertigo ravaged every fiber of my pitiable existence as I tumbled through space and time until my mind and body reunited. Reality returned in a blossoming of flashlights, two men shouting in shock, and a freshly dug grave into which I dropped the final five feet. I screamed as I crashed onto the exposed coffin, then collapsed in a heap.

My first gasping breath dragged in dirt and grave rot, and I choked. Before I could string a coherent thought together, two sets of hands grasped me by the arms and hauled me from the grave. They set me on my feet, but I collapsed to the ground, sprawling on my back and stared up at a clear, cloudless night sky.

A cascade of brilliant stars dotted the emptiness, teaming with ancient light. Cool, clean air filled my lungs for the first pure breath I’d taken in a century. Clarity followed, and my first thought echoed between my ears like a struck church bell.

Did I just cheat death?

“Y/N?”

Sam’s strength slipped beneath my shoulders and legs as he hauled me into his lap. His face, knotted and twisted with worry, flooded my vision. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Inventory. No sliced cheek. No burnt hair, no broken nose. Most importantly, no burned lashes on my neck. I started a few thoughts before I settled on, “I think I’m fine.”

He seated me on the ground once more and sat beside me. Dean knelt as well and placed a stable hand on my shoulder. “What happened? One second, I was right behind you, and then the next, you were gone.”

The chilling scream of an undead horse echoed in the furthest recesses of my mind. “I saw it. The…” I stuttered as I motioned to my head. “He had a whip of bone engulfed in flames and a fiery cannonball.” I paused, seized by the memory of such fear. “He... he ran me down—”

“That’s it, I’m putting an end to this shit right now,” Dean interjected as he hopped into the grave.

Sam and I leaned over the edge as Dean pried open the old pinewood box. Wood splintered and popped as he made short work of the rotted enclosure. But then the top snapped free and fell aside to reveal nothing and everything all at once.

Ash and black scorch marks marred the entire interior of the coffin. “What the fuck?” Dean spat. He sifted through the ashes, flinging them about, searching. “No, this can’t be right, there has to be something—”

“Dad did it.” Dean and I both turned to Sam. “Thirty years ago, he had the same idea we did: roast the bones, send the spirit on.”

Dean turned back to the box and stared. A long minute passed as thumped his crowbar on his thigh, the gears in his head churning so hard, I swore I heard them. Then he replaced the cover and crawled from the grave with Sam’s help. He dusted off his jeans but remained silent as he paced, deep in thought.

I grasped Sam’s hand and hauled myself up to stand beside him. His warmth enveloped me as I curled into him, and he held me close. With a reassuring squeeze, he asked, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I will be,” I sighed. “I think I…”

The thought trailed off as Dean began shoveling dirt back into the grave. “Son of a bitch ghost,” he spat with a violent stab of the shovel. “Fucking piece of shit curse.” Another stab. “Stupid fairy jerk.” Another stab. “Lame ass urban legends!”

“Dean!” Sam insisted, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?!” Dean barked. “We gotta get out of here and figure out what to do next before this circus freak shows up again.”

Sam sighed as he smoothed his hand across my shoulders and said, “You can head back to the car, I’ll help—”

“No!” I declared, far louder than I had intended. “Sorry, no. I’ll…” I spotted my shovel and flashlight lying not three feet away from me. Unwilling to question how either object had returned with me, I hefted both. “I’ll help. I need something to do.”

Concern clouded Sam’s visage, but he shrugged and made room for me to dig. As I started in, fresh memories flooded my mind’s eye, and I did my best to relive the moments as clearly—and objectively—as possible. Undead horse. Crimson tack. Headless rider. Fiery whip and cannonball. Green armor that could easily be mistaken for black.

“He was wearing green armor,” I stated.

Dean froze at that. “Green? Like the Gawain legend?”

“I assume so,” I replied as I continued shoveling. “I think we’re still on the right track. It’s an amalgamation of urban legends. The Hessian, the dulachan. Gawain. A fae-cursed german soldier that fought against the colonies during the American revolution. Not sure how the English legend plays into it though.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Sam said with a grunt. “Maybe being decapitated by an enemy soldier during a war is close enough to match the English urban legend.”

“Could be why he only comes back once a year,” I agreed.

Dean shook his head. “Let’s just get this grave filled and figure it out back at the motel.”

With a sense of finality on the topic, we continued to shovel. As I worked, I couldn’t help but lose myself in thought to the point where I hardly recalled shoveling. A filled grave stood before me less than half an hour later. Wordlessly, we gathered up our things, then turned our backs on the grave and started for the car.

No more than fifty yards from the unmarked headstone, Sam stopped first, frozen solid. I lurched to an awkward halt beside him, my hand held fast in his. I looked up to him and asked, “What’s… Sam?”

He stared straight ahead at the car, then looked at me. “Didn’t you hear that?”

“No,” I said as I turned to the Impala, then back to him. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Sam, let’s—”

I heard it then; the relentless cry of a terrifying horse careened through the still graveyard. Dean had heard it too, his thought suspended, unfinished. The echoing bray of the horse faded as a fresh thundering of hooves clamored in the distance.

“Get to the car!”

My shout startled Sam and Dean into motion. The first hundred yards passed, but beating hooves pounded in from all sides. Another terrifying whinny screeched through the night, and in the last hundred yards to the car, my nightmare returned in full force.

The undead horse and its rider materialized from the mist and leaped the car’s trunk, heading straight for us. I screamed and skidded to a halt, then twisted to run back into the graveyard. Sam and Dean followed, catching my shorter gait in a few sprinting strides. With one final look over my shoulder, I spotted the headless rider gaining on us and shouted.

“We can’t outrun him!”

Ahead, Dean pointed at a wide paved path on the far side of the graveyard. “Follow that road! I’ve got an idea!”

“INTO THE WOODS?!” I screeched.

“Trust me!” he shouted back as we reached the road and turned towards the treeline.

I trusted Dean with my life. But he had not seen what I had. Just as the thought crossed my mind, an iron ball of fire lobbed past Dean’s head and landed in the asphalt, spraying dirt and rock. Dean leaped the divot and checked back over his shoulder. “Seriously, who throws fucking cannonballs at people?!”

Without a second to retort, we rounded a sharp curve in the path that twisted around a copse separated from the forest. On the other side sat a fork in the path, our only options left or right. At the last possible second, Dean darted right, and we followed. The road narrowed considerably, too small for a car to pass. Asphalt transitioned to dirt, and thick forest trees encroached. No light from the moon or stars penetrated the dense canopy above.

I checked behind me to see the rider and his nightmare steed gaining ground, no more than fifty yards away. “Dean, what are we doing?!”

He searched the trees, the path as his head whipped about, but I knew he saw nothing but the same desperate hope of salvation I sought. Thundering hooves counted down the final moments of our lives, one gallop after the next. Though I had seen dire situations hunting beside Sam, Dean, and Castiel over the years, none compared to the complete despair I felt in that moment, running ragged through the woods from the Headless fucking Horseman.

An urban legend was about to kill us. A friggin' fairytale told to scare kids. 

Dean skidded to a halt so suddenly, Sam and I blasted twenty yards past him. I spun about gracelessly and gripped Sam’s arm for leverage. Behind us, Dean stood in a pool of opulent moonlight illuminating the dirt path through a clearing in the forest canopy. Beyond the lighted path, the rider and his horse closed the distance so fast, Dean risked losing his chance to escape.

"Dean, what are you doing?! Run!" Sam bellowed as he started for him.

"Sam, no! Stop!" I pleaded as I ran to catch him, but his legs proved too long and too fast for my own.

Despite his speed, I knew he'd never make it. An unseen force hindered him, as though the hands of the dead emerged from the ground and snatched at his ankles. He reached for Dean, his entire body straining and stretched to its fullest. The horse’s hooves pounded the dirt only a few yards away, but Dean stood fast, head held high and feet planted. And there in the darkness, I understood.

Dean knew something I did not. Something worth its weight in gold. Literally.

Heavy coins landed in the dirt as he backed into the shadows and flung his arm in a wide arc. Like so many shards of broken glass, they scattered. Each tumbled and turned end over end, glinting and glittering as they flipped and rolled to settle in the dirt.

With Dean's final cast of the dice, time stood still. He distilled everything that transpired that night in that singular moment. I watched helplessly as Dean stood defiant in the shadows, and Sam failed to reach him. The horse leaped the final feat as the rider raised his whip, coiling high over his shoulders. Hooves breached the moonlight as the rider brought down his arm in eternal judgment, the flaming lash his gavel. Horse and whip bore down on Dean, crossing the golden coins’ threshold and thoroughly bathed in brilliant moonlight. My last hope of salvation incinerated, and in that final second, I screamed.

But that second never came. In a single, raging beat of my heart, time, and reality reunited, and I hardly believed my eyes. Smoke and cinders smoldered at the horse's hooves, engulfing him and the rider to headless shoulders as though fire had caught dry tinder. The nightmare steed cried out its ethereal scream. The rider raised both hands, whip, and a new projectile brandished high until consumed by the squall. And then a turbulent gust scattered the ashes as though they had never existed.

My scream faded as it echoed through the woods. Sam whipped about, terrified eyes searching for me in the darkness. Found, he raced to me, and I grasped onto his arms. One massive hand cupped my cheek as he looked me in the eye, searched for any sign of injury, and begged for reassurance. I dove into his embrace then, unwilling to stand alone any longer. All my anger and fear drained in the safety of his arms as though it ran through a sieve.

A soft clinking of metal drew my attention past Sam, and I saw Dean gathering up the golden coins at his feet. He returned them to his pocket, then headed for us, dusting his hands on his thighs along the way. When he reached us, his typical smile spread across his lips, and he spoke.

"That's one way to waste a ghost."

"Is it…" I asked, hope clouding my better judgment.

"It'll buy us some time," Sam said with a reassuring squeeze of my shoulder. "We need to get back to the motel and figure out what's next."

Dean started back for the car first. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if it's a tul—"

"It's not a tulpa, Dean," Sam spat as he followed, urging me along beside him. "Seriously, we've only ever seen one of those things."

Dean shook his head and laughed sardonically. "It's got all the signs. A big ol' mess of urban legends and myths. An entire country that believes in it. And real power. I mean, did you see that thing, it damn near ran me down." When neither of us responded, he turned over his shoulder and his ridiculous grin faded. "What?"

"You could have died," I stated.

Of course, he shrugged. "But I didn't," he said as he pointed to his pocket. "Back up plan."

"Speaking of which," Sam said before I could give Dean a piece of my mind. "Where'd you get that idea?"

As we neared the fork, Dean jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at me. "That website. I looked up a little on each legend and found the dulachan is sort of banished for a hot minute if a gold coin is tossed in its path. So I figured, why not try twenty gold coins?"

"Try?" I repeated.

At the fork, he stopped and turned to face us. "I had a hunch."

A hunch. I knew what that meant. He had no clue. One or twenty, Dean had not the faintest notion if a gold coin would stop the spirit. No additional research. No supporting theories. Nothing. Just a fucking hunch and the confidence of a man with a death wish.

I opened my mouth, intent on giving Dean the tongue-lashing of his life. My hands shook as I parted from Sam, trembled as one coiled into a furiously extended index finger, and the other balled into a tight fist. Unbridled heat twisted in the pit of my stomach, contorted my face, and rattled in my throat as I began to speak.

But cold dread drowned my rage, and my words succumbed to that torrential fear. A ghastly pale man astride an equally pale horse rounded the sharp corner past the fork, less than twenty yards behind Dean. No clop of hooves announced his approach, no horse’s chuff, no clatter of tack. Silent as the dead, he followed the path and stopped only a stride short behind Dean. 

I gawked openly, as did Sam, and when neither of us spoke, Dean glanced over his shoulder only to startle and shout as he leaped to my side. “Christ, man, don’t sneak up on a guy like that!”

The pale rider’s gaze lazily drifted down and stared each one of us in the eye. Otherworldly, he appeared as though he had been ripped from his timeline and placed in ours. A three-point hat covered his long hair tied back with a thin leather strap, and a once-fine wool coat covered his linen shirt and felted vest. Thin gloves sheathed his hands, holding the reins. Heavy wool pants draped loosely down the thigh to gather at the knee where thick stockings tucked in beneath. Wide-buckled shoes with short heels completed the ensemble.

A gray layer of ash covered the rider, his clothes, his tack, and his horse, most terrifying of all.

“Good evening, my lords, my lady. Would any of you know the way to the schoolhouse? I seem to have gotten lost again…”

I glanced at Sam, who shook his head, then Dean. He cleared his throat and said, “We’re not from around here.”

“Pity,” the rider said. A twitch of the reins shifted his horse down the path to his right. “It’s always this fork that gives me trouble. Mayhaps the right will prove correct this time.” With a gentle prod of his heels, the horse obeyed and began walking once more. “A good evening to you all.” He tipped his hat as he passed, then turned ahead for the trail.

The sudden need to confirm my suspicions gripped me like a vice. Talk about a wild hair.

“Wait!” I squirmed from Sam and Dean’s arms and followed the rider. “Who are you?”

The horse turned broadside as the rider’s glassy stare fell upon me once more. Though I knew the answer before he spoke, my fingers and toes burned with anticipation.

“I’m the new teacher. Ichabod Crane.”

He turned back to the path with a final touch to his hat, and his horse started ahead once more. The dark depths of the forest swallowed him whole, vanishing as though a figment of my imagination.

Wordlessly, I returned to Sam and Dean, who also said nothing. A stunned silence followed us the remainder of the walk back to the car. Without anything to pack up—I made a mental note to recover our shovels and flashlights, lest they be found later—Dean slid in behind the wheel and started her up. I slipped into the backseat, beyond exhausted and unsurprised to find Sam there as well. Unintrusive, his fingers slipped between mine, and I clung to him, an anchor in a sea of madness.

Dean grasped the steering wheel, white knuckles twisting over the leather and a thousand-mile stare gazing through the windshield. When Sam tapped him on the shoulder, he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then wrenched the shifter into drive.

Through the gate and past the church, we returned to the main road. Small town Sleepy Hollow passed us by as though we drifted through another world. Halloween decorations no longer appeared quaint or impressive; grisly murals and disturbing effigies hooked into fresh memories, and I looked to Sam for solace. For comfort. For grounding.

And it worked. Kaleidoscope colors diffused the dull gray world around me. Only Sam and the distant, soothing rumble of the Impala remained. Though fear roiled in the pit of my stomach, a renewed sense of hope tempered that heat. Special. I’d meant it in jest earlier. Sam didn’t make me feel special. He helped me feel. In a world where I blocked out so much, he managed to give me something worth feeling again.

Just like that, the Impala undulated up and over the driveway as Dean turned into the parking lot of the motel. In his spot before our door, he snapped the shifter into park and slumped back in his seat. A long moment of silence stretched between us all until he sighed.

“Son of a bitch.”

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE AWESOME. IF YOU WANT IN ON THE TAGS, SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM!

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary - Chapter Seventeen

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Chapter 17 of 19

Also on AO3

A/N: It’s another kinda shorter one but FAO;IJSELDFJ DOST MINE EYES SPOT THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL? After this, only one chapter and an epilogue left! also, fun fact, tsuru was my grandma’s maiden name!

***********************

The sun is bright and warm, heating Katsuki’s skin as he lets his feet carry him along the sidewalk. He’s distantly aware of the continuous chatter beside him as his latest assignment goes over the tactics of their most recent game of capture the flag with the other neighborhood kids at the park.

Tsuru Yuji, age 6.

Target of schoolyard bullies.

Colorful personality trapped behind a stoic, quiet demeanor.

In the beginning, Katsuki had thought that he’d be a bit of a tougher case, one that would keep his mind from tracking back to the house just two streets over with the girl with the happy smile, and the man with the all too bright eyes.

But things never went the way he wanted them to, apparently, since it had only taken a matter of days to break Yuji from his shell, and just a couple of weeks for the change to completely turn his school life around. Now Yuji had friends, and the inability to stop talking.

“Mr. Bakugou?” His name shattered his reverie, pulling his attention down to the kid at his side. The sunlight glinted off of Yuji’s too big glasses, blinding him momentarily.

“How many times do I have to tell you to drop the ‘mister,’ kid?” Katsuki gruffs without any heat as he returns his gaze back to the pavement stretched before them.

Yuji’s reply comes in the form of a high pitched giggle before he continues on about how next time, they should make the top of the slide their home base.

“Then, we could just slide down if we need to get away fast!” He exclaims, hands shooting upward as if the revelation is groundbreaking. And maybe it is.

Who was Katsuki to say for sure?

“You’re too damn smart, kid,” he replies with a halfhearted laugh of his own as he keeps his eyes trained forward.

The first time they’d taken this route back to Yuji’s house, he had told himself it was a mere accident. His feet had grown so used to this street that they’d automatically made their way here before he could even acknowledge the direction they had gone.

Not that it had mattered, as he had told himself, as he’d stolen a quick glance at the Midoriya household just days after he’d left it for the final time. While a bit out of the way, this path still technically did lead to Yuji’s house.

The second time they’d taken it, Katsuki had told himself a bit more walking was good for them both. Nothing wrong with a bit more exercise and all that.

Now, a month later, he had run out of excuses to tell himself.

It had broken just about every big rule in the imaginary friend handbook, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to catch just one more glimpse of the pair that had worked their way so far under his skin.

When he had left the Midoriya household for the final time, he had left a bit of himself behind. The gaping open maw of his chest had been exposed and raw, leaving him filled with a painful ache unlike anything he had ever felt. Katuski had felt loss in the past, but this had been wholly different, and in those first few days, he had wondered if he might never be whole again.

It was a dramatic thought, of course. One he had to swallow down like a bitter pill as he’d taken on his next assignment.

The ache remained, it had just numbed enough for him to be able to finally breathe again.

But that didn’t stop him from walking by their home whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Just to be sure things were still okay.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Gaze still ahead, and Yuji’s droning voice filling his ear, Katsuki feels his heart stutter at the sight of movement in the Midoriya’s yard.

The honey colored sunlight twists in Eri’s hair, making it shine bright as she cheers happily at something Izuku says. She looks absolutely elated as she crawls her way up into the car and waits for her dad to get her buckled in. When Izuku closes the door, and turns to walk around the back, Katsuki can see the wide smile that’s still stretched across his lips.

They look so happy, he thinks, and something about that knowledge fills his lungs with acid.

Katsuki watches as Izuku makes his way around the vehicle, his wide frame pausing at the driver’s side as he looked out toward the street.

For just one fleeting moment, Katsuki feels his breath stall in his chest as that familiar green stare passes over him. It’s gone almost as quickly as it has come, but it still leaves his heart racing as he watches Izuku climb into the car.

“Mr. Bakugou!” Yuji’s voice is indignant as he calls his attention back to him. Snapping his gaze away from the car as it backs out of the driveway, Katsuki hums.

“Yeah, yeah, kid,” he says, trying to ignore the strain that leaves him sounding breathless. “I’m listening.”

***

Katsuki was fucking angry.

And tired.

So goddamn tired.

Tired of the pitying looks his friends shot him when they thought he wasn’t looking. Tired of feeling like hole had been punched through his fucking chest. Tired of the emerald colored dreams that haunted him.

And especially tired of being summoned to the fucking Administrator’s office.

He’d woken that morning to the text that had the audacity to proclaim a meeting time for just an hour from then, and he already knew what it meant. Time to move on. Because it was always fucking time to move on.

Katuski would never be able to stay in one place for long, never allowed to be something permanent.

And that pissed him off.

His angry steps punctuated the otherwise quiet of the lobby, making the poor sap manning the front desk jump as they looked up from their coffee towards him.

“Mr. Bak—” they start to say, eyes going wide as he growls.

“Don’t call me that,” Katsuki hisses before he throws open the doors. The loud crack of the wood against the walls cut through the air in a dramatic way that would normally fill him with some sort of thrill. Now, it just settles somewhere in the vast expanse that sits at the center of his chest, lost to the empty feeling that’s slowly expanding.

“Lively as ever this morning, young Bakugou,” the Administrator says, not bothering to look up from the folder he’s holding open before him.

The sight of the unassuming tan of the file only serves to push the burning fury through him faster as he lets the doors fall shut behind him with another loud crash. It feels as if the air in the room is sucked out by the bone shaking sound as Katsuki fixes his fiery stare on Toshinori.

“Cut to the chase, old man,” he snarls, mouth twisting into a sneer that’s full of teeth and sharp rage.

A soft sigh brushes through the space as he watches the Administrator close the folder before gently pushing it toward the edge of the desk.

“Please take a seat,” Toshinori offers, keeping his attention forward.

“I’d rather just get this over with,” Katsuki bites out in return.

There’s another weighted pause before Toshinori sits back, his gaze finally finding Katsuki’s as it flashes with the steely silence of a command. For all the kindness and fun loving nature that encapsulated the Administrator, he had almost forgotten that he was the leader of the Imaginary Friends fo a reason.

Swallowing the sharp taste of his pride, Katsuki walks to the bean bag chair, falling into it with a muted thud.

“Talk,” Katsuki snaps, whittling the single word down to a barely there syllable as he keeps his gaze trained on Toshinori’s. His stubborn defiance is the only reason he catches the shift in the Administrator’s stare as it sweeps over him. Softening into something fond, and almost sad, it cools the inferno tearing through his veins, if only for just a moment.

“Have I ever told you about my predecessor?” He asks, solemn and far off, as if lost to the track of time.

“You brought me here for a fucking history lesson?” Katsuki growls, hands curling into tight fists where they sit on his knees. Toshinori’s eyebrow raises in silent admonishment. It forces a low string of grumbles from his mouth as he folds his arms across his chest and slips lower into the bean bag.

“His name was Banjo Daigoro, and he was a great Administrator,” he sighs at the memory. “But I was never his first choice for successor.”

A spark of interest lights the cavern of his insides as he cocks his head to the side.

“Originally, he had chosen one of my closest friends,” the Administrator continues before taking a steadying breath.

“Shimura Nana.”

The name rocks through Katsuki, sending a chill rocketing down his spine as his mind spins around the words that had encapsulate Shimura Nana’s terminated friendship.

“She was in training to take over the position, but was still going out into the field. Loved working with kids, you know?” He says, a small chuckle weaving between his words as his gaze goes distant at the memory.

“Banjo had assigned her a final case before she was going to be officially promoted. But then, she was seen.”

Shimura Nana reports child caretaker made verbal acknowledgement of her presence.

Katsuki remembered. She had only been with her charge for a week before it had happened.

And then—

Friendship terminated.

“Torino Sorahiko,” Toshinori rattles off, voice void of inflection as he recites what was written in the file word for word, as if it laid there before him.

“Lost both his parents. Was showing aggression towards his uncle, who had taken him in. He was a good kid, Nana was adamant about that. Then one day, his uncle saw her, and spoke to her.”

The blue of his eyes goes perfectly clear, settling into a cutting blue as his gaze returns to the present. Finding Katsuki once more, they whittle away at him until he’s flayed open, raw and exposed beneath the Administrator’s stare.

The feeling of being seen clings to him like a premonition. It’s equal parts awe and terror as it works its way through him.

Swallowing thickly, Katsuki speaks.

“What happened?”

But he knows. Has known for far too long.

Friendship terminated.

“We aren’t exactly supposed to be seen by anyone other than our charge, especially not by their parents or caretakers, as you know,” Toshinori says, pausing long enough to arch a brow at him before continuing.

“And Nana knew that too. Probably better than most, given the position she was going to take.”

He pauses again as his lips quirk sharply upward with bygone amusement and his voice falls into a hush, carried by the weight of his memory’s past.

“Funny thing is, that didn’t change anything. Even knowing hadn’t been enough.”

Katsuki’s breath catches deep in his throat and threatening to choke him as Toshinori speaks.

“Officially, they terminated the friendship. If you found Torino’s file right now, it would say as much. But Nana had returned after that, and they could still see her.”

Silence settles between them as Katsuki notices the way Toshinori’s eyes shine wetly.

“So, she made a choice,” he finally concludes with a shrug, as if what he had just said was nothing. As if he had just been talking about the weather. Katsuki might have even found it funny, how mundane he had made it, if it wasn’t for the fact that every single one of the Administrator’s words had been shrapnel that had torn him apart.

“What did she choose?” He hears himself ask, voice twisted into something even he doesn’t recognize. It hurts, the way it scrapes itself through his throat, and he could swear he tastes blood at the back of his tongue.

And yet for all the ways Katsuki ached, Toshinori just looks him over before fixing him with an all knowing smile.

Slowly, he reaches across the desk and pushes the folder closer towards him.

“It’s time to move on, young Bakugou,” he says by way of answer. The statement rings with a finality, one that doesn’t allow for argument or further discussion.

Sighing loudly, Katsuki grabs the folder, defeat hanging heavy across his shoulders in a way that makes him think he might find himself crushed into the ground with it.

Maybe that would be better, anyway, he thinks as he flips it open. With his eyes fixed down at the file, Katsuki feels his heart rate spike as it ratchets inside the cage of his chest.

“What is this?” He asks, not looking up. His pulse is deafening as it beats its soaring rhythm in his ears as his eyes trace back and forth across the folder, as if he’s missing something.

Except he knows he isn’t.

What could he possibly miss when the file itself is empty?

Katsuki’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he finally shifts his attention upward. His confusion is met with another smile.

“Even imaginary friends need to grow up,” the Administrator says. The words circle around him, overlaid with the memory from months ago, when he’d been in this same spot, only the folder before him then had held information about a little girl and her dad.

Then, he hadn’t known his life was about to change.

Now, he feels the sudden click of a realization deep in his chest as his gaze falls back down on the empty folder in his lap.

A rush works through him, filling the chasm at the center of his chest as his lips slowly turn up into a smile.

************************

[typewriterghcst]

Title: But For Me It Was Tuesday Rating: also G-ish, but some allusions to probably what we would consider child abuse in the modern day lbr Characters: one (1) OC, Baron, Natori, Yuki Summary: The events of The Cat Returns, but told through the eyes of the smallest-- oh, sorry, my mistake— the youngest kitchen maid in the service of the Cat King. No romantic pairings. A crush or two may be mentioned, though. Notes: Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, even though I emphatically missed the deadline rip. This one was for the prompt of ‘Movie Extra’, which I took to mean, well, pretty much just what I wrote— the events of the movie as a backdrop to another character’s everyday life, lmao This is another one that isn't Entirely Finished, but I've been working on it since June-ish and I've just lost all motivation to finish it. Though, unlike the last one I posted that was unfinished, the only part missing from this one is the ending.  There's also a part in here involving Natori that needed to be changed, but I liked the wording and imagery of it, and never did get around to figuring out where else to put it, so some of the pacing in here is Off rip

                                                        &&&

She oversleeps. That's the first unusual misfortune that happens to her on this particular day. Opens the day, no less, she  thinks to herself as she forlornly stokes the ovens' gently smoldering fires. Her ears are still ringing from the boxing she'd received— the fact that Cook had had to include a little hop to even reach them means what little pride she has feels just as bruised.

Were she a more superstitious, flighty sort, she might even have taken this setback as the first of likely many portents of an upcoming stressful day. But instead she is only Topolina, the youngest (but emphatically not the smallest; more on that later) kitchen maid currently languishing away in the employ of the illustrious royal castle of the Cat Kingdom.

Of course, it’s there she stops herself. It’s only the chaos of the morning that has her using such bitter language. She should try harder, she tells herself, not to linger on the unpleasant aspects of her current existence, and instead focus on… on… well, she supposes there’s something to be grateful for in all of this. 

Like…

Oh! She has a home. A relatively nice bed to sleep in. And meals, every day.

...Meals which she is most often forced to wolf down in the kitchen in solitude as she tends the fires and keeps a watchful eye on the simmering pots.

Ah.

Perhaps she needs a bit more practice with this gratitude thing, is all.

It’s entirely possible her recent light resentment had begun with her very name, Topolina, a name which had been quite fitting when she stood at least two heads shorter than all the other kitchen maids, one she'd even perhaps viewed with some fondness for its endearing quality. And yet, alas, it now exists as a name which seems only heavily ironic— that is, now that she's hit the tender age of fourteen and found herself towering over all but the very tallest of cats. It feels to dear Topolina like some massive, omnipresent joke that she remains her old timid, meek self, still eager to fade into the background and disappear... now without even the faintest hope of being able to do so.

Metaphorical salt in the wound is the undeniable fact that her pinafore's hem, once perfectly aligned with her ankles and cutely poofy, now drapes awkwardly far above its original position. Perhaps it’s comparatively trivial atop all her other complaints, but when she finds herself thinking back to her old unassuming silhouette, she can’t help but feel at least a little crestfallen. Nowadays, she feels quite akin to a pitifully overgrown shrub, no matter how many well-meaning words to the contrary she receives.

All in all, she imagines such a thing might make anyone feel rather less than appreciative.

It’s as she’s sitting there alone before one of the nine stoves in the palace kitchen, contemplating her rotten luck, that she hears— well. She’s not sure, exactly. It’s something of a crunching sound, like rusted metal grinding against itself, and she can’t imagine what its source could be. She stands, and gingerly inspects the oven itself from every angle she can think of. She even studies her fire iron. Yet still she comes up empty-handed.

Defeated, she flops back down in her original spot.

And then— she squeaks, because the ground under her is moving, slowly twisting back and forth as if she’s sitting on a lazy top. She leaps (falls is more accurate) off the emerging ground once her mind comes back to her, once it stops panicking, and stares in confounded shock as the very spot she’d been settled atop transforms into what appears to be a long-forgotten manhole covering. How long had that been there?! She’s never been made aware of an old servant’s tunnel in this area!

Her perplexion only deepens when she spies just who has made use of this abandoned tunnel— a cat much like herself, though she thinks that he looks quite a sight better than she would have had she just crawled through a dirty tunnel. His off-white suit is pressed and smart, for one, and hardly has a tear nor even a wrinkle to show for the abuse he’s no doubt just put it through.

His sharp gaze falls then on her, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of her ill-fitting, nearly threadbare pinafore, the scuffs of dirt and soot smattered across it, and her probably unkempt fur, smudged and mussed from fire-tending. Oh, if she could just will the earth itself to open its maw and swallow her up—!

“Ah,” he starts, in a much gentler voice than Topolina had expected, turning to her and offering a hand to help her up, “I apologize. It was not my intention to startle you.”

“N-No, it’s okay,” she stammers, taking his hand without thinking. (Were she in a right state of mind, she’d never do such a thing— the very last thing her poor Young Maiden’s Heart could stand is for a handsome gentleman to struggle to lift her.) He pulls her up with little difficulty, though, and in her chest she feels a very peculiar thump, and then a flutter.

“A-Are you here for the king..?” She asks impulsively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, appearing to think that over for a fleeting moment, perhaps aware of the myriad of ways the pairing of her question and his response could be interpreted, before he makes his decision.

“Yes. I would like to have an audience with him. It’s a matter of utmost importance.”

“Y… you’re not here to kill him, are you?” She whispers, perhaps irrationally afraid that the king himself might be listening in on her. And yet, not too irrational— she’s seen his spying Cat’s Eye floating languidly about the castle on more than one occasion.

There’s something pitying in his gaze, she thinks, but he replies graciously enough. “You have my word, miss. I am not here to usurp or otherwise harm your king.” Then, while dusting some nonexistent dirt off his clothes, “I do believe I will need a change of wardrobe, however. It won’t do to adress a king while clad in anything less than my finest, will it?”

He says it without flinching, and in such an earnestly straightforward fashion, that Topolina herself is almost led to believe there really is some flaw with his clothing that she simply can’t see.

“Oh!” She says then in sudden inspiration. Without explaining herself first, she scampers to the open alcove behind him, separated only by an unfinished wall. The kitchen servants have long used the area as a makeshift coat rack, and one particularly bizarre ensemble has been there for as long as she can remember. She comes back around the wall bearing the large hat and cloak before offering it to him, embarrassed now that she realizes that, judging by her actions, this is what constitutes ‘his best’ for her: an absurd hat and a dusty, worn cloak.

He himself appears no less than enchanted at her offering, however, and when he stands before her with the hat cocked just slightly on his head and azure mantle thrown over his shoulders, Topolina finds she’s again being assaulted by those odd, vexing heart palpitations. Is she really such a nervous thing? ...Yes, she answers herself firmly. Yes, she is. But she’s far from convinced nerves are to blame in this instance.

“Oh,” she breathes eventually, clasping her paws together and resting them against the edge of her cheek. “You look like you came out of a storybook.”

Well… that was more childish than she meant it to be.

“Then it’s perfect,” he says succinctly. Then, removing the hat and inclining his head to her, he adds, “Thank you for your assistance, ah—”

“Top— erm, Lina.”

“Miss Lina, it is. I’m quite grateful for your help. I am sorry only to startle you and then run without so much as a token for your assistance, but it’s imperative I make good time.”

Topolina shakes her head. “It’s okay— I-I don’t mind!”

And with a final bow, he leaves her and the kitchen behind.

                                                        &&&

Peculiar dashing stranger aside, the rest of her day passes in relative normality. There’s a clamor about the servants some time later, and she catches snippets of an excited buzz about something happening with the prince (something that ties in with a group of special guests, but she’s yet to put together how) as she goes about her duties, but in all, for how bizarre the day started out, it all strikes her as rather uneventful.

She’s instructed eventually to scour the floors in the audience chamber in preparation for a banquet, which means filling an old rusted tub with hot water and soap, and then carting it to said room. She’s no stranger to the task, of course, and thinks nothing of trudging through the hall with this metal burden in her arms.

Perhaps as penitence for her lack of investment in the day’s continuing  Wonders, another ill-fated obstacle is tossed onto the tracks before her. In this case, literally. 

Earlier that day, a courier had accidentally overturned a loose stone in the hallway floor. Scratching his head, staring down at the disturbed piece of clay as though it had personally insulted him in the most obtuse way possible, he’d eventually looked from one end of the corridor to the other and quietly snuck it back into place, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

Unfortunately, Topolina notices.

With a decidedly unfeline-like squawk, she trips over the rogue stone; the tub in her arms ends up the victim of gravity, as we all so unfortunately are.

And who should turn the corner then but Natori, just in time to be the unwitting second victim of her bad luck— drenched by the ensuing sheet of warm, sudsy water and so jarred by it, it seems he can do little other than look rapidly from his own sodden person to her no-doubt horrified countenance for near a full two minutes. In the fraught silence that follows, his glasses clatter to the earthen floor, and the tiny sound echoes in her ears like a gunshot. Trembling, Topolina instantly drops to her haunches, paws clapped together in desperate and tearful pleading.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir! Please, I beg your pardon— I didn't mean— i-it was an accident!"

"...Topolina," Natori finally interrupts quietly, gently, even, but the hum of exasperation vibrates just underneath his patient tone like a trapped butterfly, "—retrieve a mop and a towel, please.”

“Of course, sir! R-Right away!”

                                                        &&&

It’s afterward, as Topolina does her best to mop around him while he tries to dry himself without incurring any extra… floof, that Natori deems an appropriate time to address his reason for coming this way in the first place.

“It’s possible that Cook may have instructed you about this task already, but the kitchen staff will likely be needing every pot and pan that can be spared for today’s dinner, so do ensure that you tend to the ones that have been, er, languishing in... that corner.” When she chances a glance at him, she sees that his gaze is inconspicuously trained on a particularly infamous corner of the palace kitchens, one where abandoned cookware is just shy of creating its own ecosystem by now. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, some measure of indignation rises in her; she’s so very close to telling him she isn’t the one to blame in this instance! ...At least, not the only one.

Ah. Alas, once more. Her courage withers in the face of this culpability, small as it may be. Instead, she goes back to her doleful mopping. Still, there is at least enough nerve left in her to present him with one continuing question on the topic.

"Is it... is it for the special guests?"

Natori pauses, giving her something of a searching glance. "...It is, yes." Then, after a few seconds spent appearing to think this over, he continues ringing out the bottom hem of his robe. It seems at some point while she was distracted, he’d laid the drenched towel at his feet. "I see word spreads fast through the kitchens."

To herself, she thinks that he has no idea how true that is, nor precisely how fast it truly does.

Finally satisfied with all that the towel can accomplish in drying him off (and evidently feeling his now damp robe will no longer leave any puddles as he wanders through the castle), he returns it to her. "Now, Topolina, please try to keep the mishaps to a minimum. We do have an exceptional guest today, after all."

She only nods frantically, all too aware of her ears flapping up and down. To this, he gives an approving nod of his own, and then finally turns on his heel and leaves. Secure in her admittedly paltry position for at least another day, Topolina breathes a sigh of relief as she puts the mop away.

...An exceptional guest, he’d said. Curiosity flares again, this time stronger than before, and she can’t stop wondering just who they could be. For the most fleeting of seconds, she remembers the cat who had interrupted her delayed routine this morning, but he’s quickly waved away.

Honored guests did not arrive to their own commemoration by climbing through old servants’ tunnels.

                                                        &&&

Once the dirtiest, most grime-caked pots and pans are finally scrubbed to perfection, she peeks around the corner in search of Cook or Natori, wondering what other (insignificant) part she may have to play in the care of these exceptional guests. To her consternation, however, the kitchen aside from her seems rather empty, present only to the sound of a maid or two prepping extra portions of stuffed mice on the off-chance they’re requested.

Cautious as always, Topolina all but tiptoes through, still careful not to draw attention to herself, and— once she’s certain she’s not being scrutinized— peeks out of the kitchen itself into the servers’ hallway. There’s music playing, muffled, down the hall in the great dining room— something elegant, bouncy. A waltz, perhaps. She wonders distantly who it is that might be dancing, and if the well-spoken cat she’d crossed paths with earlier is anything of a dancer himself. She could imagine him dancing… Oh, the flutter is back.

“Lina—”

“Yes!!”

She jumps impressively high, her hackles on edge and tail fluffed out in alarm.  Yet, when she whips around to face her unexpected company, she’s met only with Yuki. Another of the kitchen servants, Yuki has existed as a consistently friendly, warm presence, to the degree that she’d willingly adopted Topolina’s attempts to shorten her, well, newly embarrassing name, something a few of the other servants (and Natori…) were still having trouble with. Her fright abated, Topolina tries to greet the smaller cat with a smile, but it wavers.

“Oh— Yuki, it’s you.” She’s carrying a large glass bottle, freshly-filled with some unfamiliar pink-tinged liquid, Topolina notices.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki starts in reply. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I-It’s okay!”

“What were you looking at?”

Oh. That.

“I was looking for Cook,” Topolina admits reluctantly. “Or maybe Natori. I’ve finished the dishes they wanted me to clean earlier today.”

“I saw The Corner was all clean. It must have taken a while.” Yuki sounds impressed, perhaps. Topolina doesn’t mention it, of course, but deep down she’s a little tickled. “Natori’s already taken his place in the dining room, though, so I don’t think you’ll have any luck getting more directions from him.”

“Oh…” Thinking back now, she realizes she should have surmised that already. At least, if the banquet has progressed to the point that entertainment is warranted. “What about Cook? Have you seen her?”

“Sorry, I haven’t.”

After a short silence, it suddenly occurs to Topolina that Yuki seems… a little distracted. Troubled, even. Fidgeting, she gathers her resolve for the third time that day.

“...Are you okay? You look like… um, something’s on your mind.”

Just the mention of her evident disquiet is enough to erase its presence from her expression; Yuki almost instantly brightens some, shaking her head gently.

“No, no. I’m fine.” And then, before Topolina can press the issue, “How about this? Stay here— I have to go back in and serve refills. If I see Cook, I’ll ask her what else she wants you to do and then fill you in when I come back. Okay?”

Topolina is just about to enthusiastically agree (leisure time in the sparsely occupied kitchen? Not being the one to personally ask Cook for more work? Of course she’d be on board!), but a sudden eruption of screams and breaking glass from the direction of the banquet room means the two of them are turning their startled attention to the ruckus instead.

“Wh— what could it be..?” Topolina wonders aloud, shaken.

[ and that's it rip the ending i had in mind was that yuki tells topolina to find a safe place, topolina cowers probably in the kitchen the whole time, especially upon hearing an Explosion. and the next day there's all kinds of rumors and tall tales about baron and The Daring Rescue he pulled off. topolina connects the dots and. well basically becomes haru 2.0 crushing on him and indulging in fantasies where she's also swept off her feet by a dashing hero fjfjkda; ]

[whatissleepeven]

Devildom's Spooks and Scares (Obey Me!)

For my wife @sevensins-stuff because we both share the same fear 😌💕💖💞💖💕💞

*This fic contains her mc Aqua and my mc Musashi. Both of their pronouns are she/her, so read at your own discretion!*

(And can someone show me how to do the "read more" option because I for the life of me have no idea how to do it and this post is LONG)

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

Lucifer placed a hand on Musashi's shoulder, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you ready?"

Musashi glanced up at him before sweeping her gaze over the other brothers, Barbatos holding the way to the other side open. This would mark the first time they were going to visit Aqua's universe, and needless to say they were all looking forward to being with her and the brothers' counterparts again.

She smiled. "Of course I am!"

She was stoked to finally talk to Aqua in person rather than over text all the time. A few weeks had passed since their fateful encounter, and it was a hassle to see when their schedules lined up so they could go visit.

The eldest brother removed his hand with a small smile of his own, nodding towards the open door. There was a myriad of colors swirling in its maw, but they all had confidence that it would lead them to the right place.

"Then let's go."

Once they landed on the other side, they looked up at the House of Lamentation. Much like when they met Aqua's group, they were situated near the front door.

"Well, what're we waiting for?!" Mammon said, marching up and (to his credit) knocking on the door.

He only got two knocks in before the door swung open, Aqua's wide smile being the first thing to greet them.

"You're here!!"

Musashi brightened at her appearance, taking a running start and tackling her into a hug. "Aqua!!"

Aqua stumbled back from the force of her hug, laughing at her energy as, this time, she didn't hesitate to hug back. "Long time no see, Musashi!"

Musashi's version of the demon brothers entered from behind, most looking on in amusement at the two humans before seeking their respective counterpart. It was surreal that they were all gathered again (and in such short time to boot), and quickly the House of Lamentation filled with laughter and shrieks (courtesy of the Levis, who found out that they had enough power to defeat a difficult boss level in one of their games).

"How have you been?!" Musashi asked Aqua excitedly, releasing her from the hug.

The taller human smiled at her energy, giving her a pat on the head. "Oh, you know...about as well as a human can do in a house full of demons."

Musashi laughed as Aqua's face scrunched up, the latter no doubt thinking about something one (or more) of the brothers had done recently. "That bad, huh?"

"...You could say..." Aqua answered cryptically, which caused Musashi to burst out laughing again.

She wiped a stray tear from her eye, giving Aqua a side hug. "I've missed you."

The way Aqua's eyes twinkled let her know that she felt the same. "I need a sane person in my life right now."

Musashi linked their arms together. "Unfortunately, I don't think either of us are "sane" either, but hey; at least we're staying the night!"

Aqua's answering laugh warmed her heart, and the two retreated to her room to catch up. They found that it was indeed Solomom who had brought them back, and even shared their similarities with the Golden Hellfire Newt Syrup Fiasco.

"Did you kiss Lucifer?" Musashi teased, lightly pushing Aqua's arm. She was privy to all the late night conversations about how her own Lucifer was hot, and how Musashi's Lucifer was subjected to her endless teasing due to his height. Musashi found it incredibly endearing and cute, so sometimes she asked her own Lucifer what he thought about Aqua.

Lucifer's brows furrowed, a scowl setting on his face as he stared into the distance. "There is nothing to talk about," he'd say, but Musashi knew better as she saw a tiny of red to his cheeks.

"Mm-hm, okay. Thanks Lucifer!"

"What does that mea- hey, no running in the halls!"

Judging by the light flush on Aqua's cheeks, she had hit the nail right on the head. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, goofball."

Musashi grinned, proceeding to make kissy noises like a five year-old to further embarrass her friend. "Aqua and Lucifer, sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N- "

Aqua pushed her shoulder, her body shaking with laughter. "Shut up you dork! How about you and a certain white-haired demon, hmm?"

Musashi's mouth clamped shut, red spilling onto her cheeks. She forgot that she in turn told her about her (hopeless) crush on Mammon one fateful night, her sleep-deprived brain turning wax poetic as she gushed about his eyes or the rare, bright smiles he sent her way.

She averted her gaze, sweat rolling down her cheek. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Aqua's smirk was piercing. "Did you two kiss, or no?"

Musashi buried her face into her hands, letting out a noise of embarrassment. "I-I could never, you know that! I'd just be taking advantage of him...I hugged him instead."

She didn't mention how warm and soft Mammon's hug was, nor how she practically melted into his hold as she hugged him back just as tightly. She also didn't mention how she couldn't muster up the courage to even ask him for another hug, but the amusement in Aqua's eyes let her know that she was in the process of coming to that conclusion.

She opened her mouth to tease some more, but a brief knock on the door followed by Satan's head poking in interrupted her.

"Dinner's ready, you two." The blonde said in an amused tone. A shorter Satan also peeked into the room, gesturing for them to get up.

"Hurry and grab your plates before the Beels eat it all."

Aqua and Musashi shared a glance before they were running out of the room, the Satans barely having time to get out of the way.

"Last one there's a rotten egg!"

"Wh- hey, you've got longer legs than me!"

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

Dinner was, as always, loud but peaceful. There was more of a surplus of food than usual due to there being two Beels, the Belphies sliding some food onto their plates whenever they caught them looking at someone else's food (read: the Levis'). It got a little hectic once both Lucifers reached for the same piece of food, their staring contest masking the clash of wills that Musashi could've sworn caused electricity to spark between them.

"Hm? Mammon, what's that?"

Asmo's questioning voice had them turning to the demon in question, who was polishing a bottle as Musashi's Mammon looked on with intense focus. He pointed out if the other missed a spot, and Musashi marvelled at how efficient their team up already was. Isn't this only the second time they met in person?

"I bought this at a shop not too long ago, and I plan on sellin' it for a higher price on Akuzon." He explained, wiping the cloth over the smooth surface of the object. "I jus' gotta polish it a bit, is all."

Aqua's Satan hummed, eyeing the vase with a troubled look. "Where have I seen that case before...?"

"Ah! Gotta clean the inside, too." Aqua's Mammon murmured, faltering once his hands reached the cork. "Why the hell's this on there?"

Aqua's face shifted into one of unease. "Hey, Mammon, maybe you shouldn't - "

"Too late!" He cackled, pulling it off in one go. The lights flashed as seven apparitions flew out of the vase, their chilling laughter shaking Musashi to her core.

Aqua's Satan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Now I remember. That case is home to seven particularly pesky poltergeists. Luckily, we should be able to reseal them again using the vase."

Musashi tensed. Poltergeists...as in ghosts?

She couldn't handle ghosts.

"Haha, that's funny Satan." Aqua's laugh fell short as she rubbed her arms, glancing around the room. Musashi scooted her chair closer to offer her a bit of comfort despite being scared as well.

The taller Satan frowned. "I didn't make a joke?"

Musashi's Lucifer sent a glare at the Mammons, who were already tense enough as it was. "And now they're roaming the House."

The other Lucifer sighed. "In any case, they don't pose a threat. All they pull are small pranks."

"Wh- we're just leavin' em?!" Musashi's Mammon yelped, Aqua's Mammon shifting from foot to foot as he eyed the ceiling warily. Musashi's heart went out to them both; everyone knew about Mammon's fear of ghosts and things that went bump in the night, and they were always teased about it.

"Why not?" Aqua's Asmo shrugged, a smile on his face. Musashi marvelled at how calm he was being; then again, her mind was running at 150 miles per hour and double-checking every corner covered in shadow. "I think they're cute, pulling harmless little pranks. Don't you agree, Aqua?"

Aqua had yet to loosen up, her back straight as she replied in a cautious tone. "Yeah...cute."

Asmo's eyes widened, an amused smile spreading across his face as he connected the dots. "Why, are you - "

Levi stood up from the dining table, the shorter Levi following in tandem. "Well, we're gonna go game. See ya."

Both Belphies stood up as well. "Going to bed sounds nice right about now, so we're leaving. Beel, are you coming?"

The Beels stopped sneaking food from Asmo's plate, nodding. "Yeah. Goodnight, everyone."

One by one (or in this case, two by two), they all dispersed until only the humans and the Lucifers were left.

Aqua's Lucifer nodded at them both. "We'll be retiring to my-...our room as well. Is there anything you'd like to say?"

Musashi felt like laughing, hysteria building in her throat. How was anyone (save for the Mammons and Aqua, who was turning paler by the second) calm about this? Have they not watched The Conjouring? Insidious?

The Exorcist??

"Nope!" She said, voice strained, "All good here! Everything is good in this hood! Happy hunky dory!"

Now both Lucifers were looking at her strangely. Aqua's forced laugh turned their confused gazes to her, the taller human pulling Musashi away.

"Don't mind her, she's just tired. We're gonna go to sleep now too so BYE!!"

Once they made it to Aqua's room, Musashi closed the door behind her and slumped to the floor.

"So...ghosts."

Aqua flopped against her bed, a stressed sigh escaping her that seemed to stem from her very soul.

"...Ghosts."

Musashi worked her way over, resting her back against the bed. "How screwed are we on a scale of one to ten?"

Aqua shifted, turning to face her. Her expression was apprehensive, and she ran her hand through her hair as her brows furrowed. "Try a twenty."

Musashi fiddled with her hands. "...I guess we sleep it off, somehow?"

Aqua's voice came out dry, her humor tumbling straight to the floor. "Ah yes, sleep off the fact that we're going to be experiencing Paranormal Activity in real life."

Musashi was really hoping she wouldn't phrase it like that, but she was right.

There was one thing left to do in a situation like this. It was a fail safe they had come up with over text: Contingency Plan P on Page 117 of their book What To Do In The Event Of A Paranormal Experience.

It was one of the most powerful weapons they had at their disposal, and it worked 98% of the time: It was the foolproof -

"Blanket fort?"

For the first time since Mammon opened the vase, Aqua smiled.

"Blanket fort."

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

They didn't mean to fall asleep.

One minute they were talking, and the next thing Musashi knew was that she was being shaken awake by a very distressed individual. She tensed under the touch, the thought of the ghosts had breached their impenetrable blanket wall and were coming to steal their souls and possess them being the only one that ran through her mind as the shaking got rougher. Her fear was made worse by the fact that she didn't have her glasses on, making the world around her out of focus and leaving her mind to fill in the blanks with its imagination.

Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, and the flight won over as she shied away with a primal startled cry. "Aqua!"

She was relieved to see that Aqua was alright, her blurry figure rising up almost immediately as she punched the form closest to her purely on reflex.

A familiar, brash yelp of pain shook them back to their senses. "Ow! Whaddya have to do that for, huh?!"

Aqua's surprised voice answered. "Mammon? What are you doing in here, so late at night?"

Musashi couldn't really see, but Aqua's Mammon suddenly retreated, bashful. "...What if I just wanted to visit ya? I am your first man, after all!"

Aqua leveled him with a stare. "...Uh-huh."

Her Mammon scowled. "Alright, alright, stop givin' me that look! We were sleepin' and out of nowhere, my radio started playing this horrible sound. Ya gotta come see this, 'cause no one else will believe us!"

A hand touched Musashi' shoulder, and she involuntarily flinched. Her Mammon immediately backed away, raising his hands in defense.

"Woah, chill! It's just me, Musashi!"

Musashi forced herself to relax, groping for her glasses. Where were they...? "Yeah...Yeah. I'm sorry for scaring you, Mammon."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. It was too dark for her to see, but there was a blush on his face as he averted his gaze. "The Great Mammon doesn't get scared, ya hear?! And here; you lookin' for this?"

She felt him gently slide her glasses onto her face, causing her to blink as his face became clearer.

She smiled awkwardly, red creeping onto her cheeks. "Thank you."

He leaned back on his heels, tripping over his words. "Y-Yeah, whatever...it was nothin'."

Musashi could practically feel Aqua's amused stare as the other human got to her feet.

"Save it for later, you two. We have to check out the noise."

Musashi made a mental note to get back at her whenever they encountered Lucifer next as she scowled at her. Just wait until Lucifer comes into play. Then, it's no mercy from me.

"C'mon already!" The taller Mammon urged, grabbing an already hesitant Aqua's arm. Musashi could tell that she was trying to put on a brave face for the Mammons, and brushed shoulders with her both to comfort her and herself.

"Cheer up, Aqua! What's the worst that could happen?"

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

"OKAY. A LOT OF THINGS. A LOT OF BAD THINGS CAN HAPPEN."

"Less talking, more running!" Aqua snapped at her, the two turning a corner just in time to hear a plate crash where their heads used to be mere moments ago.

The poltergeist chasing them snickered, a hollow sound that was reminiscent to the wheeze of a dying animal. It had popped out of Mammon's stereo and set its sights on the two humans, collecting every object it could levitate and throwing it at them. Musashi could see that Aqua was getting annoyed the longer they ran, but the fear was still on her face as they bobbed and weaved.

The ghost let out a haunting wail. "OooooOoOOHhHH!!"

"Oh fuck off, you Boo Berry looking see through dumpy son of a - " Aqua was cut off as she ran into a solid chest, letting out a small oomph in surprise.

Musashi could've weeped tears of joy upon seeing the two disgruntled Lucifers, clad in pajamas and their hair tousled. Musashi may not be attracted to them, but even she had to admit that they looked hot in casual wear. (Aqua's blush as her eyes widened confirmed that yes, she did in fact agree with her.) "And what exactly are you two doing, running around the House of Lamentation like madmen?"

Aqua backed up immediately, trying for a smirk that unfortunately fell short in the wake of her fear. "Can't we just enjoy a casual run through the house at night?"

Musashi's Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. She saw him count to ten slowly, trying his damndest to reign in his irritation. "Which is exactly the problem: at night."

Aqua looked around her Lucifer at him. "Ah, sorry about that Luci...I didn't see you there."

The shorter Lucifer tensed as Aqua's raised his eyebrow, giving them both a look of amusement. "As much as I would like to see this play out," the taller one said with some humor seeping into his voice, placing steadying hands on Aqua's shoulders, "That still doesn't answer my question. What is the real reason for this?"

He didn't need to wait for an answer. The poltergeist rounded the corner, hurtling a lamp towards them with an unholy shriek.

Musashi's eyes widened as she saw the path the lamp was taking. "Aqua, look ou- !"

- But Aqua was pulled into her Lucifer's hold, the eldest brother wrapping a protective arm around her as he caught the offending object with ease.

Annoyance seeped into his tone. "...It seems I don't need to look further. You have the vase on you still, yes?"

The other Lucifer stepped forward, vase in hand as he directed the opening at the apparition. There was a scowl of his own on his face, irritation seeping into his frame the longer he looked at the ghost. "It's a good thing I hadn't dropped it off after taking care of the one in our room. Let's take care of this nuisance."

"OooOoOoohhhhH..." The ghost let out a guttural moan as it was sucked back into the vase, the floating objects trailing behind it dropping to the floor with a thud before silence returned to the hallway.

Musashi gaped. "Wh...How did you do that?! That was so cool!"

Her Lucifer preened at the compliment, a small smirk on his face as he set down the vase. "It wasn't too hard; remember, Satan had mentioned earlier that all you need to do is point the vase at them and they immediately return to it."

"So it's like Ghostbusters? That makes it a little bit less horrific!"

He regarded her with another look, Musashi realizing too late what she said. "Are you saying that you were scared of a little poltergeist, Musashi?"

Musashi didn't usually throw her friends under the bus, but she didn't want to be the only one suffering under Lucifer's judging yet amused gaze. "W-Well, I'm not the only one!"

"Musashi!" Aqua hissed at her, no doubt remembering her betrayal for a later date.

Musashi looked around frantically in response, the weight of Aqua's glare growing heavier by the second. "Well would you look at the time, it seems like Beel found one in the kitchen! Let's go, Lucifer! Ghostbusting awaits!"

She tugged on his arm, and he barely managed to secure the vase in their grasp before they were off.

...

It seemed like it was just Aqua and Lucifer in the hallway, now.

Aqua's Lucifer looked down at her, a teasing lilt to his voice as a smirk adorned his features. "Afraid ghosts, are you? I never expected you to be the type."

Aqua scowled, red blossoming on her cheeks as she refused to look at him. "It's not like I wanted you to know about it. I can't help what I'm scared of."

She was too busy looking away to notice how his expression softened at her words, only startling when his hand reached up to brush a lock of hair out of her face.

He leaned in, his breath brushing against her cheek as he whispered in her ear. "I'm merely insinuating that you can get behind me if you are scared."

Oh, he was playing dirty and he knew it. Aqua lightly swatted his arm, her scowl gone as she raised the back of her hand to her mouth in an attempt to cover it. She didn't exactly trust the facial expression she was making right now, and most of all she didn't want her Lucifer to see it. "Asshole."

The insult fell flat due to her shaky voice. A chuckle escaped him as he rested his head against hers, hands moving to brace himself on her shoulders as his lips twitched upwards in poorly concealed mirth.

"I don't hear a no from you."

Aqua snorted, a soft smile forming on her own face as she drank in the sight of a laughing Lucifer. It seemed that he was loosening up more and more around her as of late, and this was an expression she wanted to commit to memory.

"Alright Lucifer, I'll humor you. I'm counting on you protect me from all of the remaining poltergeists in here."

The gentle smile he sent her way nearly made her heart stop.

"I wouldn't dream of anything else."

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

"Well, I guess this is it. Again."

Musashi said jovially as she stepped up to Aqua, a bright grin on her face. With the vase in their possession, it hadn't been long before all seven spirits were rounded up and properly sealed inside once more.

To be honest, the highlight of the entire adrenaline-filled night was when they all crashed in the living room, making a blanket for on the floor (per Musashi's and Aqua's request) and falling asleep together.

...At least, it was either that moment or the one where Aqua and her Lucifer had trailed into the kitchen to check up on them shortly after sealing the first ghost, the eldest demon holding her hand in reassurance as she looked like she was going to drop from sheer embarrassment.

"Say nothing," Aqua merely stated the second Musashi opened her mouth with a mischievous twinkle in her mocha orbs, narrowing her eyes at her. "You have no room to talk."

(She really didn't, not with how she had grasped Mammon's hand after a particularly bad scare later on in the night and gave it a squeeze. She couldn't help it; it was a reflex she didn't know she had, and she nearly combusted once he squeezed back.)

"I'll be visiting you next time," Aqua said with a smile, holding her arms out wide.

Musashi sprang into her arms, wrapping her own around the taller woman's waist. She looked up at her, a grin on her face as she heard Aqua laugh at her actions. "Hopefully soon?"

A nod. "Of course! We need to have movie night at your place, remember?"

They reluctantly let go once Musashi's Lucifer called her over, the brothers having already said their goodbyes. She turned to leave, then stopped and threw a heartfelt smile over her shoulder.

"Despite my soul wanting to leave my body on multiple occasions, I had fun this time, too."

Aqua's smile widened as she raised her hand in a wave. "Don't be a stranger!"

Musashi waved back, and before she knew it she was back home.

"I'm going to go sleep off that entire experience," Belphie groaned, dragging his feet towards the entrance of the House of Lamentation.

Satan smiled, glancing behind him at where the portal used to be. "Overall, it was a rather...thrilling experience."

Now it was Asmo's turn to groan, throwing his hands up as he followed the blonde through the door. "Ugh, who let you near the pun books again?"

Levi tapped away at his D.D.D., no doubt texting his counterpart. "This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for Mammon."

Mammon let out a noise of offense. "What makes ya say that? Oi! Where d'ya think you're going, Levi?!"

Lucifer walked after the two, no doubt going to wring out the location of the vase from Mammon so something similar doesn't happen in their timeline.

Beel also made to go inside, but stopped and turned to her. "Musashi, are you coming? I want to try the homemade brownies you promised to bake once we came back."

"Hm? Oh!" Musashi startled, glancing down at her D.D.D. before pocketing it. "I'm sorry for the wait, Beel! Let's get baking!"

The device showed one sent message to Aqua before it shut off on its own.

Did you kiss Lucifer in the hallway too on top of him practically manhandling you to safety?

[princessheatherblossom]

The Savior of Rip Jaw

Rated E for everyone probably, the game wasn't tho

Falion was taken aback, to say the least, when he found the Dragonborn at his doorstep and was even more put off when gazing into her countenance. He didn’t ordinarily like guests period, the other residence of Morthal had taken to spreading one too many nasty rumors about him and his work that it inevitably became a part of every conversation he had with people.

This alone would be fine with him, less socializing he needed to endure but it didn’t bode well for his relationship with dear Agni, his adoptive daughter. He may have saved the poor child from a life of orphan hood but she was still so young and impressionable, a bad reputation in combination with her ‘nightmares’ could put distance between them which was the last thing the mage wanted but all he could really do was hope she was wiser than that.

But no, this was not why he felt an unease with a visit from the Dragonborn herself, they had already met and on amicable terms at that, he remembered when he had first seen her. It left an awe inspiring impression to say the least, as not only was it the first time he had seen the Dragonborn but the first time he had seen a dragon. He heard whispers of the supposed Dragonborn being in their midst but he had also heard rumors of dragons returning to Skyrim and dismissed it just as easily.

It wasn’t until a thundering roar had ripped through the skies did he realize his error.

From the heavens came a winged titan, a maw filled with razor sharp teeth and sweltering flames. The town’s guards were up in arms, flinging arrows in the beast’s direction only to miss as the monster soared quick but effortlessly out of the way and let loose a stream of hellish fire. Falion was left nearly dumb struck as he bade Agni to retreat into the house, this was something he had considered impossible, that was when he saw her.

Rip Jaw, the argonian Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun, Falkreath and many more, charged into the fray. But though she was heavily armored in steel plating she bore no weapons but destruction magic in the palm of her hands. While the fire breathing behemoth dallied with laying waste to the few brave guardsmen that remained Rip Jaw charged a frost spell in her grip and sent stinging spikes of ice careening straight at it and was rewarded with a sharp cry of pain as the freezing barbs ripped through its thick hide.

The enraged creature twisted its neck to meet its new offender, it had barely locked eyes on the stalwart hero before she let out another volley of freezing blades to cut through even more of its draconic flesh. She certainly had the beast's attention, the hellion addressed its challenger with a harrowing breath of blaze, Rip Jaw made quick to dodge the heated torrent but couldn’t move quite quick enough to avoid her arm and shoulder receiving a scalding burn.

The hero fell to one knee, Falion surged forward, she needed help!

But before the conjuring master could even think of a shred of healing he had learned the raw argonian put her own hands to her wounds that were soon shrouded in the golden glow of a restoration charm. In no time she rose, fit as she ever was and stared down her winged adversary, the dragon reeled ready to unleash another vile inferno when a small bombardment of arrows hit it’s back. The remaining guardsmen, and even some mercenaries from the nearby inn, banded together and readied for another attack, not every mark hitting but enough that the intrusive villain was feeling a good amount of damage.

With the fiery demon’s attention split the Dragonborn took a blue bottle from her pocket, chugged down its contents and threw the glass container to the floor with a satisfying smash. Her hands now a glow with that familiar frost she then sent out barrage after barrage of ice spikes at her enemy while marching forward, at the same time the makeshift battalion didn’t let up their attack.

Under fire from two sides the creature let out an earth shaking wail but whether it was of anger, pain, fear or even a combination of the three was unclear. Whatever the case, soon the mammoth lizard spread its wings and began to take off for a hasty retreat but this didn’t set well with the icicle baring adventurer who ran in pursuit. The flying adversary was reaching the edge of the town’s border when the dragonborn, with what remained of her magica, charged one last razor sharp frost spike and launched it into the air. The projectile pierced the offending beast in its belly and brought it crashing down with one last piercing roar.

The argonian adventurer didn’t slow her pace as she approached the dragon’s crash site, a few guards following in her wake. They looked to find the attackers barely twitching corpse and soon a new roar thundered through the town, a roar of celebration from the guards and soon the residence of the small villa in victory and safety assured.

Falion looked on as guards and mercenaries embraced, the innkeeper announcing free first round to the town heroes that sent the battle worn crowd surging in. The merriment born of relief carried through the town but the court wizard gazed back to that battle site to witness a truly fascinating spectacle. Rip Jaw still stood over the fallen dragon’s form, a strange mist swept against her seeming to emanate from the remains. The scales peeled off, the flesh disappeared leaving only bone as streams of energy left the draconic ruins to enter the warrior who delivered the killing blow.

Falion looked on in curious wonder as the foreign woman just blinked at the development, an expression that conveyed familiarity with the occurrence. The mage knew what this had to be, the dragons very essence, its soul, she had absorbed. The dragonborn was here in Morthal, Falion continued to watch her from a distance as she left to enter the Jarl’s hall. He was tempted to follow and ask a million questions but remembered his parental responsibilities and swiftly took off to his own abode cursing himself for not immediately checking on his only child.

Falion would have a small chance later on, some days after the attack, to formally meet the Dragonborn. She approached him on his way out for a walk, a small part of him vaguely entertained asking her all the questions he had surmounted but on the forefront of his mind had been a recent conversation with Agni that left a pit in his stomach.

Could she really believe he’d consume deer hearts just because a villager told her so?

“You are new to Morthal. We have not spoken before. This is interesting…”

“Yes, are you Falion? The Jarl’s wizard?” She said as she advanced to him.

“If you stand before me to accuse me of sacrificing children or eating the hearts of the dead, you may save your breath. I have done no such thing, nor do I intend to. I simply wish to live my life in peace.”

The argonian looked nonplussed at his sudden accusatory statements, “Why would anyone accuse you of that?”

The redguard mage felt the pit in his stomach get deeper, so she hadn’t heard? Falion answered, venom slowly leaving his voice, “The people of Morthal would much rather weave their own horrid tales about my life than simply ask me for the truth. If they choose to fear me in their ignorance, that is their choice. But it will not change what is true.”

“So then...what do you do? If I may ask…” She asked, seeming to make efforts to sound inviting. The comforting tone only serving to make the wizard feel even more guilty for his initial hostility, “I...keep to myself. I offer spells and scrolls to those who need them, and wisdom in Conjuration magic for those who wish to learn. Beyond that I seek only to be left alone to pursue my research…”

“Conjuration! Now could you teach me something about that?”

Falion was both pleasantly surprised by this sudden turn in conversation and relieved, as it turns out this hero classed in many fields of magic and intended to add Conjuration to her arsenal. He most certainly didn’t mind having the bragging rights that he had tutored such a renowned student but was somewhat displeased to hear she was also receiving education from the college in Winterhold. He wouldn’t hold it against her, with no other public magical learning resources available where else would she have ended up?

Fortunately for Agni her new father was an accomplished mage in his own rite so she wouldn’t be subjected to their whims.

With all these experiences in mind a visit from Rip Jaw should be a welcoming event but there was something different about the warrior today and he had seen it before…

It was mid morning, Agni was just about done with a new lesson when a knock sounded at the door and Falion answered to find the dragon born but undoubtedly in a disheveled shape. She carried her horned helmet in one arm, with her opposite hand tugging at the neck brim of her armor. She looked physically uncomfortable in the morning light, and her eyes had a far off look as she addressed him,”Falion...good morning.”

“Ah, the dragonborn, if you are here to purchase I have many spells available. Do come in…” Falion stood aside as Rip Jaw entered with a thankful expression, “Agni, how about a break? You did well this morning.”

“Already?!” The young girl exclaimed, Falion gave her a reassuring smile and slipped a few gold coins in her palm. “Why don’t you go get a sweet roll with your friends? You’ve worked hard.”

Agni, no longer interested in exposing her father’s ruse to get her to safety, took off outside with a quick goodbye and thank you. With that taken care of the redguard mage returned his attention to the dark visitor that had taken a seat at his table. Sitting nearby, but at safe distance, Falion addressed her, “So, what can I do for you today, young hero?”

“Well, I was hoping perhaps you could share some knowledge...I’ve heard you’re an expert in vampirism?” Her tone seemed to carry a warm but now pleading rhythm to it, for a moment Falion felt a tinge of sorrow for what this poor woman had become.

“I know many things. I have studied things beyond the reach of most humans, traveled the Oblivion planes, seen things one should not see...” He started cryptically, sizing up his guest “I have met Daedra and Dwemer and everything in between and I know enough to see a vampire where others would see a woman...”

Rip Jaw’s eyes widened at his admission, Falion sat but his mind was prepped with a dozen spells to fling upon her should he need to but the argonian woman’s gaze shifted downward, her shoulders drooping.

“Indeed you can...but I think others might though they don’t know it. I didn’t know it, not for sure until the very sunlight made my blood boil...I should have known…”

Falion listened to her with some genuine concern while still keeping himself distance, “How did it happen?”

“Heh, would you find it funny to know that I’m not even sure myself?” She looked to him with a humorless grin “Vampires are becoming a more and more common enemy of mine but now- I’m one of them too?”

Her gaze shifted again, her expression a mixture of frustration and shame,”I haven’t...I haven’t given in, I haven’t drunken anyone’s blood, not one drop!” She found his eyes and there was still a look of determination within them. “I need a cure, Falion! And I know you must have it!”

Falion honestly felt flattered, he knew for a fact the adventurer had traveled to the near and far reaches and of all the magical masters she had met she had gone to him for a cure to her condition. Whether she felt him the most qualified or trustworthy (though hopefully the former...or perhaps both), she had come to the right man.

“It is possible. I know of a ritual but have never performed it. It requires a filled black soul gem. You will need to kill someone.” He stated matter-of-factly.

To this Rip Jaw nodded, “Not an uncommon occurrence in my line of work, it can be done.”

Falion continued, “When you have a gem and have filled it return to me and I will perform the ritual. I will bring life to your dead body, vampire.”

The argonian stood and walked to the lone mage who quickly rose as well prepared for the worst but was taken aback when she took his hand in her own. “I trust that you will, Falion. And when you do, I’ll forever be in your debt.”

Though he undoubtedly was looking into the eyes of an undead, the man could see her, the vibrant, strong and courageous woman that had toppled dragons and had received a disastrous ailment, no doubt in service to another, was still there and was fighting to remain. Before he could respond she released his hand and headed for the door, thanking him as she did so, he briefly wondered when she would be back from her task but he wouldn’t have to wait long.

Not long after night had fallen did he hear another knock at his door and found Rip Jaw, worn, breathless but grasping a filled black soul gem in her hands. She wordlessly presented the jewel to him, he examined it and nodded,”Very well. Meet me at the summoning circle in the marsh at dawn. We shall banish the creature you have become.”

The woman seemed put down a moment but nonetheless thanked him for his effort, no doubt she was hoping for the cure to be more immediate.

Before the hunger could set in.

Falion waved to her as she went off, “Don’t worry, it won’t be long now…”

When it was near dawn Falion quickly checked over Agni, ensuring she was sleeping peacefully before he headed out. He stepped through the marsh making note of a few dead mud crabs along the way, pondering if the dragonborn had struck them down on her own way there. As he approached the summoning circle he saw her, sitting on the outer rim, weapons cast aside and head in her hands.

Had she waited there all night?

Proceeding with caution he spoke, “Good, you’re here.”

Her eyes met his and she sprang up with an expression of relief, “Yes! Please, let’s get started.”

“As you desire.”

Rip Jaw went to the center of the circle and Falion began, “I call upon Oblivion realms. The home of those who are not our ancestors. Answer my plea!”

He spread his arms with palms turned upward, as the dragon born watched in anticipation,”As in death there is new life, in Oblivion there is a beginning for that which has ended. I call forth that power! Accept the soul that we offer!”

Rip Jaw began to sway, slowly being brought to her knees, Falion felt a sense of concern but carried forward, doing what he was certain was the only thing that would save her.

“As the sun ends in the night, end the darkness of this soul, return life to the creature you see before you!”

With the last of his words dropping off his tongue, Falion gazed down to the fallen figure that was Rip Jaw. The morning light peeking out behind the mountains outlined her body and the wizard soon threw caution to the wind and knelt at her side,”Dragonborn…? The ritual is complete!”

Soon enough Rip Jaw blinked and looked up to him,”D-did it work? Did it…?”

She blinked again then slightly rose as more of the morning sun hit her skin, she looked to her hands in awe, “The sun- it- it doesn’t hurt anymore! And I don’t feel it! The hunger!”

She looked to him in adamant glee and he couldn’t help in returning the smile. “Well, I guess I’ve-“

His words were soon muffled as she swiftly embraced him in her newly livened arms, and pressed a thankful kiss on his cheek. Falion was floored, too much so to respond when she began speaking, “I can never repay you for this. If you ever have need of anything, don’t hesitate to let me know, just name it!”

She rose to her feet bringing the mage up with her, “It’s a new day! I have many quests ahead of me but everyone of them now I’ll head into with more caution and knowledge then before! I shan’t make this mistake again, trust me on that!”

Rip Jaw gave the speechless wizard one last embrace and nod before gathering her weapons to head off. Falion quickly tried to gather his thoughts and before the argonian maiden turned to leave he sputtered, “I-if you ever do- find yourself in this...situation again, just come back to me. I can do this a million more times if needed...”

To that the dragonborn smiled, “Thank you, Falion. I think I’ve found someone I can call a friend in you…”

She finally turned and left heading toward town, Falion could hear the beginnings of the locals prepping for another day like nothing of merit had occurred on its outskirts. He shook himself and plodded on back to his own abode so he could ensure Agni would never know he had gone.

...Anything he needed, she had said?...

Right as he was about to enter his home he heard clopping hoof beats and turned to see the dragonborn on her dark steed, its whinny being heard throughout all of Morthal. The residence that were up and about looked on to her with admiration and wonder, she was quite a sight in her shining armor and newly revived spirits.

...Need of anything...did he need an argonian wife?

[cold-neon-ocean]

Concerning the comics, do you dislike Thanos himself or the Black Order's previous (?) affiliation with him?

A mix of both but primarily the former. Thanos is my least favorite fictional character in existence so I’ll always grind my teeth at The Order’s subservience to him seemingly without much reason in the earlier comics aside from “they’re evil and Thanos is the biggest evil so they worship him!” because to me it’s boring. I don’t like god-mod characters and Thanos is the epitome of that trope. “He’s so powerful that only gets defeated by the heroes because he subconsciously wants to lose as punishment, isn’t he just the most tragic villain ever ;A;” gags

Regarding The Order’s affiliation with him I don’t.. MIND it, in fact I do like it as a set up for their coming together, I just wish it was written where the characters had some more agency and Marvel would actually allow them to move on once he’s gone. Admittedly with the Thanos 2019 comics they did seem to attempt this (despite how many holes it poked in the known canon among other things), and I liked some of the ideas presented, mainly The Order starting out as hired mercenaries with Proxima and Maw, I loved that a lot, and how their loyalty is conditional so long as they are benefiting from the partnership (maybe not as flip-floppy as they were in the comics) and are willing to dip out if they aren’t. THAT I really like even though that was clearly never the case in previous comics lol. The problem is that I- love Proxima SO MUCH, and I hate Thanos SO MUCH so my brain doesn’t want her anywhere near him, especially as some mindless lackey because she deserves better lol. Also my issues could stem from my primary introduction to The Black Order came from the MCU where they are VASTLY different characters than what they are in the comics, and far less developed so I had a lot more room to headcanon and make up my own stuff about them freely before I started looking into them in the comics (which could also explain my mixed feelings about how they’ve been written lately in the comics post-Thanos). I do want to preface that I don’t have a complete knowledge of The Order’s history because I can’t find complete lists of all the comics they’re in. Though from what I can find I’ve read most of their content if I’m not mistaken, but I’m sure there are some more obscure minor appearances that maybe explain some things that haven’t been listed anywhere that I’ve missed.

If I were to throw in my input and talk about MY rendition of The Black Order which is how I choose to write them based on my own personal tastes in my side AU where the Marvel Universe is much less CONVOLUTED(the same AU all my Ronan and Crystal content exists in), I have things set up jumping off the initial ideas of Thanos 2019, where the mercenary group Maw and Proxima were in were initially hired by Thanos, with Cull (I refer to Black Dwarf by his MCU name because I like it better lol) and Corvus being added later. And the affiliation is very conditional from The Order’s perspective. The Order are always watching and judging and gauging whether or not the partnership is worth maintaining, Maw and Proxima especially, and even though I try to write for Thanos as little as possible because I hate touching him and only do what’s absolutely necessary, he can feel the pulls of their defiance at times (with Proxima ESPECIALLY) and has to really think about how he holds onto them, hence the change from hiring adults to kidnapping children who are much easier to condition. Think of them as akin to the hyenas and Scar in The Lion King, loyalty and a willingness to do as they’re told until they stop benefiting from it (though the fear of being hunted down and killed for disloyalty keeps them there as well) and later on realizing, and some having known from the beginning, that they’re meant for more than just being servants and want more for themselves. But that’s in my perfect would. 

What I mainly don’t like about how The Order were written under Thanos in the canon is that they’re just lackeys with not much to them, we know nothing about them like when or why they joined (prior to Thanos 2019 ofc but even then we still don’t knew when or how Cull and Corvus came into the picture), just that they did and that’s all that matters. They’re there because they’re evil and that’s about it, they’re blind followers with not a single thought going on in their own heads. That did change over time of course but The Order are STILL functioning under a “what if Thanos comes back” basis, like they’ll have no choice but to go crawling back to him whenever/if he does because that’s just what they do? I knew Marvel would never keep Thanos permanently dead in the comics like they said they would lol I called bullshit on that from day one. When Maw mentioned Thanos’ return in Star #5 I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out of my mouth because I KNEW that was coming (though I do appreciate how Proxima didn’t give a single shit about it lmao). There was also something said preceding the Black Order solo comics in 2019 about how Corvus will still ALWAYS choose Thanos above all else, even his wife and brother, which made ZERO sense??? and also I wasn’t sure why this needed stating when Thanos was canonically dead in the comics following the statement that he’d be perma-dead. It felt like they just weren’t gonna let him grow as there was always that possibility they’d bring Thanos back and send The Order right back to him, undoing all the development they’ve done without him like they’ve done before. I remember when Thanos made Corvus kill himself after he returned and formed a new Black Order and Proxima just... didn’t react to it, though this seemed to be retconned after the universe reset so I’m still confused about that. I also think about how in the Death Sentence novel (and I know this kind of exists in it’s own separate universe but just discussing the overall mentality of writing The Order), again Corvus in particular is written like he needs someone to lead him or he can’t even properly function and he even has a full blown emotional breakdown when he realizes Thanos is back and I just… hate it. Him and Proxima “needing” Thanos to be their god and lead them it’s just stupid and weird and I can’t stand it. I remember Proxima even makes an internal statement about how Corvus falls apart when he doesn’t have someone leading him???

So my main issue in regards to Thanos’ affiliation with The Order as it’s written in the canon is that they’re written as if they can’t do anything without him, ofc this is all before the big universe reset with The Challenger where Thanos is supposedly dead for good but we all know that isn’t true. They were given some agency when they were on their own but with the mention of Thanos in the recent Star comic I have… little hope for them remaining their own thing. They talk about how they don’t want to be servants and how they want to do their own thing then the writers have them fall right back into their old beats of being servants for someone and chasing infinity stones and worrying about what T fucking Hanos will think when he comes back and I just…….. want more for them. I want them to be more fleshed out as characters and have actual ambitions and goals that align with their actions. Because they’re such interesting characters that I genuinely love(well most of them) and have a lot of potential, and I want to see them grow and develop and actually follow through with what they say and not get dragged backwards every time the plot requires them to. I’m still catching up on all my Black Order related comics (there aren’t a lot of complete lists of their appearances out there for me to refer to sadly but I’ve read most of the major ones I believe) but all I really want is for them to finally and actually be able to move on from Thanos. Especially with Corvus because (prior to Star #5 which I’ll expand on in a sec) it makes him look fucking stupid to have him default to “we chase the infinity stones because that’s what we do” after having them talk in previous comics about about how they want to be different and work for themselves, and Black Swan is like “chasing the stones has only ever made us miserable, whymst are we doing this???” and have her bring up valid points about how they don’t need to and Corvus is still just like “nope, nope we gotta.” and doesn’t even explain why. And now apparently that ‘why’ is because they expect Thanos to return? Or at least Maw does? I choose to believe that Corvus wanted the reality stone because it could give them some protection from a possible return of Thanos and allow them to stay together and do as they please like they want. To “forge their own reality” as Corvus said in the Death Sentence novel ironically, that would at the very least be a reason to continue infinity stone hunting that I’d be on board with.

I dunno, lol perhaps my lack of the full scope with missing a few things from sporadic comics and just my own personal views and tastes regarding the characters clash a lot with how the canon wants to portray them and at the end of the day that just is what it is lol. I didn’t intend this to get so long and.. rambly, the subject of Thanos in general gets me on a soap box and I never know how to get off aah. But yeah I hope that made some semblance of sense? The main gist of the story was really that sentence about loving Proxima and hating Thanos so I just naturally want her nowhere near him; and it was actually that affiliation that put me off of The Order for so long before I finally saw the light and realized they’re all vastly more interesting characters than he is LMAO. But I’m gonna stop because this just hit it’s 3rd page in my google docs and I’m starting to get embarrassed wheezes :’D