#of the opposite/echo chamber type takes i keep seeing

[gaycodependency]

every time i see a wowp tik tok, it sends me barreling back into it with a slew of thoughts that for some reason tends to be the opposite of the general reception of the show. like the takes for this disney channel show is some of the wildest i’ve ever seen

[transform4u]

I’m about to start college in the fall and I’m staying in the dorms. The worst part is that I’m nerdy, gay, and really shy, but I just met my new roommate and he’s your typical Republican, football-playing fuckboy. I could already tell he’s judging me hard. What do I do?

As you tear open the envelope from your college, your anticipation is a swirl of excitement and dread. You were supposed to dive into the world of English literature and feminist theory, but instead, your eyes skim over the schedule and land on the absurdity of "American Exceptionalism 101" at noon on MWF. Your head throbs as if an invisible hand is squeezing your brain into a smaller, less enlightened shape. It's like someone has taken a red-hot poker and jabbed it straight into your heart, twisting it until every ounce of your academic enthusiasm and commitment to social justice evaporates.

In its place, a new, alien mindset begins to take root. You find your once-vibrant appetite for critical thinking dwindling into a blustery haze of national pride and simplistic notions of greatness. Your consciousness warps, and before you know it, you're morphing into the very embodiment of the obnoxious Republican frat bro—a brash caricature of entitlement and limited worldview. Your intellect, once sharp and inquisitive, dulls into a blunt instrument of cliché-ridden banter and boisterous bravado. You proudly declare that “common sense” is all you need, dismissing complex social issues with a cavalier shrug and an overstuffed ego that clings to traditional values with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

Politically, you’re a crusader for conservative causes, but your arguments are as deep as a kiddie pool and just as uninspiring. You spout off right-wing rhetoric with the fervor of a zealot, your debates more about scoring rhetorical points than engaging in meaningful discussion. The broader implications of your views—what they mean for marginalized communities or for nuanced understanding—are beyond your narrowed gaze. Your new persona is an obnoxious testament to the virtues of self-importance, oversimplification, and a relentless need to project an image of success and superiority, all while reveling in a blissful ignorance of any perspective that might challenge your bubble of certainty.

As you scroll through social media, you can't help but notice how your humor has changed. It used to be sharp and insightful, cutting through the noise with wit and cleverness. Now, it relies on crude stereotypes and inside jokes that only a select few understand. You find yourself trapped in a self-congratulatory echo chamber where everyone laughs at the same things because they're "in" on the joke.

The right-wing rhetoric flows from your fingers like second nature now - it's all you know how to do anymore after spending so much time surrounded by it online. You see conspiracies everywhere and can easily spot "liberal bias" even when there isn't any present; everything is filtered through this lens which leaves little room for nuance or complexity in thought or discourse anymore for both sides of any debate whatsoever.. This simplistic worldview is not only limiting but also exhausting because everything boils down into binary oppositions: us vs them; good vs evil; right vs wrong.

As you pull out your phone and begin to type a tweet for your followers, crude and rude thoughts start swirling in your head. You think about how much better you are than everyone else because of your right-wing beliefs. You imagine all the liberals who disagree with you as stupid sheep who can't see the truth. You chuckle to yourself at how easy it is to troll them online with memes and insults.

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as these thoughts turn into words on screen: "Libtards are so triggered by facts! Keep crying snowflakes, we'll keep winning!" With a sense of satisfaction, you hit send and wait for the likes and retweets to roll in - proof that there are others out there who share your twisted worldview.

As you glance down at the absurdity of your new schedule, specifically the "Introduction to Sports Management and Fantasy Football" class, a strange, electrifying energy courses through you. It’s like a jolt of vitality has surged into every fiber of your being. Your once meek, unremarkable physique starts to react to this new direction, morphing into something sculpted and potent.

You can feel it in your abs first: the slight tremor as each muscle begins to tighten and firm up, evolving from a soft, unremarkable layer into a six-pack of steel. Each ripple of your abdominal muscles pulses with an almost tangible intensity, as if they are imbued with newfound power and purpose. Your biceps and triceps, once unassuming, now swell and harden, their contours more pronounced with each passing second, like sculpted marble coming to life. They burn with a satisfying ache, a reminder of the strength and endurance you are cultivating.

Your quads and pecs are not left out of this transformation. Your legs throb with a deep, primal energy as they grow more powerful, their definition sharpening into formidable muscle groups that flex with every movement. Your chest, once flat and average, now pushes forward with a proud, chiseled prominence, a tribute to countless hours of physical exertion and dedication.

Your reflection in the mirror reveals a new you—an embodiment of the ultimate football-playing bro. Your physique is now a masterpiece of athletic prowess: broad, powerful shoulders and a chest that speaks of relentless gym sessions. Your abs are a flawless six-pack, every flex a testament to your commitment. Your legs, strong and sculpted, support a presence that oozes both confidence and capability.

Your face, framed by a rugged jawline and a hint of stubble, reflects the charm and self-assurance of someone who is as comfortable on the field as he is off it. Your eyes, whether a sparkling blue or deep brown, are framed by meticulously groomed eyebrows and a tousled mop of hair—short on the sides, longer on top, and styled with effortless precision. Your smile is wide, dazzling, and exudes a blend of charm and cheekiness that suggests you’re not just about physical prowess but also a charismatic personality.

Your wardrobe shifts to match this new persona. You sport snug polo shirts in vibrant colors or classic athletic gear that accentuates your toned form. Distressed jeans fit like a second skin, paired with immaculate sneakers that declare your trendiness. On game days, you don a jersey or hoodie emblazoned with your team’s logo, completing the look with a relaxed, oversized hoodie that speaks to your allegiance and laid-back style. Whether you’re on the field or at a social gathering, your appearance radiates a potent mix of confidence, style, and effortless cool—a football-playing fuckboy who has truly embraced his new identity. As you glance down at your class schedule, your eyes immediately zero in on the last class of the semester: "Weekend Party Planning and Execution of the Woke Agenda." You can't help but feel a sense of dread wash over you. However, as you continue to stare at it, something strange happens. A cruel twisted grin forms on your face, and you suddenly feel an immense heat in your brain. Your thoughts begin to race as images of hot chicks fill your mind. At first, it's just a passing thought – like beating up some loser fags for fun – but then it starts to make sense somehow. You blink twice and find yourself sitting upright in bed with a hard-on that won't go away no matter how much you try to think about anything else!

You glance back at the schedule, desperately trying to process the absurdity of "Media Influence and Pop Culture" slotted for 3:00 PM. The wave of confusion hits you again, making your head spin as you grapple with the chaotic divergence from your original academic path. Just then, you hear a deep, gruff voice from across the room.

"Yo Jackson…you there?"

You turn to see your roommate Zeke, an absolute caricature of a neanderthal-looking meathead. Zeke is the quintessential embodiment of a gym-buffed jock, with bulging biceps and a chest so broad it almost spills out of his too-tight tank top. His face is a rugged mess of stubble and squinty eyes, and his hair is a mop of thick, unruly curls that looks like it’s never seen a comb. He’s sprawled on his bed, surrounded by a heap of sports gear and empty protein shake bottles, his demeanor a mix of lazy arrogance and casual dominance.

Your dorm room is the epitome of a Republican, football-playing bro's domain. The walls are adorned with posters of muscle-bound athletes and American flags, while the floor is littered with discarded gym clothes, beer cans fast-food wrappers. A mini fridge, stocked with enough beer and energy drinks to keep a small army fueled, sits next to a worn-out couch that has seen more game days than it probably should. The space is cluttered with an assortment of sports memorabilia, from signed footballs to framed jerseys, and the overall decor screams "Man Cave" with a patriotic twist.

“Sorry bro,” you reply, shaking off the confusion. “Just thinking about this chick Brooke in one of my classes, dude.”

Zeke snorts and gives a hearty, if slightly slurred, laugh. “Haha, you and your cheerleaders, man. You’re going to be repeating sophomore year again, you know?”

“Haha, no worries, school is for losers anyway” you say, punctuating your response with a belch. “BURRRRRP. Hey, we should head out.”

The two of you stumble out of the dorm, your stride filled with a boisterous swagger. The night is young, and you’re both on a mission to score some action. Zeke’s laughter echoes down the hall as he slaps you on the back, a gesture as friendly as it is bone-crushing. You both head towards the nearest bar, your conversation dominated by crude jokes and brash plans for the evening. As you step into the night, the crisp air is filled with the anticipation of adventure, a perfect backdrop for your football-playing fuckboy persona to shine.

The music is blasting, the beer is flowing, and the girls are everywhere. You grab a couple of cold ones and start making your way through the crowd, looking for some hotties to chat up.

As you weave through the sea of sweaty bodies, you spot her - a tall brunette with killer curves and a smile that could light up a room. She's got on this tiny little dress that shows off every inch of her toned body, and she's dancing like there's no tomorrow. You make your move towards her as if it was destiny itself calling out for you to approach her; after all who wouldn't want someone as hot as she is?

"Hey there!" You say with an exaggerated smile plastered across your face."Can I buy ya lady another drink?" Before she can even respond or give any indication whether or not she wants one more round of alcohol down her throat-you go ahead ordering two shots from one of those cute little sorority girls serving drinks at their table near by.

As you hand her the shot glass, she looks at you with those big brown eyes and takes a sip. The alcohol seems to loosen her up even more, and she starts dancing even closer to you. You can't help but stare at her perfect body moving in time with the music - it's like watching an erotic ballet unfold right before your eyes.

"So what brings a guy like you here tonight?" She asks between giggles, leaning in close enough for your nose to brush against hers ever so slightly. You grin widely as if this was some sort of secret conversation only meant for each other's ears only while reaching out grabbing hold of one those large round ass cheeks which seemingly belongs on goddess herself; pulling them closer towards yourself until they are practically pressed against your crotch area where no doubt by now there must be quite an impressive bulge forming due solely from all these thoughts running through your mind about how amazing it would feel having such beauty wrapped around waistline all night long.

"I just couldn't resist coming when I heard there was going be party like this," You reply smoothly without breaking eye contact once throughout entire exchange."Besides who wouldn't want chance spend time someone as beautiful inside out?!"

You continue to talk with the blonde girl, your eyes wandering down to her ample cleavage as she giggles and responds to your questions. She's clearly drunk already, but that only makes her more receptive to your advances.

As you feel her up, your hands squeezing her big tits through the thin fabric of her dress, you descend into the most obnoxious republican fuckboy imaginable. Thoughts of nothing but sex and being a toolbag consume your mind as you take advantage of this drunken mess who can't wait to fuck you.

Without hesitation or remorse, you pull her closer and press your lips against hers in a forceful kiss that leaves no doubt about what's on your mind. She moans softly into mouth while one hand grasps desperately at back of neck needing something solid anchor self during this whirlwind passionate embrace between two strangers who could care less about anything else besides momentary pleasure they derive from each other right now…

"Let's get outta here," You whisper against earlobe nipping gently with teeth just enough send shiver down spine signaling impending climax soon approach if all goes according plan which it will because there are no consequences for actions taken under influence alcohol right? For now though only thing matter is satisfying primal urges buried deep within both our souls calling out loud demand release only way possible given current circumstances - sex!

[ae-neon]

I don’t think it’s really changing? I think it has changed ever since the release of acosf and the fandom is just more separated than ever and we’re just following based on the fandom echo chambers (anti/pro). Like if you dislike x and loves y, chances are your feed will be filled and increased with similar takes and vice versa. This may be an opposite opinion but it’s somehow gotten a lot more depressing and draining over the past years as someone who has been on the acotar fandom tumblr since 2017 because both sides are always challenging and taunting the others, claiming that they’re right on one side while the other protests that they’re the right one. It’s a competition of who’s better? Why we hate her/him. We’re smarter type of shit. I think everyone has their own grounded opinions of the characters that opening a discourse seems so silly now. I want to hope that the two fandoms can find a middle ground and open intellectual discourse but I doubt that’s not gonna happen anytime soon with both sides being super aggressive. And SJM’s new book would determine the state of the fandom and I’m honestly not stoked for it. Anyway, sorry for the rant. I think it’s hard sometimes to stay in the fandom where everyone is just constantly shading everyone left and right. It’s sometimes hard to stan these characters in peace while being open to hear the other’s opinions.

Hello anon

I see where you might be coming from if you say you like all the characters. I'm sorry things worked out that way for you

However, I'm gonna be honest, I really wasn't talking about the main stans "getting better" I'm an anti and if antis are feeling more welcome to say what they want and getting less hate and telling sick stans and anon haters to fuck off - then I think the part of the fandom that I'm in IS getting better.

I love to hear and talk to people no matter who they stan or like or what but I was never really here for both sides or middle grounds on my personal view of the series.

The next book is definitely gonna divide the fandom further because sjm has been so clear or unclear depending on who you ask.

I won't be reading it either way. As I've said before, I don't know how she keeps getting money out of y'all but not me. Not round here partner. No sir no ma'am. I am not giving money to a person who's proven to be bad at their job and expects to just keep coasting.

[free--therapy]

It's anon again.

Sorry for bothering you again but since I sent that last ask, following that there's something I'd like to know your opinion on!

You know how I tend to overthink a lot about myself, my likes, my habits, my character, my identity, etc. based on stuff I read on social media sites like twitter? Idk recently I've been wondering....do you think I'd be better off not taking most of those posts or things I read seriously after all?

I mean, so many words and labels like "creep", "degenerate", "p*dophile", "undeserving", "mentally ill" keep being thrown around everywhere on social media and people cancel others over a lot of that type of stuff. Everyone asking someone to "die" or to "k*ll themselves" or saying someone is the worst for xyz thing they like or saying someone doesn't deserve good stuff because (insert reason here).....

All these types of posts and cancel culture and all is very popular online but whenever I come across something about any of that, almost always, I end up going into a spiral of overthinking about myself, my ideals and whether it makes me xyz or whether it means I don't deserve to be loved, etc.

I'm starting to wonder if it really is just me overthinking after all of if it simply means I've had too many weird habits/interests? Sometimes I feel like I can't tell anymore. The difference I mean.

So I wonder how I should rationalise this? And if I should be ignoring those types of posts after all?

Yes Anon, I definitely believe you should be reading and taking those posts with a grain of salt. It really also depends on where those people are, mentally or even maturely, in their lives. It's so easy to take everyone's opinions on the internet as fact (mine included!) but learning the skill of discernment will help you figure out what's real/truth and what's speculation or hearsay. A lot of these people are like you who are just figuring things out or are learning new concepts and it's to a point where they don't exactly know for sure what they're talking about, so they'll parrot what they see online and just create a whole mess of buzzwords and terms, which ends up having the opposite effect of what you're looking for.

It's completely normal to want to find out what other people have to say about certain topics, but if you find yourself among an echo chamber of chaos and people who are spinning themselves into perpetually cycles of fear and anxiety, then there won't be anything useful there.

I would take a break from those kinds of posts. Unless anyone has anything helpful and encouraging to say, then I wouldn't bother worrying about what others have to say, especially if they're just projecting their fears onto the situation. The whole idea is for you to seek comfort, not feel bad about yourself.

[sylverstorms]

Daniela x Maiden ----Hunted Ch. 4

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3

You'd like to think you've gotten more or less acclimated to life in the castle.

The rules to follow are strict, the punishment for breaking them harsh and there's always danger lurking around every corner... but. You ought to admit there's positives too.

A warm bath waiting for you at the end of your shift. Fresh meals literally any time of the day you wish to have one. And above all, strange as this may sound to others, the most immediate threats to your lives can be seen.

You know who they are, how they are, how to behave to near nullify them.

The other maids do not know to appreciate that last fact like you do, but you don't blame them. They haven't seen what you've seen. They haven't felt what you've been feeling for years and you're infinitely glad for that.

You wouldn't wish your life upon anyone.

Always sleeping with one eye open. Always jumping at every miniscule sound. Always afraid. Always, always.

Compared to what you’ve experienced, the Dimitrescus' dinner, easily the most dreaded time of the day for the maids who have to be present, seems like child's play.

You can only hope that indeed turns out to be the case. It is, after all, your first night being involved, serving the table.

You regulate your breathing at the sound of footsteps outside the chamber. You fight down the nerves, at the first sight of black strolling in.

There's more than just black, though.

The daughters don't come in alone.

Bela has her hand on the small of a stunning woman's back and Cassandra is in step with another beauty, smirking at something she said.

These two new faces, you haven't seen before. They're not the type to go unnoticed, either, a truth that's only further reinforced by the fact they're not wearing a maid's uniform. The black-haired girl is instead dressed in dark pants and a navy, long-sleeved blouse and that hugs her shoulders just right. The green-eyed one wears a red casual winter dress that accents the maroon tint of her hair quite nicely.

That is when the gossip going around comes to mind. Everything clicks together. So that leaves you wondering...

How can they be so at ease with these carnivores?

You cannot believe what your eyes are seeing, but when Alexia pulls a seat for Cassandra, the latter's small, fond smile isn't that of the unhinged sadist she's rumored to be. When Rhiannon trails her crimson-dyed nails down Bela's shoulder before stepping away from the table, the blonde's leaning a tad into her is not that of a stone-cold killer’s.

What...

“Ahem!” Daniela glares at Rhiannon before she completely leaves their side.

Rhiannon smiles. Goes around to her chair. Then, she gives the crazy redhead a quick little hug that has Bela taking a deep, steadying breath on the opposite side. The look she gives her sister could turn normal people to stone.

No way.

Just how. You keep asking yourself. Just how can this work between them? This family isn’t human.

The question must linger with you long after it stops echoing in your head, because it is the first thing you ask when you next come across Rhiannon alone, in one of the maids' common rooms.

You use the prettiest words you can come up with, but the meaning remains the same. The beauty of your captors –intense as it may be— is only skin-deep in your eyes. You just don't understand her.

“Ah. I know of you. You're the one who saved Daniela.” Rhiannon says after the initial surprise passes.

“Yes. And the first thing she did? She tried to kill me.” One finger hooks into your collar, which you sharply tug down, showing the stitched teeth marks on your neck that haven't yet faded. That will probably scar over.

“I heard about that.” Rhiannon leans back against the table behind her, looking genuinely apologetic. “Her body was in shock. She probably couldn't control her instincts.” A sad huff. “This may be hard to believe right now... but they're not what they first seem like. Not completely.”

“Forgive me if the sensation of teeth ripping my neck open and Bela damn near breaking my back on a table make me sceptical about that.” you reply with a sour shake of your head.

“Look. I won't tell you you're wrong –I've been where you are and thought what you must now think. I will only say there's always two sides to a coin. If you care to look closely enough.”

An argument can certainly be made that if you look too closely at Daniela, you're far more likely to get your eye stabbed than find anything to change your view on her.

Your past has forced you, the cruel, painful way, to accept the hard truth if a human turns, they're lost forever. You cannot so easily change that notion –it is burned in you— absolute as it may be.

“Let’s agree to disagree, for now.” you decide.

Rhiannon can only give a saddened nod.

At least after talking to her you know she's not under the influence of anything virus-related, nor does she delude herself as to what Bela is and is not. As long as she chose this arrangement and is content with it, that's all you really care about. The rest is not your business.

You have enough to worry about as is.

-

-

Deep in the night, you are alone cleaning the front hall.

Your eye keeps straying to the closed gate separating you from the outside world while the mop in your hands repeats the same boring old motions. You can practically feel the chill of freedom creeping in the further away you step from the ever-burning fireplace.

So close yet so far away... you muse.

What wouldn’t you give for a few seconds outside...

Right then, movement behind you registers in your senses. You swivel around, ready for fight or flight—

Daniela's heavily cloaked form is descending the staircase silently, step after uncharacteristically careful step landing on the thickest parts of the carpet. She keeps glancing up before advancing, which makes it dead-certain that she's going somewhere she's not supposed to;

Sneaking out.

“Lady Da—” you open your mouth to greet, but her eyebrows fly up and she's onto you in a flash, gloved hand clamped over your mouth.

“Sh!” she motions.

You frown. Does she think her mother will seriously hear her from a different floor? Then again if she indeed can... that's a terrifying thought for you.

Daniela then motions for you to wait and pulls out a slip of paper from an inner pocket. She has drawn a sort of diagram on it –in admittedly very loopy, girly handwriting— that you squint to read in the dim light.

There's a question at the top; If anyone asks, did you see me come by the entrance tonight?

And arrows pointing to two possible answers beneath;

Yes, which leads to You are a Snitch and deserve a slow and painful death.

Alternatively;

No, leading to Good Girl. You can live.

You bite the inside of your cheek and look past the paper, to her mismatched eyes.

“I want to come with.” You mouth and gesture, rather than actually say.

Daniela frowns. Shakes her head. She looks at you like you're the crazier one between you. Maybe you are. All you know is you need to be outside again, for the sake of your mental health. You’ve never been locked in one place for this long. It’s starting to drive you insane.

“I won our game.” Perhaps bravely, perhaps stupidly, you remind. “You said the winner can take anything. Did you lie?”

Daniela nearly growls at being called a liar. Her hand forms a claw like she's debating choking you right there...

But she drops it back to her side. Huffs. Her eyes roll in a way that says 'whatever', then she moves past you to the front door. The key slides in and turns painfully slowly. You move the moping bucket around just in time to mask the sound.

Daniela gives you an approving glance.

You're definitely not dressed appropriately for the cold, but you're not going to miss this opportunity for anything in the world. Silent as a shadow, you sneak out behind her.

-

-

“By Miranda, you asked to come along, can you move?” Daniela hisses impatiently, halfway to the village.

You resist the urge to throw something at her. “I'm sorry I don't levitate over the snow and have super speed!” you reply.

She tsks. Drops down into the knee-deep snow like you. She then crosses over to you and you're ninety nine percent sure you're going to suffer for stalling her.

But.

Two gloved hands grab yours, instead. In one effortless tug, you're out of whatever hole you had stepped in. Daniela smiles, deceptively angelic. Wraps an arm around your waist, the two of you facing different directions.

And...

Then it's a rollercoaster of death you're dragged into, because she zaps forward at the speed of a freaking sports car and you're quite literally flying at her side like a human flag.

Daniela's clear, high laugh reaches your ear over the sound of your own initial cry. Your stomach is dropping to where your knees should be, the icy air literally hammers nails on every exposed part of your skin, yet you brace through the nightmare ride until it's over.

Adrenaline is still pumping across your veins when she comes to a stop. You drop to your knees, shaking.

“You handled that well, Knight, well done!” She pats you once on the head.

You're too busy regretting all your life's decisions –and trying not to vomit your dinner— to voice any of the things you want to say to her right here. Probably for the best, too. When your head stops spinning, you cough up from all the cold air and look around you. You're at the shops by the main square of the village, right in front of the bookstore.

“Wait for me, yes?” The redhead smiles prettily at you and leaps up at the top of the building.

There's probably some opening there she can sneak her flies into, you think. Her hooded head disappears from view for a second, but pops right back out to say:

“Don't do anything dumb.” A warning finger is held up.

“I won't.” You've been accused of being reckless at times but never suicidal. With how fast she can move, you'll never escape her. Not here.

Through the store's glass walls, you see Daniela's flies infiltrate the space like smoke. They weave around the different sections until they find the book they're looking for.

It takes her less than one minute to leap back down to your side, a victorious grin plastered all over her pretty mouth.

“Ha! I got it!” she exclaims.

You sneak a glance at the cover. A half-naked girl touching a man's muscled, bare torso under the moonlight. Oh, God. You think. You went through all this for more romance-disguised porn.

“You… came all this way to steal a book?” the question leaves you before you can filter it.

“A Lady doesn’t steal! I left money at the counter.” Daniela points a thumb behind her back. True to her word, you see the glint of Lei at the previously empty countertop. “I’m just not going to wait until the village warms to find out what happens next—”

Daniela abruptly cuts herself off. Her expression focuses, then darkens. Within a scarce second, she goes from book-loving airhead to apex predator.

Her head snaps towards the corner of the store, looking over your shoulder. When she grabs and pulls you away, you’re sure her grip will leave bruises for you to find tomorrow.

You lay low, waiting for the threat she senses to show itself.

In those few moments, your heart pounds so heavily in your chest you feel it may explode. Shadows dance in front of your eyes, of tendrils and swells that haunt your every dream. You’re shaking, breaking out into cold sweat—

Until a brown puppy leaps out of the corner, barking at Daniela.

Cute, hoarse little woofs fill the silence.

You have to remind yourself how to breathe. Her shoulders instantly lose their tension. She takes a step closer… and the small furball only gets further agitated. You’re starting to worry this will end very badly when she crouches, reaches forward…

…the dog begins to whimper in fear, now…

And pulls it into her arms.

“How cute!” Daniela exclaims, moving her pointer up and down the puppy’s tiny head until its terror turns to comfort.

You’re stunned there, frozen, watching as this bloodthirsty carnivore plays around with the animal like any twenty-something year old girl who’s always wanted a pet. Not to torture, but to care for.

“Good boy, yes you are!” she praises. “I forgive you for earlier, you must be starving.” The dog indeed looks malnourished. “Oh, poor thing. It’s alright. I know hunger can be maddening…”

The quiet, pained way she says it… it stays with you for far longer than you’d like.

Daniela asks you what the puppy can eat, then enters another store and brings out food. You both stand above the furball, shoulder-to-shoulder like some twisted joke of proud parents, watching it happily munch away.

When you look at her, she’s got a subtle, soft smile on her lips and it’s a far cry from the mad grins and devilish smirks that send maids into cardiac arrests.

Just… who are you…

You catch yourself wondering.

Then she checks the time, jumps and grabs you around the waist again. This time, she’s every bit the savage you thought of her as.

-

-

At the outer gates of the castle, Daniela slows to a stop. You take less time than before to pick yourself up from the ground.

As for your company, she looks like she’s shivering on her way up to the front porch. Her breaths are coming out fast and her movements aren’t as perfectly light and graceful as you’re used to. If anything, she’s rigid, as though in pain. You’re in no better condition either, of course –probably flirting with pneumonia already— but considering what she’s wearing and her enhanced metabolism, she should be good.

Unless… you start to connect the dots. The way you found her during the blizzard. Why you are told to never open the windows around the daughters for any reason. Why the fireplaces are always burning in the castle. They’re weak to it. It hurts them.

Daniela can’t even slide the key in the lock on the first try.

You take a step forward to offer help—

And as soon as you open your mouth, a monstrous shriek renders you still. Before you even have the time to exhale, something sharp hooks into the skin of your shoulders.

Blood splatters up your face and neck just as an immense weight presses you down. The very next heartbeat, you’re lifted off your feet by a winged horror.

You’ve never seen anything like this monster, although you have seen worse. Its head is collapsed into its sternum, beady eyes staring at you, wild with hunger. Its bony arms are extended into giant, bat-like wings that drive you further and further off the ground.

You want to scream, but you can’t breathe.

You’ve lost your voice. You’re no Knight before your imminent death –you’re powerless. You’re petrified.

A sickening squelch comes.

You don’t even know if it’s from you. It turns out that’s not the case when the creature cries out –a piercing sound that is sure to follow you until your last breath– and releases you. Your fall feels like it drags on for hours.

In reality, it’s only a matter of seconds before Daniela catches you. Black blood from the creature rains down on the both of you as it flies away. After that, it’s just your life’s crimson red that drips to color the snow below.

“What the fuck!” Daniela hisses. “That never happens! They never come down here!”

Except you don’t hear her. Your ears are ringing. You collapse onto all fours, yet it still feels like you cannot force your lungs to work. Oxygen is running out for you. Time is running out for you.

All the while, your own voice shouts in your ear: This is how you die. This is how you’ll die!

It’s one thing to know it. It’s another to experience it. All around you, the snow morphs into black, uneven shadows. Your terror is alive, it surrounds you, it pins you down and you can practically feel its breath on your neck.

“Knight!”

Someone shakes you, though you can barely register their presence, trapped as you are in your own mind.

“Knight!” the voice starts to seem familiar.

Bi-toned greyish yellow and amber eyes lock with your own. Icy, gloved hands grip at the sides of your head, cover your ears and narrow down your field of vision to just the pretty, too-pale face in front of you.

“Look at me. You’re okay. You’re okay. I got you.”

But you’re not okay.

It feels like you’re dying.

Daniela holds her breath and brings you forward, so you’re tucked against her neck. The smell of lavender and vanilla begin to calm you down. Enough for you to realize you’re in Romania, not your old home in Serbia. Enough for you to understand you still have time, even though the clock is ticking, the odds never in your favor.

Enough for you to worry more about the danger you’re actually facing in this moment, the sharp heat of your own blood running down your shoulders.

Daniela brings you both up to your feet, pushes the main door open and shoves you inside, as far away from herself as possible. Your back hits the nearest wall and leaves an abstract, bloody imprint on it.

When you next bring your gaze up… she’s gone.

[uhhhhforgetaboutit]

Heyyy, so I made picrews of my re8 ocs. Here we have Elaine Dogwood Giannatacio (usually just goes by Elaine Dogwood since some people [cough Heisenberg and Angie cough] cannot pronounce her last name) and Isabel Sato.

Elaine is 5'11 and rather gangly. She kinda stands there like 🧍‍♀️ most the time lmao. Her voice is deeper and smooth, but with just enough rasp to be *chefs kiss* perfect.

Isabel is 5'3 and just small. Not in a super-short-oompa-loompa way, but just a petite way. Her voice is really soft and sweet. The kind of voice you could fall asleep to. Also she can sing! She's not like American Idol or anything but she has a good voice.

Anyway, let us start with Elaine shall we?

Elaine is a very deadpan person with a quick wit and a subtle sense of humor. She likes to keep her emotions under lock and key for the most part. She fears people won't tolerate her if she spills all her negative emotions, so she tends to keep them bottled up. However, she is not a cold or unkind person. Quite the opposite actually, she loves to help people and animals (animals!!!).

Now, about her "powers" (cadou induced abilities) They consist of extreme persuasion/compulsion. By making eye contact with her red eye she is able to compel basically anyone to do anything. Now, Elaine usually wears an eye patch over her red eye because she worries she may accidentally compel someone. However, she does use her ability if she feels lazy or angry and can regret her choices later on. She also compels animals into being her pets because she is lonely.

Now, on to Isabel!

Sweet little Isabel is simply a small town girl who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wanted to strike out on her own and make a life for herself, but ended up being kidnapped by Daniela. So now she finds herself working as a maid in the Dimitrescu castle. It's not all bad, Alcina treats her employees considerably well. For the most part.

Now, the girls are awfully fond of Isabel because of her inherently sweet nature. Of course Isabel is terrified of the girls, but she doesn't let them know that. She is kind to them, even when they are covered in blood and a bit manic. She makes sure they're warm and happy, and they love that. Of course it's literally Isabel's job but if she was being honest, she'd probably help then anyway. Even though the girls are bloodthirsty and a bit sadistic, Isabel couldn't help but see their personalities underneath. She had grown to love them for themselves, rather than fear them for their violent side.

⚠️Trigger warning⚠️

Depression, anxiety, mentions of suicide and self harm

Now, Isabel is just a kind and happy girl, but she does have her own hidden issues. She had a history of anxiety and depression before getting captured by Daniela, but now that she lives in the castle it's amplified. Her hands tremor regularly as she works form the amount of anxiety roiling around in her small body. At night she lays awake crying silent tears as she remembers the taste of fresh air and the feeling of sun on her skin. Sometimes she feels as though she no longer remembers what happiness feels like. At one point her thoughts turned to offing herself for some type of relief, but she grew scared and steered away from that thought. Instead she settled for cutting her wrists. She felt relief from being in control of her pain, unlike her time in the dungeons with Cassandra.

End of trigger warning

Uhh, now this is basically just a fic of Elaine and Isabel meeting for the first time lmao

Isabel and Elaine met when Elaine came to visit Alcina and the girls. Isabel had been one of the maids to serve dinner, and she cought Elaine's eye. Elaine was very aware of how the girls "played" with the maids, and though she didn't exactly agree with it, she couldn't really blame them either. They needed blood to survive, after all. However, she noticed the faint tremble in Isabel's hands as she set a plate down in front of her. She also caught sight of a single cut on Isabel's wrist as her sleeve rode up, but it was enough for her. 'Poor thing, she's not doing well here.' Elaine thought. Now, of course most of the maids dont do particularly 'well', in the castle, but Isabel was different. Most maids were hurried and spurred on by fear and resentment. Isabel... Isabel smiled, a genuine smile. Isabel had gentle hands as she worked, she worked with care.

So after dinner was finished and Isabel reached for Elaine's now empty plate to take it to be cleaned, Elaine gently grabbed her sleeve between two fingers. Isabel froze, pale blue eyes snapping to Elaine's in surprise mingled with fear. Alcina perked up at the interaction. It was rare that Elaine payed any mind to the maids.

"What is your name, darling?" Elaine asked softly. Isabel hesitated, seeming confused by the entire situation.

"My- my name is Isabel, my lady." Isabel responded in her soft, silky voice. Elaine smiled gently at the girl, examining her face closely. She was very attractive, Elaine mentally acknowledged as she turned her attention to Alcina.

"I've noticed Isabel here has been quite attentive all night, a very good maid indeed. I was wondering if I may take her home with me." Elaine proposed, trying not to let on how much she wanted to whisk this poor girl away from the castle. Alcina grinned wolfishly as she tilted her head downward slightly.

"Oh? You wish to take her home with you?" Alcina echoed in a suggestive tone. Elaine refrained from rolling her eyes and simply smiled thinly.

"Yes, that is what I said." Elaine replied, the hand gripping Isabel's sleeve moving to cup her elbow instead. Her fingers curled around Isabel's arm in a possessive manner as she maintained eye contact with Alcina. Alcina narrowed her eyes for a moment before chuckling lowly.

"Alright, you can have her. Consider it an early birthday present." Alcina said with a grin, and Elaine nodded in response, turning her gaze to Isabel, who looked rather taken aback by the whole ordeal.

"Go gather your things, we'll be leaving shortly." Elaine murmured softly, rubbing Isabel's arm before releasing her. Isabel stayed rooted to the spot before curtsying and hurrying away.

Once Isabel had finished packing and Elaine said her goodbyes the two soon found themselves sitting across from eachother in Elaine's personal carriage. Isabel kept fidgeting in her seat nervously and Elaine sat in an awkward silence. Out of habit she fiddled with her eye patch and saw Isabel tense. Realization dawned on Elaine like icewater being dumped on her head. 'The poor girl probably thinks I'm going to compel her into having sex with me.' She thought guiltily as she lowered her hand to her lap. She cleared her throat.

"When we get to my estate I shall show you to your chambers and leave you to get settled in. If you need anything you can find me and ask, I'm usually awake at most hours. When I do sleep I sleep light, so don't worry about waking me. I also must warn you about Marcello. He's my raven, and he likes to be a pest most of the time. If he bothers you just shoo him away." Elaine explained, watching Isabel closely. The blond seemed to relax the smallest bit before nodding.

"Yes my lady. Thank you." She murmured softly, and Elaine swore her heart melted at the sound of her voice.

"You may also call me Elaine. I'm not one for titles. Marcello on the other hand, you might need to watch out for." Elaine deadpanned with an eyeroll. Isabel covered a giggle with her hand and Elaine's ego inflated itself at the sound.

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Elaine." Isabel replied with a soft smile, glancing up at Elaine through her bangs. That was the moment Elaine swore to herself that she'd do anything to see Isabel smile that way.

Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt and Elaine quickly got to her feet. She stepped out into the crisp night air before turning to offer her hand to Isabel. In the dim light she could have sworn she saw Isabel blush as she took Elaine's outstretched hand.

"Well here we are." Elaine announced, gesturing to the dark mansion before the two of them. Isabel stared in wonder at the sheer size of the place. She wondered if Elaine truly lived by herself here. 'If she does it must be rather lonely.' Isabel thought, glancing at the taller woman in sympathy. She was surprised to see Elaine already looking at her. They exchanged awkward smiles before walking up to the mansion together. Little did they know how pivotal that moment was.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Eye of the Storm 8

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (series), unwanted touches, prolonged eye contact which makes me wanna believe in the Church and all it’s saint to ask for absolution.

This is dark!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a new servant at the palace of Asgard but the job isn’t so easy as you thought.

Note: Yay another chapter of the Asgardian bitch boys causing trouble for our reader (much like @lokislastlove​ is causing trouble in my dms)

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your days with Loki passed swifter than those with his brother. Your work was mostly uninterrupted as Loki left early and returned in the late afternoon with some tasks to attend to as he ate dinner. His orders were few as you brought his meals without prompting and he was content to his privacy upon bathing and retiring. 

In the time you spent as the Prince's chambermaid, you began to think it far preferable. Even if you were a pawn in his game, his treatment almost atoned for his purpose.

It had been less than a week since you had last seen the king and since Loki insisted that the king marry, it was his responsibility to see it through. Every single detail. It was Thor’s way of punishing his brother’s impudence. As the queen had arrived days early, the wedding was pushed forward. No longer scheduled for the day after her planned arrival, it was to be the day of. 

On the day of the nuptials, you brought up Loki's breakfast and he was already awake. He ate at his desk as he flipped through a ledger, an emerald robe around his slender figure. You stood by the door, ready to clear his plate when he was done.

He turned to you as he wiped his hands and stopped you from stepping forward as he turned a palm out to you.

"You know what day it is?" He asked.

"The day of the wedding, your highness," You answered.

"It is," He smiled as he stood and crossed to the large wardrobe against the wall. He pulled open the right door and reached inside. "All the palace staff will be hard at work, in fact I did have to pull a few hands from the streets to fill in the holes in the roster." He turned back, a length of forest green silk hung from his grasp. "My footman Bradin will continue to see to my brother and so I shall require you to act as my cup bearer."

"Cup bearer?" You echoed. "But--"

"Firstly, you must put more effort into holding that tongue," He warned. "Secondly, it is a formal occasion, not some feast, so you shall stand by, diligently, and keep my cup full. I have faith I should be wanting for wine quite often."

"Yes, your highness," You dipped your chin in deference.

"And so you shall wear my colours," He neared with the dress, "I shall provide you a belt as well and you might forgo that stained monstrosity," He pointed to your apron. "Your duty is simple, I've seen you faced with far greater. You will serve me and you will keep silent. Understood?"

"Yes, your highness," You answered.

Loki had a way of speaking which was gentle yet patronizing. He expected what he said to be heard and his desires to be appeased. He was far more subtle than his brother but in a way, it suggested he was far more dangerous.

He held out the garment and you took it from him. You folded it over your arm as he adjusted the belt of his robe and gripped his lower back as he stretched. He turned away, seemingly done with the conversation.

“You may clear the dishes and go change,” He commanded as he strode to the door of his bath chamber. “I expect you ready within the hour. Do await me in the receiving chamber. You might sit on the balcony and enjoy the sunlight in my absence.”

“Your highness,” You accepted and he disappeared through the door.

Those times when you left upon your own had become so foreign and were just another facet of serving Loki which felt strange. You couldn’t gripe however, even if that gnawing in the back of your mind never quite let up. It was like limbo. You didn’t expect to be in the prince’s employ forever and the inevitability that the king would put his foot down made you ever uneasy. It was only a matter of time and the minutes, hours, and days did seem to move quickly.

🌩️

When Loki found you on the balcony staring down at the ground far below, he frightened you. You turned to him and bowed your head. He was dressed in a black jacket trimmed in a similar gold to that around your waist. His dark attire made him look even taller and his green eyes seemed to glow as they carried their usual imperious glimmer. They took you in and he arched a brow.

“Presentable,” He remarked. You didn’t expect anything more as he flicked two fingers in a signal for you to follow him as he swept back through the archway. “The ceremony shall begin shortly. You will go to the feast hall and aid the other servants in the last of the arrangements as I ensure that the bride and groom make it to their vows.”

You nodded, thankful not to to be forced to sit through the long and tedious wedding rites. You’d heard that nobles tended to take hours to read them aloud whereas peasants could be married in a matter of minutes.

He spun back to you and brought his hands up just before your shoulders. You stopped short as he framed you with his fingers and squinted. He snickered as his facade finally cracked.

“You do know my brother is going to be mad at the sight of you,” He slithered. “Oh, I can’t help myself though. He has been rather unbearable in your absence. More than usual.”

You pursed your lips and lowered your lashes. A servant would never dare speak ill of any noble, even if humoured by another.

“Don’t you fret, he will have a wife to keep him in line and she is not the type to abide his nonsense,” Loki assured and turned once more as he led you across the room. He opened the door himself and ushered you through to the corridor. “Oh my,” He shut the door behind him and hovered his hand just beside your arm as he looked at you once more, “I did a terrible job at guessing. It is rather… snug.”

“It fits,” you assured him as you touched the silk across your stomach. “Thank you, your highness.”

“So long as you can pour wine, I suppose it does not matter,” He said. “Well, my dear, you best be off and I must hurry if I am to meet the cleric. Ugh, I do despise weddings.”

He waited until you moved to part. You listened to his footsteps mirror your own as they faded down another corridor. Soon enough you could no longer hear them and as you reached the stairs, you paused. You weren’t stupid enough to trust Loki but you truly couldn’t guess what he was up to.

🌩️

The feast hall was a flurry of activity. Instead of the long benches formerly facing the trestles, each guest was to be seated in their own cumbersome yet elaborate chair, with only a few of the further tables lined with cushioned stools. The golden cutlery, freshly polished was laid out carefully, and silk streamers were braided and twisted along both tables and columns.

Melora was among the hive of workers. She looked you up and down as you helped cover the last table with an ivory table cloth trimmed in silver and red. The king’s chair would be hung with his sigil and the new queen’s would wear her own.

“We’re all very curious about what has become of you. We only ever sight you when you’re sleeping or waiting on the cooks,” She said. “I see the king does treat you well.”

“It is the prince’s generosity,” You assured her. “I’ve since been reassigned.”

“Pity,” She gave a sarcastic frown. “I’ve recently been placed in a new posting as well. I get to sweep the upper floors now, I might just see you upon your own duties.”

“Perhaps,” You smiled, shrugging off the tinge of envy in her tone.

You carried on and found yourself in a sweat as Agnes called for the servants to assemble in the corridor. The high collar of the dress was damp, though even your bare arms felt smothered from your excess. As before, servants were selected to be servers and you were sent to stand at the table just to the left of the marriage dais. 

Loki would sit there with several of the high lords, a generous vantage of the bride and groom. You were suddenly nervous as the other women lined up with their ewers and a silence seeped into the airy hall. It was as if every single servant was holding their breath in anticipation.

When at last there was a sign that the feast was about to commence, you stood rigid and stared at the door along the other end of the hall. Your head snapped back however as another opened opposite it, hidden just behind the couple’s dais. 

You watched as a woman entered, her skin a rich brown and her eyes as dark as onyx. She wore a bejeweled scarf along her hairline, a swath of braids overflowing beautifully down her back. She walked with shoulders back and head high, the king emerged just behind her. Neither appeared happy.

You looked away at once, your eyes on the chair before you, where the prince would sit. The woman, the queen you assumed, Calla, whispered something as a chair scraped, followed by another. You felt the heat of another’s gaze and ignored it. Don’t look, don’t look. You knew it was Thor watching you, even with his new wife right beside him.

The king cleared his throat. “Bradin,” He called to the footman who shut the door they’d come through, “You may permit my guests to enter and have the kitchens commence with serving.”

Bradin voiced his acquiescence and descended from the dias to march across the hall. He had the doors opened and announced the commencement of the wedding feast, though all you could hear was the crowd without buzzing with impatience. You tilted your head and looked down to the double doors as the nobles began to pour in, you kept your attention on them to keep from acknowledging the king.

Loki appeared at the end of the table though you hadn’t seen him amid the influx. He traipsed along the empty chairs and dropped into his with a flourish. He let out a sigh and reached for his goblet, all courtesy for other guests was gone. He held up his cup, an emerald shone from his middle finger.

“Dear maid,” He called over his shoulder. “I daresay such tedium did make me thirsty.”

You stepped forward and poured. Loki turned his cup as you finished and glanced over at you. He leaned back in his chair as he craned to see you.

“I do like that colour,” He mused. “You might keep that dress.”

“Thank you, your highness,” You lowered your chin and set down the ewer before stepping back.

Loki sat straight and watched the other nobles as they searched around for their seats, directed by the servants in livery appointed to the task of sorting the bodies. It was some time before all had stilled and yet they continued to chatter. The ruckus continued until a horn blew from the front of the hall and all looked to find their king standing beside Bradin who held a twisted golden horn.

Thor squared his shoulders and peered staunchly around the room, his subjects in communal awe and shame. He barely looked a man on his wedding day. 

“I will make it brief as we’ve all been so impatient for this feast,” Thor began. “So I will do no more than welcome my wife and queen, Calla, to her new kingdom and home. May the fates make our marriage a long and prosperous one.”

He raised his glass to Calla and drank. Fandral stood to your right and cheered, encouraging the rest of the nobles to break out in an uproar, clinking their cups and hollering. Thor sat and his wife attempted a smile at him. You wondered how he’d so quickly built such a wall between them as the woman hid her irritation with a sip of her own wine.

Servants appeared with trays full of food and the frivolity began. Guests were all too happy to indulge in both drink and roasted elk. Loki picked at his plate as he seemed disinterested in much of the affair. He sent the occasional glance to his brother, you suspected to make sure he had not riled his wife, and then returned to poking at his supper.

He placed his fork down and beckoned you forth with a finger. He grabbed his cup and held it for you to fill. You took the pitcher and poured carefully. You felt a brush along your thigh and then fingertips pressed to your hip. You looked down as Loki gripped your hip and purred a thank you.

The pitcher hit the lip of the cup and you spill some onto the prince’s dark trouser. You righted the jug and set it down as you reached for the cloth napkin untouched on the table.

“I’m so sorry, your highness,” You sputtered. “I didn’t--”

You began to daub at his tunic hem where crimson droplets had speckled and your hand thoughtlessly slipped lower as you tried to mop up the rest in his lap. He grabbed your hand and held it against his crotch, just for a moment, then slowly nudged it away.

“Now, now, your thoroughness does exceed propriety,” He was smirking as you recoiled and his green eyes flitted over to the royal dais. “What shall people think?”

Your gaze followed his and you found Thor watching you. His expression told you he had witnessed the entire disastrous encounter. You wrung the napkin in your hands and apologized once more before you stepped back against the wall. Loki took another napkin and chuckled as he wiped himself dry.

You bit your lip as you stared at the legs of the prince’s chair. You wanted to dissolve into air. Wanted to be nothing. You fought not to show your distress. 

“Oh, my brother is a simple man,” Loki spoke over his shoulder, “Even a wife cannot distract him so long.”

You looked up again. Loki nodded to the royal table and once more you dared to peek. The king had one arm around the back of his wife’s chair and the other fought hers in her lap. He groped her thigh as he pressed his lips to her cheek. His assault was out of place as he barely seemed to notice her at the same time as his eyes clinged to yours. As your gaze met his, he grinned and hugged Calla until she slapped his arm.

“Oh, this might have been a disastrous mistake,” Loki sneered. “But it is no longer my mistake.”

You shook your head and glared at Loki. You weren’t surprised that this marriage was much more than political ploy for him but you were repulsed by how easily he used those around him. You were a servant, you were meant to be used but Thor? His own brother? For all your distaste of the lecherous king, you couldn’t help but pity his familial binds.

“More wine,” Loki called as he raised his cup again. “And this time, do try not to make such a mess.”

You came forward and filled his cup again. Your eyes went back to the dais without thinking. Thor still watched you and his grin only grew as he caught your gaze. The hand not thrust between his wife’s legs went to the back of her head and he turned her forcefully. He pushed his lips to hers, the entire time he never looked away from you. 

You weighed the pitcher and lowered your head.

“Your highness, I should fetch some more wine,” You raised the ewer as you spoke.

“Oh, please do,” Loki bid. “Before our king decides to consummate his marriage before the entire court.”

🌩️

The rest of the feast went on much the same. Loki kept finding reasons to call for more wine and his fingertips found new places to dance as his eyes taunted his brother. Thor was trouble enough as he harassed his own wife who was less than impressed by her new husband. You wondered if it were too late for her to absolve the union.

Thor and Calla’s departure marked the end of the day and at last the guests could retire, many drunk and stumbling. You were starting to think they cared more for the nine courses and casks of wine than their own king.

You followed Loki through the corridors, weaving past the inebriated and the loitering. He seemed little affected by his indulgences or the evening as a whole. Yet the more you stared at his shoulders, you found yourself wholly irritated by him and the royal will. 

You were tired of it all; you didn’t want to be another plaything for these spoiled brats, you’d only come to sweep and change linens. You were entirely ill-fit to do both.

Loki swept into his chambers and you closed the door behind him. He went to the chaise and sat heavily, leaning on his hands as he looked at you and smirked.

“What a night. More amusing than I could have expected.” He said.

You didn’t say anything. You stared back at him and he lifted a brow.

“What is it? You do seem to be holding something back, dear maid?”

“No, your highness,” You lied as you folded your hands together. “I am merely awaiting my next task.”

“I prefer boldness to impertinence,” Loki’s smirk fell, “So I suggest you speak whatever has turned you so sour.”

“I am only curious, shall I ready your bed? Draw you a bath?” You hissed, filled with a haughty breath. “Or perhaps you are more like your brother than you would admit and you’d prefer me on my knees?”

Loki blinked and his lips parted. He nodded and hummed as he considered you. He stood, slowly. His steps were deliberate as he neared and stopped before you. He reached up and played with the collar of the dress around your neck. He leaned in and lowered his voice.

“Not tonight.” He said, “This has been quite the day. You are exhausted. You are not thinking.” He took your chin between his index and thumb and made you look him in the eye. “I command you to go and rest for there will soon be another day upon us and much work to do still.”

[ask-chaos-kin]

Slender Freaks Ch. 2

Welcome to the Game

“Chaos? Chaos! Chaos wake up!” Jester whispered with strangled breath, trying to shake the unconscious Freak awake. “Come on Chaos! Get up! We have to go!” They urged, constantly looking over their shoulder every few seconds as they struggled to wake Chaos up. 

They didn’t know where they had ended up after being dragged into that ball of light, but they knew that whatever this place was, it wasn’t friendly in the slightest.

The chamber they were in was damp and dark, lit only by a few emergency lights hanging from the ceiling. Old tankards were lines against the walls, and crates of all kinds were scattered about, industrial materials spilling out of them.

“Pancakes? Do you hear anything?” Jester asked quietly, watching as the Scout Freak stared down one of the many darkened halls, his hammer at the ready.

“I swear to God, I heard something down there,” Pancakes wheezed, wringing his fingers around the hilt of his hammer repeatedly. “Will you hurry up and wake Chaos up already!?”

“I’m already up,” Chaos groaned, groggily rolling away from Jester and sitting up. “Ugh, where the Hell…?”

“We don’t know, all we know is that this place is Nightmare Fuel to the max.” Jester helped Chaos onto her feet. “And that Pancakes heard something down that hall.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Chaos scowled, reaching for her sword. 

“Yeah, neither do I,” Pancakes gulped, his eyes glued to the hall. “Just...Back up. Slowly,” Pancakes said, shuffling backwards cautiously. Jester and Chaos stuck close by to him, carefully and painstakingly shuffling away from the hall and towards a different corridor that exited out into an area that vaguely resembled Turbine.

Once the hall was comfortably out of sight, the three Freaks allowed themselves to relax, if only slightly.

“I feel like we’re back inside Grave’s catacombs,” Pancakes gulped, lowering his hammer, but not holstering it. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. “Where the Hell are we?”

“I’m not sure,” Jester said shakily, looking around. “Some kind of warehouse, I guess?”

“That hall kinda looked like a part of Hydro. But this looks like Turbine,” Chaos remarked. “But it's not. It just feels bad here.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Come on, let's try to find an exit,” Pancakes grunted, hoisting his hammer over his shoulder and starting down the hall.

“It’s not gonna be as easy as just finding the exit door,” Jester pointed out, stopping Pancakes. “We’re in another dimension. I can feel it. We’re gonna need a portal out of here, and judging by the entire vibe of this place, that’s not gonna be easy.”

Chaos nodded. After a moment of stretching and getting their bearings Chaos and Pancakes decided to scope out ahead and try and spot anything that could look like trouble. Chaos started with taking the higher ground of Turbine, searching for anything that seemed out of place. Pancakes took the underground route in his can to move the fastest he possibly could. Jester was left to search around on the ground level.

“Anything yet?” Jester called as they rounded one of the large engines on the ground floor.

“Nothing yet!” Pancakes called from below. “Nothing but dark halls and creepy shit!”

“Nothing up here, either!” Chaos added.

After a moment, Jester fell forwards, tripping on something heavy and full of liquids.

“GAH! What the-!?” Jester spun around to see what they had tripped over. It was a Jerry can, full to the brim with gasoline.

“What in the world?” Jester got up and picked the canister up. “Uh, found a gas can!” Jester shouted. “Not sure what it could be used for, though.”

After Jester picked up the canister, a loud, thunderous boom sound could be heard from the sky and the air became much thicker and full of dread.

“What the hell?” Jester gasped, tensing up. “Did you guys hear that?”

“Hard not too.” Chaos jumped down from the ledge she was previously standing, Pancakes emerged from a nearby basement door.

“What did you do?!”

“I just picked up this canister! I didn’t think it would summon Satan!” Jester cried, dropping the gasoline.

“What are you doing?!” an unknown voice from the shadows called. “We need those things to get out of here and you're just dropping them everywhere!”

The three Freaks jumped at the voice.

“Who said that? Who’s there!?” Jester shouted.

“Shh! Keep your head down! They’ll be here any minute now. Just pick that thing up and look for more, you’ll hear that boom every time someone picks up another can. Once eight booms have gone off, start running to the van.” The voice called out in a type of whisper yell.

Jester cautiously picked the canister back up, trembling. “Where are you?” They whispered, searching for the source of the voice.

“You’ll find me later, just get going! It’s not safe out in the open,”

The three Freaks nodded hurriedly and headed off, listening closely for any threats that could be lurking in the darkness.

“Just when I thought things couldn’t get any creepier,” Pancakes shuddered, glancing over his shoulder.

“What did she mean by ‘they?’ Who’s ‘they?’” Jester asked quietly, scanning the halls for any more gas cans. “What’s in here with us?”

“I don’t know and frankly, I don’t want to find out,” Chaos whispered sharply.

“You and me both,” Jester gulped. “Where’s that van she was talking about? I didn’t see a van when we came in.”

“It has to be parked outside. If this place is the same as Turbine, I should be able to get us to the exit,” Pancakes stated.

“Maybe. Once we get all the gas cans, we can head there. Well...As long as we don’t run into anything on the way…”

“This feels like Grave all over again,” Chaos hissed.

“No kidding. All we need are some shadow monsters to chase us and it’ll be just like old times…” Pancakes paused briefly, looking over his shoulder. “But I doubt we’ll have to wait long for that.”

The trio of Freaks ducked into a nearby vent shaft and followed it into what should have been the BLU team’s Intel Room. The bright blue suitcase that was stuffed with BLU’s files was nowhere to be found, however. Instead, another Jerry Can sat where the suitcase should have been. 

Dropping down from the vent, Chaos trotted over and tentatively picked up the can, flinching at the thunderous drum that echoed through the facility. Folding it under her arm, Chaos waved for Jester and Pancakes to follow her, raising a finger to her mouth for them to remain silent.

“I think I know where another one of these might be,” Pancakes whispered. Entering his can, Pancakes bounced off towards one of the round doorways, Jester and Chaos following close behind. Coming out into a T-shaped hallway, Pancakes turned to head to a nearby door when Chaos snatched him out of the blue and ducked behind a wall, yanking Jester along with her.

“What are you doing?” Pancakes gasped, stifling a shout. Chaos gritted her teeth and made a sharp shushing sound. Hooking a thumb around the corner, she silently pointed out the lurking monster Pancakes had nearly waltzed right into. 

At the end of the hall, a stark white creature stood, disturbingly humanoid in nature and bordering on anorexic. It was hunched over, its arms and legs extending out to an unnatural length. The long fingers of the monster were tipped with razor sharp claws, stained a dark red with dried blood. The creature's eyes were bright white and almost seemed to bulge out of the monster's head. It had no lips, and so the horrible maw of yellowed teeth jutted out for all to see, a viscous saliva dripping from the fangs and pooling out onto the floor into a silvery puddle.

“What the Hell is that thing?” Jester wheezed, their skin turning as pale as the monsters. 

“Something we don’t want to mess with,” Chaos whispered, pulling Jester back behind the wall. 

Stooping down, Chaos scooped up a small pebble from the floor. Palming it briefly, she wound up her arm and chucked it towards one of the rounded doorways. It bounced once, skidding into the Intel Room and making a low skittering sound as it flew. 

The monster spun around when the pebble made contact with the floor, and with a hungry howl it sprinted down the hall in a headlong rush, salivating at the thought of prey. 

With the beast distracted, Chaos shoved Pancakes and Jester off down the hall and towards the door, and once safely inside she threw the door shut behind them before barricading it with a metal shelf that had been standing next to the door. 

With the door covered, Pancakes leapt out of his can and ran around the small room in search of a third Jerry Can.

“C’mon, c’mon...Aha!” Pancakes crouched next to the workbench in the center of the room and pulled yet another Jerry Can from beneath the table. Upon grabbing the can, a third boom sounded off, a more sinister air to it than before.

With the third can under their belt, the trio slowly crept out of the small chamber and turned to the metal shutter blocking the end of the hall. Chaos and Pancakes picked up the shutter from the bottom and hoisted it off the ground, carefully slipping underneath into another dimly lit hall that extended to the left. The narrow corridor funneled the three Freaks into a small room that was blocked off by a large board of the BLU teams insignia. 

Pushing on the board, there was a slight give, indicating that the board wasn’t fully bolted to the wall.

“Pancakes, give me a hand here,” Chaos said, drawing her sword and slipping it into the narrow space between the wall and board. Pancakes pressed his palms against the board opposite to Chaos. Using their combined strength, they managed to pop the board slightly out of place. Jester slipped their hands to the bottom of the board and tentatively lifted it up and away from the wall, opening a path back into the main room of Turbine.

Pulling the board off the wall completely and pulling it into the small room, the three Freaks quietly clambered out, landing on the metal platform below that was elevated from the main floor. Glancing over to her left, Chaos noticed another Jerry Can sitting in the small windowed room that connected to the vents. Grabbing it, a fourth boom rang out, followed by a low, rumbling roar from somewhere in the halls they had entered from.

“That didn’t sound good,” Jester gulped.

As if on cue, the mysterious voice spoke up once again, a bespoke urgency in her voice. “It’s not good at all. Keep moving! There’s four more cans left!”

Moving with the same urgency, the trio of Freaks dropped down from the platform and briskly crossed the main room of Turbine, keeping close to the engines and carriers in the center of the room for cover. 

Heading into RED Spawn, the Freaks quickly ducked inside the Spawn Room for a breather, and in doing so found a fifth Jerry Can hiding in one of the lockers. 

Next up was the chamber where the RED Intel was being held. Just like the BLU base, the intel was replaced with a lone Jerry Can. Unfortunately, unlike the BLU base, another disjointed and warped creature stood over the can, crouched down and snarling. 

“Great, just great,” Pancakes hissed, hiding behind the doorway separating the hall from the Intel Room.

“What do we do now? We can’t fight that thing!” Jester gasped, their eyes locked on the monster in morbid fear. 

“We can’t. Maybe we can distract it like last time,” Chaos said briskly, scanning the floor for any stray pebbles. 

“I don’t think this thing is gonna fall for that again.” Pancakes glanced into the chamber and winced at the monsters scathing roar. “Nope. Not gonna work this time.”

“Maybe I could lure it away,” Jester suggested, immediately regretting the suggestion as the creature let out another furious shriek. 

“That could work. You can fly and your body works on cartoon physics. You get that thing away from the can and we’ll meet you in the vents.”

Jester swallowed hard and turned pale, giving a terrified glance at the monster. 

“You owe me for this. Big time.”

Jester - begrudgingly - floated out into the open in full view of the monster, grimacing when the beast turned its steely gaze on them. 

“H-hey! Ugly! Come on and chase me! You know you want to - CRAP!” 

Jester could barely get their taunt out when the monster lunged at them, sprinting out of the Intel Room and barreling at the clown at breakneck speeds. Jester turned tail and ran, screaming in terror as the beast began hunting them down through the halls.

“WHY DID I AGREE TO THIIIIIIIIIIIS!?”

“Well, there’s that. Come on, before that thing gets back.”

Chaos and Pancakes wasted no time in picking up the Jerry Can and made their escape through the vents leading into the Intel Room. Crawling through the cramped space, they could hear Jester screaming below and cursing their names in terrified and exasperated frustration. 

“I think they’re taking it well,” Pancakes said dryly. 

Below, Jester was weaving in and out of the turbines in the center of the facility, huffing and puffing as they managed to stay just out of reach of the pale monster. 

“THIS IS NOT HOW I WANTED TO SPEND MY DAY!” They shrieked, yelping and ducking down as the beast swiped at them, narrowly missing the bells on their hat. “I hope you guys are done over there!”

“Jester! Up here!” Chaos shouted from above, pulling the vent cover away from the shaft as she and Pancakes reached the main room, frantically waving for Jester. “Come on!”

Jester made a sharp turn and flew over the head of the monster, sucking in their breath upon seeing the flashing sheen of the creature's claws in their peripheral. Clearing the monster, Jester darted up to the vent and barreled into the open shaft, missing Chaos by a hair's breadth as she threw the vent cover back up as a flimsy barrier between them and the creature. 

“Please tell me you got the can,” Jester wheezed, facedown in the vent. 

“We did. That makes six,” Pancakes said. 

“So we need two more,” Chaos added, climbing back down the vent. “That thing’s gonna be looking for us, though. We’ll need to wait until it calms down before we can go looking.”

“Sounds good,” Jester mumbled weakly, rolling onto their back.

“You won’t find the last two here. You’ll have to go back to Hydro,” The distant voice said faintly, a twinge of warning in her instructions.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Jester gulped.

“I think you’ve said that enough, Jess,” Pancakes remarked, crawling after Chaos, Jester slinking behind him. 

The trio reached the main room and approached the door they had first entered from, which now seemed to yawn like the gaping mouth of a giant monster. A cold wind blew from within that carried the faint screaming of a distant beast, instilling the Freaks with an uneasy sense of déjà vu.

“I was having a good day. We were all having a good day before we got dragged into this,” Pancakes sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“Well, no time like the present,” Chaos said, pushing onward. “Come on, we survived Grave, we can survive this.”

Starting down the hall, the trio left the relative safety of Turbine and entered the unknown territory of the altered Hydro. Walking down the darkened hallways, Chaos judged that they were walking through the farthest west facility of Hydro. What she couldn’t judge was whether or not they could access the outer portions of Hydro, and if they could, if the remaining Jerry Cans would be scattered outside in the open or hidden inside and out of sight.

“Shit, it’s gonna take forever to find the cans like this,” Pancakes grumbled dryly, softly kicking a nearby box. 

“They can’t be far. Most of the cans were close together in Turbine after all,” Jester replied, hoping to assure the sullen Freak beside them.

“Yeah, sure, but Turbine is a hell of a lot smaller than Hydro. Why do you think mercenaries hate fighting in it?”

“I think Mann Co. was gonna make a bigger version of Turbine and every team collectively lost their shit over it,” Chaos said with a dry lilt.

“Wait, they actually did that? I thought it was just a joke!”

“Nope. They actually did. I think Mann Co. was gonna call it Turrrrrrrrbine,” Pancakes explained, sounding slightly brittle.

“That’s dumb. They should have called it Longbine.”

“Doesn’t matter what they would have called it, Jess. The teams would have hated it regardless,” Chaos said, patting Jesters shoulder.

“My memory loss must be worse than I thought. I don’t remember ever hating Turbine when I was still a mercenary.”

“You worked at Sawmill. You were probably just never sent to Turbine-”

“Found one!” Pancakes hollered, running past the two Freaks and diving at a corner where a tankard sat next to several crates of unused machine parts, making a loud racket as he landed. Pancakes grunted and rose back to his feet, triumphantly hoisting up the seventh Jerry Can. 

“Are you a bobcat or something?” Jester said in a perplexed tone. “How did you even see that?”

Pancakes grinned as he tossed the can to Jester. “Scout senses.”

“Oh please, you just saw the can before we did. It ain’t that amazing,” Chaos said with a teasing scoff.

“Yeah, ‘cause you two were talking up a storm about Turbine.”

“You started that discussion!”

“Yeah? Well...Nyeh.” Pancakes pouted, sticking his tongue out.

“Guys, shh, you hear that?” Jester said sharply, abruptly cutting Chaos and Pancakes off. The two Scouts fell deathly silent, suddenly reminded of where they were. 

Jester cast their gaze across the gloomy halls ahead and summoned a small ball of light in their hands, tossing it forward into the corridor like a glowstick. When the light landed, it sputtered and sparked, seemingly struggling to stay alight, which sent a worrisome shudder down Jesters spine. 

As the light began to go out, a low hum came from somewhere deep within the corridor, accompanied by the harsh thudding of footsteps against concrete. The three Freaks slowly backed away from the pitiful light as it gave up the last of its glow. In its final sparks, the light revealed the elongated face of a monster, cast in a cruel maroon light before the orb finally fizzled out, drawing a curtain of darkness as the three Freaks turned tail and fled, their mortified screams filling the halls as the horrible monster took chase. 

The beast chased the trio of Freaks through the facilities of Hydro and forced them outside. Hydro was drenched in darkness, but it was wholly unlike the normal darkness of night. This was an oppressive darkness that blotted out anything and everything in the sky. It was like a thick curtain had been pulled over all of Hydro that kept everything inside its boundaries.

With the elongated monster licking at their heels, Chaos tried to form a fireball in her hands to chuck back at the raging creature like a hand grenade, but it fizzled out into embers before she even got the chance.

“What the hell’s going on!? My powers aren’t working!”

“Mine aren’t working either!” Jester gasped in terror, desperately trying to teleport the three Freaks away to no avail.

“We gotta head to the radar dish! We can lose this thing there!” Pancakes shouted, pushing to the front of the pack.

“I hope you’re right!” Chaos hissed, charging after Pancakes as he booked it up the rocky hill towards the old radar dish at the center of Hydro.

Reaching the radar, the trio of Freaks clambered up the side of the dish and slid down into it. Once inside, they frantically scaled the metal sheets that led up to the station in the center of the dish and kicked the sheets away once they were safely off the ground, leaving the monster without a way to reach them.

Hissing and snarling, the beast clawed and scratched at the scaffolding of the station the Freaks were precariously perched on, desperately trying to bring it crashing down to reach the terrified trio. It’s awful and putrid breath made Jester gag, and the rancid saliva it spilled onto the platform in its hungry flailing made Pancakes and Chaos recoil in disgust.

“Get the hell off!” Chaos screamed furiously, swinging her checkerboard sword at the beasts snout, scoring a deep gouge between its bulging eyes. With a sharp howl, the creature recoiled back and hissed, roaring in pain. Shaking its head, the monster fled from the radar dish, leaving a trickling trail of blood as it ran for cover in the shadows.

The trio caught their breath once the monster fled, giving them a brief reprieve from running and screaming like beheaded chickens. Jester, thoroughly ran through, laid on the floor of the station facedown to catch their breath. When their face hit the ground, they saw a brief flash of red in the corner of their eye. With a jerk, Jester lifted their head and gasped with a mix of shock and relief.

The last Jerry Can was right next to them!

“HAHA! That’s the last one!” They whooped, lifting the can up with elated glee. 

Upon grabbing the can, one last thunderous boom sounded out across the facility. When the sound settled, an eerie silence fell over all of Hydro, leaving the three Freaks alone in the unnatural hush. 

Jester’s elation died away and their smile faded. They held the Jerry Can to their chest and glanced around, the hair on their neck slowly standing on end. The same uneasiness fell over Chaos and Pancakes and they slowly stepped away from the edges of the platform, the deafening silence pricking at their nerves like a malicious ice pick, their labored breathing being the only thing that broke the hush.

“Fuck me, I prefer the monster over this,” Pancakes quavered, a shiver running up his spine.

“Ok, we’ve got the cans, what now?” Jester shuddered, slipping the can into their cape for safe keeping.

“Get to the other side of Hydro, quickly! We have the car waiting!” The disembodied voice spoke out with a dire stress. “Come on, we have to go!”

“No need to tell me twice!” Pancakes leapt off the edge of the platform and started sprinting to the eastern side of Hydro with a desperate zeal, followed closely by an equally terrified Chaos and Jester. 

Above them, the silence of Hydro was broken by an ear splitting shriek. From the roof of the base that overlooked the path to the edge of Hydro, a pale humanoid leapt down in front of the Freaks, drenched in a black and viscous liquid. The creature's face was horrifically disfigured with teeth jutting out of its mouth, and it’s eyes were solid white and sunken deep into its skull.

“Wait! STOP!” The voice shouted, the cold terror of her voice bringing the trio of Freaks toa  screeching halt in front of the monster. “Don’t. Make. A. Sound,” She urged, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. “Back away from that thing. Slowly.”

“I hate this, I hate this,” Pancakes whisper-screamed, trembling as he and his friends haltingly followed the voices orders, taking quaking and trembling steps away from the ghastly creature.

“What is that thing!?” Jester whined, matching Pancake’s whispering tone.

“Shut up, shut up,” Chaos snapped hushedly, grabbing Pancake and Jester by the arm. She gritted her teeth at the monsters huffing and snarling and squeezed Jesters arm instinctively. Jester quickly placed their hand over Chaos’, a fleeting comfort in the face of a hideous monster.

Backing up towards the dish, the trio watched the beast from the very edge of the radar. The ghoul stooped down and sniffed the air, having calmed down now that the Freaks had put distance between them. The ghoul wheezed and snorted and sluggishly shambled towards the dish, its sunken eyes rolling in its skull. Jester sucked in a sharp breath, Pancakes braced himself, and Chaos’ free hand snapped to the hilt of her sword, her mismatched eyes locked on the creature, silently daring it to come closer.

A small and unnoticeable speck flew through the air past the monster and landed somewhere off to its right, causing a small clatter of stones to rattle through the air. The beast snapped its head to the noise and stalked towards it, leaving the Freaks behind in favor of investigating the pebble. The three Freaks looked on in a kind of shocked stupor, both befuddled and relieved that the mysterious stone had caught the monsters attention. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Chaos caught sight of someone standing at the end of the path out of Hydro, waving to the Freaks and beckoning them over. The figure was slender and had a similar frame to Chaos. She wore a RED Flapjack, orange Hot Heels, and a red and black Troublemaker's Tossle cap. Her hair was long and curly and seemed to be cut in the exact same style as Chaos’ hair and she wielded what looked like a RED Atomizer bat. 

Seizing her chance, Chaos shoved Jester and Pancakes towards the figure while the monster was distracted.

“Come on, I have the car ready! I just need the gas!” The figure ran towards a cement blockade and leapt over it, sprinting down a paved path where a lone camper van was parked. “Come on, come on! Dump the gas in, we don’t have much time!”

Reaching the van, Jester clumsily took their cape off and dumped the eight Jerry Cans out, and the three Freaks scrambled to dump the contents of all eight into the van. They spilled much of the gasoline onto the ground in their hustle, but enough got inside the van to count. 

“Alright, that’s it! Now get inside before they come after us!” The woman shouted. Throwing open the drivers side door, she leapt into the van and cranked the car with haste. The engine roared to life, its headlights flashing and lighting the road ahead up in a stark yellow glare.

Jester, Chaos, and Pancakes all piled into the van as fast as they could, shouting over each other as the sounds of the monster started to grow closer. Jester grabbed the passengers' side door and slammed it shut once they were inside and let out a startled gasp.

“OK DRIVE!” They screeched, scrambling to get to the front seat. The woman drove her heel into the gas pedal and the car lurched forward, unceremoniously throwing Jester back onto Pancakes. 

Speeding along the paved road, the screams of the monster behind them echoed in the dark, growing more and more distant as the van left it in the dust until the screams finally receded into the distance, nothing more than a shallow whisper in the wind.

With distance put between the monster and the Freaks, Jester laid their face on the dashboard and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Chaos and Pancakes simply collapsed in the back seat, catching their breath. 

“Holy shit,” Chaos gulped, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Thanks,” She managed to get out.

“Don’t thank me yet,” The woman replied sternly, still on edge. “Who are you guys anyways? I don’t recognize any of you.”

“I don’t think we’re from around here,” Jester answered quietly, tilting their head towards the woman.

“...Oh, shit. Then you have no idea what’s going on here.”

“Yeah no shit! Monsters were chasing us every five seconds and we had to collect gas cans like it was a fucking treasure hunt!” Pancakes cried. 

“Those gas cans were your only ticket out of here,” The woman replied with a startling calm. “Now just calm down. If you guys aren’t from around here, then that spells bad news for you.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” Chaos urged, leaning forward in her seat.

“To put it as blunt as possible: You guys have just landed yourselves in another dimension. The Slender Realm. A dimension filled with monsters that you have to play around in order to survive. It’s a game, really. These creatures force us to always stay on our toes or we die. They take us to places like this and force us to play a game of demented scavenger hunt to find random items that we can use to escape and move on.”

“...Fuck,” Chaos swore, collapsing in her seat. 

“Exactly. And you three have just entered the game as fresh blood. You want to survive and get out? You follow my lead.”

“How do we even GET out?” Jester shuddered. “Look, I have reality bending powers, ok? I’m supposed to be able to tear holes in reality in order to travel between dimensions. I haven’t been able to do that once since we’ve been here! Barely any of my powers have been working!”

“You can blame the Slender Realm for that,” She sighed, sounding utterly exhausted. “This place...It doesn’t like ‘cheating.’ If you have powers of abilities that it thinks will give you an edge against the monsters, it takes it away.”

“That would explain why I can barely do anything. I tried to create a light ball and it extinguished a minute later. My magic doesn’t just go out like that.”

“And I haven’t been able to cast fire spells since we got here,” Chaos lamented, staring sullenly at her hands.

“I can’t even Ubercharge myself anymore,” Pancakes sighed, pressing his face against the back of Jesters seat.

“You guys are Freaks, right? You come from the Outer Realm?” The woman inquired, looking over her shoulder at Chaos and Pancakes.

“Uh...Yeah, we’re Freaks. I don’t know what the ‘Outer Realm’ is though,” Chaos replied, a bit perplexed. 

“That explains where the portal leads…” She mumbled. 

“Portal? What portal?” Jester queried, almost pleadingly.

“The way out.” The woman sat up and her face stiffened. “It’s a portal at the end of a labyrinth. A lot of people thought it was a myth, but me and my brother found it a few days ago. We were this close to making it out, and…” She grimaced, pursing her lips in anger. “We were stopped by the monsters. Slenderman in particular.”

“Hold the fuck up, SLENDERMAN is REAL!?” Pancakes squawked, wide eyed as he jolted upright in his seat.

“So at least you know about him. He’s one of the most dangerous monsters around here,” The woman continued, shrugging off Pancakes surprised outburst. “He stopped us from leaving this place and...He must have messed with the portal himself. That’s the only way I can imagine that you three managed to get pulled into this place.”

“Do you think more people could have been pulled in?”

“Highly likely. The monsters like to mess with other dimensions when they get bored with us.”

“So maybe other people we know are trapped here,” Chaos suggested. “Other Freaks.”

“Maybe. Maybe…” Jester nodded, reeling from all the information.

“Anyways, I know the portal exists. I know there’s a way out of here. Maybe we can get out of this hellhole together.”

“Yeah. Together sounds nice. Anything sounds nice in a place like this,” Pancakes sighed.

“Where are we heading now?” Jester queried, watching as the dark road flew by in the window.

“The closest thing to a base I have. Me, my brother, and two other people live there. It’s safe. Relatively speaking. Once we get there, you guys can eat and rest for a bit, ok? Then we have to head out if we wanna find the portal again.”

The three Freaks nodded in agreement. “Thanks again for helping us. If any of our friends got dragged in, I can’t imagine how they must be faring out here without the help of someone like you,” Jester said, unquestionably grateful for the woman’s help. “Uh...I’m Count Jester, by the way. Jester for short. Nonbinary, I use they/them pronouns.”

“I’m Ass Pancakes. Yes, you can laugh at the name.”

“And I’m Chaos Kin. Jesters God-Niece.”

“Nice to meet you,” She smiled, pulling the van towards a sheltered gravel road. “I’m Roseflame.”

[kabira]

06 | disguise

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

featuring — joshua, yeji (itzy), felix (skz), yangyang (nct)

word count — 2.5k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — none

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

Joshua walked into the cafeteria alert, his head held up and gaze searching for a familiar brunet head amongst the thick crowd in the room. Usually he’d be late, probably held up talking to a teacher or waiting for Vernon, but after the experiences of the past week, he knew better than to wait up for his distracted friend.

“Sorry!” he yelled after almost colliding with a girl and making her spill her banana milk down the front of her shirt. She glared at him as he gripped his tray tighter and winced, quickly shouldering through the group before him to get to his table and as far out of her reach as possible. “Coming through!”

He reached the empty table as the same time Vernon did, both of them putting down their trays at the same moment. Joshua raised his eyebrows, letting a small smile form on his face as he slipped into the seat next to Vernon’s. “The prodigal returns,” he announced. “Where have you been, dude? I’ve barely seen you all week.”

Vernon shrugged, tapping his fingers on the table. He seemed distracted, eyes darting around the cafeteria as if waiting for something, or someone, to appear. Joshua knew that look—it was the one that indicated that something bad was about to happen, most likely within a ten-meter radius. “Um,” the blue-haired boy muttered with a small frown, “I don’t have to worry about that Rhino guy busting down the door, do I?”

“What?” Vernon glanced at him with wide eyes, as if only just having noticed he was here. “Uh, no. At least, I don’t think so.” He smiled sheepishly, hands sliding over the tabletop to grip his tray again, though Joshua guessed it was just to stop them from moving. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Joshua sighed, placing a fingertip against the bridge of his glasses and sliding them up his sweat-slicked nose. It wasn’t even hot out, but being in a room packed with sweaty, hormonal bodies will do that to you. “I was asking you what you’ve been doing to keep busy in the last few days.”

“Nothing much,” Vernon said, twirling his plastic fork. He looked distracted, maybe a little tired, but despite the dark circles under them, his eyes were alight. “Because of the new team, I have to do all of these S.H.I.E.L.D. training projects with them, and they keep giving up these random hero assignments like stopping robberies and rescuing cats from trees. You know, the usual.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of annoying that I have barely any creative freedom with my fighting these days.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Joshua quipped. “If you call flying solo creative freedom.”

His best friend grinned. “Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you,” he said, suddenly excited as he leaned forward on his elbows, eyes glittering. “I got a job in Dr. Connors’s lab.”

“That biotech guy who worked with your dad?” Joshua raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. “When?”

“Last Tuesday.” Vernon’s eyes had taken on an almost dreamy quality as he talked about his new job. “It’s just the post of research assistant, pretty basic stuff really, but he lets me take part in some of the data collection sometimes. Man, you should look at all the amazing equipment in his lab. He’s got a BOD incubator, an electrophoresis chamber—”

“Vernon.” Both the boys looked up at the source of the voice, which stood before them in the form of Felix Liu (or, as he was better known, Felix Lee). The boy’s eyes glazed over Joshua as if he wasn’t even there before coming to rest on Vernon’s with a kind of communicative intensity. “You’re wanted in the principal’s office.”

Vernon stared at the boy for a few moments, looking confused, and Felix raised his eyebrows, glaring at him meaningfully. Joshua glanced between them, wanting to say something but a little apprehensive of doing so. “The principal’s office?” Vernon echoed, a defiant note in his voice. “Why?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Felix asked, scowling. “Coulson himself stopped me in the hallway, so it must be urgent. You should probably go talk to him.”

Something like realization flickered across Vernon’s features. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, right. You’re right.” He got up suddenly, casting an unsure look at Joshua as if he’d just remembered there was a witness to their exchange. He glanced at Felix with a conflicted look in his eye, clutching the back of the chair uncertainly. “Uh, there’s something I should tell you—”

“Tell me later,” Felix cut him off impatiently, waving him away. “Just go.”

Vernon glanced at Joshua again, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something, then stopped himself. He shook his head, chest deflating as he let go of a long breath, before turning around and making his way towards the exit.

Joshua kept his eyes on his retreating back as he went, not turning even when he felt Felix pull up a chair opposite him. Only when Vernon finally disappeared behind the double doors did he turn to his food, which lay untouched on his plate. Something was up, and he had a good idea about what it was.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” Felix asked, making Joshua look up at the sound of his voice. The boy’s cheeks were puffed out, mouth already filled with whatever they were supposed to consume by way of food for lunch. When Joshua didn’t answer, he cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

“I don’t feel like eating,” the blue-haired boy murmured, but unwrapped his sandwich anyway. The new kids had started eating at his, Luce’s and Vernon’s usual table in the past week, which Joshua was completely okay with—except he usually had at least one of his old friends to keep things from becoming too awkward. Between the three of them, Joshua was probably the one with the worst social skills.

He took a tiny bite of his sandwich, and glanced despairingly at the door, waiting for Luce to show up. Heck, even Yeji or that other guy—Yangyang?—would have been welcome. Felix had always struck him as the silent type, but he didn’t yet know if it was a strong silent or a sensitive silent. Eating this way was awkward, to say the least, but the only topic of conversation Joshua could think of was probably not fit for discussion in public.

Ah, to hell with that. “You’re Iceman, right?”

Felix looked up so quickly Joshua heard something crack in his neck. He felt a sudden, sharp, bite-like pain in the back of his right hand, which had been lying much too close to Felix’s tray. “Ouch!” Joshua pulled back his hand with a hiss, cradling it against his chest. “What the hell was that for?”

“Sorry, I—” Felix stopped with a small scowl. “Hey. Don’t go around saying stuff like that!”

“So you are Iceman,” Joshua said. “Can’t really deny it now.”

Felix blushed at the statement. The color that flooded his cheeks was startlingly bright against the pallor of his skin. “Who told you that?” he demanded. “Was it Vernon?”

“No, I kind of figured it out by myself.” He lightly touched the back of his hand again, making sure the feeling in it hadn’t been stopped entirely. “Between three new superheroes showing up with Spider-Man and three new kids dropping right into the middle of the session less than a day apart, it wasn’t hard to guess,” he said. “You were sent here by the biggest super spies in the world and the best disguise they could come up with was hair dye and a last name change?”

Felix didn’t snap at him again, but the look he was giving him was definitely hostile. “You have a better idea?” he countered. “In case you haven’t noticed, no one in the school has realized my identity yet.”

“Except me.”

“Except you,” he added, though a little sourly. “And that’s probably because you already know who Spider-Man is.”

Joshua considered this. “Well, that is true,” he admitted. “But it’s still kind of surprising that none of the kids that go here have figured it out yet.”

“They probably don’t want to believe there’s a mutant in their school,” Felix muttered. Joshua noticed how his face darkened as he continued staring at his food, stabbing the mashed potatoes with his plastic spoon. “People believe what they want to see.”

Joshua studied the boy, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the probably unconscious crease in the middle of his forehead. “Are you…” he started, then hesitated. What was he supposed to say?

Felix waved the half-question away, and spooned in a huge mouthful of his potatoes, indicating that the conversation was over. Joshua took another bite of his sandwich, wondering what was going through the blond’s head. Not having a secret identity, he didn’t know what it would feel like to have a common high school kid figure it out within days of meeting you. Something bad, probably.

There was a metallic clunk as someone placed their tray on the table. Luce swung her bag off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor, and took a seat next to Joshua. “Sorry I’m late, got caught up in a meeting,” she said, seemingly oblivious to the tension at the table. “What’d I miss?”

Joshua cast a furtive glance at Felix, only to find the boy’s eyes already trained on him. He hadn’t noticed before, but Felix’s eyes were brown. Joshua had never taken a close look at Iceman’s eyes, but somehow, he knew the brown eyes were a result of contact lenses.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

Running in the hallways wasn’t allowed, but when you were going to the principal’s office, Vernon guessed it was an exception.

He sprinted all the way to the room, equal parts concerned and annoyed by the summons. If Coulson had called on him in school, then it was probably something important—but on the other hand, he hadn’t asked for Felix. Maybe it was a specifically Spider-Man related emergency.

When he burst through the door into the office, Coulson was leaning against the side of his desk, arms folded over his chest. The only other person in the room was Yangyang, who was seated on one of the chairs before the principal’s table, picking at the stuffing peeking out of the worn-out arm of the chair.

Vernon let the door shut behind him before stepping in, glancing between the two in confusion. The atmosphere definitely didn’t feel urgent. “Agent—I mean, Principal Coulson,” he said, wincing slightly at his slip-of-the-tongue. “You asked for me?”

“I did.” Coulson uncrossed his arms, placing the heels of his hands against the edge of the table. “Take a seat.”

Vernon crossed the room hesitantly, slowly sitting on the unoccupied chair. “Uh,” he said, glancing at Yangyang’s lounging figure with a frown. “Is this about something important?”

“It is indeed,” the agent confirmed, straightening. “If you consider the Shocker important.”

“Shocker?” Vernon repeated. “Isn’t he in S.H.I.E.L.D. jail or something?”

Yangyang snorted, and Vernon shot him a murderous look. “Unfortunately, no,” Coulson answered. “We’ve been trying to apprehend him, but he’s been laying low for a while.”

“Shocker, laying low?” Vernon raised an eyebrow. “Not something you see every day.”

“Yesterday, he robbed a bank on Madison Avenue,” Coulson continued, ignoring him. “I didn’t call you in then because you had a pop quiz in history going on, but—”

Yangyang groaned. “Seriously? Man, I could have used the distraction.”

The agent gave him a sharp look, before facing Vernon and speaking. “He’s out again today, terrorizing citizens in Central Park,” he said. “Usually, I’d prefer for other professionals to take on him, but orders are orders, and you, Vernon, have the most experience with him and will probably be able to take over him the most quickly.” He looked almost regretful, probably about them having to miss school hours. Damn, he was really getting into his role as the principal. “You are to leave immediately.”

“Wait, what’s he doing in Central Park?” Vernon frowned. “That’s not the most lucrative venture for a small-time villain.”

“Terrorizing citizens.” Coulson raised his eyebrows. “As I said.”

“Terrorizing citizens…?” Vernon muttered, sitting up a little. “That’s strange.”

“What’s up, Parker?” Yangyang asked with a mocking grin, uncrossing his legs and getting to his feet. He stretched, flexing his shoulders. “Disappointed in your little pet project?”

“Shut up, bucket head,” Vernon murmured. “It’s just not his usual style, but I guess he’s branching out.” He pursed his lips. “Still, I can’t imagine why.”

“And I can’t imagine why the two of you would stand around bickering and wasting your time when there’s a dangerous criminal on the loose,” Coulson said firmly, giving them a very teacher-like look. “Get going already.”

Vernon blinked. He glanced at Yangyang, who stood by the door looking at him expectantly, and then at Agent Coulson. “Wait,” he muttered, brow creasing as it slowly dawned on him where this was heading. “What about Tiger and Iceman?”

“They’re not needed for this simple mission,” Coulson said. “I’m sure the two of you can handle this problem by yourselves just fine.”

“Unless you’re scared of old Shocker, that is.” Yangyang gave him a lopsided smirk. “In which case, I’m sure Agent Coulson wouldn’t have a problem packing you an extra pair of underwear when you wet your pants.”

Vernon glared at him, his grip tightening on the armrests as he refused to get up. His gaze swiveled to the agent, eyes going round and pleading. “What about sending me with White Tiger instead?” he asked imploringly. “I’m sure we could take Shocker down more efficiently since we’ve had more time to practice our maneuvers together—”

“Go. Now.” Coulson was definitely not taking no for an answer as he gave him a stern look. Vernon stood up slowly, not taking his eyes off the man, just in case he got a last-minute break, but he was unrelenting. “Today would be good.”

“What are you going to tell your teachers?” Vernon asked desperately as he reluctantly made his way towards the door, where Yangyang was still waiting for him. He gave the boy a disbelieving look, surprised that he was willing to go along with all of this. Their animosity was, on most days, mutual. “We have bio lab later, and we’re both partners, and if I miss this class I might—”

“Don’t worry about that, leave it to me,” Coulson said, now simply looking impatient. “And stop making excuses to get out of the situation. Every little second you waste here doing that means another second of those innocent civilians being in danger. What happened to all your preaching about responsibility?”

Saying this, he pushed the two boys out of his office and shut the door in their face. Vernon stared at it glumly, finally accepting his fate.

“Come on, then, partner,” Yangyang said. He stood next to him with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning like a cat after a catch. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

[weeklythoughtblog]

I hate to burst your bubble, but...

Are Filter Bubbles Real? by Axel Bruns explores the concepts of filter bubbles and echo chambers, their persistence (or lack thereof) in online communities, and the societal implications of these concepts. ​ ​ 

*Spoiler Alert*: throughout the book, Bruns shows that filter bubbles and echo chambers are not real.  

So, why have these buzzwords continued to circulate? I believe, like any good lie, it is because the concept of filter bubbles and echo chambers are based partially on truth. The truth is, it’s human nature to select who we surround ourselves with, and where, how, and what type of information we consume. Those who support the existence of filter bubbles and echo chambers argue that social media sites and their algorithms intensify our selectivity to the point where users are ultimately trapped in a bubble or chamber that only contains content and connections aligning with the user’s beliefs and preferences. The data in Are Filter Bubbles Real? show that this is not the case. First, we live in a media-rich world and are not limited to Facebook and Twitter as the only sources of information. The bubble/chamber concept assumes you exclusively rely on one of these platforms for all of your information. Second, people have preferences for communication and connections, but these preferences do not cause users to block any and all content they disagree with. In reality, platforms like Facebook and Twitter expose users to more diverse content due to context collapse. Is context collapse the key to a functioning democracy?

Context collapse is an important concept to keep in mind as we think about one of the main issues addressed in the book - how political conversations are carried out online. In the introductory chapter of the book, the functionality of democracy is said to depend on the “unsought, unanticipated, and even unwanted exposure to diverse topics, people and ideas” (Bruns, 2019, p.19). I would argue that this quote is an excellent illustration of context collapse, which you could say is the antithesis of a filter bubble or echo chamber. Taking this a step further, if context collapse is important to a well-functioning democracy, and social networking sites create high levels of context collapse, then maybe all we need to do to hash out our political issues is head to Facebook?                 ^ Just kidding. So, whose fault is it? If you spent any time online during the 2016 and 2020 presidential elections, then you probably rolled your eyes at the previous paragraph. The majority of Americans say talking about politics online is exhausting and frustrating. Our inability to engage in issue-based dialogues, whether face-to-face or online, is a serious threat to society. But, why are we unable to hold civil discussions about politics on social networks? What is the root cause of this? Bruns points the finger back at humanity, saying technology and the internet are not to blame. 

“Today, the problem in online and offline communication is not that citizens are sealed into hyperpartisan and extremist echo chambers or filter bubbles, but that too many citizens hold hyperpartisan and extremist views. The problem, in short, is polarisation, not fragmentation” (Bruns, 2019, p. 105). 

Bruns argues that as an individual’s level of political polarization increases, they become less willing to listen to the opposition. They still hear and see opposing content but are unwavering in their stance. ​ What is causing this polarization? Bruns cites issues like inequalities and political propaganda. I would say both of these issues are to blame for our present situation - systemic inequalities, amplified and inflamed by political propaganda on both sides of the aisle. I still blame Facebook (partially).

In the attention economy of the internet, algorithms favor the controversial. When is the last time you’ve seen a politically moderate post go viral? The current Facebook algorithm promotes posts that garner comments, and posts with “meaningful interactions” (i.e., replying and carrying on conversations in the comments) have even more priority in the newsfeed. Therefore, the most polarized among us are the ones we often see when we log-on to our social networks. I truly hope we have reached the peak of polarization in the U.S. and that the next few years bring more moderate, understanding, and bipartisan conversations to our online communities.  

[murderoustedbear]

War (unfinished but I plan to finish it)

My neighboring kingdom, Atarius, has been thriving for years under the rule of an unknown queen. None of her people have seen her face except those in her palace and they are sworn to secrecy. She is known for turning down marriage offers but I plan to win her over. If she does refuse my hand in marriage, I’ll over throw her.

Years ago, my kingdom was grand, as big as hers. However we went to war with a country suffering the plague. As men came back, they spread the illness. Our numbers are low however, her’s are lower. The plague hit them harder than us. There’s a rumor that the queen herself helped nurse her people and was killed from the plague. Of course that would leave the question of who is ruling. No one knows. All I know is her population is about half of mine. With both our kingdoms we could conquer half of Ruasiae.

A knock rings against my chamber doors as I dream of the unknown queen’s face. “Come in.” I roll my eyes.

My royal advisor enters, studying me. “Sorry to disturb you, Majesty.”

“Quill! My dear friend! You are no disturbance.”

He nods, “There’s been news that Atarius’ queen will be holding a ceremony. Invites have been sent out to several of her neighboring kingdom’s.”

At this, he has my full attention, “Ceremony? Of what sort?”

“I haven’t the slightest, sir. I believe she is looking to seek an alliance with some. It’s quite an intelligent strategy on her behalf. She’s had no problems with us, never lifted a finger to harm us nor the other countries. Rather kept to herself and her country. A spy from another kingdom has returned and has news regarding Ityal.”

“The news?”

“He’ll speak only to you, sir.”

“Send him up!” I demand, a bit too harshly. I look at the ridges on my nails hinting at the anxiety they’ve fallen victim to.

Minutes later, Quill has returned with the spy in tow, “Here’s your spy.” He leaves, shutting the door. My mouth goes dry. I can’t believe I called her a him.

“What news do you bring?”

The fragile maiden grins, golden eyes shining, “You’ll love this, sire.” She sits at the end of my bed. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news, the queen of Atarius has sent out invites for a ceremony. She’s seeking to save herself and her dear kingdom. A week ago, Ityal’s widower king sought to court the queen. She shut him down faster than lightning strikes the ground. Well he sucks at taking rejection and so he began plotting to destroy her kingdom. However, a servant that stayed in her castle for a while when he was there had grown fond of her due to her kindness and sent her a warning. She’s trying to find a way to keep her kingdom safe and if she dies in the process, someone to rule for her.”

I consider this. If she turns down my proposal and becomes allies with another country, it may become impossible to overthrow her. “Thank you, um… What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer but instead said, “I was there, at her palace.”

“Did you see her? Tell me about her.” I’m studying the spy now.

“She never spoke, rather communicated with hand symbols that a guard would translate. Her dresses never revealed any part of her body and weren’t tight at anypoint. Her face remained covered the entire time. She didn’t eat or drink around us. She wore gloves. She always had the same guards with her.” I frowned, hoping to have known what she looked like. “She was kind though. We went with her once to check on her kingdom. She doesn’t have any beggars, they all live in cabins and everyone has a job. Everyone contributes to the kingdom. She’s loved by her people. Children will run up and hug her and she hugs them back. She’s an honorable queen, the type that loves her people. The only reason she cares to continue ruling is because if someone else were to rule in her place, they may harm them. She’s compassionate.”

“Good qualities of a queen. Why hasn’t she married yet, do you know?” I inquire, considering the possibilities.

“Many reasons. She doesn’t want someone controlling her and ruling her people, tearing down what she’s built and she feels, marriage will lead to that. She wishes to not have children. She refuses to be married to a man who has a mistress or multiple mistresses in some cases. She hasn’t found someone she loves and will only marry for love.”

“So, if I want to marry her, I need to stay loyal, let her rule her people how she wishes, not pressure her into having children, and get her to love me?” That won’t be too hard.

She scoffed, “You have to love her too! There’s more to it all. She knows how many queens have been treated by their husbands and she want to be treated differently!” She walked out the room without another word. The last thing I saw as the door slammed was fire red hair swiching about.

At this point, I like this challenge.

Two days later

I’m dining alone in my chambers when Quill knocks.

“Enter.”

“Sire, a messenger has arrived.”

“Well let them in.”

A girl, no older than fifteen enters. Her blonde hair braided down her back. “King Arawn of Omirran, I bring news from Queen Myla of Atarius.” She stares me in the eyes, fearless.

“Go on.” It’s unsettling, having a servant look me in the eyes however, I cannot harm her as she is not mine and I do not want to be on Queen Myla’s bad side.

She clears her throat, “You are invited to celebrate the Queen’s twenty-fourth birthday in her palace for a fortnight. The ceremony begins overmorrow. You may bring with you a guest of whomever you like. Please note, upon reaching Atarius’ gates, you and your guests will be searched of weapons. Any weapons held by you and your party will be confiscated until you leave to ensure the safety of the people, the queen, other guests, and yourself. Please be ready to show the guards your invitation in order to be let in the gates.” The girl hands Quill the invite and leaves without another word.

Two weeks. I have two weeks to be in her palace. Can I charm her? Make her love me?

I call in every girl that lives or works in the palace, including the spy. The spy describes Queen Myla and the girls collaborate together a list of possible ways to charm her. All I need is her to develop a crush on me, I’ll propose and she’ll say yes, we’ll get married right away and my kingdom will be expanded.

The challenge is actually making this happen as there’s not much to work with. I don’t know know much about her. However, the strategy is to focus on personality. Originally, I was going to shower her with expensive gift, but everyone pointed out that every other suitor has tried this or will try it and she has turned them all down. I hope this works. I can’t afford to fail.

As the palace begins for my departure to Atarius, I decide that I shall bring her a single gift. I shall bring her a dragon flower from .the palace gardens. One that is yet to bloom so it shall bloom that night.

Two days later

On the day we’re to set out, I wake up before dawn. My thoughts are beasts, tearing my mind to shreds. There’s no way I’ll make her fall for me. No way I can charm her. Whatever higher deity that exists out there in the universe has shown me that.

My entire life, I’ve always believed there’s a higher power who sends us visions in the night. Whoever, whatever, this higher power is, they’ve sent me one and I know better than to question the message they convey.

I call Quill to my chambers and describe my dream. “I was there, with her. The more I tried to charm her, the harder it became. She grew cold in her heart towards me. I tried to tame her heart and call her mine but she did not wish to be trapped. She married me for the same of her sanity and then murdered me. Like a tigress in captivity, never meant to be tamed.”

“Sire,” Quill breaks my thoughts, “Perhaps you’re not seeing the true meaning… Only she can make herself love you. Love is not just an emotion… Love is a choice and she must choose to love you. No one and no thing can make her love you. Just be yourself and let her find you herself.”

This is why Quill is my advisor and dearest friend. He is wise and is always good with advice.

The day drags on as Quills words echo in my brain. Let her fall in love with me on her own. Why does that even make sense? I mean, I know everyone will put on a mask and treat her kindly and act like who they think she’d like so the best way to let her fall for me is to do the opposite.

We arrive at Queen Myla’s palace as dusk begins to blanket the world with her comforting shadows. I can see rulers from neighboring countries gathering to meet the mysterious queen.

Palace guards escort us to the throne room and none can help but marvel at the beauty. The floors are polished black marble filled with golden webs. Obsidian columns tower above, cradling a ceiling of stars. The illusion of stars came from gems embedded in the black ceiling. One would wonder how Queen Myla lit her throne room but she managed. Torches lounged on every column and their glow reflected off the precious stones. My gaze wandered to the front of the room. Two steps up led to a white marble platform that held a silver throne. Seated on the throne was who I assumed to be the queen. Her dark gown flowed to the floor, hiding her legs and feet. As my eyes traveled up, I noticed her gown was not form fitting at all but loose as my spy had described. Her hands were gloved with silver fabric and resting on the arms of her throne. My eyes came to rest on the veil hiding her face. Not an inch of skin could be seen.

Guards flanked her, staring ahead. My eyes noticed a guard standing rather close to the queen, closer than the others. I wonder why.

Queen Myla begins signing something and the guard who was close to her begins to translate the signs. “Welcome all, the queen is delighted to see many of you here and looks forward to celebrating with you. Since Myla has become queen, the country of Atarius has become reclusive and relied on only herself and her people but now it is time to befriend her neighbors and come out of her reclusive state.”

A man from another country responds, “If Myla wants to befriend us, why won’t she talk herself? Or show her face at least?”

The guard’s hand slid to the hilt of his sword, “First off, it is Queen Myla to everyone here, you are in no position to disregard her title or disrespect her. She welcomed you into her kingdom. Secondly, watch your tongue or have it cut from your head. I will not hesitate to show you how to respect a lady. Finally, she owes no one an explanation. If you cannot respect that alone, you are free to leave and never return.”

Queen Myla had yet to move in response to the man’s comment. Her hand glided through the air to the guard’s arm. I watched as she traced something on his bicep. The guard only nodded and relaxed. Did they have a relationship? Is that why she rejected all?

As the night waltzed on, Queen Myla’s voice was never heard, but rather the guard voiced her words for her. I noted that she didn’t eat nor drink. Why? What was her reason for keeping her face covered?

At some point, my curiosity got the best of me. “Your majesty,” I began, “I mean no disrespect but I am dreadfully curious.”

Her head bowed for a moment, an invitation to ask my question.

“Why do you hide your face? Why do you not speak? Again, I mean no disrespect.”

Her hands glided through the air and the guard translated, “I hide my face for many reasons. One is for respect. If I were to show my feminine features, men would not respect me as much as they do, though I am still respected less than men are. By hiding my face, you have no way of seeing the femininity in my face, forcing you to ignore how I may look and respect me. This is why my dresses aren’t like dresses of women in other courts. As for my voice, I was mocked for my voice long before I became silent. It will not happen again.”

“Mocked? How?” I watched the guard, careful not to cross any boundaries.

“I was the only heir to the throne. My voice was soft and fragile. The court used to mock my voice, sneering at how soft it was. I was told to marry a man with a deep, strong voice as soon as I came of age so I wouldn’t have to make any decrees and would be taken more seriously.”

“Were you ever married?”

She shakes her head, “I didn’t wish to be married.”

I nodded, it was understandable. I didn’t want to be married either when I first became king. Probably for different reasons but nonetheless, I could understand. “Queen Myla, I brought you a gift.”

The guard rolls his eyes. He must’ve been tired of all her suitors bringing gifts.

I produced a small box made of midnight valadium. As I stand, I feel everyone’s eyes drift to the box. I thank my blacksmith for being good at crafting. As I handed her the box, the guard stiffens, watching me. I return to my seat and watch as he whispers to her.

Her head bows and she traces on his arm again. What did they say? Her hands glide over the lid and I know she’s admiring the box. I was right to have him engrave flowers. I noticed he had added a small proverb on the lid as well but it’d been too late to say anything. As her hands whirled through the air, the guard spoke, “Queen Myla says the box is beautiful. She loves the inscription as it rings true. Thank you kindly.”

“What’s the inscription?” Another guest asked. We’d all formally introduced ourselves earlier however, I hadn’t cared to pay attention. I was too busy admiring the castles interior. The queen had taste.

“Where there is love, there is hope.” The guard answered. I could hear venom in his voice. He was not pleased.

“Queen Myla,” I smiled, “Open the box, please?”

She nodded and opened it. Her gasp was barely audible as she gently lifted the flower out of the box. My heart gunned, hoping she was happy.

The yellow flower was just beginning to bloom. “I hope you like it. Happy birthday.” I beamed. Why was I happy over this. It was a simple flower as a gift. Well, a flower and a box.

She carefully set the flower down, and signed to a young servant. The servant nodded and left. Then she began signing to me which the guard translated, the venom dripping from his voice, “Queen Myla adores the gift. Flowers have always been among her favorite things.”

“I bet the royal garden is huge then, and lovely?”

Laughter poured from his throat, “No, we don’t have a royal garden.”

“Why not?” I tilted my head to the left.

“Queen Myla simply does not wish to have one. Her taxes are low so she doesn’t take from her people. She bought all the materials from the people of Atarius to give back to them. She believes having a garden strictly for herself would be a waste. However, the entire kingdom has a community garden. Everyone is allowed to eat the food grown and use the herbs. Farmers help tend to it.”

The next few days, we toured Atarius. The kingdom was beautiful. Most kingdoms have run down homes towards the boarders but not Atarius. Even the poorest had decent homes. I learned Queen Myla hated the idea of anyone living in poverty and did her best to ensure no one did. In return, her people were loyal. Many brought her gifts that varied from flowers to fresh baked pastries to jewelry.

She held nightly parties in which the entire kingdom attended or sent their blessings. The parties weren’t grand like others I’d attended. There was no fancy band playing music. No one to cater to you at the snap of a finger. There was a buffet of food prepared by the citizens. Even the queen had pitched in to help prepare the food.

Still, her voice was never heard. She hadn’t even slipped up and said anything. It seemed the entire kingdom knew her hand language. I suppose her voice wasn’t necessary if her people knew her language. I decided to learn her language in order to communicate with her.

On the fourth night of my stay, I asked her for a dance which she graciously accepted. As we danced, I spoke. I knew she wouldn’t respond vocally which was a bit disappointing. “I admire the way you run your kingdom. You run it well if you’re loved so much by your people. You said you were told your voice would make it harder to run a country. I don’t believe that. Your people love you dearly, I believe you’d still be respected.”

I tried to see through the veil that covered her face but even still, as close as I was I could not. “Do you think, while I am here, you could teach me your hand language?”

She nearly headbutt me when she nodded. Her eagerness was endearing. I wanted to know who silenced her and make them pay for their crime. She was nothing but admirable, how could someone be so cruel?

The days bled on and I spent every spare moment focusing on learning the hand language. I learned to say “thank you”, “please” , “hello”, and other simple phrases first. After a day of learning, I’d learned a bit. It was quite simple, though she had to slow her movements for me so I could keep up. By the end of the week, I could translate small sentences.

One day, as we were walking through the town, she and her guard were teaching me. He grew impatient and snapped at me. That’s when she slipped, “Warin! Patience!”

Two words. She silenced and excused herself. I watched as she left. Why had she snapped.

[yugoloths]

the dungeon crawl I was supposed to run tonight got delayed for another week so I'm dumping all my content here to cope

this is the first level of the abandoned mine the party will be exploring. detailed walkthrough under the cut

DRUMIAN SHALE

The main takeaway from this stage is the bandits the party is hoping to apprehend are not here… but something else is. By the end, they will have made it down to the flooded lower caverns where the cool shit is. 

Area 1: Base Camp

The clearing outside the mine entrance is carpeted in yellow dust, a thin layer of which clings to every available surface. To the right of the entrance, on the east side of the clearing, stands a long-abandoned box sluice littered with old buckets and mining pans. On the opposite side of the clearing lie several ragged canvases half-buried in sand and a cluster of overturned mine carts in various states of disrepair. A set of narrow metal tracks, the same width as the mine carts, leads into what appears to be a natural cave mouth.

Closer inspection of the scene will reveal a dried-up streambed where water once poured into the sluice from above. The canvases on the western side of the clearing are crudely painted with an emblem shaped like a hand with a horizontally elongated plus sign in the center of the palm. They look to have been part of a collapsed tent, but it seems to have been abandoned for several weeks.

Area 2: Tunnel

A 10 foot wide tunnel stretches into darkness. 5 foot wide doorways are located on either side, each pair spaced 20 feet apart. The rail tracks continue along the floor in a straight line. The hall is dark and cramped, the ceiling is low, and the air smells musty. 

PP >14 will notice they don’t see any signs of animal inhabitants.

Area 3: Dormitory A

This room contains twelve narrow beds with bare straw mattresses. A few have crumpled bedding, as if in use, but everything is covered in a fine layer of dust. 

A DC 12 investigation check reveals a chest hidden under one of the beds. The chest is empty except for a dragonchess set and a few old stains.

A PC with proficiency in dragonchess (or who makes a DC 15 history check) will notice that the set is missing several pieces: three black warriors, a white mage, a white thief, and a white elemental.

Area 4: Old Office

This room appears to have been a record keeping office. A table stands in the center of the room, a desk in the corner, and bookshelves line the walls. A few chairs have been overturned, and papers are scattered across the desk. The same hand-and-plus-sign symbol from the tents has been carved into a corner of the table.

Any further investigation will reveal that the following books and papers are still in readable condition:

Old shipping manifests - Prices & shipments of rations, supplies, etc. If Varna or one of the PCs read this, they should be able to ascertain that the mine was just barely turning a profit at the time of its closure. They would also notice that they seemed to spend a lot of money bringing in barrels of fresh water.

Mine blueprints - Similar to Varna’s map. Shows the current level as well as two lower levels starting about 200 feet down. It appears miners used a lift at the northern end of the mine to navigate between levels. The lift was powered by a water wheel located in the far northeast chamber on the current level.

Geological survey - General measurements of soil composition and stability, rate of erosion, and location of ore veins. The writing style is extremely dry and technical, so PCs will need to either succeed on a DC 14 investigation or insight check or get Varna to read it in order to learn the following details:

-the water at the site was not drinkable, hence the need to import fresh water

-researchers had great difficulty measuring the water table; some days their instruments suggested it was very high, while other days they registered nothing at all

Varna will not notice this on her own, but a PC who lands a really fucking good investigation/insight check might be able to do a little off the cuff data analysis and notice that high water table measurements tended to occur in the mornings and evenings, while the low readings tended to occur in the afternoon or late at night. A character with extensive nautical knowledge and/or who lands a second really really good investigation/insight check might be able to make the low tide/high tide connection, but don’t force it.

Any investigation of the room reveals a heavy safe under the desk. It stands unlocked and empty, door ajar. Presumably this is where the deed to the mine was kept.

Area 5: Dormitory B

This room is nearly identical to Dormitory A, but several of the beds have been overturned and mattresses torn apart. The chest in this room has been dragged out from under the bed and opened with enough force to rip off one of the hinges. It is empty except for three silvers, four coppers, and an old sock.

A DC 10 investigation check reveals a set of two-toed footprints. With a good roll, or a separate investigation or survival check to learn more about the footprints, a PC could ascertain that the creature that made the footprints has a quadrupedal gait and seems to be some type of insect. 

A DC 12 investigation check reveals a small amount of blood spatter on several of the beds.

A DC 14  investigation check reveals a strange object wedged under one of the beds. It is a flute-like woodwind instrument with an unfamiliar bulbous shape. Varna will be unable to identify what material it’s made out of, although she may note that it reminds her of shell or coral (though not from any creature she’s encountered.) Any PC who attempts to play the instrument will be able coax a few hollow, resonant notes out of it. The instrument is uncomfortable to play, as if it were not designed for their hands.

If a PC attempts to play the instrument, anyone with PP>10 hears an echoing melody coming from the end of the hall. Anyone with PP>15 can identify it emanating from below, in the mine shaft.

Area 6: Storeroom

This room contains old supplies. A heap of frayed old sacks that must have once contained grain are heaped in the northwest corner. The northeast corner is home to a pile of old crates that takes up most of the room. The south wall is lined with wooden barrels, all but a few of which have been split open and destroyed.

Closer inspection of the scene reveals that some of the crates have fallen over and/or split open to reveal general mining equipment - pickaxes, machine parts, railway slats, etc. The crates seem ancient and relatively untouched, while the destroyed barrels are more recent.

A DC 12 investigation check on the room in general will turn up 100 feet of hempen rope, three lanterns with 10 hours of fuel each, an entire crate of candles, and 100 pitons. 

A DC 10 insight or investigation check on the barrels reveals that they likely held pickled vegetables and cured meats. 

Area 7: Dormitory C

This room is nearly identical to Dormitory A. There are no signs of a struggle.

A DC 12 investigation check (or a decision to look under the beds) reveals yet another chest stashed under the bed. It contains two bottles of Keoghtom’s Cure-All, one of which is cracked and useless. The label purports the product “miraculously relieves sewer plague, sight rot, and tunnel stutters! Archmage Keoghtom’s patented blend of penetrating oils, restorative herbs, and secret enchantments reduces pain, enhances vigor, and restores the user to full health, all in a single application!” When applied, it restores 2d8+2 HP. 

Area 8: Machine Room

This room is dominated by a water wheel about 10 feet in diameter, fixed along the north wall. A trough leads away from the water wheel to a large drain set into the floor by the southeast wall. A system of pulleys leads out of the room toward the mine shaft. The rail tracks fork just outside the doorway, with one fork leading into the room while the other continues straight. The wheel powered a lift that transported miners, slag, and equipment between levels, presumably fed by the same stream that fed the box sluice in area 1.

A DC 15 investigation check of the room (or a DC 10 investigation check on the drain specifically) reveals that the screws holding the drain cover down have been removed, and that the cover has been moved recently.

A DC 10 strength check (or whatever) allows them to move the drain cover, revealing an entrance to area 10.

Area 9: Mine Shaft

The mine shaft is a square, 10 foot by 10 foot pit that drops straight down into darkness. A rotting pulley system dangles from the stalactite-covered ceiling, but the rope has broken and the lift platform itself is nowhere to be seen. The walls of the pit are decorated with strange, insectile shapes that resemble no living creature. Go ahead and make a perception check.

The lower part of the shaft is filled with salt water. The water is too far down to be visible, but anything falling into the shaft will create an audible splash.

The mine shaft is inhabited by three darkmantles disguised as stalactites. As soon as someone pokes their head in, a darkmantle will drop down and try to engulf their face. The remaining darkmantles will use their Darkness Aura ability to create confusion before attacking. These darkmantles are unusual looking, with long cone-shaped shells covering their mantles, giving them the appearance of orthocerid cephalopods. If none of the PCs are dumb enough to stick their head into the shaft, Felix will be happy to oblige in order to get a closer look at the fossils.

About 50 feet down the shaft is a hidden entrance to area 10 containing two Chuul, the source of the mysterious flute echo from earlier (assuming one of the PCs tried to play the flute). Like the darkmantles, they are unusual, resembling anomalocarid arthropods. When the Chuul hear the PCs at the top of the mine shaft, they will attempt to ambush them through the drain in area 8. It takes the Chuul about one minute from when they detect the PCs to launch their ambush. If one of the Chuul is killed or seriously wounded, the other will attempt to flee to area 13 and escape into the tidepools.

A PC who makes a DC 12 perception check will note that the presence of stalactites is odd, as they have not seen any elsewhere in the mine. 

If the players found the flute in area 5, a DC 15 perception or investigation check reveals that some of the fossils embedded in the wall look similar to the instrument.

Because the Chuul are so unusual looking, PCs must succeed on a DC 17 history or nature check in order to identify them as such.

With a DC 18 perception check, PCs can see the faint movement of the Chuul 50 feet down the shaft and hear scuttling noises, although they cannot make out what is causing them.

Area 10: Secret Tunnel

The drain leads to a rough tunnel, about 5 feet wide. It is not indicated on Varna’s map or the blueprints in area 4. The construction is noticeably different from the rest of the mine, more like an animal burrow, and the floor slopes downward. The air is strangely humid.

If the PCs managed to access area 10 before being ambushed by the Chuul, they will instead be attacked at the entrance to area 11 or 13, whichever is convenient. If they killed both Chuul, they will encounter no enemies in area 10. If one of the Chuul escaped, the PCs will hear a faint flute melody emanating from the tunnel leading to area 13 but will not be attacked. 

A DC 10 investigation or perception check reveals more of the two-toed footprints found in area 5 - they should be able to figure out these belong to the Chuul.

Area 11: Brood Chamber

This roughly circular chamber contains a clutch of slimy, yellow-green eggs surrounded by human and animal bones. It is guarded by an older Chuul which is missing a claw, making it unable to multiattack. This will not deter it, however, from defending the clutch with its life. Because it is protecting its eggs, it will not pursue the party should they choose to flee.

Closer investigation reveals a single human skull amidst the bones. A DC 12 nature or survival check reveals the other bones belong to a horse, several donkeys, and two large dogs.

Area 12: Treasure Chamber

This chamber is similar to area 11, but instead of eggs it is piled high with objects the Chuul have collected from their victims and from the abandoned mine.

Any investigation will reveal the following items:

-A small pile of gold nuggets worth ~200 GP

-A steel mirror

-Robe of Useful Items (missing all of its patches)

-A viol with the initials “MQ” carved into the back of the head

-A breastplate that has been messily painted blood red, with a symbol on the front consisting of a black hand with a horizontally elongated plus sign on the palm (same as the one carved into the table in area 4)

-Two hard hats with hooded lanterns mounted on the front

-A swordbreaker (stats identical to a dagger, but if the wielder is hit by a sword attack they can make a DC 8+[attacker’s weapon attack modifier] dexterity check; on a success, they take no damage and the opponent has disadvantage on their attack roll next turn; on a critical success, they take no damage and break the opponent’s sword) with a crude hand-and-plus-sign symbol carved into the hilt

-An intricately carved sending stone that, when used, plays the following intercept message: “We’re sorry. You have reached a sending stone that has been destroyed, or is no longer in service. Please contact an operator.”

-Three silver rings (worth 15 gp each)

The deed to the mine is not present.

Area 13: Cenote Chamber

This natural cavern has a high, arched ceiling decorated with stalactites. The space is dominated by an immense monolith carved with the same pattern of wavy lines as Felix’s tablet. Covering the bottom third of the slab, a reeking carpet of matted vegetation extends to cover the entire floor. The wet stench of rotting plant matter and salt permeates the humid, clinging air. 

The vegetation at the base of the slab is actually a shambling mound, which is hiding the entrance to the next layer of dungeon with its body. It is dormant, but as soon as someone steps on or touches it it will come awake and attack the PCs, revealing the cenote pit beneath it. However, music from the strange flute the party discovered earlier will render it dormant again. Upon being defeated, it falls into the cenote with a splash. As it falls it pulls away some of the vegetation covering the bottom of the slab, revealing the full design.

A DC 14 perception check before the shambling mound attacks reveals the muffled sound and faint movements of breathing. After it is defeated, it becomes apparent that the “breathing” noise was actually the sound of water rushing rhythmically from within the dark cenote.

Varna encourages the party to explore the cenote in hopes of locating the remaining bandits (or their remains) and recovering the deed to the mines. Felix, excited by the symbols on the monolith, insists on accompanying them. Varna will remain to establish a base camp; she has not survived 200 years as a geological surveyor by diving headfirst into mysterious pits.

[megsironthrone]

Not His Type

Based on this request:  Hi how are ya? Can you please write about Tormund arriving in Winterfell with Jon, and he falls in love with smol Y/N Stark, always making sure she's protected and loved, even though Jon and Sandor remind him constantly that she's not his type

Here you go! I do not own Tormund. 

Warnings: Fluff!! 

Pairings/Characters: Tormund Giantsbane x fem!Stark reader, Jon Snow & Sandor Clegane (briefly)

      When Tormund came to Winterfell, he was expecting stone walls, prim and proper lords and ladies, and a whole lot of tradition and rules. What he didn't expect was you. Y/N Stark. Sweet, lovable, kind Y/N. You were the absolutely opposite of every woman Tormund had ever been attracted to before, but he didn't care. You were the only one he'd ever felt anything akin to real love for before.

         "Here, let me do that for ya," he offered one evening. You arched a brow. "I'm fine. It isn't that heavy." Tormund paid no mind and took your burden from you. "Thank you, then." You gave him a smile that nearly made his knees weak. What was so different about you? Why did you and only you have that affect on him? He didn't know but Tormund was determined to see where this attraction would lead.

         Tormund watched as you walked away, admiring the way your hips gently swayed. "She's not your type," the gruff voice of Sandor Clegane tore Tormund's gaze away from your backside. "What?" Sandor and Jon were both watching him with smirks on their faces. "He's right. Y/N isn't your type. She's nothing like the Free Folk." Tormund didn't say anything, just let his eyes wander back to your retreating form. They were wrong. They had to be.

*time skip*

         Tormund was watching you again. He couldn't help it. He was enamored with you. Jon was right. You were nothing like the Free Folk. At all. Sure, you could use a sword, but not very well. You were much more…delicate than the Free Folk. You spent your days nurturing rather than fighting. You sang and danced and made pretty dresses. But he couldn't help but be drawn to you. You were everything the man wanted. He wanted you. He wanted to make pretty babies with you.

         Tormund was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize Jon had come to sit next to him. "She still isn't your type." Tormund shrugged. "I like her." You met his gaze across the room and smiled. Tormund returned the grin before turning his attention back to Jon. "What's it to ya anyway, Crow?" he asked with a smirk. Jon chuckled. "Nothing. Nothing at all. She's coming this way though." Tormund's eyes snapped up. Sure enough, you were heading over to him.

         "Hello, Tormund. Jon," you greeted with a grin. Jon clapped Tormund on the shoulder and made an excuse to leave you alone. You laughed softly. "Well, I was going to bid him goodnight." In an instant Tormund was up. "Let me walk ya." Your brow rose and he quickly continued, "Ya never know who might want ta hurt ya." You chuckled again. "I suppose I could do with the company."

         As you walked toward your chambers, the only sounds around you were the echoes of your footsteps in the corridors. After a few moments, you hummed. "Tormund?" He made a noise to let you know he was listening. "Why do you try so hard to protect me? We've only just met a few weeks ago. I've never had someone so…devoted to my protection. Not even my father or brothers."

         "Ya deserve ta be protected. And cherished. And loved. Ya deserve everything any man could ever give ya." You didn't reply. Tormund took a moment to cast a glance your way. Your eyes were cast down to the floor and you looked almost embarrassed. "T-Thank you," you whispered after a few moments, "I feel like I have a guardian angel with me whenever you are around. "I'd like ta be more than that."

         You stopped walking and looked at him. "Would you now?" Tormund's smirk returned as he nodded. A bit of his fiery hair fell into his face. It had grown longer since he came to Winterfell. He really needed to cut it. But your small hand came up and brushed the lock from his face in such a gentle manner and he began to rethink that.

         "You're not like other men, Tormund. I envy you. You have such freedom. And such a big heart. I find myself enthralled by you, Tormund Giantsbane." Tormund's blue eyes met your (e/c) ones. He caught your hand in his as you moved to lower it. Without taking his gaze from yours, his lips brushed against each one of your fingertips. He needed to be close to you and if this was the only time, he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

         For you, it was as if all the air had been sucked from the corridor. This giant of a man, this warrior, was showing you affection you'd never dared to dream of. Lords were never as openly affectionate, with the exception of your father. But Tormund didn't seem to care that you were standing in the middle of the corridor where anyone could walk in and see what was happening. The only things he seemed to care about was you and your reactions to his touch.

         "Tormund," you whispered, afraid to break the spell your were both under. He hummed again, not letting go of your hand. He watched as your tongue darted out to lick your suddenly dry lips. He watched as your eyes flickered between his and his lips. He felt your hand begin to shake in his. "What is it?" he asked, suddenly concerned. Were you ill?

         "Kiss me," you ordered softly. Tormund blinked in surprise. "What?" Your beautiful lips upturned into a smile. "Kiss me, Tormund. Please." Tormund didn't need to be told a third time. Without letting go of your hand, he pulled you even closer to him and let his lips cover yours. It was nothing like he thought it would be. It was better. Your lips were soft and supple, but eager against his own. Your free hand moved up and tangled in his locks. It would be difficult to remove later, but Tormund didn't care.

         When you finally pulled away, you were panting. The sight was pure heaven to Tormund. He'd done that to you. "Wow," you muttered, but he heard you anyway and laughed. "Never been kissed like that before?" You bit your lip. "Never been kissed before," you replied. Tormund's eyes widened. He wasn't expecting to be your first kiss ever.

         "Will you kiss me again?" Tormund chuckled before kissing you again briefly. "Ta think, Snow and the Dog said you weren't my type." You scoffed. "Of course they did. Well, shall we prove them wrong?" Tormund's eyes lit up with glee. "Some other time. Right now, I wanna keep showing ya how much I love ya." Your mouth dropped open.

         "What did you say?" Tormund finally let go of your hand in favor of wrapping his arms around you. "I said that I love ya." You grinned. "Then I suppose it won't be a surprise if I say that I love you as well." In answer Tormund leaned in and buried his face in your neck. He breathed in your scent and sighed. He wanted to stay there, wrapped up together, forever. "Would you like to accompany me to my chambers?" you asked in his ear. Tormund chuckled. "You're forward. I like it." You giggled and pulled him behind you as you headed toward your chambers.

(a/n: I hope this is what you were looking for!)

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[rpbetter]

Today I learned a popular vent blog is repressing submissions about the drama with the now defunct resource blog. They probably have a relationship to the resource blog admin, or they are the admin. I know two people who sent submissions that were not published, but new submissions they made after were. The admin is silent after inquiries about it. They are ignoring everyone who tries to talk about it. It is so hard to find a place in the rpc that is transparent right now, a place that does not censor people who need to get things off their chest. Of all places that should keep their bias in check. It should not be a vent blog. That is one of the last places people go when they can not confide in their rp partners, or people in real life. Sometimes just having a vent post published can be everything. It is more silencing than people think.

Okay, I do know what you're talking about. I've said in the past that I specifically look around the RPC to gauge a rounder set of experiences, problems, etc. That blog is such a place that I have visited in the past to do so, and I have both noticed and been told what you're telling me now. I will admit, because I do believe in honesty here as a part of transparency one should strive to uphold off of their RP and personal blogs, that I have held exactly these suspicions since the blog choose to "handle" recent events the way they did. That is why I was paying attention to the disparity in both original submissions published and the responses to them.

What I have seen is a little uncomfortable feeling. It isn't just The Topic itself, it's also anything relating too closely to that mun's repeatedly expressed positions on things as well. Well, you know, a frightening number of people do feel the same way, do engage in those behaviors, so I am willing to believe that I am merely seeing shit where it doesn't exist. I am, after all, just a person, doing what people do, being fallible. I'm not acting on any information that anyone else out there isn't privy to, I also want t be clear about that. It's the opposite of my interest to withhold information, make it up, or inflame the situation.

Like everyone else in the RPC right now, it's incredibly difficult to not be suspicious. So many really ugly things were revealed and transpired, it was like every three hours there was something horrifying and new going on. And the way that it was left off, with the meme blog mun and with that vent blog just served to chafe those feelings for many.

So, again, while I am not trying to give this all a spritzer of gasoline, and neither am I acting on any knowledge none of you have, I've had suspicions since the time that vent blog decided that it was fully appropriate to refuse action for what went on that there was a bit of a personal connection going on. When your blog has established that it will mass-block people for far less, but suddenly, over this, it's a useless effort not going to help anyone? I'm sorry, that's suspicious to me. If nothing else, it was incredibly shitty to tell muns who were targetted because of interactions on their blog to just get over it and be adults when the adult thing is to approach the mods (hello, it does stand for moderator) with concerns, and this is a serious concern.

One that has done exactly as you say - effectively shut down venting and communication on that blog. I love that the direction is constantly to take things to the comments lmao gee, I wonder why no one is willing to openly comment anymore? Total mystery! Could it be that even you feel you can handle potential harassment, you don't want to endanger anyone else who might not be able to? Possibly.

Venting has a negative connotation here anyway, that doesn't help. Months before this all happened, I was seeing an increasing number of people equating such blogs to burnbooks, or at best, "childish echo chambers."

However, venting on one's own blog is not alright either. We're not supposed to have a visible problem with anyone or anything they're doing, ever. It's supposed to work out every time like this: you approach the person(s) causing you this problem and discuss it maturely with them in private, the issue is resolved, and everyone goes off into the sunset crapping rainbows. Double ones, even.

The problem is...it doesn't work out like that very often. That isn't to say it shouldn't be your first action, it should. Sometimes, especially if you've been both lucky and extremely careful about your writing partners, you'll be wonderfully surprised and it'll be a great conversation that helps both muns. So much of the time though, it instigates a fight because everyone is automatically defensive as hell, or one or both muns are so afraid of that happening that they'll refuse to have a meaningful confrontation (confrontation is not always negative, we need to stop viewing it that way). One or both say whatever is necessary to smooth over the problem, while they change nothing at all, making the feelings of anger so much worse.

And maybe, this problem isn't that big of a deal, one needs to work themselves up into addressing it, or they've cause to actually fear the other mun's response to them.

So, they have three options, and none of them is alright with the RPC:

vent to a friend - this is unacceptable because it is always seen as talking shit behind another mun's back, bringing drama to others, and trying to force people to take sides, no matter how much none of these may be the case and hold a lot of variables depending on the type of venting and the relationship of the muns involved

vent/vague on the dash - not always the same thing, not always occurring at the same time, and not always invalid either, but always viewed as incredibly malicious and wrong. Even if the result was either getting the friend who wouldn't stop refusing to engage to have a meaningful conversation with you or finding a new partner because someone else has been experiencing it too, you know you're not going to do this to each other, and a mutual you've been ignoring is now a valued partner

vent on a vent blog - seen as even worse than venting on one's blog in some corners because it's a more open to visit place, it's just stirring up drama and fights, this makes everyone feel vagued about and suspicions and accusations of being mentioned/mentioning someone run wild. Everyone wants a drama-free dash, no one wants to allow anyone a better place to do it

Venting is important. I think it is necessary to maintaining a less explosive environment. It's called "venting" for a reason!

Maybe it is the most ridiculous complaint in history, but those things do build. And build. And build. Until they blow up all over in someone's face, it might even be someone totally innocent who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time with exactly the worst coincidental words spoken to you. These places allow for people to get it out without hurting anyone's feelings or starting a massive argument when it wasn't even anything that serious. They offer, or used to, different perspectives that let muns feel seen while helping them to decide whether they are just blowing things out of proportion, misunderstanding/potentially unaware of another aspect, or even in a worse situation than they were allowing themselves to be aware of with a harmful relationship.

It goes beyond just venting when there are conversations going on about the topics! Sometimes, people just need to feel like they're not so isolated. Sometimes, they legitimately lack the tools and perspectives to approach a problem more directly or successfully. And yes, sometimes, they even need to see that this is kind of shitty of them and they should reevaluate.

Vent blogs are difficult to manage.

We all have biases, and when it comes to more personal situations we can recognize or see ourselves within, that is never more likely to become a point of extra difficulty to keep in check. This is actually why I left that vent blog the first time around, there was way too much bias being expressed with a mod taking it upon themselves to opine on submissions, fight with people about them, and refuse to post them while vaguing about them. Among other, increasingly perturbing behaviors I had no desire to keep seeing daily on my dash.

When you decide to create or accept a position moderating such a blog, you have to know that you will be thus challenged. Someone is going to vent about someone you'll recognize, a situation you feel passionately about, or say something in a vent that upsets you. You have got to remain visibly impartial. Go on and vent about it yourself to friends, write a post on your personal, do whatever the hell you need to in order to not be visibly biased and acting upon that bias.

I see blogs like this, as well as other places of moderation, often becoming incensed and offering the angry justification that "mods are people." Yes, I should hope you are! No one is saying you must be an impossibly perfect person without opinions, biases, or mistakes. We are holding you to a higher standard of you deal with these things out in the open where you hold this position, yes. That's literally what your job is, my friends. Go off about it, feel your feelings, even cultivate a block list from that blog! But you don't show it, you don't ever make people feel worse when the point of your blog is to allow them a voice.

The only time you need to give a personal opinion is when it is requested or you need to express that a submission was declined/comment had to be moderated due to you exercising your judgment that it violated the rules.

This is supposed to be a safe place for muns to anonymously let it out of their systems and discuss these topics. Not a place where they'll feel exposed, judged by the mods themselves, and denied a voice because of a mod's biases being exercised.

And I'm extremely sorry that people are being made to feel this way, all over again in some cases, because someone cannot handle the position they took up. I'm sorry for the whole community who has lost an important outlet. I wish that I could recommend another place for people to go that might provide a better experience, but as yet, I do not. Hopefully, that'll be changing in the near-enough future, but for right now...all of the vent blogs I was familiar with have long since closed down.

If anyone has any currently running vent blog suggestions, I'd love to know about them and share them! Please, they do have to be legitimate vent blogs. I'm not going to recommend here that might be too close to actually being burnbook-like, deals in publishing URLs, and so on. If you want to engage with that, it's absolutely your choice, but it's not something I want to give certified approval to on this blog, and I hope you understand why. If they're legitimately anonymous, safer places serving as vent blogs, let me know so I can check them out for a few days and publish your ask!

It wasn't my intention with this blog, though I did offer that a couple of times just to get people talking about problems important to them in the past, but if you want to vent here, I'll do my best to publish them (unless you request otherwise) in a relatively timely fashion.

I'm just not a proper vent blog, and people should be aware of that! I do offer opinions on those matters. It's more in line with the point of this blog to do so - I want to be able to give some point of assistance in publishing them. I cannot promise, therefore, to be impartial, but I can promise to not judge you or ignore what you send because I don't agree, am tired of it, etc.

I'd just ask that, once again, everyone realize that sending hateful messages to me isn't going to result in me being nice to you in return. If you've a complaint to lodge, lodge it respectfully if you desire to be treated that way yourself. This blog will publish anon hate, that doesn't mean I'm going to be nice when you send it. Anything else, however, I will genuinely try to offer you the opportunity to be seen and heard, some advice, experiences I might have had with a similar issue, and to approach it fairly.

Sorry that everyone is going through a hard time, that it just doesn't seem to stop, and probably will not for some time now. Thank you for sending this, I hope it made you feel a little better! That has been, and will continue to be, my objective in publishing asks relating to this matter - I just want everyone to feel like they have some agency and respect somewhere, that they're being seen, and that they have the support of others in the community.

[baoshan-sanren]

Part 15

to the fucking NieLan arranged marriage AU I can’t stop thinking about - seriously guys, someone give me a title for this thing

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4 here | pt.5 here | pt.6 here | pt.7 here | pt.8 here | pt.9 here | pt.10 here | pt.11 here | pt.12 here | pt.13 here | pt.14 here

Wen Ning does not have much time. 

He moves quickly, head lowered, hoping to avoid notice. It is rarely possible, for him to cross the length of the palace without some incident, without at least some of the guards deciding to torment him for their own amusement. Although he is under Wen RuoHan’s protection, as fickle as such a protection can be, they had learned quickly that he will bear their harassment in silence. Perhaps, if he was still allowed to carry his sword, they would not think him such an easy prey. But he thinks it is more likely his sword would have painted a larger target on his back.

The lack of his sword has been on his mind a great deal lately.

It is not the only concern crowding his mind. That same morning, a string of urgent messages from YiLing had completely annihilated every part of the plan Wen Qing had painstakingly pieced together.

The Second Young Master is dead. The Violet Spider had mounted the Second Young Master’s head on a pike, and is currently burning her way across YiLing, heading straight for the Nightless City.

The first message states that both the Jin Sect and Jiang Sect are riding at her back, something even Wen Ning knows to be impossible, as the two sects are on the opposite sides of QiShan. The second message claims that the Violet Spider is leading the combined forces of the MeiShan Yu, the LaoLing Qin, and the LangYa She. This message, Wen Ning does not know enough to dispute. The third message is even more ridiculous than the first two, claiming that it is not the Violet Spider who had killed the Second Young Master at all, but Madam Jin, and that Madam Jin is now leading half of the Jin Sect across YiLing.

Wen Ning thinks that the men who had sent those messages should probably not face Wen RuoHan again, not if they mean to keep their heads attached to their shoulders.  

Overall, Wen Chao’s death matters very little in the larger scheme of things, and by itself, it should not have affected his sister’s plans at all. But the messages had triggered a string of events, like ripples across clear water, spreading to every corner of the Nightless City. Suddenly, guards are stationed in places where none had been the day before. Two of the City gates are now sealed shut. The guards around Wen RuoHan have doubled, and every servant, including Wen Ning, has had their room tossed. Wen RuoHan is now convinced that there is a spy in the palace, and had been furious that the traitor could not be uncovered. In his rage, he had pulled Lan XiChen from his cell, and had him savagely whipped in the main hall.

The day is only half over, and Wen Ning already knows that everything else which can go wrong, is likely to go wrong, and very quickly. There is no time to contact Wen Qing. There is no time to ask for advice. Their contingency plan looms large and terrifying in his mind, even more impossible to achieve now than it had ever been before.

His sister had always had such faith in him, no matter how often he failed, no matter how often he disappointed her expectations. To this day, she believes him more capable than he has ever thought himself to be. Now, that he is utterly alone, with nothing to rely on but his own wits, he hopes that she was right all along, and that he will not let her down.

Back in his chambers, he burns the talisman for good, leaving only a small pile of ashes on the floor. The room is bare of personal belongings. This had never been Wen Ning’s home, and there is nothing he regrets leaving behind.  

--

They move at dusk.

The Nie Sect does not attack the way any other sect would. There are no drums and trumpets and neat formations. There is no warning, no battle declaration, and some would say, no honor in their tactics. But the Nie Sect is descended from men who had spent their entire lives wading through ankle-deep blood, who were born and raised in the dirt, who cared little for eternal judgment. To the QingHe Nie, honor is a fool's prize, and glory is of no use to the dead.

The first wave appears out of the evening fog some three hundred li inside the enemy lines. Half of the Wen camp is slaughtered before any manage to raise an alarm. By the time the horn signaling an attack echoes across the plain, the cavalry is already on the move. The Wen do not expect mounted archers to follow a ground attack, and their formation falls apart as quickly as it is assembled. Blood saturates the damp grass. Rows and rows of tents go up in a blaze, one after another, the risings suns of QiShan Wen engulfed in flames.

Wen Xu, located in the main cap some two hundred li from the border between GanQuan and QiShan, is not caught by surprise. By the time the Nie Sect crosses the plains, a wall of archers is already waiting. The arrows blacken the sky. Men and horses fall, and are trampled, their screams drowned by the battle drums. The Nie Sect does not falter. Only a third of their number reaches the first line of archers, shattering the wall they hold, spilling into the sea of ground troops. They are outnumbered twelve to one, but each pushes forward, the sabers swinging wildly, leaving carnage in their wake.

A smart ruler leads from the back, and Wen Xu is safely concealed behind thirty hand-picked guards. With his younger brother gone, he had promised his father that he would take no unnecessary risks, and withdraw to the safety of the Nightless City walls the moment the battle looks to be lost. But he can see Nie MingJue in the distance, still mounted, surrounded by the sea of red robes. The beast’s head helmet, its features twisted in a terrible grimace, seems to be mocking him from a distance.

He despises Nie MingJue with a singular type of vehemence. The man’s marriage to the First Jade of Lan is an abomination; Wen Xu cannot understand how the Gusu Lan could have ever stooped so low. The fact that the rest of the cultivation world would choose such a man to lead them is abhorrent beyond belief. The Wen Sect had descended from emperors; their supremacy is nothing less than Heaven-ordained. It is no simple affront, to have the Wen Sect dominance challenged by a man who is only a little better than a peasant. It is the worst type of insolence; it is a blasphemy against the natural order.

Everyone knows that there is no honor in battling butchers. But Wen Xu wants Nie MingJue’s head. He wants to mount it on a pike, as his younger brother’s head was mounted, and he wants to carry it with him back into the Nightless City. Perhaps his father will present it to the Young Master Lan as a wedding gift. Wen Xu is has no interest in Nie MingJue’s leftovers, but once the war is over, the most beautiful Young Master of the cultivation world will need to be married into the Wen Sect. First, however, Wen Xu intends to make Young Master Lan a widower.

When he moves into the fray, his guards move with him. Their bodies are a shield, but like any shield made of flesh and bone, it does not hold up for long. This does not matter. Wen Xu is not his younger brother. He does not carry a sword out of obligation or duty. The blade was his first toy, his first comfort, the first thing he learned how to carry. He has killed hundreds of men, and none had ever given him a fight worthy of remembrance. He does not need thirty guards to cut his way across the field.

Another battle horn echoes from the east, but his only focus is straight ahead. He sees Nie MingJue lose his horse, and soon after loses his own. A cultivator from the Jin Sect gets in his way, and loses an arm. Another is cut in two. There seem to be more golden robes now in the field than the deep green ones of the Nie Sect, but Wen Xu is so close, that he would not turn back now, even if he could. The Nie will fold when Nie MingJue is dead. The Jin will fold right after. The beast’s head helmet appears and disappears, it falls, then rises.

Finally, it is in front of him. His blade crosses with the heavy saber, the spiritual power of their combined force flashing brightly, knocking down both ally and enemy alike. The night is falling quickly, and the ground is slippery with blood, but Wen Xu is inconvenienced by neither. He has never wanted someone dead this badly, so badly that he can taste the victory in the back of his throat. The blades clash again and again, the saber cutting into his thigh, his own sword finding the soft flesh under Nie MingJue’s arm. The man is good, but Wen Xu had expected better. He knows he will win.

The tip of his sword catches the helmet, and the twisted, blood-spattered piece of armor tumbles to the ground. Wen Xu freezes in astonishment. It is a moment, a single breath, but it is an instant he cannot spare. The saber catches him under the navel and slices up, lodging between his ribs.

Nie ZongHui smiles.

[anistarrose]

Entropy (The Owl House)

Summary: As a witch, Eda thrives on unpredictability and chaos. Unfortunately, so does her curse.

Word count: 1734

Warnings: mild violence, but it’s no darker than the show itself

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/22518526

The first of what I expect will eventually become many Owl House fics from me! This story is set a few months before Luz’s arrival to the demon realm, but also has some big spoilers for Episode 4, so beware!

***

Eda believes that unpredictability is a witch’s best friend. Magic should always be a little wild, a little feral, a little chaotic, a fickle force of nature that keeps its users on its toes. Predictable magic is weak magic, diluted magic, practically homeopathic magic that’s left with nary a spark of what once made it so fierce and formidable.

This is the philosophy that’s made Eda the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles. It’s the philosophy that’s helped her dodge imprisonment for decades. It’s even the reason why against her better judgement, she invited a scrawny little demon with an extreme superiority complex into her home — and as loathe as she is to admit it to King’s face, the little wannabe tyrant has brightened up more of her days than she’d ever expected.

Adherence to a status quo leads only to stagnant magic. Routine makes the bile in Eda’s heart run dry. Variety is the spice of life, and despite all the challenges she’s had to overcome — or perhaps even because of them — Eda is living.

But the most potent curses are always the most ironic ones. The ones that weave themselves not out of foreign magic, but out of the victim’s own nature, turning strengths into weaknesses and prides into secret shames.

In Eda the Owl Lady’s case, this means that her curse is very wild, very feral, very chaotic, and never predictable. When the feathers begin to sprout and she feels the telltale pinpricks of quills in her hair, when her fangs begin to elongate and her stomach makes its appetite known through bloodcurdling growls, she only has a matter of minutes at best before she loses herself — only a few minutes, at best, to find her elixir and stave off her transformation.

And if there’s no elixir in reach to be found, well… her last few moments of lucidity are best spent ensuring that no one will be around to see her in this state, both for her sake and theirs.

***

Eda is unceremoniously tossed into a Conformatorium cell, unable to get to her feet before the cold iron anti-magic gate slides down in front of her. The gaps between the rungs look plenty wide enough for King to slip through, which means either the guards haven’t noticed him shuddering and trying to hide in Eda’s arms, or they just don’t care enough about whether he escapes to bother securing him better.

“The Warden will be seeing you shortly, Owl Lady!” one guard barks from behind his beaked black mask. “I’m sure the two of you will have plenty to discuss!”

As their jailers leave, King wriggles out of Eda’s arms. “Are they gone?” he meekly asks, poking his snout out between the bars and peering down the hallway.

“Yes, but not for long,” Eda grunts as she attempts to draw a small spell circle in the air. A few sparks surround her fingertip, but fizzle out before the circle is complete. “Drat. They learned their lesson from the last time I broke out of this place.”

“Then looks like it’s the King of Demons’ turn to save the day!” King declares, raising a tiny fist. “And what better place to find recruits for my army of darkness than here, in this cesspool of sinister machinations and forbidden black magics!”

He pokes his head into the adjacent cell, in which a demon with foot-long pointed nails leans against a wall. “You there! You look like a foul, black-hearted creature if I’ve ever seen one! How about you join my prison riot?”

“Are you joking? There’s nothing foul or black-hearted about overthrowing an unjust government institution that misuses its authority,” the demon scoffs, continuing to polish their nails. “Come back and talk to me again if you think of something that’s really evil.”

Muttering to himself and shaking his head, King trots over to the prisoner on the opposite side of Eda’s cell. “How about you? You’ve got a lot of life left ahead of you — do you really want to spend it all in a prison?”

The baby in the cell ignores him, preoccupied with repeatedly stabbing a knife into the floor.

King trudges back to Eda’s side, head hanging. Very quietly, he asks: “Eda, what if I’m just not cut out for demonic tyranny?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Eda rubs his head. “I’ve never seen a demon more power-hungry than you are, you evil little thing. And hey, it’s not all bad — now you know exactly what types of demons not to recruit for your army of darkness!”

King’s mood immediately lightens. “You’re right, I just need to look on the bright side of things! Like how at least you didn’t have your staff with you today, so it’s not going to end up locked away in the warden’s contraband pile!”

Eda tries to retort that if she’d had her staff, she never would’ve gotten captured in the first place — but her throat has gone dry. After all, she hasn’t had anything to drink in hours.

Why do the torches in the hallway suddenly hurt to look at?

“All they actually confiscated was that orange potion you were drinking,” King goes on, completely oblivious. “Good thing they didn’t take anything important, ha!”

Eda runs a hand through her hair. Her fingers graze quills, sprouting from her scalp.

No! Not here, not now! Not in front of —

“King, you have to leave,” she hisses, falling to her knees and clutching her chest. “Squirm through the bars and run. I’ll catch up later.”

“Are you serious? I’m not leaving you!” King exclaims. “I can’t fly back home unless you carry me!”

He’s so precious.

So stubborn.

such dumb, easy prey

“I know a way to break out of here, but it’s — it’s — you’ll just get caught in the crossfire if you stay.” Eda claps one hand over her mouth, hiding her extending fangs, and with her free hand, picks up King by the scruff of his neck and stuffs him through one of the holes in the iron grate. “The guards will all be distracted in just another minute or two, so don’t waste your chance! Run and meet me back at the Owl House!”

no, little demon

come back inside, little squirrel creature

Halfway across the Conformatorium’s main chamber, a door creaks open, and King finally takes it as his cue to bolt.

so bright

too bright

can’t see

kill the lights

“Eda the Owl Lady!” Warden Wrath’s voice echoes. “I’ve been waiting so long for this moment…”

new demon

bigger demon?

bigger meal

Warden Wrath is wholly unprepared for the explosion of claws and feathers that tears through iron like it’s parchment, then barrels out of the Owl Lady’s cell with a scream that would cause a banshee to lose their voice for a week. The monster rakes a clawed hand across the wall, shredding half a dozen torches into tinder with a single blow — then turns to face Wrath, baring her fangs and grinning.

Wrath has read of the bloodthirsty strixes, the owlishly metamorphosed victims of potent curses — but he’s never encountered one face-to-face, never stared into these black eyes that are simultaneously so empty and so cunning. A lesser warden might turn tail and flee, but Wrath knows his duty.

Strixes are unnatural. Improper. Unpredictable. Feral.

Unsuitable for society, but a worthy opponent for him.

He charges, swinging a scythe-hand, and Eda effortly catches it with her fangs. She swings Wrath around like a toy, sending him careening into the wall — but he has a trick up his sleeve, and he transforms his hand into a hammer that pries Eda’s jaws open before she can extricate her teeth from his flesh.

Wrath laughs as Eda recoils, as she spits out dark ichor and shards of shattered yellow fangs. The acidic ichor sizzles as it lands on the cobblestone floor, and its ghastly smell reaches Wrath even through the herb-stuffed beak of his mask.

Seeing their warden stagger backwards from the pool of acid, two guards rush Eda — a mistake, they realize a few seconds too late. They add a degree of entropy to the battle that the strix exploits, whirling around and delivering two powerful kicks from her rear legs — and before Wrath can even admonish his inferiors, they’ve been flung on top of him, their heavy metal armor pinning him to the ground.

Eda licks her lips, advancing slowly, savoring the moment. A tiny drop of icor dribbles down her chin from the corner of her mouth, and her batlike ears twitch with delight.

Wrath’s arms are pinned, and any sudden shapeshifting movement will surely provoke the strix to lunge before he can get an attack off. Unable to remove his mask, yet left with no other option, he points his head at Eda as best as he can, and opens his mouth.

As the spout of flame incinerates the likeliness of a raven beak and spills out to fill the hall, Eda screeches and extends her wings so quickly that a sonic boom tears though the Conformatorium. Cast-iron gates are shattered, cobblestone is pulverized into rubble, and leagues of demons and witches run free.

Nearly overwhelmed by the stampede, Wrath staggers to his feet just in time to see the strix take flight, and soar out the skylight at the top of the prison dome.

***

Eda awakens beneath a tree, scattered patches of feathers still present where the early-morning sunlight hasn’t yet crept through the leaves to dapple her skin. As she collects herself and steps out into the direct sunlight, her transformation fully reverts — though her stomach still grumbles for flesh and blood. She’ll just have to get home quickly and quell it with an elixir, instead.

When she walks into the Owl House, King almost immediately springs into her arms and breaks down sobbing. “I was so worried! I ran like you said but I heard so much screaming and I saw something get lit on fire and I wasn’t sure if that was what you meant to do or —”

“I never do exactly what I mean to do,” Eda tells him, forcing a smile. “It wouldn’t be very wild and unpredictable of me if I did, would it?”

She sets King down on the couch. “But you can always count on one thing — I’m never leaving home without my magic staff again.”