#so like. disturbingly chipper...

[snowyfrostshadows]

Kinda. Kinda like this???

Florosprout!Mario/SPM brainwashed Mario has so much potential but everyone just turns him into a Mr. L clone. He has potential to be the hottest bitch alive but instead you Mr. L clone him. Mr. L is the inverse of Luigi in his key aspects- He's loud, fearless, and wants to be the center of attention. It also emphasizes his key traits to an unhealthy degree- His jealousy of his brother is now his main motivation rather than a background thought process he oftentimes can ignore. Florosprout Mario would NOT be like Mr. L, he would be more akin to someone like Dimentio in all honesty; Emphasizing his love of making people happy to that unhealthy degree via "clownification" while ditching his honest nature for one much more manipulative and dishonest. He'd be like a brooding shy but creepy clown or something you people don't even understand

[phantasmiafxndom]

What would it be like to own demon kyoujurou and akaza at the same time? Like you rescue kyo then akaza later. How do they get along? How needy are they towards reader?

• Akaza has never been around another demon in a way that didn't involve violence. He has no idea how to handle this, and he's highly uncomfortable with the entire idea of sharing space with another of his kind. Kyoujurou, meanwhile, is as socialized as demons get, and almost too friendly. He's perfectly eager to have a companion present... and seems to lack any comprehension that Akaza isn't equally thrilled about the arrangement.

• For a while, Akaza is convinced that he's intruding on another demon's territory, and that he's about to be mauled because of it. He's horribly tense around Kyoujurou (even though he could win that fight, it wouldn't do him any good), always expecting the other to suddenly drop the chipper, friendly act and turn violent instead. Kyoujurou clearly has a happy home here, so his presence is the very definition of unwanted. Akaza knows that he's not fit for indoor living, and he likes it even less when it's shared.

• Meanwhile, Kyoujurou is just concerned. Why doesn't Akaza understand that your home is a good place? That you're only trying to take care of them, and that there's no reason to be so tense? Kyoujurou is unfortunately quite dense, but even he can't miss how disturbingly tense Akaza is at all times. In the end, though, he's the socializing factor— seeing another demon so comfortable and content is what gets through to Akaza.

• Even once they're both settled, Kyoujurou is by far the most outwardly needy. He's very direct about his feelings, including how eager he is to be of use to his beloved owner and stay close to you. Akaza, meanwhile, is silently dying of secondhand shame every time Kyoujurou says something like that so easily. How can he show his trust like that? Isn't he afraid at all?

• Akaza is needy in more subtle ways. Thanks to the trauma of the fight ring, emotional issues are what need attention whether he'll admit it or not. He worries a lot that something terrible will happen to you— that you'll get hurt, die, or disappear, and that his finally-decent life will vanish right along with you. This manifests as aggressively protective behavior, mostly... as well as rare occasions of him seeking out closeness on his own.

[whumped-by-glitter]

I have decided to try to make all of the prompts part of a single story.

Day 1 Here< >Day 3 Here

WOW's Birthday Event- Day 2: Starvation / Thirst / “Please…”

⚠️CW: creepy/intimate whumper, starvation, captivity, torture.

Whumpee had been with Whumper several days now, or at least they thought. Time passed so strangely without any sunlight to mark the passing days. In fact, Whumper hadn’t even been there since Whumpee was captured. Nobody had.

It had been days since Whumpee had eaten. They hadn’t even been given water since being first chained down here. The chains that held them to the wall chafed. They only allowed whumpee just enough room to sit against the cold stone wall.

Whumpee’s stomach growled, they were beginning to worry they would just waste away in the dark down here, forgotten. They desperately needed food and water.

Their thoughts turned to their team, trying to desperately to distract them self. Whumpee wondered what Youngest was doing right now without them. Whumpee and Youngest would do everything together, often causing chaos for the other team members in the process. The memories made them chuckle, brightening them a bit.

Whumpee allowed their thoughts to move to caretaker. Caretaker was the gentlest member of the team, a talented healer. They were a terrible cook though, they laughed out loud, the sound echoing off the cold stone through darkness. It rang back cold and harsh, drawing Whumpee back to the lonely emptiness of what they were pretty sure was a basement or a dungeon.

All at once a blinding light filled the area. Whumpee had been in the dark so long it burned their eyes. They were convinced for a moment their eyes would never be able to adjust again.

Whumper strode over to the pitiful captive, with their eyes squeezed shut. “Good morning, my beautiful new masterpiece,” Whumper chirped happily. “I trust you slept well.”

Once Whumpee’s eyes finally adjusted to the light, their heart sank. This wasn’t who they were originally fighting, like he assumed. This was someone completely new. Whumpee hadn’t been captured, hey realized in horror that they had been abducted, kidnapped. Even if the team tried to rescue them they wouldn’t be there.

“Hello? Darling? Anyone home,” Whumper wave their hand in front of their face, still sounding disturbingly chipper.

“Please, water…” Whumpee croaked, their voice sound even rougher than expected. The light and noise was beginning to give them a headache.

“Oh, no, no, my sweet, I need you pale, a blank canvas for my art,” Whumper’s voice dripped with false sweetness. “if you do well for me you might get some later.” Whumper unshackled Whumpee’s wrists, only to put them immediately into handcuffs. They then repeated the process with Whumpee’s ankles. Just for sure measure Whumper also forced a ball gag with a panel over the lips into their mouth. They wrenched the buckles cruelly tight over Whumpee’s mouth, bringing tears to the corners of Whumpee’s eyes.

It was only after it was ensured Whumpee could not escape that Whumper turned on the lights to the rest of the room. What was revealed caused Whumpee to start whimpering and crying.

There was a wall full of all kinds of implements that looked like they were for torture, as well as various bondage furniture and furniture that just looked like it was for straight torture. To top it all off there was a small stage in the corner with a camera set up, and a rack of clothes next to it.

“We’re going to have such a good time dear; I’m going to make you so pretty for your photo shoot,” Whumper said, cheerfully. “Now, let’s start by decorating that lovely skin.”

Whumper guided the now absolutely terrified Whumpee to a bench. They laid them down on top of the handcuffs without locking them first, causing them to wrench down tight on Whumpee’s wrist, biting into their flesh. This made Whumpee let out a muffled scream.

“Oh, what a lovely noise!” Whumper exclaimed, “you didn’t tell me you were into musical art!”

Whumper was becoming more unsettling by the second. Whumpee hated to admit it to themself, but he wished it had been the arms dealer the team tried to take out to capture him. The person who had him currently was completely deranged.

Whumper secured Whumpee to the bench and then walked over to the wall with all of the tools. Whumpee began to tremble.

Whumper selected several knives, at least that’s what Whumpee thought it looked like from their limited view. Soon Whumper was skipping- literally skipping- back to Whumpee.

“Now sweetheart, lets make you gorgeous before we dress you up for the photo shoot,” Whumper had a wide, unsettling grin that sent shivers down Whumpee’s spine.

They tried to struggle, to break loose, desperate to get away, but it was no use, squirming only caused the handcuffs to tighten further. “Oh right, I almost forgot!” Whumper sat the knives down next to Whumpee’s face on the bench. He disappeared somewhere…. Above them?…. Behind them?.... Whumpee’s brain wasn’t thinking straight, they were starving, severely dehydrated and terrified.

Whumper returned with a video recorder. They sat up the tripod off to the side of the bench Whumpee was secured to. “We need to record the creative process; how could I have almost forgotten?” Whumper ran his fingertips along Whumpee’s chest. “absolutely pristine,” they said, barely above a whisper. “I think I’ll add some red.” Whumper picked up a short, needle-like knife.

Event Masterlist

@whumperofworlds

[hes-a-rat-whisperer]

“Reunion”

Fairytale!au

Although Felly had been gone for months, Mattie and Gossy had FINALLY received news from their husband that he would be home within the week! The two couldn’t be more excited, and decided to head down to the marketplace to find the perfect welcome home present for the handsome wendigo. As usual the two went down without any escorts, after all the two always felt their kingdom was safe enough!

Little did they know the hell that would unfold that morning…..

It all started when Matilda had decided to go into one of the tents to try on different special gowns, and of course modeling in them for her pretty puppy to see, when, while the young pregnant queen was getting changed, Gosgo was approached by an all too familiar face.

“Your highness!” The disturbingly chipper voice of the man who’d the king come across all those years ago, the one who sold Mattie to him. He was still much taller than the blonde, although older looking and with grey hair, but that disturbing knowing grin said everything. His name was Lord Lucien, and although slave trading had now been outlawed since the prince had met his future wife, it would see this scumbag was still around.

“You’re JUST the man I’ve been looking for! How have you been?”

Gosgo imediately frowned as soon as that horrible man´s visage entered his peripheral vision. "what are you doing here..?" the king´s tone sounded so dismissive, really unnatural for the always so chipper and friendly royal.

in fact, from the way he was saying it, it almost sounded like he was actually asking ´shouldn´t you be in jail?´

[lucymaeson]

Event 01 – Salt in the Wound

The sun is a cruel reminder of a world unrecognizable. Lucy squints against its brightness, her eyes straining as they try to adjust. The taste of salt hangs in the air, carried on the breath of the ocean, a relentless wind that whips at her hair and tugs at the hem of her red velvet dress. The fabric clings to her skin, heavy with sweat and salt, an oppressive second skin that has no place here.

Her mind is a jumbled mess of fractured memories—glimpses of her past life blend with the surreal horrors of the present. The last thing she remembers is the gala, the way Winston's hand felt cold and frail in hers as they drifted through the crowd. Now, the memory feels like a lifeline, tethering her to a reality that no longer exists.

She stumbles across the tilted deck, her heels sinking into the splintered wood with each step. Around her, the world hums with a strange, dissonant energy. The ship creaks under the strain of its position, threatening to give way at any moment, as if it too, is straining to comprehend its fate.

Lucy is not alone, but she might as well be. The others—those who woke up in this nightmare alongside her—move like ghosts, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes wide with disbelief. They murmur to each other in hushed tones, but their words are drowned out by the voice on the loudspeaker. That voice, so disturbingly chipper, echoing through the air, "Welcome to paradise... Do not be afraid!"

Each repetition of the phrase digs deeper into her psyche, a twisted lullaby that contrasts sharply with the sheer panic gripping her chest. She grabs the railing as the ship lists slightly, sending a wave of vertigo through her. The white-strap bracelet on her wrist catches her eye, the stone—blue lace agate—glimmers with an otherworldly sheen. It feels foreign, like a shackle binding her to this place, a mark of some invisible hand that has orchestrated this madness.

She glances at the others, her gaze drifting to Maria, a woman with dark curls framing a face that might have been beautiful in any other circumstance. Lucy can’t bear the thought of approaching her, or anyone else for that matter. She is paralyzed by fear, her confidence stripped away by the sheer absurdity of this place. The cameras, perched atop poles, seem to track her every move, their glassy eyes unblinking and cold. They remind her too much of the men she danced for, men who never truly saw her, only the surface, only what she allowed them to see.

She descends from the ship, her bare feet sinking into the sand with each step. The warmth of the grains is oddly comforting, a contrast to the chill that has settled deep in her bones. She walks aimlessly, her mind a tangle of thoughts, her eyes scanning the horizon for something—anything—that might make sense of this.

The smell of food wafts through the air, a tantalizing mix of spices and roasted meats. Her stomach growls, a painful reminder of how long it’s been since she last ate. But she doesn't trust the food. How could she? Everything about this place feels wrong, distorted, like a dream teetering on the edge of becoming a nightmare. Instead of succumbing to hunger, she turns her back on the feast, the scent lingering in the air as she continues her lonely exploration.

Hours pass, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the island. The voice on the loudspeaker slows, warping in a way that sets her nerves on edge. The silence that follows is almost worse. It leaves her alone with her thoughts, with the oppressive weight of uncertainty that hangs over her like a storm cloud.

Exhausted, Lucy finally collapses on the shore, her knees drawn to her chest as she stares out at the endless expanse of water. The waves licked the shore, a rhythmic pulse that contrasts with the chaotic beating of her heart. She thinks of her mother, of the years spent navigating a world that never made sense, a world where survival meant playing a part. But here, there is no script, no stage, only the raw, unfiltered reality of her situation.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a piercing wail on the loudspeakers. The sound is almost unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard, digging into her brain and sending shivers down her spine. The bracelet on her wrist tingles, a strange sensation that feels both familiar and alien. She looks down at it, the stone glinting in the dim light, as if it knows something she doesn’t.

And then, Maria speaks. Her voice is soft, a question half-formed on her lips. “O que—?” But the words are cut off, swallowed by the air as Maria’s body disintegrates before Lucy’s eyes. One moment, she’s there, whole and real, and the next, she’s nothing but a cloud of fine grains, drifting away on the breeze.

A scream tears from Lucy’s throat, raw and primal. Her body shakes with the force of it, her mind refusing to comprehend what she just witnessed. The sand where Maria once stood is eerily still, as if the island itself has claimed her.

Lucy’s tears fall freely now, hot and bitter against her cheeks. She cries for the loss, for the fear that grips her, for the realization that whatever this place is, it’s not paradise. It’s a prison. And she, like Maria, is just another grain of sand, waiting to be swept away.

[trixree]

The General’s foundling is a menace.

Wolffe has been informed by multiple parties across multiple instances that Ahsoka is in fact not the General’s foundling because the Jedi don’t lay claims like rabid Mandos catching the scent of an orphan and barking over their preferred adoptees. However, seeing as how Ahsoka is somehow always around to be doted upon, Wolffe has firmly categorized her as “the General’s foundling” and he will not be moved.

Oh, the doting.

“Hi Commander Wolffe!” Ahsoka greets, chipper. Always so chipper, this one. She gets it from the General. Or, possibly, from that Skywalker kid; among Wolffe’s many resolutions is that he will not, under any circumstance, acknowledge that Skywalker is a General—that boy is a cadet in spirit if not in body.

He grunts at her. He is very busy. Very very busy reading… things. Where is the General? The General should be here to corral his vermin.

“Where are your vambraces? I know Guts worked up some plastoid for you the last time you were stowing away—” Wolffe begins, once again affronted by the child’s insistence that a tiny scrap of fabric is simultaneously enough protection and enough insulation from the cold vacuum of space, superior Togruta physiology or not.

“I’m not a stowaway,” she rebukes, wrinkling her nose in a classic tubie-move. “I’m on loan from the 501st for a very important mission.”

Wolffe raises an eyebrow—the scarred one—at her. “So important you came without your armor?” She bares her sharp teeth at him. Wolffe bares his back. That’s his move, vod’ika. Nice try. “What is that shebs Rex teaching you?”

“Violence,” Ahsoka retorts.

“Is that what we’re calling your scrapping, now?”

“I’ll scrap you,” she volleys back, full of youthful glee and bloodlust. She is disturbingly similar to Wolffe himself at that stage in growth. Ninety-pounds of menace and montrals, this ad.

“Little ‘Soka!” his General booms as he swans into the bridge, usual grace and poise abandoned in favor of sweeping his foundling into a spine-cracking hug.

This is Plo’s preferred method of greeting all life-forms unless there are other Jedi around. The last time Skywalker, General Kenobi, and General Plo were in the same room with Ahsoka, they all just stood there smiling with their hands stuffed in their ridiculous robes to avoid the embarrassment of admitting to one another that they have soft and squishy feelings about their collective padawan. Sinker took a holo. It has a place of honor on Plo’s desk. Wolffe has it saved to the hard storage of his HUD.

“Hi Master Plo!” Ahsoka replies with enthusiasm. She remembers herself after a moment—more accurately, remembers her ongoing feud with Wolffe about how she is really actually a very respectable adult Jedi—and takes a hasty step back before bowing all polite-like. “Thank you for having me, Master Plo. I look forward to learning from you this week.”

“Week?” Wolffe demands as Plo chuckles and bows, respectably, back to his foundling. “Week? You said week? We’re making landfall the day after tomorrow.”

His General and his General’s tag-along are unphased by this news.

“And Commander Tano will be accompanying us while her Master engages Dooku’s forces with the 212th Battalion,” his General says reasonably. He turns and places a soothing claw on Wolffe’s shoulder. Behind him, Ahsoka sticks her tongue out at him. Little shit. “It is simply a relief mission, Wolffe,” Plo assures him.

Wolffe swallows a protest that Ahsoka is not their responsibility. He swallows it because his General knows it, because he knows it, because Skywalker and Kenobi and everyone else likely already knows it. After the Malevolence, she’s been “on-loan” to their slowly recovering little unit more often than not. And it helps. Sith fucking hell, does it help.

She brings them all to life—all of them who remain.

It doesn’t stop the encroaching guilt that she shouldn’t be here. She’s a karking cadet, for fuck’s sake. Not even the Kaminoans ship clones out before their last growth cycle. It’s cruel to let a child mingle among soldiers before they’re ready. It’s wrong to have her sleep on a ship that’s more empty than it is full, where men wake up screaming in the night for vode who are marching far ahead.

The Jedi are different except for all the ways in which they aren’t, not at all. They aren't the gods the Kaminoans made them out to be. They're people, too. Just flesh and blood people. And Wolffe… doesn’t want to see this ad broken.

“Armor,” he manages. “At the very least, a shirt and some vambraces.”

Ahsoka scowls. “It—”

“‘Restricts your mobility’?” the scowl deepens with Wolffe's every word, her facial markings folding into extreme angles. “General, would you say your armor restricts your mobility?”

General Plo hums his amused hum. It is different from his pondering hum, his “are you sure about that?” hum, and his “the foolishness is going to continue?” hum in that his mandibles twitch upwards and to the right. He steeples his claws in front of him, the picture of serene innocence.

“Hardly, my dear Wolffe.”

Wolffe turns to Cody's problem vod'ika's problem vod'ika. He crouches, because difficult vod’ike love it when you crouch to speak to them. Case in point: Rex, who liked it so very much that he took Wolffe crouching down as an open invitation to give him a big ol’ keldabe kiss, regardless of which trainers or Alphas were around. (That reminds him; he owes the little blonde bastard a comm call.)

“Best get to training then, huh, soldier?” Wolffe drawls.

The tiniest of growls builds as Ahsoka rocks up onto her toes and sneers, “Gladly, Wolfy.”

He feels his eyebrows climb, scar tissue pulling uncomfortably. In one swift move, he drops his datapads to the deck with a clatter and exchanges them for a shrieking togruta-shaped sack of tubers which he tosses upside down over his shoulder.

"HEY!"

“General, I’ve got a mouthy sheb here that just earned a one-way ticket to additional combat training. Permission to abandon my post?” Ahsoka pounds on his back-plate with open hands, wriggling in his grasp like a strill.

Plo chuckles. “Of course, Commander. Try not to leave her too sore to attend to her homework, will you?”

“Noooo, Master Plo—” Ahsoka whines in a truly lethal pitch. It could shatter transparisteel, that pitch. Why hasn't she tried that on the Sepratists, yet? What is Rex teaching her, for fuck's sake?

“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning for saber drills, young one,” the General says in a delightful parting. “Enjoy your training!”

“I won't!" she calls back, still struggling.

“Damn right you won’t,” Wolffe says and closes the door behind them on their way out.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Words: ~800

Summary: His family’s not present, the third time he runs away. They never see the creature he becomes.

Early corruption AU.

In which Connie shows up and passes on some information.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

Connie Maheswaran’s alarm clock was nearing 6 AM when she found herself rudely stirred by those ambiguous yet hauntingly familiar stress nightmares.

Not ten minutes later, she was fully clothed, awake and doing some catch-up studying, mostly as an weak excuse to push recent troubling events off her mind.

Regardless of her attempts at self-distraction, she caved to her baser impulses and decided to try her hand at calling Steven around 7:40, knowing full well that he also has a penchant for poor sleep and waking up early, even on weekends. In retrospect, she supposes it was fear that prompted that phone call. Fear of losing her best friend. Fear that if she failed to reach out, he’d never speak to her again. She still feels terrible for the heartbreak and embarrassment he endured at that picnic, and given what happened at the hospital, he doesn’t seem to be over it. With that in mind, she honestly didn’t expect he’d pick up at all.

Yet pick up he did. Connie still doesn’t believe she possesses the vocabulary to properly describe the strange vibes she read from him during all that. He seemed... off. Overly chipper, perhaps. Deliberately evasive.

The disturbingly glitched plea for help came a few minutes past that encounter. Next, the news that he’d disappeared. Her review session dragged along at a snail’s pace after that.

By noon, she couldn’t bear the insufferable burden of so many unknowns anymore. Forget finalizing all her notecards for that stupid AP biology exam, her best friend could be in trouble! Who on Earth can focus on studying with peril like that hanging over their head? She doesn’t want to wait at the sidelines for updates, she wants to help! So she grabbed her shoes, slung her sword’s scabbard over her back, and set off to Beach City on Lion, who had thankfully been snoozing in her backyard the whole past day. And that, as they say, is history.

“Yeah, I was talking to him, like... just a few minutes before he sent that text!” Connie explains to two of Steven’s guardians, gently petting the cotton candy mane of the magical lion resting in the sand next to her. He offers a content rumble under the comfort of her touch. The affection is admittedly rather reassuring, considering the whole troubling pickle they’re all in right now.

“And he didn’t seem to be in any immediate peril?” Pearl asks, tracing abstract patterns in the sand.

“No,” she says, tilting her head as she considers what she recalls about that strange conversation. “Well... not any physical peril. He did hang up pretty fast, though.”

“So he’s been avoiding you, too, then,” Amethyst— keeping Steven’s favorite jacket warm— mutters glumly, twirling one of her fingers through a long strand of her hair.

“Um...” Connie can’t help but cringe as the unpleasant rollercoaster of emotions she’s had to experience throughout the last week suddenly rears its ugly head again. “It’s kinda complicated. I’m not really sure how much I should say, or if I should say anything, y’know? Some of it’s personal.”

Amethyst offers a laugh and tries to give her a teasing noogie, which she deftly pulls away from. “If it’s about that whole proposal thing, trust me, we know.”

She flushes deep, gaze dropping to her lap. “I, uh... that’s part of it.”

At Pearl’s gentle request, she tells them both about Steven’s picnic date, and about his trip to the hospital two days later. About his issue with glowing pink and swelling, something which the Gems reveal they’ve witnessed, too. Her recounting of how he nearly wrecked an entire check-up room and shattered the windows with naught but a raised voice seems to particularly catch Amethyst’s attention, however, causing her to ask a good few follow-up questions. Connie chooses not to pry about it then, but she recognizes the look of a detective with a lead when she sees it.

She waits until they’re alone about a half hour later to ask.

“I dunno,” Amethyst shrugs in response to her query, gripping a snow-cone in her hand, “it’s just that... the others have been pretending like the wreckage to the house and everything Steven’s been dealing with lately are two entirely separate things, but... the more I think about it, the more I can’t believe they are. And for me, what you told us ‘bout the hospital kinda just sells it.”

Connie frowns pensively, crossing her arms across her chest. “I can see how he might’ve wrecked the house by swelling too big, but... what about the clawed footprints? The roar?”

The quartz’s gaze shifts towards the ocean horizon, her expression hardening into something unreadable.

“Well, I have my suspicions... and my fears. Just no way to prove ‘em yet.”

[thicctails]

Summer of Whump Day 11 [Whipping/Branding]

I took this one WAY farther than it was meant to be taken. I’m sorry Omega babey I promise I’ll never do something this bad again :(

Ω

  It had happened at the worse possible time.

 Upon waking up after her encounter with the Quill Stalker, Omega had found that she had been returned to the ship. Tech was looking her over, asking of she felt dizzy or nauseous. She hadn’t, but even after she’d told him such, he had insisted on staying with her. He had been tense, and he kept looking around, like he expected something to attack him. When Rex came around the corner holding his blaster, he twitched back a bit. She could feel the stress he was feeling, and it had made her nervous as well.

 “You feeling better, kiddo?” Rex had asked.

 “Y-yeah, I’m alright. Are you staying with us?” She’d questioned.

 “Not for long. We’re headed to Bracca to find a Jedi cruiser. Once we’re done there, I’ll be off.” He’d explained.

 “A Jedi cruiser? Why do you need to find one of those?” Omega had asked, sitting up.

 “Rex is going to help us remove the inhibitor chips. They are… more of a threat than we previously thought.” Tech had said, shifting uncomfortably.

 Omega had looked at Tech, than at Rex, then back at Tech. The younger clone was clearly becoming more and more stressed and uncomfortable the longer Rex was in the room, and she had realized that she could pick up prickles of fear in Tech. Her eyes had flicked to Rex’s blaster, and she had realized that Tech thought that Rex might shoot him. That hadn’t made any sense to her, Wrecker had said that Rex was their friend, and why would a friend harm them?

 She hadn’t felt any warning buzzing, so she had merely put on a smile and placed a hand on Tech’s arm, causing his attention to shift to her.

 “That’s good! It means that the Empire can’t ever control you.” She’d said, which had made him smile.

 The air in the ship had never lost its tense feeling as they flew to a dusty, scrap-covered planet. Omega hadn’t even wanted to think about the number of ways they could all get tetanus as they made their way through the ship scrap yard. They had slunk out of view of some Scrapper Guild members, entered the ship, and started up the technology that they would need to remove the chips.

 And that is where everything went to shit.

 That oh so familiar shriek in the back of her mind had been her only warning. Confused, she’d looked around, trying to figure out where the sudden danger was coming from. Everything seemed fine, Tech was working on Wrecker while Rex and Hunter tried to usher her out of the room as they talked. She’d hesitated, then turned to tell Hunter about her feeling.

 “W-wrecker!”

 Omega spun, her eyes going wide at the impossible sight before her. Wrecker had Tech by the throat, lifting the man off the ground as he struggled for air.

 “You’re in direct violation of Order 66.” Wrecker’s voice was cold, so unlike his usual chipper tone. Omega became cold all over as Wrecker threw Tech against the wall, the younger clone crashing to the ground in a heap. His blaster slid across the floor, right in front of Wrecker.

 The events following that moment went by in a blur. Hunter had grabbed her, pulling her behind cover as the sound of blaster fire exploded into the room. Her ears rang as her heart began to beat wildly. She couldn’t understand. Wrecker’s chip wasn’t supposed to activate!

 Hunter had told her to stay with Tech, and while she was glad she had managed to save Hunter from being killed by his own brother, she was now finding herself in the most terrifying chase of her life.

     Omega panted, slinking back farther into the shadows. She shivered, griping the blaster with more force than what was necessary. Somehow, she’d managed to dodge Wrecker long enough to end up in the cruiser’s lower levels. Sweat poured down her face and neck, and she took a second to wipe some of the liquid out of her eyes. It was hot down here, steam bursting out through cracks in the floor. It seemed that this ship laid atop some sort of steam vent, and Omega took care to avoid the places that the steam hissed through. She knew that steam was water that was very, very hot, and so that touching it would hurt.

 Wrecker’s heavy footsteps echoed out into the open space, the degrading metal floor groaning a bit under his weight. Omega cowered back, holding her breath as he passed by. Luckily, she was on his blind side, so he didn’t see her. His face was pulled into a serious frown, his brown eyes void of any light as he scanned the room. Wrecker had always been a fun, reliable protector to Omega, and despite his size, she’d always felt completely safe with him. That feeling of security was gone now, shot dead point blank. Terror replaced it, and she felt something unfamiliar sitting heavily in her chest. The emotion was a mix of shock, anger, and deep sadness. She hated it.

 A burst of steam broke through a crack in the floor in front of her, causing her to yelp and stumble back. Omega scrambled to her feet, tears that had been steadily building spilling out as the hulking clone turned towards her.

 “Wrecker,” She started, quickly darting to the side as Wrecker stomped towards her, “Wrecker please stop! This isn’t you!”

 “All rouge clones will be terminated.” Wrecker snarled, reaching out to grab her.

 Omega raised the blaster, her hands shaking as she pointed it at Wrecker. Tears blurred her vision, and her voice broke as she pleaded with the man.

 “Just- just stop! I don’t wanna have to hurt you!” She kept backing up, not sure if she would actually be able to take the shot. This was Wrecker, he was family.

 The choice was violently ripped away from her as the enhanced clone gripped the blaster and threw it aside. Omega stared up at Wrecker, her shiny brown eyes wide and pleading. Her previous words had no effect on the clone, however, and she quickly found herself unable to breathe. Her throat muscles burned under the crushing force, and she kicked wildly, her minuscule leg muscles not allowing her to do any damage to the hulking giant. She was too panicked to try and call out to the Force, and thus was left to claw at Wrecker’s hand. She tried to speak, to once again attempt to reason with her mind-controlled guardian, but the pressure on her windpipe was too great, and she could only silently move her lips. Wrecker was still walking forward, and she could feel the air behind her getting hotter and hotter, the sound of hissing steam just barely audible over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. She thrashed, her lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.

 Then, without warning, she was slammed against the metal wall. The pain was immediate, and Omega actually managed to force out a choked squeak as she screamed. The scorching metal burned through her shirt easily, leaving her back exposed to its monstrous heat. Her skin split, blistering under the touch of the boiling steam. Blood sizzled against the red-hot steel of the ship, splattering up onto her burning flesh.

 Omega’s pupils were pinpricks in a sea of caramel, the black dots nearly lost to the colour. She was beyond panic at this point, beyond any form of rational thinking. Her body was in survival mode, and it screamed out to the Force, reacting as soon as the power was summoned. Wrecker flew back, the armored man smashing into the wall across the room. No longer supported, Omega dropped, her seizing body hitting the floor with a thud.

 She lay there, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Her brain was having a meltdown, not sure if it could feel the pain, or if the nerves in her back had been melted away. Breathing took a great amount of effort, and Omega saw spots of black and deep cyan dance in her vision. The only sound she heard was the ringing in her ears, loud and unyielding. She couldn’t lift her head, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.

 Wrecker shifted, but she didn’t notice. Her mind was elsewhere, shutting itself down in a desperate attempt to preserve Omega’s psyche. The tank of a human shook his head, glaring at the quaking child. He got to his feet, a trail of blood dripping down over his blind eye. He stepped forward, ready to finish the job.

 Bam!

 Wrecker saw nothing but darkness, only just aware of the fact that he was now falling forward.

   Rex stood in the doorway, freezing up in shock at the sight of Omega. He dropped his blaster and ran over to her, hands hovering above her broken form. There was blood everywhere, the floor beneath the girl stained red. What parts of her back that weren’t covered in blisters were burnt black or pulsing an angry red. The smell of burnt flesh made him want to vomit, but he swallowed his gorge as he tried to figure out how to help. Disturbingly, Omega was still awake, her eyes blown wide as she shuddered uncontrollably.

 “Oh kriff, oh kriff.” He said, his hands shaking as he gently touched Omega’s shoulder. The sight of a young child being so brutally injured made him feel sick. For a brief second, he saw another young girl laying on the metal floor, one that he knew far better than Omega. He shook his head. No. She was safe, and Omega needed his full attention.

 It was the middle of her back that was the most damaged, with the area just below her neck and her most lower back being mostly untouched, minor burns spotting the skin around the edges. Carefully, Rex positioned his arms so that he was only touching the unburned skin. He lifted Omega up, holding the injured child as gently as possible.

 “It’s okay, ad'ika. You’re safe now, I promise.” He soothed, quickly moving out of the room. Wrecker wouldn’t be stunned forever, so he needed to get Omega somewhere safe so that he could administer the sedative. Glancing down, he saw that Omega had, thankfully, passed out. Whether it was from pain, shock, or pure exhaustion, he didn’t know, but it was better that she wasn’t awake right now.

    Hunter groaned, bringing a hand to his head. His neck felt like it had been stepped on by an obese bantha on all sides, and he rubbed the sore muscles. How had-

 He shot up. Wrecker’s chip had activated, he’d drawn his brother away, he’d been choking, then Omega had…!

 “OMEGA!” He yelled, jumping off the medical cot he’d been lying on. He whipped his head around, searching for the little girl. Panic seized him when he couldn’t find her, his mind automatically assuming the worst.

 ‘Oh, Maker. Oh, Maker NO! She’s dead! She’s dead and it’s my fault! I couldn’t protect her! I-’

 “Hunter!”

 Rex’s voice broke him out of his hysteria. The commander raised his hands, speaking to Hunter like one would a wounded animal.

 “Easy, soldier. Omega’s alive. Wrecker too.” He said calmly.

 Hunter breathed, his panic ebbing away for a moment, before he realized that Rex had worded his statement oddly.

 “Is Omega alright?” He asked immediately, narrowing his eyes when Rex didn’t respond right away. “You said that she was alive, but is she alright, Rex?”

 The blonde clone looked away. Hunter’s stomach dropped.

 “No.” He said, his eyes widening. “No, no,no,no! She’s just- Wrecker wouldn’t- where is she?! What happened?!”

 “Easy, Hunter.” Rex said. “Calm down.”

 “NO!” He roared, protective instincts surging through him. “Where is she?!”

 “I’m not telling you anything until you calm down! Don’t make me stun you, Hunter!” Rex shouted right back.

 Fuming, Hunter reluctantly sat down. He growled under his breath, his gaze sharp as he eyed Rex. While the man was one of his vode, he was withholding information regarding Omega’s well being, which pissed him off to no end.

 “Thank you. I’m sorry, Hunter, but I had to be sure that your fight with Wrecker didn’t activate your chip.” Rex’s face softened, like he understood Hunter’s anger and anxiety. “Omega is in a safe room nearby. She needed to be treated with bacta as soon as possible. Luckily, some of the medical cabinets still had supplies.”

 “Bacta? Why the hell would she need that?” Hunter asked, worry making his brow wrinkle.

 “Omega managed to get all the way down to the cruiser’s lower levels before Wrecker caught up to her. I got there before he could kill her, but not before he managed to… to…” Rex shook his head, and Hunter felt his blood turn to ice. “Hunter, you have to understand. The chip takes away all of your control. You can’t stop it, no matter how hard you try.”

 “Before he managed to what?” Hunter growled.

 “Before he managed to shove her against burning metal. The steam and hot steel caused severe damage to her back. We’re looking at third, maybe forth degree burns.” Rex finished.

 Hunter blanched, suddenly feeling nauseous and cold. He’d been burned before, the blaster bolt scars on his back and arms were there to prove it. However, those were only second degree burns, and he had been put into a bacta tank as soon as possible. To imagine Omega going through even greater pain made him burn with anger. If he ever managed to get his hands on the people that had put the chips in their heads, he’d make sure they died a slow, painful death.

 “Oh, Maker.” He said, pinching the space between his eyes. “Oh, Maker why? Why is it always her?”

 “Do you want to see her? I need to stay here until Tech and Echo wake up, but I’ll take you to her.” Rex asked, his voice quiet.

 “Yes. Yes, please.” Hunter said quickly, following Rex as he led him towards a little medical bay. He moved inside immediately, pausing when he saw a curled up Omega. Most of the back of her shirt had been cut away, and a generous helping of bacta had been applied to an ugly burn. Hunter couldn’t bare to look at the injury for long, and instead moved to drag a chair close to the medical cot Omega was lying on. As Rex returned to his brothers, Hunter ran a hand through Omega’s hair.

 “Oh, ik'aad. Fate owes you an apology and a break.” He rasped, touching his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

 He pulled back slightly, his hand still petting her head soothingly. He felt his eyes mist slightly, and he quickly rubbed the tears away. No. He couldn’t break down now, not when Omega needed him. When his aliit needed him.

 He racked his memory for some idea of what he should do to provide Omega with some form of comfort. He recalled seeing parents sing to their children sometimes, so he tried to think of a song. He didn’t know many, so he simply hummed one that he had heard a dad sing to his three children on one of his missions. His throat rumbled as he hummed, aching as he made it vibrate. He ignored it, willing to be in a bit of pain if it meant that there was a chance that Omega would find some comfort from it.

    Hunter remained there until Rex came to get him for is chip removal, quietly humming any tune that he could make up. He hesitated, not wanting to leave Omega alone.

 “Come on, buir. She’ll be okay, Tech is going to stay with her.” Rex’s voice held a note of teasing, and Hunter flushed a bit.

 “I’m not-” He started, but paused when Rex rolled his eyes.

 “Don’t try and deny it. You acted like a mother narglatch who’s baby had been threatened a few hours ago.” He said.

 Hunter sputtered, but Rex just jerked his thumb towards the space behind him. “Come on, let’s get that chip out.”

          Crosshair lowered his rifle, watching as the two Scrapper Guild members fell into a pit of jagged, twisted metal. Making his way up a fallen wire, he climbed up into the Jedi cruiser. He’d been sent here when a sudden chip activation had been reported.

 It seemed his brothers weren’t as immune as they had previously thought.

[enby-enderdragon]

i know you asked for one life or hermitcraft but you did take a harmony hollow suggestion SO “loving you, was never the right thing for me to do” for shubble and graser?

A/N: Okay, so I don’t do romantically shipping stuff even with “personas”, but platonic love and queerplatonic marriages are pog so this is qp bc I say so. Also, that prompt list that you’re asking this from is one I reblogged, like, a year ago, Anon ctfygvhbjknl- I’m still gonna do this tho bc HH my beloved

It was the last night of the season.

Two young adults lie together in bed, the room filled with the sounds of hooting owls and chirping crickets and soft breathing.

Shelby had spent so much time on this house, built it from the ground up with her two bare hands so that Will and Liam could move into their old place. And what did Graser do during that? He hung out with friends and changed all of the furnishings without telling her and destroyed the last things they had of their daughter’s-

The redhead sighs, her frustration and exasperation catching up to her as she stares up at the popcorn ceiling for the last sleepless night here.

The bed shifts slightly.

“Shelbs?” A rumbly voice asks.

Shelby looks over, meeting the sleepy and blearily blinking robotic eyes of her husband.

“Go back to sleep, Graser.” Shelby says. She rolls over, her back facing Graser. She can’t help a small flinch when the bed creaks under Graser’s weight as he sits up and a hand presses against the small of her back, the chill of the metal able to be felt through her thin pajama top.

“C’mon, Shelby, you can talk to me.” Graser says softly.

Shelby takes a long minute or two of silence and Graser doesn’t say anything, simply letting her figure out her words,

“I was just thinking... Y’know, about us.” She eventually says, her voice barely a whisper as she sits up slowly, drawing a portion of their duvet close and over her shoulders.

Graser doesn’t like the sound of that tone.

“It’s just... Tomorrow is the end of season two. I’m not sticking around for season three, I’ve got my own SMP to work on. After we leave, nothing we’ve done here will matter anymore. This house won’t matter, our memories of Grace won’t matter, our damn marriage won’t matter!” Shelby’s voice had started as tentative and low, as if afraid to admit her emotions, but as she continued to speak, she grew louder until she ended in a half-shout, her hands in her lap curling into slightly trembling fists.

Graser flinches back a bit at her raised voice, but he gently sets a hand on Shelby’s knee to try to calm her.

“That’s not true. Shelby, we’ve lived an entire life together in this season. As long as we can remember it, everything will be worth it. Its right and it will always matter.” He murmurs. Its so strange to hear overly-chipper and bombastic Graser’s voice so soft and soothing.

Shelby’s fists clench harder, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. Her eyes snap up, a deep unidentifiable glinting in the golden amber and her upper lip curls into a small sneer.

“Loving you, was never the right thing for me.” She snaps coldly as she unceremoniously shoves Graser’s touch off of her.

The moment those words come tumbling from her mouth, Shelby is retreating, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and dropping the duvet. Before Graser even has a second to respond, she’s slipping on a pair of slippers and ducking out the bedroom.

Graser shakes his head physically to draw himself out of his shocked stupor and he finds himself following after his wife, his heavy footsteps clanging metallically in a juxtaposition to Shelby’s soft padding even as she stalks angrily towards the staircase.

“Shelby, wait!” Graser tries, but no luck. Shelby simply ignore him and continues on her mission. She doesn’t even bother walking down the stairs, simply sitting on the spiral banister and sliding down with the ease of someone who’s done it hundreds of times.

Graser curses and clumsily hobbles his way down to the first floor, cursing his robotic form not for the first time.

“Please, you didn’t mean that!” He calls out as he stumbles down the last few steps.

The front door is hanging wide open, letting in the chilled night time autumn wind. Outside, Shelby stands on the front porch, her head buried in her hands as she takes deep but ragged breathes. At the sound of Graser’s voice, she stiffens.

“Yes, I did!” She exclaims as she turns on her heel to meet face to face with Graser. There’s a deep glare set on her face, her brow furrowed and a small glow of pure anger in her eyes. “You’ve caused me nothing but grief since we’ve gotten married! You killed me so many times! You never helped out around the house! YOU KILLED OUR DAUGHTER!”

There’s a pregnant pause as Graser’s facial expression fills with regret as Shelby pants from her outburst, the toll of letting out her bottled emotions affecting her physically. However, as Graser opens his mouth to defend himself, Shelby gives him no time.

“I don’t want your excuses of ‘you were doing your best’ or whatever you think will get you out of trouble. I don’t want it. This is the last day we will be married. I want a divorce before we leave the server tomorrow.” Shelby’s voice is disturbingly calm for how angry she had been just a few moments prior. A shiver runs down Graser’s spine.

He simply nods and Shelby seems to relax, if only slightly.

“I’m going to Will and Liam’s house for the night. Good night, Graser.” The redhead sighs.

Graser blinks and its like a switch had been flipped. Shelby looks so... Exhausted. And defeated.

“Good night, Shelby.”

[ancientechos]

gravity. cuddling up to a loved one when they are too tired to see straight.

Rest prompts (closed)

Thank you for the prompt @ink-dreams-ffxiv !

So, admittedly??? I kind of cheated. This is a direct sequel to the previous prompt, fog. But it can be read on its own just fine I guess? So don’t feel pressured to read that too (or any of them at all actually aaaaAAA)

________

Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 1441 words ♡ ShB [spoilers for end of expac]

Previous

Arianna’s mouth feels terribly dry, as if full of sand and grit. That’s the first thing she’s aware of as consciousness slowly returns to her -- then the awful weight in her head, as if she were carrying the entire contents of the Crystarium library within it.

It’s a struggle to open her eyes, though when she does, she immediately squeezes them shut. The light in the room is all but blinding. Despite the hollowness in her stomach, she attempts to throw herself to the side and bury her face in the pillow.

But movement is -- difficult. Almost disturbingly so. Were she in possession of more of her mental faculties, she would probably be alarmed by the sluggishness with which she endeavours to lift her arm.

As it is, she merely wants to sink back into sleep. She can’t even remember what she was dreaming of --

“Ah, you are awake. Wonderful.”

The voice is far too close for comfort, and much too loud besides, though she can’t find the willpower to move away. Instead, she decides to pretend she cannot hear Emet-Selch --

...

Hades...

A cough leaves her as she struggles into a sitting position. Her arms feel floppy and useless, and she gives up as her palms slide against the soft sheets. Hades carefully pulls her up by her shoulders, bringing her to sit up against a deluge of pillows behind her.

Whatever her misgivings, her green eyes crack open. Her head lolls back as she squints to look up at the Ascian. He stands at her bedside, leaning over her slightly, his hands still upon her. He seems...hale and whole...even his robes are devoid of any tears...

“You are...all right...w-what about...”

“Your friends? Are fine. Even your Exarch.” He leans away, and, with a flick of his wrist -- no finger snaps this time -- he materialises a tall glass of water. She’s immediately reminded of her parched throat. Before she can think to reach for it, he presses it carefully to her mouth, his other hand supporting the back of her skull as her head tilts back to drink.

Too exhausted to feel flustered by his actions or even question them, Arianna simply sips at the water. Before long, she’s emptied half the glass, and for the moment at least, she feels satisfied. Satisfied enough to go back to sleep without that feeling of sand in her mouth. Once she pulls away, Hades places the glass upon the side table with a pleased hum.

Eyes sliding shut almost immediately, she makes to shift down the bed, her head nestling against the pillows as she slowly relaxes entirely.

“Now, though, I’m afraid it’s time for you to get up.”

The mere words are enough for her stomach to twist unpleasantly at the prospect, her dark eyebrows furrowing in irritation. Can’t he see how tired she is?

“No.” Grogginess makes her belligerent, the insistent drag of her eyelids begging her to ignore the absolutely obnoxious man. Whilst normally she would at the very least find his voice pleasant, it grates on her ears like chalk.

He always wishes to sleep. The one time she acquiesces without an onze of complaint, and he has the gall to refuse her.

The Ascian scoffs a laugh. “That should be my line, my dear. I’m afraid I cannot simply let you sleep. And regrettably for you, you’ll find I’m quite adept at keeping you awake.”

Arianna has no intention of believing him, nor listening to him. Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut stubbornly, turning her head to the side. He takes the opportunity to tap upon her cheek. The motion has her brows scrunching further. Unfortunately, exhaustion and crankiness make her easier to annoy than she’d like.

Though she doesn’t open her eyes, she does exhale loudly. “Why...?”

For once, his chipper tone vexes her thoroughly. His weight sinks into the mattress as he sits upon the edge of the bed. “Well, firstly, let’s see...you haven’t eaten in several suns, if I’m not mistaken. Nor have you drank anything...asides from the water. Alas, these mortal bodies of yours are quite fond of both food and drink.”

I think I will be fine for a few more suns, she wants to say, though she knows without speaking that he won’t be especially convinced.

“And I promise that once you eat, you can go back to sleep.”

The words are as seductive as a demon’s purr. It takes a moment for her to summon the energy to reply.

“...All right.”

She strains to look at his expression for a moment. He seems pleased, though his smile is --

It reminds her a little of that sad smile, though it isn’t especially...sorrowful now. Simply...light.

Once she’s sitting up comfortably again, the Ascian snaps his fingers, producing a plate with a sandwich cut into small pieces. “Allow me.” Without waiting for a response, though she has no desire to argue anyhow, he neatly picks one up and lifts it to her mouth. When she doesn’t take it immediately, he prods the corner of her lips with it, earning a twitch of her brow.

It’s small enough to not have to bite it, thankfully. Arianna simply chews silently as he waits with the next piece. With the silence blanketing them, she can simply turn her mind off...

“You used nearly all your aether to fix me. I’m frankly surprised you could at all...”

She really does hope he does not expect her to respond.

“Why did you do it?”

Of course he does.

She doesn’t want to think about it, about any of it. It’s not even a principle of running away, figuratively or literally. She is simply too tired to consider anything critically. Her head hurts, and merely moving her jaw to eat feels like a chore. She should probably be finding the sandwich delicious, but as it is it is simply a nuisance she has to deal with. She doesn’t want another on top of that.

Not to mention the question itself...

The bond, whilst in principle seeming easier to speak with, uses aether...which is not something she particularly wants to expend now, minute the amount is. Unfortunately, she supposes she will simply have to speak aloud. Writing isn’t an activity she wants to indulge in. Perhaps she can simply feign chewing until he forgets the question.

Alas, Hades may be old, but inattentive he is not. Rather than offer her the next bite, he waits.

Arianna’s mouth twists indecisively as she considers her reply...though truthfully there is nothing to really consider. And saying it aloud should be nothing...

The faster she says it, the faster she can sleep...

“I...did not want you to die...Hades...”

He looks as if he might be about to reply, until she says that name. He stops stock still, the sandwich piece suspended in the air. His eyes widen slightly as he stares at her, motionless

Then a quiet laugh leaves him as he exhales. “How I have waited for you to say that...”

The smile upon his face is fond as he finally brings the next piece of food to her. Silence fills the room once more; neither make an attempt to fill it.

She feels somehow lighter. She’s not sure if it’s because the void in her stomach has slowly been filled, or because of something else.

“Good.” He sounds utterly satisfied. “You’ve finished it all.” Putting the plate beside the now-empty glass -- of tea, this time -- he regards her for a moment. Then he gently brushes his fingers along her temple and down her cheek, pushing her dark hair from her face. “Now, as promised, you may sleep to your heart’s content.”

Wordlessly, he helps her back down against the bed onto her back, finally letting her sink into it. Arianna’s green eyes flutter shut, before opening once again when she senses him sliding onto the bed next to her. Pulling her against him with a pleased hum, he fusses with the pillows and comforter a moment before finally settling.

Blinking blankly, she grasps gently at the arm slung across her. Her eyes slide heavily closed as she turns to touch her forehead to his chest. Like gravity, the sleepy lightheadedness returns and pulls her toward him, something solid.

She finally summons the energy to mumble a word of thanks. He shushes her with a light touch to the back of her head, and she finally drifts off to sleep.

[moonlitwordsandlilies]

in the details with the devil

the pastel yellow canaries chipper song surrounded Caleb.  slowly breaking down into an almost hellish symphony of unrelenting, taunting. Even the sun seemed to burn and scorn him on what normally would be an almost perfect day but today clearly wasn’t going to be normal nor perfect. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Her once again and his heart dropped into the cracked weed riddled sidewalk beneath him. An all-consuming sense of panic flooded him as his legs cut through the air in a desperate attempt to flee.

Whatever was following him lingered like a shadow. A pale, ungodly tall shadow. With hair the color of dried blood almost touching the dull ground at the same time it seemed to frame a pair of pitch-black eyes.   There was something disturbingly wrong about Her. Caleb was unsure if it was the air of refinement seeping through her every movement or the look of cold hunger in her eyes that could only belong to a predator stalking their prey.

Was this death slowly getting ready to make its move or was this something else entirely. That thought stayed in his mind like a thorn in his side.

Without realizing it his legs felt weak as his nerve endings started screaming fierily. He had to put an end to this game of cat and mouse, but how?  

Caleb’s answer came not in the form of a sanctuary but instead the glossy warm brown walls of Mc. Thistle’s book emporium. Caleb crashed into the rickety wooden door so hard for a second, he swore the small bell-shaped glass panel built into the wood almost shattered.  The door gave way dramatically leading to Caleb slipping and falling like an old cartoon character before landing on the hardwood floor with a sickening thud. Panic still clung to him as he forced his now aching body upwards. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he dashed to the very end of the store making the hundred or so identical mahogany bookshelves blur past.

Pushing the faces of the startled customers out of his mind, instead Caleb focused on his hallow footsteps and the hair standing up on the back of his neck like a threatened cat. Caleb darted into the slim yet comforting alley of bookcases. Finally, he collapsed into a scrunched shaking heap as his heart slowed down to an acceptable speed. Through deep breaths a calmness appeared like an odd warm embrace that had been missing since this morning.  

The sound of books being opened, and pages being flipped with a crisp rustle filled the store. A few sun beams made almost fairy-tale like markings on the floor.  This is it. This bookstore was Caleb’s Eden even just for a few minutes longer it remained a paradise. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and in this case the end came slowly. Starting with a shift in the environment. The room became tense like a horror movie leaping off the screen. A high-pitched humming filled the spaces in-between shuttered gasps.  The world crumbled around Caleb as everything clicked fatally late.

 No. no. no. not them god not them!. Caleb’s mind screamed at him.  he should have listened it wasn’t a joke every word about the boss being the devil was true and now Caleb was going to face Satan’s own flesh and blood.  

The humming stopped making a sharp chill run up his spine. Without thinking he backed up causing books to fall like fresh rain nocking many lose pages free.

“the bible really you’re trying to scare me off that badly, I will have you know most of it is lies! I never fell” said a cold voice with a bit of a bite near the end.

“you... you... Satan spawn!” bleated Caleb.

“I was wondering how long it would take you” they paused “I’m in fact yours truly Lucifer”

All the colour drained from his face as he stared into her eyes.  His throat became dryer then sand as he toyed with the idea of death, mostly his own. For a second Caleb got up the courage to ask why lucifer was there but he knew of his unpaid debt. So instead, he choked out a “what are you”

Lucifer looked down at the shaking man only a few feet away from her. She strode towards him allowing wisps of almost golden hellfire to nip at her heal before spreading to the lose pages.

“I’m an angel. but not like the ones you know for I am an original. You see I am hell born.” her voice was proud and stronger then ever.

A soft sound filled the awkward silence, it was animalistic like a bird getting ready to soar into the sky. Soon a black mass rose from lucifer’s back like an ice burg peaking out of the sea, it all blended together blocking everything in Caleb’s eyesight except for lucifer, like huge inky silk curtains. There was something alluring about it though as if he were in a daze but the longer, he gazed the more the blob took shape into four pairs of thick midnight-black wings; every feather was perfectly groomed. Unfazed by the spectacle she just put on, Lucifer let out the same bone chilling hum as before.

Caleb found this hum oddly comforting, and motherly with a frosty touch to it.  If this was the last thing he heard, it seemed fitting as if it were deaths lullaby luring him to the eternal slumber that awaited. A second sound joined, the humming turning it into an orchestra of sorts. The sound was the slithering of a dark emerald, green snake longer than both of his arms combined.  There where whispers of spoken words between pet and master and Caleb heard a single name Apple. Then the snakes focus snapped back him to with a killer look in their eyes before it spilled down her arms and shoulders like liquid metal.  before Caleb could blink a cold leathery feeling wrapped around him getting tighter gradually. A shrill hacking sound filled the room as a pale-yellow canary’s feather fell from the snake’s wide-open mouth.  

 “you know. Angels are like canaries, pretty little songbirds trapped in a grand cage although, two birds managed to break free of that cage. but don���t worry about that you’ll meet them very very soon. “Lucifer half mused half declared.

With that time slowed down as Caleb’s last moments came and went. Ending with a single snap followed by a painful squeeze and pop.

Everything went black and weightless ...

[alixsgardenofnope]

What The Music Does: To You, To Me pt.2

Back with part two of this.

[Warnings before heading in: Descriptions of a manic episode of sorts, mentions of a past injuries (not described), and generally just a rough time over all.]

With this in mind, please proceed at your own discretion.

. . . . . . Ever since MC-473 had come into view, Meouch had felt an uneasiness coursing through his veins, but he refused to let it shake his concentration as he eased off the controls and let the ship drift down onto the landing pad, its belly stopping just before making contact with the concrete.

Shutting down the drive functions and securing the drift locking system, Meouch took a moment to look at the rest of the crew. Sung, who had been talking his ear off since their departure that morning, had grown quiet as he moved about the cockpit, checking the displays and recording the readings in a little black book, why he refused to move his notes to a laptop was beyond him.

Swiveling around in his seat and undoing his harness, Meouch caught sight of Phobos standing in one of the observation bays, his back to the group as he stared out at the surface. Meouch stood, prepared to join him, when he saw Havve approaching the other man, drawing him from his thoughts.

He didn't miss the little jump as Phobos turned to look at him, or the brief glimpse of... something on his eyes when he pulled away.

Meouch shook his head, it was none of his business what was going on in that guy's head, besides, Havve was already there. He could handle it.

As they did their initial scan of the planet's surface, Sung had taken it upon himself to keep him company as the other two lagged behind, checking the outbuildings for any signs of life. Meouch didn't really see the point in checking, the ship's readings had come back clean, MC-473 was abandoned after all, the only signs of civilization being the things that were too big or cumbersome to take back when the mining company that had owned the planet pulled the plug on its operations decades ago.

Tail swishing behind him agitatedly, Meouch had let out a little annoyed huff when he turned to ask Havve a question, only to find both him and Phobos still together on the landing pad. Thankfully, Sung calls them over in a chipper tone, saying something about getting eaten by a lizard monster, and the group carries on.

Bringing them to now.

As Meouch looks out at the crystal sea, he's hit with a lingering sense of deja Vu, which pairs disturbingly with the song his companions had been singing up until he'd asked them to stop because it was scaring him.

Placing his hand on his belt, feeling for his gun holster, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a bit safer knowing that if things go south, if there really are weird lizard monsters, he can at least fight back.

Turning to face the others again, he purses his lips at the sight of Havve and Phobos once again falling behind. This isn't normal behavior for either of them, especially not for Phobos, whose sense of duty as a soldier usually results in him standing at the front of the line with Sung, playing bodyguard.

As he stares at them, Havve shoots him a look, unreadable beneath the mask and Meouch hears a click in his left ear as a comlink opens up, filling his head with a beat of fizzling static before a familiar voice mutters lowly, "Don't let Sung get too far ahead."

Meouch frowns and scoffs, "Sung is a big boy he can take care of himself." 

Still, he reaches out and grabs the tether trailing off the back of Sung's suit, which is there for exactly that reason, and tugs it twice to keep the doctor from straying too far.

Havve hums approvingly and the link closes. 

Looking down at the lead in his hands, Meouch frowns,  thinking about the other reason for the tether as Sung turns to him, giving him a questioning look, his good eye narrowing as he quirks his brows. 

"Am I too close to the edge?" He asks, gesturing ahead of them at the ridge leading into the valley, it's maybe ten feet ahead of them right now, but to Sung, Meouch knows, the drop off is a lot farther away

Meouch nods, motioning for him to step back in line with him. Once Sung is situated, Meouch glances back yet again, relieved to see that Havve and Phobos have caught up, falling in line behind Sung.

Phobos is looking around and hopping slightly on his feet as they stand still. 

‘Leave it to dog boy to get the zoomies while on a mission.’

Meouch snorts and moves the group forward, keeping a wide berth around the ridge, Sung's hand on his shoulder.

As they reach the bottom, finding themselves amidst a forest of towering crystals and twisting trees with oddly shaped leaves, Meouch signals from the group to circle up.

"The path up ahead seems narrow." He says, "Too tight for us, let alone the rover to have gone through."

"I don't wanna risk getting stuck in there either, so if we're going to proceed, we're gonna have to go around.  Personally, I'm getting an itchy feeling just being here..." He admits, then adding, "What do you guys think?"

"I want to stay." Phobos says, his tone light and happy in a way that makes Meouch's fur stand on end, "I like it here."

Sung first hums in agreement, but then shakes his head roughly, "No." He says, "We have to go, something is wrong."

“I want to stay.” Phobos repeats stubbornly, shifting on his feet in the direction of the forest, but Havve is quick to reach out and grip his arm.

“Let go!” he yelps, trying and failing to violently pull himself from Havve’s grasp, Havve’s hand acts like a vice though, and his legs remain firmly planted on the ground, “I have to go! I have to go in there, you understand?! You can hear it right??” 

Sung shudders beside Meouch, bringing his hands up to his ears, eyes watering painfully, “...We have to go. NOW.”

Despite the protests of Phobos, who only grows more frantic as the distance between the crystal forest becomes greater, and the occasional faltering steps of Sung, the group makes it back onto the landing pad, tired and out of breath, but otherwise physically fine.

Emotionally however...

“Eughh... I can’t... I can’t freaking see anything.” Sung whines once they’re back on the ship, hovering outside of MC-473’s airspace, wiping his eyes with a tissue, “They just won’t stop.” 

Meouch pats Sung on the back, wincing slightly when they hear a shrieking sound from another room.

“Seriously, fuck that place.” Meouch mutters, clenching his free hand into a fist, “Those crystals must have been radiating some kind of weird energy, and that song...”

Sung finishes rubbing his eyes and blinks before replying, “It’s possible. Crystals of that size have to have been created using a lot of power, and Phobos did touch-”

“No, he was acting weird even before we landed.” Meouch interrupts, then pauses, gritting his teeth, “...You could feel it, right? That he was off?”

Sung tilts his head and then frowns, “...When he got closer, I felt...” he rolls his hand in front of him, trying to come up with the right words, “...Distress, misery, longing... MC-473 means something to Phobos. I can feel it here.” he slaps his chest.

“If it means something to him, why didn’t he mention it when the name came up in the mission report?” Meouch questions, flinching when he hears another cry, this time more subdued and a little less unhinged.

“MC-473 has only been known as that for a short time, before that, there’s no details on its history... Researchers think it may have been part of a larger pl...” Sung’s voice trails off, “...Meouch, do you remember what Phobos’ homeworld looked like?”

A chill runs up Meouch’s spine. 

His memories of Phobos’ planet are hazy, largely because he smacked his head pretty hard hauling ass out of the place, half fighting, half dragging a hysterical Phobos along with him.

“My memories are too vague...” he waves his hand in front of his face, “...but now that I think about it... Stars... Did we just bring Phobos back to... Shit.” he curses under his breath, standing slowly.

“What are you doing?” Sung asks, moving to follow him, “Havve has things under control.”

That doesn’t stop him from quickening his pace as Meouch heads through the door into the medical bay.

“I wanna go back... I wanna go back...”

Meouch bites his lip at the sound of Phobos’ whining, looking down at Sung, who is once again rubbing his eyes, “Are you good?”

Sung nods, “The sooner we get back, the sooner it’ll stop.”

Meouch hums and heads towards the sound of Phobos’ voice.

As they round a corner, Havve can be seen leaning over one of the beds, an arm firmly resting across Phobos’ chest, keeping him pinned down as the other writhes wrapped up in a blanket like a strange caterpillar. Havve looks up briefly, nodding in acknowledgement before returning his attention to their friend.

“Where... Where do you want to go back to, Phibs?” Meouch asks, “Home?”

Phobos’ eyes dart over to him and he lunges forward, stopped only by the force of Havve’s arm slamming his torso back down, “I want to go home! I want to go home!” he cries.

“We are going home, buddy.” Sung says softly, reaching out to touch him, only to have to rip his hand away as Phobos snaps at him with a growl, “Whoa... Okay, buddy, okay... Not gonna touch you.”

“Why are you taking me away?!” he wails, “Couldn’t you hear them?! They were right there!”

Meouch hisses, closing his eyes, “Fuck.”

As Phobos continues to struggle, there’s a click and Havve speaks up, “Phobos is seeing... things.” he says, looking to Meouch “...Memories...” he whispers, tapping the side of his head.

“You... When do you think he’ll snap out of it?” 

“Soon.” Havve assures him, “His heart rate is lowering and his breathing is normalizing, he’ll likely stop fighting and fall asleep soon.”

Meouch swallows a lump in his throat, “...Is he going to be okay though...?”

Havve makes an uncertain tsk with his teeth, “...I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Mn... We’ll... We should... When we get back we should talk about...” Meouch bites the inside of his cheek, “You know?”

Havve and Sung nod, and Phobos gives another whine of protest, weaker than before.

The trip home is quiet.

[howterrifying]

+molliarty: the value of things

I'd been wanting to write this story for a long time. It's one of those rare stories where I had all the plot points written very clearly from start to finish. So it was just a matter of expanding the skeleton and in doing so, I end up discovering more things about their love for each other and what they really mean to each other. This is one of the best things about writing characters you love - when they develop in ways that you never expect to find. I had not realised how deep their love could go and it honestly just made my cold dead heart sing again. x 

::

All That Glitters  [also on FF.net and AO3] The silver briefcase on Jim Moriarty’s lap would rattle ever so slightly every time the car turned a sharp corner or went over a hump a little too quickly. Every so often, Jim would casually tap his fingers atop the briefcase, as though communicating back to the stolen gems inside that they were perfectly safe in spite of the somewhat bumpy ride. “Almost there,” he murmured to himself, glancing casually out of the car window. 

The meeting place had been decided by the clients and Jim never had any problems with that. Not when he had eyes and ears everywhere anyway. The safest time to meet was always about two or three o’clock in the wee hours of the morning for such exchanges. Jim stepped out of his car, dusted his lapels out of habit and entered the brick building before him. “Nice place,” Jim said, hearing his voice echo in the spacious garment factory. “It’s a good cover for the real business,” came the voice of one of them, “I’m sure you know what I mean.” “Hmm yes, I do,” Jim replied, walking up to the small gathering of people before him. His clients were a pair – a sister and brother pair. They stood shoulder to shoulder and were flanked by two bodyguards on each side of them. “You have them?” asked the brother. “Yu-p.” answered Jim, pointing comically to the silver briefcase in his hand. “All of them?” asked the sister, taking a step forward. “With your reputation, do you think I’d take any chances?” Jim remarked with a laugh. “We like to be careful,” the sister replied sharply. “And I…like to do business properly,” Jim remarked placing his free hand on his chest. “I’m an honest businessman.” The sister glanced back at her brother and nodded. He then turned behind where it was too dark to see and snapped his fingers once. In that one snap – that one click of his thumb and middle finger – a flurry of sound and movement happened. First, Jim found that the two bodyguards of his own had been snatched and gagged. The sister and her two guards surrounded Jim and he found himself staring down the barrels of each of their guns. There was that temptation to roll his eyes or break into giggles, as was Jim’s regular reaction when he found himself in such situations. He had not spent years in the criminal underworld to not be prepared for such betrayals. “Oh my…” Jim remarked, raising his eyebrow in feigned shock. “Leave the gems,” the sister began, “And you might leave with your life intact.” “But what about my money?” Jim exclaimed in fake exasperation, theatrically putting his free palm to the side of his face. “Letting you leave with your life should be payment enough, surely,” said the sister with a smirk. Jim dropped his palm from his face and paused to look down at his perfectly shined shoes. He tapped his right foot, then the left, then the right again two more times. All eyes and ammunition remained frozen and aimed at the impossibly calm figure of Jim Moriarty. Jim Moriarty was a criminal mastermind, but more importantly – He was an honest businessman. So when he finally looked up, there were no more raised eyebrows in mock horror or theatrical jaw drops. Jim’s eyes went absolutely vacant and cold as though they were made of glass – hollow glass. “You’re not the only one with magic fingers,” he whispered, a slow grin appearing on his face. Snap. With one click of his fingers, every single member of the sister-brother team had a myriad of dancing red dots on their chests. Jim had eyes and ears everywhere, and where necessary, those eyes and ears would turn to snipers. “Not a bad exchange, I suppose,” Jim continued, “You take my life, I take all of yours. Not. Too. Shabby.” This usually did the trick. Jim waited for the usual look of mortification to form on his enemies’ faces but to his slight annoyance, there was nothing. “Counteroffer,” the sister whispered, the smirk returning to her face. It seemed Jim was not the only one who had come prepared. Out of the darkness behind the brother and his team of guards came two more of their guards and a third figure who was not a part of their team. When the three stepped out of the shadows and light hit the face of the person in the middle, it was not Jim’s jaw that dropped. It was his heart. “Molly…” Her name slipped out before he could stop himself. The sister laughed at his moment of vulnerability and clicked her tongue in disbelief. “I thought they were just rumours,” she continued, “I’m almost honoured I got to verify them.” Jim placed the briefcase down and raised his arms in an act of surrender. “Let her go,” he whispered, his teeth clenched. “Call off your people,” ordered the sister. “You heard her.” At his words, all the red lights disappeared. “Jim!” came Molly’s voice, bright and alive,and what relief it gave him. He turned to look at her and saw that although she was still cuffed and closely surrounded by two coarse-looking guards, she was smiling and more importantly, was unharmed. It puzzled him that she looked so, what was the word now – chipper? Yes, she had an inexplicable brightness in her eyes and it puzzled him. “Jim!” Molly called out to him again. “It’s so good to see you!” He snapped back to focus on her face again and tried to piece together her reaction and the current situation. “But Jim, what the hell are you doing?” she asked, almost chuckling. “Wh-what?” he frowned, puzzled this time by her question. “Call them back!” she exclaimed. Before Jim could say anything back, Molly swung her head back and knocked the teeth out of the guard behind her right shoulder. She then angled herself slightly to the left and, while propped against the struggling guard gargling his own blood and broken teeth, she kicked the second guard swiftly in his gut and then his knees, causing him to buckle to the ground. Finally free from their grip, she ran towards Jim, only to find the sister and her two guards swing away from him and point their guns at her. The brother and all the other guards around rushed forward to surround Molly, aiming their guns at her. “In case you’re wondering, I learnt that from working for Mycroft,” she exclaimed with a smirk. Again, disturbingly chipper. If Jim was being honest, wondering how she had overcome the two guards was the furthest thing from his mind. He was relieved, of course, but he had other things to focus on. “Call them back,” asked Molly again. “But Molly, you’ll—” “Trust me, Jim, just call them back!” she said, trying to look over the circle of guns for Jim’s face. His expression amused her, but she would laugh about it later. Jim cleared his throat. For the first time in his career, he felt nervous. Terribly nervous. “You heard her,” he said, complying. The dancing red dots returned, all aimed on the backs and chests of the circle of people around Molly. “Tell them to follow my cue,” Molly continued, “Can you get them to do that, Jim?” Jim blinked rapidly a few times as he processed her request. Although it was Molly who was currently handcuffed, it appeared that he was the one with his hands tied. “You heard her,” he repeated to them. In any other circumstance, Jim would have had no trouble trusting the woman he loved, but when it was her life they were gambling on, it had been a reluctant choice. It was one of those moments again where, in a split second, a lifetime of events seemed to unfold. Jim saw Molly look carefully in the eyes of all those who surrounded her before suddenly shoutingthe word NOW! When she had done so, he saw her duck and roll out from the group that surrounded her. Before he knew it, she had appeared in a heap by his feet while their enemies had collapsed onto each other, each having been shot in one fell swoop by Jim’s expert snipers. “Molly!” he exclaimed, kneeling to get to her.   “Look at your face,” she chuckled. The pair of them were now kneeling on the garment factory floor, facing each other, their noses almost touching. “Well, aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asked in a mischievous whisper. There was still a lot of shock in his system. Jim had not remembered a time when he had had so much at stake. He blinked a few times, as though to wipe out the shock from his mind, and looked intently at her. Slowly, he brought his hands to her face and pulled her in for a kiss. The moment he felt that smile of hers against his mouth, he felt himself instantly recalibrate. She was alive, she was safe and she was here, in his arms. “You should come work for me,” he said, finally able to break into a smile. “Mycroft pays better,” she chuckled. “Oh, does he now?” Jim exclaimed in mock surprise before chuckling along with her. Just then, a team of Jim’s people rushed into the building and one of them immediately came to uncuff Molly. When her hands were finally freed, she flung her arms around Jim and exhaled in relief, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Why hadn’t you tried to escape before?” Jim asked, whispering as he tightened his grip around her. It seemed the shock was now entering her system and it was his turn to help her recalibrate.   “I hadn’t dared try anything until I could see you,” she answered. “But you handled them so easily…” “I needed to be sure you were safe,” Molly continued, “When they came to get me, I wasn’t sure what they wanted with you.” Her words shook Jim. They shook him at a depth he had not realised was possible. As far as Jim was concerned, his own life was disposable. He was happy to die if was funny enough, or if it proved a point, or if it meant business could go on. To know that Molly could have died just to ensure he was safe set fire to everything he thought he knew or believed before. “You mustn’t do that again, Molly,” he whispered fiercely to her, “Certainly not for me.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Jim Moriarty,” she whispered back just as fiercely. They paused in their anger at each other and then broke into laughter again. If he could have held her any tighter, he would have. The pair of them eventually released their grip on each other and got up. Together with Molly, Jim walked over to pick up the silver briefcase. “So it seems I’ve landed myself a small fortune, free of charge,” Jim remarked in amusement. “What are you doing to do now?” asked Molly. Jim turned to her and was momentarily tempted to kiss her again but remembered she had asked a question and was expecting an answer. “I don’t know, really,” he said with a shrug. “I am in no need for any rare jewels at the moment…” “Then return them,” said Molly decisively. He paused to look at Molly again. When he saw the earnestness in her eyes, he remembered the goodness that he saw in her that he could never find in himself. Even though this very part of her was the reason they were the world’s worst match, it did not tarnish the fact that she was heaven sent in every aspect. “For you, Molly Hooper, I will,” he replied, finally stealing the kiss that had distracted him earlier.

+++

“How did you get invited to this?” Molly whispered, in awe of the grandiosity that surrounded them. “I have my ways. I lovegalas and fancy dos like this. Surely you know that, Molly,” Jim said with a smirk. It was no random gala or fancy do that they were at. Jim had, in his own way, gotten them invited to the celebration of the return of the very gems he had stolen. As they made their way through an ocean of tuxedos and couture gowns, they found themselves standing before the well-guarded, velvet-rope-surrounded glass case of said gems. “This is your first time seeing them, isn’t it?” Jim whispered to Molly. “Yes, and they really are…unspeakably gorgeous,” she whispered in awe. There was no doubt about that. Even for Jim Moriarity, who had seen his fair share of the world’s most secret treasures and wealth, he had to admit these gems reallywere something. “They catch the light in the most remarkable way,” Jim said, unable to contain his awe. “Perhaps I should have kept a few of them…” “Well, you know what they say, all that glitters is not gold. Don’t get distracted by shiny things, Jim,” said Molly with a laugh. Jim laughed too at her statement and turned to admire the slight flush in her cheeks and that glimmer in her eyes whenever she laughed. What a beautiful face, he thought to himself. “It’d have made a rather lovely necklace for you,” he said with a shrug. “I’d rather not adorn myself with stolen jewels, thank you very much,” Molly said with a soft chuckle. “I can’t deny that it would’ve looked very nice against your skin.” “Then you’ll just have to make do with my skin, sans necklace, if that’s all right with you.” He paused at her remark and when he turned to look at her, he found her eyes on him already, a small fire dancing in her pupils. “Sans necklace… is fine with me,” Jim said, almost tripping on his words. “Good,” she said, deliberately moving her gaze away from him and back to the jewels. A smile played on her lips and it distracted Jim no end. “Still thinking about the gems?” she asked, fixing her eyes on the glass case. Jim had long forgotten about the gems and was now most distracted by the delicate slope of her neck down to her collarbone. “What gems?” he answered, taking her hand in his. Together, they fled the building, laughing, as they raced to Jim’s waiting car. Once inside, there were no more shiny distractions as Jim focused on the infinitely more precious jewel he knew he would never deserve. All that glittered was ultimately not what he wanted. What he wanted – was simply, her. END

[cyberrat]

35th Batch Of Fics: 1st Fill

Dunban/Riki – Xenoblade Chronicles 1 – dubcon/noncon – Nopon have a special way to deal with just about... anything, and Riki thinks he should help Dunban through his malais.

---

“Oh hey there, Riki! I didn’t know you were visiting us again!”

Dunban stares at the ceiling as he listens to Fiora’s happy voice downstairs. He winces even before he hears Riki’s shrill voice booming: “But of course! Riki as heropon has to make frequent visits all across Bionis! Heropon has to have eyes everywhere! Can’t be caught off guard!”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Fiora chuckles. “Especially Colony 9, right? We’re very grateful for your service, big heropon.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Fiora asks: “You’re here to see Dunban, aren’t you? Would you bring his meal up to him? I’ll go and see where Shulk is. I got a lunch with his name on it…”

“It’s least heropon can do for great herohom! Leave important task to Riki!”

Dunban quickly closes his eyes when he hears the rattling of cutlery ascend the stairs. He is rarely in the mood for Riki’s chipperness these days, and rather would pretend to be asleep to get out of having to talk to the ‘heropon’.

Riki, surprisingly tactful, stops speaking the second he notices that Dunban’s eyes are closed, his good arm laying over his naked belly. For ease of… everything, Dunban is only wearing shorts.

Getting undressed to clean himself only to get dressed again afterwards seems like just too big of a hurdle at the moment. Fiora leaves him be, thankfully. He doesn’t know for how long that will last, but he will treasure it for now.

There’s the soft click of the tray being put on the bedside table, and then nothing. Nopon are… stupidly well equipped to sneak around. Their tiny feet make barely a pap on the floor.

All the more startled is he when he feels his shorts suddenly being pulled down his legs. His eyes fly open and his hand flails to grip at the offender’s wrist. All he gets to grab is a nopon wing that he immediately lets go off again, startled.

He lifts his head and stares at Riki who has bounced up on the bed and is in the process of nudging his plump round body between Dunban’s legs.

“Riki?!”

“Heropon Riki, at your service!” Riki crows immediately. His stubby little arms are down between them, doing something Dunban can’t quite see. He flushes dully when he realizes his naked dick and balls are what are in the way of seeing what the heck Riki is up to. He flails, trying to push the Nopon away from between his legs so he can pull his shorts back up, but…

Riki’s wing is grabbing his arm and pinning it down next to him with an uncanny strength that has Dunban grow cold all over.

“Please not to make fuss while Riki is working!” Riki tells him seriously.

“What… What are you doing?” Dunban asks, voice cracking precariously. He somehow manages to sit up, his uselessly unresponsive arm a dead weight hanging from his shoulder while he has to realize that despite his small size, Riki is disturbingly strong.

“Heropon Riki has decided to take matters into own wings. Sometime, when feeling down, what one truly needs is… relaxation! Riki not fault Fiora for not thinking of it. She still young hom-hom, and related to herohom Dunban.”

As Dunban watches, he finally sees the pink tip of something emerging from below. His mouth goes slack. He leans farther in, staring down between there bodies. There, thrusting up from Riki’s feathery underbelly is a… Nopon cock. Dunban has never seen one. He’s never felt the need to see one.

But now here it was, long and tapered and disturbingly wet, coming out of the little sheath the Nopon had.

As Dunban stared, Riki shuffled closer, his round body pressing Dunban’s thighs effortlessly apart until the hero of the homs had his legs spread like a maiden, his balls pressing against the warm, feathery body of a Nopon.

“Wha- Riki! No!”

Dunban jerked, trying to rip his arm out of the tight grasp of Riki’s wing, but the Nopon was an unmovable force, his little arms calmly grasping his cock and guiding it to Dunban’s rear entrance.

“Please not to worry,” Riki chirped. “Riki is expert-pon. Most expert than any of Nopon you will ever meet!”

Dunban feels the slippery tip brushing against his tightly clenched hole, and would never be not ashamed of his immediate half-cry of Fiora!

His voice breaks pre-pubescently, abs straining as he tries to get out of Riki’s grip, but all that he manages is to actively push himself onto the slippery Nopon cock.

He had to be dreaming. This had to be a nightmare. His knees try to squeeze the life out of the Nopon, but as round and fluffy as Riki looked, he seemed to be made out of metal. There wasn’t even a flinch to his ever grinning little face as he started fucking like his life depended on it, pushing his slippery, long dick into Dunban’s helpless rear; spearing him until he felt like he should be able to see the red tip poke out from his belly button.

Dunban roars and throws his head back, but their house is too far to alert anybody of his… distress.

Sweat his beading on his forehead, and to his utter humiliation, his cock is starting to swell from the treatment.

Riki is ecstatic.

“Riki told you! Is best from best! Herohom Dunban is honored to be receiving ancient Nopon secret, yes? Yes, Riki can tell!”

“I have no… idea… what you’re babbling about!” Dunban gasps. Riki’s feathery belly is dragging against his cock and balls, and the sensation is sending lightning bolts of pleasure through his body.

The wild hair on top of Riki’s head is bouncing in time with his thrust like a palm in the wind. Dunban can’t stop staring at it as his knees stop fighting and just fall open, giving Riki free reign as he fucks him with ill-guided enthusiasm.

“Nopon living long life! Ever wonder why? Because Nopon found secret to good and healthy living! Be sad? Just mate! Be happy? Just mate! Be feeling under weather? Mate, mate, mate!”

Dunban doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He’s never heard of anything so ridiculous. The thought of Nopon all over the Bionis fucking like bunnits is driving him to the brink of madness.

His hair is plastered to the back of his neck, cock lying against his belly and distracting him with zings of pleasure. He does not want to come from this… this… violation, but he has to admit that Riki is… unnervingly good.

His thin, slippery cock seems to be made solely for the purpose of feeling good. Dunban doesn’t think it would have ached even if he had clenched down on it every second of the way.

He just hopes Riki will be done with it before Fiora comes back home… Oh maker… she couldn’t see them like this!

Dunban, suddenly invigorated by the thought, starts to actively work with Riki, whose face lights up in a huge grin.

“There! There! Heropon saving the day again!”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

41 from the fanfic prompts list? Thanks :)

Thank you, Anon! This was a super fun one, inspired by this sneakity peekity:

(gif credit to @zendadya)

Shuffle, SwingPairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: T (a lil’ swearing)Word count: 1134

41. “If I die, I’m going to haunt you.”

Peter didn’t really know anything about babies (Morgan wasalready five by the time he got to meet her―thanks, Thanos), but coaxing MJ tothe top of his apartment building kinda seemed like coaching a toddler throughtheir first steps. It was like his girlfriend had suddenly developed a fear ofstairs. Well, maybe that wasn’t fair; he knew what her real fear was, and beingscared of heights was totally valid! For anyone not dating Spider-Man.

“Cooome on,” hecajoled, motioning towards himself as MJ stalled on yet another landing.

She gripped the handrail and glared at him.

“Give me a second.”

He sighed.

“We should’ve just taken the elevator.”

“We didn’t take the elevator because I wanted to feel like Iwas in control,” MJ reminded him, not budging. “Your impatience isn’t helpingme sustain the illusion.”

“You’re in control,” Peter said sympathetically, boundingdown the stairs he’d begun climbing ahead of her.

“So I can decide to go back down to your apartment and hangout with May instead?”

Peter laughed.

“You could, but you’re not going to. It was your idea to getthis over with.”

“It was a bad idea,” MJ whined. She bent forward at thewaist to let her head hang down, possibly feeling dizzy. “I’m an even biggeridiot than you are.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“You’re not an idiot,” he settled on. “And you’re going torealize what a great idea it was as soon as you get to the roof.”

“I’m a fraud,” she said in a pained voice. “Mr. Harrington’sgoing to kick me off the decathlon team.”

“He would never.”

“Then there’ll be an uprising,” MJ said, ready with her nextbleak prophesy. “A decathlon coup. Flash’ll be your new captain and you’ll allbe forced to grow hideous facial hair.”

Peter approached his girlfriend and took her arm, tucking itunder his. With his other hand, he reached around and loosened her fingers fromthe handrail.

“Ok, Little Miss Sunshine. One step at a time.”

“How ‘bout we jump off a cardboard box?”

“Nope.”

“A sturdy trashcan?”

“MJ, it’s safe,” Peter swore, clutching her more tightly ashe steered her wobbly legs up the steps. “Safer than any other way to getaround.”

“I bet that’s what they told Jumbo the elephant abouttrains,” she grumbled. “Or, hey, the Titanicand all that ‘unsinkable’ bullshit.”

“If you think you’re going to wear me out by arguing all theway up, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of your penchant for soundingdisturbingly chipper.”

He frowned.

“Well, focus on that and remember that I’ve done this thousands of times and still don’t soundthe least bit scared.”

“Maybe you have a memory problem,” she said under herbreath. Peter knew she knew he could still hear her.

Ignoring her last-ditch attempt to start a pointless fightand delay their goal, he continued guiding her up the flights in silence untilthey reached the top floor. Peter headed for the roof access door.

“Let’s just call it,” MJ said, making a nonchalant handgesture as she brushed the whole endeavor off. She slumped into the wall and helet his hold on her break. “We can say this was a practice round and come backtomorrow, or next week, or never.”

With a patient smile that she, unfortunately, wouldn’t beable to see beneath his mask, Peter grabbed her hand. She dragged her shoulderand the side of her head along the wall as she matched his funereal pace. Itwasn’t exactly enthusiasm, but he was prepared to be grateful for what she gavehim.

“Let’s sleep on it,” MJ suggested as he hauled the accessdoor open.

Peter gave her an even stare and grinned.

“Michelle Jones, get your ass up those stairs.”

She squared off against him, jaw tense.

“Carry me,” she demanded.

“I thought you wanted control!”

His girlfriend considered this a moment with her bottom lippouting out and shrugged.

“I’m controlling you.”

Peter rolled his eyes, turned, and crouched.

“Get on.”

He piggybacked her up the half dozen steps, then, balancingon one foot, kicked the push-bar to send the outer door flying open. Hitchingher thighs higher on his hips, Peter walked them out onto the roof. The sky wasreally pretty, but he enjoyed the way the sun reflected off the windows ofsurrounding buildings just as much. He was excited for MJ to see it all.

“This is worse,” she mumbled. “This is so much worse.” Apparently,she was nervous enough to squeeze her arms around his shoulders, but awareenough not to wrap them around his neck and drop him with a chokehold.

Peter strolled towards the edge of the building, pattingMJ’s leg in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

“Nonono,” she objected. “I’m up too high. Put me down.”

“I’m going to remember that you thought being on my back washigh the next time you make a short joke,” Peter informed her, releasing hergently so that she slid from his hold.

“I can’t be held accountable for anything I say right now.”MJ took a tentative step around him, craning to look towards the edge. “I’mdelirious with fear.”

He snorted.

“You’re a little curious. Admit it.”

“No.”

But she was inching forward, trying to see more. Eager andproud, Peter gave his girlfriend almost a minute of cautious exploration beforestepping up beside her and lightly placing an affectionate hand on her lowerback.

“JESUS CHRIST, PETER, DON’T PUSH ME OVER THE SIDE!”

He jumped nearly as much as MJ did at her scream, goingautomatically defensive and pulling her away from the side and into aprotective hug as he scanned for threats. Right, there weren’t any. The onlything that moved was a pair of pigeons that had been waddling around on theroof; they fled with panicked flaps. Peter’s heart raced as he closed his eyesand began to calm down. From within his arms, MJ raised her head and peered athim, shamefaced.

“Sorry.”

Peter took a deep breath and made up his mind.

“That’s ok. We’re getting this over with right now.”

He hoisted MJ up so that her legs went instinctively aroundhim and strode right to the edge of the roof.

“I take it back,” she said hurriedly, hair whipping aroundboth their heads. “I’m not sorry.”

“Say whatever you want. It doesn’t count, right? You’redelirious with fear.”

Taking aim, he raised his arm and fired off a web strandthat affixed to the building opposite.

“If I die, I’m going to haunt you,” MJ promised, voicerising.

Grinning, Peter took two steps back, then threw them off theroof with a running leap.

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 1

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter One

Thomas Moorland had been nice enough and extremely sympathetic when he’d regretfully told them that he couldn’t sell them the horses they were riding. They were the camp’s horses and if he sold every horse that one of his campers got attached to, there’d be none left. They’d pouted, but the man had held firm even though he’d had a twinkle in his eye.

The large group of girls talked among themselves a bit sadly. They did love riding and the horses at the stable.

It was Justin. Thomas’ dark haired son with the soulful eyes that half of the girls in the group had a crush on that saved the day.

Figuratively that is.

“Psst,” he hissed as he peered into the stables.

The girls looked up at him in different stages of untacking their horses.

He grinned at them and bounced in. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms. “Heard you ambushed dear old dad.”

“You don’t have to sound so chipper about it,” Abigail mock pouted.

“Happens every year,” Justin grinned. “A couple keep trying to buy Saga out from under me.”

“You should be complimented. He’s a good horse,” Jennifer said. She patted her horse’s nose.

“He’s my horse!” Justin made a face and stuck out his tongue.

Lily cocked her hip. “Justin Moorland, you either have a trick up your sleeve or you came to torment us.”

Justin smoothed his face. “Torment you. I would never do that.” He put his hand to his heart. “My honor.”

“Loretta does all the tormenting around here,” Melody muttered.

Justin flicked his fingers and held up a folded glossy square of paper. “Ladies, if you truly desire horses, the best in Jorvik, you need to go see old lady battle axe herself, Baroness Annabella Silverglade.”

The girls stopped untacking their horses.

Lily raised a brow. “And what must we do to get there?”

“Stop trying to buy my horse!” Justin flung the folded square at her.

Lily caught it.

The girls giggled.

Justin rubbed the back of his neck. “I heard a rumor that she really could use some help. A friend of mine, Linda, she’s been working for the Baroness, helping run the Equestrian Center. But I’m afraid she’s bit off more than she can chew. Plus, she’s so busy already. Alex isn’t helping much since she comes down here to hang out with Maya so much.”

Maya shouted. “I can hear you!”

“Judy, Tyra, and Pauline are trying to keep things under control, but you know.” Justin shrugged. “Linn is stuck at the Riding Arena, Sonja is supposed to be helping out but she’d rather be in Valedale. Sabine is a bitch.”

“Justin!” Abigail gasped.

Justin smirked at them. “Well? If you want to get there and back before dark, you better be going now.” He waved at them cheekily and trotted off.

Grace huffed. “The nerve of him.”

“Utter cheek!” Melody agreed.

Lily opened the square of paper. It was a map. And Justin had helpfully drawn a red line from Moorland Stables to Silverglade Manor. There was also a few notes written in white ink. One read ‘Grape Mountain,’ and the other, “Loose Paddock.” Grape Mountain was south of the manor and Loose Paddock was north of it. Justin had included a note with an arrow at a broken line also in white. “The Baroness’ personal territory.”

Lily nodded. Justin was right. If they wanted to go out to the manor and get back before dark, they’d better leave now. At least the route seemed mostly clear. Though one bit looked disturbingly off the roads.

The horses seemed a bit astonished that the girls were putting the saddles and bridles back on them. But they were generally good spirited animals and were more than willing to leave the stables again, as long as it was at a placid trot.

The girls weren’t willing to push them either. They chattered at each other about what type of horses the Baroness might have. Some thought Arabians, others English Thoroughbreds, and others droned on about the merits of Hanoverians.

Justin’s route took them up the cliff to Nilmer’s Highland and a sharp right to the north towards Silverglade Village, a place they hadn’t yet explored. But the map said that off to their left, under the disturbing red line, there should be a path near the castle. Well, relatively near the castle. There was a lot of lawn between them and the huge yellow limestone castle on a cliff.

Regina saw it first. “Found it!” She said loudly enough so all could hear but not so loudly it’d spook the horses. They turned off the cobbled road and followed what was little more than a dirt track between some hills.

In the distance, up on a hill, had to be the manor. But it was really far into the distance. Between them and it was lots and lots of green.

“It looks rather impressive,” Lily said.

Their talk drifted to who they should approach. Annabella Silverglade herself? Or this Linda person? Or Judy? They didn’t want to be too much of a bother especially so late in the day.

The track led them to another road, they emerged on it between two birch trees, as the map showed it would. Off to their left and thus, to the south and across the road to the west were rows and rows and rows of grape vines. They grew along the flat parts of the mountain too.

“Oh, I get it,” one of the girls said.

“That can’t be the real name.” Abigail wrinkled her nose.

They turned up the road and noticed that the grapes continued despite the terrain. The road continued skirting a hillock and they came to a bridge. Far to the east they could see the village and realized it must be tucked right up next to the old castle walls. As they crossed the bridge, a dot off to the east (their right) looked like a rather quaint farm. They thought or speculated. There was a silo at least.

The road turned and for a little bit the road was lined with birch trees and grape vines. It was a long way up. They grew nearer to the manor and details emerged. A white stone wall with an iron wrought gate overgrown with weeds. To their left was a terrace also gone to weeds. Ahead of them though, the classical Greek inspired white stoned manor with its large windows and stately columns shaded by birches was impressive. The frieze on the tryptic above the door satyrs frolicking among the grapes and playing harps and pipes.

But overall, to either side of them were large, no huge, gardens gone to seed populated by yet more birch trees.

To the north the stable, or they assumed it was the stable, mimicked the manor house. It was large and long and off center was a columned archway over the roadway with another tryptic with a triangular frieze displaying horses rearing, cantering and trotting. Through this archway they could see a stone bridge. The stable had small individual doors that the top part opened individually on the lower floor and on the upper floor with the flat roof were more open windows showing where the hay was stored.

They assumed they could get into the stable proper through that doorway.

In front of it was a large parade ground with a rather odd symbol tiled into it.

And, to the south, the other large building was a large rectangular thing with a triangular roof instead of a flat one. It reminded them of what the Parthenon was supposed to look like with the long columns down the side of it.

Despite the run down appearance, the place was remarkably busy. Now, they didn’t want to bother the Baroness at all. That wouldn’t be proper. She was no doubt a busy woman. So, instead, they looked for Linda.

However, the first person they found was a girl with black hair that reminded them a lot of the stable manager of Moorland Stables, Jenna. She introduced herself as Judy.

They explained their mission. They wanted to buy horses and Thomas refused to sell them the camp horses and Justin had sent them this way.

Judy shook her head. “Happens every year. Well, you’re in luck. We have a fresh batch of three year olds looking for forever owners. They’re broken enough to ride and all, but they’ll need a great deal of training before you’ll be able to win any championships.

That was fine with the girls.

“Now, I’m going to warn you. These horses are special. They won’t be accepted by just anyone.” Judy said.

The six girls nodded.

“All right, they’re in the stables. May Aideen smile on you,” Judy grinned at them. She waved them towards the long structure.

There was a fence around the parade ground. But no one wanted to tie their horses to it. That wasn’t done. Plus there was nothing for the horses to eat near the parade ground. The girl’s dismounted and loosely tied the camp horses up in the area overrun by the weeds.

They all gasped as they went under the rotunda. It was actually stained glass and parts of it was faceted to throw off rainbows. The stained glass was of course, grape bunches and vines. They went into the shorter section of the stables first.

Inside the stables reflected the outside of the stables. There was cool white stone under their feet and the walls of the stable had been bleached white and had a silver sheen where the pattern of the wood was. Each stable wall topped with the delicate iron work like the gates.

But inside these pretty stalls were the prettiest horses the girls had ever seen. They had delicate heads and long flowing wavy manes and tails.

No one could restrain their squeals.

They didn’t run. They didn’t want to scare the beautiful creatures. But they certainly all walked quickly to the different stalls fishing out cubes of sugar and holding out hands to try and make friends.

A dark brown girl in a bright orchid t-shirt that read Knights of Unistria and black shorts laughed. “You must be new here. These are Jorvik Warmblood Sports, Jorvik’s best kept secret. I’m Linda.” She seemed friendly enough.

Lily was the leader. “Oh, we heard you worked here. I’m Lily and these are my friends Abigail, Grace, Regina, Melody, and Jennifer.” She gestured at each of the girls. “We’re, um, campers.”

“Obviously,” Regina rolled her eyes. They all wore the camp uniform after all, red t-shirt, grey fingerless gloves, brown riding pants, black riding boots and a black helmet. It was dreadfully unstylish.

Linda smiled at them and pushed her glasses up her nose. A bay horse with a white blaze down his nose and a white mane and tail huffed into her hair. She reached up to pet his neck absentmindedly. “And this is Meteor, the constantly starving.”

Meteor had the same nose shape and body structure as the horses in the stables. Though he was bigger and his hair wasn’t nearly as long.

“He’s handsome,” Grace said. “Is he yours?”

“More like, I’m his,” Linda wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, like cats,” Melody giggled.

“We’re here to become owned too, or something,” Jennifer waved her hand around.

Linda sighed. “Did Justin send you?”

“He gave us a map and everything.”

“Is it really Grape Mountain?”

“No. That’s him being cheeky.” Linda huffed. She tugged on her pony tail. “All the horses here are for sale, it’s true. In fact, if we don’t sell them. We’ll have to cull them. We simply don’t have the resources right now to look after them all. They’re in here for their final checkups.” Her face fell. “And it’s not really fair to release them into the wild. I mean, maybe they’d be all right.” She bit her lip. “So, they’re really cheap, three hundred shillings each. The Baroness is simply at her wits end and so am I.”

The girls looked at each other and looked around the barn. It seemed clean enough, but it probably could be cleaner.

“Thanks Linda,” Lily said before anyone else could. “That’s, a lot better of a deal than we expected.”

Linda twiddled her fingers. “Look, I have to run. If you have any questions, talk to Judy or Tyra. They know everything there is to know about the stables and Jorvik Warmblood Sports.”

“Not Sabine,” Grace said shrewdly.

Linda blinked. “Sabine’s a boarder. She doesn’t work here. She likes to make everyone think she does.”

“Good to know. We’ll be on our guard.” Lily saluted.

Linda smiled again. “All right. Good luck!” She said and trotted out.

“Huddle,” Jennifer said.

The girls gathered into a circle.

“Okay, something is definitely going on here.” Lily rubbed her chin.

Abigail groaned. “I’d do anything, and I do mean, anything, to get away from Loretta.”

“But, but, camp,” Grace hissed.

“Look, if this Baroness is as important as Justin implied she is,” Regina murmured. “I don’t think Old Man Thomas is going to mind us coming to help her out.”

“He might reward us,” Abigail bounced on her toes.

Jennifer sighed. “And riding around the cavaletti in a circle is so dull.”

Grace wrinkled her nose. “And the Bobcat race is, look, okay, Tan and Loretta are full of it and the other girls don’t want to lift a finger if it involves actually doing anything that might scuff their nails. They want us to be Bobcats to do their dirty work.”

Lily held up a finger. She jogged out of the stable and flagged down Judy who had a clipboard. “Judy, I have a question. It might seem odd.”

Judy widened her eyes. “Ohkay?”

“Does this stable have a dedicated riding club?”

Judy opened and shut her mouth. “No. If we did, we probably wouldn’t be in this state.”

Lily beamed at her. “Thanks, Judy.” She turned around and jogged off leaving a very bemused and confused Judy behind her.

Lily returned to the huddle. “Good news. No riding club!”

The girls jaw dropped.

“No club? Really? This gorgeous stable is ripe for the taking.” Regina’s voice turned fervent.

“This is not Pokemon Go!” Jennifer glared at her.

Lily tossed her hair. “Girls. I have an idea.”

Abigail pounded her fist into her hand. “Let’s show up Loretta.”

Grace’s lips parted. “Form our own riding club,” she breathed.

“And claim the SEC for our own and rule!” Regina pumped her fist into the air.

Lily smirked. “Exactly. So, let’s get some horses, recruit Tyra, Pauline, and Linn. The map says the Riding Hall is behind the manor, recruit more if we need to back in Moorland, and take Loretta and her Bobcat girls down.”

“Break,” Jennifer said.

They girls moved apart and scattered across the stables to look at the different horses. There were plain horses without markings, and those with; appaloosas, dapples, paint horses. There were those with the fancy coat genes too, cremellos, buckskins, and roans.

It wasn’t like they fell in love with the horses, because they did. But it was also like the horses fell in love with them.

With their shillings in hand they tracked down Judy and handed it all over.

Judy beamed at them. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much.”

“No. Thank you,” Lily said with a smile.

A/N: If you read this, I’ll be surprised. This story is a practice project for my portfolio and my own Horse MMORPG called Mystic Riders. I wanted to prove to myself and my dev partner that I could in essence design a section of game. I’m a fashion designer and a writer who loves games. I don’t expect (or want) SSO to implement ideas into the game (mostly.) This is for my own education and entertainment.

Writing story is the way I organize my thoughts and world build. So, this story may be a little salty, and a little shady in places. I care about Star Stable, horse games, and actual MMORPGS so much that the wasted potential grinds my gears. I chose the Silverglade Manor area because so much of that potential felt untapped to me and there were so many story lines that touched the Manor. If you want to see my take on anywhere else in the game, then, I’d have to work for the game. (There is only so much free labor I’m willing to do.)

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.