#square filled: The Undead

[slytherinshua]

☾　REBORN, UNDEAD　( 성한빈 )

genre angst , fluff , vampire au , undead au , former vampire!hanbin x former vampire!fem!reader   cw blood and battle mentions (from the past in pt 2) , crying   wc 1363   request no   note for @nonononranghaee from the moot fic form (although ik you just went on hiatus but it's okay read whenever ur back !!) also please please read part 1 and part 2 of this fic series before reading part 3 because this will not make sense without reading part 2 esp!!! there will probably be a part 4 to this as well and we'll see after that. thank you so much for all the love on this series so far as well <3   net @kstrucknet @chrimatanet

“Stop worrying about me. I’ll be fine. I won’t get hurt. I promise I won’t.”

In eighteen hundred years, Hanbin had never broken a promise to you. Until now. He was painfully aware that somehow, something had gone wrong on that battlefield. He couldn’t remember what, but something alerted him that everything was very, very wrong. 

“Y/n? Y/n! Where are you?” Hanbin’s shouts landed on deaf ears, echoing around the dark void without anyone to receive them. He didn’t know where he was, or how he ended up there in the first place. The last thing he remembered was you holding him close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead with tears in your eyes. Why were you crying? Why did you look so scared?

His gaze dropped to his hands, inspecting them as if they would give him some answers. They looked normal, but something felt different. He couldn’t feel his magic surging in his veins. Before, he could sense his heart beating slowly if he focused, but now, it felt like it was pounding in his chest, so loud he couldn’t stop hearing it. He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth: no fangs. 

Was he… no longer a vampire? 

He touched his collarbone, feeling for the tattoos. They were still there, yet they didn’t react to his touch. No glowing, no surge of his powers, just stillness. He gulped. For the first time, unquenchable fear filled his body.

For hundreds of years he had learned to live a certain way. Always close to you, so that his powers could be strongest. Always in harmony between his natural body and supernatural vampiric features. He never needed to worry about sickness or the cold. He could transform into a bat at will or heal wounds, both physical and mental. 

He felt useless now, unable to do any of the things he used to. Lost, without a single direction to go towards. He couldn’t remember what he did as a human; what he used to fill his time with. It was too long ago to recall. He felt like he had just been born again, with no sense of how to go about the world. He’d have to learn all over again. But first, he was determined to find you. 

He wasn’t himself without you. You had held a part of him for too long, caring for his soul as if it was your own. If he wasn’t with you, he had no purpose. So, he took a few steps forward, slowly getting used to the feeling of the ground beneath his feet. Every step took energy he wasn’t used to expending. He felt weak, as if he could pass out at any moment. A pounding headache across his forehead and a weak unstable feeling in his knees. He had never felt this weak as a vampire. 

With each step he took, more ground appeared beneath his feet. Slowly, a sort of town came into view. It was quaint. Little wooden cottages topped with red roofs. Signs pointed out the street names and directions. He stopped to read a few, figuring out which way to head next. He hesitantly chose the town centre, deciding it was a reasonable spot to start. 

People stared at him as he walked by. He didn’t care to find out why. Years of only caring about your opinions trained him to not give them a second glance. He knew his purpose, sure of himself and confident. Although he was scared to admit that his confidence was wavering without you by his side. 

He reached the town square where an official looking building stood next to a fountain. He assumed it must be the governor’s office or some mayor’s building. Maybe he could get a list of residents? He stepped up the stairs, pulling the door open to be met with a fairly empty entranceway. There was a line of counters, behind which secretaries typed away at their typewriters and scribbled on paper with pens. He walked up to one of the open spots on the counter, face-to-face with an elderly man who’s fingers flew across the typewriter with practised ease.

“How may I help you?” His accent was thick and his tone weighted down by dull tiredness. He didn’t seem fazed by whatever had caused the other residents to stare unabashedly at Hanbin. The old man barely blinked twice at him.

“I’m looking for a list of residents in the town. I need to contact someone.” Hanbin said quietly. The man nodded, muttering that he would find a list in the back somewhere. As Hanbin was left alone for the time being, he surveyed the other people in the building, each talking at the counter as well. They were too quiet for him to make out the conversations; his hearing significantly weakened since he lost his powers. One voice stood out, though.

“No, not Hanjin— I’m looking for Hanbin! Sung Hanbin.”

Hanbin’s eyes widened, his head whipping around to try to find the owner of the loud voice. 

“How many times do I have to repeat myself? He’s about 180cm tall, has dark black hair, pale skin, and a slim face. He has to be in your records somewhere.”

“Ma’am, I’m sure we can find him, rest assured. What did you say his birthday was again?”

“June thirteenth.”

“What year?”

“25.”

“1925?”

“No. 25. The year 25. Zero, zero, two, five.”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure I follow. Do you mean to say he is over nineteen hundred years old? No human has ever—”  

Hanbin had never felt his heart race so fast. Adrenaline pulled at every muscle in his body so suddenly he could hardly comprehend what was happening before his legs were rushing him over to where you stood, arguing with the lady at the counter.

“Y/n,” He called to you, and time seemed to slow as you turned your head. “Excuse us,” He mumbled quickly to the lady at the counter, grabbing your wrist and pulling you out the door of the building. He kept walking, his hold on your arm tight, afraid you would disappear. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, entranced by his appearance. Once he had found a secluded area, he stopped walking, trailing his hand up your arm to your shoulder instead.

“What happened? Where are we?” The questions flew out of his mouth. You didn’t have an answer for him. 

“I’ve been looking for you for days.” Tears brimmed in your eyes as you looked at him. You touched his cheek with your hand. It felt warm. 

“What happened on the day of the battle?” He asked again, prying for an answer. You shook your head, tears falling. You just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him, head against his chest. Shaky breaths in as you felt his heartbeat; steady, fast, warm. 

“I don’t want to think about it.” You told him quietly. Hanbin could only hold you, mind confused and worried. There were so many questions he had. He was sure you had the answers, if only you’d tell him. But he wouldn’t push you, not when you clearly were in a delicate mental state. 

He wished he could feel you like he used to. You had only been in his arms a few minutes, but it felt different. He couldn’t relax your body with a spell, or get a peek into your thoughts. He tried to figure you out from the outside, and that was a difficult task. 

“We should get you new clothes. These ones are soaked with blood.” You mumbled after a while, face still buried against his chest. Hanbin looked down to his sleeve, noticing for the first time that he did have very obvious stains. No wonder he got so many curious stares. He wondered what they were from. Surely, it couldn’t have been his own blood. He wasn’t injured or bleeding. 

“Y/n, what is this town?” Hanbin asked anxiously, as he spotted someone looking at you both from across the road. 

“It’s for the undead. Everyone here has already passed away, including you and me.”

“What?”

zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@cupidslovearrows,, @dimplewonie,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,,

@kangtaehyunzzz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @nicholasluvbot,, @stantxtforabetterlife

[feyascorner]

Okay now hear me out HEAR ME OUT… this might get a bit angsty

But if astarion had romanced an elf tav, since elves reincarnate in dnd lore and retain some memories of their past life surely astarion would wait, right? Wait for them to come back to him, right??

Well most of us know that already 😋 but one thing I found interesting was; if astarion did find tav again (maybe he confirms it’s them through small mannerisms, maybe they meet at a tavern and this new tav laughs in the same melodic way, or he overhears tav talking about an interest they had in their past life) after confirming it is indeed tav again, how would astarion even feel ☹️

Because yes yipee you found them!!! But now are faced with the task of having to not only explain everything to them again (maybe fill in some of the gaps that are missing in their elf trances) but also have to deal with the impending doom that they’re going to have to die all over again 😭 like a cruel never ending cycle of having each other but never forever. (“I love you forever”, “oh darling our forevers don’t match up”)

OR OR OR if we’re feeling extra cruel, astarion finds tav over and over but each time tav dies gruesomely and it’s never preventable. A classic #timeloop lmao.

Ok enough rambling do with that as you wish

I LOVE TIME LOOP TROPES SO BADLY IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY...i dont really like how this came out but i love sad astarion so!!! not proofread so pls excuse that!!

Astarion, of all people, should love blood.

But when it's yours, all sticky and warm on his hands, he's repulsed by the crimson red staining his pale skin. Your lifeless body lies in his arms, head tucked into his chest, but your own no longer rising and falling in rhythm with your breaths. Your lashes are specked with flicks of red, and your eyes shut almost as if you're sleeping. It's only in moments like these, where you're truly like him, yet not like him at all. Dead, but not undead. Even in death, he thinks you're beautiful.

Just a few years, he reassures himself, despite the wet tears on his face. Just a few years, and you'll be back, as you always are.

And he does find you. After so many years of wandering aimlessly into bars you liked, places you enjoyed spending free time in, and spending most of his time in your previously shared home, he finally comes across you in the city square.

Only then does he realize you haven't gathered all of your past memories yet. On the one hand, he's ecstatic he found you when you have more time left in your elf lifespan, but on the other, it pains him to see you look at him in a gaze that's void of your usual adoration. But no matter. If something as trivial as this were to break his spirit, he would've rotted away years ago.

It takes time, but you manage to remember him again fully. When you do, neither of you wastes any time in restoring the remains of your previous lifetime together. You redecorate your old shared home together, toasting to a new lifetime together afterward. You give him that soft smile of yours, and he thinks he could not be happier than this. With you having so many years left, and him being infinite, he has no need to worry about being separated from you anytime soon.

For a moment, he's almost glad he was turned into a vampire spawn, because of what it means for the two of you.

"I love you forever," you say one day, pressed up against his chest with your legs entangled. "Even through all my lifetimes."

"Quite the grand gesture, my love," he grins, and you return the sentiment. "While I have only this lifetime to give you, you can have all of it. You can have what's my eternity."

You press a kiss against his lips. "...And half your closet?"

He snorts. "Everything except that."

It's okay, he tells himself. He has time. He won't have to watch your lifeless body lowered into another grave again until he's readied himself---though it seems he's never truly ready. As long as he's careful, you'd be okay.

He's always joked that your heroic tendencies would be the death of you.

There had been a storm. A large one, in fact, causing large waves to crash against the harbor and sending its occupants fleeing inward toward the city.

He should've begged you to stay.

"It's dangerous."

"It's far enough from the harbor, I'll be fine," you insist. "People need help fleeing and our neighbors are going to help out. I should too."

"Then I shall go with you-"

"It's still daytime. We can't risk it," you shake your head, squeezing both of his hands. He smells the whisk of your shampoo as you do. "I'll be okay, Astarion. I'll be back in an hour or two, I promise."

You never do.

By the third hour, the storm has already calmed, and he impatiently throws on a clock and bursts out the door like a madman. He flies past the dozens of people perched on the streets as they try to recover from the hellish storm, and despite how many there are, he doesn't see you. None of them even know where you are.

"They saved my son. Jumped into the water into those nasty waves and got him out, but they...they didn't make it."

Astarion can see the fisherman's mouth continuing to move, but he can't hear him anymore. He feels like he's suffocating, eyes wide as they slowly turn to the calm ocean that now acts as your grave. But there is no tombstone, and there is no place for him to lay down your favorite flower.

He was supposed to have time. You were supposed to have time.

And this time, he doesn't even have the opportunity to kiss your pretty face goodbye, left with nothing but the murky waters of the city that extend past what his eyes can see.

It's times like these that he hates his own eternity.

He's numb by the time he reaches the house again, just as you'd left it. When he enters the bedroom, he realizes that neither of you bothered to make the bed this morning, and sees your pillow crumpled messily against his own. And beside it, your messily tossed pajamas lying with no owner anymore.

He grabs the shirt, staring down at it with dull eyes.

He can't even cry anymore.

Astarion spends the next few decades as a ghost of the city, holding himself hostage in the confinements of his own home. He doesn't touch anything, he doesn't move anything, and he doesn't even dare to open your closet door out of fear that your clothes will lose your scent. He's sure they've already lost it, but it comforts him to know that he's left everything exactly as you had.

Time passes, and as usual, it only leaves him behind.

The criminals lurking in the shadows are the ones who face his wrath. He hunts them down viscously, barely drinking half their blood before they're already dead from the wounds he inflicts on them. He gives no more mercy, because the world has not shown him any in return. Today is no different, as he corners his victim for today in the darkest alley he can find that has a dead end.

The man begs for his life, but it doesn't even register in Astarion's head before he's dead.

The blood tastes like nothing as it slides down his throat. When he releases the man and his body collapses to the ground, Astarion wipes at his mouth, glowering blankly at what remains. A corpse. Even filth like this could leave something behind while you were lost in the sea, forever forgotten by everyone but him. It's not fair. It's not fair at all.

"Astarion?"

His head whips around, able to recognize your voice anywhere, regardless of how much time has passed. It relieves him because he'd begun to fear that his mind had grown foggy in regards to your voice, but the worries seem to have been misplaced because you sound exactly as he remembers. Your hair is a different length now, your face void of the previous scars you've had and replaced with new ones. But no amount of change can stop him from recognizing you. Not even death itself.

"Darling."

"I knew I'd find you here."

As you run into his embrace, he sees color again. He can breathe again. He can live again. And for the first time in decades, he lets himself cry again.

No matter how many times he does this and how many times you die, he'll wait. Even if it crushes him to watch your demise every time.

[monsterfucktoberbingo]

Monsterfucktober Bingo 2023

This spooky season, play a round of Monsterfucker Bingo with us! Fill as many squares as possible with your original works before November 1, and receive special badges once the event is over!

👾 Monsterfucktober Bingo 👾

First Row (left to right): bioluminescent, orc, android, undead, cryptid

Second Row (left to right): fae, tentacles, vampire, naga, plant creature

Third Row (left to right): ghost, eldritch, free space, were-being, dragon

Fourth Row (left to right): centaur, arthropod, giant, angel, merfolk

Fifth Row (left to right): science gone wrong, alien, slime, elemental, demon

Rules & Guidelines

Event runs from October 1 - October 31.

All ships and fandoms welcome! ♡

Use the tag #monsterfucktoberbingo or tag our blog @monsterfucktoberbingo to have your fills featured on our blog! If you think we missed your post, send us an ask!

All forms of media (fanart, fanfiction, fanmade videos, playlists, food recipes inspired by the bingo square, etc.) are accepted. ☆

Old works are allowed to be used to complete your card! We want to promote all monsterfucker content, new and existing, for this event.

Works do not need to be explicit; we're monsterlovers, first and foremost 😘

Between November 1 (12:00am PST) and November 3 (11:59pm PST), send an email to monsterlover.bingo@gmail.com with your bingo card, and we'll send you back your badges! We'll have badges for completed bingo lines and blackout cards, but we're also going to have badges for each completed square!

HAVE FUN!

~ Mods @seiya-starsniper @valiantstarlights & @gil212

[itsgirlcraft]

Welcome to the masterpost of all [256] of my FavreMySabre AUs/OCs/concepts :]

Feel free to ask questions or just give me a number between 1 and [256]! Or directly ask CWK!Sabre or MCRP!Time for what something means, navigation (i.e., genres, specific characters), or just questions on the multiverse these all belong to!

264 AUs. 256 AUs w/o dsmp, 186 w/o dreams (or dsmp). 8 dsmp-exclusive AUs were included here, I apologize.

Edit: at the bottom of the main list ID, will be a "changelog," where I put additional AUs that I didn't have in the og list. Once a page has been filled, there will be a new picture of it and a proper ID like the original pages.

That way, nothing gets confused. Also, the AU number will change as needed. AU names will most likely stay the same, and if they do change, I will include the og in the changelog.

Under the cut is the digitalized list/"ID"!

I got this done sooner than I thought tbh. Had to go thru my old tablet, my art binders, and all my notes on my phone. Worth it, this is SO USEFUL, my god!

FavreMySabre AUs/OCs List

drm = dream, OC = original character.

2019 era = 2019 and 2020, 2021 era =2021 and 2022, 2023 era = 2023 and 2024.

Oldest AUs (Wattpad, tablet, 2019 era) 62 AUs

•On The Run •Lost In A Fairytale •The Black Hole •Wings And Horns •Ore Steves (OCs) •Call Of The Void •Infected •The Nether Prince •Halloween With The Steves •Steve Saga High •I Don't Know How To Rule! •Future Legends •Altered Realities •Power Switch •Underwater • Not You. Anyone But You. •Why?! •Black Hole Steve (OC) •Family Secret •Undead Me •Fairies •Mirror World •Metal/Magnet (ocs) •The Cursed •Chicken Dad •Containment Breach・Wolf Boy •Vampocalypse •The Night Shift •Covid-19 •Broken Reality •Seven Square Chickens. One Adult. •Demons In My Head •Reverse Evil •Anti-Brine •Genderbent Royalty •Error 404: Steve Not Found (oc/drm) •Chemical AU/2.0 •Confusion •Gender Swap •Earth Portal •Rainbow City •A Glitch In The Matrix •SCP AU •Lost And Broken Soul/Cursed With knowledge •Wisps •Did We Meet Before •Darkest Quest For Peace •Learning The Ways Of The Multiverse •Trapped Crossover •When Three Worlds Meet •The Olympian Saga • Dragon (oc) •Dream SMP Meets Steve Saga:Therapy Edition •Moth (oc) •The Haunting Saga •OG Body Horror AU •Different Artstyle •That One Trapped/Steve Saga Crossover •Storm Steve (oc) •The Weirdest Adventure •Failed_Rainbow_Steve (oc)

Old AUs (2021 era) 48 AUs w/o DSMP

DSMP: •Minepocalypse •The Shapeshifters •The Meet-Up •The Streamers/Hunt •Guardian Of The Forest •The Game (drm) •Trapped In Minecraft But We're Stuck Together •The Monsters In The Cages Look A Lot Like Me

•The Obligatory Reversed Role AU But Optimistic (Steve Saga Roleswap) •DSMP/SS Oneshot •Squinkies Are Taking Over My Life •Time Travel AUs •Fantasy AU ft. Chicken And Horse •Hybrid Boys •A Dance With A Devil •That *One* Prophecy •Fading Humanity •Creatures In The Woods •Experiment Shadow •A Human In A Supernatural World •RQ ODAA •One Disaster After Another • Universe fusions (ocs) •Discolored And Disoriented •Language Barrier •BodySwap •Elements Of Family Magic •The Creation God's Puppets •Crash-Landing Aliens AU •RQ: Security Breach •Follow Me/Robot Soul •Uno Reverse, Fate! •Weapon AU •IRL Twisted Rainbow •Robots, Hybrids, And Experimental Friendships •Seldistynell (OC) •My Life As A Feathered Monster Hiding At A Human College •The Aliens Inside My Computer •The Five Elements •Monster Under Your Bed/Rescue Mission •Lab Monsters •Little Nightmares Crossovers •Monster House In Zombie Land •A Colorful World •Human Machine •Taking It Literally •Digital Magic •FRS' Childhood (oc) • Ancient Aliens • Demon AU •Anime AU • Nightmare Princess •A Rainbow Of Identities

Newer AUS (2023 era) 75 AUs

•Dark Matter/Wilted Lily/Ultra Chaos/ Corruption (ocs) •RQ Plague •Cave Monsters •SSO Color kids (ocs) •SHSF No Evil •The Owl House Crossover •SlenderSabre •Reverse Quest (Rainbow Quest Roleswap) •Wise Anger (ocs) •Blindfold-centric AU Collection •Blindfold Of Skin •Gacha DJ •RQ/TR MLP Crossovers • Naga!Plague •NPCs/Thing (drm) •SS Bodyswap AU •ColorSwap Horrors •TR Roleswap •SL Roleswap •Desk Dolls •AGITM x Trapped •TR Weirdcore •Become Food •ZWV Hybrid (drm) •Half-Fused TR •RealityElan •MCRP •"B" The Elf-Eared (oc/drm) • Jellyfish!Twisted •Human!Galaxy (drm) •Halloween TR •Alien!Sabre •Vent AU •Crystal Swap •Gacha Weirdcore •SBI x dragon!Sabre •WTWM Bad End •Catboy!Sabre •Color Change!Reverse •TFC!Elan •SkeleModern (drm) • Urban Legends •WTF!Sabre •Migraine AU •Dot Eyes •Haunted Dolls •Relationship Problems •Uncanny Alien •Planetheads •Potato/Carrot (ocs) •AR x RQ •Changing With My Imagination •Center Of The Freakshow •Eldritch POVs • RQ x SL •Happy Place Hub •TR x Nimona •One Last Chance Before Our Demise •Warforged •Hello Puppets •Reformed Villains •Imprisoning Infection •Apocalypse Survivors •Sky Voices •TR Elite's Return •RQ Roleswap x TR •Star-Rats •Diamond Mafia •God Application •Earthly War Crimes (ocs) •Would You Love Me If I Was A Worm (drm) •FMS x DSMP •Alien Or Human? (drm) • Shadow Child (drm) •An Angel's Death Wish (drm)

Dream-Based AUs/Concepts (76 AUs)

•Generic Simpsons Crossover •Medieval Simpsons Gore •Steve Summer Camp •Desert House •Me/Sabre As Mike Afton •Gx/Vd IRL •Flooded World •SS!NM/TFTSMP!Karl •SS/RQ Monster AU •How Isn't This A Nightmare •Twisted Parkour •New Steves ft. Ranboo (ocs) •Girl Posse VS. Steves •Branch Legs •Lava Rainbow •Music Video ft. Grandmas •The Red Eyes (ocs) •RQ x OSMP Ft. Various Demon Cats • Shapeshifting Imagination •Fix Before • Abandoned Mall •Guardian Is Ripped AF •The Dead Kings •Dungeon Crawler •Ruined City ft. SBI •Girl Fight ft. Eldritch Abomination (oc) •Weird Alien Carrot •I'm Colle •Dolls w/ Reds •Befriend VR Sabre •Interview Show •Crafting Dead •TR Planet •Sideways Void •Trapped Sequel •Become Dragon •Failed 7 Colors •Contact Via MP3 Player •Tricolor Jester/Apocalypse (oc) •LOTB Chicken •Steves At Mall •Haunted Mushrooms •WTF Emily (oc) •Prof. Red In Costco •Companion Adventure • Camping Race •Board Game •Psychiatrist/Colle's Ghost •Pathetic Baby Bord •Figurines/Power Levels •Cosplay/Basketball •Fruits •Camping w/ Origin •Dystopia Costco •TR Elite IRL• Rock Concert •Deku Floating Gloves •Dark Sun •I'm TR Assistant •Steve Comm Post (Normal) •Necromancer/Kirishima •Unrecognizable •Cashiers •Bad Intentions •Catnap/ATLA/SpongeBob •MLP/Jesus/OCs •Whirlpool Facecam •Barbie Dolls •Bedroom Balancer (oc) •Sps Sabre Sci-Fi Movie •Fake Blue On Earth •Gen Loss Implied •Genderswamp (oc) •Steven Universe/MHA/Steves At ComicCon •Seer/Colle/SS Galaxy Classmates •Steve Saga Mobile Game

Changelog 10/7/24:

<Added 3 AUs> •Apocalypse Alien (drm) •Time and Elemental's Adventure (drm) •Keep The Memories Alive (ocs)

<Changed 2 AU names> Cryptid Sabre->Cave Monsters, Tired Eyes->Blindfold-centric AU Collection.

[ravendruid]

Hi!! I love your writing - how about “Herbal Tea” with Percy & Pike?

Hi anon! Thank you so much :'D Sorry it took me a bit to write this, but I hope you still love it ^_^

A Safe Legacy

(Read on AO3)

The streets were quiet this evening compared to the same night decades ago. The moon shone down on the cobblestone path that Percival de Rolo, now assisted with a cane, walked on. It was nice to leave the stuffy walls of the castle sometimes and breathe in the fresh air of Whitestone, see the shining leaves of the Sun Tree, feel the warmth of the acid-powered lamps on his face, one of his best inventions. The castle wasn’t as rambunctious as it used to be now that his children were grown—mostly all except for Gwen and Dan, but they were, generally, quiet children—so Percival didn’t feel the itch to leave it as often, but tonight the feeling of unease and overwhelm was worse than the nights the kids decided to play hide-and-seek in the various rooms and alcoves of the castle, often pranking scares to whoever passed by their hideouts. 

The calm of the night should feel like a blessing for Percy when, so many years ago, tonight had been filled with screams of death and undead roaming the streets. The anniversary of the beginning of the Whitestone rebellion was often forgotten in the shadow of its end, but not for Percy. Not while he lived and could still remember what it was like to reach the walls of his home and see the dead tree at its center, the bodies hanging from its branches, the undead patrolling like the Pale Guards did now, his castle—his home—ruled by Vampires and Necromancers. Percy would never forget this night.

Which is why he had to leave tonight. He had to see and hear with his own eyes and ears that Whitestone was safe and sound. And it was.

“Percy?” A soft voice called out to him. A voice Percy would recognize anywhere.

As sure as Catha was shining in the sky, when he turned to the sound of the voice that called him, Percy saw a young—although she was technically older than him—gnome with platinum blonde fun buns atop her head, wearing what seemed to be a slightly flour-dusted light blue dress.

“Pike!” He greeted his old friend back, lowering to shake her hand.

“What are you doing out here so late?” The gnome asked. She looked around, searching for guards, for sure, and when she didn’t find anyone of interest, she gestured for Percy to walk with her.

“Just stretching my legs. I’m not getting any younger these days,” Percy joked. If Pike noticed the deception in his tone, she didn’t show.

They walked the short distance from the square to the little house Pike lived in, not far from the bakery. Even though most of the furniture looked much too small for the space, the gnome still had a few pieces large enough for her friends, especially for Grog. It was quite cozy, really, and the lit fire in the fireplace gave a warm feeling to the environment. 

“Sit. I’ll be right back,” Pike instructed. Percy did as she commanded and picked a larger armchair by the fire. He set his cane aside and, with short grunts, stretched his stiff legs towards the fireplace to warm them. 

Pike returned a few minutes later with a teapot, two teacups and a plate of cookies and scones, set them on the short coffee table, and took a seat on a smaller armchair next to Percy’s.

“So, why were you really out tonight?” She asked, not missing a beat as she poured dark tea into the cups. Percy cringed internally at how perceptive his friend was, but should he really be that surprised that Pike, of all people, could read him so well?

“Tonight is the anniversary of when we arrived in Whitestone to deal with the Briarwoods.” Percy decided not to beat around the bush. 

“Ah,” Pike said, understanding. She handed Percy the cup of tea then poured one for herself.

Sometimes Percy forgot Pike hadn’t been there when they first sighted the city. She hadn't been there when they found the dead bodies hanging from the dead branches of the Sun Tree. Pike hadn’t been there when the undead giants and zombies came out. Even though she had joined them for the fight via astral projection, Pike still hadn't been there when it happened, but that didn’t stop her from hurting just as much as her friends did when they stumbled upon the dark scenario.

“Yeah.” Percy said, sipping on his tea. It was warm and inherently sweet, and Percy could taste the fresh herbs Pike must have used to brew this pot, surely provided by Keyleth at some point.

“Well… The city is doing great, Percy,” Pike shrugged, sipping on her cup with a sly smile. “The bakery is booming with clients, the market is always so full that I have to be careful because people don’t often see me, I’ve had to shoo some kids out of the front of the shop because they were painting on the sidewalk and wouldn’t let anyone step on their art, the little rascals, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard rumors that they are looking for more teachers at the schoolhouse because there aren’t enough for the number of children enrolling this year.”

Leave it to Pike Trickfoot to slap Percy in the face with the truth when he least expected it.

“T–that’s…” Percy couldn’t form any words. He hadn’t been made aware of all this because, honestly, it was mostly Cassandra’s job to know these things. “That’s great to hear, honestly.”

“Mhm,” Pike leaned over to grab a chocolate chip cookie. She dunked it into her tea (which made Percy cringe), then bit the soft side with a pleased smile. “So, you got nothing to worry about, Percy. The city is safe and  growing and happy. And if something was wrong, you would have known by now, right?”

Right, of that he was sure. 

“Besides,” The gnome continued, “It’s not like there aren’t at least three members of Vox Machina living in the city at all times. If anyone was dumb enough to attack the city, would they really do it when all of us are here?”

Pike had a point. The city was well-guarded, of course, between the Pale Guards, the Rifle Corps, the Grey Hunters and the resident Vox Machina members. Not to mention how quickly Keyleth and the Air Ashari would come to their rescue, should the need arise. 

“Whitestone is safe, Percy.”

“Thank you, Pike.” The man leaned over and took the gnome’s small hand in his. It was astounding the difference between them. Pike was older than Percy by at least a decade, yet, due to her gnome heritage, she didn’t look a day older than twenty, meanwhile, Percy, who already was in his sixties, had changed so much. He barely recognized himself behind the bushy, white beard and the wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. 

“Whitestone will be safe even after you’re gone, Percy,” Pike added with a fond smile, placing her hand on top of his.

Percy didn’t know how Pike knew to say that when he himself wasn’t aware he needed to hear it, but her words lifted a weight off Percy’s chest that he didn’t know he had. 

“I suppose that is comforting to know,” The man said, nodding. The worst thing about being the only human, so feeble and young, among his peers was knowing he would surely be the first to go—unless Grog died in a fight before the Matron took Percy—and what that would mean for his legacy.

“Trust us. Believe in us.” Pike’s eyes flickered with tears, a sight Percy wasn’t ready for. “I promise, we will not let any harm come to your home.”

And he did. Percy believed the gnome's words with every fiber of his human being. He knew that Whitestone would be safe and would prosper long after he was buried beneath the earth with his ancestors. Percy knew his friends—his family—would not let any harm come to the home he fought so hard for. Percy knew, deep inside of him, Whitestone was and always would be safe, and so was he.

[britcision]

Wednesday old friend you are with us again…

It’s not that Tuesday is Posting Day for new chapters, it’s that Tuesday is “oh shit tomorrow is Wednesday and I’m so close” day! Which means I have nice bite sized snacks for you on some Wednesdays 😁

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikoyuii @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @eonic @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @arandomturd @viyatrix @stargirl1331

—————

Rumble In The Urban Jungle

“Danger Twink is on the move!” It was Nightwing yelling it into the comms. It had to be, because not a damn one of the rest of them could have got through that sentence without laughing.

Oh, his voice was all joyful glee and Spoiler was soooo mad she left when she did because <<what the fuck is she missing>>, but the message was clear.

Things in the ballroom hit a flashpoint, and for some reason Danny’s doing the shit kicking. She’d wonder what the fuck Jason thought he was doing, since he’d been in arm’s reach of the guy all evening, but.

Yeah. Last she saw, Croc was separating them. Apparently Danny took a little less kindly to that than you’d think.

“Report?” She asked hopefully, half wanting to be called back to the hall. She’d nearly reached Black Bat, but let’s be honest.

Ten, fifteen Riddler minions? Bat could finish them before she even got there.

Red Robin sounded annoyed, as he always did when one of them (usually Damian) jumped the gun on him.

“They were walking Jason Todd towards a bomb vest. His civilian friend took exception to that, and now he’s… Wing what would you call that?”

“If the kid was twice the size I’d call that a classic sumo stance but he’s a fucking twink so it’s never gonna… well fuck me.”

Red Robin picked up the narrative again, now deadpan.

“He’s stopped Killer Croc dead and lifted him off the ground. Might be a butchered judo throw.”

“Need me back in there?” Spoiler pressed, both fingers crossed even as she ran down a hall. She’d only gone down one flight, there was a balcony into the dining hall.

She could make it.

“Negative, Spoiler. Get to Black Bat, Robin make sure that machine can’t be activated. Signal?”

Fucker. She’d make Tim suffer for it once they were all out of costume.

“You’d better fucking record the fight,” she grumbled, even as Signal buzzed in, sounding almost out of breath.

“Would this be a good time to remind you all that Fenton is a meta?” Robin bit out, shades of sarcasm filtering all the way through the falsely conversational tone.

Spoiler damn near tripped as Nightwing cursed.

“Okay fucking what?” That was a little important to be skipped over.

“Shit, yeah, sorry Robin… we didn’t have time to fill you guys in, Robin thinks he saw Fenton teleport. But he’s not teleporting now,” Nightwing added quickly, the frown clear in his voice.

As was Robin rolling his eyes.

“Abnormal strength is one of the most common meta abilities, in case you’d forgotten. Watch closely for the rest of his power set.”

Red Robin cut across them both, voice sharp. New factors always put him on edge.

“Robin saw, or Robin thinks he saw? Can we confirm this?”

Which, ouch, Red Robin might need to check his room for traps for a while.

Spoiler flinched, even through a grin. As much as it sucked for them, it was good fun for her when the Robins squared off. If either ever asked for help, she’d be happy to provide.

“He thought he saw, but the timelines didn’t match up. It was maybe three minutes before we bumped into you, they couldn’t have crossed the hall in time,” Nightwing explained gently, trying to keep the peace.

Robin clearly already had vengeance on his mind.

“I saw them all disappear, Nightwing, it is hardly my fault if the rest of you are incompetent! Black Bat agreed,” he added almost sullenly, and oh Spoiler could see the pout now.

And hear the faintest hint of smugness under the last declaration. Poor kid still had such a hard time accepting anyone believed in him.

Might have helped if he spent less time insisting that he was better than everyone else and they were all beneath him, but hey, League of Assassins training didn’t include humility.

Not for the heir to the Demon Head, anyway. Black Bat managed just fine.

And added in her two cents pretty much immediately, backing Robin up.

“Agreed. May not be strict teleportation, but Fenton has meta abilities of some kind. Shadows?” She asked, and the chat went silent for a moment, clearly waiting on Signal to weigh in.

His sigh was as resigned and tired as could be imagined.

“I’m not going to know until I get a look at him, guys, you know that. Might be cool if he does though, it’d be nice to have another meta on the team,” he added thoughtfully.

Robin tutted, but before he could voice his opinions of that Red Robin butted in again.

“Current circumstances may indicate that Fenton at least isn’t averse to conflict, but that doesn’t mean he’s on the right side. All that can wait for now, do you have an ETA, Signal?” He asked, clearly still typing away in the meantime.

Yeah, keeping the bats on task was a little like herding cats. They’d get the job done (and look good doing it), but keeping the comms cleared of banter was just never gonna happen.

“I’m outside, can’t see anyone at first glance. Want me to lock the place down?” Signal replied, and Spoiler sighed.

Bringing Signal in after dark always felt like cheating. Boy got OP in all of the shadows. Even if there might be someone else playing in them tonight.

Red Robin ignored her comment, still all business.

“Scan for Two Face or any of his crew first, go a block or two over. He may have been planning the initial attack. Can you cover up the damaged windows?

She could hear Signal sucking air through his teeth. A habit they’d all tried to break him of, if only for the truly ratty way it crackled over comms.

“I can up the lights inside, but not if I’m a block away. Priorities?”

“Scan first. Black Bat, Spoiler and Robin, when you’re done assist Signal. We have things handled in here.”

“And I’m recording it for you Spoiler, pinky promise,” Nightwing added gleefully, and she really wanted to kick him. “I left a camera high before joining the fun. Found Riddler yet Little Red?”

“Call me that again, Discowing.”

“Uh, that was a have you found the Riddler, Red Robin?”

“Not yet. It’ll go faster if you all shut up and do your jobs.” Red Robin still sounded actually annoyed rather than having fun, and Spoiler snickered.

“He’s worried his new best friend will be in danger,” she sang into comms, launching herself down a staircase and landing neatly with her knees planted on the shoulders of a running goon.

The burly woman toppled and Spoiler smacked her head off the floor for good measure, pulling out her zip ties.

“Civilians in danger is supposed to worry us, Spoiler,” Red Robin sniped back and she sighed again.

Yeah, okay, he had a bug in his ass. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to anyone either. Riddler must have bought the good encryption today.

“Yessir Red Robin. Shutting up,” she agreed with a one finger salute he’d never see, then continued on.

Missing all the fun just because the boys didn’t want to share. Wasn’t that always the way?

**

Honestly, if it hadn’t been Killer Croc Jason might not have suggested going rogue. Riddler’s guys carried guns, and even without the man himself around any spray would probably catch a hostage.

But Croc was a good guy, as weird as that might seem to say about a rogue. He’d been dealt a crappy hand, and while he wouldn’t shy away from violence on his own account, he had a kind heart.

He’d helped Roy get clean, and curbed Jason’s own more destructive tendencies in the past. Croc kept almost but not quite getting out of the life.

And, as expected, even as the big guy hauled himself to his feet he roared at the tensed goons.

“You lot get the fuckin’ bats, I can handle a scrawny little shit!” Slitted eyes narrowed as he turned to find Danny, who grinned back.

“Y’know, you’d be real surprised how often I hear that,” Danny snarked, shaking out his shoulders.

Jason resisted the urge to laugh, backing carefully away from the pair and the Riddler goons not already disarmed by Nightwing.

He wasn’t allowed to get in on the action in civvies, but he could throw the world’s clumsiest punch if none of his siblings were looking.

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.194 thoughts

[Violence for Violence is the Rule of Beasts]

(Contents: lore)

Always appreciate a lore drop

So we've finally confirmed that not every UMA has a Negator, and not every Negator has a UMA. It does seem strange to me that Fuuko would say the pairings are rare when we've seen so many, though. Death, Change, Luck, Move, Stop, Burn, Tell, and possible Information with Unknown, that's 7 or 8 out of 28 Negators who have a UMA counterpart: that's between 25 and 30%, I wouldn't call that rare, and it seems likely that many other Negators do have UMAs like presumably Justice, Fade, Sleep and Break at the very least since those feel like the most restrictive

Maybe I'm misreading it though and every Negator does have a UMA, and the pairs are rare in the sense that it's rare to find a UMA that can be Negated directly. Still, the main point is there's no Unbeast, there may not be an Unsoul, there's probably no Unsummer/Unwinter/etc., and most disappointingly there's no Uncrab. I really wanted to see that one, too...

With this revelation, we now know that the already dire disparity between Negator and UMA in this competition is much worse than it ever seemed. I never really considered the possibility of, say, every Negator and UMA lining up to square off against each other, but if our original concept of all Rules having one on each side were true, then it would be only slightly skewed in favor of the UMA since they're giant monsters with healing factors. Knowing that there are significantly more UMA than Negators, though, that would be an obvious loss for the Negator side as the sheer number of nigh-invincible monsters would obviously overwhelm the smaller force that can Negate at best a third of the opposition

However, I don't believe that Luna simply let Sun stack the deck in his favor completely unilaterally. The fact that there's never been a point where all of the UMA could attack at once and the rules of engagement allow for the Union to team up against them while also utilizing Artifacts means that Luna must have made a concerted effort to rebalance the game, though clearly she's the "challenger" since Sun is still undeniably the one with the advantage. That's a fairly standard rule in bets like this - the one who wants to usurp the throne has to fight at a disadvantage to prove that they're stronger or more deserving of it than the current ruler

It also just makes for more exciting storytelling for the main cast to be weaker than the enemy, as everyone loves an underdog story. Equal rivals are fun too, but uncontested beatdowns get stale fast, so it's for the best that the cast that the audience follows has to struggle. This is especially fun in series like UU since it requires that the cast gets clever with how they use their powers, like Andy stacking Unchange/Undraw/Unbreakable to squish Sick in under a minute

I hope that this ends up getting brought back up when we next fight Sun or talk to Luna, cus the nature of their relationship is probably the biggest hole left to fill here. Right now they're pretty nebulous gods; we know about their game, and we've seen that Luna has a surprisingly nasty personality for being ostensibly on "our side," but other than that we know next to nothing about either of them. What kind of life did they have before they started their game? How long did they exist? Were there other gods, or just them? Were they always enemies? Are they even enemies now? It looks like it'll still be a while before we get to answer any of these questions, but this chapter really helped contextualize exactly how their wager is set up

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[ghostly-penumbra]

Ectoberhaunt 2023. Day Twenty

"Danse Macabre"

Ao3

CrossOver/Fusion with The Graveyard Book.

- - -

Danny looked from afar in awe at all the people, all the living, breathing people as they gathered in the city’s town square, all of them wearing bracelets made out of bright green flowers.

He didn’t approach just yet. He had never been around this many of the living, and he was nervous.

Vlad hadn’t wanted him to come, saying it was a frivolous waste of time that would put him in danger besides, but Clockwork had put his foot down and said that Danny would be attending, and that nothing bad would happen today. Then he had said some mean things about Vlad’s undead-ness and Danny had covered his ears and left.

Now here he was, well outside the cemetery he had only ever left once (with disastrous results), and not knowing how to proceed. Did he just… walk up to them? What could he say? They were beginning to dance… and there were the ghosts from the cemetery! Why hadn’t they called him, so he could come with them?

“Clockwork said I would come… not that I would join them; and Vlad won’t be mad or anything! He will support me!” The kid put his hands on his hips and nodded to himself with a satisfied smile, when a snort hitting his nape had him turn around.

It was a horse bigger than Danny had imagined them from his picture books black like a starless night, imposing, with ornate bridle, reins and saddle of the same colour, with a mesmerizing green hue. Danny knew it was his.

“Hi, buddy.” He said offering his small hand for sniffing, and his horse moved its head to let Danny place his hand on the only white spot it had: a skull-like mark in its forehead. “You are so cool.”

The horse neighed in what Danny would call agreement, and started skipping in place and gently pushing Danny, making the child giggle.

“I’m taking that as you wanting me to ride you!” With great effort and childish glee Danny managed to sit on the saddle, holding on tightly onto the horn, as he didn’t quite reach the reins without flat out lying down.

“Let’s go, buddy! Let’s go!”

The horse ran with confidence, making Danny jump from time to time but never risking him falling. It slowed as it reached the towns’ square, finally stopping when it had brought Danny right in the middle of all the living and the dead dancing with each other.

Danny jumped down and thanked it for the ride, short as it had been, and then was quite busy when he was swept away to dance with everyone, living or ghost, he was twirled and lifted and he laughed and laughed in joy.

In the distance, he saw Vlad and Clockwork sitting in a lonely café, Vlad with a parasol and a cup filled with a red liquid, and Clockwork with a steaming cup of what had to be tea, and in his human disguise. Danny waved at them, and they nodded in return.

He was quickly swept away again, though, and joined back in the dancing.

- - -

hehehe... I did something...

[themarginalthinker]

Blue's cold fingers are at her lips before she can even get close, stopping the prospective kiss in its tracks.

"Ah. No."

"Aw, c'mon-"

"Charlie, I love you, but that stuff's nasty."

She draws back, and so does he. A small smile is fixed in place on her face, and she can see the edge of the good side of his mouth trying not to draw up as well.

"What," she says, teasing, "Don't like eggnog?"

Blue snorts. "Being able to keep anything but human blood down for any length of time longer than a minute is so fucking rare, and you waste it on this crap."

"Hmph. Grinch."

"Someone has to be."

Below them, in the square of one of the boroughs of the city, the lights flickered across the snow. Lines of slush under the rushing cars, mounds of it grey and grit-filled lining the sidewalks. Black ice lurked in the places one was most likely to set an unsuspecting foot, and icicles like expertly carved stakes hung from the edges of buildings where the warmth of the inside leaked out. The electronic red and green and blue and yellows colored it all in merry garlands, making the dark of the night a little less so.

The wind lashes up here, on the top of the water tower, with nothing stopping it. Charlie scoots herself closer to Blue, a gesture futile in practicality but warm for even the undead heart. She takes another sip from her thermos and smiles a little more genuinely.

"Thanks for coming anyway."

Blue glances at her, and then reaches out. Charlie fits herself under his arm.

"It beats anything else I'd be doing tonight."

"Well, don't put me on too high a pedestal, now."

His arm tightens. "It's true," he says quietly.

Despite the fact that they are alone, there is always the tenseness that creeps up her spine when he confirms it aloud. When either of them do things like this. Especially topside. She knows he can feel it, in her shoulders, under his hand.

He doesn't take it back, though.

"I know," Charlie replies.

Neither will she.

Before Blue can stop her, even begin to realize what she's doing, Charlie is surging up, and lands a kiss laced with the ghost of cinnamon, nutmeg, cream and sticky, whipped, uncooked egg right on his cheek - the bad one. Blue jolts, coughing out an aborted sound of disgust.

"I hope you realize me not chucking that off the edge is your present from me this year."

Charlie snuggles into his side, taking another sip.

"And yet, I don't see you wiping it away."

Under the distant lights, edging his the mismatched, twisted lines of his face with warm colors against the icy blackness behind them, Blue smiles.

"And throw away a gift from you? Never."

"Merry Christmas, Blue."

"Merry Christmas, Charlie.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

New World Order

Pairing: Zombie!Steve x Vampire!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: zombie and vampire virus, angst about losing a loved one to the virus, blood drinking

Request by anon: Reader is the vampire and steve is the zombie they are established before infections both even looked out for eachother when they woke up in an "undead" way they find eachother while felt the new hunger instict where they finaly met again while feeding first was reader draining the blood of a human when she thought she will be killed by someone she sees steve as a zombie in shock she dropped the body as he ran and ate the body after he eats he saw y/n his s/o shocked as hes calm and holds her. Imagine a mix with Warm bodies movie and almost vampire diaries angst and fluff

Summary: Things were great in the before world. Things were everything you’ve wanted and more... in the before. In the after, everything has changed and you don’t know if it’s for better or worse.

Squares Filled: soulmate au (2022) for @avengersbingo​

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Before, people were thriving. Before, people went out to restaurants to have a good time with friends and family. Before, you could hop on a flight to anywhere in the world and book a hotel for the weekend. Before, you could go to the beach and sunbathe until you’re golden brown. Before, you could walk alone at night and enjoy the moonlight without having to fear anyone or anything. Before, you used to go to work with your boyfriend since you two worked for the same company

You and Steve used to make fun of your managers because you hated them, used to take breaks at the same time to be together, and you’d always message each other on IM. Before, you could come home and dinner would be ready on the table for you, or Steve would prepare a bath for the two of you. Before, you’d stay up late and watch the stars on his roof. You’d talk about your future together and where you’d see yourselves five years from now.

Before, you used to be so happy.

Now, the entire world has gone to shit. Now, no one can go out without fear of being eaten alive. Now, everyone who has made it this far is armed with every weapon available. Now, you have to sneak into pharmacies and steal whatever medicine you can find because people stocked up before.

Now, the entire world is either dead, half-dead, or in hiding because of a disease that spreads too quickly for everyone to handle. Something in some lab got loose and infected one person which then infected ten until the entire world was on its way to Hell. Earth doesn’t have a lot of survivors, and the ones that did are either underground or high in skyscrapers. Whoever is caught on the streets is fair game.

Some call it the zombie apocalypse, others the end of the world, but you like to call it a new beginning.

Something else got loose from that lab, something much more deadly than a damn zombie. The last thing you remember is being chased by something very fast with a thirst for blood. That wasn’t a zombie, it was something that had superhuman strength. You were tackled when you felt sharp teeth pierce your neck. All the blood drained from your body and you were left there for dead.

You woke up as something brand new. You became the thing that was chasing you. The night became your playground, humans became your meals, and the zombies left you alone. They loved live flesh instead of dead.

At first, you scoured the Earth for whatever blood you could get your hands on. Humans are your main source of food, and if there are no more humans on Earth, then you’ll starve. Every human you came across, you drained them of their blood and stored it away in your personal refrigerator. Zombies are killing humans and tainting their blood while you’re the way to a new and intelligent species on Earth.

If you ration out your blood, you can survive on a pint a week. That gives you plenty of time to try and reverse the zombie curse so that the remaining humans can thrive. Your home base is underground where no one can find it, so your blood is safe where it is, even from other vampires. The nearby hospitals have their blood banks emptied because you hoarded all of the blood bags whether they are expired or not.

The town you used to live in is desolate and trashy. Houses are broken into, trash litters the street, graffiti is on every surface, and the cars are starting to rust from how long they’ve been in the sun. Your sleek heels click on the street, echoing off the houses around you. It’s time to look for more humans to either kidnap, eat, or drain their blood.

You’re able to get food from places where humans can’t travel to, so if you have a few human hostages and keep them fed, you have an endless blood supply. There are humans on the ground inside fortresses that you can break into, but they'll kill you once they know you can scale their fifty-feet high walls.

You could pose as a human and try to get in the front door, but they have scanners that detect the zombie and vampire curse, so that’s not going to work. The ones underground are too deep to track by scent, and the ones high in the sky have so many checkpoints just to get into their homes.

The best way for you to get what you want is to wait for some dumbass humans to venture out on their own, and you’re very patient. Luck is on your side today because you hear two humans inside an abandoned grocery store trying to find some medicine.

You hide behind a thick tree and watch as they leave with supplies in their arms. They have weapons on them to protect themselves with, but you can tell by the smiles on their faces that they don’t feel any sort of threat nearby. As they walk, one of them trips on a tree branch protruding from the ground. The tree scratches their leg and draws blood.

That causes you to snap.

Your fangs come out and your veins show underneath your eyes. With your super speed, you race over to them and yank one of them into you. You sink your fangs into the side of his neck and allow his blood to rush into your mouth. His friend screams in fear and runs back to the home base.

You pull your mouth away from your victim and run in front of his friend. He’d make a good hostage for you, so instead of killing him, you knock him out with one punch. You have medical supplies at your home base in case he needs some to keep him healthy. You carry him back over to your victim who is trying to stop the bleeding from his neck.

“Please, I have a family,” he begs.

“So did I.”

You kill this one, and you do your best to drain all of his blood into the containers you brought with you. You have enough to go back home but before you can, someone comes around the corner. The man stops and looks around as if he sees, hears, or smells something until he sees the dead body at your feet. He steps into the light, and you gasp in recognition.

“Steve?” you whisper.

Steve isn’t how you remember him. He’s hunched over with pale skin as if there is no blood in his body, and the only thing on his mind is feeding from the dead body you dropped. You take three big steps back to let him feed, and you think back to the last time you saw him.

You two had gotten the alert that the entire world is going into survival mode and was split up. The last thing you ever said to him was that you’ll see him at home. This whole time, you thought he was somewhere safe when really, he’s been dead.

He looks up at you when he’s finished eating. He still has the same bright blue eyes as before. Your hostage is still out, but you can tell Steve might want to eat him. You kneel in front of your former boyfriend to see if the old Steve is somewhere in there.

“Steve? It’s me, Y/N.”

It’s like he doesn’t even hear you because he doesn’t react in the way you want him to. All he does is stare at you. You have to get this hostage and the blood back to your base before he wakes up, but you can’t leave Steve out there.

“Come on, follow me.”

You hold your hand out to him for him to grab, but when he doesn’t, you grab his hand. It’s like he’s a little kid trying to understand what you’re doing to him. He doesn’t recognize this kindness but isn’t rejecting you either. On some level, he must know you’re someone he used to know and love.

You’re going to love and care for him in hopes that one day, you’ll find a cure and bring back the man you still think the world of.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[nekoannie-chan]

Undead

Title: “Undead”

Ship: Nico Minoru & Alex Wilder (Friendhship).

Word count: 542 words.

Rating: Teen.

Square: O4 “Necromancer”.

Summary: A necromancer can’t be a problem for Nico, right?

Warnings/Tags: Necromancer, spirits, talking to the dead.

Fandom: Marvel, Runaways.

A/N: This is my entry to @marvelrarepairbingo​  @marvelrarepairs​ MarvelRarePair Bingo Round 2 2023. Annie MRP-066.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

Also, my entry to @multifandom-flash Halloween, Annie-5017 & square 2: “Talking to the dead”.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

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After being chased, the group had to split up in order to escape; halfway there Alex and Nico found themselves, having no idea where to go, they decided to enter an old and abandoned cemetery in the city.

As they wandered among the tombs and mausoleums, a dense fog began to surround them. In the distance, they heard an ominous whisper that seemed to catch their attention. Following the sound, they came to one particular tomb. Attempting to read the inscription, it proved impossible, it was too old.

They were startled to hear a familiar voice behind them, with a great slowness, Nico turned around, she feared she was hallucinating, but no, there was the spirit of her sister, she knew it was her spirit because it didn't look corporeal.

She tried to hold her breath, the last time they saw each other... a greater danger appeared. Although this time Amy looked very different, on her face was a vacant and gloomy look. Her voice echoed in their ears, full of sadness and despair.

Amy warned them of an even greater danger ahead. Said danger was planning to summon an ancient, demonic being that would bring destruction to the city.

When Nico wanted to ask her more questions, Amy's ghost was gone, yet she knew that somehow, her sister would guide her.

Following the clues left by Amy, they entered a dark and mysterious forest.

Moving further into the cemetery, they found an ancient mausoleum hidden in the shadows. They needed to know if this was where the ritual Amy had told them would take place. Cautiously, they approached and peered through a small crack in the door.

What they saw took their breath away. Calypso Ezili, was surrounded by candles and dark symbols. Her eyes glowed with a malice as she spoke words in an unknown language. The air was filled with an evil energy that made Alex tremble and Nico alert.

Determined to interrupt the ritual, Alex and Nico searched for a way in. It was then that they noticed a small opening in the back of the mausoleum. They decided to slip through it, their hearts pounding with fear and excitement. As they advanced, they encountered traps and supernatural creatures trying to stop them, thanks to the Staff of One.

Inside the mausoleum, they found a dark passageway that led them to the center of the ritual. Every step they took, the air became thicker and more oppressive, breathing became more and more difficult. As they got closer, they could hear the screams of pain of the tormented souls that Calypso used in his invocation, and it seemed that he was talking to someone, perhaps it was one of the spirits or one of the dead.

Suddenly a chilling noise alerted the boys, Alex peeked through the small window that was in the place.

“We are in trouble," he whispered.

“I have the Staff... "

“No, Nico, you don't understand, you need to see this."

Nico looked out, Alex was right, the Staff wouldn't help, he didn't even know what to do to avoid what was happening, the dead were starting to rise, and come back to life, but they weren't alive.

“We need... PRIDE," they said in unison.

[bardnuts]

Fall of Last Light

Had the fight of my life last night and I wanted to write it out like a proper scene (under the cut). I never intended for it to see the light of day but @ggreeeenheart said I should share it so I am sharing it the blame lies squarely upon them

Brought to you by the Watersparkers (those motherfuckers) and a potion of angelic slumber which I forgot about until the last possible moment.

-

The cool glow of the barrier curving over the inn was cracking. Fragments of decaying magic fell away like flaming bits of paper and burned to nothing. Tendrils of darkness seeped through the cracks. Ripples of horror and fear ran through the crowd of Harpers and refugees gathered in the courtyard, but Twill could only stare after Isobel’s receding form as the imp bore her away, into the night. 

“The barrier,” whispered Gale. “It’s coming down.”

“No,” choked Jaheira. “It can’t be. This isn’t supposed to …” She rounded on Twill. “What happened?” 

He fixed her with a cool stare. Lady, if you only knew what I’ve just done for you. “They came to kidnap her. We fought, but …” He gestured helplessly at the sky. 

“Ehm,” said Astarion, “Look.”

He pointed into the courtyard, and the others followed his gaze. The two Harpers stationed by the gates had collapsed into silent convulsions. Darkness flowed visibly over their twisting bodies. Beyond the thinning barrier, thorny vines pressed against the boundary, curling and tapping in something very like a … 

Knock.

“Is it just me,” said Astarion, “or does something want to come in?” 

“No,” Jaheira gasped. She swung her staff around. “Prepare for battle!” 

The barrier dissolved all at once. The faint moonglow of Selune’s light dissipated into nothing and a bleak, swampy darkness broke over the Last Light like a stinking wave. Twill felt a choking cold fill his chest, clawing at his lungs and numbing his brain. His hand flew to his throat, but then the feeling passed, leaving only a chill and a sense of vague exhaustion. 

Those gathered in the courtyard, however, had not been so fortunate. The little party on the porch watched in dawning horror as the Harpers and the refugees slumped, one by one, in a gathering wave across the yard, until not a single one was standing. 

“They’re dyin’,” whispered Karlach. 

“Selune’s blessing is protecting us from the curse,” said Gale. “Look!” 

As suddenly as they had collapsed, the people of the Last Light were rising: they struggled jerkily to their feet, twisting shadows streaming from ruined eyes and gaping mouths. Almost as one organism, they turned to stare at the group standing on the porch.

The refugees. The people they had saved. All lost, all for nothing. It’s beautiful, thought Twill, and gripped his sword so hard the wire hilt hurt his palm. No, he told himself sharply, it’s a tragedy. 

“Do not hesitate!” shouted Jaheira. “Show no mercy. These are not the people we knew. If you wish to survive, fight! To battle!” 

The dark rushed in.

Karlach knocked Jaheira aside with a howl and charged at the converging mass of newborn undead. There was a meaty thunk as her hammer plowed through a halfling’s skull. A half-elf lunged at her from behind, but an arrow slammed into his eye. Twill felt the missile sting his ear and whirled to see Astarion lowering his bow, teeth locked in a grimace. 

“Shit,” he said fervently, and spat. 

Gale shouted a Word and Karlach turned, shielding herself, as a tremendous explosion mushroomed over the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Undead Harpers fell in smoldering piles. The cursed darkness swallowed any firelight but the flames lapped at Karlach’s furred boots. With what could only be described as a roar, she swung her hammer and knocked a Harper clear across the courtyard. 

“Could use another one of those!” she shouted.

“There are too many!” Gale shouted back. “We have to escape!” The air blurred around him, making him difficult to see. He and Astarion fought back to back, the elf sliding around him like water, but Jaheira and Karlach fought alone. Twill hung back, surveying the carnage and trying very hard not to revel in it. 

“Another fireball, wizard!” said Astarion. “Make yourself useful!” He jerked his blade out of a groaning Harper. 

“I’m about dried up! We need to get out of here.” 

“And go where?” 

Pull yourself together, thought Twill. Karlach needed help. With gritted teeth and a stifled urge, he charged into the fray and met an advancing tiefling with a lute in the face. The strings retorted discordantly, the tiefling stumbled back, and Twill recognized him at once: it was Dammon, the smith.

Or, well, what was left of him. 

There wasn’t time to hesitate. Twill leveled his finger at Dammon and hissed a Word that burrowed into the smith’s skull like a hungry worm. He fell to his knees with his hands clamped over his ears, then slumped lifelessly to the ground. Karlach’s only hope for healing, dead in an instant. 

No time for a funeral.

“Behind you!” Karlach roared. Twill turned just in time to dodge a blow from an axe, then threw himself sideways and slipped under the searing path of Astarion’s firebolt.

“Watch it!” called the elf. 

“They keep coming!” This from Gale, who had retreated under the inn’s overhang, eyes wild, perfectly coifed hair disheveled beyond recognition. “We have to get out of here.”

“And go where?” Astarion snapped.

“Karlach needs help!” shouted Twill. At his call, Gale swung his staff around and cried a spell that translated words into heat. Twill threw up his arm as a fireball exploded in the midst of the throng of Harpers, and tried to count in his head. How much could Gale possibly have left in him? Who were they if he went down? A barbarian, a badly-drawn elf with a dagger, and some guy with an indestructible lute. They wouldn’t last a minute without his spells. 

“Get Gale inside!” he shouted. “Inside!” His words were drowned by a distant crack—then screaming.

“In what?” Astarion shouted back, but the din swallowed his voice too. Twill whirled around to see great thorny vines erupting from the ground. The dark was closing in, and nature’s twisted fury had joined what was looking increasingly likely to be a successful attempt on all their lives. Their only hope was to get inside and hope four solid walls and a roof might grant them some respite.

Vines raced across the courtyard toward them. The dark turned cold. Karlach split a halfling’s skull like a pumpkin. Twill stumbled over his own feet, turned around, and ran for the doors to the inn. 

“INSIDE! THE DARK! TAKE SHELTER!” 

Astarion dispatched a Harper in an arterial spray and sagged against a post, fumbling in his bag with bloody hands and gritted teeth. “Of course—of course!” 

A sphere of white moonlight burst forth as he produced the lantern they had stolen from Moonrise Towers. The undead Harpers and refugees faltered in their advance, unwilling to step into the light.

“I could kiss you!” shouted Gale.

“Don’t,” said Astarion. He jumped onto the porch, beckoning. “Come on, all of you, get ins—gah!” 

Blood spattered the floorboards and Astarion dropped the lantern as something hoisted him into the air. His head cracked against the overhang. One of the vines, sizzling in the holy light, had seized him around the ankle and was dragging him toward the shadows. 

Gale slammed the butt of his staff into the ground and the vine exploded from within. A burst of splinters rained over them and Astarion hit the ground with a dazed grunt. 

“All right, Astar—”

“Get inside, you dolt!” 

“Right-o!” Gale hiked up his robes and ducked inside the inn, high-stepping through the puddles of water left over from Jaheira’s ice spells. Twill scrambled past the converging Harpers and sprinted for the door, but as he passed Astarion he hesitated. The elf was hopping from foot to foot, tugging on his boots. 

“What are you …?” 

“They’re enchanted, my boots, they’re electric, the water.” 

There was a creaking groan from the courtyard. Twill squinted into the dark and saw the largest of the vines pulse, then shiver, as if preparing for something, as if readying a blow.

“Take them off,” said Twill. His voice came out weak. “Take them off, take off the boots, take them off now—”

Gale poked his head through the door. “Astarion, what are you waiting for? Don’t just stand out here all—”

With the inorganic shriek of splitting wood, the vines in the courtyard released a hail of splinters and thorns. Twill turned away from the blast and felt dozens of needles slam into his shoulders and neck, knocking him against the wall. Gale went down. Astarion was luckiest—the support beams shielded him from the blast. 

Out in the courtyard, Jaheira fell with a choked cry. Karlach shrieked in agony, knocked a Harper clear across the yard, and broke for the door. Thorns protruded from her flesh in half a dozen places, but she still stopped to pull Gale upright. “C’mon now, stop napping!” 

Gale’s eyes were glazed. Blood ran from his mouth. “What was …?”

“No time for questions, but you’re doing great. March, soldier!” When it was clear Gale couldn’t walk on his own, Karlach braced him with her strength—though it made her gasp in pain—and the two of them splashed through the doorway into the frost-encrusted taproom.

Twill pulled a splinter out of his neck and sprinted through after them. Astarion splashed inside last, boots tucked under his arm, swearing as the frigid water nipped his bare toes. They were all inside now, the only four survivors of the Last Light, back-to-back in a tiny circle of moonglow as the void converged upon them. 

The Harpers were coming through the door now. 

“Your boots!” said Twill. “Use them! Electrify the—no, don’t put them on! Astarion! Just throw them!”

“They only work if I’m wearing them!” snarled Astarion, bouncing on one leg. 

A Harper pushed a crossbow through the opening and fired. Gale fell into the water with a groan, the bolt protruding from his shoulder. Twill splashed across to him, and with Karlach’s help they rolled the wounded wizard onto a dry patch of floor. 

The crush at the door broke. The Harpers began streaming inside. Twill whirled around, icy water soaking through his shoes.

Astarion got his boots back on and jumped in the puddle with both feet.

A crack like thunder deafened Twill. Heat surged up his legs and through his chest. His heart stuttered, and he smelled the too-familiar stench of burning flesh. He watched the Harpers at the door convulse and drop like twisting mice, and then he was on the floor too. Every muscle in his body was twitching uncontrollably. From what felt like a thousand miles away, he heard Astarion’s voice:

“Ah, shit.” 

You idiot, Twill thought dimly. You fucking moron. 

Through blurred vision, he saw vines break through the door. Despair rose like vomit in his chest. They were done for. Karlach swung at an advancing tendril with her hammer, scattering thorns. The retorting blow caught her full in the stomach. She slammed into the far wall and slid to the floor, motionless. 

Gale struggled halfway upright. He pulled a sealed vial from his pocket, popped the cork, and downed the contents. Twill felt a swelling of hope as his consciousness flickered—maybe he was gathering the strength for one more fireball.

Instead, Gale’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped, lifeless, to the floor.

“Oh, wonderful!” cried Astarion. “So you get to take the easy way out?” 

A moment later Twill felt a hand on his arm, and then Astarion was tugging on him, trying to pull him upright.

“Come on, you aren’t dying yet. Get up, get—ignis!” This last was shouted at a vine, which burst into shrieking flames. The woods were crowding through the door. 

“We’re fucked,” moaned Twill. “We are so fucked, we are so—”

Another explosion of thorns caught them both. Astarion wheeled backward fell flat on his back into the water. Blood streamed from his mouth and ruined eyes. He was dead in an instant. Without his support, Twill fell back into the water. Aftershocks shivered through him, and he knew that he was dying, but for some reason he was holding back laughter.

So much carnage, he thought. Why is it so … beautiful?

His vision faded. It was over. It was all over.

Light bloomed. 

Gale stood, straight and tall, his wounds healed, crackling with power. All magic restored, all tiredness expelled. His magical slumber had healed him. He drew a pattern in the air as the vines rushed toward him, breathed out—a tiny huff of air—and smiled.

The air exploded. 

His fireball ripped through paintings and scattered furniture. The goblets and cups of the Last Light became a hailstorm, pinging off walls and window frames. The raw force of his spell incinerated the vines, which burned instantly to blackened, shriveled, shrieking twigs. Astarion and Karlach were incinerated—but Gale dodged another hail of thorns, pointed at Karlach’s blackened corpse, and spoke a Word of Revivify. 

She rose with an agonized shriek, bloodied and torn but alive once again. Gale pointed at Astarion and spoke again. And then one last time, at Twill. 

Once the four of them were on their feet again, they made short work of the few remaining vines. An uneasy quiet fell as they sheltered behind the counter in the ruins of the Last Light, a quiet broken only by Karlach’s intermittent shrieks of rage as she hacked a motionless vine to pieces next to the stairs. Gale, Twill, and Astarion sat on the floor together, passing a blood-encrusted bottle of wine around in shell-shocked silence. 

After a while, Astarion spoke. His hair was standing on end. 

“Well,” he said, “that could have gone better.” 

[dailycharacteroption]

Creature Corner: Vermin part 1

(art by TyhonArt on DeviantArt)

Overview

And here it is, the last creature type of Pathfinder First Edition. This will be the last special in this format, though I’ll probably do a couple of week-long specials on how the creature types developed in Starfinder as well as Pathfinder and Starfinder Second Edition as well, so we’re not quite done. I might even do a special on templates as well.

In any case, let’s get right into it.

Skittering, rustling sounds in abandoned tunnels, the humming flutter of wings carrying a rounded chitinous form, the sudden tugging on your ankle as a previously unseen tentacle drags you down, these are the sensations that often accompany the vermin type, mostly filled with giant bugs and other simple organisms.

But what exactly differentiates creatures of the “vermin” type from the animal type? Back when we did the entries on the animal type, I pointed out that the unifying features of that type were having either a spinal column or having relatively complex brains despite being boneless, but that would be defining vermin by what they are not.

The vermin type consists of insects, arachnids, crustaceans, most mollusks, cniderians, and echinoderms, creatures that range from complex and chitinous to entirely soft-bodied or possessing radial symmetry. It’s a pretty diverse group spanning entire branches of Kingdom Animalia with little to know relationship in some places. Pretty unusual to group them together, honestly.

The vermin type also is noted for usually having the “mindless” trait, meaning they are immune to most mind-affecting effects, including most enchantment spells and certain types of illusions. However, while it’s easy to assume that these creatures truly do act only on instinct, being too “simple” for mental manipulation, complex living things are considerably different than mindless constructs, giant-sized amoeba, and lesser undead. In fact, studies on insect and arachnid behavior has demonstrated many actually have really good memories, being able to recognize individual humans and even demonstrate personalities, so perhaps it’s best to interpret it as the vermin type are far too dissimilar to other minds to use even the broadest enchantments on them.

Perhaps the most unifying thing about the vermin type, however, is that the vermin type is composed of creatures that lack internal skeletons and would be highly unusual and frightening to encounter at massive size.

The idea of giant insects, arachnids, and other vermin has been with us for a very long time, with the first film involving the concept being THEM! In the 50’s, and the first science fiction story involving them being H. G. Wells’ Food of the Gods story back in the 1900’s.

Even before that, regular-sized vermin appear plenty of times in mythology and religion, so even these so-called lesser creatures have their place. It is interesting though that the concept of dialing up their size is so recent though.

Of course, having giant bugs and the like running around begs the question of “why and how”. After all, a lot of you are probably familiar with the “square-cube law”, which when applied to biology, states that the bigger a creature is, the more stress it’s body is under just to not collapse under it’s own weight.

Now obviously in a fantasy setting like Pathfinder, the square-cube law is thrown right out the window off the bat what with all those giant cosmic horrors and literal kaiju and other titanic monsters and literal giants running around, but some still find it a stretch too far without some sort of explanation.

The easiest answer is to say that such giant-sized vermin are just a normal, ubiquitous part of the world. Meanwhile, most science fiction involving them explain it as an extraordinary external factor (typically radiation or some superfood, but in a fantasy setting you can also say magic) that either made giants of that which was miniscule either all at once or generationally. Or maybe the laws of physics are just different in the setting and the square-cube law is more of a suggestion, which isn’t entirely implausible in a setting where “altering reality through sheer force of will” is a part of the metaphysics.

Of course, aquatic vermin like crabs, sea jellies, and the like have somewhat of an excuse with the buoyancy factor, but even they can only go so far before you bump up against and trample over the borders of possibility.

Another factor you run into with giant bugs, and well, any unusually massive creature, is how they affect the food web of their home environments, which also include all sorts of other fantastical beasts, but this is mostly handwaved because it’s fantasy, not a reality simulation.

Moving on from the question of how, let’s talk a bit about the themes that come up with the vermin type. Most are giant-sized versions of bugs and critters both familiar and exotic, while others are just swarms of the regular-sized ones, and others still are fantastical insectoids that don’t quite match any real species but aren’t quite unusual enough to warrant being a magical beast.

As such, the themes of the vermin type are often the horror of being in a situation where you are prey to a creature you’d probably not notice normally, whether they be massive or simply massive in number. While this is true of most, a few vermin also play into other horrific themes as well, such as the xenopterid, which actually mimic a cloaked human before they spread their wings and reveal their clawed legs and move in for the kill.

So while the vermin type does not quite have the variety of concepts beyond Earth’s biodiversity with the photoshop scaling tool applied to it, it still can be a source of fun in it’s own right, as we’ll see as we go through the week. I hope you’re looking forward to it.

[akumastrife]

your king (of bone); your kingdom (of veils) //TRC (GanseyGlendower)

Rating: Mature (mostly smut, some implied body horror) Fandom: The Raven Cycle Pairing: Gansey/Glendower (we did it babeyyyy!!) Word Count: 4k HERE WE GOOOOO it's been 12 years since this series came out and I haven't found ONE fic of them boning??? hello??? must I do everything around here?? Someone make me a badge or something. This got real weird, sorry not sorry, but it deserved some mild body horror and Gansey crying and some existential angst. Written for the “Undead” square on last year’s Monsterfucktober Bingo. {ALSO ON AO3}

It’s only once Gansey is standing there—in a dark, musty cave staring up at an effigy of nightmarish imagination—that he realizes there was a small part of him that never actually expected to find Glendower.

Glendower was a titan. A figurehead. A deity. All that glittered, and the rest of it.

One moment he is pushing at the coffin’s heavy lid, fused down with lichen, and the next he is standing in the middle of a stone dais, alone. It’s dark but he isn’t blind, an aura of light that seems to be everywhere and come from nothing.

And then not alone, the armored figure before him tilting its helmet as if to regard him closely.

Owain Glyndŵr is just as imposing as Gansey had assumed, but it is all from his presence. Glyndŵr isn’t much taller than himself. Only made more so by his full coat of arms.

Gansey inhales, and stale air passes through cobwebs on pillars and tattered banners. Slowly—as if the room is being rendered and filled in around Glyndŵr despite his inability to look away from him—the dais brightens in shadows and weak sunlight through milky windows.

For once he can find nothing to say.

 What else can Gansey do, but fall to his knees?

‘Peace, little king,’ Glyndŵr says. Or doesn’t say. The words fill the room and the emptiness between Gansey’s breath as a hum—as an echoing language that he’s never heard before, layered over itself many times in different pitches. At the foundation of it is one that is deep and rich.  

Gansey shivers, trapping his hands between his knees as he gazes up. “I’m no king,” he whispers.

‘Nor I, and yet have we not earned it?’

Gansey doesn’t think it would be right to argue with him. It almost makes him laugh—him, arguing semantics with Owain Glyndŵr.

And it is Glyndŵr. Not the anglicized version he’s been saying aloud. Gansey woke him. He’s here, alive. The least he can do is greet him properly.

“I can’t believe I found you.”

Can hardly believe there was someone to find after all.

‘It had to be you. Because I wanted it to be you.’  Glyndŵr shifts into grating movement, a cacophonous orchestra of metal that has been fused together with rust, moss, and ocean salt spray—finally loosening. He steps up before Gansey. ‘It was always you.’

A hundred nonsensical things run through Gansey’s mind. He is not special. His friends are the extraordinary ones with fantastic magics. The only interesting things about him are his money and his weird ability to die and not have it stick. That’s not him. That’s a thing that has happened to him. An unwilling participant.

But Glyndŵr looks down at him, alive and found, and he feels like the most special boy in existence.

And then feels stupid for thinking it at all.

‘What do you wish, little king?’

A wish. He still has a wish. It’s real. It’s all real. He found Glyndŵr and he gets whatever he can divine, like every fairytale ever promised him.

He thinks immediately of Noah.

Thinks of Adam.

Thinks of Ronan.

Thinks, breathlessly, of Blue.

A gauntlet hand rises to touch him under the chin, lifting just slightly. The metal smells of decay and damp earth.

Twin points of smoldering gold light peer out of the helmet.

The scene before him flashes and shifts. Like a projector with two many reels crammed inside.

Glyndŵr and the stone room—a warm and colorful bedroom with a roaring fireplace—the glade shadowy with an oncoming storm and the grass dewy as it rushes up to meet him—Monmouth stuffy and bloated with summer—a man he feels like he should know watching him as sharp as a general—the hum of a hundred bees.

Light and color and backdrop flickers like a candle caught in a draft, throwing confusion and shadows along the walls.

Faster and faster, superimposing over one another until he’s stuck fast and rocking from it in the warm room, the fireplace crackling, and the man touching his face tenderly.

It sends a flush rippling through him, embarrassed, his knees near about to give out. Momentum maybe, or surprise. Or—

Owain. Looking a little like lightning boy aged well. Smiling at him, his eyes somehow pitying.

Gansey’s chest tightens, feeling that expression more than he’d like to admit.

Another touch to his chin, wondering and considering. Gansey tilts into it without thought, without hesitation, eyes sliding shut to savor it.

Is it real? Is it just a dream? Is it magic?

Dry lips touch his as gently as a turning page, and he decides immediately it doesn’t matter. It is something—it is what it is—and it is for him.

He falls into the kiss, falls into hands ready to catch him.

He feels embarrassingly young in Owain’s hold. Feels small and uncertain; untested.

Wide, calloused hands slide gently beneath his clothes, gliding along his much softer skin. He shivers, cannot help it, and inhales softly at the opening of the kiss; at the soft, wet catch of careful lips easing him as if he has brought himself a virgin to a marital bed.

He doesn’t know how he’s gotten here, where here even is, where his friends are.

Liminal, maybe.

His desire, his desperation, so powerful it’s done something impossible.

“You’re impossible,” Gansey murmurs against Owain’s mouth. He’s kissed many people but it’s never been like this.

Hands grip a little tighter, soothing or a tease, maybe. Familiar and not.

“And you are not?” Owain offers back. Low and kind, a rumble of warmth rather than pitch. Gansey’s surprised that his voice isn’t deeper—doesn’t rattle through his chest like when he was hearing him only inside his own mind.

It’s not what he’d expected, and it knocks him out of the sensations for a moment. Finds himself drowning, gasping in the clear light of day.

Owain pulls back to look at him, eyes curious as they take him in, and then he’s picking Gansey up bodily and Gansey slips under the surface again.

“I can walk—what would you like—”

“I’m dead, not incapable,” Owain argues gamely, laying Gansey out across the velvet bedspread. “And courteous, despite… well, everything else.”

“Not dead anymore,” Gansey points out. His head spins, dizzy with the heat of the fireplace and being carried and the whole situation. Reaches out for Owain as an anchor and pulls him down on top of him, melting under the weight of him and into the soft bed.

Owain only hums, neither agreeing nor arguing. Hums directly into Gansey’s mouth and then further along his throat.

Gansey sighs, shuddering, tugging blindly at Owain’s tunic, his trousers. Flushes at the laugh it gets him, even if Owain complies easily—copies it even.

Their flushed skin sticks and catches against each other; Owain’s teeth catching over Gansey’s nipple, pulling until Gansey’s head stretches back, overwhelmed already.

He can see part of the fireplace from this angle. It flickers between roaring and  empty. He squeezes his eyes shut, blinking them back open. The fire crackles steadily.

“I’ve seen your desires, little king,” Owain whispers, licking it down his sternum and stomach. His lips pull Gansey’s attention back down to him. “For life and this and me and your companions and the world. But all those things are one in the same, are they not?”

Gansey swallows, nearly chokes on it, vision hazy as he tries to focus on the rich crimson canopy overhead. His cock, embarrassingly, twitches needy against a muscled thigh.

“That is the problem with conquest—the hunger.”

Gansey feels like he’s been hungry his whole life, dragged around and controlled by it, always stumbling to keep up.

A tongue drags over his bellybutton, over to press teeth into the softness of his hip. Chained desire shakes so hard to break free that his hands shake as they wind through Owain’s hair.

“How did you—”

“I know,” Owain says, kissing it into his thigh, the warm crease. “You were given a second chance, and being undead,” he hums considering for a long moment, “the act of being brought back means there will always be a hole, an emptiness, within you. That hunger might yet consume you. Are you prepared for that? Is it worth it?” 

Gansey swallows again, clicking, drawing his feet against blankets to pull his knees back, giving Owain more room. Maybe it’s the magic that has brought them both back that demands payment, in blood or otherwise. Maybe magic and hunger are one and the same.

He makes himself look down, meeting deep and hungry eyes. “You tell me. Are you grateful to be woken?”

Owain’s mouth pulls into an indulgent grin, pleased and proud of something. Dips his head to take Gansey into his mouth and suck.

Gansey shouts, head falling back and bouncing, trying to still his hips. Owain laughs, softly, sending vibrations along his length. It’s embarrassing in its own way, and so good. 

“S-supposed to be the other way around, I think,” Gansey offers, thready. Whines and shifts, stretching one leg over a broad shoulder.

Owain draws up, so slowly. “You’ve thought of this. Not just the act.”

“Yes,” soft as a sigh. Flushes. “This doesn’t seem right. G-gracious,” at another drag of hot tongue. Tightens his fist and tugs—

“Oh,” unbalanced at the sudden give like hair’s been ripped free.

When he looks down his hands are exactly where he left them, buried in thick waves.

Tugs again, lighter, testing.

Owain hums, arching into the pull, and does something with his mouth that has Gansey’s vision darkening around the edges. Whimpers and continues, “Supposed to be me, doing this for you.”

“Here we are equals, little king,” Owain says. “I enjoy it both ways. Most ways. You do not have to prostrate yourself before me.”

“What if I wanted to?”

They are both quiet, the only sounds heavy breathing and the crackling fire.

“Then your wish is my command.”

Panic claws at Gansey’s throat, closing around a dozen desperate wailing questions. He tries to push himself up—can’t when tangled with Owain, all he’s ever wanted and yet—

“Shh, shh,” Owain soothes him, wide hand firm and warm across his hips, pinning him down, pushing himself up Gansey’s body to kiss into his mouth, tongue curling. Something herbal and stale on his breath. “Settle, you haven’t wasted it.”

“What—”

“I could’ve. Could’ve made you beg for it. But. No. There is still yet something I can grant you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gansey says, still breathing too shallow, heartbeat still fast as a bird learning its been caged. Although, given the moment to think about it, he could’ve always argued he hadn’t asked for this, so technically it didn’t count as the wish. The favor. Do undead Welsh Kings have to abide by the same rules as djinn?

Owain shrugs one shoulder, fingering Gansey’s damp hair off his forehead. “Is it so much to assume I might want something from you? I’ve been asleep for a very long time.”

Gansey feels his blush down his chest. “Then… then my previous statement stands. Ah, about,” and gestures vague and circularly in the air between them.

Owain doesn’t break eye contact as he easily captures that hand and kisses his fingertips.

The blush deepens. Realizing it does only makes the embarrassment worsen somehow. Knowing he is. Knowing he’s acting like some sweet conquest. Finds himself blurting, “I am not naive.”

“Would you like to pretend?”

Gansey thinks, in a rush, of the historical erotica he’d found in Mallory’s library. Thin, warped pamphlets slipped between biographies, filled with ripped corsets, various throbbings, and all sorts of metaphors that had gotten lost on their way back to dripping fluids.

Owain chuckles, taking his silence for whatever he wants.

Breathing too fast and too wanting, Gansey is fine with that. Doesn’t know what he wants, just that he does, desperately.  Arousal burns at his core, shifting up for another kiss.

Owain opens it immediately, firm and gentle in his demanding, as his hands find Gansey’s hips and yank, tugging him lower, closer, and up. Swallows down Gansey’s muffled gasp of surprise. His hands are tacky with sweat against Gansey. Or maybe it is his own feverish skin that make them slide unnaturally.

Gansey drags him in closer, tongue turning greedy, legs wrapping around the cut of his thick waist, as he nearly folds himself in half, desperate for friction and kissing both.

Owain’s fingers are slick when they appear between them, pressing at his rim, humming warm until Gansey gives way on a thin hiss between his teeth—between their tongues. He wriggles his hips, hiccuping in the abrupt shift, the too-knowing reach.

“Please,” he gasps, dropping his head back. He doesn’t think where Owain got the oil, doesn’t think about protection, doesn’t worry about a single damn thing for once in his life as his head’s filled with cottony afternoon sunlit pleasure.

Lips at his neck again, nudging his chin to the side to kiss up to the sensitive lobe of his ear and down to his shoulder. Gansey can only breathe heavy until he’s dizzy, drifting in the muddied warmth of fingers stretching him open easily, thumb tracing the rim and pressing up his perineum until he’s shaking, all his muscles liquid.

“You are a dream,” Owain says, almost to himself. Expands his fingers tortuously as he drags them out slow.

“I’m not sure this isn’t all a dream,” Gansey murmurs, losing some of it to a cracking moan as Owain shifts hold on his thighs and presses into him, inexorable.

“S-sweet saints,” Gansey manages, screwing his eyes up tight and toes curling. Owain is thick and weighty inside him; rocking easy and unhurried until their hips are nestled flush, and Gansey’s choking on every expletive he’s ever heard Ronan use.

Owain chuckles, hands rubbing warm circles to soothe him, even as all of him shakes in mirth and jostles Gansey into squirming movement.

It’s either that, or silently despairing at the stretch like an empty highway headed nowhere.

Heat builds in his gut, simmering into his hips, as he works himself in small circles on Owain’s cock; spiraling at the sharp pleasure cut through with the reality of what they’re doing.

“Fuck,” he spits, inelegantly.

Owain swears similarly, rough and foreign, pressed into Gansey’s shoulder. He’s too dumb, too dazed, to parse it—too fixated on the scratch of stubble he hadn’t focused on before.

Been there before?

Teeth nip at his throat; a hand presses at one sensitive thigh, easing him a little wider.

Gansey tips his head back on a shuddering gasp, opening all of himself  desperately as his mind goes blissfully empty. Nothing to think about, nothing to worry about; just the suffusing heat of arousal like a fever.

He’s died once, already. Maybe twice?

How fitting to feel it here, again—la petite mort indeed.

He found him.

He found his king.

And Owain has found his pleasure, his fantasies, and draws it out of him easier than if he was in his thoughts with him.

Maybe he is.

Or maybe he’s the one in Owain’s eternal dreams.

“You are lovely when you’re thinking,” Owain said, a little rough, wrestling out a grin for him. He pushes himself up enough to snap his hips harder, and to pet the wrinkle between Gansey’s brows with a thumb.

 “Good,” Gansey says breathlessly, nudging up into the touch. “I hear I do it rather a lot. Just thinking about you, though.”

“I am not the jealous sort.”

Gansey laughs at that, has it croaking down into a moan as Owain takes his cock in his hand. “It—it really is about you. And impossibilities. And… no matter what happens, I hope I don’t ever forget this.” 

“The necessities of life,” Owain says, making sense and not.

Everything makes more and less sense when that thumb that had been on his face rubs hard over the head of his cock, fond and demanding at once.

Gansey whimpers, hips kicking up. Shudders at the extra friction, at the all-consuming desire thumping through his body. Whines as he squirms, one foot losing purchase and the angle he’d briefly grasped.

Cold air passes over them, between them.

He jerks, feeling like he’s falling—a sharp swoop in his chest—like he’s losing more than just his grip on Owain.

“Please.” His face burns with it, the sudden cloying desire, the fear of loss, when he was so close, lungs fluttering with the almost-catch.

“Anything.” Owain’s hands grip tighter, bruise.

The warm light from the hearth, from the candles scattered around, flare impossibly brighter.

Owain shifts back, out, to flip Gansey over and push back inside him as he holds him down into the bed. His lips seal against the back of Gansey’s neck, knees planted solid between Gansey’s own weak and bent ones. Steadies him with one strong hand, as unyielding as stone, on his hip, and the other pressing one of Gansey’s hands into the bed so hard he feels his knuckles shift.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, eyelashes damp and lungs squeezing tight. Maybe tightens with the pressure of being pinned to the bed. The velvet of the bedspread is rough against his leaking cock, each slide of pleasure outlined with a spine-tingling zing of discomfort. He rubs his cheek against it for more. Anything to sink deeper into this, to lose himself to it.

Owain is heavy and hard on top of him, body tensed for metering even and unrelenting pleasure alongside his own; his mouth soft and biting in equal turns against the sensitive stretch of his throat. Murmurs in Welsh to him, crooning and goading, the words unknown to him but the meaning clear enough.

Gansey nods, gulping each breath when he can, tightening around Owain’s each thrust. The sharp spear of pleasure chokes him and he can’t stop.

Something nearly intangible brushes over his thumb, and he blinks until he can focus on…on…

Stares at the beetle crawling unhurried across his hand, traversing the peaks and valleys of his fingers tangled with Owain’s. Another crawler a few inches off. The buzz of some insect just behind his ear.

Owain moans, hands tightening with the creak of bare bones grinding against each other. The hand locked with Gansey’s is taut in something more final than tension, skin stretching and flaking against the coverlet, graying in the flickers of candlelight.

Gansey inhales, stiffens in alarm—his hard cock confused with the low sound of arousal above him—and can’t think to shout; the impending syrupy flush of orgasm held off and muddled with revulsion.

He blinks. Warm, healthy skin. Warm breath ruffling his hair. Warm muscle flexing languid against his in their movements.

Gansey presses his face into the bedspread, squeezing his eyes so tight there are star bursts behind his eyelids, and the rush of his pulse loud in his ears. There is an ache behind his skin, building in his sinuses he’s ignored until now. A tight and swollen pressure that matches the rest of him.

He whispers, desperate and shaking,“Please, I—I can’t—” unsure how long he can last in this heady space between what he knows and what he wants. How much more he can take.

Owain’s hand on his hip digs in, bruising deeper than muscle, and tugs Gansey back into him forcefully several times. Fingers slip down to one straining thigh and roughly hook around it, wrist dragging along the sensitive inside and tugging him more open. Lifts and spreads and holds Gansey exactly where Owain wants to drive into him over and over, hitting so deep Gansey’s unsure he’ll ever be able to feel full like this again.

Another hollow of wanting, carved out of him.

He gasps around it, unable to speak, to think, to move. The change of his partner from one of saccharine indulgence to brutal, selfish efficiency is suitably distracting. Somehow it feels like reparations.

Gansey shakes and keens, mindless with it all and lost control of the passing of time. He can’t stop the tight winding of his muscles, his limbs, his grip on Owain, his ramping pulse. Can’t stop the little choked sobs escaping his mouth; can’t stop his thighs shaking as he tries to hold on.

He can’t.

He fails.

Light and shadows pulse behind closed eyelids, the air around them cycling too hot and icy cold. The softness displaced around his arms and knees slams up into stone and then back again in a rush of vertigo.

The tension snaps and Gansey coughs out a moan he wasn’t ready for, losing his sense of self as he hurtles into pleasure and relief and pure sensation. Heat fans fast over his skin, hot tears slip down his cheeks, the erratic pounding of his heart beats blood against the inside of his skull, clogging his nose.

His joints buckle, clenching down on Owain’s cock as he jerks forward, losing purchase.

Owain’s arm is quick around him, holding him up, holding him back, holding him where he needs to grind into the now-sharp tightness of him. He groans loud and guttural in his release.

Gansey hazily wishes he could be so commanding and confident in his physical presence; that he could be so unrestrained in his climax.

For the moment he’s only capable of gasping, and a few straggling whines at the feverish sting inside him as movements get too slick and loose, everything falling out of sync. Falls halfway outside his own body it feels like, when it’s so heavy.

They collapse together in the damp coverlet, half-deaf and self-consumed.

Gansey shifts his thighs, grimacing at the sticky slide. The sweat now-felt over the rest of him. He isn’t sure he can feel his hands.

A drowsy path is drawn down his hip, and he doesn’t know if it’s a drip of sweat or a crawling insect. He doesn’t look.

The fire crackles.

A draft blows through a gap somewhere.

Owain relaxes in the long exhale, visible in a puff of winter air and smelling like damp wool blankets.

“Settle, little king,” he murmurs, rumbling through Gansey’s back.

Gansey turns over in Owain’s arms—

Blinks—

Is kneeling on dark stone in front of a cracked and empty coffin.

Is in a cave, lit by lantern and flashlight and phone screen.

Is clothed.

His knees sting and his hands are stiff with cold.

He wets his lips, carefully, finding his mouth dry.

“Yo, Dick,” someone says, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him. His nerves buzz angrily, overtaxed and now misfiring. “You still in there?”

“Is he?” Gansey croaks, eyes pinned on the coffin.

“What? Yeah, yeah, Gans, he’s there. Bones and all.”

Is there more than just bones?

Gansey exhales, shaking, and slumps back against Ronan’s knees. Because of course it’s Ronan. He’d know him anywhere.

“Where did you go,” Adam asks, his soft and lovely voice suspicious. “You just… went down, and wouldn’t respond to anyone.”

“I don’t know,” Gansey allows. Swallows. Shifts, hissing at the discomfort of kneeling for so long (on stone? On antiquated bedding?) “Did I? Go somewhere?”

“You were here,” Ronan says.

The worst part is he doesn’t know that he was.

The worst part is he might never know if it really happened.

The worst part is he knows it’ll never happen again.

[cardcaptorsakura96]

Taxes, Taxes, Taxes-Chapter 6

Fandom: Supergirl

Characters: Kara Danvers, Clark Kent, Samantha Arias, Lena Luthor, Lillian Luthor

Summary: What if superheroes had to pay a property damage tax every time they had a fight in the city?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Kara entered the building through the service entrance on the roof and flew down the stairwell until she reached the bottom floor. She quietly walked down the hallway until she heard voices. She peeked through the door at the end of the hallway and saw that Grundy and Grodd were still inside. Grodd was busy still looking for something. However, Kara focused more on Grundy. He wasn’t doing anything. He was frozen in place with a blank expression on his face. Kara knew that he was the living dead, but normally he was more animated than this. She slowly approached as Grodd continued to do his search.

“Where is it? The device should be here!” exclaimed Grodd while throwing a table into the wall. 

“If you had asked nicely, maybe someone would have been willing to help you,” exclaimed Kara as she punched Grodd from behind, sending him flying into a wall. While Grodd was momentarily indisposed, Kara turned her attention back to Grundy expecting an attack. However, he was still standing in the same place when she first entered the room. She went towards him and waved her hands in his face. He didn’t even blink. Kara stared at him baffled. 

“What did he do to you?”

While she was lost in thought, Kara heard the Flash shout, “Kara, behind you!”

Kara looked behind her to see Grodd’s fist come close to her face. She ducked just in time causing Grodd to stumble forward. While he regained his balance, Supergirl saw a blur sped through from behind and punched him in the back which caused him to hit the floor hard. 

Kara turned to Flash and said, “Thanks for the save.”

The Flash smiled and said, “Anytime.”

Grodd gradually got back up and stared at the two heroes disgruntled. 

“I don’t have time for you fools. Grundy! Defend your Master!”

All of a sudden, a loud groaning noise filled the room. Kara turned around and was unsettled by what she saw. Grundy had turned to look at them but his eyes were rolled to the back of his head and his mouth was wide open. 

The Flash turned to Grodd startled and asked, “What did you do to him?”

Grodd smiled menacingly and said, “I did what I must to ensure my legacy. Grundy was initially resistant, but some fine-tuning helped him to see things my way.”

Grodd walked away as Grundy ran full speed at the two heroes. The Flash dodged to the side and Kara started to fly above. Kara thought that she had a good vantage point. However, Grundy jumped high enough to grab her by the foot and swing her to the side crashing into the Flash. The impact was great enough to cause them to both hit a wall. 

“Oww” groaned Kara, gradually sitting up. 

“That hurt,” muttered the Flash getting up.

Kara looked up and saw Grundy moving full speed ahead again. 

Kara turned to the speedster and said, “You take him from below and I will try to take him from above. “

“Will do.”

The Flash sped forward and circled around him multiple times generating enough energy to shoot off a lightning bolt. It hit Grundy squarely in the chest causing him to go backwards. Kara flew up above and blew her freeze breath on him and encased him in ice. 

Kara landed right in front of her ice sculpture and grimaced. The Flash came up behind her and stopped in front of Grundy.

Kara turned to the Flash and said, “How do you think Grundy was being controlled? I thought that Grodd can only mind control living things and Grundy is the undead.”

The Flash frowned and said, “I have two working theories. Either magic is involved which I don’t know if Grodd would really subscribe to that level of mysticism or there is some type of mechanical device embedded in Grundy that is forcing him to do these things.”

Kara used her X-ray vision to scan Grundy’s body. It took her a minute, but she finally found what she was looking for.”

“He has a small mechanical device underneath his right ear that seems to be emitting some type of electronic pulse,” murmured Kara. 

“Scary to have the control of your body taken away like that,” marveled the speedster. 

“It is,” said Kara softly.

The speedster turned to Kara and asked, “So, about earlier?”

“What about earlier?” asked Kara startled. 

The speedster sighed and said, “Superman radioing in that he wants to come in on the mission with us.”

Kara tried to keep her face passive but struggled. She hated that she let him get to her each and every time. She wanted to prove that she had what it takes. 

Read the rest on AO3

[windypuddle]

PLS tell me about ur swapstars (enswap? enswapstars? ensembleswap?) valk and alkaloid i am frothing at the mouth its so good. likr so unexpected but so good

awesome thank you. i love valkyrie actually. it's very similar to canon valkyrie but blurple instead of red really. izumi really fits because hes all about beauty and perfection and mayoi really fits the faintly otherworldly vibe. shes a little freak <3 i like to think they really play up the valkyrie imagery but like izumi as the warrior angel and mayoi as um. a ghost. mayoi was probably called the phantom similar to in canon until izumi found him and brought mayoi out of the woodwork (literally) so she really looks up to izumi as having saved her and it makes izumi extra insufferable. but yknow. they get better over time and its more balanced. i think they both have such a commitment to art it just fits really well

alkaloid. ooooh. alkaloid. its Plot Time.

ok rei has to be relevant here a little bit but im not talking about undead so ill keep it brief. so basically rei and ritsu are from this ancient vampire family and rei is the model son. he goes to yumenosaki for musical training and because it doesnt really matter what he does at school, since hes just going to be the next head of the family anyway. he actually likes it. then the crusades happen and that makes his health worse so he returns home. unfortunately for the sakumas, he gets better, and he starts watching idol shows online, and when he hears about ensemble square, he runs away to be an idol.

this is where ritsu comes in. he didnt really understand why his oniichan would go to school and have to adjust his sleep schedule to be normal all for some music; his friend maa-kun did that too, but he was a normal kid so its ok. but one thing he cant accept is his oniichan leaving him like that. so he goes after him, and decides to get him back from inside the system, so he can get as close to his brother as possible. thats when he finds out maa-kun is also an idol, and has the great idea of teaming up with him, but keito is like, Wow, you suck, and drags tsumugi out of the administrative department and nazuna back from college to make a unit: alkaloid.

it gets more complicated from there, ranging from "oh haha maa-kun what are you doing here" "i.. work here?" " ahaha. no way. me too. lets team up" "????" to mao suspecting ritsu of only using him to get to rei which. isnt totally wrong. nazuna is filled with rage and feeling the effects of all nighters. tsumugi emerges from his office like a cave creature who hasnt seen the light of day in two weeks. theyre a mess i love them