#that is just when you fight fire with fire lol

[buttercandy16]

What She Deserves...

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: In a world devoid of omegas, Agatha Harkness becomes fixated on her beta neighbor, willing to do whatever it takes to claim her.

WARNING(s): Omegaverse, Dub-con, Obsession, Cheating, Forced Transformation and other Dark Themes.

A/N: Two fics in one day? I'm on a roll, lol! Time for some Alpha Agatha to claim me... I meant you... or us?

The night was moonless, the perfect backdrop to Agatha Harkness’s restless prowling. Salem was quiet these days, much quieter than Agatha preferred. The world had changed; omegas, once sought after and cherished, were no more. The natural order had shifted, leaving only alphas and betas to navigate the complexities of their desires.

Agatha wanted more—needed more. For centuries, she had used her power to survive and thrive, but loneliness gnawed at her now. She longed for the soft yielding nature of an omega, for the irresistible pull of a bond. No beta could match the primal fire in her, no matter how desperately they tried. Then, fate intervened.

When the moving truck pulled up next door, Agatha leaned against her window, watching with detached interest. A couple, newly married from the looks of it, stepped out, smiling and holding hands. Two betas, utterly unremarkable. Her gaze lingered, however, as the wife’s laugh carried through the air, melodic and warm, laced with something that sent a spark down Agatha’s spine.

Interesting.

Her new neighbor—you—was the epitome of charm. Your kind smile and bright eyes captured the attention of everyone who came to welcome you to the neighborhood, but it was the way you walked, moved, and carried yourself that made Agatha’s heart twist. There was something beneath your beta exterior, something she couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t long before her curiosity became obsession.

Over the weeks, Agatha ingratiated herself into your life. She’d drop by with welcome gifts, offer to help with the garden, and invite you over for tea when your husband was at work. You couldn’t understand why you were drawn to her company so fiercely, but there was a magnetic quality to her presence that you couldn’t resist.

“Do you ever feel like you’re meant for something… different?” Agatha asked one evening as the two of you sat by her fire. Her voice was low and smooth, curling around your thoughts like a whisper of temptation.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, staring into the flames. “Sometimes I feel out of place. Like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what.”

Agatha smiled, the kind of smile that would have warned anyone wiser to tread carefully. “Perhaps you just haven’t discovered who you truly are.”

It wasn’t coincidence that you began feeling odd a few days later. Your emotions grew unpredictable, your body feverish, and your senses heightened in ways you’d never experienced. Agatha, always conveniently close, reassured you.

“Your husband’s not a doctor,” she chided when you insisted you were fine. “Let me take care of you. Trust me.”

You did.

She concocted teas with herbs you’d never heard of and whispered strange words into the air when you were too tired to question. She stayed close, too close perhaps, but you were too distracted by your own turmoil to see her true intentions.

Her plan was working.

She had found an ancient spell buried in forbidden texts, a ritual designed to awaken dormant omega traits in betas. It wasn’t supposed to exist in this world, but Agatha was nothing if not resourceful. You, her beautiful and unsuspecting neighbor, would be her masterpiece.

The night you fell into Agatha’s grasp felt like falling into a storm—a force far greater than yourself, impossible to fight. It started as a faint haze of discomfort in your veins, a whisper in your body that turned into a scream. You couldn’t control it, couldn’t understand it, but Agatha… oh, she understood it perfectly.

Her knocking on your door that evening was no coincidence. You had spent the entire day spiraling, feverish and restless, aching in ways that frightened you. Your husband had tried to comfort you, his hands fumbling as he touched your sweat-slick skin, his concern obvious, but his presence was unbearable. He smelled wrong, his voice grated against your senses, and the thought of him even looking at you during your vulnerability made your stomach churn.

Agatha had known. She always knew.

“Darling,” she cooed as you opened the door, her violet eyes sharp with concern—and something darker. Her touch, deceptively light, found your trembling hand, grounding you instantly. Her scent was intoxicating, calming the chaos inside you just enough to make you forget the warning alarm in your brain. “You look terrible. Let me help you.”

You hesitated, clinging to a last shred of caution. "I... I don’t understand what’s happening. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Agatha stepped closer, her voice soft, hypnotic. "It’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. Your body is finally awakening to its true nature. Let me take care of you. I can make this better."

Desperation clouded your judgment, and before you knew it, you were in her home, her hands guiding you to a comfortable chair by the fire. Her touch was everywhere—gentle on your shoulders, soothing on your back, each caress unraveling your defenses. She offered you tea laced with faintly glowing herbs that smelled of earth and magic. When you drank, the liquid burned in your veins, igniting something so primal you gasped.

Agatha’s smile widened as she crouched before you, one hand resting on your knee, the other cradling your chin. "Feel that?" she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "That’s you transforming. Your body knows exactly what it needs now."

Your skin burned under her touch, your pulse roaring in your ears. Something about her proximity set your senses ablaze. Her scent filled every breath you took—lavender, dark spices, and something raw, something Alpha.

"I need—" you started to say, but your words faltered, your voice caught between a whimper and a growl.

Agatha tilted her head, feigning innocence though her eyes betrayed her cunning. "Need what, darling? Tell me."

You couldn’t. You didn’t know how. Your instincts were at war with logic, and the only thing grounding you was Agatha. Her smirk deepened as she leaned closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Say it," she purred, her voice molten and commanding. "Say what you need."

You shuddered, torn apart by the intensity of her presence. Every rational thought drowned in the tidal wave of heat coursing through you. Her touch dragged you down further, and then she whispered the word that sealed your fate.

"Me."

You trembled under Agatha's intense gaze, her words echoing in your mind like a siren's call. Me. The thought both terrified and thrilled you. Your body cried out for her touch, for her dominance, and the force of that need scared you. You weren't supposed to want this—want her—like this.

Agatha seemed to sense your hesitation, and she pulled back slightly, her hand still resting on your knee. "It's alright," she murmured, her voice soothing even as her eyes glittered with dark promise. "You don't have to be afraid. I can help you through this."

Help. The word was a lifeline in the storm of your new sensations. You needed help, needed something to ground you in the chaos of your awakening omega instincts. And Agatha offered that, along with the temptation of her touch, her scent, the magnetic pull of her alpha energy.

Slowly, you nodded, surrendering to the inevitable. Agatha's smile widened, victorious and hungry. She leaned in closer, her hand sliding from your knee to your thigh, her touch burning through the fabric of your pants.

"Good girl," she purred, her breath ghosting over your lips. "Now, let's get you out of these clothes. We need to see what's happening to you."

Your breath hitched as Agatha stood, her hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. You watched, mesmerized, as she pushed the fabric off your shoulders, exposing the smooth expanse of your skin to the warmth of the fire. Her eyes raked over you, filled with approval and something else—something dark and possessive.

"Beautiful," she breathed, her fingers trailing down your collarbone, over the swell of your breasts. "So perfect."

You shivered at her touch, your nipples hardening under the fabric of your bra. Agatha's lips curved into a wicked smile as she leaned down, her mouth hovering just above the valley between your breasts.

"Can you feel it, darling?" she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. "The heat in your blood, the ache between your legs? That's your omega nature rising to the surface."

You could feel it—the raw, primal need that pulsed through your veins, demanding attention. Your body felt like a livewire, every nerve ending screaming for stimulation. And Agatha seemed to know exactly how to touch you, how to stoke the fire within you.

She straightened up, her hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants. "Let's get these off you," she murmured, her voice low and husky. "I want to see all of you."

With a quick movement, she tugged your pants down your legs, leaving you bare before her except for your bra and panties. The cool air of the room hit your skin, making you gasp, but Agatha's eyes were like a physical caress, warm and approving.

"Look at you," she breathed, circling you slowly, drinking in every inch of your exposed flesh. "So beautiful, so ripe with potential. You're going to be a stunning omega."

The word sounded foreign on her lips, but somehow right. Omega. It explained the ache in your body, the restlessness in your soul. It explained the inexplicable draw you felt towards Agatha, the alpha who stood before you now, her eyes dark with desire.

Agatha stepped closer, her hands cupping your face, tilting your head up to meet her gaze. "I'm going to take care of you," she promised, her voice low and firm. "I'm going to show you what it means to be an omega, to submit to your alpha. And you're going to love every second of it."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation mixed with a hint of fear. You knew you should be scared, should fight against the pull of her dominance. But your body craved her touch, craved the relief only she could provide.

As if reading your thoughts, Agatha's hands slid down your body, one cupping your breast through your bra, the other dipping between your legs, pressing against your aching core through the damp fabric of your panties.

"Can you feel how wet you are?" she murmured, her fingers rubbing slow circles over your clothed sex. "That's your omega essence, darling. It's nature's way of preparing you for mating."

The word made your head spin, but it was the pressure of Agatha's fingers that made you gasp, made your hips buck forward involuntarily. Agatha chuckled darkly, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of your panties, caressing your slick folds directly.

"So responsive," she purred, her touch gentle but firm. "I can't wait to break you in properly."

Break you in. The words should have terrified you, but they only served to heighten your arousal. Your body craved submission, craved the dominant touch of an alpha. And Agatha was more than willing to provide that.

She continued her slow exploration of your body, her fingers gliding over your sensitive flesh, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your bra, dipping between your legs to gather your slick essence. All the while, she whispered words of praise and possession, telling you how beautiful you were, how perfect, how utterly hers.

You could feel yourself losing control, your omega instincts taking over as the alpha's touch consumed you. Your hands clutched at Agatha's shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt as she brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer. "Please, Agatha..."

She smiled against your skin, her teeth grazing your collarbone. "Please what, darling?" she asked, her voice a seductive purr. "Tell me what you need."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you could voice your deepest desires. But the fire in your veins demanded satisfaction, demanded release.

"I... I need you," you gasped out finally, the words raw and honest. "I need you to make me yours."

Agatha's eyes flashed with triumph and hunger. "Oh, I will," she promised darkly. "I'm going to claim you in every way imaginable. I'm going to fill you with my seed and make you scream my name until everyone knows you belong to me."

The dirty words sent a shiver of excitement through you, even as a small part of you knew this was wrong, knew you were betraying your husband. But your body didn't care about right or wrong—it only cared about the alpha who held it in her thrall.

With a low growl, Agatha captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to claim every inch of you. At the same time, her fingers found your aching clit, rubbing hard and fast until you were writhing against her, desperate for more.

"Come for me," she commanded against your lips, her fingers never ceasing their relentless pace. "Show me how much you need this."

Her words pushed you over the edge, and with a cry of release, you came hard, your body convulsing as pleasure crashed through you. Agatha held you through it all, her touch steady and dominant, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy until you collapsed against her, boneless and sated.

But even as you caught your breath, you could feel the need building again, could feel the omega inside you demanding more than just a quick orgasm. She demanded completion, demanded an alpha's knot and seed.

As if sensing your thoughts, Agatha picked you up easily, cradling you in her strong arms as she carried you towards the bedroom. "Don't worry, darling," she murmured, her voice low and reassuring. "I'm going to give you everything you need."

And as she laid you down on the soft bed, her body covering yours, you knew she was right. This was only the beginning.

Agatha hovered above you, her eyes dark with desire as she gazed down at your naked form. She took a moment to drink in the sight of you, laid out before her like a feast. Her hands trailed over your skin, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples until they hardened under her touch. You gasped at the sensation, arching into her hands, craving more.

With a wicked smile, Agatha leaned down, her tongue swirling around one hardened peak. Electricity shot through you at the contact, your back arching off the bed as you cried out in pleasure. Agatha chuckled against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of sensation through you.

"Your body is so responsive," she purred, her fingers continuing their exploration of your curves. "I can't wait to feel it spasming around my knot as I fill you with my seed."

The dirty words made your core clench, your arousal growing with each passing second. You could feel your omega nature taking over, your instincts screaming at you to submit, to let the alpha claim you completely.

Agatha seemed to sense your desperation, and she moved down your body with purpose, her hands and mouth leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When she reached the apex of your thighs, she paused, her breath hot against your slick folds.

"Look at you," she murmured, her fingers brushing against your entrance. "So wet and ready for me already. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to be an alpha's mate."

She didn't give you a chance to respond, her mouth latching onto your clit instead. The sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you. Agatha's tongue worked magic on you, flicking and circling and sucking until you were writhing against her face, your hips bucking shamelessly as you sought more of that exquisite pleasure.

But Agatha controlled the pace, her hands holding your hips down as she lapped at your essence, savoring every drop of your arousal. She brought you to the edge again and again, only to pull back at the last second, leaving you gasping and aching for release.

"Please," you whimpered, desperation clawing at your throat. "Please, Agatha, I need—"

She cut off your plea with another swipe of her tongue, her fingers dipping inside you as she finally allowed you to find your climax. You shattered with a scream of her name, your body convulsing as ecstasy tore through you.

But even as the waves of pleasure crested and began to ebb, you could feel the need building again, stronger than before. Your omega instincts demanded satisfaction, demanded an alpha's knot stretching you open and filling you up.

As if reading your thoughts, Agatha moved up your body, her clothed form pressing against your naked skin. You could feel the hard ridge of her arousal through her pants, and it made your mouth water with desire.

"Can you feel what you do to me?" Agatha murmured, her hips grinding against yours in a slow, sensual motion. "Can you feel how hard I am for you? How much I need to be inside you?"

You nodded frantically, your hands reaching for the buttons of her shirt. You needed to feel her skin against yours, needed to explore the curves of her body just as she had explored yours.

Agatha allowed you to undress her, watching with a satisfied smirk as you marveled at the sight of her. She was lean and toned, her breasts full and her abs defined. And between her legs, her cock stood at attention, thick and heavy and glistening at the tip.

"Such a beautiful sight," Agatha purred, her eyes devouring you as you gazed at her in awe. "I'm going to enjoy wrecking this pretty little body of yours."

She didn't give you a chance to respond, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as she settled between your thighs. You could feel the heat of her cock pressing against your slick folds, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

"Tell me you want this," Agatha demanded, her voice low and commanding against your lips. "Tell me you want me to claim you, to make you mine."

"I want it," you gasped out, unable to deny the need coursing through your veins. "Please, Agatha. I need you to fill me up. I need your knot."

Her eyes flashed with primal hunger at your words, and with a growl of satisfaction, she thrust into you in one smooth motion. The sensation of being stretched and filled was overwhelming, your inner walls clenching around her thick length as she bottomed out inside you.

"Fuck," Agatha hissed, her hips stilling for a moment as she savored the feeling of being inside you. "You're so tight. So perfect."

She didn't give you time to adjust, pulling out slowly before slamming back into you, setting a hard and fast pace that had you crying out in ecstasy. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure through you, the head of her cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

You clung to Agatha's shoulders, your nails digging into her skin as she pounded into you relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure and Agatha's grunts of exertion.

"Mine," she growled, one hand fisting in your hair as she angled your head back, exposing your neck to her teeth. "You're mine now, little omega. I'm going to mark you, claim you, fill you with my seed until everyone knows you belong to me."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your omega nature rejoicing at the thought of being claimed so thoroughly by an alpha. You felt wild, free, as if all the constraints of your old life had fallen away and all that mattered was this moment, this primal act of mating.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips meeting Agatha's thrusts eagerly. "Please, mark me. Claim me. I'm yours."

Your words seemed to spur Agatha on, and she picked up the pace, fucking into you with a ferocity that bordered on violence. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall as she took you harder and faster than you ever thought possible.

And then, without warning, she was there, her knot swelling inside you, locking her in place as she finally found his release. You felt her cock pulsing inside you, felt the warm rush of her seed filling you up as she came with a roar of triumph.

The sensation of being claimed so completely sent you over the edge, and you came with a scream of ecstasy, your body milking Agatha's cock for every last drop of her essence.

You collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, both of you panting and sated as the aftershocks of pleasure slowly faded. Agatha stayed buried inside you, her knot keeping her in place as she nuzzled into your neck, inhaling your scent with a contented sigh.

"That was incredible," she murmured, her lips brushing against your skin. "But don't think we're done yet, my little omega. I've got a lot more to show you."

A thrill of anticipation shot through you at her words, even as exhaustion tugged at your limbs. You knew this was just the beginning, knew that Agatha would demand your submission over and over again until you were thoroughly claimed and mated.

But for now, all you could do was bask in the afterglow of your first true mating, knowing that your life would never be the same again.

From that night, your transformation was complete, irreversible. You woke in Agatha's arms, marked in ways you couldn't yet understand. The ache that had consumed you was gone, replaced by something deeper—a connection that bound you to her. You were hers, every part of you attuned to the alpha who had made you this way.

Your husband came looking for you days later, frantic and confused. Agatha welcomed him with a cool smile, standing tall and unyielding at her doorway as she blocked his frantic attempts to push past her.

“She doesn’t belong to you anymore,” she said, her voice smooth, her words cutting like a blade. “You couldn’t handle what she’s become. Let her go.”

The scent of your omega status wafted through the air, reaching him like a slap to the face. His eyes filled with despair as realization struck. He couldn’t argue. There was no fighting the primal laws of biology.

From the shadows, you watched, torn between guilt and the overwhelming relief of having Agatha’s arms around you. She caught your gaze over her shoulder, her smirk cold, victorious.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she murmured, shutting the door in your husband’s face with a finality that sent shivers down your spine. “I’ll take care of you now. No one else ever could.”

Agatha didn’t just claim you; she consumed you. Every part of your life, every piece of who you had been, was now wrapped around her. And as much as a part of you still resisted, another part—darker, hungrier—craved her attention, her dominance, her endless power.

She molded you into her perfect vision of an omega, lavishing you with touches and whispers that lingered long after they ended. Your world shrank to her presence, her approval, her praise. Each moment of submission felt intoxicating, as though her dominance filled an empty space you’d never known existed.

And though her methods were dark, her spell forbidden, Agatha would argue it was a fair exchange.

After all, wasn’t it her right, as an Alpha, to finally have what she deserved?

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, comment and follow 💜 Kudos!

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina! I don’t remember if I’ve already written to you about this or if it was somewhere else, but still. Regarding the “1D at the Brits” rumour - I’m about 95% confident that no such thing will happen and, moreover, that it could be a rumour leaked by the award show itself.

First of all, the timing. It appeared just after the tickets went on sale, but before the final nominations announcement. Within 24 hours it was a complete sold out - I know because I monitored them closely lol. The Brits do usually sell out, but definitely not as fast, not even (from what I could gather) in 2023 when Harry was expected to be nominated.

Second, the nature. The initial rumour was very firm that it would be a musical performance by 1D, but later repeats state that it’s still in the works, and more likely a video, and not even certainly featuring the boys. Alrighty.

Third, the motivation. Brits have had a steadily declining viewership for a good decade, with a notable peak in 2023 (I wonder why 👀). The nominations this year are not so banging, there is much overlap with last year, but after rumours like these about either a reunion or Harry’s comeback, the viewership may climb a good bit. Any speculation works, and if it’s not Taylor Swift attending (which is a point of discussion before any major award show lol, regardless of her nomination status or relevance to it), then it’s a 1D reunion.

Fourth, the patterns. Blame my steel trap brain that fights against low attention spans, but how different is it from Harry at Fire Aid? Or Harry at Glasto, or Harry literally anywhere, or the reunion rumours that appeared after Liam’s passing? Especially the last ones: first they also had people say (even on your blog!) that “everything was ready and about to be announced” (an over-emotional acquaintance of mine was even saying that “someone told her that someone found the rent contracts with Wembley and the marketing plans”, yeah sure). And then it was “oh they’re thinking about something now”. And then it was nothing. So rumours come and go, and if they don’t come true, they’re instantly forgotten. But I remember, and by now I really don’t believe anything.

Finally, the boys. From what we’ve seen of them over the past months, and especially from how Liam’s funeral was organised with an explicit intention to prevent a picture of the four of them with a “reunion” headline, I think they’re nowhere near being ready to withstand that, definitely not on an actual stage. And if any of my suspicions are true, it’s honestly abhorrent to think that their grief (and also in part ours, as a fandom) is being used as a marketing instrument, and that an act of mourning and remembrance for a lost brother can be labelled as a reunion.

And honestly, many rumours (not only these about 1D at the Brits, but also about Harry and occasionally about others artists as well) feel like they aim to build up the speculation in the media and in the public sphere and to force the artist’s hand through it. A self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. But that’s probably a discussion for another time.

I could kiss you. You have summed up very eloquently what’s been running around in my brain about this, too. And @apparentlybychance was literally saying the same thing about tickets sales this morning.

I’m super skeptical anything will happen. I’m super skeptical of my supposed insider anon (who, if you’re real and you actually want us to know something, come off anon and give me something to believe).

If anything, maybe they individually taped something if there’s some sort of video tribute. Because honestly, if they show up, it’s going to take the focus off of Liam. We could be wrong, but I’m not expecting them to be there.

[snowballseal]

My Dearest

Part 1

LaDS Zayne X Foreseer!Reader

Prologue

Summary: It's a normal day in the Tower of Thorns. Until someone knocks on your doors. No one ever knocks...

Word Count: 1094

Warnings: Brief mention of thoughts of death.

Note: This is still largely set up, but the end is just the beginning of the real story. I just love writing exposition :3 I'm laying the foundation for future parts of the story, and establishing how the Foreseer works in this AU. There is no cannon here lol.

---

It was a normal day within the walls of your Tower. Well, as normal as one of your days can be. 

The longer you stay here, the more they seem to blend together, the more time seems to mean less. You’ve spent months sitting on your throne, just to see how long you could. No food, no water, just…sitting. Letting the cold creep into the depths of your bones.

To see what death might feel like.

Shaking your head, you turn your attention to the sole window of your library. A storm rages outside, snow turning the usually dark sky white. A perfect day for reading.

Such thoughts aren’t worth lingering on, after all. You cannot die. Not by natural means, at least. Your body will live on despite lacking everything, which must be why you can exist in such a hellscape while nothing else can. Blessing or a curse, you’re not sure.

Your fingertips linger on the worn spines of your books, most of which you’ve already read. Many are without clear titles, though you know the exact contents of each of them. Carefully, you slide a familiar one from its place - a lovely collection of romantic myths. You brush your thumb over the embossed, gold details, the leather seemingly enchanted with an unusual warmth.

Maybe that's why this one is your favorite. Certainly not because it allows you to forget your solitude, if only for a moment.

Your heels hardly make a sound as you follow the winding stairs down to the main floor of the Tower. While it is tempting to sit and read in the safety of your library, it is the time of year when the mortals often show up uninvited for their “prophecies”. 

Presumptuous creatures.

Even so, it’s easier to crush their expectations than to try and avoid them. They can be rather persistent pests if ignored. And while most of the time, it is some corrupt noble’s envoy knocking on your door, on rare occasion, you have the good fortune of meeting a worn traveler with a bright fate and entertaining stories. If only they would come more often.

Tucking into your throne, you drape your fur robes over your lap. They offer a comforting warmth. You can’t help but gravitate towards it. The book, your robes, the fire you keep kindled in bedchambers. Anything to fight the frigid magic flowing through your body.

As you begin to read, the howling gale outside grows more fierce. The Tower groans and hisses, the old stones bracing against the winds. You swear you can feel it shudder from the force, yet you remain seated, unbothered as you read through the first story of your book. You’ve made sure to imbue the building with a fraction of magic, so it will stand for as long as you’re alive, if not longer.

As you’re reading through the second story, an odd knocking echoes through the main hall. You pause, eyes not leaving the page you’re on, but no longer reading the words. The sound fades, almost like it was never there. It wasn’t one of the common sounds of the Tower brought on by the storm…but the mortals never knock.

For a moment, you wait to see if it will occur again, but the Tower remains hauntingly quiet. Perhaps you imagined it…The many years you’ve spent here alone are bound to play tricks on even your sharp mind.

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the words in front of you. They ramble noiselessly through your head, disjointed and meaningless. All you can hear is that sound, playing over and over again in your mind.

 Surely you hadn’t imagined it. Surely you’re not losing your mind to this solitude. Surely…

Before you can even process your own actions, you’re on your feet, robes cascading back to the floor as you march to the great doors of the Tower. If only to satiate your own curiosity, you assure yourself. Perhaps one of the wild beasts of the mountain stumbled upon your home. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Your magic prickles across your fingertips, a thin layer of ice forming on your skin. It always rises to defend you before you even need it, driven by something deep inside you, but you keep a firm grip on it. Still, you let it simmer just below the surface, finding yourself on edge as you reach the doors.

With only the briefest moment of hesitation, you press your palm against the solid wood, the door giving way with ease despite the harsh winds. You’re greeted with the fierce, biting cold. Blinking wildly, you shield your eyes against the barrage of snow. It makes it nearly impossible to see much, whiting out everything beyond a few feet.

With an annoyed breath, you flick of your wrist, your scepter appearing in your hand. The Creatio Protocore gleams from its twisted crown. You tap it against the ground softly, a pulse of your magic combining with the power of the Protocore and spreading through the air. 

The snow abruptly stops. Suspended in mid-air.

It’s only then the the tracks become clear. A set of prints - human - hesitating at the threshold of your Tower. Brow furrowing, you trace them back down the path, what you can see of it at least. It’s the path most take to your Tower, the only safe passage through the mountains.

Following them back up, you track them off to the side, along the wall of the Tower. Your brow furrows a little deeper. Why would someone walk around instead of waiting at the door?

Unable to resist your now growing curiosity, you find yourself following them. Steps slow, calculated, you tread beside the tracks, observing their odd quality. They seem staggered, like whoever left them was off balance. Weak. Not uncommon if someone travels this area unprepared.

A part of you wants to retreat back inside, to not bother with this. Surely if they weren’t willing to wait for you at the door, you shouldn’t have to go looking for them. But you can’t smother your need to know, your need to satisfy this curiosity. Curiosity over who would knock.

The steps only seem to grow more shuffled as you go, your shield of magic following you along the wall of the Tower. Until you round the first turn from the entrance and you come to a sharp stop.

Because there, in front of you, lies a man in the snow.

A man with death hanging over his pale, shivering form.

---

Ooooooo, things are kicking off! Time for some good ol' fashion whump recovery. My favorite.

Tag list: @pirana10

[eastwindmlk]

"I am obsessed with you. Not in a creepy way (lmao)." with prongsfoot 🙏🏼

Thank you so much! This took me a bit because I really had no idea how to spin this sentence again, haha. But we did it and it got a little spicy! I hope that makes up for the wait.

As always, my inbox is open for prompts any time! Except for this specific line. I refuse, lol.

597 words under the cut or read on AO3

‘I hate Quidditch’ James thought as he dragged a plastered Sirius up the stairs while he himself was still stone-cold sober. He would have loved to partake but James could not justify risking not being his absolute best when facing Ravenclaw come morning. 

And so, James had sipped pumpkin juice and watched while his mates got sloshed, getting more and more inebriated the more his determination started to waver. He’d even poured himself a cup, and if it had not been for Sirius draining the cup while it had still been in James’ hand, he might have, at least, felt the burn of gin sliding down his throat. 

It would give him a reason to feel the way he did, to excuse the heat that licked at his skin every time Sirius brushed against him—the way his stomach did that thing when he draped himself over James. 

Sirius smelled like Christmas; Like cinnamon, hearth fire and something so distinctly Sirius that James was sure he could pick it up anywhere. 

This and the way he set James’ skin on fire were pushed aside, deemed as too distracting and too… he wasn’t sure what else it was. Inconvenient, probably. It wasn’t irritating, but the thing he could not quite settle was if it was inappropriate. 

What certainly was inappropriate, though, was the way Sirius's mouth felt against the back of his neck. The open-mouthed kiss gave James pause and nearly had him catch his foot on the next stair. 

“Sirius,” he reprimanded in a murmur, his voice low enough to be misconstrued. 

There came a chuckle from right behind James’ ear as Sirius wrapped his arms around him from behind, hands locking in the front. Just like that, the weight of a whole person clung to James, whose hands gripped onto his thighs, hoisting him up and squeezing curiously while he continued up the stairs. 

It was difficult enough to concentrate before, with Sirius right beside him, without him clinging onto him like he was gravity itself. The drunken affection that he lavished James with from the moment Sirius had downed his third drink and tipped from slightly buzzed to tipsy. 

Their exchanges had garnered some stares and earned some whispers, not that either of them cared too much about who thought what about their unconventional dynamic. As long as they knew what they were. Right?

Sirius’ breath was hot on James’ neck as he chuckled, his legs wrapping tighter around his hips. “Do I have you cursing my name already? We’re not even upstairs yet.” 

Like the words alone weren’t enough, Sirius’ tongue dragged along the stubble on his neck. 

James drew in a sharp breath that lodged itself in his throat for a moment, his hands gripping tighter onto Sirius’ thighs. “I have a game tomorrow,” James said firmly, a reminder that, hopefully, implied enough. 

“Fuck,” Sirius cursed against his skin. “Are you sure you can’t make an exception, captain?” 

“You know I can’t, Padfoot.” 

“Not even for me?” James bit back a groan when Sirius’ teeth pinched his earlobe. “I am obsessed with you. You’re such a good boy for someone who loves to bend the rules,” Sirius said, his voice low and teasing. 

James’ mouth went dry at his words, and he tried to swallow thickly. “Obsessed? That’s… something,” he said, his wit having been left somewhere along the stairs together with his determined nature.

“Not in a creepy way, obviously. In an I-need-you-inside-of-me way,” Sirius replied, and with that, the remainder of his fighting spirit left James. Because how was he ever going to say no to that?

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 4

Action sequence time baby let's gooooooo

Thank you guys so much for all the support so far. This one took a little longer to cook because fight scenes take ages to choreograph lol.

If you missed the previous part, you can catch up here :)

A lot for explicit violence in this one, including blood and gore, so be prepared for that. Also, I spent ages researching Dark Eldar weaponry, but it's all so wacky and weird that I just kinda did my own thing? I know I know, it's kinda lazy, but I've already twisted the lore so much for this story already, what's the harm in a little more?

Aside from that, apologies for spelling and grammar errors, I hope you enjoy and as always, thanks for reading!

Ellicent yelps in surprise as Gadriel grabs her. When she glimpses the Dark Eldar skiff, though, it quickly becomes a snarl "Severus!" she hisses. "Severus, you fucking rat! You-"

The screeching song of metal clanging against metal drowns out the rest of her furious cries.

Shredder rounds. Fist sized shells packed with razor-sharp monofilaments and the prefered weapons for this particular war band. Their function is in the name: to shred. Everything. From flesh and bone to steel and concrete. And, if the grimace on Gadriel's face is anything to go by, even space marine ceramite.

Just beyond his right shoulder, Ellicent spots the skiff again. It's hovering, now. Flanks split open like misplaced mouths, spewing scores of Dark Eldar raiders. Their armour is black and sleek; all crossing belts and studded leather. Except the studs aren't studs at all, but are rather chunks of skull and spinal bones. And the leather... Throne. Some of their chest pieces still have hair. Still have faces. Ellicent feels her stomach tie itself into knots.

The xenos still on the skiff cease their rain of fire as their melee force joins the fray. The latter hits the rooftop running. Gnarled spears and serrated blades flash in their taloned hands. Their long, elven faces are twisted into wicked grins. Some of them shriek in bloodlust and ecstasy.

Ellicent sets her jaw. "Turn left, Gadriel!"

Without hesitation, he does as she says. Twisting his hips, keeping a hold on Ellicent as he does. A trio of Dark Eldar are in front of her now. Screeching in delight with their weapons raised. Ellicent lifts her gauss canon towards them. With a cry of her own, she squeezes the trigger with her entire hand. The necron weapon cracks like a sonic boom. A lance of green energy- blinding, sparking, pulsing- explodes from its barrel at the speed of light. It hits the centre-most raider in the chest. For a moment his squeals turn agonising. Then, he says nothing at all. The beam devours him whole, blowing his body apart before stripping the pieces of their very atoms. It leaves no remains. Not even a pile of ash.

Alarmed, his comrades scatter, but Ellicent is on them like a hawk. Two more times, she fires. And two more times, a xenos is obliterated. She releases the trigger. Her gauss canon whines at her as if in disappointment.

Above her head, she hears Gadriel laughing.

His voice sounds different, now. Mechanical. Modulated. Ellicent glances up to find his face is now covered by a red Astartes' helm. The sight startles her a little. "Holy Terra," he says. "I'm glad you didn't hit me with that thing."

At first, the comment makes Ellicent wince. Then, she hears the smile in his voice.

He's joking. Seems like such a trivial thing, especially now. But even so, Ellicent can't help the warmth she feels inside at the realisation.

All around them, the Dark Eldar raiders circle them like sharks, no less blood-thirsty, but definately wary now. Their skiff continues to orbit overhead and its shredder fire has started up again. But it's not aimed at them anymore. It's aiming behind them. From that same direction, Ellicent hears the periodic bellow of a bolter.

The other Ultramarine. It has to be. What had Gadriel called him again?

Titus.

Gadriel releases the arm he'd had pinned across her middle, returning Ellicent to her feet. She hears a sword unsheath, an energy field activate. In her peripherals, she glimpses his power sword in one of his hands.

He stands at her back. His armour and undersuit are rough against her skin.

They're also wet...

"Are you bleeding?" she asks.

"I was. But no longer."

Despite herself, Ellicent's chest tightens. "Are you alright?"

Gadriel's response is a growl. "Dont worry about me. Focus on looking after yourself."

Ellicent stifles a growl of her own. You don't need to tell me; that's all I've been doing for the last fifty years.

Limber as they are, the Dark Eldar are still impossibly quick. They don't sprint so much as glide across the floor, and when they duck and dodge, their bodies are literal blurs.

Ellicent fires her gauss cannon again. She tags one on the arm. In a flurry of screams and green light, the limb evaporates, all the way up to the creature's shoulder. The raider collapses to the ground, writhing and wailing. The sight makes Ellicent grin. The Dark Eldar are infamous for deriving pleasure from pain; not just other's but their own, too. Looks like atomisation, though is too excruciating a pain even for the likes of them.

Holding down the trigger this time, Ellicent swings the weapon from left to right, carving into the incoming raiders with a continuous spray of lethal anti-matter. Three more fall victim to its fire, but one- a long-legged male in nothing but a skin loin cloth- manages to slip through. He's getting close. Too close. If Ellicent were to fire on him now, she'd risk catch herself in the blast. Taking her hand off the trigger, Ellicent grips both of the canon's handles tight. As the naked raider cocks his arm back to slash at her, she drops low. Putting every ounce of body weight and cybernetic strength behind the swing as she can, Ellicent slams the barrel of her gauss canon into the alien's groin. The xenos goes down like a corpse, howling in pain and fury. Before he can rise, Ellicent raises her necronian leg high and slams her foot into his head. Bone and blood spray as her metal heel plunges through his skull. When she lifts her foot again, her heel and sole are both splattered with pulverised brain matter.

A roar at her back catches her attention. She spins just in time to see Gadriel cleave one of his attackers in half with his power sword. Another, he punches in the chest with his free hand. The alien's body explodes as if it'd just been hit with a tank round.

Ellicent watches him with shock on her face. She's seen and fought enough space marines in her time to have overcome the transhuman dread that the sight of them afflicts in mortals. But seeing these things in Gadriel- her Gadriel- it brings that sickly feeling surging right back.

It unsettles her. Throws her off-balance and out-of-focus. It lasts only a second. But in that same second, for reasons unknown, the Dark Eldar skiff steers its sights away from Titus and back to her. And Ellicent realises it too late.

Releasing her gauss canon, she drops to one knee and throws up her robotic arm. She angles it across her head and chest, trying to shield her most vital parts. It's pointless, she knows. Even if she manages to spare her heart or brain, the shredders will just cut the rest of her to ribbons. But it's all Ellicent can think to do. She has to try. She can't just-

An enormous ceramite hand grabs her around the waist and yanks her out of the way.

"Head down!" Gadriel yells. Dropping his sword, he hugs her to his chest with both arms and crouches on one knee. His ceramite screams as the shredders make impact. Ellicent pictures their bladed edges biting through the plate and sawing into the undersuit beneath. Sparks fill through the air. The stench of burning metal is almost sickening. Ellicent squeezes her eyes shut. She shimmies her arms free from where they're pinned against Gadriel's midriff and covers her ears.

Her breath hitches. Her hands; they feel wet and sticky.

Is that...

Reopening her eyes, Ellicent looks at her palms. All over her arms, from her finger tips up to her biceps, she's streaked with human blood. Same as down her front, where she's pressed into Gadriel's torso.

Ellicent's throat tightens.

Gadriel.

She can't see his face from behind his helmet. Its slanted red eyes make it look like he's glaring with rage. But his grip isn't as strong as it had been before, and with every third or fourth shredder that hits, she hears him winces.

The knot in Ellicent's throat winds tighter. "We can't stay here!" she cries. "We've got to move!"

"And go where?" he grunts. The thinness of his voice only confirms what she'd already feared.

"Get me a shot at the skiff. I can take it down."

"You expose yourself like that and you'll be dead in a second."

"I've got to try!"

"Don't you dare."

"If I don't, they'll tear you-"

"I said no, Ellie!" Gadriel shouts.

It's then the shredder suddenly stops again. Still holding onto Ellicent, Gadriel looks over his shoulder.

"What?" she asks.

"Oh Throne," he mutters.

As the curse leaves his mouth, his body lurches forwards and his voice devolves into a pained groan.

"Gadriel?" Ellicent grasps his sides of his helmet with both hands. "Hey! Are you okay?"

Gadriel falls to one knee. Releasing one of his arms from around her to catch himself. Ellicent takes the chance to wrestle free from his grasp. Quickly, she scans him up and down. What she finds makes her stomach drop.

It's an impaler. A two-pronged, ship-mounted harpoon weapon, one the Dark Eldar typically reserve for taking out vehicles or skewering heavy armour. And they've just shot Gadriel with one. Speared him in the back and straight through his right side. Blood pours from both wounds in a torrent. Already, it's made a pool on the floor.

"Oh no..."

Ellicent runs back to him. Grabs his helmet again as if she were cupping his cheeks. "No, no, no, no!"

"Ellie..." His voice cracks like broken glass. It brings tears to Ellicent's eyes. "Listen to me. You... you have to..."

"Shut your mouth," Ellicent growls. Before he can argue with her, she steps away from him. Aiming her gauss canon at the sky, hunting for the skiff. She finds it, but never gets the chance to fire. The raiders are waiting for her. The second she's out of Gadriel's protective shadow, they're on her. Kicking out her legs. Ripping her weapon from her hands. Slamming her face into the floor, then a club into the back of her head. The last thing she sees is Gadriel. Kneeled over, covered in blood, a monstrous alien spear sticking out of his ribs. A scream tears through her throat. The sound is the truest embodiment of fury and grief.

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

Gadriel dreams of steel and blood. The stench of hot iron. The taste of copper. A haze of blinding light and shredded nerve endings.

He doesn't know where he is, how much time has passed. He doesn't even know if he's still alive.

And what about Titus? What happened to him? And Ellie-

Oh Throne. Ellie...

The haze suddenly dissolves. All at once, his senses return. They do so with startling clarity. The smell of hot iron is replaced by that of dampness and decay. His ears ring with the high-pitched hum of an alien engine. He suddenly remembers he has eyes and gingerly, opens them one by one.

A single, white lamp illuminated the entire space around him. Black metal surrounds him, save for the walls on his left and directly in front of him, which instead are made from thick heavy bars. The air is humid and warm, like the inside of a beast's stomach. The stench is nauseating. Gadriel reaches for his helmet to turn on its filters. Instead of ceramite, however, his fingers brush his bare cheek.

My armour...

He looks at his hands. His gauntlets are gone, too, along with every other piece of ceramite plate he'd been wearing. All that remains is his black undersuit.

They've captured me. The thought sends dread spiking through Gadriel's veins. Very few of the brothers he's met have fought the Dark Eldar, and fewer still have been captured and survived to tell the tale. But those few he does know told him about it. What they said had stayed with him right up to this very day.

I have to get out of here, he thinks. Planting his palms on the floor and pushing himself to his feet. I have to find Ellie and Titus, and get us all-

A spear of agony pierces Gadriel's right side and pained roar rips from his throat. He falls back against the wall, breathing hard and fast. Thick bands of sweat are pouring off his brow.

Tentatively, he touches his side. His finger come back slick with fresh blood.

Gadriel bares his teeth. That's right, he thinks bitterly. I'd almost forgotten.

The fresh blood, however, is deeply concerning. The moment the harpoon had been removed, his larraman cells should have sealed the wound closed tight. Wiping his hands on his thigh, Gadriel presses them to his stomach, chest and left side. Once against, his palms return bloody.

It's not just the spear wound; the cuts and gashes from the shredders haven't sealed either.

Gadriel's vision starts darkening again. His head now pounds in time with his injuries. It could just be his panicked mind playing tricks, but it feels an awful lot like he's about to loose consciousness again.

Shit. Not good. This is not good.

"Gadriel? Is that you?"

His vision suddenly clears. Gadriel looks up, peers through the bar wall separating his cell from the one next door . In the corner closest to the back edge, a shadow moves. Unfurling into the silhouette of a woman, crouching in front of the bars and gripping them with one hand.

"Yes it is," Ellie says quietly. In the low light, her eyes twinkle like a cat's. "It's really you."

With a grimace, Gadriel pushes off from the wall. His hearts are soaring, but in his current state, he can manage is sitting a little straighter. "Ellie! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Just have a sore head. They hit me pretty hard."

"I saw," Gadriel says. He swallows as a surge of acidic bile fills his mouth at the memory. "But you are otherwise unharmed?"

Ellie hesitates for a moment. Her silence is almost confused. "Yes," she eventually replies. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Gadriel sighs in tangible relief. "Thank the Emperor for that."

"What about you?" Ellie asks.

Gadriel grits his teeth in a rueful smile. "I think the bastards might’ve tagged me," he says.

Ellie isn't amused by his poor attempt at humour. "How bad is it?"

"It's not good," he admits.

"Can you move?"

"Probably. The bleeding hasn't stopped, though. Even though it should've."

"It's poison," says Ellie. "Kills larraman cells. They coat their projectiles with it. Meant to make space marines bleed to death."

Gadriel looks at his hands. The pounding in his head grows tenfold. "Well. Isn't that just great..."

"Yup." He hears shuffling as Ellie changes position. Sitting on thefloor now, she rests her left side on the bars separating her cell from his, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Gadriel asks her.

"Oh yeah," Ellie says. "Only the most cursed, ugly pain-ridden ship in this entire system." The dryness in her voice borders on resignation. "Welcome to the Dark Star."

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

If the ending feels a bit abrupt that's because it is lol. I was writing this part, and it just kinda kept going and I realised it was gonna be way WAY too long. So I split it into two :)

Anyway, thank you so much for reading everyone. Part 5 is coming soon <3

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @justfreakynothingelse

[gay-fieri-05]

Yeah i can definitely agree with this sentiment, I don’t know I’d agree with people saying lack of moderation or calling people slurs is a good thing (which to be fair most aren’t saying it is good but they kinda treat it as normalized) truthfully I am glad we moved past that lol

I definitely think the filtering of shit now in days is a plus but I do kinda miss back when the old internet was just goofy shit and not just people at one another throats

[kaeyachi]

Kaeya had always been an efficient and hard-working individual (he had to be to support Diluc in the background as his brother rose thru the ranks after all).

He has so much free time because he completes all his work way ahead of schedule. And if he still has enough time, he adds more to the workload in secret.

And once all of that was done and over with, he makes time for everyone. He has to. He feels as if every moment has to be given to someone else.

No one knows how he does it. No one has to know.

Every mission has a dozen strategies in line, and every battle plan is made with efficiency in mind. His perfect record will not be tarnished. He can't risk it (even if it baffles others that he would willingly activate a ruin guard just to prevent a failed mission. Jean disagrees with his methods, but Kaeya can say that the results say otherwise)

He needs to be quick.

Efficient.

Perfect.

And so he comes and goes like the wind.

Kaeya values time because he knew every second counted. He can't just stand there as if he were frozen. Time could run out in an instant.

Kaeya had only been late once his entire life.

He'd rather he never be late ever again.

It took one day of being of being imperfect for everything to fall apart. On that tragic day...had he gotten there on time... then maybe...

.

.

.

" Come on, let's get moving, traveler. We're not frozen in place after all. " Kaeya teasingly says. He stiffles a giggle at the traveler's exhasperated sigh.

"Yeah yeah, we've heard enough of you calling us a slacker. Can't you be a bit more patient?" Paimon whines at him.

Kaeya snorts, but acquiesces, hiding the shaking of his hands at the thought of being idle.

He imagines hearing a clock ticking.

Kaeya knows that that is his own problem. He tries his hardest to relax as he waits for the traveler to finish whatever they're making on the alchemy table because, seriously, it is supposed to be a relaxing day. There's nothing major going on, and his schedule is once again empty as intended. What's the hurry?

Kaeya taps his foot on the ground as he waits. He wishes he could take his own damn advice when he tells others to relax.

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF SHENKO 1/?

The end of the world has a way of reminding you of all the things you forgot to say do. Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[camels-pen]

consider sanuso bodyswap where Sanji is of course "admiring" Usopp's body and Usopp is trying desperately to keep himself from getting worked up so that he doesn't light himself on fire.

Luffy and Chopper are not helping. They are in fact doing the opposite of helping. They've ramped up their pranks and are doing anything possible to get Usopp angry so that he combusts, freaks out, and then dives into the ocean to put himself out. They think it's hilarious.

Nami and Brook are Also not helping, since they're conspiring with Sanji to put on a fashion show with Usopp's body. Sanji called it "not wasting a precious opportunity to get him in something other than overalls". Usopp called it mutiny and he was gonna- dive into the ocean, holy fuck Sanji why is it so easy to catch fire?!

Best part about this is that Sanji assured him, several times, that his body doesn't get hurt by catching fire. Usopp still jumps into the ocean every time.

Robin pipes up at one point, asking if Sanji was immune to just his own flames or all flames. Sanji just kind of shrugs and said it depends. Franky, having just been leisurely watching all of this gets an idea. Would his Franky Fireball hurt Sanji's body or just give him more fire to work with?

He tries to coax Usopp into agreeing to test it out and, somehow, he manages it. Albeit, Usopp is all knocking knees and chattering teeth, a very odd sight from 'Sanji'. As part of the deal though, he can only shoot a fireball the size of his hand.

Usopp meant his small hand. The one Franky used for tinkering and fine detail work. He did not, however, clarify this.

So, when a fireball the size of Franky's big hand comes out, well. Usopp runs for his goddamn life.

It takes him a few moments- and the voices of his friends sounding distant and below him- to realize he hadn't, in fact, run to the men's quarters, but rather into the fucking sky.

And oooooh, boy he is gonna kill Sanji one of these days. Why was his body's first fucking instinct when running to go up, what the actual HELL-

Usopp lit himself on fire again.

He curses out Sanji as his Sky Walk fails in the same moment and he plummets towards the deck.

[phox-129]

That moment when you’ve just overcome your greatest fears and then you figure out your entire life is a lie and also get lava directly to the face

(Inspo/Refs: x x x x)

Painted for my art class with metallic watercolor and black light paint!

[everytaylorswiftsongisaboutcats]

YOYOK kids are COSOSOM girlies, who have epiphany traumas, are the tolerate it peeps, with a New Year’s Day kind of terror, while lost in their State of Grace as a dreamer, with a Nothing New sort of realism, after their The Lucky One teenage burnout.

[runawayfuture]

concept art for my AU where the church lets House Gautier hold on to the dragon sign in case they didn't have a kid with a Crest and so Miklan doesn't get kicked out and he loves his little brother and everything is Fine Actually

[claire-starsword]

Authentic Story of the Shining Force - Saint Fencer Max - Chapter 3

Translation notes:

So, uh. Elliot's name is rendered with two t's in the og game, but a single one in the GBA version. I had never paid attention to that at all until I had already edited all these pages, and I don't care enough to change it.

Cain's sword causes an explosion here. In the game, it is indeed capable of summoning flames.

This is a perfect illustration of how I feel about these names, but I do wonder what the actual intention was, since Cain is supposed to be already gone. The original image is even cut off weirdly in the middle of the text, and i don't think it's a problem with the scan, since every scanned page has a black border showing that the paper itself doesn't cut there. I wonder about the production of this thing, but i'll wait until i translate the author's comments before saying more.

The map in the previous chapter was very accurate to the beta map of the game. The smaller map here showing Rindo however looks off, the coast is different, and there seems to be a river directly to the north of Rindo, as opposed to the path to Shade Abbey. Perhaps fitting since Shade is skipped here.

Metaphaluna, huh? Needlessly to say, the country of the gods/Ancients is called only Metapha in the final game. Also, in this panel, it pops up as an alternate reading for 前世紀 (ancient times), not the name of a country specifically. I chose to romanize the last part as "luna" for three reasons. One is that the continent of Rune is actually rendered as Lune in at least two guides. I take romanizations from JP guides with a grain of salt since they sometimes look bad/unnatural, or are inconsistent (Pelle's name for example has been romanized as both Peil or Payle depending on the book). I checked though, and town names however are consistent in both the books I've seen romanizing things. The second reason is that the beta map used at this point has a fairly noticeable crescent moon shaped island right in the middle. In the final game, we can't know exactly where Metapha is, because you only teleport there. But I wonder if this island had something to do with it at some point. The third reason is simply I saw no better reason. Metaphalna and Metapharuna would be just as valid, but don't have any meaning to them.

The biggest equation next to Tao as she explains the magic types is very clearly a E=mc². Look close.

I've retranslated Elliot's scenes from the game thinking it would be relevant to these notes. Now I feel it really isn't, but you get more content so you should be happy.

My main point with that is that Elliot does not say anything about Cain in the game. In the GBA version, Balbazak does try revealing Max, Cain and Darksol's identities before dying, but that's not a thing in the og. So yeah I really translated a bunch of stuff for nothing this time! Except not because Darksol is awesome in that scene and everyone should get to see it.

Now let's talk about Otrant. I have mentioned before that Otrant's gender is never explicitly said, and they speak in a mostly gender neutral way (I feel like there's a few masculine patterns in some lines, but I'm not confident enough to say for certain). What I hadn't noticed is that they also use lipstick in the games, which is probably what sparked these observations to begin with, but i'm uh, occasionally not smart. In any case, if any of these aspects were done at this point in development the artist here sure ignored them, and drew a regular old man who gets called an old man. They hate to see an androgynous boss winning.

I don't recall Otrant's third eye being called "Eye of Truth" anywhere else, but the manual of the game does say it can see the past and the future.

Otrant's naming of the Shining Force is a bit more elaborate here, but the wording is very similar to the actual game.

Finally, let's play spot the cameo!

We've got Gong, Zylo, one of the birds, and probably Anri. Easy.

Here, besides the obvious three who were actually introduced in the story, we again have a bird, Anri between Ken and Hans, Gong to the right, and Mae and Gort behind Luke. If you read the pre-release page you know that Gort was meant to be Mae's servant at some point, so this might be why they're together, or it's just coincidence because they still join around the same time in the final game. More importantly, to Ken's left we have...

Some guys. Who are these. They could be made up by the artist (there will be another case of this), but I find it curious that the artist had to do that when there are so many character to pick from, and he clearly wanted to depict official characters here. For one, there's evidence that Earnest was already designed at that point in development. However, that link also shows that Vankar didn't have a portrait by that time at least, and Vankar would have already joined by this point in the story. So could the bald centaur here be a beta Vankar, or the artist's interpretation of Vankar via unfinished art? Maybe, but just a guess in the end. Mostly I'm just fascinated by how detailed this guy is compared to even Mae and Gort's cameos. The other guy isn't so i don't think about them nearly as much.

[ragedagainst]

jyn is someone who absolutely needs therapy but will not go for a variety of reasons, mostly because she doesn't think she really needs it, she doesn't think she needs it right now in the middle of a war, and she believes ( perhaps not falsely ) that her paranoia has kept her alive so far.

all that being said, if someone has been hounding at her to get help and is being a hypocrite about it, she will use it as a bargaining chip. oh, your muse needs therapy, too but don't want to go ? well, jyn will go if that means your muses go. slacking on physical therapy ? she'll meet with a therapist if your muse keeps doing their stretches. though her mindset surrounding this isn't super healthy –– she's doing it for the other person's wellbeing and not because she cares much about her own –– it does have a good outcome for both parties involved.

[firebirdsdaughter]

Sigh…

… I'm too sleep deprived to be rewatching this arc. I keep pausing to explain the issues to no one.

[dr-reids-fidget-toy]

the stuff in that episode was so personal to me. how do they do that