#the day i stop surviving out of sheer luck it's over for me

[steelthroat]

I think I gave away all my health points for my luck and improvisation stats. I upgraded my character wrong :/

[diamonddaze01]

for your drabble game.. n what if i say.. minghao + “Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you.” 🤲

run

pairing: minghao x reader | wc: 1.3k prompt: "Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you." au: apocalypse au | warnings: injuries, mentions of death a/n: KAEEE!!!! n what if i sob while writing this

The sky burned with an unnatural orange hue, streaked with ash and smoke. The once-familiar cityscape was a jagged graveyard of broken steel and crumbled concrete. Sirens had long since stopped blaring; now there was only the oppressive hum of silence punctuated by the distant groans of collapsing structures. The world as you’d known it was over—reduced to a fragile shadow of its former self. The acrid tang of fire and metal clung to the back of your throat, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The ruins of the city stretched endlessly around you, but you pushed forward, your legs carrying you through the jagged remains of what used to be streets.

It started with the storms. The scientists called it climate destabilization gone critical, but the rest of the world just called it a death sentence. Storm surges wiped out entire coasts; hurricanes battered inland cities that had never prepared for them. The earthquakes came next, splitting open the earth and throwing molten fire into the skies, turning the air poisonous in ways even the best respirators couldn’t filter. By the time the floods came, there wasn’t much left to save.

Governments fell. Supply chains crumbled. People turned on one another in desperation as they fought for dwindling resources. The remaining factions—militarized groups claiming to protect what little remained—were as much a danger as the unrelenting disasters themselves.

You and Minghao had survived the worst of it by sheer luck. Together, you’d fled from one decimated city to the next, avoiding the lawless territories and the groups who demanded loyalty in exchange for safety. He was the reason you were still alive—quick-thinking, sharp-eyed, always calm under pressure when everything else felt like it was unraveling.

You could still remember the first time you’d met. Minghao had been patching up his own leg in the corner of an abandoned supply truck, his face pale but resolute. You’d stumbled in, out of breath and armed with a crowbar, only to stop short when you saw him sitting there like he’d been waiting for you. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even looked scared, just tilted his head and raised an eyebrow like he was daring you to try something.

“You don’t look like a soldier,” he’d said after a long moment, his voice steady despite the blood dripping down his shin.

“And you don’t look like you’re winning that fight,” you’d shot back, lowering the crowbar just enough to show you weren’t a threat. That was how it began—two strangers thrown together by circumstance, learning to survive together in a world that didn’t want them to.

You weren’t sure when the bond between you had shifted. Maybe it was during those late nights spent keeping watch for raiders, when his quiet presence made the crushing loneliness bearable. Or maybe it was the day he’d handed you the last of his water ration without saying a word, his eyes meeting yours like he knew you wouldn’t let him give it up without a fight. Slowly, without either of you acknowledging it outright, Minghao had become your anchor. The one thing you could count on when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

Now, as you ran through the remains of what used to be your home, all that history burned in the back of your mind. The thought of losing him was a weight you couldn’t bear, one that pushed you forward even as your lungs burned and your legs threatened to give out.

The memory of his calm, steady voice over the radio replayed in your head—I’ll meet you at the east corner of the tower. Just wait for me there. But the tower had collapsed before you’d even made it halfway. Now, it was nothing but rubble and twisted steel, and you were running blind.

You stumbled over debris, your knees buckling, but you caught yourself before you hit the ground. A sharp pain flared in your palms as you pushed up, but it barely registered. The only thought screaming in your mind was Find him.

You didn’t know when you’d started crying—your tears cut clean tracks down your soot-streaked face. Minghao always said you were stubborn. That you didn’t know when to quit. He’d said it with a soft smirk the first time you’d refused to leave his side during a raid. That was months ago, back when there was still hope that things could get better. Back when the two of you still believed survival wasn’t just an instinct but a purpose.

Now, hope felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford.

A shape moved through the smog ahead, a shadow cutting through the chaos. Your heart seized.

“Minghao!”

He turned at the sound of your voice, his silhouette becoming clearer with every step you took. His clothes were tattered, his hair matted with soot and sweat, and a thin cut ran down his cheek, blood drying against his skin. But it was him. It was him.

You crashed into him with enough force to knock the wind out of both of you, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. His body was warm and solid beneath your grip, and you could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly as he held you just as fiercely.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, his voice firm but edged with exhaustion. His hands shifted to your face, tilting it up so he could inspect you. His eyes flickered over you, taking in the soot and dirt streaked across your skin, the tears still fresh on your cheeks. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you echoed, though your voice cracked as you said it. You searched his face for any sign of injury beyond the gash on his cheek, your fingers brushing over his jacket as if to reassure yourself he was still solid and whole. “I thought—when the tower collapsed, I thought—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath was warm and steady, grounding you. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

But even as he said it, the ground beneath you trembled again, a low groan echoing from the skeleton of a nearby building. Time was slipping away faster than you could grasp it, and yet Minghao didn’t move to run. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression unreadable.

“Look,” he said, his voice firmer now. “I don’t have much time, but I need to say this.”

“Minghao, we have to go—”

“I love you.”

The words stopped you cold. For a moment, the chaos around you seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of his voice and the intensity of his gaze. Your chest tightened, the air hitching in your throat.

“Don’t,” you said, shaking your head as tears welled in your eyes again. “Don’t talk like that. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re getting out of this.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, his hands steady on your arms. “If something does—”

“Stop.” Your hands gripped the front of his jacket, clutching at him like you could anchor him to you, like sheer willpower alone could keep him safe. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to break your heart. “You’re so stubborn,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. “But that’s why I know you’ll make it.”

“Not without you,” you shot back, your voice trembling. “We’re getting out of this together. I’m not leaving without you.”

His fingers brushed against your jaw, a fleeting moment of tenderness that felt cruel in its fragility. “Together, then,” he said, as though saying it aloud would make it true.

Another tremor rippled through the earth, the sound of crumbling concrete roaring around you. Minghao’s grip shifted, his hand sliding down to intertwine with yours, firm and steady.

“Run,” he said.

And this time, you did. The world was ending, but in that moment, with his hand in yours, it felt like there was still something worth saving.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[randofics]

I love your 'bots reacting to you reaching where they can't posts. Would you do one for the 'cons?

Here ya go darlin' hope ya like it!

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

Starscream

When you first met the con, he had been very xenophobic towards you. He wouldn't touch you, let alone go anywhere near you unless ordered by Megatron, and even then, he'd put up a fuss about it. So when he got shrapnel lodged in his turbine blades and knockout couldn't get it without invasive measures, it was up to none other than you to pry it out. He absolutely dreaded it, but he also couldn't fly without his turbine, so if you had to do it over knockout performing surgery, then so be it.

He transformed hissing in pain as the turbine blades flexed, making the shrapnel cut into them. Using a box as a step stool, you came level with the engine. You spotted the wedged metal and began to reach for it before hesitating. He could easily shred your arm. You'd seen the plane accident documentaries on a binge last year and knew well enough of the tornado force winds engines could produce. There had only been one man you'd heard of to survive being sucked into a military jets engine, and it had been through sheer luck. His vest strap snagged on the metal inside, stopping his body from being sucked further in, but his hand had been effectively shredded by the blades.

Starscream's voice broke you from your dark thoughts. "I'm not going to harm you, fleshy. As much as I'd like to, Megatron gave me direct orders not to."

That was only slightly reassuring, but you steeled yourself and slowly moved your hand forward between the first set of blades. With your wrist pushed between two of the thin blades, you reached for the mangled metal shard slotted through the second set. With your fingers firmly on it, you wiggled it, only making it move slightly. "Do hurry fleshy before I dislodge it with your arm still inside." His voice was slightly pained as you got a better grip on it.

"Going as fast as I can... aha!" You pulled the surprisingly long strip of metal from his blades and extracted your hand swiftly along with it. He let out a sigh of relief and expiramentally spun his blades. "That feels much better. Now I can go finish my work." Without so much as a thank you, he sauntered out however you did get a thanks from knockout.

Megatron

Megs wasn't a fun mech to be around, especially when you were his prisoner. But whenever the chance arose to get in his good graces, you took the opportunity. One day, when he returned to the nemesis after battle and he walked into his quarters, where he was also keeping an eye on you (Those good for nothing bots couldn't be trusted with a pawn like you). The door shut with a hiss locking behind him, and his shoulders relaxed he even let the slight hobble in his walk show, probably having forgotten you were there.

You watched as he sat in his desk chair and spun around to face you in your little cage. Your curiosity getting the better of you made you speak. "Lord Megatron, may I ask why you're injured?"

He let out an angered and frustrated growl, looking away from you. "Your autobot comrades got a few lucky shots on me, and I seem to have something lodged in my plating, most likely from the battle. He felt under one of the plates on his side, wincing slightly at a tender spot. "Was knockout not able to remove it?"

His optics flashed in anger, and he slammed his fist down on the chair arm. "I do not need his help with such a trivial thing! It will dislodge itself eventually." You held up your hands to placate him and just left it at that.

A day later and he came back in with an even worse hobble wincing as he sat in his chair. "You want me to remove that thing for you?... Lord Megatron." He sighed, pushing up off his seat and grabbing hold of your cage. He entered the pass code, and the door creaked open. You hopped out onto the table and motioned for him to show you which plate it was under. He leaned awkwardly over you so you could reach the panel of metal, and gently, you lifted it so you could get a better look.

A small rock (small to him anyway) was lodged in such a way that whenever he walked it ground into some of his finer components. "Ouch, that's probably like me getting a bone splinter in one of my joints. I'm surprised it wasn't bothering you this much yesterday."

"Quit your rambling and remove it, fleshy."

"Ok ok do you have anything I can use to knock it out? I'm not strong enough to pull it out by hand." You could practically hear him roll his optics, but he reached to a shelf above and grabbed a tiny object, dropping it next to you. It just looked like another piece of metal to you, but it was a proper shape and weight. You got back in position and aimed the object at the rock striking it once, then twice without much success. Megatron hissed as he involuntarily shifted and that stubborn piece of rock ground into the metal around it.

The third strike split it in half, and it fell away dropping to the floor far below. He stepped back, testing his flexibility, and you could tell it was still sore but not near as bad as it had been. He looked down at you, motioning for you to go back into your cage he locked the door behind you and had you toss the metal object outside. "Thank you for your cooperation."

"You're welcome, I guess?"

Knockout

Knockout was relatively friendly for a con and not nearly as xenophobic as some of the others could be. In fact, he was quite the opposite in that sense. He's very curious, maybe a little too curious about human anatomy and organ functions. But you could definitely get a few laughs from and with him. Eventually, your curiosity of their anatomy grew as you ran out of things to entertain you.

He was more than happy to explain things to you in the utmost detail. When you mentioned you'd love to get an in person look at a cybertronians inner workings, he happily volunteered for a light viewing. He transformed and popped his hood, revealing an alien, engine-esqe jumble of mirrored components where a normal engine would be. The metal wasn't sparkling like you expected with him, but it wasn't dirty either.

Your eyes sparkled with wonder as you tried to imagine how each piece would work, and without realizing you leaned over, your soft legging covered thighs smooshing against his red finish. Your hands gripped the inside lip of his engine space, letting you get a closer look at a smaller component that caught your eye. As if you were admiring a precious stone, you lightly grazed the edge of the glowing centerpiece's metal covering. Blue light shown through the purpose built air intakes on either side of the cover.

At your touch there, he shook like he'd been hit with an electric shock and slammed his hood shut as you jumped away. Clearing his vocalizer, he spoke with a very unlike him stutter. He also seemed a bit higher pitched than normal. "OK, that's enough of a ha-hands-on look for now. I-I need to return to my work, or Lord Megatron will be angry with me."

Jittery, he got back to work at his computer, leaving you to your own devices and wondering just what exactly that was all about.

"What in cybertron was that!? Their touch was so light, yet it was like I hit a powerline!" Perhaps it had been a bad idea to let you do that.

[rougepancake]

Here is my revised request lol

Where it's a one-sided love/crush with yushiro, mitsuri, Obana, and Lady Tamayo, how the reader wishes them all the best but also just wants them. If there is even a sliver of chance for them to return their one-side love. If you feel like it, maybe they might have someone who is helping them move on from the one side love?

Get ready for this to hurt.

And if you’re in love, then you are the lucky one.

FT. Yushiro, Kanroji Mitsuri, Iguro Obanai, and Lady Tamayo. Gender Neutral reader.

WARNINGS: Angsty as hell. I drew the title from the song Youth by Daughter. Some reciprocation in Obanai’s. I also hope I did Yushiro justice. I’ve never written for him before. Um pretty emotional overall. Don’t forget to put on your sad music while reading this. These are going to be pretty long. Some were very obviously cut short due to how long they were getting, for that, I apologize. Please bear with me 😭

YUSHIRO

Each day you awoke longing for a purpose, and every time the day failed you. It wasn’t until you caught wind of the Demon Slayer Corps that things finally started to look up. It seemed perfect. You’d undergo training and then participate in a simple survival event. Of course, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. The training you underwent was harsh, and the final selection was even worse. Each time the sun set you feared for your life until you remembered that this was the challenge that you had been waiting for. You claimed it to be your calling, despite not being very good at it.

When it was all said and done, you picked the metal for your weapon and went about your business. There had only been one other person to make it out of the selection alive. You remember being surprised. How could so many people have trained so hard only to lose their lives? One would have thought that they would have been properly prepared before entering the challenge. Though, you were hardly prepared yourself. It was nothing but sheer luck that kept you alive, and you were more than grateful.

It wasn’t long before your crow had begun to send you all over to complete missions. Each demon you encountered seemed to be much stronger than the last, a thought that frightened you. With each one you killed, you felt yourself growing more powerful. Your breathing techniques were perfect, it was just your lack of physical strength that caused you to struggle. But you weren’t too worried about it. If you had been able to take down the ones before, then there was nothing stopping you from taking down the one now, right?

Right?

That’s what you thought when you chased the lower rank six of the Twelve Kizuki into a corner. You were sure that it had nowhere else to go, which would ensure that you’d be able to kill it and move on to the next place. You were sure that if your stance was just right, then you’d be able to land the perfect blow and come out victorious. But you were wrong.

The demon wasted no time freeing itself of your presence before appearing behind you suddenly. Your heart had dropped, leaving you with nothing to do but hope that a fellow demon slayer would sense your distress and come to your aid. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

The foul beast beat you within an inch of your life, leaving you to drown in your own blood. You cried as you lay there, unable to move. Your life had been short, but you were willing to accept it as it was and move on to the next one. Everything faded to black slowly, and you heard the sound of oxides speaking over you as you lost consciousness. You recalled smiling at the sound. They sounded like angels.

Approximately three days later, you awoke. You didn’t recognize the room you were in, which put you in edge. Bandages covered numerous wounds scattered across your body, an observation that led to you noticing your uniform top was missing. Thankfully you still had the bottoms on, or else you would’ve felt incredibly uncomfortable. You groaned in pain as you sat up. Your head was spinning.

“We thought you wouldn’t make it.” A gentle, feminine voice spoke. You turned to look at the speaker, your eyes landing on the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her skin was pale and glossy, her eyes an alluring shade of purple. She was elegant. She was an angel. Behind her stood a slightly shorter man. While he too was beautiful, you noticed that he looked far from pleased at your survival. The woman saw you avert your gaze and followed it, giving the man a stern look before turning back to you. “You may call me Tamayo,” she paused, “and he is Yushiro. Would you mind telling us about yourself, demon slayer?”

“How do you know I’m a…” you trailed off and sighed. Of course. They must be demon slayers themselves if they recognized your uniform. “I don’t really have anything notable to say about myself. I joined the Demon Slayer Corps in hopes of being able to do something with my life. Before that it’s all mundane,” you frowned and swung your legs over the side of the bed. You winced as your feet hit the floor. If only you had died. You would’ve spared these people the trouble of looking after you. You met Tamayo’s gaze. “Are you affiliated with the Corps?”

She hesitated, stuttering slightly before simply smiling at you. “Why don’t you join us out here for some tea,” she suggested. Her response confused you, but you nodded nonetheless. She and Yushiro left, giving you some time to explore the room you were in. Your uniform top was folded neatly atop a nearby chair. You reached out and grabbed it. The thing must’ve been torn to shreds by that demon, seeing as there were many different colored patches decorating it. You sighed and slipped it on over your head.

Your body ached with each move you made, yet you persisted. Slowly, you made it out of the room and into the hallway. You followed the sounds of voices to an open room that appeared to be the main room. Tamayo had her hands folded neatly in her lap as she spoke to Yushiro, who had his legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees. He gave you a disgusted look before continuing his chat with Tamayo.

Hesitantly, you sat down with them, resting your legs neatly to the side. Tamayo turned to look at you before taking a deep breath. “You asked us if we were affiliated with the Corps in any way. To tell you the truth, we are. We know of them and they know of us.” Yushiro scoffed. “But we ourselves are not demon slayers. We are demons that exist freely of Muzan Kibutsuji’s control.” Your eyes widened. You had no clue that such a thing was possible. “We mean you no harm, truly. Our goals align with those of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

She gave you a second to process the information. You had so many questions, but you feared being rude. Sensing this, she gestured for you to go on. “How did you break free of his curse?” You were immediately answered by an annoyed sigh from Yushiro.

“Such a foolish question! Do not ask Lady Tamayo such things!” He glared at you.

“Yushiro. It is only right for them to ask questions. Don’t shun them,” she paused, mulling over her next words. “I spent many years trying to free myself of Muzan’s control. But it wasn’t until I was spared by a very kind man that I was freed. Since then, I have dedicated my life to the study of both demon and human biology,” she hung her head slightly, averting her gaze. You could tell by her tone that she was thankful to have been spared. It nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“What about Yushiro? Was he not a servant of Muzan too?” You asked slowly, tilting your head. Yushiro crossed his arms and looked away, biting his tongue to avoid making Tamayo upset.

“Ah… Yushiro. He had a chronic illness that kept him bedridden for years. His condition would worsen each day I was taking care of him. He was practically dying before my eyes. I gave him the choice to go on living that way, or to be cured and live longer as a demon. There weren’t any promises I could make him about the treatment’s effectiveness, but I couldn’t bear to watch him suffer.” You listened in awe. She was so sweet, and you thought that it was the most amazing thing.

“So you…” were a human. You looked at Yushiro. These two beings before you had rejected their existences as demons and chose to aid humans instead. It really was quite wonderful. “You two… are amazing.” Tamayo’s eyes widened at your words. She seems taken aback by your honesty. Yushiro seemed equally as stunned, his eyes briefly looking over at you. After all, it was rare that they weren’t treated like the monsters that they were.

“Why… thank you.” Tamayo smiled softly, a light hearted expression gracing her features.

Over time you began to heal. The everlasting soreness in your body had finally begun to fade, which allowed you to help out around the house. Tamayo had gone out and bought you a casual yukata so you wouldn’t constantly be in your uniform. You wore it whenever it was clean to show her how much you appreciated it. Oh she was so sweet to you. Yushiro too. Since the time you had first joined them, he had really warmed up to your being there.

The two of you would often go out together and pick herbs for Tamayo. He knew all of the right places to look, and how to tell if what he was looking for was ripe or not. You admired his knowledge on the topic, often remarking on his experience when you were out. Every now and then he’d show you what you should look for, but you were mainly just there to provide some form of protection if the need arose. Not that you didn’t think he was capable of protecting himself— it’s just that Tamayo stated that it would be better if you went out and kept watch for him.

This time was just like the last, but only in the sense that you were on the lookout for other demons while he was working. It seemed that recently your feelings toward him had changed. He had grown close enough to you to tell you about his feelings for Tamayo, and you had grown close enough to him to realize that you had fallen for him. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It just made things a little awkward for you.

“Here. Hold this,” he huffed as he shoved an armful of the plants into your arms. “Lady Tamayo said that she needed a lot this time,” he mumbled to himself. You nodded with a sigh. He admired her so much, and she only saw him as a friend. It was comical when you didn’t think about the pain that it caused him. In many ways, you and him were similar. But you knew he didn’t want to compare himself to a mortal being such as yourself.

“What else did she say she needed?” You asked, peering over the heap of herbs in your arms to look at him. He had frozen in place, his eyes narrowed. “What is it?” You whispered, now on edge. Instinctively, you reached out for your sword, dropping the herbs in the process.

In the blink of an eye, Yushiro pushed you to the side and blocked an attack from the demon that he had assumed was following you through the forest. He groaned as he fought it off, wincing at the relentless assault. You quickly rose to your feet, katana in hand, and leaped at the monster. You managed to cut its head off with one swift movement.

“Are you alright?” He asked, quickly turning to look at you. His hands grasped your cheeks, moving your face around to see if you were hurt in any way. The action caused your face to flush. Yushiro noticed that your face had gotten slightly warmer, taking his hands away and giving you a confused look before turning and picking up the herbs.

“Can I… tell you something?” You asked slowly, attempting to aid him. He moved away from you and muttered a sharp ‘no’.

The walk home was spent in awkward silence. Maybe he’d realized how you felt about him. Maybe not. You weren’t sure, and it bothered you horribly. He kept his distance from you, his head turned so he wouldn’t have an opportunity to glance at you. It broke your heart. In such a short amount of time, he had begun to mean everything to you, and yet, you were nothing. He’d push you to the side and focus on Tamayo, you were sure.

And you were right. In the days following that little incident, he avoided you. He went out by himself everywhere and hardly spoke to you when he passed by. It pained you more than you had thought, seeing as Tamayo could sense your hurt. She sighed as she stood outside of your room. Emotions to her were like a wavelength that she could visualize. What you were feeling was strong enough to suffocate her. It only made her worry about you.

“Can I come in?” She asked slowly, knocking gently on the door. You mumbled a response and she walked in. “Is everything between you and Yushiro alright?” She sat down next to you on your bed, her concerned eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. We just ran into a demon the other day, so it’s got him shaken,” you frowned, turning your head away from her. You could feel your lip quiver. Just thinking about it made your heart ache. After a few more seconds of sitting there, you sighed. There was a possibility that she could help you through your emotions. You turned back to face her, your tone slightly wistful. “I think I love him, Tamayo. There’s no realistic way for me to tell him or even be with him because he’s not human, but I feel so strongly for him in a way that I’ve never felt about anyone before…” you hung your head.

“I see…” she trailed off. There wasn’t really any form of advice she could offer you and she felt bad. “Don’t fault him for not knowing his emotions well enough to properly respond. He may not fully come around, but he will want to start being around you again,” she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Just give it time.” You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek as you thought.

Just give it time.

But you didn’t have the time he did. You were doomed to die much sooner than he could ever dream of.

Tamayo left you alone with your thoughts. Of course you wanted to listen to her, but you knew it would be best if you didn’t. There was no sense in waiting when he had his heart set on Tamayo. And that hurt you more than anything. You laid back onto your bed, frowning.

Just give it time.

MITSURI

For years you had been a hashira alongside Mitsuri. Rengoku had trained you both when you joined the corps, but even then you had known her prior to serving in the corps. The whole reason you became a demon slayer was because she wanted to. She just didn’t want to go through it alone, which was fair. While Rengoku had taught you his breathing technique, neither you nor Mitsuri had resonated strongly with it. You made the choice to invent your own technique called ‘ice breathing,’ and she followed suit. Together, you made your way up the ranks and became hashiras.

It seemed that you did everything together.

If she were assigned a mission, she’d drag you along with her. If she wanted to go out to town, then she’d ask you if you wanted to go. Even your estates were in the same village. You really just couldn’t escape her.

It didn’t bother you much though. She was your friend, after all.

But you couldn’t help but want more. You had wanted more with her for such a long time you felt you were beginning to lose your mind.

There had been many times where you had gotten her alone to confess, but each time was interrupted by her crow calling her out to take care of something. Each of the hashira could see that you had fallen for Mitsuri, with the exception of Obanai. He had steered clear of everyone as soon as he gained the title of hashira. You on the other hand, had not. Tengen had been a good friend of yours outside of Mitsuri.

Actually, he had been the one talking you through the whole process. He claimed that since he had three wives, he was the right guy to ask. Because of this, you found yourself in many odd situations in the name of love. Unfortunately, Mitsuri just didn’t notice. She had always been told that she was undesirable because of her appearance, and yet, she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

You had a plan this time. A plan that was slightly guaranteed to work. Even if it didn’t work in your favor, it’d still work. You’d get her alone under the stars and propose. Yes, propose. Marriage amongst hashira wasn’t really accepted, due to the circumstances of the title, but no one had to know. As long as you had her you’d be happy.

“So what’re you going to do when you get her alone?” Tengen asked, attempting to lift up your spirits. He’d promised to keep the whole thing a secret, which you’d greatly appreciated. You couldn’t have been more thankful for his help. Especially now that you were so in need of it.

“I’m going to take her hands, look into her eyes and tell her how I feel!” You nodded, your expression serious. All of this seemed rather silly, but his enthusiasm was making you feel better.

“That’s right! And what’s she going to do?” He wrapped a large, beefy arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him with a grin. You chuckled and pushed him away.

“Yes!” You paused, looking away in embarrassment. “This feels stupid,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Why are we doing this again?”

“We’re doing this so you won’t back out at the last minute,” he raised a brow as he looked at you. His hands landed on his hips. Why was this grown man full of such sassiness? You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not going to back out!” You argued, but to no avail. Tengen mocked you with his hand, a smirk growing on his lips.

“I mean, if it doesn’t work out you can always marry me,” the taller man spit out nonchalantly. His words caused you to choke on air. You gave him a look, feigning disgust as you stared at him.

“Yeah no, I’ll pass,” you shuddered at the thought.

“I’m just saying.”

You sighed once more, looking out at the scenery. The sun was beginning to set, which meant that you would soon be alone with Mitsuri. The thought both scared and excited you. After all, you’d finally get the chance to tell her a secret that you’ve kept for so long. Even if she didn’t feel the same, at least you’d get the satisfaction that came with finally having your question answered.

The stars shined brightly overhead, perfectly visible from the tree you had chosen to sit under. Mitsuri would be arriving any moment now. Any moment. Your heart rate only increased as the seconds passed. Tonight was different from all of your other attempts, but only in the sense that you were asking to be bound to her forever. Well, either way you’d be with her, but you wanted to be with her.

“There you are!” Your friend cheerily called out, grinning as she sat next to you. “I’m so sorry I was late! Iguro gifted me these pretty green socks and treated me to some sweets afterward! They were the most delicious sweets I’d ever had!” She giggled gleefully at the thought. “Oh if only you had been there! Did you know that Iguro is actually a sweetie? Oh he’s such a sweetie! And he’s cute, too! I had to refrain from blushing the whole time, it was so embarrassing!” She continued to giggle, trailing off when she remembered that it was you that had asked her to join you. Her face flushed and she looked up at the sky. “So how come you wanted to hang out all the way out here?”

You swallowed, hanging your head in shame. Of course. Obanai. Your heart ached as you sat next to her. She had said he was cute, but that didn’t mean anything, did it? She said that about everyone she liked. Your hands clutched your slayer uniform. This was foolish of you. There was no way you had thought that you stood a chance at getting with Mitsuri. It was almost laughable. You had no idea how Tengen entertained the idea for so long.

“Hello…?” She leaned forward and waved her hand in front of your face. The motion pulled you from your thoughts, causing you to jump slightly. “Ah! There’s my friend! I was starting to think I’d lost you!” She smiled widely and giggled once again.

“My apologies,” you forced a nervous chuckle, your face flushing a light shade of pink. Thankfully she didn’t notice. “I didn’t mean to zone out on you.” Your heart pounded. You needed to leave as soon as possible. You couldn’t bear to be around her in this moment. It was hurting you. “I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about—“

“Caw! Head west to the nearest town! Caw! Get moving! Get moving!” Mitsuri’s crow called out. Its raspy voice ruined the moment entirely, making you frown. Your friend rose to her feet quickly, giving you a sympathetic look.

“Would you like to join me?” She asked sweetly, but you declined. “Alright! I’m going to go find Iguro and see if he wants to go! I’ll see you later, friend!” You waved, giving her a soft smile as she ran off. As soon as she was no longer in your line of sight, you ran to find Tengen. He’d promised you that he’d stay in the area for your sake, a promise that you really hadn’t expected to see through.

You ran, your breathing heavy and your heart heavier. You cursed yourself mentally for being so stupid. Actually, you were mid swear when Tengen stumbled upon you.

“Woah there! I’m guessing that things didn’t go well?” You shot him a glare before simply breaking down. He took a step back, unsure of how to handle the situation. Of course he’s comforted people before, but that didn’t mean that things like this didn’t catch him off guard. After a few seconds of watching you cry in silence, he stepped forward and hugged you. In all actuality, he had thought that you had this in the bag. He really saw no reason as to why you wouldn’t.

You never really explained things to him until the next day, which even then you were reluctant to do. Of course he had told you that you should go out for it again, but you disagreed. Obanai made her giddy in a way that you felt you couldn’t, so you saw no point in competing.

Things would be easier if you just stayed her friend.

OBANAI

Days turned into weeks that turned into months. Soon those months would turn into years. You had been staying at the home of Shinobu Kocho for ages now due to an injury you had received while you were away on a mission. The demon had nearly taken off your arm, breaking several of your bones in the process. Thankfully, you were able to kill if before it could kill you, but it resulted in you calling for aid.

Only a handful of your fellow demon slayers had set aside time to visit you, including your close friend and fellow hashira Gyomei. Each time he visited you he wound up sobbing, praising you for your resilience and bravery. He cared a lot for you, and your recent incident had caused him to worry about you more than usual. He had even set aside missions to help Shinobu take care of you. He was a true friend.

Aside from him, only one other hashira had come to visit you. Iguro Obanai.

Obanai was someone that you didn’t really know all too well, despite both reaching the rank of hashira at the same time. You had always been friendly with him, of course, but it never really went farther than that. You thought of him as alluring and slightly mysterious. His silence intrigued you, as did his mask and his snake. He was an enigma in your eyes.

With your curiosity arose some issues. The deeper you dove into his history, the more you found yourself longing to get to know him. You couldn’t even think about him normally without getting slightly flustered, which upset you. After all, your feelings towards him were rooted in your curiosity, nothing more.

“How are you doing today, my friend?” Gyomei’s voice met your ears. He ducked as he entered the room, walking over and sitting on the chair next to your bed.

“Not too bad, actually,” you grinned, “I was able to walk around the corridor earlier! You should’ve been there! I didn’t even need help standing!” You chuckled softly and Gyomei smiled softly. Tears began to slide down his cheeks as he faced you.

“You are so strong! I’m so happy for you!” He clasped his hands together, tilting his head back dramatically. You rolled your eyes, smiling. “I hope that you continue to do well!” Your smile only grew at his enthusiasm. He was sweet, that was for sure.

“Gyomei, I’ve got a question for you,” you asked slowly, waiting for him to calm down some.

“What is it, dear friend?”

You shifted in your bed, suddenly feeling nervous. “What do you know about Obanai? I know it’s odd, but I can’t help but be curious. I don’t really know too much about him. Though, now that I think about it, you probably don’t either. He doesn’t talk much,” you sigh, chuckling softly. He was confusing, that much was true.

“I know only what I’ve been told,” your friend paused, “which is very little. I’m apologize, friend,” he rose to his feet, his hands still clasped together. “I will make time to visit you again next week. I cannot wait to see how much better you are doing then!” He smiled once more before leaving.

Your time alone was brief. The door closed, only to open again, revealing the man that you had just asked about. All you could do was offer him a smile. He walked forward some and sat, looking at you for a few seconds before audibly taking a deep breath.

“How are you?” He asked bluntly. The snake around his neck eyed you, its tongue reaching in your direction.

“I’m just as good as I was yesterday,” you tease but he doesn’t react. Talking to him is like talking to a rock. “They had me walking down the hallway earlier, which means that I should be doing more by the end of the week, though, it just depends on what Shinobu has to say about my condition.” You smiled. He was really good at getting you to ramble so he could avoid conversation. You found it funny, in a way. He’d rather listen to you speak than have to talk.

“Here, I brought you this,” he reached forward, revealing a brand new haori. You gasped at the sight. It looked just like the one you had lost when you got injured. Grinning, you took it from his hands and held it in the air to get a better look. Its resemblance to your old one was impressive. You hugged it and giggled.

“How did you get this?” You look up at him. His face looks slightly flushed, but you think nothing of it.

“I heard that you didn’t have your old one anymore. I know a seamstress in the town over, so I commissioned her to make you a new one.” He wasn’t about to tell you that he had memorized the patterns from observing you so often. No, that sounded weird. He was hoping that you wouldn’t question him any further.

“Thank you, Obanai. I really appreciate your gift.” You looked down at the haori, playing with the fabric between your fingers. Hopefully you’d be able to wear it soon.

After that, Obanai began to miss days. Once he had come in with Mitsuri, which hurt you to see. They looked happy together, so you couldn’t really be too upset, but it did bother you some. Each time he stopped by, he seemed to be less talkative than before, which you didn’t know could happen. With each day he missed, you seemed to be getting better. Within a week, you were able to go out on small missions in the nearest town. A few days after that, you were finally back to your regular routine.

Shinobu had discharged you from her infirmary, which meant that you finally got to return to your own estate. With everything going on, you had yet to stop and check in with Gyomei. You felt bad about it, but you couldn’t just skip out on these missions. There had been so much in your area that you hadn’t been able to take care of, and you needed to get to work on it.

“Caw! Head east, head east! Caw!” Your crow’s cries echoed into the air. Its shrill voice never failed to make you cringe. “Dangerous! Backup will be there! Caw!” You sighed and continued on. Hopefully it would be Gyomei.

You reached the area, looking out at the dark forest that threatened you. You couldn’t help but wonder what had hidden itself in there that was considered dangerous enough for you, a hashira, to need backup.

The sound of footsteps caused you to draw your blade, pointing its edge at the culprit. Obanai didn’t even jump, looking at you with his hetrochromatic eyes. He seemed surprised to see you already out in the field, wearing the haori he got you, no less. His face flushed slightly and he pushed past you, hoping you didn’t notice.

“Sorry about that. I’m a little on edge,” you admitted, sheathing your blade and catching up to him. “I didn’t know you were in the area.”

“Pure coincidence.”

“Right…” you eyed him before nodding. “So how’s everything back at the headquarters? I know you live relatively close to it. How are the others?”

“They’re all fine.”

“Gyomei too?”

“Gyomei too.” His tone got slightly more bitter at the mention of Gyomei, something that nearly went over your head. You froze, giving him a confused look.

“Do you not like Gyomei?” You tilted your head, your brows furrowing.

“I find him to be very respectable.” He paused. “… how do you feel about Mitsuri?” His question only confused you more.

“She’s a great slayer, and really sweet. I like her,” you caught up to him once again. “Why…?”

“Are you and Gyomei engaged?” He blurted out, turning to look at you. You were caught so off guard by his gaze that you took a step back.

“Of course not! He and I are just close friends! I thought everyone knew that.” Well clearly not everyone knew that. You cleared your throat, looking out around you for any signs of danger. Weird. You weren’t sensing anything. “What’s all of this about?”

“Nothing, I—“ he cut himself off, continuing on with his walk. He stopped again and turned back to face you. “Mitsuri and I aren’t engaged either.”

He turned back around, not wasting any time heading deeper into the forest. Your body was frozen in confusion. That whole interaction was weird. You shook it off and ran after him.

You couldn’t help but feel better now that you knew about him and Mitsuri, though. Yes it was weird, but it had bothered you since he had stopped coming around. Truth be told, you had fallen for him not long after he had begun his daily visits. The fact that he cared enough to give you his attention daily made you feel like you were special, and you liked that. Who wouldn’t?

Once he came back into sight, you slowed down, making sure he was aware that it was you instead of a demon. You rested your hand on the hilt of your katana, following him in silence. That’s how the rest of the mission was spent, in silence. The two of you never really found the supposed dangerous demon, but you didn’t mind. At least now you could rest easy knowing that you stood a slight chance with your fellow hashira.

LADY TAMAYO

For as long as you could remember, you had been under the care of Lady Tamayo and her assistant Yushiro. Your life prior to joining them was a memory that eluded you. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t remember how you had met them. They had tried to explain it all to you before, but it never made sense. Demons? Demon slayers? It all sounded like a fairy tale.

Tamayo had entrusted you with taking care of the garden out behind the house, a duty you had accepted happily. You enjoyed watering the various herbs. Their lives were just as valuable as yours, and you made sure to treat them with as much tenderness as you could.

Every now and then Tamayo would come and help you, but that was rare. She usually spent her time inside, studying away at human biology. It interested you some, but you knew better than to interrupt her.

When Tamayo wasn’t available, you’d spend your time with Yushiro. He never really got a say in the matter, but thankfully he had learned to stop protesting a while ago. The two of you were walking down the streets of the town the house was hidden in. Despite it being late, there were many vendors that were still open. Their resilience intrigued you. You reached out and tugged on Yushiro’s sleeve, smiling softly.

“Do you think that Lady Tamayo would like this?” You asked, holding up an intricate painting of a woman looking at the moon. Yushiro looked at it, his eyes widening slightly. He was impressed by the strokes on the canvas. Tamayo was fond of art, so of course she would like it, but Yushiro didn’t want her to favor you more than she did him. He crossed his arms.

“Get it. But make sure to tell her that I helped you pick it out,” he said stubbornly before turning to walk once more.

Eagerly, you bought the painting, carrying it under your arm as you followed Yushiro. He stopped suddenly, holding his head in his hand. You recognized this behavior, grabbing his shoulder and leading him off to the side and sitting him down. He looked pale than usual, and you sighed.

“When was the last time you ate?” You asked, setting the painting to the side gently. The man only grunted in response, pouting as he avoided your concerned gaze.

“… last week…” he mumbled.

“Last week?! You know you’re not supposed to go that long without food!” You panicked and looked around. Nobody could see you. With a huff, you scooted towards him. “Listen, you can feed off of me just this once. It’s too risky to have you roaming the streets while starved,” you sighed, “you must’ve felt like you were going insane! Oh come here…” you pulled down the shoulder of your kimono, revealing more skin than you would’ve liked. Yushiro eyed you. The thought of eating even a bit of your flesh scared him. What if Tamayo found out? What would she think of him?

“Hurry up!” You whispered through your teeth, giving him a glare. He was taking way too long to make up his mind. Unfortunately, you didn’t have time. He sighed and leaned forward, taking a bite out of your skin.

About five minutes later, the two of you returned to the town. He seemed to be in a better mood now, which was good. You just couldn’t believe that he was walking around while hungry like that. Things would’ve been bad if he had snapped.

“Hey Yushiro?”

“What?”

“Do you think Lady Tamayo likes anyone?” You asked as you readjusted the painting. It was random, but you couldn’t help but be curious. His cheeks flushed a rosy pink and he sighed.

“I don’t think so. She’s too focused on doing her duties to set aside time for things like romance,” he frowned slightly as he spoke.

“Hey Yushiro?”

“What?”

“I think I like Lady Tamayo.” Your words made him choke on nothing. He hadn’t expected that in the slightest.

“You and me both…” he mumbled, leading you back to the house.

Tamayo loved the painting, choosing to hang it at the end of the hallway. Every time she saw you she made sure to thank you for the thoughtful present. Her compliments made you giddy, usually causing your face to flush a little.

You felt that your feelings for her only got stronger with each day that passed. Hell, you couldn’t even think of her without getting butterflies in your stomach. It was beginning to get in the way of your work. On times she’d come out to the garden to help you, you wouldn’t be able to speak. You were sure that if you said something, you’d butcher it so badly that you’d have to ask Yushiro to end your misery.

You sighed as you pulled another weed from the ground near the garden. The herbs were looking great, despite it being their off season. The luscious green plants surrounded you. They were nearly big enough to hide you completely, and you took great pride in that fact.

“Hey, are you ready to go out? Lady Tamayo said that she needed some time alone for a while.” Yushiro’s voice caused you to perk up. You nodded and gave him a smile.

“Hold on! I need to change real quick!” You stood up and went inside to your room. It didn’t take you long before you were standing in front of Yushiro, asking him what the plan was for tonight.

“Let’s stay in town.”

“Alright.”

There weren’t as many shops open tonight, unfortunately, so you and Yushiro just took to heading towards the park in the middle of the town. It was a small park, but that didn’t stop it from being beautiful. You sighed as you sat down onto the grass. A part of you wished to find another gift for Tamayo, but your options were limited.

You looked up at the moon, taking in its glory in silence before turning back to your friend.

“Does your love for Lady Tamayo ever cause you pain?” You asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah.”

A part of you understood what he meant. Sometimes she was so beautiful that it caused your heart to throb in agony. Maybe it was because you knew that she would never be yours. Either way, your giddy love for her was beginning to torment your weary soul. You didn’t enjoy being around her simply due to the fact that her sweet words wouldn’t fail to cause you some sort of pain.

“Yeah…” you repeated, sighing once more.

[ackrmvvn-levi]

Take me home || E.S.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: I don’t think there are any??

Look, let’s just all pretend he’s still alive, because god damn it I miss him 😭😭

It’d been 4 years since Erwin had seen you last. He’d barely managed to survive the battle of Shinganshina, but it felt like a part of him had died when you never returned. They never even found your body among the wreckage, they’d searched for days, coming up empty handed each time.

There was nothing left for him to do but assume the worst had happened.

He’d dealt with loss before, being in the scouts, that much was a given. But grief had never taken such a hold on him, leaving him feeling hollow and broken down, unable to think about anything other than you. Every day was hard, every minute felt like an endless abyss waiting to swallow him whole. His dreams were nightmares more often than not, waking from them in fits of shivering cold sweat. It was only by sheer luck he didn’t lose his mind entirely.

He couldn’t have known that across the large body of water, you were alive.

They’d held you captive, only allowing you a semblance of freedom when you agreed to listen to their side of the violence.

But you’d done what you could to make your situation less dire, the Marleyans were surprised when you didn’t try to flee after that.

You learned the secrets of the titans, you’d learned why the Marleyans thought of your people as devils. You’d done everything you could to convince them you believed in their cause, just to stay alive.

You hoped to be able to return home, begging to whatever higher power there was that Erwin was still alive, waiting for you to return to him.

——————

Your eyes grazed over the various fruits the merchant was selling, picking out different ones before moving to start your way to your so-called home.

The familiar voice almost slipped your attention at first, but as the yelling became more prominent, you froze.

You slowly looked towards where the voice had come from, eyes wide in disbelief at the scene in front of you.

Sasha, Connie, and Jean were each holding an ice cream cone, yelling praises for the sweet treat at each other.

You would’ve laughed at how ridiculous the whole situation seemed had your heart not began pounding within your chest. Your breath had caught somewhere in your throat, and you stared dumbfounded at your three old friends who hadn’t noticed you.

You began urgently looking throughout the crowd, desperately looking for anymore familiar faces. Anybody you could call a friend. Anyone who knew you.

You noticed Levi and Hange next, their gazes locked on the three overgrown children, still yelling at each other. Hange had a smile on her lips, chatting to a bored-looking Levi quietly.

You wanted nothing more than to run over to them, to you comrades, but they weren’t supposed to be here. Drawing unnecessary attention to the outsiders would only cause all of you trouble.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the pair, only when a third figure stepped up next to Hange did your focus change.

Your heart felt like it nearly stopped, a pair of blue eyes already locked on your figure when you looked at the man.

Erwin stood with his hands casually tucked into his pockets as his eyes bored into your own. The two of you didn’t move for what fell like forever, staring at one another in silence.

You wondered if he realized it was you he was looking at.

You snapped out of your daze when he took a step in your direction, quickly freezing when you shook your head frantically. He paused, eyebrows furrowing slightly as confusion swirled around in his eyes.

You quickly looked around, noticing no guards, no warriors, no one who would be able to recognize the group of scouts, but you couldn’t be too careful.

Your eyes met the familiar pair again, slightly jerking your head to the alley you knew was a few feet behind you, praying he got the message to follow you into the corridor.

The second you saw Erwin nod to you, you turned and began quickly making your way there, brushing through groups of people unapologetically. You could practically feel your hair standing on end, goosebumps rising across your flesh as you hurried along the dark corridor, only turning around at the sound of footsteps behind you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died in your throat. He was still as handsome as you remembered, the same blue eyes still shone with intelligence and kindness. He was out of his scout uniform, a suit hugging his body, a welcome change from his usual wardrobe.

His steps were slow, as though wary of startling you. When he stopped in front of you, his hand reached up, landing on your cheek gently. You nearly sobbed on the spot, not realizing how much you still craved his touch until that moment.

“Tell me you being here doesn’t mean what I think it does.” His voice was quiet, pleading. You could tell he wasn’t sure what to think or feel, and you understood that this would be difficult for him to accept.

“No, no, of course not. They took me, Erwin. I did what I had to do to survive,” You assured, taking a step closer towards him, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

He leaned into your embrace, squeezing his eyes closed as he breathed deeply and steadily against your shoulder. “God, I thought I lost you for good,” he spoke, holding you against him like you’d disappear if he loosened his grip any.

“Never,” you replied fiercely, pulling back to look him straight in the eye. You smiled sadly when you saw tears gathering on his face. You cupped his cheeks delicately, wiping them away. He pressed his lips against yours softly, letting out a deep sigh as you kissed him back.

He was the first to pull away, your hands still gripping his face as his landed on your hips. His eyes bored into yours, blue irises filled with adoration.

“You’re still so beautiful,” he whispered, warm breath fanning over your red-tinted cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, darling. Everyday of the last 4 years.”

You felt tears stinging in your eyes, but they were happy tears this time, relief washing through you to see him finally in front of you. The weight of four years was beginning to fade away. You could breathe normally now, knowing he’d made it out alive.

“You can come back with us, right? We’ll sneak you onto the ship,” he suggested, pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t know if I can go back to living without you knowing that you’re alive.”

Your smile grew at his words, pulling his lips back down into a kiss, pouring all your love for the tall blonde into it. He wrapped his free arm around your waist, cradling you close as you melted into the warmth radiating off his body.

“Yes, please. Get me out of here,” you spoke after pulling away, leaning your foreheads back together lightly. “Take me home.”

“You have to do something for me though,” he replied, a small chuckle leaving his lips at the confusion that flashed across your features.

“Of course, what is it?”

“Marry me. The second we get home.”

A small gasp left your lips, your heart swelling with joy and happiness at those words.

“You want to marry me?” You asked incredulously, unable to help the broad grin spreading across your features as you threw yourself into his arms once again, giggling into his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, peppering gentle kisses across your forehead.

“I’ve been waiting 4 years to ask you that. Of course I want to,” he answered happily, tightening his grip on you, burying his face into your hair and breathing deeply.

You nodded your head quickly, feeling completely overwhelmed by the emotions running rampant in your chest.

“Yes, Erwin. Please, take me home and make me your wife,” you spoke, feeling tears threatening to fall from your eyes. He chuckled lowly, bringing a finger under your chin to tilt your head up towards him as he connected our lips for yet another kiss.

He was kissing you with everything that he held inside, everything that you had missed over the past years. He wanted to show you how much he loved you, how much he was always going to love you.

You felt safe, secure, loved, and cherished. And in that moment, the world could crumble around you and you wouldn’t care, not while Erwin had you wrapped in his arms and was the reason for every emotion coursing through your veins.

[alpaca-clouds]

Rape, Abuse, Trauma and the Need for Power

This topic has been sneaking around in my brain for days now. Because I find it quite interesting to see this depicted in now multiple franchises. And I really want to talk about it. Partly, because I see some people struggling to understand it. So, let me, an abuse victim, explain.

You see these three characters? Yeah, they actually have a lot in common. Let me explain.

Spoilers vor Castlevania, Stray Gods and Baldur's Gate, obviously.

All three of them were victims of abuse and (probably) also rape. It should be noted that with both Carmilla and Persephone it is never outright said that they were raped, but it is heavily implied. With Astarion, obviously, it is outright stated.

More than that, we do know about all three of them that they were also abused. Both Carmilla and Astarion by their respective sires. Persephone by Hades.

And they also have one other thing in common: Their character arc features them trying to get some sort of power. Let me go through with them.

Carmilla was abused by her sire. We do know very little about the details, only that he was very cruel. There is some heavy implication that the abuse involved rape. At some point she killed her sire. Her entire character story is about her trying to get power for herself. First by trying to get control over Dracula's Castle. Then she tries to build her own empire. With her mental health getting worse, she ends up fantasizing about world domination.

Persephone in Stray Gods was kidnapped, raped and abused by Hades. She had everything taken from her during this, until she finally could not take it any longer and killed Hades. But the other gods denied her to take control over the underworld. Her basic conflict stems from her wanting to regain control over the underworld again.

Astarion is of course the odd one out, given we learn a lot more about his abuse. But like the two women, he was abused, raped and tortured. Due to the DnD vampire rules, he had no way of actually fighting back against his sire, with him escaping just through what amounts to sheer luck. When he learns that his sire wanted to sacrifice him (and many others) to gain a lot of power, Astarion wants to finish the ritual for himself, gaining the power.

The outcome of course is different for all three.

Carmilla gets killed, once she goes down the "world domination" thing. While with Persephone and Astarion it depends on player choice. I would argue though, that the happy end for them both is them giving up the power. That is Persephone giving up the throne and Astarion not finishing the ritual.

What is the interesting thing about this... Or, well, interesting might be the wrong world. But it is well written. Because this is very, very realistic for their backstories.

See, both abuse and especially rape are a lot about power. The abuser/rapist takes full control over the victim's body and life. (Which is also why rape rarely has to do with sexual enjoyment, and more with the rapist wanting to assert power.) Or, from the perspective of the survivor: It is all about having the power taken away from them.

This is bad enough if it is something that is a one time occurance. But if the survivor is in the situation for a long time, they experience a prolonged period of powerlessness and fear. The survivor is constantly afraid, constantly in survival mode, constantly trying to just get through it.

In my life I have seen too many bad takes along the lines of: "Rape survivors should stop whining. How bad can one rape be?" And those people do once again not understand: Rape is not about the sex. It is about having control and power over your own body taken away from you. It is about you being turned into a thing to be used by someone else. Which does not even mention the feeling of fear most people experience during a rape, as they do not know what kind of other violence might follow.

And this is something that leads the survivors to even after escaping the abuse, the trauma often leaves them feeling powerless. They might objectively not have less power than they had before the abuse happened, but to the traumatized nervous system it feels like that. And the traumatized brain does not work logically or objectively. All it knows is: The survivor has not enough power to prevent this situation from occuring again. But here is the thing: No amount of power will make them feel like they have enough power, like they can meaningfully protect themselves from further abuse.

This is why Carmilla is escalating so much in season 4 of Castlevania. Because no matter how much control and power she gets, she does not feel like it is enough to protect herself.

This is also why I do feel like the happy end for both Persephone and Astarion is them giving up their symbol of power. Because the thing is, that them gaining the power will just push them along into a spiral of needing more power to keep themselves in a feeling of being safe. Which is why the good ending for them needs to involve them being convinced to basically trust people again. Because that is a path that given enough time can lead to healing. Them gaining the power won't. In terms of their trauma the power they might gain is just a bandaid on an infected wound.

I have seen a lot of people argue that you should let Astarion finish the ritual, because it "is what he wants". But the thing is... it isn't. All he wants is to feel safe. And he thinks if he gains that power, he can feel safe. But he can't. To feel safe he needs to heal.

[shining-gem34]

🌕 for rook.

Memory Lane || Accepting @cloudhymn

TW: Implied Character Death (Temporary)

Record XERRORERRORERROR: DEAD END

Whenever something happens, he always will strive to rise above it somehow.

Whenever a situation turns south, he always will survive one way or another.

Whenever death comes knocking at his door, he always find a way to live another day.

Rook knew his luck will run out one day. With it, he will finally pay the price of his hubris.

"It's just..." He struggles to raise his head before a series of coughing seizes his throat. His vision blurs looking away from the blood pooling on the ground (his blood is black as death).

At the horizon, space and time has splintered forming a crack in the skies. The air around it distorts sucking everything in within it's grasp. Beyond the cracks in space lies his goal, the beautiful blue jewel of his home world: Earth.

He can go home. They, he and Dr. Drake, can go home now.

Except what stands between them and the exit is an indomitable foe and their army.

This planet guardian whose body and mind became corrupted by the cancer (Stellaron). They siphon the lifeforce they're tasked to protect as fuel for their ever-burning body. A flame that burns as bright as the stars nearly blinding him with their light.

"It just had to be right at the finish line." Rook head throbs at the tantalizing whispers echoing in his head. The whispers of the Stellaron resonating with the fragments eroding his body.

Nearby, Dr. Drake stirs awake and shifts to lift her head. Her glasses lost amidst the chaos of the first wave of attacks. The pristine white coat dirtied with dust and blood.

"Hah. Rise and shine, sunshine. You got any bright ideas how to get us out of this and straight home?" Rook asks, standing up on shaky legs.

"If I could, then we wouldn't be in this mess already! Besides, isn't this your field of work, soldier?!" Dr. Drake snarks, but her face turns serious as she examines him. Her brows pinch in worry, "Hey, your body..."

The fragments he picked up long ago are finally picking up their dues. A dark-violet armor made from remnants of Destruction melds into his skin and turn it into hardened scales of armor. It doesn't stop there for it intends to consume him entirely. Already, the parasite is moving past his shoulder. The golden lines injected into his veins burns to the point he feels faint.

Somehow, it's a miracle Rook is barely clinging onto his consciousness by sheer spite and willpower.

"You idiot! Didn't I tell you to let that thing go?!" Dr. Drake shrieks, clutching to her bleeding side as she rises up.

"Yeah. About that, I think it's too late for me now." Rook wheeze finding it difficult to breathe.

"Shut it. We can still fix this once we're back on Earth." The doctor snaps, but she cannot continue denying the inevitable by the gray parlor of Rook skin.

Rook strains a smile at her knowing they both know he's dying at this point. What did it matter if he transforms into a monster? It will no longer be 'Rook'- Just a violent monster following their instinct to kill.

"Chin up, Dr. Drake. There's still hope."

"Really? I don't see the probability of us getting out of this. Not with that alien and their army in the way." Dr. Drake said bluntly, gesturing to the said army encroaching upon them. But she realizes shortly what he was planning, "Wait, you're not...!"

"Chit-chat over, Doctor. Hold on tight and don't let go!"

Nimble hands transformed into claws plucks the doctor by her waist. He digs his heels into the ground before he starts a run. Ignoring the pain shooting up to his head, Rook dashes forward straight into the enemy army. His other hand gripping his sword-whip tightly.

With a battle cry, he leaps into the fray delivering a swift kick to one of the soldiers head. So brittle they break under his heels, but the numbers are nothing to scoff at. Not when the trickier ones are in hiding waiting to explode once they're close enough.

In his arm, Dr. Drake protests went silent and clings to him tightly. Her heart not ready for Rook suicidal mission, but it was too late now. Even as she witnesses her bodyguard transformation picking up rapidly. The erosion of his human flesh replaced by the cursed armor covering more than half of his body.

Rook doesn't stop. He grits his teeth and continues moving forward swinging his sword. The blade stretched in an arch and slicing the next wave of soldiers. Tearing apart his enemies standing in his way unable to feel the pain lancing throughout his body. The adrenaline pumping into his veins forcing him to move his legs.

"Clench your teeth and don't bite your tongue, Doctor!" Rook rasps, unable to recognize his own voice with how distorted it sounds.

"What the hell are you-?!"

A burst of quantum power explodes underneath his feet. Farther than ever before, Rook jumps through the air and high into the sky. Yet his human body has reached its limits and his power starts to dissipate.

Before its fully gone, he lifts Dr. Drake in his arms and throws her high into the air. The said doctor shrieks in surprise, but her eyes widen seeing Rook starting to fall below her. Her world shifts, swallowed up by the quantum power briefly and spat out even farther away from her bodyguard.

Instead of descending to her doom, Dr. Drake is being lifted higher. She lifts her head up to see she's under the rift to Earth. Turning back to Rook, the doctor reaches a hand out to him. A meaningless effort for how far away they are now.

"Rook...!" Dr. Drake calls out in frustration.

For Rook, who can relax knowing the doctor made it out safe and sound, lets himself fall. He finds it strange how he's feel at peace for once. Smiling, he sees Dr. Drake lithe figure passing through the rift as the cracks in the sky mend itself.

The golden lines reaching his face burns. His vision growing heavy, feeling the crunch of a helmet forming around his head. The visor finishes, burning away the remaining pieces of his humanity like the giant star- a flaming fist dives right for his meager flesh and armor.

As long as someone makes it home, that's enough for me.

A strangled scream rips out of his throat.

Rooks shoots up instantly on his bed. Cold sweat soaking his shirt and unruly hair. His eyes wide trying to process his surroundings. He takes deeps to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Almost choking a few times caused him to be nauseous leading for Rook to go straight to the bathroom to throw up.

After washing his face and hands, he sits on the tile floors trying to stop his hands from shaking.

“Shit me a ton of fucking bricks, what the fuck was up with that dream?” Rook mutters, resting his forehead on his hands.

Then a thought occurred to him and he lifted his head, “Wait. Was it the SoulGlad I had before bed that caused it? Lords, I hope it didn't expire. I didn't read the labels either and I drank a whole three bottles of that stuff. I heard that stuff has memoria in it.”

After tonight, Rook vowed to avoid drinking SoulGlad for a while and try to start having good sleeping habits in order to avoid another nightmare like that.

...

>🌕 ― a vivid memory.

>Inspiration Song

[sorcerous-caress]

I am completely obsessed with drows and humans. So I am currently reading more about drows as much as I could and I came across wiki page for Vhaeraun, the male advocate god—then I found this on his page :

“…He saw a general need for advancement for elves and encouraged cooperation, including intermarriage among the elven races. The goal included the subjugation of other races. Intermarrying also had an ulterior motive in the form of increasing drow numbers on the surface by taking advantage of the drow's genetic dominance and the psychological quirk of children to favor their drow parent.”

Very interesting but the most interesting part :

“ He found halflings and humans tolerable. It was believed that the Shadow wanted, or at least was not against, the drow interbreeding with humans to acquire their genetic traits.”

Which is…um so hot? I..I would volunteer to help pushing drow agenda as a human

Source : https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Vhaeraun#Mortals

— RED anon

What i absolutely love about this is the fact as detailed as Vhaeraun's plans can get, he never states how to convince these humans to be let themselves get bred and overtaken by drows nor does he urge his followers to learn some deep seduction or manipulation arts.

Because he knows it's not needed, not for the humans, at least. We will happily let them into our houses and into our beds with little to no care in the world.

Hell, his plans could literally be exposed the next day to all of Faerun, and it would change nothing for the humans.

Oh so the reason that hot drow women was hitting on me yesterday was because of that? Huh well I'm still getting that drussy and she seemed pretty nice so lol.

Like what are the other races gonna do to stop the drows from taking over humanity through inbreeding? They're gonna tell the humans not to fuck them? HA, good fucking luck, if anything it will motivate the humans to fuck even more drows.

We have very little regard for our survivability as a species, we wouldn't even acknowledge the drow take over thingy because we are so used to crossbreeding with other races. The only reason pure humans still exist is through out sheer dumb luck and unimaginable numbers.

I mean his plans fucking suck ngl, i doubt there are enough drows in the whole underdark to rival one human country but sure let the man dream.

What's funnier is at least for halfings they have their own god who'd try to protect them, for humans we don't have shit. We are on our own and we are so so weak to that drussy.

Like his plan wasn't just to impregnate the humans, no he wants the drows to start full functional families with them and be such great parents so much that the kids will favour them. He wants the drows to sweet humanity off its feet and baby i am so down for the ride.

I think even human-drow couples who wouldn't have kids would still be greatly encouraged for his take over. Great fucking plan bud, now the humans wifed up half the drow population and convinced the drows to abandon their gods and just join their society instead.

It's the whole wolf to dog domestication situation again except It's humanity accidentally freeing most of the drow culture from their evil gods by theer power of love and compassion.

What's funny is that most humans just confuse Vhaeraun for another god, the mask, because they both put emphasis on thievery and Vhaeraun just fucking rolls with it. He just plays along and tells his followers to just let it slide so they can convert the humans to his religion and not scare them off.

But man, the mask is pissed is him for stealing the human worshipers.

[fayeandknight]

Personal post in which I am processing old trauma.

It's weird how you can clearly recall an experience but have no emotional response/true comprehension of it until many years later.

My relationship with my ex fiance happened during my first three years of college, if you don't count the stalking and harassment that went on for several years after. I'm in my 30s now, that was a long time ago.

It took me a few years after breaking up for the last time to realize that the relationship wasn't just "really shitty" but had in fact been extremely abusive. To this day when I think of him I think of screaming and crying, breaking glass, blood, absolute terror, and the inability to breathe.

Over the years I've been processing the truth of things he'd normalized/minimized/gaslit me on and trying to give myself grace for the long term effects it's had on me. And for a while I thought I'd acknowledged all of it. But recently (last year or two) it's hit me like a sack of bricks that he tried to murder me. I don't mean going too far in a fit of anger, I mean he planned out and followed through on a deliberate plan to kill me that I survived by sheer luck.

That day has always been a cold, stop motion memory since it happened. I can recall it in a series of snapshots, each clean and neat and utterly detached from each other.

He tells me we'll have the house to ourselves.

He's drawn me a bath in the big Jacuzzi tub with rose petals in the water.

I undress and get in.

He is sitting on the side of the bathtub.

He is cupping my face for a kiss and whispers something about Ophelia.

My head is underwater.

I am flailing and grabbing at his hands, the side of the bathtub. Water is going everywhere but I can't get out from underneath his hands.

I can't breathe. My lungs are burning. I am beyond terrified. This is the inevitable end. This is how I die.

His hands are off me and I am able to get my head above water.

He is taking keys off the counter and handing them through the cracked open door.

I am soaking wet and holding my clothes against me in a bundle that mostly covers me.

I shove past the person on the other side of the door and run barefoot back to my dorm.

He gaslit me hard about this that it never happened. I didn't even get a chance to bring it up. He just showed up the next day to take me on a date (which he very rarely did) and complained about how outside of sex we never had one on one time because there were always people in the house. I was still in shock I think and don't really remember what happened in between my running out of his house and him showing up at my dorm apartment. I do remember being in the living room of his house after the date and having a very public fight that he pulled out of nowhere.

For a long time that memory has been something I shied away from even thinking about. It was a cold spot in my brain that gave me mental frost bite.

And then when I did acknowledge it, it was framed as 'I almost died' in my mind. But the more I think about it, the more clear that this was a planned murder becomes.

We were in college and he lived in a busy frat house/known party house with four other guys. He either dedicated significant time to tracking people's coming and going to find a long enough window of time to drown me and dispose of my body. Not a small feat considering the near constant foot traffic in the house. Or he engineered having that house be empty.

The tub, which wasn't normally used due to being disgustingly dirty, had been spotlessly cleaned.

He never got undressed or into the tub with me. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt with shorts and angled his legs away from the tub.

He referenced Ophelia, who dies via drowning. I was a theatre major at the time.

He very much intended to murder me by downing me in that bathtub.

The only reason I survived is because someone forgot their keys on the bathroom counter and had to come back for them. That's it.

It's so wild to me how long it's taken my brain to feel, I don't know safe??? enough, to really put the severity and full implications together. I didn't repress the memory, just avoided it. And I'm not even shocked that he tried to kill me, more that he tried to murder me - though I'm not sure how much sense that distinction would make to anyone else.

Seeing romantic gestures between couples makes me feel cold and frightened and grief stricken. And for a long time I attributed that to my most significant/serious relationship being an epic shit show and a half. But I'm starting to realize that it's also because one of the few romantic gestures I've received was actually part of the plan to murder me. So I'm trying to be gentle with myself when I experience those feelings.

I'm not some bitter shrew who hates seeing happy couples. I am experiencing the fallout feelings of an extremely traumatic and very nearly fatal event.

Anyway I'm not really expecting for anyone to have read this whole mess. But if you did, here's a picture of Forte snuggling me from this morning as thanks for sitting with me for a bit.

[practically-an-x-man]

Prompt: "I don't know if we're going to come home from this."

Ooooh I know I've been writing a lot of Eris recently but this really does feel like them.

____ Lost Gods

Word Count: 2.1k Content Warnings: graphic depictions of violence and injuries, angst, whump

____

"I don't know if we're going to come home from this."

Those were the scariest words he'd heard in his life.

It wasn't as if it was the first time Rick had heard them. It came with his line of work: things looked grim, and usually there was someone just frightened enough to voice what everybody else was thinking.

Sometimes they got lucky. Sometimes they were wrong.

Other times they weren't.

So far, Rick had been one of the lucky ones - if he could even call it luck, when he had to live with the echoes of a hundred other deaths etched permanently into his memory. But he was lucky in the fact that he survived, he made it home.

So it wasn't the words themselves that scared him. He'd heard those same words a dozen times in his life, if not more.

But never from Eris.

They came limping up to him mid-battle, spear missing and their right arm hanging dead at their side. At first he assumed it was dislocated, with their look of pain and the way she gripped it tight with her opposite hand. But then his grip shifted, and Rick saw bone and loose-hanging sinew through his fingers.

"Holy shit, doll-" he started, slinging his gun back over his shoulder and surging ahead. Eris just shook his head, readjusting his grip so the gaping wound - almost completely severed at the shoulder, Rick realized - was hidden again from view.

"It'll start healing up soon," he said, though his voice was tight with pain and something all too much like hopelessness, "Keep fighting. Don't stop for me."

Not that Rick's gun had been making much of a difference anyway. He wasn't even entirely sure what it was they were fighting, only that it was very large and very angry and had incapacitated the rest of the Squad. He hadn't had so much as a moment to check whether they were unconscious or dead. He prayed the former.

Eris let out a low groan, the only warning he got before their knees crumpled under them. Rick darted ahead to catch them, finally noticing the rest of the blood coating their clothing. After so many years, so many injuries Eris just brushed aside, he'd largely learned to tune out the sight of blood on them. But now he took in the sheer volume of it all - too much blood, too many wounds, more than any ordinary person would survive.

Eris' enhanced regeneration had taken care of most of them, but Rick could see that their energy was spent from everything it took to heal them. Some of the wounds were still oozing blood, darkening his clothing even further. And then there was the matter of her arm, still hanging by a few scraps of muscle and yet to start recovering tissue.

"I'm spent, Rick." they muttered, dropping their head against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh, "I've- I've got nothing left. It's too much."

"Okay, just- just rest here for a minute," he said, fighting hard to keep his panic in check. It took a lot to knock Eris down in any meaningful way. Eris' "shrug it off" was most people's "three days in the ICU". To see Eris laid this low, not only injured but struggling to heal...

Well, Rick was surprised he'd lasted this long himself. To say the least.

He steered Eris off to the side, shielded by a pile of rubble left from the fight. He could see the tendons and muscle in their arm beginning to weave back together, form new connections, though it was a slow and clearly arduous process. It left him wondering how many wounds they'd shouldered through already, to have drained so much of their strength.

"I couldn't land a fucking hit." Eris muttered, wheezing like he couldn't quite catch his breath, "It's got some kind of armor. Worse than the bugs. I couldn't do anything."

Rick struggled for words for a long moment. He wasn't sure where to start. Eris would brush off any attempt at comfort or reassurance, he was sure - even if they were still openly leaning on him, letting him take her weight. And everything else... there was just so much.

"Did you see any of the others?" he tried, figuring that was safest. Eris shrugged with their good shoulder. The other was still slowly mending, muscle creeping outwards in a vaguely entrancing spiral.

"Croc's down. Saw him slip into the sewers. Injured. Either bled out down there or just ran away." Eris answered, eyes flicking back and forth as she retraced the battle in her mind, "Bison's dead. Merlyn's dead. Didn't see DuBois. Probably hiding somewhere. Too smart to get caught out in the open with that thing. Nanaue's still up- fuckin' invincible, probably still chewing on its pinky toe or something."

"Figures." Rick agreed, running a mental tally of his own. Not great odds. Especially with Eris down. They were the team's real heavy-hitter, often just as impervious as Nanaue but with a lot more intellect to back it up.

"Rick, I..." Eris mumbled, baring him a deep grimace. He was shocked at the sight of fear in their eyes. It was not an emotion they wore often. "I don't think we're making it out of this one."

"Hey, hey, no- we'll come up with something." he insisted, "We've been through worse."

"You didn't see it. Not like I did." she insisted with a brisk shake of her head, "It's... it's like a god. It's like nothing I've ever seen. I don't even know where it came from. Look at this-"

He twisted around, reaching with his good arm to tug at the hem of his blood-soaked shirt. His abdomen was covered in half-healed punctures - only half-healed, even the oldest of them just barely beginning to clot.

"I'm not healing." Eris finished, "It's stopping me. Blocking me from my power. I'm..."

A heavy boom rocked the world, shaking the ground around them. Eris' words cut off, a yelp escaping her lips instead. Her shoulder, still a ruin of snapped tendons and half-regenerated flesh, appeared to slip free again, and she clutched at it with her good hand. His shirt darkened with fresh blood.

"See?" they muttered, pushing their shirt aside to show that the wounds had pulled open again, "It's got this... this pulse. Draining me. You know how much blood the average human body contains?"

"...Not sure I do, hon."

"Five liters." Eris answered, looking down at their clothing, "About this much. Dunno how much- I don't think-"

He cut himself off with a brisk breath, unable or unwilling to voice his thoughts. Rick realized a moment later that she was trembling. He couldn't tell whether that was exhaustion or pain or fear. More likely, some combination of the three.

The world rocked again, closer than before. Eris let out a low whimper, a shockingly pitiful sound to escape their lips. Any other time, with their spear and healing intact, they'd already be soaring back into the fight. Here, they hardly moved. Rick's hands were sticky with their blood, leaking more freely from their wounds.

"Rick?"

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"I love you."

"Whoa- what the fuck is this?" Not his finest response. But Eris didn't share those words openly. Not at all. He could count the amount of times he'd heard them, all of them half-asleep and behind closed doors. Eris' love was a different thing than most. He'd understood that from the beginning.

So words like these, rather than reassuring him as they did on those late and gentle nights, only sent fear spiking through his veins.

"It's me, saying... I care about you, cowboy. Always have. Even if I'm an ass about showing it." Eris sighed, "And if this is all the time I get before you're gone, or both of us... this is how I want to leave it."

Something thundered from above them before Rick could respond, and the ground shuddered. Rick tightened his grip, shielding Eris with his body. Loose pebbles, chunks of concrete, rained down on his shoulders. He was beginning to think this outcropping of rubble wasn't the safest hiding place. But there was nowhere else to go. He could sense, in some primal way, that their eldritch adversary was creeping its way nearer, step by step, pulse by devastating pulse.

"Say it back." Eris muttered, the words almost lost against his chest.

"Say-"

"I need you to say it back. Please."

There was a knot in his throat. He couldn't breathe. Rick shifted his grip, cupping the back of her head in one hand and pressing a kiss to their forehead.

"I love you, wartime. You know I do."

Eris hummed, weakly hooking their good arm around his shoulders and tugging him down into a proper kiss. They pulled back far too soon, their breathing shallow. It was strange to see them so hollowed and weak. Any other time, it would be healed in moments, and he'd be right back on his feet.

Rick didn't like this. Not at all. He'd always assumed he'd be the first to die. He never imagined he'd have to watch this happen.

Another tremor racked the ground, this one so strong even Rick could feel a few old aches of his own threatening to spring back to life. His newest scars felt like they were unwinding at the seams. He couldn't imagine the pain Eris must have been in, with so many open wounds.

And then the shudders cut off, there and gone like a switch had been flipped.

A beam of plasma cut through the air, bright enough to make him wince. In his arms, Eris took in a sharp gasp, their whole body shuddering like they'd been hit with a cold breeze. New muscle, clean and pink, crept over their near-severed shoulder and sealed over in moments.

Within seconds, the remains of their wounds had healed - at least enough to move - and Eris wriggled out of Rick's grasp. She crept out from the rubble and let out an incredulous laugh at the sight of their savior.

"I have never been more grateful to see that cornhusking son of a bitch..."

Rick followed, vaguely confused until he saw an all-too-infamous blur of blue and red whisking through the air.

"Cornhusking?" he echoed, firing them what was meant to be a teasing look. He was sure it didn't come across quite right- not through the relief that swept over him like a flood.

"He's from Kansas."

"He's from Krypton."

"Heh." Eris said, baring him a familiar sharp grin. All their earlier fear, all their earlier pain, seemed to have vanished in a heartbeat. "You don't know him like I do."

Their dark eyes scanned the battleground, and he could see hope and thrill blooming on their face as they did.

"DuBois. Croc. Nanaue." he listed, pointing at spots on the battlefield. Eris beamed, bouncing on his toes as the fresh thrill of the fight washed over him. "And Supes. Now we've got a fucking chance. Get your gun."

Eris rolled her shoulders, newly healed, then picked her way through the rubble until he found an exposed shaft of rebar. He found a grip on it and hefted it like a warhammer, wearing a contemplative expression.

"Primitive." they decided, "But it'll do."

Rick did his best to bite back a smile as he reached around his back. His fingers closed on a leather sheathe, older and more worn than anything he usually carried, and he held it out in front of him- a foot-long dagger with a corded hilt.

"Want this one instead?"

Eris dropped their makeshift hammer at once, prancing over to him like a child offered an ice-cream cone. They took the blade and unsheathed it, giving it a few experimental jabs and swishes. The metal gleamed in the light.

"You packed me a spare?"

"Tell me you don't have an extra mag in your armor pouch." Rick countered. Eris shrugged and reached into one of the pockets at their side, tossing him the magazine with little more than a thought. Rick grinned.

"You and your damn smug face, I swear." Eris huffed, rolling his eyes as he sheathed the dagger at his belt. Avoiding his gaze, she hopped up onto the nearest pile of wreckage and took a second look at the battlefield. "C'mon, Flag, don't make me wait on you."

Rick laughed under his breath, picking his way through the rubble and readying his gun. Eris shifted their weight, fingers twitching towards the blade at their hip. Anticipation, dark and violent, gleamed in their eyes.

But just before she dove into battle, she grabbed Rick's shoulder and pulled him into a kiss.

[lsdunesarchive]

L.S. Dunes On A Year Of Collaboration, Community, And Venturing Beyond The Realms Of A ‘Supergroup’

Words by Maddy Howell Photo by Kevin Estrada August 8, 2023

Frank Iero and Travis Stever reflect on the genesis of the project, the creative lifeline it provided and the current honeymoon period that suggests the best is yet to come.

With the entire live music industry shut down in the midst of a global pandemic, starting a band may not have sounded like the best idea back in 2020.

As all touring plans ground to a halt and inspiration became limited to the confines of four walls, for many creatives it would have taken something truly special to defy the stagnation that thrived in such darkness – but as luck would have it, that’s exactly how the story of L.S. Dunes begins.

Starting out life as a group chat between long-term friends during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, L.S. Dunes was born from a sheer desire to create and a refusal to succumb to nature’s obstacles. Over the last year three years though, it’s blossomed into something much more powerful than any of its members could have imagined.

“In the beginning, it was a big lifeline,” guitarist Frank Iero starts.

“Our industry was one of the first ones to go and the last to come back, but this band gave us hope. It gave me the ability to be creative in a world that was virtually void of all creativity, and at a time that we were all struggling. Most of us had tours booked, and we were ready to go when the pandemic happened, so when we came home the darkness began creeping in. This gave us a light at the end of that tunnel.”

Creatively starved and writing remotely with no expectations, it wasn’t long before the five-piece realised this was more than just a lockdown project to stave off their boredom, and by the time the first demo was finished – they knew they had something special. 

Embracing a healthy competitive spirit and challenging one another to step outside their comfort zones whilst adding their own unique mark to each track, the creative freedom saw them venturing into new realms of prog-rock, post-hardcore, and emo. As more and more ideas came together, it wasn’t long before a debut album had formed, and with ‘Past Lives’ – L.S. Dunes was truly born.

“I was so excited for people to hear the record because I loved it so much. However, there were those thoughts creeping in before the release like, ‘Are we crazy? Have we been locked up for too long?’,” Frank laughs.

“I had moments where I’d be tearing up listening to the record because I was so proud, but then I’d stop and be like, ‘Wait a minute, this is insane!’,” guitarist Travis Stever adds.

“We had to remember not to put too much weight on how people would perceive it. If you’re making art, it’s hard not to do that, but we were very lucky in that sense.”

With a star-studded line up also featuring Anthony Green (Circa Survive, Saosin) along with Tucker Rule and Tim Payne (Thursday), after the surprise single drop of ‘Permanent Rebellion’ ignited the internet in late August 2022, anticipation for a debut show was at an all-time high. 

Having only practiced in the same room as one another on two occasions prior, a performance at Chicago’s Riot Fest was a bold move for show number one – especially with Frank pulling double duty with My Chemical Romance headlining the night – but at Douglass Park on September 16th, L.S. Dunes took to the stage for the first time.

“It was beyond what any of us expected. We were getting ready to go out there thinking, ‘If there are a few hundred people out there, that’s cool!’,” Travis laughs.

“All of a sudden, we got on stage, and even though we only had one song out – people knew every fucking word to that song. It was exciting to watch them hang onto every other melody we were playing too. It was pretty mind blowing.”

“It’s certainly the biggest first show I’ve ever played with a band!” Frank smirks.

A mammoth debut show that could arguably have gone one of two ways, L.S. Dunes’ landmark set filled up the tank and left its five members itching for more, rounding out the year with further shows across the US and Canada before hopping across the Atlantic for their first shows in the UK and Europe to celebrate the new year.

A busy schedule triggered by the triumphant return of the live music industry, the last twelve months has seen L.S. Dunes balancing their duties with the responsibilities of their other respective projects, as well as fulfilling their family roles outside of music, a feat that has seemed remarkably natural for the five-piece. 

“When real life came back, and we were able to go back to our respective bands and do other things… that served as testament to how much we love L.S. Dunes. It’s easy to focus your energy and creativity on something when nothing else exists, but when everything else came back we still wanted to be a part of this.” Frank explains.

“It’s like being a dad. You’re never truly prepared to have a kid, or another kid, but somehow you find a way. You find the extra love in your heart, and you find the extra time to dedicate to something that you truly care about, and that’s how it felt with this band. Schedules are difficult, but they’re not insurmountable. Anything worth doing is a little hard to do.”

Touring across the US throughout the summer, they’ve come to realise that whilst they have a deep love for this band and the journey it’s taking them on – there are thousands of strangers who love it too. 

With people across the world connecting to the songs on ‘Past Lives’, as they’ve witnessed people showing up at venue doors hours before they open and shared the artwork sent to them online by talented fans, L.S. Dunes have begun fostering a passionate community of their own unique creation. 

“As artists we often wonder if we’re the only ones who like what we do,” Frank explains.

“When people go out of their way to show their support, it’s a wonderful feeling, but it is a bit shocking. In the beginning, I think there were people who just wanted to see what it was about because they were fans of our other projects, but we’re treading into the territory of people just being L.S. Dunes fans. That’s an incredibly fulfilling feeling.”

It’s how L.S. Dunes have been able to shed the ‘supergroup’ label first plastered on them upon their line-up reveal, having proved the project worthy of its own merit through the spirit of their live shows. 

A constantly growing entity, new ideas have been explored within every rehearsal and practice they’ve had, and whilst finding time to record and release those ideas may be a little harder to schedule – when it happens, it’s magic.

Most recently, they headed to the desert to record two new tracks at the legendary Rancho de la Luna studio in Joshua Tree, California, with producer Alex Newport (At The Drive-In, The Mars Volta). With filmmakers Pat and Nick Demarais capturing the recording process for a documentary titled ‘Limitless Sky’, it was the first time the five of them had been able to record music whilst in the same room.

“You need to be in the room with one another to be able to hear things and respond immediately. That immediacy is lost when you’re recording remotely, and to be able to react, evolve, and change on a dime is so fun,” Frank recalls.

“The stars aligned for us with that opportunity, and it was such a fun thing to do within a group of friends. When something like that happens, it becomes a milestone within your band. It’s proof of what you can do if you set your mind to it, and I can’t wait for people to hear the other song that we did out in the desert. It’s a night and day scene – ‘Benadryl Subreddit’ is the days in the desert, and ‘Old Wounds’ is the nights spent out there.”

As the first year of L.S. Dunes draws to a close, the five-piece find themselves in a unique position. 

The product of five extraordinary musicians with extraordinary ambitions, the special qualities of each member can be heard in everything the band creates. Funnelling their individual creative inspirations into a project defined by infinite possibilities, every voice is equal, every idea is valued, and experimentation is the key to forward motion. 

From the passion of their live shows to the sheer joy that radiates when they speak of their future, it’s clear that L.S. Dunes is the favourite band of everyone within its ranks. Proving that greatness can be achieved with the help of hard work, friendship, and a healthy dose of fun, with a second LP already well underway – largely written whilst on the road together – they’re showing no signs of slowing down. 

“We’re working on all this new material, but the other side of it is showing that we’re taking it seriously,” Travis explains.

“You have to consistently be out doing shows and touring, and luckily, we love doing that.

“With all due respect to our other projects, this is one of the funnest bands I’ve ever been in,” Frank finishes. 

“I love the camaraderie within the band, and we’re still in our honeymoon period! You can put in a lot of work with other bands, and although it’s fun, sometimes you need a little vacation – this is a vacation band for me.”

[phoenix]

Okay, I finally have time for storytime.

Some of y’all have heard the story of the Moose Incident, so feel free to move along.

Way back in the day, I had a friend who was very accident prone.  CAR accident prone.  He wasn’t exactly a bad driver, but he could be careless, and he had the damnedest luck.  Living in the country didn’t help.  Lots of deer and such.

One night we were driving back from some friends, and we were on our way to drop me off.  I’m in the passenger seat, just chilling and wanting to get home, when all of a sudden, the car starts moving in ways car shouldn’t.  I don’t even have to look up before I hear John saying, “We’re about to hit a moose.”

Now, under most circumstances, moose accidents are rare to walk away from.  Moose are so large, and get thrown right into the windshield, that people in the car are easily taken out.

But also by this point, being in a car accident with John has become SO commonplace, even though it’s a *moose* I’m just like “*heavy sigh* here we go again...” and I duck my head down under the dashboard, and go limp.  I’m pretty sure my ability to rag-doll is why I never got seriously injured in any of the accidents I’ve been in.

SOMEhow, likely by sheer luck coupled with John angling the CORNER of the car so the moose didn’t come STRAIGHT for us, and instead hit the corner and essentially flipped and rolled over the hood of the car, we both actually survive the accident.

Everything stopped, there was a pause, “Hey...are you okay?”  “Uhh... *checks myself over, realises I am covered in moose blood and can’t REALLY tell, but I seem fine?* I think so?  My coffee has seen better days though.”

The car manages to limp along and get me home, fortunately it was just a mile away, and John leaves me to head to his place.

Now, once again, accidents and John were no strangers, so every time we went out, my parents worried.  And I KNEW this, AND my mom had just had a heart attack a few weeks prior.  So I am trying to figure out how to explain the fact that it looks like I just went to a vampire orgy and Blade showed up, because I know if my parents just, y’know, SAW me, they were going to *flip the fuck out*.

I shuffle down to their bedroom, careful not to touch anything, because again, blood.

“Mom?  Dad?”

“Huhwha, is that you?  What’s up?  You’re home?”

“YES, and I know you are reaching for the light switch, but BEFORE you do that, let me tell you something.”

*concern rises, shuffling noises* “...okaaaay?  Whaaat?”

“John had another accident...”

*shadow figures sit up bolt upright* “OHMYGODWHAT”

“STOP DO NOT TURN ON THE LIGHT TRUST ME.”

“WHAT IS GOING ON WHAT HAPPENED OH MY GOD ARE YOU ALL...”

“YES I am all right.  I think.  John hit a moose.”

“OHMYG...” “STOP.  John hit a moose, but I repeat I AM PRETTY SURE I AM OKAY.  BUT, I am covered in the moose’s blood from the accident.  I do not want you freaking out...well, more than you already are.  Look, there was no good way to do this, right?  I just wanted to brace you for what you’re going to see and not IMMEDIATELY assume the worst that it’s MY blood.”

The light finally goes on, and yes, I am indeed a red, bloody mess from literal head to toe.  This is really the first time I’ve gotten much of a look at myself, soon followed by going to the bathroom mirror.

I maintain to this day that, however awkward and terrifying and nerve wracking the way I did it was, it was SO much better than if I had strolled in and been like, “Hey, just got in, I was in another car accident with John, I’m gonna go wash all the blood off now!”

This is how I earned the nickname “Moose Slayer” even if I was more “Moose Slayer adjacent”

And THAT is how I know exactly what it is like to be covered head to toe in something else’s blood.

...And dirt, and glass.  But ya know.

Also, legit a time when I got to say, “Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.”

[callmeblake]

Photo Credit: Kevin Estrada, 2022

L.S. DUNES ON A YEAR OF COLLABORATION, COMMUNITY, AND VENTURING BEYOND THE REALMS OF A ‘SUPERGROUP’

POSTED BY MADDY HOWELL IN CULTURE ON AUGUST 8, 2023

Frank Iero and Travis Stever reflect on the genesis of the project, the creative lifeline it provided and the current honeymoon period that suggests the best is yet to come.

With the entire live music industry shut down in the midst of a global pandemic, starting a band may not have sounded like the best idea back in 2020.

As all touring plans ground to a halt and inspiration became limited to the confines of four walls, for many creatives it would have taken something truly special to defy the stagnation that thrived in such darkness – but as luck would have it, that’s exactly how the story of L.S. Dunes begins.

Starting out life as a group chat between long-term friends during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, L.S. Dunes was born from a sheer desire to create and a refusal to succumb to nature’s obstacles. Over the last year three years though, it’s blossomed into something much more powerful than any of its members could have imagined.

“In the beginning, it was a big lifeline,” guitarist Frank Iero starts.

“Our industry was one of the first ones to go and the last to come back, but this band gave us hope. It gave me the ability to be creative in a world that was virtually void of all creativity, and at a time that we were all struggling. Most of us had tours booked, and we were ready to go when the pandemic happened, so when we came home the darkness began creeping in. This gave us a light at the end of that tunnel.”

Creatively starved and writing remotely with no expectations, it wasn’t long before the five-piece realised this was more than just a lockdown project to stave off their boredom, and by the time the first demo was finished – they knew they had something special. 

Embracing a healthy competitive spirit and challenging one another to step outside their comfort zones whilst adding their own unique mark to each track, the creative freedom saw them venturing into new realms of prog-rock, post-hardcore, and emo. As more and more ideas came together, it wasn’t long before a debut album had formed, and with ‘Past Lives’ – L.S. Dunes was truly born.

“I was so excited for people to hear the record because I loved it so much. However, there were those thoughts creeping in before the release like, ‘Are we crazy? Have we been locked up for too long?’,” Frank laughs.

“I had moments where I’d be tearing up listening to the record because I was so proud, but then I’d stop and be like, ‘Wait a minute, this is insane!’,” guitarist Travis Stever adds.

“We had to remember not to put too much weight on how people would perceive it. If you’re making art, it’s hard not to do that, but we were very lucky in that sense.”

With a star-studded line up also featuring Anthony Green (Circa Survive, Saosin) along with Tucker Rule and Tim Payne (Thursday), after the surprise single drop of ‘Permanent Rebellion’ ignited the internet in late August 2022, anticipation for a debut show was at an all-time high. 

Having only practiced in the same room as one another on two occasions prior, a performance at Chicago’s Riot Fest was a bold move for show number one – especially with Frank pulling double duty with My Chemical Romance headlining the night – but at Douglass Park on September 16th, L.S. Dunes took to the stage for the first time.

“It was beyond what any of us expected. We were getting ready to go out there thinking, ‘If there are a few hundred people out there, that’s cool!’,” Travis laughs.

“All of a sudden, we got on stage, and even though we only had one song out – people knew every fucking word to that song. It was exciting to watch them hang onto every other melody we were playing too. It was pretty mind blowing.”

“It’s certainly the biggest first show I’ve ever played with a band!” Frank smirks.

A mammoth debut show that could arguably have gone one of two ways, L.S. Dunes’ landmark set filled up the tank and left its five members itching for more, rounding out the year with further shows across the US and Canada before hopping across the Atlantic for their first shows in the UK and Europe to celebrate the new year.

A busy schedule triggered by the triumphant return of the live music industry, the last twelve months has seen L.S. Dunes balancing their duties with the responsibilities of their other respective projects, as well as fulfilling their family roles outside of music, a feat that has seemed remarkably natural for the five-piece. 

“When real life came back, and we were able to go back to our respective bands and do other things… that served as testament to how much we love L.S. Dunes. It’s easy to focus your energy and creativity on something when nothing else exists, but when everything else came back we still wanted to be a part of this.” Frank explains.

“It’s like being a dad. You’re never truly prepared to have a kid, or another kid, but somehow you find a way. You find the extra love in your heart, and you find the extra time to dedicate to something that you truly care about, and that’s how it felt with this band. Schedules are difficult, but they’re not insurmountable. Anything worth doing is a little hard to do.”

Touring across the US throughout the summer, they’ve come to realise that whilst they have a deep love for this band and the journey it’s taking them on – there are thousands of strangers who love it too. 

With people across the world connecting to the songs on ‘Past Lives’, as they’ve witnessed people showing up at venue doors hours before they open and shared the artwork sent to them online by talented fans, L.S. Dunes have begun fostering a passionate community of their own unique creation. 

“As artists we often wonder if we’re the only ones who like what we do,” Frank explains.

“When people go out of their way to show their support, it’s a wonderful feeling, but it is a bit shocking. In the beginning, I think there were people who just wanted to see what it was about because they were fans of our other projects, but we’re treading into the territory of people just being L.S. Dunes fans. That’s an incredibly fulfilling feeling.”

It’s how L.S. Dunes have been able to shed the ‘supergroup’ label first plastered on them upon their line-up reveal, having proved the project worthy of its own merit through the spirit of their live shows. 

A constantly growing entity, new ideas have been explored within every rehearsal and practice they’ve had, and whilst finding time to record and release those ideas may be a little harder to schedule – when it happens, it’s magic.

Most recently, they headed to the desert to record two new tracks at the legendary Rancho de la Luna studio in Joshua Tree, California, with producer Alex Newport (At The Drive-In, The Mars Volta). With filmmakers Pat and Nick Demarais capturing the recording process for a documentary titled ‘Limitless Sky’, it was the first time the five of them had been able to record music whilst in the same room.

“You need to be in the room with one another to be able to hear things and respond immediately. That immediacy is lost when you’re recording remotely, and to be able to react, evolve, and change on a dime is so fun,” Frank recalls.

“The stars aligned for us with that opportunity, and it was such a fun thing to do within a group of friends. When something like that happens, it becomes a milestone within your band. It’s proof of what you can do if you set your mind to it, and I can’t wait for people to hear the other song that we did out in the desert. It’s a night and day scene – ‘Benadryl Subreddit’ is the days in the desert, and ‘Old Wounds’ is the nights spent out there.” 

As the first year of L.S. Dunes draws to a close, the five-piece find themselves in a unique position. 

The product of five extraordinary musicians with extraordinary ambitions, the special qualities of each member can be heard in everything the band creates. Funnelling their individual creative inspirations into a project defined by infinite possibilities, every voice is equal, every idea is valued, and experimentation is the key to forward motion. 

From the passion of their live shows to the sheer joy that radiates when they speak of their future, it’s clear that L.S. Dunes is the favourite band of everyone within its ranks. Proving that greatness can be achieved with the help of hard work, friendship, and a healthy dose of fun, with a second LP already well underway – largely written whilst on the road together – they’re showing no signs of slowing down. 

“We’re working on all this new material, but the other side of it is showing that we’re taking it seriously,” Travis explains.

“You have to consistently be out doing shows and touring, and luckily, we love doing that.

“With all due respect to our other projects, this is one of the funnest bands I’ve ever been in,” Frank finishes. 

“I love the camaraderie within the band, and we’re still in our honeymoon period! You can put in a lot of work with other bands, and although it’s fun, sometimes you need a little vacation – this is a vacation band for me.”

L.S. Dunes finish their summer headlining tour this week with two dates spanning Northern and Southern California before heading to Chicago next month to revisit RIot Fest.

The band then begin an extensive fall run supporting Pierce the Veil on the Jaws of Life Tour along with Dayseeker and Destroy Boys. Dates and cities can be found below.

PIERCE THE VEIL ON TOUR: WITH L.S. DUNES, DAYSEEKER, + DESTROY BOYS: 11/4 — Sacramento, CA — Hard Rock Live 11/5 — Fresno, CA — Fresno Convention Center 11/7 — Phoenix, AZ — Arizona Financial Theatre 11/8 — El Paso, TX — UTEP Don Haskins Center 11/10 — San Antonio, TX — The Espee 11/11 — Edinburg, TX — Bert Ogden Arena 11/12 — Houston, TX — 713 Music Hall 11/14 — Orlando, FL — House of Blues 11/15 — Orlando, FL — House of Blues 11/17 — Myrtle Beach, SC — House of Blues 11/18 — Corbin, KY — The Corbin Arena 11/19 — Macon, GA — Macon City Auditorium 11/21 — Boston, MA — MGM Music Hall at Fenway 11/25 — Reading, PA — Santander Arena 11/26 — Columbus, OH — KEMBA Live! 11/28 — Chesterfield, MO — The Factory 11/30 — Chicago, IL — Byline Bank Aragon Ballroom 12/2 — Des Moines, IA — Vibrant Music Hall 12/3 — Minneapolis, MN — The Armory 12/5 — Oklahoma City, OK — The Criterion 12/7 — Las Vegas, NV — Brooklyn Bowl 12/8 — San Diego, CA — Viejas Arena

© 2023 KNOTFEST LLC. PRIVACY POLICY. TERMS OF SERVICE. FAQS. SITE BY MASSCULT×

[catpriciousmarjara]

So previously I was paradoxicaxiom but I deleted that blog. I have a new blog now and I remembered this thing I wrote and I wanted to reblog it once more cos I love it very much especially because of how spontaneous the inspiration was. I saw this post and that Community Service Dan post and my muse hit me with a sledgehammer. So here's the same fic again!

I have the same fic posted on ao3 for those who want to read it there!

The Watchtower's Conference Room 3 was witness to a procession of injured superheroes as they dragged themselves to their chairs and practically collapsed into them. Pained groans could be heard everywhere and even Superman looked like he had been through the blender. Not that anyone could fault him.

Diana remembered the absolute beatdown Clark had gotten while Constantine and Zatanna worked out the array to seal the damn eldritch monstrosity that had crawled out from the Rift. She fought the urge to wince, but only because wincing would mean moving her facial muscles and considering the state of her, that would be a very bad idea. Then she looked at the Justice League Dark members and this time did wince, and her entire face lit up in pain. But she couldn't bring herself to truly regret it, considering the other side of the room looked like they had their souls sucked out. 

Constantine and Zatanna in particular were so pale from magical exertion and had to be carried by the less damaged members. Diana leaned back in her seat a pained grimace. Less damaged. Because there was no one that wasn't damaged. How the mighty have fallen…

The battle, if it could even be called that, had raged on for days without break, a relentless, one sided curbstomp. She still remembered the contents of the initial report. A portal had opened over the Pacific and an entity had appeared, making its way to land. Energy readings suggested something extremely powerful so all the heavy hitters had suited up. Routine procedure, nothing out of the ordinary, except perhaps the worrying power levels. 

But nothing could've prepared them for what they encountered. 

The thing was a gigantic mass of black tendrils that made your eyes bleed if you looked at it too long. J'onn in particular experienced an adverse reaction and had collapsed, with bleeding ears and eyes and had to be put under a stasis spell. He was still under it now, healing in the infirmary, with no sign of waking up anytime soon. The rest of them hadn't fared much better, brought down to their knees by the sheer pressure of its presence and if it weren't for the magical shields that the Dark members had managed to put up, they would all have perished then and there. It had all gone downhill from there. 

Worst of it all was that while they were put through what felt like a figurative woodchipper, their efforts hadn’t even managed to even scratch the blasted thing.

They hadn't even a sliver of a plan, not even Bruce, and considering the Brooding Bat version Ultimate he was employing at the head of the conference table, that was eating at him. Diana found that she couldn't criticise him for the routine this time. After all, it was sheer, dumb luck that they had survived at all.

They had been lucky that the Rift opened above the ocean. They had been lucky that the full roster of heavy hitters were available. They had been lucky that the seal worked. They had been lucky that the thing didn’t outright ignore them and proceed to land. They had been lucky that John Constantine was the Shadiest man alive with the most dubious of artefacts.

She shuddered to think what could've happened had it opened above a city or if Captain Marvel hadn't made it to the site in time. Her fellow demi-god had provided much of the raw magical energy required for the seal array to work and it had drained him. The normally imposing man was curled up among the Dark members, in a cuddle pile she gathered was not aimed at comfort but a way to communally replenish magical energy. She and him were among the less battered but they were demi-gods so that wasn't much. 

It truly had been alarming, to see their strongest warriors and attacks be so utterly ineffective. All they could do was throw their sturdiest fighters at it while the magically skilled members worked out a way to seal it in the background. And that was frightening too...because the thing had only been sealed, not destroyed, not even banished. If someone freed it or if it ate through the array...it would be disastrous. 

How could they even begin to combat something like that? It was a being from the Rift, from the spaces between spaces. She had heard horrifying legends about beings like that, their hunger, their power. And to make it worse none of it was malicious. It was simply their nature to devour and they were just in the way. Insignificant as ants were to men and men were to gods and gods were to necessity.

If Constantine hadn't somehow possessed a grimoire from the gods be damned Outer Realm, which is something entirely else to discuss, Earth would've been doomed. And even that seal, she knew, was just another thing in its way to the entity. It would undoubtedly eat through it one day and that was if some madman didn't try to free it in their quest for power, and unfortunately they had plenty of that in supply.

Diana's eyes found Bruce's and she saw her very same concerns reflected in them. What would they do if something like this were to happen again? What can they do? It's not pleasant, to be reminded so starkly of their powerlessness, of their helplessness. She watched his eyes harden and the remnants of Bruce Wayne being buried deep under the darkness of the Bat. He stood up, surveying the motley of injured heroes and prepared to address them all.

Not a single word had made it out of his mouth when an all too familiar chill made its way throughout the room. Diana paled and so did everyone else. Over the course of the last few days they had become quite acquainted with this particular sensation. 

A Rift was opening. And it was opening in the Watchtower.

It looked like their adversary had a friend…and it had come knocking. 

Diana scrambled to get back up and felt Clark struggle to his feet to her right. Around the room, the various heroes tried to do the same. She knew it was of no use. They hadn't been able to do anything at full power and as they were now? Wounded, exhausted, and at low morale? Victory wasn't even a possibility. The best they could do was get someone to steer the Watchtower away from Earth and into the depths of space while everyone else kept the entity busy as before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bruce slowly move towards Barry and knew he had the same idea. She shared a look with Clark and the both of them readied themselves to cover the former two and their run to the Control Room. 

Last time they hadn’t actually seen the Rift open. Just a void and horrifying appendages reaching through it. This time it seems as if they had a front row seat. Diana couldn’t say that she was thrilled at the prospect. 

And without any further warning, there it was.

A yawning Dark abyss.

A tear in the very fabric of reality. 

An accompanying feeling of something viscerally wrong. 

Diana had seen portals before, but this was nothing like a door. This…it felt like a Gate.

 

Something else was different as well. When they had been fighting the thing, the Rift had been pitch black inside. Nothing could be seen. Nothing could escape. But with this one, the darkness was receding. A toxic green replacing the pitch black.

And it was that which stopped Bruce in his tracks. But he wasn't the only one with peculiar reactions. Many of the Dark members' eyes filled up with even more dread than before. Captain Marvel in particular looked at the rift like it was something...unholy. Diana couldn't make heads or tails of what prompted these reactions. So what if the Rift was green? It was a Rift and they were about to be besieged by a ravenous being of the void once again...weren't they? 

Her questions were answered when the tear widened, resembling an eye almost, but instead of eldritch tendrils, a white boot stepped out of the acidic green Rift. And then between one blink and the next, something was standing in front of them. 

It was obscenely tall and muscular, with turquoise skin, elven ears, red eyes, and white flames atop its head. It was clad entirely in what looked like a black bodysuit that seemed to absorb all light and a long white coat that looked as if it was made of strings of light woven together. Its body was humanoid, but Diana knew without a shadow of a doubt that whatever it was, it definitely wasn't anything remotely human-like. 

The divine half of her was screaming, filling her mind and body with dread so primaeval that she felt as if she was clay once more. Beside her Clark's body had gone rigid, almost unresponsive. On the other side Zatanna had collapsed, her eyes bleeding, and Constantine had a hand held up to his mouth, blood dripping through his fingers. To their side Captain Marvel was doubled over in pain and his skin looked like it was tearing apart with energy. Diana didn't even need to look to know that the rest weren't doing much better. 

The cause of it all, the entity? It simply surveyed the room. Nonchalant. As if they were just banal creatures not worth its time. And they probably were.

Diana had thought that after the battle with the thing, she knew what being small felt like. She was wrong. What she was feeling now was a thousand times worse. In front of this being she felt…miniscule.

Without warning, the tear closed and the pressure abated.  

The abrupt shift in atmosphere caused the Amazon to collapse, just catching herself with a hand on her chair. Clark wasn't so lucky and toppled over completely. Bruce, that stubborn man, somehow remained standing, albeit with the help of the table. Everyone else had acquainted themselves with the ground and to be honest, Diana wanted to join them. 

Whatever this was, she really wanted no part of it and knew without a doubt she wasn't alone in the sentiment. Not after the week they had. The pressure might have lessened but she could still feel its power, unfathomable and nigh brimming out of its form even while restrained. The thought of going against that...it was terrifying but she would still fight, still try and resist. She was Diana of Themyscira, one of the founding members of the Justice League. She had a duty to protect the planet and she would not shy away from it, even against insurmountable odds. But this was a losing battle. The best they could do was stall.

The being raised its hand and everyone readied themselves, for an attack, for a weapon, for anything, and before their wary eyes, in a flare of blindingly white flames, appeared…well what looked like a binder? In front of the perplexed gazes of the Justice League, which was rapidly crossing over from panicked and fearful to panicked, fearful, and baffled, the entity casually started to leaf through…the binder?, clearly searching for something.

Diana didn’t know how to react in this…situation. She was sure she was experiencing what one of the younger ones had called Blue Screening. She was sure that even the Batman did not prepare a protocol for such an eventuality.

The entity of course did not care that it had caused the collective malfunction of Earth’s heroes and continued to parse through its binder. The sounds of rustling paper filling the room.

Diana, somewhat hysterically, wondered what accursed purpose the damned thing served. For all they knew it was looking for the perfect recipe to eat them with, or writing down their names before annihilating them as some sort of journaling process, or adding a tally mark to the number of planets destroyed. It definitely didn't seem keen on explaining. 

Bruce, as usual, was the only one among those stupefied by the being's actions to snap out of it. He cautiously continued his previous slow advance towards Barry, probably cursing the speedster for seating himself so far away and being so completely overcome with fear and bewilderment that he didn't notice any of Bruce's subtle signals. 

But then the Bat stopped. And Diana realised why.

The sound of rustling paper? 

It had ceased.

The entity had found whatever it had been looking for.

J̵̧̼̝̙̦͙͇͍̥̰̺̔͒̿̽̀̈́̈́̑͌́̀́̿̓̆͘͜͝o̸̱̹͈̰͙̦̅̑̓͋͘ḩ̸̡̧̻͈͔̩̩͎͎̯̦̰͚̤̼̪̝̝̟͓̬͕̳̤͎͕̼̠͉̺̀̓͌͋̆̔̽͒́̓͌̏́̈́̊͌̂̿̒̐̑̃͌̌̓̍̀͒͑̽̉͌̋̐͑̃̀̀͌̚͠͝͝͝͝͝n̸̢̡̨̮̖̦͎͍̲͔̮̪̲͙̮̙͚͈̺̻̞͓͖͇̭̪̟͗͛̏͋̀̋̇̊̌̂̈́̓̈́̌̒̏̊̿͊̂̆͐̀̔̒̓̀̈́̌̋̃̑͝͝ ̸̢̲̪͓̬̬͔̦̤̲̩͙̼̟͖̝̗̰̦̪̞̿͐̃͊̈́̒̈́̍̒̊̄̉̒̆̈́̃̿̊͐͊͗͒͐͗̓̊͐͑̀͛̚͝͠͠ͅĆ̶͐̊̈́̒͊̏̑̀̓́́͊̐͂̒̎̓̊̉̿̾̂͊͌̎̋̾͝͠͝��̧̧̢̼̜̣̩̲̞̮̝̹̟̯̱̝͓̺̼̽̊̀͂͌̔̃́̃̿̀́̿͘͘̕͜͝͠ͅò̶̡̧̢̨̨̡̡̮̜̯̮͎̫̼̘̭͙̦͔̳̖̺̳̤͙̠̟̼̼͙͎͈̳̬̥̝̯̔͗̀͌͂̓͜n̶̞̓̎͊̿̔̿̽̅̎̌̕͘͘ş̷̨͇̪̈́͌̎̾̐̾̍͋̂̎͒͆̀̓̌͛̒̆͐̈́̑̈́̚̕͠ͅẗ̸̩͈̬͕̝̰̙̫̤̦͎́̋̌̅̈́͋͂͌̓͂̈́͑́͆͋͑̃̈̿̿̃͘̚͝ͅͅả̶̡̧̡̢̡̡̛͓͈̼͈̥͍͚̺̫͎͉̯̪͇̹̩̩͓̩͍̫͉͚̳̦͚̻͍͇̠͔͖̞͙͔̪̻̰̪̲͊́̀͑͑̎̆͋̎̾̀̌̀̿̉͆̑́͒͊̽̇̆͗̈͑̒͘͜͜͜͠͠ͅņ̷̧̢̨͙̝̯̰̙̺͎̫̻̙̫͙̩͖̗̹̭͙̝̹̹͕̩̻̼̻̠̩̳̣̺͔̫̜̳̗̞̪͚͈̥͍̤̑͑͋̈́̾̍͛́̿̈́̅́̃̐̿́͋̈́̆̀͐͒̂́́̚͘͘̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝ṯ̶̡̢̨͎͎͔̩̺͉̹͈͔͓͚̱͔̫̖̞͔̖̹͖͖̱̦̳̜̟̗̗͇̫̭̳̀̋̌̂͐̀́͐̍͗̈́̍̀̀͗̓͆̊̋̆̈́̊̈́͛͊̏̔͛͋̎̐͌͂͆͂̏̈̊̐̋̆͋̎̚͜͠͝i̴̧̢̧̧̡̡̧̡̨̧̻̟̫͚͇̠̖̤̜̙̝̲̠̣̠̥͓̝̫̮̰͈͕̙̙̤͍̖̬̗͍͍͛̅̌͊͐̐̓͆͑͐̃̽́̏͆͒̋̈́̀̀̚͘̕͝ņ̵̨̗͉̲͕̜̩̩̣͍̘͈̦̭̮̮̘̤͖͕̯̺̗̜̭͈͍̳̀̊͑̐͆̅̿̅̆͂͂͗͒̌͒̐̈́͑̂́͌̂̈́̀̈́̂͗̈́̔͒̆͐̀͌̈́̿̋̑͂͒̾͘͝͝ę̷̢̥̭̣̻͎̻̻͍̥̝̩͕͖̙̀̌́͌͑̃̏̀͂̿̚̕͝."̶̢̨̡̧̦͇͇͔͍̣̗͈̩͎̩̠̣̰̰̞̰̬̻̑̐̊̓̐͗͊͌̇̇͋͛

Agony, sheer agony lanced through her and Diana, in a futile effort, covered her ears. 

The voice, it wasn't piercing or loud, just something so...Other...Beyond, that her senses just couldn't comprehend and she couldn’t-

Silence. An utter absence of sound so unnatural that it was suffocating.

Her hands came back bloody. Dazed, Diana looked around the room and saw that only she, Clark, and Captain Marvel were standing. Clark was worse off than them both, still staring at his bloody hands. The others had been brought to their knees. She met the Captain’s eyes and saw her own dread reflected in them.

Their divinity had protected them. Whatever fragment of the divine that remained in the blood of the House of El it had protected Clark. But their godly halves won't hold up for long. Something needed to be done, immediately. 

If Diana's assumptions were correct, the entity was looking for something. Her conjecture was further validated by the quirk of a pitch black eyebrow, as the being looked at heroes with annoyance. It was waiting for a reply and rapidly losing patience. She decided to take the plunge. If she was right then good. If she was wrong, well...at least she tried. 

Diana gathered up her strength and, relying on the years of etiquette and diplomacy training she underwent as a princess, bowed towards the entity. She was gratified to note that Captain Marvel had done the same. Clark quickly followed them, trusting them to take the lead. Good, that would make this much more effective. 

"Great One," she began, "this one is afraid that your noble tongue is lost on us. This one can only assume that the Great One is searching for something. We would all be honoured to assist if only we were to understand". 

‘Laying it on a bit thick’, Diana thought as she slowly came out of her bow, still keeping her head lowered respectfully. But in situations such as these, it was better to lay it thick than thin. 

The entity stared at her and then at her fellow demigod. It barely glanced at Clark and the others strewn about the room. The other heroes had slowly gotten back to their feet and to her relief, they too kept their heads lowered. 

 

A low, unnerving hum permeated the air and Diana tensed. Was she wrong after all? Had she damned them? Were they going to be smote for their audacity? 

It opened its mouth and she braced herself-

"̸̙̜́̔͛͠J̸͕͓͕͙̋ȯ̸̱ḥ̶̏̾ͅn̶̥̮̠̈́̉̓̾ ̶̩̼̥̃̑C̸̙̅̕͜ỗ̴̢͍̭̲̓ń̷̘̀s̵̛̻t̸̙̪̥͐̈́̓̋à̵͈n̶͎͛̈́̚ţ̷̧̓̈́̽͌i̸̥̥͍̭͝n̵��͓̄e̵͓͛."̵̺͈̲͗̓ͅ

-but it did not hurt. It was like a hundred voices were talking at once, echoing throughout the room. Her ears rang…but it wasn't painful. Diana almost grinned in relief, it had understood her after all! 

Then it struck her... along with everyone else in the room what exactly was said. As one the collection of heroes all turned towards the man in question, who looked like someone who knew they were at fault while also having no idea how. 

̷“J̷o̶h̶n̵ ̴C̸o̶n̵s̵t̷a̸n̴t̴i̶n̷e̶ "̸, said the entity once more, clearly getting a little irate at the lack of response.

It's voice was getting lighter, Diana noted. But that would change if it didn't get an answer soon. Thankfully Captain Marvel took the initiative and tapped Constantine's shoulder, almost making the other man fall over, but to his credit he didn't hesitate when he stepped up towards the being.

"That would be me", said the sorcerer, his apprehension obvious. 

…………………………………….…………………………………….

John had done a lot of bad things in his life. He's done so much crime, like So. Much. Crime., in terms of both human and supernatural laws and pissed off a lot, like a lot of people. He knew he had beings gunning for him, just waiting for him to slip up. But the thing is, he usually knew who they were, especially considering he hoodwinked them in the first place. But he had no idea who this was...not a clue, not a singular one. He frantically tried to remember if he ever sold some memories as part of a deal but then again if he sold them what good would it do trying to remember? 

As he stood there gaping like an idiot, face a literal bloody mess from bleeding from his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and who knows where bloody else, scared shitless at this eldritch being with its eldritch binder, who was apparently looking for him, he tried to remember if he was ever stupid enough to play with beings from the Rift and had to admit that miraculously enough, while he was generally a dumbass, he was not that much of a dumbass. Because even for him, the Denizens of the Rift were a big no-no! You just don't mess with those. 

Case in point the abomination currently writhing within the seal he and Zatanna had painfully crafted and Marvel had juiced up. The thing had clobbered them for days and all they managed to do was seal it, and he knew, just as Zatanna knew, that it wasn't strong enough to hold it. The damn thing had established a foothold on the planet and they could chuck it to the other end of the damn universe and it would still travel through the Rift and make its way back. 

When they had made it back to the Watchtower all he had wanted to do was rest, drink, and pass out after Bats broke the bad news to everybody because he sure as hell wasn't doing it. But instead, Eldritch being and his binder, he still can't get over that damn binder, had come knocking, making them bleed from every orifice on their face, the whole shebang. And it was looking for him. Yeah this was definitely not a good week. No Siree. Constantine figured he must have shattered some sort of world record with the decibel count of his internal screaming. 

And then Marvel had helpfully brought him back to reality, reminding him that if he did not present himself, they'll probably be Rift dog food. Are there even dog equivalents in the Rift? There probably is. Constantine had enough experience to know that there is always a dog equivalent. Besides, anything is a dog if you squint enough. Cats are everywhere though. No doubt about it. Bloody things rule over everything he swears. He would have liked to blissfully remain in his contemplations of canines and felines-in hindsight he did hit his head a bit too hard-but he had to step up. So he stepped up and presented himself like a good little mortal.

"That would be me", he said, alarm bells ringing in his mind nonstop. The being stared at him, then looked at the binder. For the umpteenth time he wondered what the hell was in it. 

As if answering his question, it asked, "̴S̸o̷n̵ ̶o̶f̸ ̶T̸h̶o̴m̸a̴s̸ ̶C̸o̸n̸s̶t̵a̶n̵t̵i̵n̸e̴ ̷a̴n̸d̷ ̸M̶a̴r̷y̴ ̷A̸n̵n̶ ̷Q̷u̵i̸n̵n̶?̴"̸

"Yes. That would be my parents", John replied without missing a beat. There was no point in trying to hide anything. That binder probably had information about how many times his nappy had to be changed when he was a baby. John watched as the entity looked at its binder and nodded as if confirming something. 

"̶T̵i̸t̷l̸e̶ ̷H̶e̶l̵l̵b̸l̸a̷z̷e̸r̷?̵"̵, it asked and heat, like Hell Heat, blazed through the room, provoking yelps and squeaks from the assembled heroes who John had kinda forgotten were even there, but John couldn't be bothered to care because...because that was... That was insane. 

Hellblazer is his title, it has currency, hell he's used it's currency, but it's a low rank title. It's a given title in its born generation, connected to actions and not position. Its power comes from being John Constantine and doing what he does. It's not even strong enough to be inherited magically after his time. It should not, should fucking not, in any way shape or form, have enough currency that verbalizing it would have any magical effect. 

But somehow that's what fucking happened. In front of his eyes at that. This entity had verbalised his low grade title and had it magically resonate. John didn't need to know that Justice League Dark was going internally crazy behind him. Because holy shit this was above their pay grade. This was so above their pay grade it wasn't even funny. Holy fucking shit in a shitbasket…

Thankfully, despite his mental breakdown, John managed a squeaky "Yes" to the question before the thing decided to smite them all for making it wait. When it looked back at its accursed binder, John took that chance to have a mini panic attack. Several mini panic attacks. He still can't remember ever pissing off a Rift being, well except for the one he just sealed... Fuck! Had that thing filed a complaint or something? Was he reported to some sort of Rift authorities for interrupting planetary destruction? But why was he singled out then? Why wasn't Zatanna or Marvel included? Did he get the short end of the stick again? Because that was soooo not fair. 

John was brought out of his spiralling thoughts about what to do if he actually was reported to some Rift Complaints Department when the entity addressed him once again. Surprisingly its voice had lost its more…alarming aspects, settling into a more hollow  quality. The sorcerer was just glad that his magic wasn’t attempting to eject his skeleton out of his skin anymore. 

"John Constantine, son of Thomas Constantine, and Mary Ann Quinn. Hellblazer-

There it was again! This time it actually sparked a few flames that Green Lantern had to stamp out. Batsy is really gonna be on his case after this.

 

-You have sold the whole of your soul several times to entities of various denominations, up-to and including Princes of Hell, that is in multiple, parts of your soul several thousands of times, in multiple realities and timelines, to entities divine, demonic, devilish, interdimensional, intradimensional, extradimensional, leveraged your soul in deals of magnitudes planetary, dimensional, multidimensional-

He's being read for filth, John realised, like positively scalped. He can feel the eyes of every single hero boring into his skull and winced. Damn it all, it's like your body count being read out in detail in front of your good Christian grandma. Don't judge him for being a soul hoe! He did what had to be done. But still to have it all laid out like that... Why is a being from the Rift of all places doing this anyway? If he wasn't shit scared of being smited?smote? out of existence he would've said something but he, along with everyone else was close to passing out from fear, especially considering some of the chairs next to the entity had become nothing more than chunks of compressed metal from the proximity alone. They had no desire to become chunky mortal salsa so they kept their mouths shut. Even though it was painfully clear that they had several opinions(™). 

John was actually kinda grateful for the abominable power of the eldritch monstrosity because he knew some of them, Batsy and Zatanna in particular, were waiting to make a comment. And he really didn’t want to be subjected to a Batlecture.

-and so on. Calculating the temporal experience according to your personal timeline and lifeline, situating the relevant time firmly between dusk, yesterday, and dawn of this day, all rights to your soul, whole, partial, and otherwise, barring an isolated 12%, have been transferred, as part of a united effort from the owners of these specific rights, as either yearly tribute or royal tax, thus offloading all rights to the possession of your entire soul, bar the aforementioned 12%, completely and irrevocably to the ownership of-

You know when people say they see static, or hear static, or taste static etc.? John never actually understood that particular turn of phrase. His life is just so full of sensation that it's overwhelming. Always something happening, always on guard, even when he is at the bottom of a bottle, there is an awareness of sensation he just can't shake. But now, standing in front of this entity, an eldritch being that can actually cause you to  taste static, he finally understands the phrase, not because of its eldritchness, if that's even a word, but from the fact that those fuckers had actually resold his soul! Thats so fucking rude! 

After all that talk about being the only ones to reap his soul they just forwarded it along like an unwanted Christmas present! He was actually feeling quite despondent. Had they lost interest in him? Is his soul not a hot commodity anymore? How would he do his job now? Half of the time he sold his soul! What bullshit! He was dumped! Over a text! A thousand times over! 

Maybe if he phrases it like that and focuses on the hilarity of it, he won't have to pay attention to the fact that his soul is now in the possession of possibly a royal being from the godsdamned fucking Rift and there is no way to get out of that no matter how many tricks he could try and he's trapped forever and fuck whowhatthefuck

 -The One At the Close-

A shockwave of power erupted at the evocation of the title, and the Watchtower juddered in space and the heroes shared wide eyed looks. But John was oblivious because his luck couldn't be that bad, could it? 

-Before and After-

-End and Beginning-

Another shockwave. Wonder Woman and Superman tried to keep the table from collapsing. It did not work. Batman's glare could've flayed John alive but the sorcerer was still looking at the entity reciting the titles in horror

-The Keeper of Eternity-

Shockwave again. The Green Lantern ring decided that was the time to try and give disco a chance and went ballistic, its wearer desperately trying to control it. 

-Monarch of the Vast-

Below, the Lazarus Pits wailed. Zatanna looked like he was about to hurl…which was leagues better than Captain Marvel who had actually hurled. 

-The Balance-

-Inevitable, Irrefutable, Undeniable-

-The Ghost King-

At that last title, the power went out and the reserve did not turn on. With dread the heroes realised that if they didn't get the power back on, the station would careen off of orbit. They scrambled to get back their wits and do their jobs... When the entity that caused the commotion waved a hand and between one moment and the next it was like nothing had happened. It was terrifying. But the entity did not seem to care for what they thought, instead looking at Constantine who looked thoroughly checked out. 

"John Constantine, the entity began, "Do you acknowledge the state of your soul?"

John came to exactly as the entity asked the question and he was so glad because he did not want to anger this being who might directly answer to the one who now owns his arse. And isn't that knowledge? The fact that the fucking Ghost King, the King of the motherfucking Infinite Realms, now has ownership of his soul? And there is no way he can weasel out of this? 

"Yes. I do acknowledge", he rasped out. It was as if a lock suddenly closed. John could hear the figurative click as his acknowledgement did...Something.

In response the absurdly tall being turned back to his fucking binder, leafing through it once again. John took the opportunity to dredge some of his infamous impudence to ask a few questions. 

"So to summarise, he began, "everyone who once owned a claim to my soul, whole and partial, in a collaborative effort, decided to unload all of those claims as either tribute or tax to the Infinite Realms, effectively making the The Majesty, The Ghost King, the owner of my entire soul? And you are here to announce it?"

The entity did not look up from his binder. But to his surprise it did deign to reply.

"Your souls bar 12%."

"Huh?", was John's oh so very intelligent reply.

"Your soul barring 12% now belongs to The Imperial Majesty", the being, ghost?, replied without missing a beat.

John gulped. "Can I ask about the 12%?"

The entity paused in its search through the binder. Then hummed. Seemingly considered something. All the while John looked on sweating but thankfully it decided to indulge him. 

"The 12% originally belonged to some minor devil. From there it got traded multiple times till it ended up in hands of the young mistress of the Morley household who didn't know what to do with it. She decided an active claim was way too troublesome to maintain in such a cutthroat claim battle so she gave it to her child as a toy. Soon after her child got his learner's licence for soul contracts she retracted her claim entirely and gave it fully to the child as a gift, as a practice run. He could've held onto it until maturity and registered it under his name once he gained his actual licence but he got in trouble in Makai and was taken in as a ward into the Naberius household to straighten him out. Around that time his Learner's licence ran out and he couldn't return to Hell to renew it so the 12% basically returned to you. This is more of your soul than you've ever owned in decades."

That...was a lot to unpack. 

John could feel Zatanna's stare of judgement. He didn't know what to feel about his soul being a toy, pocket money, or a practice run. And he also didn't know that you needed a licence to do soul deals. What do you know! You learn something new everyday!

He looked up and almost shat himself. The entity was way too close, a devious smile on its lips. Way too many teeth. Way too many teeth. Nothing is supposed to have that many teeth. Holy fucking shi-

"This one has a proposition John Constantine", it said, smile-with-too-many-teeth still on its lips. 

John swallowed. "What proposition?"

"You see John Constantine," said the entity, "with your acknowledgement of the current ownership of your soul the news has already been projected to all relevant realms-

John didn’t even have the time to properly file that away for later when the entity came too close to his face, too fast, too fucking fast, almost folding over him, looming, gleeful compared to the stoicism of before.

-Everyone is aware of who you belong to now. With 88% of your soul belonging to The King no-one would even think of taking the rest of your soul even if you offer it for free. Who will compete with the Crown of Frost and Fire? The King is Inevitable, Irrefutable, Undeniable! For a man like you-

Its sharp black claws grasped his chin and raised it, making him look into furiously red eyes. 

-who only considers his soul when he wants to sell it for an advantage, the 12% you own is functionally useless! Why don't you sign it over to the Crown? This one is willing to give away a favour in return! How about it, John Constantine?"

The right thing to do was agree. The sensible thing to do was agree. The safe thing to do was agree. But John didn’t become who he was by being right, sensible, or safe. Even with his face so close to pitch black claws, John still managed to summon enough balls to throw back a question. Man, he really learned nothing did he? 

"If it's all the same, if it's a measly 12%, why ask for it? With 88% already in hand, claiming the rest upon my death would be child's play."

The hand around his face tightened to a painful degree. Its smile widened and took on a malicious cast for the first time. The sorcerer had seen many evil beings before, danced with them, bargained with them, killed them, but this…this was different…this was malice incarnate. John had never been so frightened in his life. It was only when he was let go and he slipped and fell on his arse did he realise that the entire room had frozen over and the rest of the heroes were stuck in the ice. 

“You know”, it said in a soft, sibilant voice, "For someone who is going to reap the rewards of being immune to any and all soul based magicks and abilities by virtue of belonging to the Highest Authority-

John honestly hadn't considered that! At least there's some good news! 

-you have a lot of nerve to even raise a question such as this.-

Oh man, is he gonna be smote? Will this thing smote his boss' claimed soul? How do things work here?

-But your impertinence... It amuses this one, so this one finds it in themselves to answer your query."

Saved by being the clownish entertainment! Score! 

"It's because of paperwork", said the entity.

"What", said Constantine.

"Because having to claim the 12% post-mortem will generate too much paperwork. Leaving it as it is will also generate paperwork. And quite frankly you have already caused us too much paperwork by just existing in general Sorcerer.”

Constantine felt his usually nonexistent lizard brain resurrect itself into a hissing fit as the entity’s ire evidently increased. 

“We had to go through close to 5000 documents, adding full claims and partial claims together, cancelling out disputed and overlapping claims etc.,it was all such a hassle. We do not wish to do anymore paperwork regarding you. So we wish to claim your complete soul with a deal post haste so we can close your account forever. This will benefit you most of all. You clearly hold no love for your soul and will even get a favour out of it. Considering the Rift Denizen that is eating through your seal currently and about to devour the planet below this one assumes you have use for a favour from one such as them”, the behemoth finished, its face shifting from an irate to a sly cast towards the end.

It was as if lightning struck everyone in the room. They had actually forgotten what they had spent close to a week fighting and posed a very significant threat to their planet due to this fiasco. While everyone else tried to recalibrate and reassess, especially with the favour the entity was implying, John did not even have to think.

"Deal!", there wasn't even a single waver in the sorcerer's voice. In the background he could hear Zatanna facepalming, Marvel groaning in exasperation, and Batsy's incensed growl, and a cacophony of other noises from the heroes. But honestly he did not give a shit.

He was gonna pay for this...like really pay. Batsy was gonna skin him alive. Or worse he would tell Dick and Dick will destroy him till he'll wish he was dead. But he still did it anyway. Because Constantine knew what he was capable of. He was also a good judge of what others were capable of. And he knew that there was nothing, absolutely nothing they could do to stop the thing once it ate through the seal. And the beings that could do something…that price they wouldn’t be able to pay. He of all people would know. So they had to take this chance that was offered.

There was no time for regrets. Not in John’s life. Not when the entity looked like it would eat him alive if he even indicated a desire to renege.

"Excellent John Constantine!” said the being as it produced an opened scroll and pointed to a dotted line, "do place your insignia here to complete the deal!"

The moment he completed his signature, John felt a burning sensation in his hand. A crown of ice and fire surrounded by blood red flowers encircled in an array was forever inked into his flesh. He was now marked for the Infinite Realms. It hurt like a bitch. 

The entity on the other hand, was full of mirth as it made the scroll disappear. When it turned to face him once more, the number of teeth in its mouth seemed to have doubled. Which wasn’t scary at all really! Its demented grin was replaced by annoyance however when it saw John still uselessly standing there, sans Seal. Give him a fucking break! He finally got caught in a deal he couldn’t weasel out of…it was a bit much to process.

"The Seal John Constantine", it demanded, voice making the entire room shudder. 

Well he definitely wasn’t dilly dallying on purpose. He wasn’t that mad no matter what people said. The spirit was willing but the body sure as hell was not. Sealing the thing had wrung him out of magic. Summoning the seal into this plane would probably put him into a severe magical depletion induced coma. He barely had enough juice for this one manifestation and he would be out like a light for weeks at the very least. That would mean the rest of them would have to fend for themsel-...On a second thought that didn’t sound so bad after all. Didn’t sound bad at all! All this definitely won’t be his problem anymore if he was passed the fuck out. Sounds positively festive!

Now feeling much better, John held his arms out, parallel to his torso, palms facing each other. He concentrated, eyes closing as he delved into his reserves which were no doubt exhausted…or that's what he thought he would find. Instead he found his reserves overflowing with magical energy. Shocked, his eyes flew open and met the malevolent gaze of the entity. Its lips were pulled in a devious, knowing smile. 

John swore he could feel his heart drop to his stomach. Somehow, without him even noticing, his mana was replenished. He felt as if cold hands were gripping him by the throat, a shackle that he was only now truly understanding the meaning of. He was grateful that he was facing away from his colleagues…he did not know what kind of expression his face was making…whatever it was, it amused the primordial being floating in front of him. He really, really needed to calm down.

John heaved a deep breath and summoned the seal. It floated between his palms and he let it glide over to the entity. Already he could see it was corroding. Tendrils of power slipping through the cracks. That more than anything proved that he made the right decision. They would not have been able to contain that no matter how hard they tried.

The Being examined the seal, and seemed almost impressed for a few seconds, before it simply… slapped its palms together with the floating seal in between... Like killing a mosquito. And when it opened its palms, the seal was just gone, and along with it, the creature.

 

Holy Fuck.

John just stared. In fact everyone was staring. That was…that was…Fucking hell. 

Nothing it did before revealed its power level than this display right here. To just erase a Rift creature like that... That's godly... No...it's…it’s deathly. 

It Smiled-with-too-many-teeth. "See you at the End, John Constantine".

John felt his very soul quiver.

And then it was gone. Between one moment and the next. No sound. No fanfare. 

Silence. Stupefaction. Cracking ice. Then the sound of doom as Batman, murderous and incandescent with rage, made his way across the room. 

“Batsy wait! Listen! Let me tell you something! Let me tell you something! LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING-”

These were the original tags and I was proud of them tbh

I don't know much about DC, but seeing all these things about Danny owning Constantine somehow... what if instead of an ancestor, the different demons Constantine sold his soul to are all technically vassals of the Ghost King (hell dimensions being part of the Infinite Realms) and they decided to offload their useless rights to Constantine's soul as part of their taxes?

[fortune-fool02]

Home

Jason Kolchek x female reader

Summary: After surviving the horrors in Iraq, Jason finally returns home. 

Warnings: Fluff

Hey! Thank you for taking the time to read this fic, I played this game once again and am now ready to give love to this man. Please like, reblog and comment as it really helps. Thank you! 

The soft ticking of the clock was the only sound that filled the room. The usual bustling streets were silent at this time of night, or more accurately, this time of morning. Sleep evaded [Name] as it had for the past few nights. Worry gnawed away at her, a tight wire straining within her, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. Something that had become common whenever Jason left for his missions. They would call whenever possible, though she didn’t receive anything for the past couple of days; the spark needed to ignite her worry and steal sleep away. 

Jason was tough. Headstrong and focused. Just some of the traits that pulled her towards him in the first place. He was safe, wherever he was, he had to be. Shaking her head, she pulled herself out of bed and headed downstairs towards the kitchen in search of a drink, despite her body’s protest. Before she reached the bottom step, she froze. A light slipped past the living room door, falling along the bottom of the step and scaling up the wall. She knew she turned that light off before she went to bed hours ago. Panic quickly clawed up her spine, a flurry of questions hitting her. Was she being robbed? How did they get inside? Could she reach her phone without being noticed? 

Taking a calming breath, she tried to quell her rising nerves. She needed to calm down and think. With quiet steps, she tiptoed towards the door, trying to peak through the gap. All sense of panic was snuffed from her in an instant, replaced by a rushing sensation of joy and relief. There, sitting on the couch, was Jason. He was back! She practically threw the door open and rushed to him, unable to contain her excitement, her arms wrapped around him, catching him off-guard. His arms moved, rolling her weight off and over him and pinning her onto the couch, his arm to her throat.      “Jason! It’s me, darling.” His eyes focused and he was off her the next second, helping her up as apologises spilled from his mouth.      “Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry, love!” In truth, [Name] couldn’t give a damn about that. All that she cared about was that Jason was here, alive and well. Her second attempt to hold him was much more successful as his arms pulled her close, wrapping around her in a warm, aching embrace that both had missed terribly so. Fragments of dust and dirt, the smell of sweat and something old came of him, indicating that he finished whatever his mission was and came straight home without any stops nor anything along the way. Even his clothes were still a bit dirty. 

A part of this didn’t feel real. Like this was all some delusion caused by blunt-force trauma to the head. He feared it to be true, and that any moment now he was going to wake up back in that Hellhole, surrounded by those monsters, ready to claw his eyes from his skull. It was supposed to be a sweep for a chemical-weapon silo and it became the furthest thing from it; a nightmare that will haunt him for the rest of his life. Be it by Divine intervention or sheer dumb luck that they had survived that Hell and clawed their way out of its depths, and back to the morning sunlight.       The second Jason got back, he got the light on. He couldn’t sit in the dark, not when every little shadow was a shifting wing or distorted jaws reaching out to latch around his throat, to drag him back there. He was still struggling to keep his hands from shaking despite his best efforts. But now, that didn’t matter. He was home. Just as he had promised [Name] before he left. 

[Name]’s lips found his, pulling him into a loving kiss. His lips felt just as soft as she remembered. The warmth of his body more than anything the sun could offer. The sense of security, of protection, his embrace gave her ensured no harm would ever befall her, not while he still had breath in his lungs and blood in his body. With a smile, she pulled back, her hands moving up to gentle caress his cheeks; her forehead resting against his.      “I was starting to think something happened.” She confessed, gazing into his eyes. Something wasn’t right though. His soft eyes held this look to them, this sharpness that was not there before. A blackness forced over something deeper, trying to conceal it, to bury it deep down into a forgotten corner. It somewhat reminded her of the stories she was told as a child. The stories of men who claimed to have seen the Devil himself.      “Jason? What happened out there?” Concern painted her face, her voice quivering with worry. Her touch on him like a Summer’s morning. Jason simply smiled and held her hand in place, nuzzling into her touch. His body weighed down by a heavy exhaustion that filled every muscle.      “... nothin’ to worry ‘bout, love.” 

[catcas22]

Okay there's a lot of interesting possibilities here!

"I haven't thought about the Iliad in years. Like a decade. but OH man this au has me so excited about putting Maedhros in this world!!!"

Me too, friend. Me too.

"What next, is he gonna get lost enough to land himself and his band of refugees in Ithaca?"

The rule of drama demands that Odysseus manages to escape Arda, make his way back to Ithaca, and slaughter the suitors just in the nick of time as he does in canon.

The rule of funny demands that Maedhros makes his way to Ithaca out of sheer dumb luck, stops to ask the young man moping on the beach for directions, and, after hearing of Telemachus's woes, decides that he can spare a few hours out of his day to kill 108 assholes.

Regarding Circe, I think you're correct that she'd be less likely to clock a boatload of mostly women and children as a threat. She might also be hesitant to curse Maedhros, at least initially. To her eyes, he's clearly some kind of demigod, and she'd rather know who his divine parent is before she potentially starts a blood feud.

You're a genius for remembering that Circe can grant absolution/remove curses. Would she have the power to remove the Doom of the Noldor from Maedhros? She absolved Medea and co. of kinslaying and attacking under a flag of truce. Iirc, the Furies were responsible for directly punishing kinslayers, although they typically act at the behest of a god, not of their own volition. I know oathbreaking fell under Zeus's domain, and I think he punished kinslayers as well? If so, Circe is capable of punching well above her weight in the curse-removal department.

But would she be able to absolve Maedhros of the Oath of Feanor -- not a punishment, but rather a burden taken on willingly? Even if she did, would Maedhros willingly turn from that path?

@sweetteaanddragons brought up the idea of Cassandra telling Maedhros of his ultimate doom, which of course compels Maedhros to believe that he isn't doomed, thus potentially breaking him out of the sunk-cost-fallacy/self-fulfilling-prophecy. Cassandra + Circe + time away from Arda might be the secret formula to fix Maedhros.

The Ares/Maedhros parallels are definitely there. War is often a necessary evil. To the ancient Greeks, it was a way of life, a necessity for survival, a path to glory and remembrance. And Ares represents all the inevitabilities of war that even the most hawkish hate to acknowledge. Athena reigns over glory, strategy, honor, and righteous vengeance. Ares gets the blood and the grime, pain and panic. He does the work his father assigned to him, and he is despised and vilified for it. He may be less prone to introspection than Maedhros, but the "it's a shit job, but someone's got to do it" theme is definitely there.

Sidenote: Athena as the Golden Child bearing the full weight of Zeus's expectations, Ares as the forgotten middle child stuck doing a thankless job. Each thinking the other has it easy. Each thinking that the other could never understand the burden they carry. Zeus keeping them carefully pitted against each other, because he knows how utterly doomed he would be if they ever teamed up against him.

For that matter, one doesn't have to stretch far to imagine Zeus encouraging his family's disfunction in order to safeguard his own position. Sure, he could handily beat any one of them in a contest of raw power. Maybe even any two or three of them. But the day they realize that there's twelve of them and one of Zeus, he knows it's all over. He knows what he did to his own tyrannical father.

And so he lets Hera terrorize his mistresses and bastards, all the while subtly reinforcing that she wouldn't dare seek retribution against him. He pits Ares and Athena against each other. He encourages the others to bully Hephestus, ensuring that his most clever son remains outcast from his siblings. He banishes Hades to graciously gifts Hades the Underworld, sending him far afield so that he won't be too pointedly reminded of his little brother's authority over him. He uses Aphrodite as a pawn to keep his smartest son and his strongest son at each other's throats. He spoils Artemis and Apollo rotten to keep them happy, because those two tear shit up when they have a mind to. Because he knows that the second they all stop bickering amongst themselves, he's getting his balls chopped off and spending an eternity in Tartarus.

That's what he would do in their position. That's what he did do.

Ahem.

All that to say, yes, I am all for Ares as the patron of Maedhros. Yes, Maedhros would call him a bloodthirsty monster. No, I don't think Ares would be offended. He'd probably laugh.

"In any case, her curses are potent. She needs to give Maedhros a good curse!"

Agreed! Although I don't think the standard Aphrodite curse would translate well onto Maedhros.

Tolkien's world is significantly less horny than Greek mythology (most things are). While a love curse tends to be the prelude to multiple felonies in Aphrodite's world, in Arda such a curse is more likely to lead to pining, composing hauntingly tragic poetry, and wasting away as one wanders beneath the light of fading stars. She can't even fall back on the Glaurung classic, seeing as none of Maedhros's relations are even on the same plane of existence at the moment.

I'm picturing Aphrodite hovering just above the ship, waiting gleefully for Maedhros to fly into a bacchanalian rage... And he just looks a bit more sad than usual. He's switched from brooding to pining. It's a subtle difference, but it is there.

I could also see her curse being thwarted by the fact that he's simply incapable of viewing any of the Trojans as romantic prospects. Intellectually, he knows that those of the Second Kindred age differently than the elves. He knows that half of those he rescued are grown, by the reckoning of their own people. But he's at a point in his life where anyone under the age of 100 looks like a baby. His big brother instincts are out in full force. He wants to wrap them all up in his cape where they'll be warm and safe.

Now, Circe would be another matter. Aphrodite could engage in her preferred brand of life-ruining by causing him to become infatuated with Circe. I legitimately have no idea how Circe would take this.

Alternatively... What if it's Circe who's cursed to love Maedhros? Tbh I could see either ending in disaster for all involved.

Also, related to nothing, but I'm struck by the idea of Maedhros stumbling across Calypso's island, hearing that she's been imprisoned there because she followed her father into an ill-advised war against the gods, and deciding "Screw it, we're bringing her with us."

Thanks for all the fresh material! I'd love to hear more, if you have other ideas!

Maedros in Troy AU

Long, long post about my very niche obsession. Original AU by @sweetteaanddragons can be found here.

Every so often when I'm listening to EPIC, my mind will play six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon and I'll end up back at this AU. This particular addition was inspired by my remembering that Achilles was a redhead (Or maybe strawberry-blonde, idk enough about the Greek language to say for sure. His son was a redhead, and he once went by the alias of "the redheaded girl.")

The morning after the sack of Troy is a somber affair, even, surprisingly, amongst the victors. The surviving Achaean princes limp their way back to the feet of the horse, finally able to take a headcount. Odysseus and Ajax the Lesser are missing, Neoptolemus is nursing a nasty leg-wound, and less concerning but equally inconvenient, Menelaus and Helen have absconded to Sparta to start their second honeymoon.

Neoptolemus, in particular, has been having a day. First he got paired with Odysseus, which he has come to learn means he's going to be acting as the muscle while the Ithacan takes the credit. Then Odysseus was granted the honor of ending Hector's bloodline, and Neo couldn't even say anything because the order came directly from the mouth of Zeus. (Odysseus already took his father's armor. Could Neo not at least be allowed his vengeance?) Then Hector's woman took a swipe at him with a dagger, which Neo handled quite easily, then a madman burst out of the crypts and nearly cut his leg off, which presented a bit more of a challenge.

The princes compare notes, slowly piecing together a picture of The Stranger who carved a bloody swath through their armies and then disappeared as quickly as he materialized. Finally, Eurylochus says what everyone else has been thinking (fearing). Towering in stature, redhaired, wearing armor that turned their blades and wielding a sword that pierced through bronze like soft clay? They all know who that sounds like.

Yes, the others reluctantly admit, The Stranger is most definitely the ghost of Achilles, returned from the grave to once again punish them all for the sake of some personal slight. (Neo can't stop thinking about the look in the man's eyes, that look of pity or maybe disappointment before he left the youth bleeding on the steps of Hector's tomb).

Diomedes is the only one to object. Aside from Neo, he was the only one to get a good look at The Stranger and live to tell about it. That wasn't Achilles. In fact, he made the man bleed, so he wasn't a ghost either. No one else seems convinced.

Neo confirms that Odysseus went into Hector's tomb alone, and only The Stranger emerged. Sage nods are exchanged amongst the other princes -- Achilles must have returned to avenge his old comrade, Greater Ajax. But then why would he kill so many Achaeans after presumably taking his vengeance on Odysseus? (Agamemnon scoffs. As if Achilles ever needed a reason to be a pain.)

Then a messenger arrives, breathlessly announcing that Ajax the Lesser has been found. Specifically, he has been found dead by a blow from The Stranger's magic sword, lying at the feet of a toppled statue of Athena.

Now that's clearly an omen of some sort, though no one can agree on what message to take from it. Athena is Odysseus's patron, but is the toppled statue a sign of judgement or of disrespect? Does this have anything to do with The Lesser's cousin The Greater? Nestor suggests consulting the Trojan oracle Helenus. They left the boy tied up on Agamemnon's ship after Odysseus finished with him, and he was still alive the last time they checked. Perhaps he can interpret the omen.

This plan only makes it as far as the beach, where the gang discovers that both the oracle and Agamemnon's flagship have been stolen.

Suddenly it all makes perfect sense. Diomedes explodes -- yet again, Achilles is punishing them all for the sake of his feud with Agamemnon. The High King sputters out a denial -- he and Achilles were square when the man died. His conscience is perfectly clean. He still looks as if he is actively having a heart attack.

Nestor attempts to intervene. Diomedes shouldn't jump to conclusions... But if Agamemnon knows of anything that might have brought a vengeful Achilles back from the grave, he really should tell them. They promise they won't be mad.

Agamemnon has the horrible, sinking feeling that this might be about the fact that he took a leak on the ashes of Achille's funeral pyre. But he's certainly not going to admit to that. Wounded or no, Neo has a good couple of inches on him, and the kid is built like he strangles oxen for a hobby. He has that same twitchy look in his eye that his father always had.

This man cannot have been Achilles, he insists, and Agamemnon is going to bring back his head to prove it! (No one else is willing to set sail while the son of a Nereid might be after their heads, and Agamemnon is quite sure that they're one more bad omen away from sacrificing him to appease Achilles. It's what he would do, were he in their position.) Eurylochus and his crew quickly get pressed into service -- they need a captain, and Agamemnon needs a boat. And don't they want to avenge their fallen king?

Neo insists on coming along, much to Agamemnon's horror.

Maedhros isn't ready to panic just yet. Disorienting as that first night was, he's now fairly certain that he knows where he is. He's on the eastern side of the Sea of Rhûn. This is an inland sea, and the climate and general look of the people suggest that he's somewhere south and east of Dorwinion. He's a long way from home, to be sure, but at least he knows how to get back. He takes a moment to privately curse that storm Maia for dragging him so far out of his way.

He's fairly certain that the woman he rescued is the baby's mother. At least, she seemed very relieved to have him back. So if he recalls the storm Maia's threats correctly, that would make her the prince's widow. The others seem to tentatively consider her to be in charge, and she's at least attempted to communicate with him. Maybe she can help him get his bearings.

Unfortunately, she doesn't speak any of the Easterling tongues he learned from Bór. That's not terribly surprising. Rhûn is a land of many nations, and this particular clan must be rather isolated if they're still casting weapons out of bronze. That's fine. He might not invent new languages on a whim as his father did, but he does enjoy learning them.

The golden-haired girl hasn't stopped watching him. She looks away with a pained expression every time he catches her at it, but even now he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. He saw eyes like that once before -- the first time he saw a mirror after Thangorodrim.

The others give her a wide berth, though she does nothing apart from sit curled under the mast, arms around her knees. During their flight, she broke from her stupor long enough to lead them to this ship -- the same ship where they found the prisoner who Maedhros assumes to be her twin brother. It almost seemed as if she knew where...

But that would be ridiculous. She couldn't have known. Maedhros rather forcibly shrugs the notion off. They're twins. He's seen Amrod and Amras do far stranger.

On his first night, Maedhros was too preoccupied to look up. Even had he chanced to look at the sky, the smoke of the city's burning would have blotted out the stars. He spends the following day tending to the wounded, despite having nothing but torn clothing and seawater, and offering what comfort he can, despite speaking not a word of their language. When the sun sets, he forces himself to stay awake. One look at the stars will give him his heading, and from there he can plan the route home...

Oh. Maedhros doesn't know those stars.

Maedhros is beginning to suspect that he isn't in Rhûn.

More coming soon, by request of @sweetteaanddragons !