#truthfully.... i do not know where they are.

[ask-mirage-mews]

[Reply to @omniandco ]

Janus: “I feel so remorseful now because I do not believe I cared about those things then. This may sound rather harsh but smaller matters such as individual lives did not matter to me then. It was something I never allowed myself to experience because I saw no reason, or lacked interest. I was not happy, per se, but it was what I knew, what I had grown used to. It had been just my sibling and I, our relationship being no more than our roles in our universe. Then Mnemosyne came along, placing me into a position where that mattered. Where everything I had chosen to ignore, that I had deemed unimportant to the greater picture, would be front and center whether I liked it or not. Truthfully, I did not like it at first. I fought it because it angered me, yet eventually even that became tiring. So I decided to just…Let it happen. To see where it would lead me, out of curiosity I suppose. Now, I am left to care…To care so deeply after so many years of being distant, knowing that these are but tiny specks in the grand scheme of things…Small, fleeting moments that I have stripped from so many because I saw them as insignificant…It is very tiring…Almost torturous…”

Janus: “Does that…Make any sense to you? Apologies if it does not, dear Omni. I am still rather new to expressing myself…”

[floralscented]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ˗ˏˋ 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟔𝟕.ᐟ ˎˊ˗

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ───── SEASON ONE, ───── ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ───────── PART THREE ─────────

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summary. phi kappa psi throws a party to honor the first cardinal win of the season, and the past sneaks up with a phone call.

ㅤword count ! ㅤㅤ 3.8k ㅤㅤ content warnings ! ㅤㅤ john winchester hate. alcohol mentions. pining? taylor king! sam! ㅤㅤ track the season !

starting quarterback; two words that dean hadn't expected to hear in the starts of his freshman year. but suddenly, there he was, sat on one of the locker room benches, as coach greene gripped him by the faceguard of his helmet and shouted them in his face.

along with a few less nice words. idiot, he'd exclaimed, though without the biting, flippant tones that usually came along with his father's insults, i give you a play, you do the play! that's how football works! teamwork!

dean wasn't used to being on a team. he wasn't used to being anything besides a lone wolf, scampering through the woods to kill the bad guys with nothing but a blade for company.

he'd work on it.

"you have to trust me, too!" he'd said back to the coach, and had to resist the urge to physically wince when he did. standing his ground was engrained in who he was; even when john winchester tried to beat it out of him, it still rang true.

coach greene, though, simply stood toe to toe with dean, towering over him only now in this instance where dean was sat down and bent over himself. "alright, kid." his palm was heavy when it patted dean's shoulder. "you and i are going t'have to get t'know each other real quick this season."

and that was it. there was no scolding for speaking out of line, and certainly no other disappointment than what dean caused by stepping out of the team's trust and calling his own shots. this was how teams were supposed to work, he realized; not one person dictating everything, but a perfect harmony.

huh.

taylor king was less humble about the winnings. dean had barely pulled a pair of sweatpants on before he was being dragged by a larger hand toward the locker room's door. "whoa, whoa, wh─"

"frat party," he says in answer, giving dean a good shake by the grip on his bare shoulder, "in your honor."

dean snags his hoodie out of his locker with a strangled noise, too far away to get to shut it. at least he'd left his dagger at home, after weighing the options a couple of times. how would he explain a knife in his locker to people whose biggest concerns were if the moon landing was faked?

"i didn't ask the frat to do that."

taylor snorts, ruffling up dean's hair with his fingers. "so, you save the game, steal a w for the team, and you expect to go back to your room and, what, mope? sleep?"

dean's shoulders lift in a shrug. "why is that unreasonable?"

"i'm so damn excited to corrupt you."

truthfully, dean didn't need corrupting. his head was already a little messed up from all of the shit he'd seen at his ripe age of too young, and not to mention that parties after games weren't exactly a new concept to him, either. once he buckled down and got serious about wanting to get out of kansas, he stopped fussing over invites and started to actually study.

he liked it a lot that the image he presented so far at stanford was nothing like how he used to be, and what he would have become. dean must have been doing something right, even if it meant letting his friend think he was introducing him to the more fun sides of college.

"is this the frat that you've been kissing the ass of since the bonfire?" dean asks, conceding to taylor's physical pushing. he breaks free from his grip enough to slide the hoodie over his shoulders.

taylor's answering cackle is confirmation enough, but he never misses a chance to run his mouth. "yes, bro. phi kappa psi." he circles around dean to pat his hands down on his shoulders. "i'd kiss 'em all on the mouth if they asked."

"i'm sure they wouldn't."

"cameron wyatt's in there, you know?" taylor hums, his fingers drumming on the sliver of skin peeking free from dean's hoodie. "m'sure he'd love someone to kiss him better after his accident."

dean balks for a second, and then squeezes his lips shut. too many things to unpack at once. "i'm sure," he repeats, picking one of the slew of comments to address, "he's gonna have a couple of cheerleaders licking his wounds for him. and that you don't have to kiss them to get selected? taylor."

taylor laughs aloud. "yeah. sorry. had a little wine 'fore i snuck back in here to get your ass."

dean can't help his laughter, either. it's so ridiculous of a conversation that he almost relaxes into it. but something else nags at him. "you think wyatt's gonna be out of the hospital tonight?"

taylor gives dean a last slap on the shoulder before moving to walk beside him. they pass officials and crew and lingering teammates as they walk, all of them offering dean grins, or passing comments. he was a little overwhelmed by the prospect of his sudden popularity, but it was made easier by taylor there, practically basking in it all.

"if he does," taylor answers finally, words drawling slowly out of his mouth, "i don't think he's gonna be anything but bedridden for a while. why?"

dean chews on his inner lip, pushing the stadium's back door open and holding it for taylor, who slips out with a duck of his head to avoid knocking his skull into the frame. "no reason," he mumbles, the blast of fall wind whistling in his ears, "just hope he won't be pissed i've taken his spot on the team."

"wyatt's a junior with middle-of-the-line stats," taylor huffs, crooking a smile at a scantily clad girl passing by. dean blinks a couple of times when he realizes he'd been staring, too, as she circled around them and walked ahead of them. christ. "i doubt he's gonna be pissed that the next generation of cardinal players is in good hands, or that you won us a game tonight."

dean didn't think of it like that. he was often finding himself doing that; assuming that his successes would be downplayed, or made into unnecessary competition. he grits his teeth together. but nods, because taylor wasn't wrong. when was he ever wrong when it came to the inner workings of frat boys' minds?

"hey, wait!" a familiar voice calls from behind the both of them, and dean finds himself drawn into the sound of it, turning to meet the eyes he knew he'd find. you, chasing behind them in heels too tall to logically run as quick as you were, a skin-tight long sleeve cherry red dress draped over your frame. you were so damn gorgeous. "oh, hi," you stumble out, spinning on the thin balance of your heel to face them as you pass by.

"hey, cherry," dean traces his eyes down your outfit and back up, a flicker of a smile on his mouth, "you changed quickly."

you give him a look that could only be described as dumbfounded. "it's the first official frat party of the season. i'm not missing it because i'm caught in a locker room." your heels echo on the sidewalk as you walk backwards, sparing a glance over your shoulder. "i'm guessing i'll see you there?"

dean grins this time, giving into it. "yeah. we'll be there."

"cool." you turn again, facing forward as you break into a little jog, fixing the strap of your heel in hobbling steps. "wait, kristen─"

taylor's hand slaps hard into dean's ribs, forcing a scoff out of his mouth. "who the hell was that?"

dean's smile softens. it's one thing to have you to himself, it's another for his friends to learn about you.

"a friend."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────

the party must have started during the last quarter of the game, because it was already in full swing once taylor pushed open the doors. the thick smell of hot sweat and alcohol wafted out the space, music shaking the doorframe and rattling the open windows.

he clears his throat, raising a hand in gesture to the crowded space. "ladies first."

dean elbows taylor in the stomach as he passes. "shut the hell up."

taylor's shoulders lift in a shrug, one hand coming up to rub the spot between his ribs where dean had dug in. "you're right. that's my bad."

dean gets only a couple of steps in before taylor bends and launches, rearing his head in between dean's legs, his hands going to his shins as he lifts him into the air. dean's hands flail before they grasp into the thick black strands of taylor's hair, his surprised laugh loud in comparison to the grunge on the speakers.

"ladies and gentleman," taylor announces, steady on his feet even with a full-grown guy on his shoulders, "your new fucking quarterback's arrived!"

dean yanks hard on taylor's hair. "shut the hell─"

"someone pour this shithead a drink!" taylor interrupts, his grin widening on his mouth. he'd grown up in a house of six; the oldest of four kids, all of his younger siblings below double digits. taylor king was more than a little used to showboating and acting out so long as it brought a smile to everyone else's faces.

dean, he could tell, was grinning. he acted nonchalant, closed off, but taylor knew an older sibling who wasn't used to the attention when he saw one. if there was one thing dean winchester wouldn't be with taylor around, that was looked over.

slowly, taylor lowers him to the floor, anticipating the punch to the shoulder before it comes. "what we're not gonna do," he says with a stern expression, arms firmly crossing over his chest to punctuate his serious tone, "is act like you're just some dude at a frat party."

dean blinks at him. they're only a couple of inches off from being the same height, but taylor uses those couple inches in his favor now. "i played for one minute of one game."

"and now you're gonna be playing every minute of every game," taylor answers, turning at the tap that comes to his shoulder. he flashes a dazzling grin at the girl and the cups she holds out ─ cropped cardinal red jersey, the stanford logo emblazed on her breast, a white skirt... kristen, dean's friend had called her. he couldn't wait to hear kristen's voice. "bottoms up, winchester. welcome to the hall of fame."

taylor grabs both cups from her, purposeful when his fingers brush against kristen's, and lifts them out of her grip, extending one of them to dean. "here's to the new backbone of the team," taylor hums before he takes a long drink, barely wincing at the burn in his throat. smells like rubbing alcohol, tastes like it, too. "don't fuck it up."

dean tentatively raises the cup to his mouth, and it's enough to make taylor grin. he's like a little southern puppy playing where he shouldn't. taylor wants to take him everywhere and see what he gets up to.

kristen's fingers curl around taylor's bicep, and he's afraid to leave dean, but the thought of not taking advantage of his given opportunities makes his stomach feel knotted up. "will you show me which room is yours?" she asks, her dark eyelashes fluttering up at him.

taylor could have bust right there.

"oh, i don't have a room here yet, honey," he drawls, his hand moving to trace his fingertips over her cheekbone, "but we can go test out all the beds. y'know, so i know which one i want when i do move in. how about that?"

dean audibly groans behind him. it's not taylor's fault that girls fall at his feet. who would he be to turn them away from what they want?

"go run off n' find your pretty little friend," taylor says, reaching up to pinch dean's cheek between his fingers, "cherry, right? go hang out with her and leave big daddy king to handle all your lovely new fans. as a favor for winning for us, yeah?"

dean doesn't blink, doesn't smile. his lips somehow flatten even more. taylor grins. "as a favor."

"you're welcome, by the way," taylor adds, letting himself be dragged through the sea of sticky people toward the staircase, "and tell cherry her friend's in great hands!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────

maybe there was another frat party that night, and that's where you'd run off to. this may have been the biggest one, but maybe you didn't fuck with crowds either, like he didn't; picked one of the smaller houses blaring music and snuck inside.

dean was considering it.

every step he took, someone said something to him about the game, about his save, or tried to drag him away upstairs like kristen had with taylor. as appealing as the idea was, he was curious about where you'd gone, and wasn't about to give into his desires on the very first celebratory frat party.

you were always so easy to find.

you had this light about you that dean had yet to find in another person on campus. you, somehow, were always where the laughter came from, or just so happened to be the source of it.

and there you were, in the center of the expansive living space of phi kappa psi, like a red beacon.

it wasn't as graceful as taylor had been, shoving past the clustered student body to get to where he wanted. taylor was a big, tall guy, and people seemed to dip out of his way the moment they saw his head over of the crowd. dean was tall, too, but he didn't carry the same over-the-top attitude. there could only be one taylor king, after all.

he's two steps away from you when his pocket starts buzzing. dean's eyebrows furrow. all of the people he keeps in contact are here. he knows; has already spoken to them, and their friends, and their friends' friends. unless it's─

dread pools in his lower stomach. he's in the eye of the storm, about to drop out of it and back into the chaos, as the crowd shifts and squeezes around him. any moment, he'll get swept away from you. any moment, his phone will stop ringing.

he manages to pull it out without it being knocked out of his fingers, flipping it open to read the caller id. even more dread fills him. sammy.

"sam?" he asks once he presses the green answer button, though even he can barely hear his voice with the buzz of laughter and chatter, and the music blaring through the speakers pressed straight ahead against the wall. "sammy?"

impatience and frustration flutter through his stomach. he can't hear shit on the other side of the line. he clicks the volume button up as high as he can, and still nothing.

dean's eyes catch on yours, and his heart pangs at the beginnings of concern etched into your expression. "hang on, sammy, let me get outside─"

he turns his back to you. it's even harder now to get out of the house with how full it'd gotten since dean and taylor showed up, the rest of the football team and cheer team and whoever else having made their way over.

breaking out of the crowd and finding the front door is a breath of fresh air all of in itself. finally, he can hear something on the other side of the line.

"are you at a party?" sammy's voice still sounds weak. the cell reception was the problem this time, not the overstimulation of sounds. dean takes a couple of steps down the sidewalk leading up to the house, in the direction of the mailbox planted by the winding road. "sorry, you can go back, i'll─"

"shut up, sammy," dean says without any malice behind it. "i haven't talked to you in a week. you're not interruptin' anything."

"i just wanted to know how it was going."

dean smiles a little despite himself. he wishes more than anything that he could drive the twenty seven hours back home and bring him back with him, even if sam was still just a sophomore in high school.

"there was a football game today," dean says, resting his elbow on the bricked in mailbox, "and, uh, we were losing. not by a lot, but it was tense. the quarterback, his name's cameron wyatt, he... he got injured, and i─"

sammy's line cuts in again. "─what was that? i don't think dad paid the phone bill again, i think my minutes are about─"

the line goes dead. in his ear instead of sam's voice is the incessant beep of a dropped call.

dean tries to ignore the pang in his chest. he doesn't move the phone from his ear yet, as if his sheer will could force the call to go through again. "i won, sammy. i got put in and i won it for us."

us. for the team. for himself. for sam. even if sam wasn't capable of being there.

dean sighs, scrubbing one hand over his face as the other shoves his phone back into the pocket of his sweatpants.

"the connection's really shitty out here."

dean blinks in surprise, glancing over his shoulder to find you there. the moon highlights the vibrant red of your dress, and the jewelry around your neck. his eyes trace over you in your entirety, his bad mood slipping away like water through his fingertips.

"sorry, didn't mean to..." you trail off, your arms wrapping around your chest, fingertips tapping along your inner elbows. "interrupt. i just wanted to see if... if you were okay. you looked a little─"

"i'm good," dean cuts you off, forcing an easy smile onto his mouth. "just... my brother called, is all. call dropped."

you look like you don't believe him, and your lingering silence only adds onto that theory. dean doesn't know if he hates you for it, or wants you to stick around.

"like i said," you say finally on a short, dramatic sigh, "this area's got the worst cell connection. i guess that's why every room, basically, in alpha phi─"

"no way," dean interjects again, this time with a laugh. "you joined a sorority?"

to your credit, it takes you a few seconds to blush. under the pale moonlight and the golden streetlight, you look the same color as your dress. his smile widens. "i just wanna know the whole college experience, you know?"

"hm." dean shoves both hands in the deep middle pocket of his hoodie. "i figured frat parties, microwave dinners, and failing exams was the college experience. not that i'm judging, of course."

you laugh then, too. "sounds a little like you are," you hum, and then your face twists up in some sort of recognition, eyes glimmering, "i told you i was rushing sororities! why do you sound so surprised? think i wouldn't get in?"

dean rolls his eyes, his expression warm, his heart feeling lighter already. "no. i figured you'd get in."

"oh, so you just forgot?" you tsk, starting to walk the sidewalk up to him. "fame's already gotten to your head."

"fame─" dean gives you the same flat look he'd given taylor earlier. "there's no fame. and i didn't forget. don't be ridiculous. i can't forget anything about you."

again, the silence afterwards feels heavy, this time with something other than disbelief. then, you nod toward the street behind him. "hopefully you aren't too distracted with college popularity to walk me home?"

dean watches you for a few seconds. the wind tossles your bouncy hair, gloss glitters on your mouth, your heels tap against your arm. he hadn't even realized you weren't wearing them. maybe he should have. you were back to being a good bit shorter than him.

"sure," dean concedes, reaching out to steal the heels out of your hand by their straps, "after you, cherry red."

you scoff, but don't say anything back for a while. the silence isn't awkward, at least to dean. it feels peaceful, almost. the wind whistles through the scattering leaves, making your hair flutter behind you as you walk, and you look utterly enchanting because of it.

"it's just a couple of houses down," you say eventually, lifting a red-nailed finger to point at one of the big buildings.

dean nods. "thought there'd be pink bows all around it. or flowers. both."

"don't be ridiculous," your eyes roll, the corners of your mouth tilting up when your gaze is back on him, "they're inside."

dean lifts his hands in surrender, your heels bouncing off of his forearms. "rookie mistake."

your laugh is like music to his ears. he can't take his eyes off of you. it's only when you slow to a stop that he realizes you've reached your destination. the prickling on his skin from your gaze is almost enough to make him flush.

"thank you, 67," you say with noticeable sincerity. "i know it probably took time out of your busy schedule to fit walking me home in, but─"

"please," dean shakes his head, holding his hand up to stop you, "don't bring it up. i swear to god. taylor's already gotten it in his head i'm some campus celebrity now."

your fingers close around his as you take your shoes from his hand. "just don't forget about me when everyone else starts to realize you're a pretty cool guy, okay?"

dean shakes his head, his smile soft and molten, and somehow a little sad, too. that you could think you were so easy to forget was a joke in of itself. "promise i won't." he nods toward the building behind you. "get some sleep. it's late."

you start down the sidewalk, and dean's seconds from taking a step back to walk back to his dorm building when you speak again. "goodnight, 67. you were great tonight."

dean had endured a lot of flattery that night. none of it felt on the same level as those few simple words you'd said to him did. didn't even come close. "goodnight, cherry," he calls back to you, and doesn't look back again, because he doesn't think he'd leave if he did, and that was a dangerous thought.

always such dangerous, ridiculous thoughts when it came to you.

the walk back to his dorm room is quiet. the wind doesn't sound the same when it's not whistling through your hair, flipping the strands around your face.

he should call taylor, make sure he was alright, even if dean knew in his heart that he was doing as he promised and making sure all of the girls looking to celebrate that night were getting taken care of. he should message sam, see if everything was alright.

and he will. but for some reason, he's drawn to the boxy computer monitor on one end of his and taylor's shared room. he wiggles the mouse to pull it out of sleep mode, and realizes why he felt the need to look.

tens of hundreds of friend requests to his aol account, probably because of the win he'd secured. and right at the very top, the newest one, was cherrypie.

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FLORALSCENTED © i do NOT give permission for my work or ideas to be used, rewritten, or reposted!

[birdiebirdjay]

angsty little thing- thanks @percyweasleyapologist (og post here but maybe read that after this for maximum impact)

She was there, and then she wasn't.

That morning, Percy had woken up and thought, where's Penny?

He hadn't seen her since the night before last, when they'd patrolled together. They'd spoken, then, about Slytherin's heir and monster being on the loose. Penny thought it was targeting muggleborns. Percy had told her she was being paranoid. He was trying to reassure her, but truthfully, he couldn't be sure—what else did Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Hermione Granger have in common?

He'd gotten out of bed, thinking that he would stop by the Transfiguration classroom to see if she was there. She was McGonagall's favorite; no doubt the professor would let her use the room, even on a Saturday.

It was a nice day, though. Sunny, and the flowers by the Great Lake were just starting to bloom. Maybe she was there.

He stepped out of his dorm and started down to the common room's exit, intending to pick a few for her. Maybe she'll make a flower crown, he thought to himself, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the thought.

The moment he walked outside, though, he found himself face-to-face with a pale, shaking Ginny. Her eyes were wide and watery, and she flinched at the sight of him. What—?

"Percy," she nearly sobs, her face draining of the little color it had left. "Penelope... Penelope Clearwater, she's..."

"Oh? You've seen her around, have you?" he asks, confused but more concerned about his sister's current state than about wherever Penny might be at the moment. "It's alright, I'll find her later. What's wrong, did the twins—?"

"No!" Ginny cries, reaching out and grabbing the front of his jumper. "Percy, she's— the monster, it—"

No.

"What?" Percy's eyes go wide, and he shakes his head. Grabbing Ginny's wrists, he looks down at her, suddenly feeling nauseous. "Ginny, slow down. What happened?"

She just shakes her head, pressing her lips tight together and taking deep, shuddery breaths through her nose. "She's in the hospital wing," she says, reaching up to wipe her tears away. "I'm sorry, Percy. I'm so, so—"

Percy doesn't let her finish. Letting go of her, he sprints for the stairs, his heart starting to pound in his chest and tears already building in his eyes.

No, no, not Penny—

He's fairly certain he may have skipped at least four stairs at a time getting down to the hospital wing. Any other day, he would have sprained an ankle. He's fairly certain a professor had seen him, but he was too panicked to care now.

He throws the door of the infirmary open and freezes. On the bed closest to him—

A minute goes by, then another.

"Mister Weasley." Professor McGonagall stands up, her eyes red rimmed. Madam Pomfrey looks away from him, leaning down to brush a curl of hair from the motionless girl's forehead.

"No," he finds himself saying, slowly shaking his head. "No, no, no. Professor, she's not... petrified?" he asks, his fingers shaking.

"I'm sorry, Percy." Pomfrey shakes her head, wringing her hands out. "We found her last night. She's... she's gone, my dear. Gone."

uhh yeah i lowkey don't know how to end this sorry 😭😭 i got a bit carried away- also for the sake of this i'm saying hermione got petrified separately/earlier

also if anyone actually wants to write this as a full fic pls do!! i just couldnt get this out of my head djskhfskdhj

THIS AINT PROOFREAD BTW DONT CRUCIFY ME

[affableramen]

for the “🌌” user

fem reader x tartaglia, elements of black humour and angst

i’m sorry that you had to wait over a month, but the result is worth it

***

‘…couldn't have just gone, it…’ Pulcinella’s words, barely whispers, are interrupted by the other Harbinger.

‘Tartaglia. He’s always been reckless. Let the boy play, he for sure will make out alive. Unlike Captain, though…’ he chuckles darkly, extending his hand in a dismissive, almost degrading way. There is no deep concern or sorrow heard in his voice, unlike it should be for someone who lost not only one, but two of his comrades.

‘If that was an attempted joke then you better shut it, Regrator’, the other, feminine but deep and penetrating voice is heard from the gloomy corner of the room, however it becomes much closer as she continues speaking. ‘We’ve had enough of your predictions for now.’

A girl with shoulder length ashy hair and a crown seated on a huge robot’s hand looks most unimpressed by the occurred problem.

‘It is his fault he didn't watch the ginger in time. He was trusted the boy and lost him in process. I still don't understand how She could make you the Ninth.’ Her deep azure eyes are cold, herself reminding a mechanical creature.

‘Oh, please, Marionette, I was just trying to encourage you all to work. If we are all tensed up we won’t ever see the end of our duties. Besides–’

Upon eyeing you enter the room, however, he abruptly stops.

‘Ah. We have a little eavesdropper right here.’

Professionally ignoring the most unlikeable Harbinger you step to Pulcinella and lean to him.

‘Where’s Tartaglia? I haven't got a single letter since he arrived in Natlan.’

Pulcinella’s face, dimly lit, remains stoic, but a slight layer of sadness is persistent in his amber eyes.

‘He is MIA. For now. But we are actively seeking contact with him.’ He knows exactly how worried you find yourself so, as if to encourage he adds in a less formal, much softer tone: ‘You shall not worry, for we’re doing everything possible. And he is a good warrior, don't you forget that.’

‘A good warrior who also attracts troubles and takes unnecessary risks’, the Regrator, still not having enough fill of his absurd jokes, pours himself more of red wine and gulps it quietly. His words only make you more agitated but you are not yet ready to give up on the ginger, and apparently, endure his disrespectful jokes.

‘He is your friend, why would you talk about him this way?’ You encounter him, your words leave no room for doubt. Feeling how assertive and close for any negative suggestions you are, the Regrator himself prepares to bite back with words.

‘Smart, are we?’ He looks around at everyone, and all remaining Harbingers (except for Pierro who is not there) stare at him, expecting a candid answer.

‘Now when they all stare daggers at you, you have no choice but to answer truthfully’, you say, your eyes unusually cold, as if you are speaking not the finances minister but some kind of rat or a mole.

Pantalone takes in all the predatory gazes aimed rightfully upon him and finally looks down at you. Even his tall height is of no use right now when he is cornered by not a “mere little girl” but a whole team of strong, deadly Harbingers.

‘Indeed he is, but I do not possess information where he could currently be. I never signed up for babysitting, you know. If the oh-so-might Tartaglia could not save himself a trouble, there is no use for me to even interfere’, he turns away, putting the half empty glass on the desk. He adjusts his long mantle abruptly and prepares to leave, certainly uncomfortable under the penetrating gazes of his Harbingers. ‘He will be found, that is if he’s alive, of course.’

‘One day, I’ll have your tongue on a spike’, you say right into his mouth. This harbinger is not used to receiving threats from those below him so he looks severely insulted. Arlecchino’s gaze shifts to one of respect, and Pulcinella giggles under his moustache.

After enduring a moment of pure embarrassment Pantalone laughs obscenely, leaving the headquarters to go about his business.

And once he leaves, you pull your hand into your pocket and take a tiny trinket Tartaglia left to you – something small, but precious to his heart, that he allowed himself gifting only to you. A charm bracelet with “healing stones” that were supposed to keep your body and mind in check.

this is the end of part 1. this fic will consist of several parts.

[please-read-the-manga]

Was thinking about an 'alternate universe' where a young Sasuke, in the absence of guidance on how to carry out his clan traditions, tries to connect to his fractured identity by spending time in the Naka Shrine and accidentally summons the ghost/spirit of Izuna who hears his cries of injustice and grief from the other side.

Truthfully, I don't know why it would be Izuna in particular, but I'm kind of playing around with the idea that his death was viewed as so unjustifiable and horrific by Madara that Madara's devastation over it prevented Izuna's spirit from properly/completely passing over into the Pure Lands. So, Izuna's spirit remains in this unaware-but-restless state and one day it materializes to answer the call of another Uchiha (who also just so happens to be an Indra transmigrant, like Madara, if we want to go there... maybe their emotions carry extra weight and power within the spiritual world) now trying to process his own unimaginable grief, this time over the death of his entire family, bloodline, and culture. Thus they become bound to one another (for better or worse) and Izuna is, from then on, always there, carried by (and only visible to) Sasuke on his journey...

Maybe they both come to believe that if they get justice for the clan (which they initially believe is by killing Itachi, 'the kinslayer') then Izuna will finally be freed and Sasuke will have done right by his family and avenged them. But really, I think what would actually be keeping Izuna 'stuck' is the plan that evolved (at least partially) from Madara's grief over his death, Project Tsukuyomi... thus their quest expands and the two then need to figure out how to alleviate Madara's guilt/sense of loss over Izuna's death and rekindle his feelings of hope in the world once more (ie. stopping the plan). Somehow, lol.

And I think Izuna would be a fun character to do with this with because there's so little we truly know about him, but so much we can infer due to his impact on other characters' actions/story events.

Idk, in my opinion there's just a lot of opportunity here for a good mix of heart and comedy, especially with Izuna as a more defined character that has a little more freedom than other characters to be molded. I also think having someone Sasuke can connect to, that's from his clan (but is also still deceased and a reminder of how alone he is, ie. end of the day Izuna is still a ghost, an ancestral relic of the now-dying clan) would have a profound effect on him.

It'd almost be like his own inner Kurama voice except Izuna provides no chakra or power amps, only scathing commentary on how much he hates the injustices of the village (and its Senju leadership) lol. Also, I like to think his reactions to all the in-universe stories about 'Madara's deeds' (which is really Obito) would be entertaining.

A sketchy comic since I like the idea so much haha:

[the-thread-of-muses]

Sometimes, it’s the simpler things that gained the Monkey’s attention. Let it be her invitation – which the Monkey King was going to accept after pretending to give it some thought later in the day – or of how a simple chime caught his attention. His ears almost wiggled, but he suppressed it; not wanting to give himself away just yet. As it seems, currently, he was either just a Monkey with no wares or a rather hairy, and abit short, Human with an affinity for brightly colour glass. It’s blue, greens, teals, and purples sparked up memories (some that Sun wondered were necessary to remember); of a time that seemed far more simple.

Of a time where he didn’t need to think of being an annoyance for annoyance sake; of a time where he had some sort of purpose. Yes, as the memories of his pilgrimage came flooding back, he didn’t notice the Witch. In fact he seemed to have forgotten her, at least for the moment.

Scattered about in the colour refractions were idle thoughts and wonders, joys and anger and hate and peace and longing, all before him. It seemed like an idle movement, but he went to reach, hesitantly it seems, at something that wasn’t there. Something only his eyes, as bright and golden as they were, could see. Sun only paused once her head the sound of coin hitting the booth.

That’s what broke him out of his trance.

Blinking a few times and shaking his head to recompose himself, Sun looked over at Mortem and pretended to gawk at her generosity. While, honestly, he was grateful and touched by such selfless actions, he couldn’t help but to wonder what she got out of it. An amused titter left his lips then, going to smile at the merchant who examined the coin with such focus.

It was true, he was without money. Well, not really; he could afford himself a simple chime such as this, if he had simply remembered to bring the correct tinder. But for the moment and the moment alone, he was in her debt.

Which. . .

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎. . . Truthfully, felt like something he should be more worried about. Being indebted to a Witch was far too dangerous – too reckless, some might say. But he couldn’t see any harm in it. He’ll steal something for her later on, he decided, going to gently take the wind chime as it was handed to him.

❝Thank you, Grandma.❞ He said to the stall’s owner, who seemed to smile at how ‘respectful’ he was to his ‘elder’. It was the small things like this that made Humans so. . . Entertaining. So unique. Respect for one’s elders was something he’ll use for the ‘younger’ Gods and Deities about then.

He was a few thousand or so years older than most.

As he gently, carefully, handled the chime, he went to carefully slip it away into his robe. Clearly, there was a hidden pocket or two (or three, or four, perhaps even more) that he was using. It helped, certainly, that he wasn’t dressed as one would see the Monkey King to be dressed up as.

Going to catch up to her, another titter leaving his lips to get her attention as if she was a Monkey herself, he went to lightly elbow Mortem in the rib.

❝You didn’t need to do that, you know.❞ He said once they were walking side-by-side again. He wanted to thank her, but of course, his ego made it far too difficult to so something so. . . Simple. ��If it wasn’t an elder manning that booth, I would’ve gotten it one way or another.❞

Old habits died hard, and they died harder with Sun.

❝You’re far too kind, you know, for a Witch.❞ He meant no ill intent with that statement, and he was sure at this point the other would understand what he meant.

Mortem laughed lightly at the thought of his boredom leading him to harass the Heavens. She'd love to be a fly on the wall for that. Upsetting deities was a respectable hobby, in her opinion. Though, given his reputation, she was sure it would cause quite the stir.

"But I see your meaning. I've had plenty come to my home demanding the same. Or not even having the courtesy to ask - sometimes they go straight for the jugular under their own assumptions." Mortem lamented playfully. She wasn't really that bothered, it kept life semi-interesting. At least, when someone worth the interest came along. But even when it wasn't someone of interest, at least the corpses could make for good fertilizer for her gardens.

Despite the audacity the deities had, she supposed it was nice they recognized his power enough to talk first instead of trying to attack. Showed a bit of wisdom on their behalf, also meant his mountain wasn't constantly getting banged up or worse. Unlike her cabin. The enchantments she had to place upon it to cease fixing it constantly was a bit ridiculous - if not a bit sad.

His opinion of the festival was one she was amused by. It was rather quaint they upheld such a tradition, especially in an age where harvests weren't a thing mortals struggled with any longer. Still, appreciating the trials of the past was something that would always garner her respect. The importance of history, the value and relevancy it had - setting a foundation for the present, as the present set a foundation for the future... it was all of value. She worked hard to ensure history would not be forgotten, regardless of where in the world it could happen.

"If you'd like to attend a festival that celebrates a great battle that was overcome, I certainly know of a place back home. You ought to come visit at the end of spring." She invited. The capital city and high kingdom that unified all the others often held a celebration. A remembrance. It was a bittersweet event, but it possessed a reminder of their history - the value of keeping that knowledge alive was important beyond words. And hearing people speak so fondly, so admirably of the people she knew so longer ago still... It was always worth attending for that alone.

As they walked, she observed the passing people - the happy children, smelled the various foods in the air. All before she noticed his hand signaling her to pause. Curiously, the witch followed - wondering just what caught his eye.

How unexpected... an appreciation for stained glass? He'd really like the festival in her capital, then. Those from the neighboring desert always brought with them sand-blown glass. Wind chimes, vases, art of all kinds with such beautiful craftsmanship.

The chime of it was pretty, no wonder he was drawn to it. Mortem observed the way it swayed, the hum of its chimes, the way the light caught the glass.

"This would look nice upon a mountain, I'd think." She took her chin between her fingers after a moment, "I can imagine the sunlight catching the glass - the breeze making pleasant music." She considered aloud, totally encouraging and enabling him without an ounce of shame. To see such wonder and appreciation from Wukong, well, how could she not suggest such when it clearly made him so happy to see and hear?

From her pouch, she pulled out a coin that would suffice in its payment. It idly rolled across the back of her knuckles before she set it down on the counter before Wukong as a gift - unsure if her new friend had the currency for this country or not. Not wanting him to feel put on the spot to buy it or not, or possibly regarding whether he had the currency or not, the witch walked away to let him decide what he wanted to do. She opted to meander down the tables, admiring the glasswork as she flicked a bell from another wind chime along the way.

Money meant nothing to someone as old as she. What was priceless was seeing the little joys that adorned another's face. Especially the face of someone whose company she was enjoying.

[fanflames]

"S - Sorry! Didn't mean to stare..." (Awkward Kiana noises as she meets a Fox Girl)

AN EXPECTED LETTER, for @stalwartembers .

        another day,  another planet.  she swore that these long travels would never stop being exhausting.  something about traveling via starskiff seemed to sap all the life out of her.  tingyun wondered if perhaps another means of transportation,  like a train or a ship,  would be more pleasant.  her fan flipped open just in time to conceal another yawn as she walked along the roads of this new world.  goodness,  she was tired today.  thankfully the matters of trade and commerce had already been dealt with in the morning.  now,  her priority was finding some place with proper tea.

        phone in hand,  tingyun scrolled through the applications in an attempt to look up nearby shops.  it was just her luck that her device wasn't yet synced to this world's broadband.  ugh.  another thing to deal with.  she looked up from her phone with a soft sigh,  looking onward to the buildings ahead.  just to the side,  she caught the gaze of a girl who quickly scrambled to apologize.

        "  s-sorry!  didn't mean to stare  …  "  she said,  evidently ashamed of being caught in the act of gawking.  tingyun was more than used to the stares-  most places she visited had never even heard of foxians.  it was the frantic,  awkward response that caught her attention.  how cute.

        "  please,  don't apologize.  it's no bother.  "  she gave her a smile in an attempt to soothe the girl's worries.  "  actually  …  while i have you here,  do you mind if i ask you a question?  —oh!  my apologies,  i haven't even introduced myself and i've already tried asking something of you.  my name is tingyun.  and your's?  "  she bowed her head in greeting.  names first,  tea shop later.

[trafficjamupthere]

+ Capt. Duke Wagner's Daughter

[hwaslayer]

a new year means aries season will be coming yet again …

[starlit-eudemonia]

Question to my black gamers/writers, what hairstyle do you envision your self-insert or your MC wearing when going on these long-ass journeys and quests with their hair? What protective styles are y’all using? What type? Locs? Braids? Crochet? Cornrows? Mini-twists?? How do you story-wise work in the maintenance? Are they wearing a scarf/headwrap? How’s they get said headscarf? Do they wear their world’s equivalent to a bonnet? How are doing their wash-days; where do they do it? What products are they using and where do I get them?

[housederiva]

You should be embarrassed of that nail polish post

Do you care enough to elaborate or do you just want to be angry for no reason?

[paigemathews]

Something that I feel a lot of fans forget when they get angry at Phoebe for refusing to help Cole in the Wasteland is that he's not just asking her to save him. Despite saying that the Source is gone, he very intentionally still asks her to be evil. That's not me being dramatic or anything either because that's very explicitly canon. Phoebe, even as a Charmed One, doesn't have the power to resurrect Cole. As a good witch, she just physically (magically?) can't; it's not something within her abilities. (Obviously, otherwise, she and Piper would've resurrected Prue.)

The only method that Cole gives her to save him is the Grimoire. Y'know, the book that requires you to be evil to even touch it, much less use it. That's not something that you can trick; she would have to become evil again to even use it. He knows that, even acknowledges it to Phoebe in the Wasteland. She literally tells him that she won't use dark magic again, acknowledging it as evil. Cole isn't like oh, forgot about that! No, he asks her if she wouldn't use it "even for us." He knows what that would entail and what that would require Phoebe to do.

That isn't even getting into what the spell itself would require. This part, admittedly, is speculation but with the Grimoire being the Grimoire and resurrection like that being so rare and difficult, I have a hard time believing that the spell or ritual wouldn't have involved killing innocents. (Personal headcanon is that the spell calls for at least one heart personally. We see with Tuatha in That Old Black Magic that she uses a human heart to disempower witches. Something much worse would logically be required for a resurrection spell.) Just asking Phoebe even retrieve the Grimoire, much less use it, is bad.

As for later, she is still planning on giving up her powers, so it's not as if she'll be able to discover some other method to save him. She won't be Charmed anymore. And while, yes, the Angel of Destiny gives them some time to make this decision, there's still a time limit on how long they can take this option. Maybe with more time, Phoebe would have been able to figure out a way to save him without the Grimoire. However, it'd have required her to stay chained to a destiny that she no longer wanted and give up the future that she, and Piper, wanted: one free of magic, pain, loss, etc. So, yeah, she simply doesn't have the time, resources, or ability to save him without the Grimoire (which still isn't an option anyways). And by the time that she and Piper decide that they want to remain as witches, Cole has already freed himself, so it's a moot point anyways.

I mean, genuinely, in this situation, what did people want Phoebe to do? She didn't refuse to save Cole; she literally could not save him from the Wasteland. (And this is without delving into the argument about if Phoebe should save him or is obligated to save Cole anyways, which is a completely different question involving their relationship, choices, and morality.)

[kaoharu]

i honestly have a lot of thoughts abt ad.wd regarding casp.er but its very. personal. so im kind of embarrassed

[klanceyuri]

i need to get back into Danny Phantom

[medicinemane]

.

[quietlyblooms]

❛ do whatever you want with me, i'm yours. ❜ (any verse for ren 🫣)

smut sentence starters | @halloweenhost makes chiyo shy <3

it's funny how mere words inspire such shyness from a woman previously so bold as to seat herself in the host's lap and assault his neck with kisses. she gazes down at ren, admiring how messy his hair has become ( of course she pulled at it, but she was gentle ), the flush of color upon his cheeks, the bruise just at the crook of his neck. even his tie is in disarray, messily loosened just like his shirt was hastily unbuttoned; obviously chiyo hadn't any problem getting this far without any direction.

but she's never had to go any farther than this. that's the problem.

perhaps he already knows. ren is smart, observant -- surely he remembers that chiyo hasn't dated much. but it also couldn't be assumed that a lack of interested parties equated to a lack of experience... she's revealing her cards now, though, isn't she? her hesitation despite how eager she'd previously been, the apprehension in her chocolate-colored eyes. she's nervous. she doesn't want to mess this up.

chiyo trails a hand down ren's chest, fingertips light and slow as they ghost along bare skin until she reaches his belt buckle. the metal is surprisingly warm, and the blonde meets her lover's eyes again. " will you show me? " she asks, leaning in to press her lips to ren's. she softly sighs, greedily steals another kiss. " what you like? please? "