#you could have given them go on wings style patches

[mo-ok]

On page 184 of the Power Rangers Ultimate Visual History there is some early concept art for Scott's jacket and

I'm mad and sad and dissapointed that we didnt get jackets covered in patches.

Especially for Scott tho?? Like, he'd totally pick off the patches from his old air force uniform and sew them back onto his ranger jacket - it makes him feel special

[delulujuls]

the mad dutchman and the fearless dutchess | mv33

summary: one dutchman is a lot so now imagine putting two dutch teenagers in one team and tell them to not kill each other

warnings: car crash, some cussing, (they sometimes can't stay each other but at the end of the day its just them against the world)

pairing: fem!redbulldriver x max verstappen

Max and Y/N had known each other since the times when they still had scrapes on their knees and wobbly milk teeth. They met at a go-kart school - he had a helmet that was much too big for him, she wore a patched jumpsuit from her older brother. Both didn't know exactly what they were doing or what goal they were pursuing; the most important thing was to be the best - for the joy of their parents and an endless supply of sweets.

However, go-karts quickly turned into racing cars and minor races transformed into Formula 1.

All the way to the top, Max and Y/N's relationship was very dynamic. From exchanging candy together after winning the podium, through years of rivalry and mutual dislike. Despite countless arguments and mutual hatred, Y/N always sided with Max and defended him with her always smaller body. She might not like him and get angry with him to the point of turning red, but no one could tease him or raise their voice against him. This applied to both other kids in the paddock and adults, too.

Both Max, Y/N and certainly Jos Verstappen himself probably remember how after one of the collisions at the end of 2008, Max's father went into a pure rage. While young Verstappen could argue and quarrel with anyone, he lost that ability when his father intervened. Seeing tears on the flushed face of the boy, Y/N firmly clenched her fists and stood between the father and son. Jos's voice caught in his throat when the almost half his size eleven-year-old girl looked him in the eyes and said that she wouldn't allow him to shout at Max like that.

Y/N Y/L/N was fearless both on and off the track. And although Jos Verstappen never admitted it, he was impressed by both her skills and incredible courage.

After the years of intense relationship of Max and Y/N, the unbreakable friendship was born when they both joined Christian Horner's team at the age of eighteen. Red Bull had been following their actions for many years, looking forward to taking them under their wings after their promotion to Formula 1. There was no doubt here - Horner had to have these Dutch duo in his team.

The first victories began to come the moment both Y/N and Max realized that they no longer had to compete with each other. When it became clear that they were playing for one goal and that now it was two of them against nine other teams. There was no first or second driver at Red Bull. There was Y/N and Max, Max and Y/N. There were two crazy Dutch teens, who were focused only on the best possible results. Christian never showed favoritism to any of them, because he knew that by doing so he would waste all those difficult months trying to win them over.

The team's tactics were also amazing, because the race strategy was revealed only after the starting signal. There were no plans or schedules, no strict rules. Whoever had better speed and performance in a given race became the leader. This was not subject to any protest or discussion.

Y/N and Max had known each other practically their entire lives. They had been on the same team for over 6 years, and despite Christian's breakneck efforts, there were still days when there were tensions between the pair. Obviously, there is no good relationship without an argument from time to time, but when it came to a Dutch-style quarrel, few preferred to participate.

"Do you have to be so damn stubborn?"

The girl asked, taking off her helmet and balaclava.

"If I hadn't been stubborn, the fucking Haas would have overtaken us at turn eight."

He replied, unplugging his headphones. His tone was still calm, but there was a trace of irritation on his face.

"He would have overtaken us because we were giving him the tunnel, which wouldn't have happened if you had let me through."

Y/N growled. She had no intention of arguing, but the weekend had been hard and she was exhausted. Max's temperament was absolutely unhelpful in this situation.

"I didn't get an order to let you through."

Verstappen responded by wiping his face with a towel.

"You see me in the fucking mirror and you have to wait for an order? Stop talking nonsense, Max."

He sighed and tossed the towel aside.

"Or maybe you were worse than me, hm? Didn't it occur to you that maybe you just fucked up today?"

The girl clenched her jaw. She felt anger begin to rise within her.

"Out of the two of us, you're the one who fucked up today because you acted like a complete idiot!"

Max snorted and tilted his head back. The button that started the argument clicked into place.

"Do you have anything else to say?"

Y/N pressed her tongue against her teeth. She wanted to unleash hell, but she didn't have time for an idiotic argument and to waste her energy on him.

"Fuck you, Max."

The girl growled and grabbed her things, heading deeper into the garage. She didn't feel like being around him, at all.

She unzipped her jumpsuit and grabbed some water, sitting on an empty crate. The situation from the last race kept replaying in her mind, as did his words. Analyzing and cluttering her thoughts was not good, especially when another training session awaited them, and staying focused was crucial.

"I heard some Dutch swearing," Christian started, standing next to her, "Is everything okay?"

The girl just nodded.

"Max just needs to feel at home sometimes"

Christian squeezed her shoulder and patted her on the back.

"Another half an hour and you won't have to look at him for the rest of the day."

Y/N sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. Despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she was exhausted. The upcoming Grand Prix was making her sweat a lot.

After a while, she received the order that the car was ready and she could go out on the track. She prepared for the drive and took her place in the car. As she left the garage, she noticed Max, who was also getting ready to start. She showed him the middle finger, to which he, of course, did not remain in debt.

Y/N took her place at the starting line, gripping the steering wheel tightly and focusing on the starting lights. When they went out, she raced with screeching tires and sparks flying. The previous session and Max's words kept playing in her mind. What if he was right? What if she really messed up and was worse than him?

The girl cursed under her breath, aggressively tackling the turns. She wasn't worse than him, she wasn't worse than anyone. She had worked hard for her position and everything she had achieved was well-deserved.

"Max started, in a moment the pit lane will be clear of the last Alpha Tauri and we'll have a complete set. Don't rush, focus on management and dynamics,"

"Do you really think they called me the fearless Dutchess for no reason?"

"Just be careful, Y/N. It's just practice; you don't have to prove anything to anyone."

"I don't have to, but die verdomde idioot maakt me gek."

"I have no idea what you just said but please, focus on driving; everything else is not important."

The girl tightened her grip on the steering wheel and accelerated. Everything else was important because she wasn't worse than anyone. And she would prove it, even if she had to—

Darkness.

Y/N only remembered losing consciousness during the accident. She found out about falling off the track, somersaulting through the gravel and still hitting the metal barriers at 120 kilometers per hour only after the fact.

On the track, only one Red Bull car remained, but Max wasn't focused on driving; he was engrossed with the past argument he got with his friend. However, a voice from the radio snapped him back to reality.

"Y/N had an accident on turn eleven. Be careful on the surface in that area."

"What happened?"

"It's hard to say, but it didn't look good."

Max pressed harder on the gas, wanting to pass the accident site as quickly as possible and ensure the situation was under control. When he saw the wrecked car, smoke billowing and no rescue personnel nearby, Max's adrenaline froze his veins.

He parked his car at a distance from the accident, hastily releasing himself from the safety harness. When he got out of the car and saw the fire, he didn't think too much; he ran towards the friend's car, shouting her name, but there was no response.

Max fought against time. Besides him, there was no one to extinguish the fire and he had no idea what temperature the fuel in the tank was. He quickly pulled Y/N out of the wrecked car and, holding her in his arms, ran towards his own car. Hiding behind it, he laid her on the ground and, as gently as he could, removed her helmet and balaclava. He checked her pulse and fortunately, it was there. The impact force must have caused her to lose consciousness.

After some time, the appropriate services arrived at the scene and an ambulance took the girl to the hospital. Max knowing he couldn't finish the race, jumped into the ambulance and squeezed his friend's hand. He was furious with her, but now all the emotions were overshadowed by concern and fear. He hoped that the accident only looked serious and that she was just bruised. Max would never forgive himself if something happened to her, especially because of some idiotic argument that ultimately had no meaning.

Y/N woke up just before the ambulance reached the hospital. She was surprised to see paramedics around her, even more so by Max's worried face, which, as soon as their eyes met, calmed down a bit.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to look into those deceitful eyes of yours." Verstappen said, smiling and squeezing her hand.

"What happened?"

The girl asked with difficulty. Her throat hurt terribly; the hot smoke and vapors had taken their toll.

"You had an accident and you passed out. We'll be at the hospital soon."

"An accident is an understatement," one of the paramedics interjected, removing her drip from the hanger. "You did a Grosjean from Bahrain 2020."

Y/N blinked a few times, and it took her a moment to connect the dots. Judging by the man's comparison, her accident must have indeed been unpleasant.

"What's the condition of the car?"

"Just needs a wipe," Max said, smiling.

The girl rolled her eyes at her friend's words, but started coughing. She quickly put her oxygen mask back on.

"Don't worry about the car," Max said, still keeping her hand between his, "The most important thing is that you came back to us."

"At what cost? At least, being unconscious meant I didn't have to look at you."

Y/N said sarcastically, but she smiled. Everything hurt terribly, but she was grateful that, after this whole situation, she could see a familiar face. Even though it was red and sweaty from the race, it had a genuine smile and tenderness in his eyes.

"I guess she's fine, gentlemen. You can take her back to the track; she'll be able to finish the race for sure," Max said loudly, turning around. Y/N laughed quietly at his words and he returned her smile, squeezing her hand tighter.

The girl didn't realize that the fucking idiot sitting next to her was not just her friend, occasional rival and someone she sometimes wanted to tear apart. Max Verstappen, the mad Dutchman, turned into her guardian angel that evening. And she, the fearless Dutchess, started falling in love with him.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

WHAT is going on with Vaggie please i need to pry open her skull

girl stood out from the Exorcist with her single-stripe wings, they get torn off, she gets kicked out-

her hair was short like Lute's back then

probably another thing all Exorcists are supposed to be in lock step about- bloodlust, murder, looking almost identical in uniform (vaggie thought no one would know her out of uniform) (Wrong)

Charlie finds her. Charlie, who has long hair, and 3 years later Vaggie's grown her hair out too

and it's a sign of her new life with Charlie. as Carmilla kicks her butt Vaggie complains she's "not used to fighting with long hair-"

she hasn't had to fight in a long time

she's been CHOOSING not to, new life, new hair style, new her-

EXCECEPT not. Her long hair? Has the Exorcist double stripes that her old wings never did

her new clothes? oh yes she's got a skirt now, she's in red to match Charlie, she's dressed to manage a hotel not slaughter people- but the thigh highs and long gloves of the Exorcist uniform are still there too

it's there even when she gears up to FIGHT them

and when her wings come back- When her NEW wings grow in???- they still have just that ONE stripe. THEY didn't change. The hair thing, it isn't her aging into double stipes in three years- it's either natural and something the short hair hid, or deliberate and new, and which one would be more unsettling?

which one would be more fucked up- finding out you finally fit in when you can't anymore, or still trying to fit in when you absolutely don't want to?

it's like she grew out her hair to get away from her past, but also, it's a reminder of it? wings gone. long, twice-banded hair flowing down her back instead, filling in the space where her wings used to be

why the red X over her lost eye? a mirror of an Exorcist's mask-

(some have the right eye crossed out, some the left, one of their few small variations)

why not just a normal patch? Why not a hairstyle that'd cover it completely?? Why underline the reminder and MAKE it impossible to ignore- is she proud of it? The eye she lost for not doing something she knew was wrong? Why is she keeping so much of the Exorcist look- habit? nostalgia? homesickness? guilt????

Or is she retaking them for herself? Vaggie what are you thinking while you do all this- you HATE angels and heaven and the Exorcists and everything you were- Did you think it all meant something different, before realizing the truth? Something you could follow and be proud of?

are you trying to make all those things mean everything you once thought they did

or is being an exorcist still such a big part of you that you, shit liar that you are, can't cut it out of your life as easily as Lute did with your eye?

.... but your wings. They came back different.

they look even less like a proper Exorcists wings than before

(maybe because heaven didn't give them to you this time. you found them down here, in hell, with Charlie)

you AREN'T an exorcist! you don't kill sinners, you fight for them, you're trying to help save them, you're trying to redeem yourself right along side them, why why why WHY

why do you keep looking so much like the people you hate?-

oh. right. you hate yourself don't you. only... it's not ALL of yourself

i don't think your wings would have come back, if you hated the part of you that loves Charlie (it's the only thing you're clinging to, in fact. the hope that you won't fail her. that you can help her) (you hate yourself each time you fail- but you still try again) (you've never failed when it comes to that) (you've never given up on somehow being who she needs you to be)

do you REALIZE there's more to you now than the parts you hate?

hmm. i wonder

[raccoonfallsharder]

First of all, i love your art. Your style is amazing.

We all know Rocket is amazing in repairing space ships (and even building them) but what about a normal Earth car?

i am BLUSHING. i feel like i don't really have a set style (at least when it comes to drawing rocket - i am still figuring it out) so this really means a LOT. you’re so sweet i could actually die, little fox. just a coin-sized blueberry pancake with whipped cream. thank you for the kind words ♡ truly ♡♡~

secondly, what about normal earth cars? ur boy rocket looks at any given machine and understands it almost instantaneously. the kree charted him within .024 points of optimum intuitive grasp. a puny little earth-car is gonna be child's play for him.

not that i would ever suggest letting him work on yours.

it'll be more or less safe (for you) because rocket does care about you and isn't trying to get you killed. and sure, if you let him do that oil change you've been needing, he'll probably make some sneaky upgrades that allow for a smoother ride and better mileage. but the next time you find yourself with a lead foot, you'll realize you can also go way faster than anything on terra should be able to go. and the next time you accidentally bump one of those buttons on the console you rarely use, you'll probably end up with laser rifles unfolding from your wheel-wells, or your taillights flipping down to ready your "brand new" plasma cannons. (brand new in the sense that rocket will probably patch them together out of some old tech he has lying around his own ship, combined with whatever he can steal out of your kitchen cabinets. don't be too surprised if that mixer you bought from the thrift store no longer works because he's jacked all the internal wiring). lucky you - he'll probably figure out a way to make your powertrain UNTN-compatible and from there, he'll figure he's only gotta get you to let him do one more tire rotation, and when he's "working" on that, he can probably figure out a way to get your car capable of actual flight. it might take a bit longer to make sure it has adequate life-support systems and an airtight seal for short-term space travel but hey, he'll figure he's doing you both a favor, piece by piece.

it'll take you a while to figure out where he's hidden all the artillery in your car - and the thrusters, and the additional fuel tanks - and how to keep yourself from accidentally opening up the wings he's installed when you're in the middle of rush-hour traffic or construction. more than once you'll scrape the bottom of your car before you realize that the clearance has changed because he'll have added some re-entry grade ceramic plating to the bottom of it.

"you got any repairs you need done?" he'll probably ask casually, the next time he's planetside. "thought you mentioned your climate control being out."

"air conditioner," you'll say dryly. "and no thanks."

his jaw will probably drop. he'll look wounded. "why not? i did a fine job on the brakes last time."

your eyes will narrow. "i keep getting pulled over by the fucken cops."

his nose will wrinkle. "ew. why?"

your glare will turn withering. "because they don't believe the thing i'm driving is roadworthy anymore," you'll have to tell him. he'll sputter, probably - outraged and insulted - but you won't really be too mad. you know he's just trying to maximize the amount of time the two of you can hang out.

besides, the upgrades he'll make to your sound system will be worth it. your music will never have sounded better.

headcanons & imagines masterlist

[nerdy-the-artist]

Maytroid 2024 is here!

I am so excited to get to work on these new prompts. Last year, my entries for each day were fairly sloppy, and I was new to the series, so I was lacking a fair bit of information. Now, I’m armed with more knowledge and am eager to use it.

For those who haven’t seen what I did for Maytroid last year, what I’m going to be doing instead of art is something more writing focused. These little text entries are mostly styled after the scans from the Metroid Prime series. Matter of fact, this new set of prompts actually lends itself much better than last year’s, as I have a lot more leeway to play to my own strengths than last year (I still don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do with Gorea). These are all canon to my own Metroid AU currently, though as things change in development, these may become out of date. They will give the vibe my stories are going for, but these shouldn’t be held to as the absolute canon for them. I’ll be posting these week by week, around 7 at a time, starting today.

Day 1: Ridley

Transcript of Security Footage

Several individuals in this footage cannot be identified at this time. They shall be identified as Pirate 1, Pirate 2, and Pirate Major.

Ridley: What I want to know… is why he is not in custody.

Pirate Major: I gave them their orders, they knew he was to be brought in alive, and instead they killed him.

Pirate 1: You told us to take care of him! We thought you meant an execution, not milk and cookies!

Pirate Major: Insolent Wretch! You say such things about your orders in front of our Commander?! You know how we handle that sort of insubordination!

Pirate 2: Cool it, we’re already in hot water.

Pirate 1: We’re in hot water because of the life of some winy little nobody that begged for his life with money he didn’t even have.

Ridley: While your insolence is… aggravating… I am willing to forgive this misstep.

Pirate Major: What?

Ridley: He was an insignificant pawn. We can always find another. As I was saying, I am willing to forgive this on one condition. Did he die in pain?

Pirate 2: Yes. He did suffer before he died.

Ridley: What methods or torture did you employ?

Pirate 1: Waterboarding. Works wonders on humans. I always liked how they sound when they cough and gasp for air.

Ridley:Mmmmm… was blood shed before his end?

Pirate 2: Yeah. My partner here has… quite the way with knives.

Ridley: Do tell.

Pirate 1: Slashed his wrists. Those arteries gush lots of blood from humans. And we started pulling teeth when he lied.

Ridley: Delicious. You have escaped capital punishment, but you will still be serving as guards for the Metroid containment units. For further forgiveness, you will need to be more creative with your implements. I find Revine’s death, by your account, to be quite dull. Your are dismissed, unless you wish to enlighten me further.

Day 2: Fiery

Scan of Pipe System in Norfair

“These pipes appear be delivering superheated magma into the Norfair region. Given the proximity to Ridley’s personal quarters, likely explanations include terraforming the area for Ridley’s own comfortability, additional protective measures, or the intentional destruction of Chozo artifacts not deemed useful. The latter is most likely, as the immediate area was once a Chozo burial tomb. It is now completely submerged in magma, disintegrating much of the artifacts within.”

Day 3: Winged

Scan of SA-X Mutations

“This X-Parasite copy has suffered some form of destabilization of its copying abilities. Abnormalities include a malformed, beak like structure around the mouth, several atrophied fingers, several hypertrophied fingers, small patches of feathers, and an extraneous structure protruding from its back resembling a Chozo wing bereft of feathers. These unusual deformities could be the result of DNA infusions during childhood complicating the process of anatomical replication within X-Parasite offspring. This individual seems to suffer great stress from its predicament, but it is unsafe to assume that its combat functionality is greatly hampered. Adaptation is this species’s main trait.”

Day 4: Pirate

Scan of Space Pirate Elite

“Subject is a member of an unknown species known only from individuals working within Ridley’s special operations group, The Revenants. This group acts as Ridley’s personal enforcers and assassins, fanatically worshipping their commander as a literal God of Death. They wield melee weapons personalized to their unique fighting styles. Each weapon is charged with electricity, giving them an additional ranged attack capability. They have operated since before the Galactic Federation, making a name for themselves in fighting Chozo warriors. Their endurance, agility, and strength cannot be overstated, in spite of their gaunt appearance.”

Day 5: Mecha

Scan of automaton codenamed Mecha Ridley

“Subject is a battle ready drone, seemingly created by Ridley’s fanatical special forces, the Revenants. Mecha Ridley is heavily weaponized, as there could be no altar to the God of Death without the ability to take a life. Weapons include flamethrowers, guided munition launchers, and superheated claws. Mecha Ridley’s armor is highly durable, but greatly hampers mobility compared to its inspiration. Additionally, as a cult idol of worship, advanced artificial intelligence was not prioritized during production. Mecha Ridley displays average combat intellect for a war drone. Recommend staying moving and outsmarting the automaton.”

Day 6: Fang

Scan of Rundas’s Necklace

“Rundas appears to have begun collecting Metroid Fangs as trophies since last he was approached. Assuming one fang was taken from each Metroid he has eliminated, he has defeated 15 Metroids in the two months since he was last seen. Unfortunately, his ego has grown with his kill count.”

Day 7: Cunning

Scan of Abandoned Home

“Old Bird and Grey Voice’s abandoned home has been left mostly in tact, minus the usual signs of neglect. However, there appear to be a plethora of traps lain around the home. Various grapple snares have been detected, alongside explosive charges, beam emitters, and microphones. Much of these systems appear to be inert, and once reported directly to Mother Brain. It is clear she anticipated you might return here before confronting her. Given her destruction, several trap systems remain completely dormant. Still, any approach must be made with great caution.”

[syrips]

oc/pc ask game!!

i love these and im like WAIT i can make my own!!

disclaimer, these may contain stuff weird, suggestive, and/or potentially dark so feel free to make your own version if u want but yea here u go

sections: Personal, Aesthetic, Music, Pleasure, Pain

Personal

🧼 Soap - Does OC have good hygiene? What is their routine or methods?

💰 Money Bag - Would OC donate the change in their purchase to a charity that a company claims is benefiting those in need?

💸 Money With Wings - Would OC commit tax evasion?

🐛 Bug - If OC was a worm, would anyone love them? How would others treat them?

🎮 Video Game - What would OC's gamertag/username be?

🔗 Link - What tags, blogs, pages, discord servers, and/or subreddits would OC follow on social media?

👀 Eyes - What would be in OC's search history?

✍🏽 Writing Hand - Your OC is given five seconds to edit/alter/adjust something about themselves (or their story). What do they try to change?

📈 Chart Increasing - What company/nobility/etc. would sponsor OC?

🎯 Direct Hit - Is OC "Wanted" in any village, kingdom, etc.? Dead or alive? What is the reward for them?

Aesthetic

🎨 Artist Palette - If OC was a color (or palette), what color would they be? Would others assign them the same color?

💻 Laptop Computer - What theme would OC's device, book, belongings, etc. be? What would their background, parchment, decorations be?

👔 Necktie - Does OC dress Modestly? Skimpy? Classy? etc. Do they have a dynamic, loud, quiet, etc. style?

👑 Crown - What textures are part of OC's clothes? Fluffy? Spiky? Leathery? Puffy? Feathery? What about shiny, silky, lacy, etc.?

👕 T-Shirt - Does OC prefer to wear vibrant colors or muted colors?

🐬 Dolphin - Would OC be a JJBA character?

💄 Lipstick - Does OC enjoy fashion? Would they enjoy styling others?

🎭 Performing Arts - If others wanted to join a cult devoted to OC, what choices would OC (or you) have in the style, theme, design?

🧣 Scarf - How often does OC change their style? Daily? Weekly? Seasonally? etc.

🧵 Thread - Does OC mend their clothes (or have them mended)? Does their clothes have tears, patches, alterations? How do their clothes get worn out or damaged overtime?

📖 Open Book - Share a moodboard you associate/made for OC!

🛒 Shopping Cart - OC suddenly has a lot of money. What is most likely the cause of this? What do they spend it on?

👒 Floppy Hat - Share a (sourced) picrew you made for OC!

Music

🎼 Musical Score - Share an OC playlist you associate/made for OC!

🎧 Headphone - Does OC have a large or small range of music they listen to?

🎤 Microphone - Share a (sourced) quote, lyric, poem, etc. of something that you associate to OC.

🎸 Guitar - Someone hands OC a guitar and tells them to play Wonderwall. What do they do?

🎶 Musical Notes - A Bard is inspired by OC and makes a song about them. What instruments, sounds, melodies, etc. may OC's theme song have? What would the mood of the piece be?

Pleasure

👂🏽 Ear - What sounds does OC enjoy? If OC likes ASMR, which types of ASMR?

🎲 Game Die - What would OC's favorite (pc/console/mobile/etc.) game be?

💠 Diamond With A Dot - What is something OC indulges in, publicly vs. privately?

✨ Sparkles - What is OC's comfort activity?

💋 Kiss Mark - Is OC promiscuous? Do they have a lot of lovers, partners, and/or friends with benefits?

😏 Smirking Face - How freaky is OC? What does OC do that they believe is freaky?

🥄 Spoon - What is OC's guilty pleasure food/treats?

🎓 Graduation Cap - OC is giving a motivational speech. What do they say? Who are they saying it to?

🧻 Roll Of Paper - OC is plotting an elaborate, mischievous prank. What is their plan and who is their target?

🥰 Smiling Face With Hearts - What do you love about OC? What events, art, work do you love to put OC in?

🤗 Hugging Face - How does OC make others happy? What do they wish they could do, or plan to do for others?

Pain

👩🏽‍⚖️ Woman Judge - Why don't some people like OC? What did they do?

🚩 Triangular Flag - Is OC uncomfortable with any topic, trigger, item, or event?

🧱 Brick - What is/would OC be traumatized by?

💢 Anger Symbol - What is OC's pet peeve?

💀 Skull - Is OC cursed? Haunted? Possessed? Fated to tragedy?

🩹 Adhesive Bandage - What is OC's worst type of pain to experience?

🔮 Crystal Ball - OC has witnessed a dark omen. What is the omen, superstition, or message that is witnessed?

🪓 Axe - What tragic/dark events, art, work, do you love (or love to hate) to put OC in?

😈 Smiling Face With Horns - How does OC make others sad/suffer? What do they wish they could do, or plan to do to others?

[singing-melliot-headcanons]

Demon AU. Humans can’t distinguish angels and demons from regular people. They just look the same, only odd part being the fact they don’t seem to age to any regular person.

Angels have six wings, halos are usually worn as accessories and are used as tools for their jobs, and they have eye markings somewhere on their bodies. In low light they can look kinda freaky, blood being gold, scars having a gentle white glow, eyes seeming to stare into your soul. In normal lighting they’re just kinda funky, dark they look like they’re ready to steal your soul. They all look pretty similar, giving off a bit of a sterile and clean look, trying to seem overly “divine”.

Demon horns are unique to each, they never stop growing and are treated like hair, being styled different ways and having great effort out into maintain it. Asides from horns, demons kind just go buck wild with how they look. Their traits are determined by the work they do, the kind of person they were in life, and just general vibes. Plus, when you stab them their blood is like staring into the void, drowning out any light that touches it.

So, as to how the main Adamandi crew look

-Portia dyes some of her feathers pink and wears her halo as a ring, it’s easy to access and not too gaudy, just plain and simple. She changes her clothes as time goes on, and finds enjoyment learning new styles of the era. Her eye markings are along her arms.

-Ambrose is the exact opposite, he keeps great care of his wings, wears his halo as an actual crown, and his eye markings are along his spine. His clothing stays pretty much in the jock category of each era, mostly sticking to some variation of t shirt and jeans, spicing it up with a jacket on occasion. Dude just somehow looks homophobic in every time period lol

-Quincy is different, only having one set of wings from having given up their role as an angel, now just kind of chilling on earth with Vincent. Their two other sets slowly fell off over time due to them giving up their power, their glow is lesser than other angels, and they’ve got their eye markings on the palms of their hands. Quincy’s halo is a ring on a necklace, but they don’t really use it anymore. Quincy has worn some variation of a sweater over a button down with a bow tie since the 1930s and hasn’t changed it much lol

-Vincent has horns that look kind of like a mountain goat’s, he used to have long twisting ones, but started shaving them down so they wouldn’t poke into Quincy when cuddling. Their main traits are very weasel, having claws, a weasel tail, patches of fur, and fangs. The fur turns white in the winter, and they gain streaks of white in their hair, because Vincent is weasel coded. Generally just a critter. He wears a lot of long jackets, button downs, unholy abominations of pattern combinations, greens and browns, and he likes to change up his wardrobe ever decade or so.

-Beatrix, just look up a Jacob’s sheep for the horn reference. They’ve got a mix of lion and owl traits, having claws, a long tail with fluff at the end, bits of feathers sprinkled in the fur, and having funky yellow eyes that are kind of creepy to look at for too long. Beatrix kind of just wears whatever can be found in the men’s section of a thrift store, so just perpetually looks a little out of style.

Beatrix is supposed to give off “I could totally kill you” vibes, but be completely quiet while doing it because that’s how cat paws work, while Vincent had the weasel thing of looking like he couldn’t kill anything, then just absolutely tearing it to shreds.

Feel free to make edits to these, these are just concepts.

thank you anon i will bring great fortune to your bloodline

[uvobreakmylegs]

Hypnagogia

Warnings: kidnapping, graphic depictions of violence, death

The years of harsh training that he had received since he was a child ensured that Illumi could never fall into a truly deep sleep. It was something all of the Zoldyck children had learned, to be aware of their surroundings even while resting. Falling asleep completely would leave him vulnerable to a potential attack. Vulnerability was weakness, and when one came from a family of assassins who were open about their occupation, one could not afford weakness; one needed to be ready for any potential enemies that were competent enough to get past the mountain gate and the host of butlers in their employ.

So even as Illumi slept with you curled up by his side in bed, there was still a part of him that was awake and taking note of everything.

The sound of your steady breathing.

The way the moving air made the curtains flutter against each other.

The noises of the wildlife that came alive at night in the woods beyond the mansion.

Even the distant sounds of the servants in the hallways as they worked through the night.

At one point you shifted in your sleep, turning over so that you faced him, your hand grasping the fabric of his nightshirt and resting on his chest. He tightened his grip around you, holding you close while still staying asleep.

Things were as they should be.

When you woke up some time later he didn't react. Nor did he react when you sat up, pulling away from him as you left the bed. This was unusual, but not unusual enough to rouse himself from sleep to confront you. You got upset when he demanded an explanation for your every action, even if he had good reason to do so.

Your reason for leaving the bed appeared to be an innocent one as he heard your soft footsteps make their way to the bathroom, the door slowly closing shut as you tried not to make a lot of noise.

Illumi continued to sleep while waiting patiently for you, anticipating the feeling of your warm body against his when you would return and fall asleep next to him again.

The sounds of the toilet flushing and the running water from the sink echoed against the porcelain surfaces in the bathroom. You would be back soon, and Illumi would be content to have you in his arms again.

He waited for you.

And waited.

…....

…. Something wasn't right.

That feeling woke him fully, his black eyes opening as he sat up in bed, looking towards the bathroom door. The light from the bathroom still shone beneath the door, but he could sense that you were no longer in there.

He had made his way over to the door in a matter of seconds, throwing it open to find exactly what he had been expecting: an empty bathroom and you nowhere in sight.

A small window near the ceiling caught his attention. It was wide open, and though it was a fairly high off of the tiled floor and the ground outside, it wouldn't have been impossible for you to have gotten out that way.

Illumi let out a small sigh as he turned and made his way to one of the side doors within his wing of the house that lead to the outside. No need to risk one of the butlers seeing him and then reporting this incident back to his parents. He had no desire for another lecture from his mother on training you “properly.”

You'd been doing so well recently, and you hadn't tried to escape in months. He had truly thought you had given up on the idea and that you had accepted your role as his wife.

Once he caught you it would be back to training again, and he would take however long he needed to drill it into you that there were no other options: you were his, and your place was here on Kukuroo Mountain.

The wildlife in the forest grew silent as he left the mansion and began his descent down the mountainside. It was easy to spot where nature had been disturbed: small branches that had snapped and clumps of dirt that had been kicked up leaving him a trail to follow. He couldn't help but muse on how the results of your training were showing through. Though the trail was there, it was less obvious than the ones you had left on your previous escape attempts. You were more aware of your surroundings and knew better on how to leave with virtually no trace behind. He would have been proud of you if not for the circumstances. Why couldn't you put these skills to use for the sake of him and his family?

He continued down the mountain, following your path. He had yet to come across you at all, and his brows furrowed the longer he continued. Your skills had grown since you had come here, but he knew from experience that you could not outrun him. He should have found you by now. So why hadn't he?

Had you somehow tricked him?

Did you make this path as a decoy while you attempted to leave down another side of the mountain?

It was certainly possible that you would have known you wouldn't be able to surpass him physically and had attempted to outwit him to buy yourself enough time. If this was the case, he would need to make sure that the lessons he taught after capturing you would stay with you so you would never try this again.

Illumi was about to head back up the mountain to see where he had gone wrong in following you when he noticed something in a particular patch of soft dirt. Multiple sets of footprints heading down the mountain, none of which could have belonged to you.

More tricks? Perhaps accomplices of yours? Or.....?

Illumi sprinted past, descending the mountain as he searched for you, still following the path that he now realized may not have been left by you. There were possibilities in his mind as to what had happened, but it was better now to ignore them and focus on finding you.

He was almost at the base of the mountain when he spotted something.

Three black-clad figures in one of the lower gardens, two women and a man. And there you were, unceremoniously slung over the man's shoulder as the three of them ran. It was clear you were unconscious.

The three sensed him then, stopping beneath a pristine gazebo as they turned to face him. The terror was evident in their stiff forms when their eyes landed on him. Getting caught wasn't something they had accounted for. Perhaps they would have gotten away if it had been literally anyone other than a member of the Zoldyck family hunting them down.

Your limbs hung limply as the man held you, only swaying lightly when he pulled out a sword and pointed it at Illumi, the women with him following suit.

All the while Illumi stood there, silently assessing the situation before he came to a conclusion.

“Were you trying to kidnap my wife?”

The three tensed at the question, their auras flaring as they anticipated an attack. Illumi remained relaxed, even cocking his head to the side slightly as he asked “am I correct?”

After a bit of hesitation, the man nodded.

Illumi couldn't help the smile that formed (which only served to put the intruders more on edge).

“That's a relief,” he said, sighing, “I was worried she was trying to get away again. I'm glad that wasn't the case this time.”

“You.... You're glad we tried to take her?” one of the women asked.

As quickly as it had come, the smile on Illumi's face faded away, his aura flaring and engulfing the three of them.

“Of course not,” he said, his tone far more grave now.

“The fact that people like you would even think of touching her is unacceptable.”

The intruders were skilled enough, and had enough sense to know that an attack from him was imminent. As Illumi burst forward, needles in hand, the man threw you to the woman at the back, yelling at her to run. The other woman was too slow in raising her sword to block Illumi's first strike and a needle entered her skull and burst out through the other side, lodging itself in the stone pillar of the gazebo as she fell to the ground dead.

The man fared only a bit better, managing to block the needle thrown at him and running forward to swing his sword in an attempt to take Illumi's head. It was easily dodged, and Illumi threw four more needles at him, three of which hit their marks and leaving the man to join his fallen companion.

The last one hadn't gotten far, the other two having only been able to buy her mere seconds before Illumi turned his attention to her. She was carrying you on her back, effectively using you as a body shield as you obscured her vitals. There were a few ways in which he could strike the needle through you to kill her and only leave you with minor damage, but he rejected them. These people weren't worth making you go through any sort of pain.

He sent six needles flying towards her legs, embedding themselves from the back of her knee down to her ankle with three on each leg and making her cry out as she fell forward. She lost her grip on you and you fell to the side of her, the terrain making you roll away slightly. The woman was still trying to fight, but her attempts to pull out any weapons she could use to throw at him were quashed when he threw two more of his needles, these one stabbing through her wrists. She cried out as the nen in his needles worked through her, intentionally causing her pain.

But at the moment she wasn't important. Illumi brought his attention back to you, walking to where you lay and kneeling to examine you. There was minimal damage to you, some scrapes along your arms and legs where the branches in the forest had brushed against you. The worst of it was at the base of you neck where a bruise was beginning to form, the size and shape of the mark a clear indicator that this was where they had hit you to knock you out. Aside from that, you appeared to be fine, and Illumi allowed himself another small smile as he picked up your fallen form and held you bridal style.

The woman was now attempting to crawl away, her hands and feet tearing up the grass of the garden while the needles impaired her movement. The last of the intruders was taken care of with a flick of his wrist and a needle in the back of her skull.

His walk back up to the family home was brisk, and instead of heading for the side door to his quarters as he had originally intended, he went towards the main entrance instead. Even from his current position he could sense the activity from the mansion; someone had noticed that something had been amiss and had raised the alarm. Better to go in through the front and order whatever servants were there to clean up the bodies he had left in the gardens. That way he could have you back in the safety of his room that much faster.

What he hadn't expected was to see Silva standing at the mansion's entrance, Tsubone and Amane standing a few feet behind him. Silva glanced down at your unconscious form in Illumi's arms, a single brow raising.

“What is it this time?” he asked as Illumi made his way inside.

“Nothing that was her fault.”

A look of mild surprise settled on his face as Illumi continued “intruders found their way up here and tried to make off with her.”

“Did you find out how they got in?”

“They weren't talking.”

“Hmm.”

Silva sounded as though he didn't believe Illumi on that last part, but he made no move to stop him as his eldest son walked back to his wing of the house. Even if Silva (rightfully) believed that Illumi had made no effort to get any information from the intruders, there was little to be done about it now.

“Tell mother that her favorite garden is largely intact,” Illumi called back.

His father made another noise of disapproval, but ultimately decided to drop the matter.

“Tsubone,” Illumi heard Silva say.

“Yes, master Silva.”

“Get those bodies off of my mountain.”

Illumi tuned out whatever words were said next. As far as he was concerned, the matter no longer involved him. His focus was now on you and your well-being. From looking over you earlier, he knew that physically, you'd be fine. The slight injuries you had received would be gone in no time, but he was going to keep you by his side as much as possible for the next few days. He would just need to make it clear that this time it wasn't being done as a punishment. As he had said to his father, you weren't at fault for anything that had happened tonight. The most that could be blamed on you was the fact that you had been captured so easily, but that was a fault that was also on him; that he somehow hadn't been able to sense the presence of those intruders when they snatched you from the bathroom. There was room for improvement for both of you, and Illumi was content to work towards that as long as you were by his side.

After closing the window in the bathroom and changing you into clean nightclothes, Illumi pulled you back under the covers with him, arranging you so your head was resting against his chest while he wrapped his arms around you again. He was sleeping again shortly after.

If anyone was to walk in on the two of you, they wouldn't have suspected that the events of the last hour had happened at all.

When you awoke next Illumi woke with you, and he watched as you reached for the back of your neck, lightly touching the tender spot where you'd been hit.

“I-Illumi?” you asked, trying to find his face in the dark.

“Yes?”

“Did.... Did something happen?”

“You don't remember?”

You shook your head.

“You were attacked by intruders who tried to take you from me,” Illumi explained, “I chased them down and took you back.”

“Ah. I see,” you said, resting your head back down on his chest. You didn't bother asking what had happened to the intruders; the answer was easy enough to figure out.

The conversation seemed as though it had ended, and Illumi was waiting for you to go back to sleep before he did so himself. Outside in the mansion, the activity he had sensed on his way back up had died down as well. Tonight's little disturbance had ended, and everyone was more than willing to move past it.

“Illumi?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you said, “sorry for getting caught.”

Illumi's eyes widened slightly at your words. He wasn't sure what exactly he had expected from you, but it wasn't that.

“I would be a terrible husband if I abandoned my wife so easily.”

You hummed in response, closing your eyes as you settled yourself on top of him. Illumi watched silently, repeating your words in his head and mulling them over. Before you could go back to sleep again, he got your attention by speaking your name.

“Do you love me?” he asked when you looked back to him.

“...... Yeah.”

It had taken a few seconds too long for you to reply, and the answer itself was not wholly satisfying. He had been hoping for a straightforward “yes”. Certainly by now he had proved that he cared for you.

Nothing more was said between you two, and you finally fell back into your slumber. As Illumi fell back to sleep himself, he reminded himself that you had thanked him unprompted, and had even apologized for your shortcomings. The matter of you loving him was unsatisfactory, but something was going right for your relationship. It was merely something else that could be worked on when the morning came.

As you fell back into your deep sleep state, that part of Illumi that always stayed awake remained aware of everything about you. The sound of your breathing as it stayed in a steady pattern, the feel of your weight against him, and the way you would shift in your sleep, at times attempting to pull away from him. Every time that happened, he would pull you back to him. Even asleep, he would make sure to keep you by his side always.

[notepadsandtealeaves]

Jason Todd x GN!Reader in: Mall Madness, Pt. 3

12 Days of Batmas || Day 3—Getting Lost at the Mall

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

↞ previous: it’s always the little things… || cuddling by the fire

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 3 | dick day 3 | tim day 3 ||

Out of all the Bats, Jay’s probably the got the most chill when it comes to shopping. Who saw that one coming?

This man’s the best shopping buddy a person could ever ask for—well, providing you don’t get separated, that is…

↠ Requested By: Not a soul lol ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW with a dash of angst b/c I’m terrible like that ((but my blog’s 18+; if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ CWs/TWs: Some PTSD vibes on Jay’s part, as well as a described panic attack. See the note before the HC for more info. ↠ Betas? Nah, we don’t do that here. ↠ Total WC: ~1k

So this isn’t exactly new content—sorry to anyone whose hopes I got up.

In my efforts to make my posts a more, ahem, ✨~aesthetic reading experience~✨, I’ve been going through and editing my old posts. My original post for day three has always bugged me, so I’ve decided to break it up so that all the boys get their own posts. Also, I’m leaving Damian’s as the original post, so that’s something.

Other than the look of things and a few light edits, there aren’t any major changes. It should make for better, more streamline reading tho. ((thinking about it now, this is more like a quality of life patch than anything lol…))

Headcanon || WC: ~1k

This… got a lil bit sad. Again. I’m so sorry lol. I love Jay, I truly do! He’s actually my favorite out of all the boys, which leads to me delving deeper into who he is as a character and given all he’s been through… Well dude’s a walking angst factory if I’ve ever seen one. That being said…

TW for mentions of a panic attack, though I don’t go into great detail about said attack. I more so touch on helping him to work through it and the aftermath, and even that’s not super detailed. If you want to skip it, keep scrolling until you get past all of the ‼’s (6 in total).

🌟 Out of all the Bats, Jay’s probably the got the most chill when it comes to shopping. Who saw that one coming?

He’s got his list—which is p. short as he’s already bought most of his gifts months ago—so everything’s well in order.

🌟 He’s also v. flexible, able to adapt to any shopping style.

You more of a mission based shopper that likes to get in and out? Give him half of your list and send him off to hunt that shit down for you. Also keep your phone handy in case he needs to hit you up for some clarification.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, do you like to go in and just wing it? He’ll use his detective prowess to help you analyze any recipients you may be having trouble with picking something out for.

If you’re one of those people who gets easily distracted he’ll either help you stay on task or go off on a tangent with you depending on what you want to do.

You wanna touch all the things? He’ll only stop you if it looks like you’re gonna break something lol. And if you do he’ll pay for it with minimum grumblings on his part, though he will tell you that you need to be more careful in the future.

🌟 Doesn’t tend to get bored too quickly as he enjoys people watching.

He’s so damn tall that he can easily see over most displays, and thanks to his dip in the Pit his hearing’s enhanced*. If he focuses he can listen to the argument that a couple is having three aisles over or the total meltdown that somebody’s brat’s having over not getting whatever toy it is that they want lol.

If you want he’ll gladly narrate the goings-on for you.

*((I have no idea if that’s canon or not, btw. Regardless, I personally give anyone who has been inside of a Lazarus Pit freaky good reflexes and sensory intake. But anyways…))

🌟 More than okay with being a pack mule if you need him to be—after all, all those muscles gotta be good for something.

🌟 Also okay with being left on a bench somewhere with your haul. Again, people watching’s his jam and this gives him ample opportunity to indulge.

🌟 But that’s all only tangentially related to the prompt so let’s move on…

🌟 As far as getting lost in the mall… That shit would freak him out big time. He’s a former Bat, thee fucking Red Hood. He does not get lost–

🌟 –well until he does, clearly.

🌟 Depending on the headspace he’s in this can go one or two ways.

‼ If he’s already feeling stressed for whatever reason getting lost will freak him out as I’ve already said, though to a much greater degree. His anxiety will spike, potentially throwing him into a full blown panic attack.

‼ If you’re with him, try to pull him off to somewhere less crowded. A bathroom is one of the better options, though if the men’s room isn’t a viable option for you a dressing room will do as well. Walk him through some breathing exercises as those are the most effective method for calming him, and just stay with him until he levels out.

‼ Once he’s a bit more stable get him home asap. Plot out the fastest route to the nearest exit and find your way back to your car from there; he’ll be better off walking outside in the open air than trying to fight the crowds.

‼ He’s gonna be feeling p. fragile for a bit afterwards, so be sure to love on him as much as he’ll let you. He’s probably not gonna want to talk about it, not that there’s much to say. You both already know about his anxiety and the potential for crowds to set it off. Stuff like that’s easier to deal with when he’s in vigilante mode, but when he’s just Jason he finds that he’s not always as strong as he wants to be.

‼ And if you’ve managed to get separated… that’s just not gonna end well. Like at all. He’ll focus all of his anxiety into finding you, and getting in his way is not at all advisable. Once he finally locates you, you’re going home. Full stop, that’s it, drop whatever it is you’re holding unless you plan on stealing that shit because you’re leaving right the fuck now.

‼ He’s not trying to be controlling or anything like that, he’s just freaked the fuck out. He needs to get back to a space where he can feel comfortable and in control of his emotions again, and ofc he needs the one person that he trusts most in this world (i.e. you) to be there with him.

🌟 If he’s in a better headspace he’s gonna be annoyed more than anything.

How tf did he let himself get lost? And in a mall of all fucking places. Disgraceful, truly.

If there’s one available he’s gonna pull up a map on his phone to help orient himself, and barring that he’s gonna look for one of those directories that most malls have on a wall or stand somewhere—or at least they used to have them. I haven’t been to a mall in ages (the one in my city is p. empty so I do my shopping online) so idk if this is still a thing.

Anyways!

He is not above asking a guard or store employee for help, esp. if you’ve somehow gotten separated from each other. Your safety (and his sanity) comes well before any pride he may have.

Expect him to bitch about the whole ordeal for the next several minutes. He’s also gonna want to hit up the food court as he feels like he’s earned a snack after all that fuckery lol.

🌟 So overall he’s an excellent shopping buddy—10/10 would bring along again.

Up Next:

🌟 Day 4: ‘Martha Stewart’ Who? || Wrapping Presents

You wait with bated breath as your man inspects the parcel before him.

With its sharp creases, smooth sides, and expertly tied bow your offering would be considered immaculate, flawless even, to anyone else—but Jason Peter Todd isn’t just ‘anyone’.

It’s on sight, Ms. Stewart.

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2020 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

stars in the sk(eyes)

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, Roman, Remus, Janus, Patton Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Analogical, background Intrualiceit Warnings: Language, food, like 1 line that’s maybe suggestive but also said half-jokingly Word count: 5592

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Logan has always loved stars. Virgil has always loved music. Maybe they can put those together with a little help from some friends.

Notes: Day 2 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read.  Patton, Janus, and Remus are all nonbinary folks who use he/they pronouns and masculine terms in this universe (but in the flashback scene, Janus is only using they/them); Roman, Logan, and Virgil are all men who use he/him. (I know absolutely nothing about music or concerts or anything, so please don't roast me too hard for any inaccuracies, lol.)

They were only opening the concert; the real attraction was a band from out of town with a midsize following, making a stop on their tour. Not that Virgil was complaining to have landed this gig. It would be the biggest performance his band—the band he, Janus, and the twins had formed a few years ago—had given, by a lot. And that was exciting. Sure, Virgil had absolutely spent hours stressing over how big it was, but he knew how to manage his anxiety, especially when it came to performances, and the anxiety didn’t stop the excitement.

“You’re going to do wonderfully,” Logan had told him earlier that day as he’d been getting dressed, passing his fingerless leather gloves and then holding his jacket for him to slide into. He’d spoken it with a simple, unassuming confidence, as if it were a given fact. It had been more comforting than Virgil thought Logan knew.

With the memory of his husband’s words carefully nestled against his heart, and the jacket Logan had helped him paint rainbow stripes on sitting on his shoulders, Virgil found it easier to let go of the anxiety. Some lingering tension remained as he paced backstage, running through lyrics in his head and triple checking that everyone knew the schedule, but it wasn’t as bad as usual. Most of it, if he was being honest with himself, wasn’t even about the performance—it was about the surprise the band had put together, the surprise Virgil had had to bite his tongue a couple of times to keep himself from thoughtlessly mentioning it to Logan, even though the surprise had been almost entirely his own idea and the others were just helping. But he’d successfully kept the secret, and now Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and there would be no more chances to spoil it.

But Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and the final round of jitters was setting in. And when Logan wasn’t there, Virgil’s jitters took the form of pestering the hell out of everyone in the room, to make sure everything was perfect.

He checked all the instruments, giving Janus’s keyboard a once-over without touching because he knew better by this point. Remus’s drumset was already on the stage—he was drumming with his fingers on the end of the fallout table in the corner—so there was nothing to do about that. Roman was actively tuning his guitar, so Virgil left that alone too and instead checked his bass, just in case it had gotten out of tune in the last thirty seconds.

All of the instruments were fine, great, even, and Remus and Roman were undeniably being productive; Janus, who’d been on their phone in the corner, had stepped out for just a moment, probably to get a drink of water or something.

Things were in order. Which was good. Great, even. But it gave Virgil nothing to do with his restless energy.

“Are we ready?” he asked, jiggling his leg and tracing the pattern of his fishnet tights through one of the large rips in his jeans.

Roman looked up. “Yes,” he said shortly. Roman’s nerves tended to take the form of a very short temper, which didn’t mix well with Virgil’s perfectionism.

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, running a hand through his dark green curls and straightening his denim jacket.

“We all know the order things go in?” Virgil followed up after a minute of tense silence.

“Mmhm,” Remus said easily. Remus, and Remus alone, somehow always managed to remain at ease and unbothered no matter what. Virgil didn’t know how they did it.

Virgil took stock of everyone’s outfits. He himself was wearing fishnet leggings that went all the way up past his waist. Over them he had ripped black skinny jean, and a black crop top splattered with white paint. On top of that, he wore his black denim jacket, which matched the ones the other three were wearing. Virgil’s had the rainbow pride flag painted on the front, all down the lapel area; the rest of the jacket was covered in patches. He checked his makeup, examining the black eyeshadow and lipstick in his phone’s camera; it looked fine. Perfect, even.

Roman was the neatest of the group, made to stand out as the lead singer. He wore the same high-heeled doc martens as the other three, but in white where theirs were all black. He had a tight white longsleeve shirt made of a shimmery material and a matching pair of white pants, and the black jacket contrasting nicely against it all. Roman’s jacket had the aromantic pride flag where Virgil had the rainbow, and the rest of his jacket was painted with red roses all at the ends of long, intricate, thorny stems. His eyeliner was sharp enough to cut, and his curly hair was piled up atop a black headband wrapped around his forehead like a crown.

Janus still wasn’t back, but he’d been on the neater end too, to counter Virgil and especially Remus’s scruffiness. Their outfit was sleek and all black save for a thin white belt around their waist. A black hat with a broad round brim framed their face like a dark halo. His jacket had nonbinary and pan stripes on the front, and thin white squiggly lines running up and down like warped pinstripes everywhere else. (Virgil knew where on the jacket one line ended in a tiny snake head, and where one trailed off into a tail, but you wouldn’t notice unless you knew to look.) They were wearing black lipstick to match Virgil, and winged eyeliner to match Roman, and contour that emphasized the sharpness of his cheekbones; definitely the heaviest makeup of the group.

Remus, sitting in the corner and making noises to themself, was a sharp contrast to his boyfriend Janus’s sleek elegance. His black jeans, splattered with white paint to match Virgil’s crop top, were ripped almost to shreds, open nearly entirely from mid-thigh down to his ankles, with only a few clinging strands of fabric keeping them anywhere in the realm of being pants. The tee they wore—black again, with his own name painted on it in large white letters—was also ripped full of holes, these ones much more deliberate; he’d slashed it carefully with an exacto knife, kneeling on the ground and focusing with their tongue stuck out slightly, until it was exactly how he wanted it and you could catch glimpses of their top surgery scars when they moved. His makeup consisted of dramatic green and black eyeshadow, and his jacket had the trans and polyamorous flags on it—he and Janus, who had nearly identical collections of pride flags between them, had split two and two which color schemes they wanted to use. The rest of Remus’s jacket consisted of a few jagged holes and some incredibly detailed paintings of green tentacles.

The instruments were fine. The costumes were fine. The makeup was fine. What else did that leave for Virgil to fret over as the final minutes ticked away?

“How about the blocking?” Virgil said. “We can go over it again if anyone—”

“I promise we know, Virge,” Roman snapped.

“Come on, kiddo, you know he’s just trying to help!” piped up Patton, Janus and Remus’s other boyfriend, who was suddenly somehow present and sitting in Janus’s lap, his pastel outfit completely out of place amidst the varying edgy styles everyone else in the room was sporting.

“How did you get back here?” Roman and Virgil demanded in unison. Virgil hadn’t even noticed Janus was back, let alone that he’d brought Patton, who was supposed to be in the audience with Logan until the performance was over.

“Oops,” Janus said, not sounding even a tiny bit remorseful as they played with Patton’s dark curls.

“Did you leave Logan alone?” Virgil demanded of Patton, hands on his hips.

“Only for a minute! He’s getting snacks, anyway,” Patton said, wrapping his arms around Janus’s neck. “We both know where our seats are, he’ll be fine.”

“You already have a partner backstage, stop being greedy,” Roman scolded Janus. “Patton, you know we need to focus right now, can you please not distract my horny bandmates until after the show?”

“You sound like Virgil, with all that worrywarting,” Remus commented, snickering.

“Take that back this instant!” Roman demanded as Virgil gave Remus double birds.

Remus only guffawed, looking incredibly amused.

“Seriously, though, uh, Patton, with all the love in my heart: get out,” Virgil said.

Patton wrinkled his nose, but pressed a warm smack of a kiss to Janus’s cheek and hopped to his feet.

“Do I get a kiss?” Remus asked, reaching his arms out hopefully.

“Makeup—” Roman began warningly.

“I haven’t got any on my mouth!” Remus said triumphantly. “Suck it, Jan.”

Janus smiled wryly, fingers rising to but not quite touching their black lipstick that Patton had avoided so carefully. “The prices I pay for beauty.”

Patton giggled, crossing to Remus, clasping both his hands, and leaning down to kiss him sweetly.

“Great, you’re very very cute together but now is not the time, Patton get out and stop distracting your boyfriends,” Roman said, shooing Patton towards the door.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “High strung much?”

“Not all of us possess your—your stupid coolheadedness powers, Remus!” Roman snapped.

Patton paused in the doorway and pointed at Roman, getting out his dad voice. “Hey. Be nice.” The finger moved to Virgil. “Be nice.” His eyes flicked to Remus, then Janus, and his voice shifted to a different tone, half flirty and half joking. “You two be good boys.”

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god, I said to stop being horny!” Roman shrieked, chasing a giggling Patton out of the room and down the hall. He returned moments later, Patton-less and fixing at his hair to make sure it wasn’t too messy. “We had better not have any more alloromantic bullshit from any of you until after the show is over!” he announced. “Okay?” He didn’t sound quite as annoyed as before.

“Homophobia,” Remus accused teasingly.

But instead of snapping back, Roman giggled. “Oh, shut up.”

The twins began joking back and forth, Janus making the occasional amused interjection.  Evidently Patton’s intrusion into the room, although technically unhelpful, had done wonders to break the tension, and Virgil reminded himself to thank Patton later.

Virgil’s phone buzzed with a text from Logan.

Logan: Patton found me, don’t worry. Logan: How are you doing?

Virgil: hahahahahaaaa i don’t wanna think abt it

Logan began typing, then the little bubble went away; a second later, the phone began to ring, Logan’s caller ID plain to see.

“Hi, babe,” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, dear. Would you like to walk me through your plan for the performance, to reassure yourself?”

Virgil let out a small sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”

“I am listening,” Logan assured him.

Virgil took a deep breath and launched into a detailed itinerary, knowing that Logan didn’t mind if he got a little too technical in his terminology because Logan was listening for Virgil’s sake.

“And then that’s about it,” Virgil wound down, carefully leaving off the final item from his explanation. It wouldn’t do to spoil the surprise now. “Oh, looks like we’re getting ready now, gotta go.”

“I love you,” Logan said quickly. “You’re going to do a wonderful job.”

Virgil let out a short laugh. “Thanks, L. Love you too.” He hung up, set his phone down on the table, and picked up his bass.

“You ready?” Roman asked, nudging Virgil with his elbow, as the group finally headed towards the stage.

Virgil sucked in a long breath. “Yeah. I think so. Are you?”

“Oh, you know it!” Roman grinned, a spring in his step. He paused after a second and glanced back to Virgil. “Sorry for being so wound up earlier.”

“It happens.” Virgil shrugged. “Right back at you.”

Roman nodded and put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey. He’s going to love it. Just wait and see.”

Virgil looked away, half smiling. “I sure hope so.”

“He will, I know it!” Roman insisted as they climbed the steps onto the stage and emerged into what could practically have been the eye of a hurricane, for all the noise and light that surrounded the stage.

The sky above was fully dark; bright lights everywhere in the area contrasted against it. There was a decent crowd. The venue seemed almost full, as a matter of fact. The observation added a thrill of adrenaline to compliment the goosebumps from the chilly breeze across Virgil’s bare midriff.

Roman stepped forward and spread his arms wide right as the spotlights came up. “Hey, folks, thank you for being with us here tonight!” he said, his smile gleaming in the bright lights and his voice booming in the speakers. “We have some great hits lined up for you tonight! Let’s get it started, huh?”

Virgil waited a few seconds for the cheer of the crowd to peak. Janus began the melody on the keyboard; Virgil came in with his bass at exactly the same second Roman began to sing, and Remus picked up the beat on the drums on cue.

Virgil was quickly able to get lost in the music, all his focus on playing and providing backup vocals, leaving him with no more brain space for his anxiety. This was his favorite thing about music: its ability to keep him in the moment.

They played three songs. Two covers that always went over really well, and one song that the twins had written together about family that always left Roman just a little teary. Normally that would be their closing song.

But tonight was a little bit different.

Roman took a step back, nodding at Virgil; the pair of them traded places onstage, putting Virgil front and center.

“So,” Virgil said, the mic on his cheek picking up his words, “we were thinking we’d let you all be the first to hear our new song. Uh, I wrote this one. And normally Roman does our singing, because—well, you’ve heard his voice. But this song is kind of special. I wrote it for my husband. So. We thought I’d perform it tonight.”

As Janus began playing the melody, Virgil searched the front row of the crowd, squinting against the lights, until he found Logan, sitting next to Patton and gazing up at Virgil with shining eyes. “Lo, I love you so much, babe. More than every star you’ve ever shown me.” He took a deep breath and began to sing.

***

10 years earlier

Unknown Number: Hello. This is Janus. Logan’s roommate

Virgil: how’d u get this number?

Janus: I broke into Logan’s phone after you started dating and saved you to my contacts just in case

[read 3:43pm}

[3:46pm]

Virgil: i Virgil: wtf dude

Janus: Your boyfriend has been moping in his room all day, can you please come fix it? Janus: Roman is starting to mope too for no good reason, but he’s doing it in the living room and at this point it is starting to affect my quality of life

Virgil: yk i literally could not care less abt that part u asshole <3 Virgil: i’ll be over in 15 Virgil: is he ok?

Janus: He won’t talk to me, I don’t know what happened

Virgil: i’ll be over in 10

It was normally a 12-minute walk from the dorm Virgil was an RA in to Logan’s apartment just off campus, but Virgil could walk fast when he was anxious or alone, and in this case he was both. Even taking the time to grab a jacket, he still made it to the building in nine minutes flat.

Janus let Virgil into the apartment almost the second he knocked, relief plain to see on their face.

“You see?” Janus said over their shoulder in a scolding tone. “I had to resort to outside measures to deal with your bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Roman whined from where he was slumped on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Netflix on the TV.

“Oh? And what’s this?” Janus demanded, hands on their hips. They dramatically pushed the button to open the microwave door, revealing a limp burrito wrapped in a damp paper towel.

“Lunch,” Roman mumbled defensively.

“You hate microwave food, and it’s four in the afternoon!” Janus snapped.

“I am in a creative slump, Jan! Have some sympathy!”

“No! Get your whiny ass off the couch and stop ruining my afternoon!”

Virgil took a deep breath and pointedly walked in between the pair of them down the hall towards Logan’s room. Roman and Janus’s still-bickering voices faded into the background.

“Hey.” Virgil knocked on the door, which had a piece of printer paper taped to it with Logan’s name written on it in blue sharpie and a couple of stars, both scribbles and stickers, scattered around it. He waited, and when there was no reply, he added, “Are you okay, Lo?”

“I’m fine,” Logan said, in a voice that had obviously been crying.

“Can I come in?” Virgil asked.

“Okay.”

Virgil pushed open the door and stepped into the dim room, closing it behind him. The blinds were closed, and Logan was curled up under a mound of blankets.

“Hey, baby,” Virgil murmured, kicking off his shoes and climbing to sit on the bed beside Logan and stroke his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Logan made a muffled noise of misery into the mattress.

“What?” Virgil said after a moment.

Logan rolled over. “Teacher didn’t like my essay.”

Virgil chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Okay, I promise I’m not making fun of you, but you do know that that is possibly the most stereotypically you thing you have ever said to me, right?”

Logan let out a little huff that was not quite a laugh. “I guess.” He was silent for a moment as Virgil continued to stroke his hair. “And I know it’s stupid. I still got a B+ and my overall grade in the class is fine and I know I’m a good writer and everything. But it sucks. I was really proud of it.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Virgil said, choosing to ignore the squirm in his gut that always happened when grades came up. It was so easy to compare or to worry about others comparing and then to worry about others getting upset over comparisons and—he dragged himself back to the present, forcibly setting the issue aside. “You’re allowed to feel upset,” he told Logan. “About anything that upsets you. Even if you wouldn’t choose it.”

Logan didn’t respond, but after a minute his hand snaked out from under the covers and grasped Virgil’s.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Virgil asked, struck with the idea.

“Huh?”

“A walk. Get out of your head for a little bit and hang out. We can talk if you want, or just be together.”

Roman’s voice grew particularly loud outside, and Virgil picked out a teary, petulant, “I hate you!”

“Plus it’ll get you away from that energy,” he added wryly.

Logan drew in a breath and sat up. “Alright. Let’s do it.” He pulled out a denim jacket while Virgil put his shoes back on and retied the laces. They made their way out of the apartment, hand in hand.

Roman was on his feet now, releasing an angry tirade at Janus, hands clenched into fists and sounding on the verge of crying, the TV remote cast on the floor beside him. Janus was sitting on the kitchen counter with arms crossed and an intimidating glare on their face.

“Hey!” Virgil snapped, and Roman cut off abruptly. “Eat some food,” Virgil told him on a hunch. Sure, Roman could be a little immature at times, but this was on a whole different level, and a lack of food seemed like the simplest culprit.

Virgil looked over at Janus, to make it clear that they weren’t off the hook either. “We’re going out. You two better make up before we get back. Clear?”

“You can’t tell us what to do—” Roman began stubbornly.

“Janus literally called me in to fix all your problems, so yeah. I can. Also open your windows, it’s gloomy as fuck in here.” Virgil opened the door and held it for Logan, tossing one last glare over his shoulder at Roman, who looked dumbstruck, and Janus, who avoided eye contact.

Logan was quiet as the two of them walked down the stairs and exited the apartment building, hands in his pockets (one still clasping Virgil’s) and eyes on the toes of his slip-on shoes.

“Wanna talk?” Virgil asked.

Logan tilted his head to the side for a moment, his thinking face slipping over his features, and then shook his head.

Virgil nodded. “Okay.” He fished in his pocket for his earbuds and plugged them in. “Let me know if that changes, okay?” He received a small nod and turned on his go-to playlist—a 12-and-a-half-hour-long composition of all his favorite emo songs that he could loop without having to put any thought in.

The two of them wandered through the streets, hand in hand, music blaring in Virgil’s ears and Logan’s fingers soft and warm against his. They made their way towards downtown; their university was in a small city, and it was pretty walkable.

As they walked, weaving around and across different blocks, occasionally stopping to peek into particularly interesting shop windows, the tension in Logan’s shoulders slowly began to relax and his gaze migrated from the toes of his shoes upwards to take in the surrounding scenery. Virgil felt himself relaxing in turn. The subdued, almost sullen look on Logan’s face was beginning to shift back to his typical bright-eyed curiosity, which meant that while maybe not all was right with the world, a whole lot was right with the world.

As the sky began to darken, Logan’s pace quickened with sudden purpose—but he didn’t lead Virgil in the direction of the apartment. Instead, he headed in almost the exact opposite direction. Virgil was lost for a moment as to where they were going, until the park in the center of downtown came into view. Ah. That explained it. He was kind of glad; he didn’t feel ready for the quiet time they were spending together to be over.

A scent caught his attention as they entered the park, and he tugged gently at Logan’s arm, nodding towards the mediterranean food truck. A small smile answered him, and a nod, and the pair of them made their way over. They both ordered gyros—Virgil chicken, and Logan, who was trying out vegetarian food, falafel.

Fifteen minutes later, seated side by side on a park bench and finishing the last of their sandwiches, Logan cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Virgil bumped his shoulder against his boyfriend’s. “Of course, babe.”

“I am feeling… better,” Logan said cautiously, as if he were testing out the words in his mouth to see if they felt true.

Virgil nodded. “Better is good.”

Logan nodded, eyes moving to the sky, which was now almost fully dark except for a streak of orange sunset leftover on the horizon. The stars were out, at least the brightest ones that could be seen even past the floodlights placed every so often across the park.

“You like space, and shit, right?” Virgil said, scooting closer to Logan and dragging his arm to wrap around Virgil as he rested his head on Logan’s shoulder. It was a bit of a rhetorical question, since he knew Logan had an astronomy minor and was the vice president of the astronomy club and had gone on no less than three eager rambles about space in the last month alone, but one could always do with a conversation opener.

Logan blinked and looked down at him. “I do.” You know this, his tone said, a little puzzled at the question.

“What star is that?” Virgil pointed at a particularly bright one, although he wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the star as he was to Logan’s face.

Sure enough, Logan brightened, his eyes more interesting than any star. “Oh! That’s not a star at all—it’s actually Mercury!”

“Really?” Virgil asked, grinning and scooting closer.

Logan wrapped his arm a little more tightly around Virgil’s shoulders with an answering smile. “Yes, and it’s actually very fascinating…” And just like that, he was off, words spilling out of his mouth at a breakneck pace, gesturing eagerly with his free hand to emphasize his points.

Virgil listened, doing his best to follow along and asking a few questions whenever Logan started to wind down, but mostly just happy to watch his boyfriend’s lips as he excitedly infodumped, and his eyes, too, alight with delight, the frustration of the disappointing grade all but forgotten as he held Virgil and told him stories about the night sky.

It was nearly ten at night by the time they made their way back to Logan’s apartment, chatting back and forth in quiet voices and giggling. Logan broke off as he opened the door and got a look inside; he glanced over his shoulder at Virgil and put a finger to his lips.

Virgil hushed and followed him in, then saw what the need for quiet was: Janus and Roman were asleep on the sofa, Roman sprawled on his stomach on top of Janus with his limbs everywhere and his face buried in Janus’s chest, Janus with their arms wrapped around him and a throw pillow propping their head up and a worn copy of Crime and Punishment flopped over from where it had clearly been propped up on Roman’s back.

“Precious,” Virgil commented softly as Logan picked up the book, tucked a bookmark off the coffee table into it, and set it down with the tender care he seemed to reserve exclusively for books and Virgil.

Logan smiled. “They are, rather.” He looked down at his roommates. “Sometimes I wonder why I picked the two most dramatic people I know to live with.”

“Sometimes like this afternoon?” Virgil said with a chuckle.

Logan snorted. “Maybe. But then they do things like this, and I remember why I like them.”

Virgil noticed something on the tiny kitchen table. “Or this?” He pointed.

Logan came over to examine what Virgil had found. “Oh,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face.

A plate of cookies sat on the table, together with a hastily handmade card.

“Sorry :( ❤️” it read in large, expressive cursive, and beneath it in smaller, neater handwriting, “I actually didn’t do anything wrong, but these are for you and I did the dishes, also you’re welcome for the date night.”

Logan laughed quietly, taking a cookie and offering the plate to Virgil, who accepted one cookie—they looked to be snickerdoodles. “Yes. Things exactly like this,” he said. He took a bite of the cookie and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.”

Virgil grinned and leaned over to kiss him. “Not bad at all,” he agreed, pulling away.

“I literally gave you your own cookie,” Logan whispered, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, but it tastes better this way.” Virgil winked, mainly for Logan’s reaction—he pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling an amused smile that was still visible in his eyes. “I should go,” Virgil added, glancing at the time. It was Sunday tomorrow, so he didn’t need to worry about how late he was up, but he disliked walking home at night.

Logan nodded, taking another cookie and pressing it into his hand. “Text me when you get home?”

“I always do,” Virgil said, accepting the cookie and a goodnight kiss that still tasted just faintly of cinnamon and sugar.

And he did just that; he always felt a little awkward simply texting “I made it home,” or the like, so he usually tried to come up with interesting questions to send to Logan instead. Tonight, it was:

Virgil: hey Virgil: if u could pick one Thing u always wanted to do Virgil: and get a guarantee that u’d get a chance to do that thing no matter what Virgil: what would u pick?

Logan: Fascinating question! I would like the opportunity to name a star. Logan: I don’t imagine it will ever happen in real life, but I’ve always thought it would be… cool, for lack of a better word.

Virgil: ghfdkjghksdhj i will never be over ur love for space Virgil: u have a Brand and u stick to it

Logan: Well, a brand is important in life. :-) Logan: What about you? What would you pick?

Virgil: i think it’d be neat to be in a band Virgil: idk Virgil: like i don’t wanna be super famous or anything but like Virgil: being in a band would be neat Virgil: yk?

***

Ten years later, Virgil sang the last lines of his song looking right at his husband. “And I don’t even need to look to the skies/Because all of the stars are in your eyes.”

The noise around him didn’t fade away like in the movies; to the contrary, the cheering was so loud it was almost hard to focus. But Logan’s face was absolutely alight—Virgil couldn’t be sure at this distance, but he thought Logan might even be tearing up—and he was looking at Virgil like he was his whole world. Even with the bright lights and overwhelming sounds all around, it was easy to focus on Logan in the midst of it all, Logan pressing a hand to his mouth but smiling too wide for anything to hide it, Logan leaning into the side-hug that Patton—oh, and there was Patton, right beside him—was offering, but never taking his eyes off Virgil. Logan looked so happy, even though Virgil knew concerts weren’t really his favorite type of event, and Virgil was hit right in the chest with a renewed realization that Logan was Virgil’s whole world and damn, Virgil wanted to make sure everyone knew it.

But their time onstage was up, and the next few minutes were a bustle of packing equipment away and cleaning up the space they’d been allotted backstage, and it all went by in a bit of a blur, helped along by the remnants of Virgil’s performance mindset and slight overstimulation—though that was getting better now that he was offstage.

Virgil took a quick break, when the bulk of the urgent work was done, to just stand in the empty restroom and breathe for a moment, the noise of the other band who were now onstage thudding in the background so quietly he could hardly hear it. When he’d fully composed himself, feeling much calmer, he took a deep breath and headed back out.

On his way out, he ran into Roman, pushing a dolly with a box on it. “Oh, good, there you are,” he greeted Virgil. “Can you—oh, for crying out loud,” he broke off, looking ahead.

Following his gaze, Virgil snickered as he saw Remus, leaning against the wall with their hands clasped behind his head, grinning down at Patton, who was leaned forward, bracketing Remus with his arms, looking up at him and speaking, although Virgil couldn’t hear him from here.

“We still have work to do,” Roman said under his breath, but the exasperated gaze he leveled at the pair was altogether far too fond to have much real bite.

Virgil’s mind was on other matters; if Patton was here, that meant—

“Lolo!” Patton’s voice called brightly; he’d seen Roman and Virgil and stepped back from Remus, waving happily at the pair of them. “Virgil’s here!”

At the sound of Patton’s voice, Janus emerged from the room, a little further down the hall, that had served as the headquarters for the band. He bent to give the tiny man a kiss, then turned to Remus for another kiss.

Logan popped his head out just a moment behind Janus. “Virgil?” He brightened when he saw Virgil’s face, and stepped fully out into the hall. He hadn’t changed from his work outfit, still wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up, a tie, and a pair of jeans, and a smile that he looked like he couldn’t wipe off his face.

He was still the handsomest man Virgil had ever seen.

Virgil looked to Roman. “Permission to get back on my alloromantic bullshit, captain?” he asked teasingly.

Roman rolled his eyes and swatted Virgil’s shoulder. “Go be cute,” he said benignly.

Virgil took off down the hallway to Logan, not quite running; Logan took a few steps to meet him, and Virgil caught him in a hug so eager he actually lifted the taller man off his feet for just a second.

Logan, half-laughing with surprise, grasped Virgil’s shoulders for balance as he regained his feet. “You wrote me a song?”

“Did you like it?” Virgil asked, holding him tightly.

“Virgil, I—” Logan seized Virgil’s face in his hands and kissed him.

Virgil wrapped his arms more firmly around his husband, kissing him back exuberantly and swaying slightly back and forth.

“It’s perfect,” Logan told him, breaking away only just far enough to speak. “You’re perfect.”

Virgil grinned, reaching up to run his fingers through Logan’s neat hair. “Careful, you’ll spoil me.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that,” Logan told him seriously. “It’s not spoiling if you deserve it.”

And really, what was Virgil supposed to do about that except kiss his husband again?

[bookstantrash]

A/N: I can’t believe I’m staying true to my word and posting it before the year is over. My self imposed deadline was met, yey me!!

A little heads up for those who read my stuff: January will be a tricky month for me — I still have one exam left — so I don’t know if I’ll be able to post. Then there’s the acosf release, and I plan to avoid being in social media (aka tumblr, twitter) until I’ve read it at least two times lol. I’ll try to write in any spare time that I have, but I’m sorry in advance.

Now, let’s end 2020 with style!! I hope you enjoy the new chapter and wish y’all a good 2021 💜

In which she makes a friend, Part Five

Nesta woke up to soft knocking on her door.

She groaned in her pillow, wanting nothing more than to go back sleep. She was not used to waking up so early — the sun had barely risen on the sky — and she’d had a poor night of sleep, her latest nightmare still too vivid in her mind.

Nesta had a lot of those. Nightmares. Before, it was of Mandray. Of being beneath him again. Of not being able to scape. After being kidnapped by Hybern, they were about Elain. Of failing time and time again to avoid her sister being thrown into that blasted Cauldron.

Once the war had come and gone, it got worse. She’d dream of Elain in that camp, chained near the Cauldron. Would dream of Feyre failing to rescue their sister. Would dream of both of them dying while Nesta was unable to protect them. Another failure that’d hunt her through all of her miserable immortal life.

And she’d dream of him. Of his wings being broken and his screams piercing her ears, her soul. Of Hybern killing him in front of her eyes while she was held down by the evil king’s power. And once she got free, once she blasted that bastard to nothingness, she’d find herself in world without him. A world where she lived with a big nothing inside her.

Last night, however, had been different. She had been dreaming of failing Elain and Feyre again when suddenly she heard a voice. His voice, talking in that melodic and enthralling language, his voice a soft caress that eased her troubles. But as soon as she felt herself calming down, Nesta felt him go away. And so she desperately asked for him to stay with her. At least in her dreams she’d be less proud and afraid to say what she wished to. What she wished she had said to him two months ago.

Don’t go. Stay.

And in her dream he stayed. It had been so realistic that Nesta swore she could still feel his warm calloused hand against her skin, smell his scent, his voice a lover’s caress in her ears and—

She got up from the bed quickly, shaking her head. No good would come from going down that path. She willed her heart to behave and stay quiet in the cage she had locked it into. Wall after wall being risen, being toughened. Sometimes, feeling nothing was better then feeling too much or even anything at all.

Nesta heard knocking again, and quickly discarded her nightgown for the Illyrian leathers. She had struck a promise to train with Kaelin before the girl’s morning training and Nesta hated to be late.

“I’m awake, you don’t have to tear down the door Kaelin” Nesta said, opening her door and almost hitting her face in a leather clad chest.

Cassian was the one knocking on her door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Good morning to you too sweetheart” he gave her a teasing grin “Last that I checked, I live here”

“One would wonder if that is true, given your long absence” she replied, knowing she had hit her mark when she saw a muscle twitching on his jaw “Where’s Kaelin?”

“Training has been rescheduled. The younglings start earlier now so those preparing for the Blood Rite can have more time on the training areas” Cassian managed to say.

“I see” Nesta was thinking about going back to sleep when the male in front of her interrupted her thoughts.

“Would you care to have breakfast with me?”

She opened her mouth to dismiss him when she caught the look on his eyes. Not angry anymore at her earlier jab, but anxious. She had never seen Cassian so unsure before, so difficult to read. It was as if his feelings were all over the place.

“It wouldn’t hurt to eat with him” she thought, recalling her dream.

“You are cooking” Nesta declared, moving past him to the kitchen.

“As you wish, your Highness” he did a mocking bow and followed her.

Nesta eyed the tall male in front of her. He cooked with expertise and seemed completely comfortable in the ambient, humming while he mixed some eggs in the frying pan.

He was so... domestic. Nesta almost smiled imagining him with a silly apron, an image so at odds with his usual scary General appearance.

“I talked with Kaelin yesterday” Cassian said after some time.

“And?” Nesta asked, raising an eyebrow

“He’s been training with you. And I was wondering....” he placed the food in front of her, clearing his throat “I was wondering if I could train you. Both of you. Kaelin is not so advanced with his training and there’s also the matter of—”

“The matter of what” she snapped

“Your powers” he fidgeted with a knife, twirling it on his hand, not scared to cut off a finger by accident “I don’t know where you were with Amren in regards to them, but it’s also important to have them in sync with any self defence moves you can learn”

“My powers are none of your concern”

It was a lie. Her classes with Amren had just grazed the surface of what she knew she could do. But she was scared of them. Of what she could do. Her powers were a wild beast that was she forced to live with, a constant reminder of the life she lost.

She hated it.

However, Cassian was right. If she truly wanted to be capable of defending herself — of defending Kaelin were her secret to be discovered — she’d have to accept his help.

“We can train after breakfast” she nonchalantly said, stabbing a piece of the scrambled eggs on her plate “I’m already changed either way”

“Brilliant” Cassian smiled, his whole face seeming to lighten up like the sky after a storm “Prepare yourself to be challenged sweetheart. I’m not one to go easy on my students”

~•~

Cassian did not lie. He didn’t go easy on her. Her whole body ached and she almost regretted her choice to not stay in the cabin, rereading one of her books.

But she had places to go.

“You’re late”

“I’m not late Esmée” Nesta stated, grabbing an apron by the tent’ side and moving to one of the tables “I’m exactly on time”

“You’re thirty seconds late. That’s enough to lose the boiling point for a healing potion and make it a poison instead” Esmée, the chief healer of Windhaven huffed “If I say you’re late then you’re late.”

Nesta only dipped her head and started to work. Esmée might come out as a grump and mean female, but she was only serious about her work, a work which left her with no time for idle talk or sugarcoated pleasantries.

Nesta liked her just fine.

Kaelin had been the one to present her to the healers. Once her period was over and it was safe for her to leave the cabin without someone noticing the change in her scent, Kaelin had taken Nesta in a tour through Windhaven. Nesta did not know anything else except the area around Cassian’s cabin, which included a solitary trail to the forest and the outskirts of the village.

Kaelin appeared to know everyone they passed by. The younglings — who were yet too young to train — happily waved at her when they passed, as did some females who were working. On the other hand, it was different with the males. They eyed Kaelin with distaste and something akin to betrayal in their eyes. Nesta had yet to ask Kaelin why. Was it because she was walking with Nesta, an outsider who not only was High Fae but also the sister in law of their High Lord? She had tucked the information inside herself, analysing everything and everyone they met.

And it was when they were nearing the end of the tour that they had come upon the healers tent. Nesta recalled helping them in the war, bringing buckets of water, doing bandages for the wounded and holding the most serious ones down while they were patched up. She had felt like she had a purpose back then. Like she was not a burden.

She tried not think how it also helped her take her mind off the fearless Illyrian who leaded the troops, leaving only dead bodies with whoever met his blade.

Esmée had remembered her, as did some of the other females that worked alongside her. They had not eyed Nesta with pity or distaste, something she was used to in Velaris. No, they simply gave her a nod of recognition and went back to work, mixing herbs, cutting straps of bandages and tending to patients.

“Are you going to help or will you stay all day there?” Esmée had snapped “If you want to, grab an apron and come here. We need more jambu to be ground so that fella over there can stop whining”

Kaelin had come still beside Nesta, fearing she had been insulted by the healers harsh words. But she simply grabbed an apron and rolled her dress’ sleeves.

“Which one is jambu?”

And from that day onwards Nesta began to help the healers in any way she could, going after her training with Kaelin in the morning and coming back in the late afternoon. Kaelin always walked her back, stopping at the tent after her training.

“It’s not safe for females to wander alone” the young girl had informed Nesta “Specially when it starts to get dark”

Nesta knew better than to dismiss Kaelin’s words. She knew what males were capable of doing to those they thought inferior to them.

“Charming as ever, don’t you agree?” Jacira said, appearing beside Nesta.

“Lovely” she mumbled back, the corners of her lips almost raising in a smile.

Jacira was one of the least shy healers around Nesta. She had beautiful dark green eyes, which contrasted with her dark raven hair and dark brown skin. She also had a very sharp and curious mind, and was teaching Nesta all she knew about what being a healer was like.

Nesta liked to think she had found another friend in Jacira.

“I see the General has come back”

“Really? I didn’t notice” Nesta replied, busying herself with her task.

“He had been gone longer than usual this time for the inspection” Jacira whispered “Word says it’s because some serious trouble has risen in other camps, specially Ironcrest”

Jacira was also a shameless gossiper. In the two weeks Nesta had started to work with her, she knew practically everything about anyone that lived in Windhaven. She said to herself that no harm would come to listen to Jacira’s blabbering. She was simply gathering information as to not stay in the dark.

It was not gossip. It was only intelligence material about the Illyrians in Windhaven.

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” Cassian had not spoken a word about it with her.

“I don’t know. I only know that the camp lords are whispering between them, and seem to be anxious about the Blood Rite.” she got closer to Nesta “In my opinion, they want it to arrive fast so any feuds can be resolved there”

For the Blood Rite was not only the chance for the Illyrians to prove their worth as a warrior, but a bloodbath. An event that allowed matters to be resolved without the laws of the war camps binding them.

“More work and less talk ladies” Esmée hissed at them “Those tonics won’t be done by themselves”

“Yes, m’am” Jacira replied, batting her eyelashes innocently, making Nesta snort. That girl had no fear of danger.

They kept to their work, Jacira talking when she thought Esmée was not looking, Nesta saying something now and then. The time she spent among the healers was precious to her. It brought a sense of normality back to her life. Even the wild beast inside her gave her a time out, seeming to purr whenever she dedicated herself to chopping herbs and making tonics or healing potions, the scent of all the ingredients calming her.

But the thought that something was amiss among the Illyrians bothered her. It was something that stayed on her mind all day.

Nesta was quieter than usual at dinner — she caught Cassian glancing worriedly at her when he thought she was not looking — the gears inside her head turning and going through every possible outcome.

She went to sleep still thinking about it, and came to a conclusion.

Something bad was coming.

And she would get Cassian to tell her whatever it was.

•

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[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 19: Sand On My Feet Are The Worst

Imagine the largest concert crowd you've ever seen, a football field packed with a million fans. Now imagine a field a million times that big, packed with people, and imagine the electricity has gone out, and there is no noise, no light, no beach ball bouncing around over the crowd. Something tragic has happened backstage. Whispering masses of people are just milling around in the shadows, waiting for a concert that will never start.

If you can picture that, you have a pretty good idea what the Fields of Asphodel looked like. The black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet. A warm, moist wind blew like the breath of a swamp. Black trees—Grover told me they were poplars—grew in clumps here and there.

The cavern ceiling was so high above us it might've been a bank of storm clouds, except for the stalactites, which glowed faint gray and looked wickedly pointed. I tried not to imagine they'd fall on us at any moment, but dotted around the fields were several that had fallen and impaled themselves in the black grass. I guess the dead didn't have to worry about little hazards like being speared by stalactites the size of booster rockets. Annabeth, Grover, Percy, and I tried to blend into the crowd, keeping an eye out for security ghouls. I couldn't help looking for familiar faces among the spirits of Asphodel, but the dead are hard to look at. Their faces shimmer. They all look slightly angry or confused. They will come up to you and speak, but their voices sound like chatter, like bats twittering. Once they realize you can't understand them, they frown and move away. The dead aren't scary. They're just sad.

Don't worry... Death isn't bad compared to life. We crept along, following the line of new arrivals that snaked from the main gates toward a black-tented pavilion with a banner that read: JUDGMENTS FOR ELYSIUM AND ETERNAL DAMNATION Welcome, Newly Deceased! Out the back of the tent came two much smaller lines. To the left, spirits flanked by security ghouls were marched down a rocky path toward the Fields of Punishment, which glowed and smoked in the distance, a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava and minefields and miles of barbed wire separating the different torture areas. Even from far away, I could see people being chased by hellhounds, burned at the stake, forced to run naked through cactus patches or listen to opera music. I could just make out a tiny hill, with the ant-size figure of Sisyphus struggling to move his boulder to the top. And I saw worse tortures, too—things I don't want to describe. The line coming from the right side of the judgment pavilion was much better. This one led down toward a small valley surrounded by walls—a gated community, which seemed to be the only happy part of the Underworld. Beyond the security gate were neighborhoods of beautiful houses from every time period in history, Roman villas and medieval castles and Victorian mansions. Silver and gold flowers bloomed on the lawns. The grass rippled in rainbow colors. I could hear laughter and smell barbecue cooking. Elysium. In the middle of that valley was a glittering blue lake, with three small islands like a vacation resort in the Bahamas. The Isles of the Blest, for people who had chosen to be reborn three times, and three times achieved Elysium. Immediately I knew that's where I wanted to go when I died. If I die.

"I am so ready to die if that's where I'll go." "That's what it's all about," Annabeth said, "That's the place for heroes." But I thought of how few people there were in Elysium, how tiny it was compared to the Fields of Asphodel or even the Fields of Punishment. So few people did good in their lives. It was depressing. We left the judgment pavilion and moved deeper into the Asphodel Fields. It got darker. The colors faded from our clothes. The crowds of chattering spirits began to thin. After a few miles of walking, we began to hear a familiar screech in the distance. Looming on the horizon was a palace of glittering black obsidian. Above the parapets swirled three dark bat like creatures: the Furies. I got the feeling they were waiting for us. "I suppose it's too late to turn back," Percy said wistfully. "We'll be okay." I smiled. "Maybe we should search some of the other places first," Grover suggested. "Like, Elysium, for instance..." "Come on, goat boy." Annabeth grabbed his arm. Grover yelped. His sneakers sprouted wings and his legs shot forward, pulling him away from Annabeth. He landed flat on his back in the grass. "Grover," Annabeth chided. "Stop messing around." "But I didn't—" He yelped again. His shoes were flapping like crazy now. They levitated off the ground and started dragging him away from us. "Maia!" he yelled, but the magic word seemed to have no effect. "Maia, already! Nine-one-one! Help!" I got over being stunned and made a grab for Grover's hand, but too late. He was picking up speed, skidding downhill like a bobsled. We ran after him. Annabeth shouted, "Untie the shoes!" It was a smart idea, but I guess it's not so easy when your shoes are pulling you along feetfirst at full speed. Grover tried to sit up, but he couldn't get close to the laces. We kept after him, trying to keep him in sight as he ripped between the legs of spirits who chattered at him in annoyance. I was sure Grover was going to barrel straight through the gates of Hades's palace, but his shoes veered sharply to the right and dragged him in the opposite direction. The slope got steeper. Grover picked up speed. Annabeth, Percy and I had to sprint to keep up. The cavern walls narrowed on either side, and I realized we'd entered some kind of side tunnel. No black grass or trees now, just rock underfoot, and the dim light of the stalactites above. "Grover!" Percy yelled, my voice echoing. "Hold on to something!" "What?" he yelled back. He was grabbing at gravel, but there was nothing big enough to slow him down. The tunnel got darker and colder. The hairs on my arms bristled. It smelled evil down here. It made me think of things I shouldn't even know about—blood spilled on an ancient stone altar, the foul breath of a murderer. Percy saw what was ahead of us, and he stopped dead in my tracks. The tunnel widened into a huge dark cavern, and in the middle was a chasm the size of a city block. Grover was sliding straight toward the edge. "Come on, Percy!" I yelled, tugging at his wrist. "But that's—" "I know!" Annabeth shouted. "The place you described in your dream! But Grover's going to fall if we don't catch him." She was right, of course. Grover's predicament got me moving again. He was yelling, clawing at the ground, but the winged shoes kept dragging him toward the pit, and it didn't look like we could possibly get to him in time. What saved him were his hooves. The flying sneakers had always been a loose fit on him, and finally Grover hit a big rock and the left shoe came flying off. It sped into the darkness, down into the chasm. The right shoe kept tugging him along, but not as fast. Grover was able to slow himself down by grabbing on to the big rock and using it like an anchor. He was ten feet from the edge of the pit when we caught him and hauled him back up the slope. The other winged shoe tugged itself off, circled around us angrily and kicked our heads in protest before flying off into the chasm to join its twin. We all collapsed, exhausted, on the obsidian gravel.

"Are you okay?" Grover was scratched up pretty bad. His hands were bleeding. His eyes had gone slit-pupiled, goat style, the way they did whenever he was terrified. "I don't know how..." he panted. "I didn't..." "Wait," I said. "Listen." I heard something—a deep whisper in the darkness. Another few seconds, and Annabeth said, "Y/N, this place—" "Shh." I stood. The sound was getting louder, a muttering, evil voice from far, far below us. Coming from the pit. Grover sat up. "Wh—what's that noise?" Annabeth heard it too, now. I could see it in her eyes. "Tartarus. The entrance to Tartarus."

I turned to Percy, he uncapped Riptide. The bronze sword expanded, gleaming in the darkness, and the evil voice seemed to falter, just for a moment, before resuming its chant. I could almost make out words now, ancient, ancient words, older even than Greek. As if... "Magic," I said. "We have to get out of here," Annabeth said. Annabeth and I dragged Grover to his hooves and started back up the tunnel. Percy was lagging behind us. The voice got louder and angrier behind us, and we broke into a run. Not a moment too soon. A cold blast of wind pulled at our backs, as if the entire pit were inhaling. For a terrifying moment, Percy lost ground, I luckily got a hold of him. If we'd been any closer to the edge, we would've been sucked in. We kept struggling forward, and finally reached the top of the tunnel, where the cavern widened out into the Fields of Asphodel. The wind died. A wail of outrage echoed from deep in the tunnel. Something was not happy we'd gotten away. "What was that?" Grover panted, when we'd collapsed in the relative safety of a black poplar grove. "One of Hades's pets?"

No... We all know what's down there. Annabeth and Percy looked at each other. I could tell they knew what's down there. Percy capped his sword, put the pen back in jis pocket. "Let's keep going."

I looked at Grover. "Can you walk?" He swallowed. "Yeah, sure. I never liked those shoes, anyway." He tried to sound brave about it, but he was trembling as badly as Annabeth and I were. Whatever was in that pit was nobody's pet. It was unspeakably old and powerful. Even Echidna hadn't given me that feeling. I was almost relieved to turn my back on that tunnel and head toward the palace of Hades. Almost. The Furies circled the parapets, high in the gloom. The outer walls of the fortress glittered black, and the two-story-tall bronze gates stood wide open. Up close, I saw that the engravings on the gates were scenes of death. Some were from modern times—an atomic bomb exploding over a city, a trench filled with gas mask-wearing soldiers, a line of African famine victims waiting with empty bowls—but all of them looked as if they'd been etched into the bronze thousands of years ago. I wondered if I was looking at prophecies that had come true. Inside the courtyard was the strangest garden I'd ever seen. Multicolored mushrooms, poisonous shrubs, and weird luminous plants grew without sunlight. Precious jewels made up for the lack of flowers, piles of rubies as big as my fist, clumps of raw diamonds. Standing here and there like frozen party guests were Medusa's garden statues— petrified children, satyrs, and centaurs—all smiling grotesquely. In the center of the garden was an orchard of pomegranate trees, their orange blooms neon bright in the dark. "The garden of Persephone," Annabeth said. "Keep walking." I understood why she wanted to move on. The tart smell of those pomegranates was almost overwhelming. I had a sudden desire to eat them, but then I remembered the story of Persephone. One bite of Underworld food, and we would never be able to leave. I pulled Grover away to keep him from picking a big juicy one. We walked up the steps of the palace, between black columns, through a black marble portico, and into the house of Hades. The entry hall had a polished bronze floor, which seemed to boil in the reflected torchlight. There was no ceiling, just the cavern roof, far above. I guess they never had to worry about rain down here. Every side doorway was guarded by a skeleton in military gear. Some wore Greek armor, some British redcoat uniforms, some camouflage with tattered American flags on the shoulders. They carried spears or muskets or M-16s. None of them bothered us, but their hollow eye sockets followed us as we walked down the hall, toward the big set of doors at the opposite end.

Two U.S. Marine skeletons guarded the doors. They grinned down at us, rocket-propelled grenade launchers held across their chests. "You know," Grover mumbled, "I bet Hades doesn't have trouble with door-to-door salesmen." "Well, guys," I said. "I suppose we should ... knock?" A hot wind blew down the corridor, and the doors swung open. The guards stepped aside. "I guess that means entrez-vous," Annabeth said.

A god we shall meet. But this one's different. The room inside looked just like in my dream, except this time the throne of Hades was occupied. He was the third god I'd met, but the first who really struck me as godlike. He was at least ten feet tall, for one thing, and dressed in black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black. He wasn't bulked up like Ares, but he radiated power. He lounged on his throne of fused human bones, looking lithe, graceful, and dangerous as a panther. I immediately felt like he should be giving the orders. He knew more than I did. He should be my master. Then I told myself to snap out of it. Hades's aura was affecting me, just as Ares's had. The Lord of the Dead resembled pictures I'd seen of Adolph Hitler, or Napoleon, or the terrorist leaders who direct suicide bombers. Hades had the same intense eyes, the same kind of mesmerizing, evil charisma. "You are brave to come here, Son of Poseidon," he said in an oily voice. "After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish."

I fought the feeling to step forward.

Percy knew what to say, he had to be the one to talk... "Lord and Uncle, I come with two requests."

Hades raised an eyebrow. When he sat forward in his throne, shadowy faces appeared in the folds of his black robes, faces of torment, as if the garment were stitched of trapped souls from the Fields of Punishment, trying to get out. The ADHD part of me wondered, off-task, whether the rest of his clothes were made the same way. What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades's underwear? "Only two requests?" Hades said. "Arrogant child. As if you have not already taken enough. Speak, then. It amuses me not to strike you dead yet." I glanced at the empty, smaller throne next to Hades's. It was shaped like a black flower, gilded with gold. I wished Queen Persephone were here. I recalled something in the myths about how she could calm her husband's moods. But it was summer. Of course, Persephone would be above in the world of light with her mother, the goddess of agriculture, Demeter. Her visits, not the tilt of the planet, create the seasons. Annabeth cleared her throat. Her finger prodded Percy in the back. "Lord Hades," Percy said. "Look, sir, there can't be a war among the gods. It would be... bad." "Really bad," Grover added helpfully. "Return Zeus's master bolt to me," Percy said. "Please, sir. Let me carry it to Olympus." Hades's eyes grew dangerously bright. "You dare keep up this pretense, after what you have done?" Percy glanced back to us. "Um... Uncle," He said. "You keep saying 'after what you've done.' What exactly have I done?" The throne room shook with a tremor so strong, they probably felt it upstairs in Los Angeles. Debris fell from the cavern ceiling. Doors burst open all along the walls, and skeletal warriors marched in, hundreds of them, from every time period and nation in Western civilization. They lined the perimeter of the room, blocking the exits. Hades bellowed, "Do you think I want war, godling?" "Well, these guys don't look like peace activists." I accidentally slipped.

The three of them looked at me in surprise. Hades glared at me.

"The unclaimed." He scoffed. "You are as foolish as every Gods had said."

I wanted to say more but Annabeth had grabbed me and forced me to bow.

"U-Uhm... Y-You are the Lord of the Dead," Percy said carefully. "A war would expand your kingdom, right?" "A typical thing for my brothers to say! Do you think I need more subjects? Did you not see the sprawl of the Asphodel Fields?" "Well..." "Have you any idea how much my kingdom has swollen in this past century alone, how many subdivisions I've had to open?" Hades was on a roll now. Go Hades. "More security ghouls," he moaned. "Traffic problems at the judgment pavilion. Double overtime for the staff. I used to be a rich god, Percy Jackson. I control all the precious metals under the earth. But my expenses!" "Charon wants a pay raise," I smirked. "Don't get me started on Charon!" Hades yelled. "He's been impossible ever since he discovered Italian suits! Problems everywhere, and I've got to handle all of them personally. The commute time alone from the palace to the gates is enough to drive me insane! And the dead just keep arriving. No, godling. I need no help getting subjects! I did not ask for this war." "But you took Zeus's master bolt." "Lies!" More rumbling. Hades rose from his throne, towering to the height of a football goalpost. "Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see his plan." "His plan?" "You were the thief on the winter solstice," he said. "Your father thought to keep you his little secret. He directed you into the throne room on Olympus, You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at Yancy Academy, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open. You will be exposed as Poseidon's thief, and I will have my helm back!" "But...." Annabeth spoke. I could tell her mind was going a million miles an hour. "Lord Hades, your helm of darkness is missing, too?" "Do not play innocent with me, girl. You and the satyr have been helping this hero—coming here to threaten me in Poseidon's name, no doubt—to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?" "No!" Percy said. "Poseidon didn't—I didn't—" "I have said nothing of the helm's disappearance," Hades snarled, "because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I can ill afford for word to get out that my most powerful weapon of fear is missing. So I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I did not try to stop you." "You didn't try to stop us? But—" "Return my helm now, or I will stop death," Hades threatened. "That is my counterproposal. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you, Percy Jackson—your skeleton will lead my army out of Hades."

The skeletal soldiers all took one step forward, making their weapons ready.

At that point, I probably should have been terrified. The strange thing was, I felt offended. Nothing gets me angrier than being accused of something I didn't do. I've had a lot of experience with that. "You're as bad as Zeus and Poseidon," I said. "You think Percy stole from you? That's why you sent the Furies after us?" "Of course," Hades said. "And the other monsters?" Hades curled his lip. "I had nothing to do with them. I wanted no quick death for you—I wanted you brought before me alive so you might face every torture in the Fields of Punishment. Why do you think I let you enter my kingdom so easily?" "Easily?" I scoffed. "You are the worse! My gods! I hate all of you!" I was gripping my hair laughing like a maniac.

Annabeth was about to grab me when I shrugged her and walked forward which alerted everyone.

"Wat---"

"Wait up, I let you go on a roll dead guy. My turn." I hissed staring at him right in the eye.

We are going to talk.

I had no idea why but no one moved, Hades looked at me curiously then to my friends who are either scared of Hades's upcoming wrath or mine.

"Do carry on."

"Listen here big guy." Pointing my finger at him, "You. Are. Mean. Are all gods stupid and mean?! I can't get close to water since I was a kid because there's an idiot who hates me! And here I am trying to help him get something! And he hadn't even bothered to keep his hate for me until this stupid quest is over!!" I panted.

"Y/---"

"Not yet goat boy!" I pointed at what ever was above us. "and that stuck up, up there who thinks he's all high and mighty? Does he have to cause a war?! Can't he just get down from his high throne none of this would happen if he wasn't all high and mighty when all he could do is take a child's parents because they cheated on sims!"

"I don---"

"And you Mr. Emo! You've had Mrs. Dodds on Percy! What made you think he's have your stupid helmet?! When did he get it? During his potty time?! Did his father Amazon that thing to him or something?! We. Don't. Have. Anything! Grover doesn't even have shoes!! What made you think we'd have the luxury of carrying the bolt and helm but not extra shoes for the goat?!"

"Y/N!" Percy yelled.

"What?!"

"If you're done with your point calm down... I don't think Lord Hades would be kind enough to entertain you anymore..." Annabeth whispered.

"I am almost done." I took a deep breath. And walked closer to actually be able to touch him, the three behind me caught their breath. "... My parents... are M/N and F/N L/N. I am Y/N L/N. I don't care which all mighty it is. I am not unclaimed. I will get them back. I will save them. And I will come back here and get on with you again if I have to just to save them. Because they're my parents, I have no other." I then gave him a smile which was a total turn of my emotions, "And kill me now if you will. Just know, I'll be here in your kingdom forever which ever part and I will be taking it as a compliment of how much you enjoy my company."

He was much larger than I was so all I could do there was shove whatever I could, then walked back to Percy.

They all looked at Hades, he was going to kill us. That was one thing everyone agreed on.

Nine. I chose that prophecy. You are aware of my prophecy. You are aware of who our parents are after all.

"Y/N L/N, daughter of L/N. It's foolish of you to talk to me like that. You best be careful of how you talk to Gods. Others won't hesitate killing you."

The other three were stunned. Looking between me and Hades. "Whoa, wait a minute. You won't kill me? Are you saying it was cool I talked to you like that? "

"I will not kill you." Hades emphasized on the word 'you' and looked at Percy, Grover and Annabeth. "And I may spare your friends, if you return what is mine." "We don't have it." Pointing at Percy, "Open your pack, then." A horrible feeling struck me.

Percy slung it off his shoulder and unzipped it. Inside was a two-foot-long metal cylinder, spiked on both ends, humming with energy. "Percy," Annabeth said. "How—" "I—I don't know. I don't understand." "You heroes are always the same," Hades said. "Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus's master bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. I am sure it will make an excellent bargaining tool. And now... my helm. Where is it?" I was speechless. I knew Percy had no helm. I had no idea how the master bolt had gotten into his backpack. I wanted to think Hades was pulling some kind of trick.

I realized we've been played with. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades had been set at each other's throats by someone else. The master bolt had been in the backpack, and I'd gotten the backpack from... "Hades bro, wait," I said. "This is all a mistake."

"Bro?" Percy looked at me. "A mistake?" Hades roared. The skeletons aimed their weapons. From high above, there was a fluttering of leathery wings, and the three Furies swooped down to perch on the back of their master's throne. Mrs. Rudolph grinned at Percy eagerly and flicked her whip. "There is no mistake," Hades said. "I know why you have come—I know the real reason you brought the bolt. You came to bargain for her." Hades loosed a ball of gold fire from his palm. It exploded on the steps in front of me, and there was Mrs. Jackson, frozen in a shower of gold, just as she was at the moment when the Minotaur began to squeeze her to death. I couldn't speak. Percy reached out to touch her, but the light was as hot as a bonfire. "Yes," Hades said with satisfaction. "I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you would come to bargain with me eventually. Return my helm, and perhaps I will let her go. She is not dead, you know. Not yet. But if you displease me, that will change." "Ah, the pearls," Hades said, and my blood froze. I turned to see Percy with his hands in his pocket. "Yes, my brother and his little tricks. Bring them forth, Percy Jackson." Percy brought out the pearls. "Only four," Hades said. "What a shame. You do realize each only protects a single person. Try to take your mother, then, little godling. And which of your friends will you leave behind to spend eternity with me? Go on. Choose. Or give me the backpack and accept my terms." Percy looked at Me, Annabeth and Grover. Their faces were grim. "We were tricked," Percy told them. "Set up." "Yes, but why?" Annabeth asked. "And the voice in the pit—" "I don't know yet," Percy said. "But I intend to ask." "Decide, boy!" Hades yelled. "Percy." Grover put his hand on his shoulder. "You can't give him the bolt," "I know that." "Leave me here," he said. "Use the third pearl on your mom."

"No!" "I'm a satyr," Grover said. "We don't have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won't get me forever. I'll just be reincarnated as a flower or something. It's the best way." "No." Annabeth drew her bronze knife. "You two go on. Grover, you have to protect Percy. You have to get your searcher's license and start your quest for Pan. Get his mom out of here. I'll cover you. I plan to go down fighting." "No way," Grover said. "I'm staying behind." "Think again, goat boy," Annabeth said.

"I'll stay. I low-key wanna be bros with Hades right now honestly. I also high-key don't want to meet the two sticks up there." "Stop it, I know what to do," Percy said. "Take these." He handed us each a pearl. Annabeth said, "But, Percy..." He turned and faced his mother. I desperately wanted to sacrifice myself and use the last pearl on her, but I knew what she wouldn’t like that. She would never allow it. We had to get the bolt back to Olympus and tell Zeus the truth. We had to stop the war. She would never forgive us if we saved her instead. I thought about the prophecy made at Half-Blood Hill, what seemed like a million years ago, the one Percy shared. 

You will fail to save what matters most in the end. "I'm sorry," He told her. "I'll be back. I'll find a way." The smug look on Hades's face faded. He said, "Godling... ?" "I'll find your helm, Uncle," Percy told him. "I'll return it. Remember about Charon's pay raise." "Do not defy me—" "And it wouldn't hurt to play with Cerberus once in a while. He likes red rubber balls." "Percy Jackson, you will not—" He shouted, "Now, guys!" We smashed the pearls at our feet. For a scary moment, nothing happened. Hades yelled, "Destroy them!" The army of skeletons rushed forward, swords out, guns clicking to full automatic. The Furies lunged, their whips bursting into flame. Just as the skeletons opened fire, the pearl fragments at their feet exploded with a burst of green light and a gust of fresh sea wind. They were encased in a milky white sphere, which was starting to float off the ground.

"Y/N?" Percy looked at me in shock. Annabeth and Grover were right behind him.

At my feet were dry sand. My eyes widened.

"NO! Y/N!!"

Mrs. Rudolph pulled me close to her as spears and bullets sparked harmlessly off the pearl bubbles while they floated up. Hades yelled with such rage, the entire fortress shook and I knew it was not going to be a peaceful night in L.A. I could still see Percy and Annabeth trying to break the bubble. But sure enough, they were racing right toward the stalactites, which I figured would pop their bubbles like the two wanted. Then they vanished. I fell on my knees tears filling my eyes.

"D-Did Poseidon just leave me here in hopes you'll kill me...?" I managed to say. Tears were pilling up my eyes.

"Sweetie..." I heard Mrs. Rudolph say. She was back to her soft demeanor, the one she had back then.

"Does he hate me this much? After all I've done to help with this quest? Drowning me wasn't enough?" Tears were now flowing. "Taking my parents and torturing them wasn't enough?"

I curled up my knees and sobs escaped my mouth.

"Y/N..." I heard a familiar voice. I looked up to see Mrs. Jackson.

I gasped and turned to Hades who looked at me with a frown. "You are in luck, I don't wish to kill you. Converse with one another to comfort yourself, I will not provide you of such."

I weak laugh escaped from me, "So, you're a softie huh Hades?"

The ground cracked beneath me but I didn't fall. "Don't make me regret my choices child."

Mrs. Jackson smiled at Hades and gave me a hug. Then as if things couldn't get better, I heard a bark.

"D/N!!" At Hades's foot he sat, a skeleton was holding his leash. "You have him!! You are so my favorite."

Hades signaled the skeleton to free D/N who immediately ran to me.

Our parents had already decided on our parent.

"Yeah." Mrs. Jackson said.

"What?"

"Your parents will tell you who your god parent is." Mrs. Jackson said.

"Don't you guys know?"

"We do." Mrs. Jackson gave a look at Hades who rolled his eyes.

"Only Hades is the parent I want right now. But I don't like the idea of my mom and Hades together."

"I do not wish to have you as a child."

"Go away, I am the best daughter. You'd be honored to have me."

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[silverwhiteraven]

Wings of Broken White - Ch. 1

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 2 ]

[ Author’s Note: Decided to get a head-start on MariChat May this year~! It’s a Chat Blanc and Wing AU, I hope you enjoy <3 ]

[ Summary:  Wings are commonplace in the world, but, some people who have them, also lose them. So how did this miraculous duo get theirs back? ]

Gabriel watched over his young sleeping son, contemplating his decision as the melancholic rain tapped against the outside of the windows.

He could feel the sorrow, heartbreak, and confusion radiating from Adrien even as he slept, each one causing him to curl up tight and his face scrunch in pain. The beautiful wings on his back, black with each feather tipped in white like a starling's and still riddled with fluffy down-feathers, twitching with tension and anxiety. The recent news of his Mother’s disappearance had all these emotions still raw and un-soothed, something no seven year old child should ever have to endure.

Those horrible feelings, rather than deterring Gabriel, only strengthened his resolve.

The Graham de Vanily wedding band slid easily off of Gabriel’s finger, and as he clutched it in his hand, he called out for the first time in a long while, “Nooroo.. Wings Rise.”

His suit was colored in gentle lavender and soft silver details. It still looked as beautiful as the day Emilie said it made him look like a prince and inspired the name, Monarch.

The wedding band was carefully slipped onto Adrien’s finger, too big for his still young hands. But his hand clenched as it was put in place, like he had just been given a drowner’s lifeline.

Monarch then went to the window and crashed it open, summoning a little white butterfly from outside to land in his open palm. Covering it, he silently commanded for his magic to imbue into the little creature. When it was revealed once more, it’s colors now reflected his own silver and lavender. He then reapproached his son’s bedside.

It felt off, using a Blessing, imbued with positive emotions, on someone who wasn’t feeling any of the necessary feelings, only dark ones. But Monarch dismissed the concern in favor of his goal.

Gently, he set the Blessing onto the ring on Adrien’s finger and it disappeared into it.

He could feel the conflict between the good emotions inside the Blessing and the bad ones festering inside of Adrien. But the good seemed to win out as suddenly the boy was relaxing into his sheets, and his body was cocooned in glowing lavender ribbons.

When the lavender light dispersed, there was someone a little different left in Adrien’s place. This boy had hair white as snow, and when his eyes slightly fluttered and then closed again, Monarch saw glacial blue instead of spring green. Another glance revealed that the beautiful dark wings of Adrien were nowhere to be seen, not even a feather left behind.

“White Rose,” Monarch whispered, the flicker of a lavender butterfly outline hovering before his Champion’s face. “You have a desire to see your Mother again, and make your Father happy like he once was. No one should suffer because of something that was meant for good but had been broken and only caused pain. So I give you the power to save those who have been harmed by that broken item, and restore what is meant to be.”

A beat of silence and another fluttering of blue eyes, but White Rose did not stir.

The outline flickered again, and then it was gone like a popped fuse.

Monarch, confused, tried to establish the connection when he felt it fizzle out. But he received nothing. Worried, he reached out to the Blessing directly and tried to pull at it. It didn’t budge, instead, it seemed to fight back. Pain split through Monarch’s head and he gasped, stumbling back.

He had lost connection and control to his own Blessing and Champion.

Monarch realized now why he shouldn't have mixed his magic with the darker emotions that were not meant to be touched by the light of a Blessing. He was uncertain he would be able to retrieve the Blessing at all now, not without breaking the ring he held dearly.

So instead, he gently opened White Rose’s hand and pulled the Graham de Vanily ring from his finger.

“Wings Fall, Nooroo.” As soon as Gabriel was back to himself, he slid the ring back onto his own finger. “I will keep this safe for you, Adrien, until you are ready.” He turned to walk away before pausing, glancing back with sympathy and regret.

“Please be okay. I can’t lose you, too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Marinette was born with small fluffy wings on her back. Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng were wing-less, so it was reasonable that they were taken by surprise when their child inherited genes they themselves had not.

Tom liked to call her their little croissant because her soft fledgling wings held the golden-browned color of baked bread. Sabine told him it wouldn't stick, and they had no clue what color her mature feathers would take on. And Marinette’s mother was correct.

As their daughter grew, so too did her wings. The soft baked gold greyed and the soft down was slowly covered by sleek feathers. Soon enough her wingspan became larger, almost outdoing her own height from wingtip to wingtip.

It wasn’t until she was eight, when her wings were finally mature enough for flight, that Tom and Sabine were able to say for certain where her wings had come from in the family tree.

“She’s going to have the wingspan of a Common Crane like your mother,” Sabine chuckled as she watched little Marinette squeak as she fumbled to catch a stack of trays she knocked off a shelf with her wings.

“Yes, she is a marvelous little Crane, isn’t she?” Tom chuckled. “She already has that beautiful grey ombre of a Demoiselle like your great-Grandmother.”

“You're right! She even has those lovely and decoratively long tertiary feathers, too.”

“I thought only boy birds had fancy feathers,” Tom teased his wife.

She elbowed him gently and laughed. “You already know it’s disproved that humans don’t follow the same patterns as birds, Tom, we never have. Anyone can find beauty in another’s feathers.”

“Or lack of,” he adds on, kissing his wife atop her head and causing her to nod and laugh.

Marinette continued to grow, wings and all. When she was nine, she found a new passion in knitting, crochet, embroidery, and sewing. She had loved to draw since she was a toddler, but these new crafts allowed her to bring her imagination to life.

At ten, she purchased her first magazine. The cover featured a white haired and wingless boy her own age, the article titled: `For the FIRST TIME EVER, the public eye meets the MUSE and SON of Gabriel Agreste!’

Tom and Sabine got a good laugh out of the fact that she completely ignored the boy and the article, “She hasn’t hit a boy-crazy faze, thank goodness,” and instead only looked at the fashion and design related pages.

Unfortunately, they also would later witnessed Marinette begin to go through some social rough patches as well, and she vented it through her creations. Something she had meant to show off turned into a source of bullying on her very first day of secondary school, collège, when she was eleven. Marinette had been researching and learning fashion’s history around wings. She learned that higher beauty standards from the upper social classes meant that some people would often bind their wings as a way to keep their postures straight and elegant. She also learned there were ways to hide one’s wings below their clothing, techniques differing from wing-type to wing-type and body-type to body-type.

So during the summer break after her last day of primary school, preparing herself for her first days of secondary school, Marinette set out to make a wing-binder for herself. She succeeded in making two different types in her multiple attempts.

The first one she made was a simple netting, a style and technique that had been around for thousands of years. The netting was intended to slide underneath and between the feathers to rest perfectly out of sight. It’s use ranged from simple posture enhancement, to flight prevention in those who might injure themselves if they tried to fly when they were not ready.

The second type she made was actually more of a corset style, as it would wrap around the torso as well, not just the wings themselves. This style was one intended for hiding wings completely from sight, with the assistance of the proper style of clothing to layer over it. She had made two of this type, one each for two different ways to hide the wings.

The first was basic and classic, her wings meant to be held tight against her back with the ends of her wingtips made to drop down to the back of her legs. This one was best suited to be paired with tight shirts, loose pants, and an over-shirt, shawl, or jacket.

The second was more lax but harder to keep in position for long amounts of time. Her wings were to be spread, dipping under her arms and either over her chest or under her bust, whichever was more comfortable and-or suited the binding’s cut. This style was best paired with a dress or a loose shirt and skirt.

Marinette wanted to wear one of the wing-corsets, hoping to see a few of her friends from primary school and surprise them with her new ability to change her appearance. Sabine and Tom supported her in her excitement. Wanting her to have a comfortable day, they suggested she use the style that wraps her wings around her, especially since it looked like it might rain, and her wings would keep her warm.

When she returned home for lunch, she seemed tired and a little wet from the weather, but happy. Marinette explained that the Mayor’s daughter herself attended Collège Françoise Dupont with her, and was excited to get to know her. She had also seen Nino, Alix, and Kim, but none of her other old friends. The three that were there had been surprised, though, so she was overjoyed to have gotten their reactions and awe. She even asked them to keep her wings a secret so she could surprise the rest of the class with them later.

When Marinette went back to school for the rest of the day, the Dupain-Cheng couple were happy for their daughter. But neither one knew the news of the Mayor’s child would turn out to be bad luck for their precious daughter and her beautiful wings.

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: What Strange Being Are They?

Characters: Jaskier, Honey Lemon, Benoit Blanc, Finn, Geralt

Jaskier - Spring Court Fae

Fae of the Spring Court (or the Seelie, as they are more formally called) are known for being one of the two more benevolent classes of fae. Generally polite and bright-eyed with a love for what the world has to offer, they typically come equipped with a twinge of mischief when it comes to interacting with humans. Otherwise, they just leave them be.

But Jaskier loved humans just a bit too much to keep proper distance.

While Solitary Fairies weren’t unheard of, it was extremely unusual to hear of a fae abandoning their court in favor of wandering around without any particular allegiance.

So it might’ve ruffled a few wings when the local fairy viscount and viscontess’ son decided to up and leave to “travel the world”, armed only with his admittedly limited magicks and a lute. But Jaskier didn’t care: All he wanted at this point was to be up close with humans, to entertain them, to have their eyes on him, for them to be ensorcelled by him . . . Perhaps even enough to copulate with him.

Because make no mistake: Benevolent or not, a fair folk is still a fair folk. And the fae have never been the type to shy away from mischief. Which was probably why you knew you were in trouble the moment those blue eyes landed on you . . .

Honey Lemon - Witch

While witches need no introduction, there is still a certain . . . aesthetic, we shall say, that tends to go along with the image. Because for as black sunhat-wearing and crystal-collecting as the image has become in more recent years, no one could deny the traditional associations: Cottages that looked cobbled together, nestled deep within gnarly woods; cauldrons bubbling over with green concoctions; battered grimoires and parchment strewn about and stacked haphazardly along stale, wooden shelves; figures cloaked in black enigma, hidden away from the prying eyes of society.

Nobody tends to think of a small apartment in the shadier side of town; Bunsen burner sets heating away at beakers of bubblegum-pink, perfume-y something-or-other; spells and brews written on flowery stationary, filed away neatly in polka-dot binders and Hello Kitty folders and assembled on a shelf ordered from IKEA; and an energized young lady with long, blonde hair that paled in comparison to the bright, glorious smile she wore.

Suffice to say, Honey Lemon is not the traditional image of a witch. But this never stopped the rumors from floating around the city, onto college campuses filled with students eager and desperate.

“If you go to 1234 Blahblahblah with a roll of cute washi tape or stickers, a witch there will give you a potion to help you pass your exams,” they said. Which was ridiculous, of course: It was just another local legend started by grad students, passed down to undergrads desperate enough to believe anything.

And, unfortunately for you, you were an undergrad desperate enough to believe anything . . .

Benoit Blanc - Dhampir

The occurrence of a successful pregnancy between a vampire and a human was not a particularly common one. That the progeny might grow up to be anything other than a vampire hunter or even something of a bon vivant was rarer still. And given that he was blond with piercingly blue eyes -- rather than the usual deep brunette and brown-eyed package -- it was fairly apparent that Benoit was a somewhat unusual example of dhampir. Nor that he much cared.

He was far too old to care in his personal opinion. Besides: He’d learned long, long, long ago to stop worrying so much about his oddities (it saves time), especially given that some evidence of his more vampiric lineage never quite took. For example, while his senses of sight, smell, and even hearing to a point managed to be more heightened than that of his human kin, his speed and strength just barely stood out as being any better than the average man’s. Nor did his agility, for that matter.

But he was more than happy to take what skills and knowledge he did have and put them to good use elsewhere: Eagle eyes for scanning and noticing the teeny, tiny details; a good sense of smell, which could be far more useful than one might think when observing certain crime scenes; and an assemblage of knowledge and experiences collected from over the last three centuries. They didn’t make much for a hunter of the unnatural without the strength and speed, but they suited detective work just fine.

All topped with a bow of wit and charm, aged like wines he’d outlived, and Benoit Blanc appeared to be a man just ever so slightly out of sync with the modern era. Not concernedly so, but just enough for him to eventually earn the title of “The Last of the Gentleman Sleuths” during one of the very, very few times he allowed his presence to be more widely known to the public.

It was his diction, his style of dress, and the overall air he exuded, really -- it might not have been intoxicating in the same way that a full-blooded vampire might draw in company, but he did, without a doubt, possess some draw to him.

Well, at least he did to you . . .

Finn - Alien

In a galaxy far, far away . . . FN2187 was just another extraterrestrial living amongst the stars. In the middle of a war. A war he wanted nothing to do with, but was dragged into anyway. Admittedly, he didn’t have any real stance on the matter. After all, as a soldier, was he really supposed to? Well, regardless, he eventually got one: He didn’t like it. At all. What was this all even for? Liberation? Conquest? Just to prove a point? It didn’t matter: The horrors had become etched into his brain, the burden of his connection to it all too much for even his hearts, multiple as they were, to bear. 

And so he escaped, stealing a ship and flying off into the big, black unknown.

However, that FN2187 was not a particularly skilled pilot. In fact, he wasn’t trained to be a pilot at all! It was an honest to The Maker miracle that he’d managed to even get as far as he did, even if it ended in him crashing the stolen craft.

Unfortunately, crashes of any kind have never been subtle events, no matter how low of a profile the alien might’ve wanted it to have been. Authorities had been alerted, and it was only a matter of time before he was discovered by either his own officers, or these...Terranian ones. He knew he could handle the latter, but why take the risk?

Besides, he was already lucky enough to have you be the first to find him (lucky him, crashing in the patch of trees nearby your house). You, on the other hand . . . You wouldn’t consider yourself unlucky, per se. But you did consider yourself in a jam. After all, there was no handy dandy manual for how to keep the alien you’ve taken home under wraps . . .

Geralt - Faoladh

There are werewolves, and then there are the Faoladh. A werewolf is a beast that turns from man to monster on every full moon, more often than not devolving into a fit of heightened savagery in the process. The ire from this is consequential.

The Faoladh, however, are nearly the exact opposite.

Rather than wait for a moon phase to dictate their form, they can simply change as they like, so long as they’re equipped with the wolf pelt that gives them beastly form. As a result, they retain their humanity and reason, which has served them well in legends, where people have called them heroes of war, recruited by the king. Some even designate them patronage over children, the wounded, and lost souls.

However, it is perhaps because of their rarity that their name had fallen from most memories, their notable benevolence along with it. Because how could something so large, so brutal, and so terrifyingly dangerous be capable of goodness and protection? Though, for the remaining few that knew otherwise, there were still some good wolves out there.

And the village insisted that it was lucky to have one of them wandering around in its history. You, of course, had some doubts . . .

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans Are Space Orcs “Scheme.”

I am having probably the worst day that I have had in months, but I got a story out for you, so I hope you like it.  Ties up a few loose ends that people ahve been asing about

The sound of wings cut the silence, or what was mostly silence past the ambiance of the caves: trickling water,, the distant moan of the wind, and the occasional rattle of rock on stone as something slithered quietly over stone.

But those sounds could be mostly ignored, and it was the sound of beating wings that roared like the echoes of their great engine in the silence. All around the room there came a great chattering of legs, and the slimy articulation of limbs as the burg family uncurled themselves from their resting positions curled up in the moss or against piles or rocks.

In a way, they might have appeared as stones shiny and wet with water, but once uncurled they showed themselves to be the real monstrosities they were. Six feet in height almost but with segmented bodies and many legs, with added mandibles and antenna which only made the creature more repulsive.

Thin streams of sunlight broke through the cave, from minute cracks in the stone above, but those patches of light were mostly avoided by the Burg colony as they swarmed inside their nest.

At the head of this clan, a large pulsing, almost maggoty creature huffed through the sides of her neck. The burg queen had never hatched from a larva, as was common in burg queens, and she was ugly. A human might have described her as if Jaba the hutt had, had a liaison with a tapeworm, and was enough to almost make one appreciate the inherent beauty of the burg hive, who at least had the decency to cover their slimy interior with segmented plates.

More fluttering came as a dark figure hunched into view atop a low hanging rock.

This creature was strange, an undetermined height as it crouched over upon itself.

Its legs were very long and very spindly, though it remained in an almost crouching position, like if a human were to crouch down on the balls of their feet and attempt to walk.

Luckily for the creature, it also had a set of very spindly arms, it could use to balance with its gangly walk.

Otherwise, its body was mostly obscured in the half darkness.

“You have failed us once again Voiceless.” Came the chattering of the burg queen.

The creature bowed its head, almost buzzard like, though its skin was a glossy black and its face, while beak-like, was covered in skin.

A main of long, what might have been feathers curled down from the back of its head like a horse’s mane.

“You did not tell me humans had a defense against neurotoxin.” Came the rasping voice, though somehow still surprisingly melodious as if following a cadence no others could hear.

The burg Queen slapped her wet back end against the ground with a moist thud “insolence!” She spat.

The creature did not move, “You didn’t know, did you.”

There was silence.

“Then you must understand that it wasn��t my fault. I did what you asked me to do. I poisoned all the food on the GA table. I blamed it on the Iotans, and if that human hadn’t walked in and eaten before everyone else then they would all be dead.”

There was an angry silence filled with nothing but the chattering of legs.

“The human took ill and expelled the toxin, with the help of a doctor, before anything could be done.”

“That was months ago.” The Burg queen snapped, “Why are you only coming to us now.”

“I was following my own line of intrigue.”

“You do not take personal time when you work for me.”

The creature stepped forward cutting into the light allowing the rest of its form to coalesce into existence. Rather than a great hulking shape of shapeless mass that had been shown before, was now a spindly creature covered from its feather main and downward by sleek black feather-like hair. It did, indeed, have two very long legs and two rather long spindly arms, but atop that, it had two massive black wings covered in the same feather like-down that covered the rest of it’s body, though parts were bare to the dark black skin on its face and neck.

The wings were so large that they would have dragged along the floor if the creature had not developed something to accommodate that.

That being a way to rest the upper fold of the wings on the back of its hands.

In this way the creature almost looked as if if walked on the joints of its wings, though that was not the case.

The Kree whistled softly, “I may be voiceless, but I offered my services to you. You do not own me.”

Around the room, the burg hissed in annoyance, but the kree did not seem concerned. It was a creature of the air after all, and it did not fear these disgusting earth dwelling grubs.

“Your tactics are poor, you do not understand how to defeat your enemies, and eventually, your arrogance will kill you.”

More hissing.

“And you claim to know how to hurt our enemy.

The Kree lifted one wing, showing the leathery underbelly of the flight arm. “You cannot fight humans with weapons. Humans are creatures of war, and they have to the GA to back them. The next time you attack they will have Drev, and the twelve rings forbid they call in the Celzex.”

She spat in derision, “Those fuzzy weevles.”

“Those fuzzy weeveles.” The Kree explained patiently, “Have the most impressive long distance firepower in the GA fleet. They have the ability to vaporize an entire solar system if they really tried for it, Luckily they aren't as stupid as you.”

There came up more chattering from the grounds around them, and the burg scuttled forward, but the sleek creature was not concerned. The only sign of any worry at all was the slight lifting of the wings.

“I cannot help you if your arrogance will not allow me to.”

The room continued to churn a little, but they did not grow any closer.

“Than what do you suggest?”

“You cannot beat the humans in open combat. It is not possible. They have too many allies, and as a warlike species they already had the upper hand to begin with.” It whistled softly to itself, “No, no something else must be done. The GA needs to be torn apart from the inside out, there needs to be trust, and the humans must be isolated and discredited. Turn your enemies against each other.”

“You know how to do this?”

“Of course I do. That is what I was planning after the first mission failed, and that is also why I went to visit the fleet commander when I did.”

“You got close to the fleet commander and didn’t kill him!” The queen shrieked.

“You arrogant pompous worm! Can you imagine what would happen if i were to KILL the fleet commander, the GA loves him his planet loves him. The humans would prepare themselves for war, the Drev would follow. The celzex emperor would lend aid. The entire universe would be  brought to anger, and do you know who they would suspect?”

Silence.

“You! They would suspect you because you are the only arrogant idiots who think you can take on an entire galaxy by means of war and not espionage.”

The queen shrieked, and this time a few of the burg did scuttle up towards the kree who simply opened its wings and flapped away to another tall outcropping while the burg were left to squeal and scream after it.

“Instead of fighting an enemy greater than you, you must first fracture it. Spread distrust and malcontent. Begin with the humans, instead of killing their leader, discredit him,and then frame him. Allow the structure to fall inward on itself as you watch.”

The burg queen stared at the kree, on its high perch in the air above, “And how do you suggest that be done.” She hissed.

The creature turned its head and began grooming the feathers along the top of it’s back, “It may take a few months, but  I will work on it, and come to you with a solution. You must be patient, these things take time, and I am not one to foolishly charge in witout a plan.

“How will we know when you are ready?”

The kree turned it’s head, “I will contact you.”

And with that the creature was away black wings flapping  as it vanished into the sunlight sky.

***

“And this is what you saw commander?” The bras wondered leaning forward over the table.

All the men and women there were dressed to station with the navy mean wearing their starched dress whites, which almost glowed in the ambient darkness. The air force colonel that sat just to the right had a uniform so heavily starched it might as well have been made from plywood.

And out of all the people in the room Commander Vir was the youngest, on an average of thirty years younger than many of these men, and fifty years younger than others. He could see it in their eyes, years of experienced combat flying tours in the pan Asian war, some fighting gorilla fighters in the jungles of South Asia, while others fought on foot through the streets of Beijing or Hong Kong.”

But that was the one difference between him and these men. While they knew earth combat, and they knew human combatants, Commander Vir was the most senior man in the room when it came to alien warfare. He had served in two wars, though both lasted a shorter than the Panasian war. Not only that, but he had fought from all three fronts naval, air, and ground: naval being synonymous with space, since it was the natural progression of water carriers to become space ships.”

Even despite his expertise, there would always be questions about his ability to run the fleet. He was, after all, the youngest fleet commander they had seen in well over a couple of hundred years, and the last guy hadn’t exactly given anyone a lot of confidence.

He needed to stay professional.

So he stood and the men and women around him were silenced as he turned his back partially to the group, using his clicker to open up the presentation (This was the army after all and powerpoint was never going to go out of style, despite holographic and 3D projections which replaced the old model.

He got straight to the point and pulled up a high definition image of the space dragon.

There was a murmur around the room followed by a low rumbling chuckle.

One of the admirals looked almost amused, “Wrong presentation, commander?” He turned back towards the image where the space dragon curled on screen. It did look more like some imaginative artwork than it did a real creature.

He turned back to the room, “No sir, this is the correct one.” He toggled the switch for the next slide, scrolling through an entire reel of pictures form the harbinger’s starboard cameras where the space dragon twirled and wound in on itself.

More surprised muttering.

“This was the view from the harbinger’s starboard cameras two weeks ago, at the center of the Milky Way galaxy. On a…. Routine , scouting mission, I came across signs of life in an unusually thick nebulae cloud, and later called in backup before seeing this.”

He flipped to the next slide and played the Video of the space dragon undulating and curling around and around in midair.

“We don’t know much about the creature.” he was saying, “Though one of my crew members tells me seems they are a natural predator of the star born. The tarps on it’s back can be opened and used as solar sails, as can the ribbons on the small one around it’s neck. Whatever it is we are relatively sure that the large one is the male and the small one is the female.”

He turned to pause watching as the group stared at him in disbelief.

“There is… anecdotal evidence that the creature may be sentient.”

“What evidence?”

Commander Vir shifted his weight to the other foot, “I heard it  speak… in my mind, much as I can hear the Starborn, , though I openly admit that my mind could have been playing tricks on me. The situation was very….. Strange.”

“And do you know where this creature is?”

“Yes, we were able to pin a small but powerful tracking device to it’s body without notice. As of now Smaug and Maleficent are-”

“Sorry, who, commander.”

He rubbed the back of his head, “Sorry sir, we needed something to call them.”

One of the admirals leaned over as his aid whispered in his ear, “You named one after a Disney villain and the other after a character from Lord of the Rings?”

“Well…. yes , seemed as good a name as any for a couple of dragons, but that being beside the point, all I can say is that they do not appear to be hostile to humans, though that might change in the near future. Since I have the ability to follow the creature, I request permission to follow and observe them as an effort to reinvigorate our scientific efforts a-”

“I am afraid the mythical creatures will have to wait, commander. Please take a seat.

He did as told, and the admiral stood, “What do you know about the Kree?”

He paused, “As much as anyone sir, and that being only that the GA has had occasional communications exchanges with them. They are intelligent but secretive and scientific analysis suggests an extreme vocal range even greater than that of humans.”

“Yes that is accurate to what the GA told us, but it seems as if the Kree have recently warmed up the GA efforts of making contact.”

The commander straightened up, “They have?”

“Yes, commander, and as your job duties entail, it will be your mission to accept their invitation, and visit the Kree homeworld as an ambassador to the UNSC and to the GA.”

He nodded his head, “Of course, sir.”

“Good man, you leave tomorrow, though we will be sending a trained negotiator with you to begin peace talks.”

“Yes sir.”

“Let us hope that all goes well.” The man muttered 

The commander couldn’t agree more

[transformer-imagines]

Happy Together

No one asked for this, but I’m the one in control of the aux cord on this blog and I wanna indulge myself with some cute Dinobot shenanigans

Sludge (G1) x Bot!Reader (sfw)

2672 Words

Everyone and their creator knew that the Ark’s med bay was understaffed. Ratchet was the only one qualified enough to consider a doctor, so mechs tried to help out however they could. Being in the war for the better part of your life, you had picked up what medical knowledge you could in order to aid your comrades; you couldn’t offer much, but you tried to help Ratchet as much as you could. Normally this translated into running errands, taking basic vitals, or doing some patch work.

It was all hands on deck in the med bay today. A particularly nasty skirmish sent so many bots your way that anyone in non-critical condition was asked to sit on the floor. You were scurrying about between them, jotting down names and conditions on your datapad. Even the thick platted Dinobots hadn’t come out of the fight clean. The aspiring team medic, Swoop, was one of the few permitted a seat on an exam table, Wheeljack working to reattach his wing. He was the only Dinobot that you had ever really spoken to, being in and around the med bay so often. He was an excitable and enthusiastic young bot, not something anyone would be able to tell with the way his vocalizer was whining static.

His brothers had tried valiantly to remain with him in the med bay but were shooed out by Wheeljack; there were just too many injured bots for them to be taking up all that space. Only Sludge was allowed to stay, waiting to get patched up with the other mechs on the floor. You were saving him for last, not overly eager to face him; his intimidating size dwarfed most bots and the Dinobots weren’t well known for their friendly dispositions.

Eventually, you could put it off no longer. You tried your best to exude confidence and professionalism in your EM field as you approached. Sludge took notice, straightening up from tracing absentminded patterns on the floor panels to send a curious look your way. Oh Primus, he was sitting down and you barely even reached the top of his chassis.

“So, uh, you’re name’s Sludge, right? I’m Y/N.” He gave a hum in response, nodding his head in agreement that yes, his name was in fact Sludge. “Can you show me where you’re hurt?” He nodded again, moving his right pede out for you to inspect. What you could make out as his alt dino casing was shredded, jagged metal torn and fraying out from the wound.

“Right next to big explosion. Took out him Swoop. Lots of shrapnel, tore off wing and hit me in side.” He turned slightly and gestured to the kibble on his back. “More here.” You gestured for him to turn fully so you could inspect the damage as you jotted down his abridged account on your datapad. He was lucky his plating was so thick, as the force of the explosion probably would’ve hit major energon lines in any other bot. Most of his damage was superficial, deep as it was, though the shrapnel had managed to nick a few minor energon lines.

“There wouldn’t have been an explosion in the first place if it wasn’t for you ditzy dinos!” You finished jotting down the damage before looking sharply in the direction of the whiny outburst. Of course it was Huffer. “If you hadn’t given us away, none of us would be in here!”

“We’re all on the same team, Huffer,” you said with a wave of your servo. “So stop harassing patients or I’ll turn off your vocalizer.” A resounding laugh sounded from behind you.

“You must have a glitch in your memory core, Huffer,” said Hound. “The Dinobots gave us away by saving your tailpipe!”

“I could’ve taken care of it!”

You left the two to their bickering, patting your patient on his knee plating to get his attention. “You’re not too badly damaged. Since I got to you last for diagnostic, I’m gonna go ahead a patch you up first, okay?” You offered Sludge a kind smile, trying to provide better bedside manner than Huffer. He took it, returning your smile with one of his own and moving to expose the damage on his leg more as you fished around subspace for your welder and some titanium patches.

It certainly wasn’t the last time you saw Sludge. He had a knack for denting his plating, either over the course of sparing with his brothers or while out in the field. You would’ve thought that he’d just get Swoop to take care of it, but more and more frequently he would be stopping by the med bay; he said he liked how much quieter it was there than in the retrofitted cave the Dinobots had claimed as their own.

It was almost laughable how intimidating you found Sludge when you first met. He had a gentle spark, reserved and well-intentioned. Sure he didn’t have the fastest processor, but you couldn’t keep up with Perceptor either; and what was a smart mech worth if they weren’t also kind? You’d much rather spend time with Sludge than Shockwave. It didn’t hurt that he was a good listener, too. Despite what other Autobots might suggest, he had a good memory, asking for updates on personal projects that you had mentioned offhandedly the last time you saw him. And he had a creative mind! Swoop had been talking to you about how Sludge had recently taken up two-dimensional etching and drawing. And he had a handsome face, delicate touch when getting your attention, and –

Wait what? Hold on, were you…did you have a crush on Sludge? Oh Primus, this was just what you needed in the middle of a war. Still, you could do worse. And the spark wants what the spark wants… So what, maybe you did have a crush on him. You might as well try and see where it goes; in this war you had to make what joys you could.

“Is it just me or does Y/N look like they’re trying to court somebot?”

It was gossip time in the empty corridor, two mechs making good use of the late hour and lack of nearby audio receptors to concern themselves with the lives of others.

“You just noticed? Yea, I caught em in the wash polishing like it was going out of style,” Cliffjumper gave a short laugh at the memory. “You’da thunk I’d caught em sneaking extra rations with the way they bolted outta there.”

“Any ideas who the lucky mech is?” Powerglide didn’t give the minibot a moment to answer before continuing. “I overheard from Doc Ratch one of the Dinobots has got a lil crush; maybe we’ve got some love-birds on base?”

“Primus, I hope not. No one deserves to have a dumb dino on their tail; they’re so stupid and clumsy, they’d wind up melting the poor bot down! Honestly, I think Y/N deserves better than getting slagged by Slag.”

“You’re just jealous you aren’t getting any,” the plane sniped.

“Powerglide, I’m just a realist. I can’t help that your processor is full of that romantic scrap.”

“Cliffjumper, I can’t help that you have an incurably abrasive personality.” Powerglide gave the Porsche a hearty pat as he began walking further down the hall. “Come on, maybe we can get Ratch to fix that personality component of yours! Or at least we can sit down; my struts are killing me!”

“I do not have an abrasive personality, you silicon sanded showboat!”

Neither took notice of the saddened giant on the other side of the corridor, watching the retreating mechs from around the corner.

Sitting in one of the metal booths stuck to the far wall of the Rec Room, you found yourself thinking it all through. Lost in the swirling liquid of your energon cube, you wondered if you had been reading the situation wrong. You thought that Sludge had reciprocated your feelings, but he hadn’t really responded to your efforts. He never mimicked your attempts at posing or polishing. Maybe he was just unaware of Cybertronian flirting? It would make sense, as he was made on Earth, but even then you would’ve thought someone would take pity on him and explain your efforts. It wasn’t like you were being subtle, even in non-Cybertronian terms. You even got advice from Carly, trying to figure out how she’d won over someone as oblivious as Spike. You tried to be as obvious as possible, complimenting his skills and appearance and inviting him to recreational activities. But even then, he would look flustered and come up with some reason to turn you down. Maybe he was just trying to let you down on amicable terms, ignore your advances but maintain your acquaintanceship. Maybe he-

“Hi! Room here to sit?”

The scratchy voice startled you out of your reprieve; you must’ve really been in your own processor not to notice the dinobot flyer approaching.

“Oh, Swoop! Yeah, of course, take a seat,” you gestured across the table. It was almost humorous watching him try to squeeze himself into the clearly too small booth; being the smallest dinobot still made him one of the biggest Autobots. Finally situating himself, he flashed you a mischievous smirk and his optics flashed in mirth. “How’s it going?”

“Good! Had to get out of Dino Den, though; too loud for reading when Grimlock and Slag fighting.” He emphasized his point by producing an anatomical datapad and setting it on the table.

“Well that’s too bad,” you said. “How’s everyone else doing?”

“Him Snarl hog TV all day, watching Nurse Whitney.” His tone held a slight annoyance at the distraction it must’ve posed to his own studying; you knew he was quite fond of the show, and probably found it near impossible not to be watching it. His optics lit up in sudden remembrance, a squawk making its way past his vocalizer as he straightened his posture. “Sludge work on project! Big art project!”

“Oh?”

“Yes! It pretty, very pretty! Him Sludge good at art. Best Dinobot, maybe even best Autobot! And good at other things too!” Swoop emphasized his point by holding aloft a digit, helm held high with a self-assured expression. “Him strong, very strong! Last fight, him take out twenty, no, thirty Decepticons! Him good at keeping others safe, protecting. Oh, and him best fisher of Dinobots! Good provider! Patient and quiet and-”

“Wait, what’s fishing?”

“Fish earth animals, live in water. Humans and Dinobots like catching fish, very fun and -”

It was hard not to notice the lumbering form of Sludge entering the Rec behind the chatty Pteranodon. His sweeping optics seemed to stop in the direction of your booth (though you suppose it would be hard not to notice Swoop, what with his crest and loud voice), his optics seeming to blink out for a second. Swoop continued on, oblivious to his brother’s presence.

That is until Sludge began stomping his way over. You quickly grabbed onto the table, thankful that it was bolted into the wall as the ground shook under his weight. It wasn’t often you were reminded of his tremorous step, but it seemed that whatever had gotten under his plating was enough for him to have forgotten the virtue of gentle pedes. You didn’t expect to see his normally soft features so soured, mouth drawn into a tight line and optics darkened into a furrowed glare. With his massive stride, it didn’t take long before Sludge reached you. His servo came to rest behind Swoop, the back of the booth’s bench groaning under his weight as he leaned down, optic to optic with his brother.

“What you Swoop think you do?” His voice seemed edged with a nervous worry.

“Me just talking to Y/N,” Swoop answered, flashing the Brontosaurus the same mischievous smile he had given you earlier. “You know they want go fishing? Me say you should take them!”

“Yeah,” you interjected, ignoring the fact that you had never discussed joining the Dinobots on their fishing exploits. “I think it sounds like fun!” You couldn’t help the eagerness that steeped into your EM field, hopeful that you might finally get an opportunity to spend some true quality time with him outside of the occasional med bay visit.

Sludge seemed to soften a bit at your reply, gifting you with a gentle smile before his brow furrowed. His smile turned to a slight pout as his gaze drifted down, seeming to be a bit lost in thought. He exvented sharply, lugging Swoop out of his seat and maneuvering the now indignant mech around to carry him under one arm. Ignoring his squirming brother, he turned to you with a sad smile that he tried to mask with a projected air of confidence in his EM.

“Me Sludge think on it. Would be fun. Uh, him Ratchet ask to talk to him Swoop, so we see you Y/N later.” With the lame excuse, he turned to leave the Rec. With a loud squawk, Swoop made his opinion on the matter known.

“No! Him Sludge like Y/N! Like whole bunch!” That seemed to stop the brontosaurus dead in his tracks, grip loosened enough in shock that the loud flyer was able to transform out of his grasp. He seemed stuck in place as his processor caught up with the situation. In contrast, you and Swoop seemed to be a flurry of movement, standing up from your seat in the booth as the Pteranodon perched himself on the back of the bench.

“Really?” Your response, lackluster as it might’ve been, was all you could dumbly muster up at the revelation.

“Yes, him won’t shut up about it! ‘Oh, them Y/N so nice, very sweet. Pretty face, pretty smile. Feel like me Sludge melt when they look at me. So smart, so kind.’” Swoop’s impression left quite a bit to be desired, but that was the last thing on your mind, your gaze drifting to the gentle giant in question as you took in his words. Sludge had sheepishly turned halfway towards you, optics firmly locked to the ground and servos fiddling together nervously. “Us Dinobots try talk to him about anything, him always distracted or drawing you.” That seemed to catch Sludge’s full attention. “Him have big project now, draw y-” A large servo suddenly came to rest on the Pteranodon’s beak, clamping it shut before anything too embarrassing could be shared. You craned your helm up to look at Sludge, his cheek plating positively painted with the glow of his optics and lips drawn into a pout.

“Sludge, is that true? Do you really like me?” His optics bashfully locked on the ground again, answering you with a soft nod. He dared a glance at your face before averting his gaze again. “You know, I like you a lot too.” That seemed to win his attention, finally maintaining some real eye contact. He nodded again with a hum and you frowned. “You knew? Why didn’t you say anything?” That stung, knowing that he was aware of your advances all along and hadn’t done anything. Especially when he apparently liked you too.

He opened his mouth before closing it, brow furrowing. You gave him a moment to formulate his thoughts.

“You Y/N deserve better than Sludge.” He spoke slowly, thinking hard on his words. “Deserve someone smart and not clumsy or stumbly. Deserve someone not hurt you.” You frowned at that.

“Sludge, you are one of the gentlest mech’s I know. You haven’t hurt me yet and I don’t think you will,” you said, stepping closer to him. “And in any case, I think I would know better than anyone else what I deserve. I think I deserve to be happy and getting to spend time with you makes me happy. You make me happy. Do I make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s be happy together.”

 BONUS:

“SQUAWK! Let Swoop go! No want to see smooches!”