#i take pity on dust and ashes!

[bestworstcase]

So, overall, what's your opinion on punitive narratives?

the pithy answer here is if i wanted to read a morality play i would read a morality play

being less facetious, i find punitive storytelling to be generally dissatisfying in large part because it often sacrifices character on the altar of moral restitution (or retribution)—quite a lot of punitive narratives are fundamentally about the punishment in that the narrative is structured with vicarious enjoyment of the villain’s defeat and death or humiliation or groveling redemption as the climactic centerpiece, which i find uninteresting at best and viscerally off-putting at worst. even stories that are otherwise written well cannot salvage this for me (think ATLA’s handling of azula) and more often it’s a matter of “well the part before the climax was good.”

ultimately i also find it to be a bit pointless, because the villainous characters on the receiving end of the narrative punishment were created to be punished and, why bother. it’s equally as insipid and irritating as character bashing in fanfiction for exactly the same reasons; it strips away character interiority in favor of character does bad things so they can be punished so we can feel righteous vindication about bad guys getting what’s coming to them, except it never actually lands with me because i have a disease called Caring About Character Motivation.

#i take pity on dust and ashes!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Stranger 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: My first time writing this character!

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your nails are crusted in dirt as you kneel in the garden. You grunt as you wrestle the roots of weed from the soil and toss it aside. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove as you hear the screen door snap shut. Your grandmother stands on the stoop, her hand on her achy hip.

“Did you hear, dearie?” She calls in her creaky voice. “Someone’s moved into Clyde’s old house.”

“Huh?” You catch your breath as you gather up the broken weeds, “it’s half ash.”

“Suppose they’ll fix it up,” she mutters as she leans on the narrow iron rail along the side of the backsteps.

“Suppose,” you agree as you stuff the green and brown foliage into the paper bag for the compost. “Who told you that?”

“I was just talking to Lynette on the phone. She also said Molly’s having her fifth.”

Five kids? You hide your chagrin at the thought. You don’t mind kids but that’s a lot to handle, let alone the pregnancies. Molly balloon’s up so big she can hardly move. Her last shower, she sat the whole time. Not much different than you, you guess. You sat in the corner and watched the silly games

“That’s exciting,” you say as you stand and dust off your knees, crumpling the top of the bag in your other hand.

“Ah, I’m sure you woulda loved to have four sisters? Maybe brothers? It’s a pity your mother never gave me any more grandchildren.”

“Mmm,” you suppress a frown, “yeah, well…”

“Anyhow, enough talk of spoiled milk,” she waves off, “I got a pie in the oven. You can take it over the Clyde’s once it cools.”

“I… why would I do that?”

“Oh my, don’t be ridiculous. We have a new neighbour, we have to be polite and welcome them to the village. It’s probably a nice family, or maybe someone your age. A friend?” She suggests, “I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’d make the walk…” she looks down at her hip, theatrically rubbing it. 

“Right,” you agree, the prospect of strangers making your tummy lurch. “Well, that pie will take some time.”

“Long enough for you to put on something clean,” she tuts as she looks down at your dirty jeans, “my lord, what would they think?”

“Yes, gramma, I’ll change, once I get this in the compost.”

“Good,” she smirks triumphantly and turns to swing open the screen door, the hinges whining shrilly.

You sniff and cross the yard. It’s not often there’s new faces in Hammer Ford. The village is a tourist trap at best and not a very lively one. Everyone calls each other by name and it’s second nature to stop and say hi. But that’s because you know each other; you have for years.

You lift the lid on the large bin and empty the bag into it. You could always lie and hide the pie in some bushes. Your deceit wouldn’t be hidden for long. Even in this sleepy place, word travels fast and someone always seems to be watching and waiting to pass it on.

🥧

You head out with the pie in a basket like some fairytale. You’re only short a red hood and a big bad wolf. You set off down the country roads, following the lazy curves towards the horizon. It’s after noon and the sun’s turning mild as it drifts across its pale canvas.

The old homestead is the second closest to your grandmother’s. The homes around Hammer Ford or sprawled out amid the plowed fields and green meadows. The cluster of old pines loom over you as you pass in there shadow and crest the hill that marks the edge of the property. Clyde’s tractor used to sit there, just by the broken down fence.

Ahead, down another stretch of road, this path unpaved, stands the decrepit house. The tragedy still singes the memories of the villagers. That night comes back to you in a blaze of orange and the smell of cinder. Poor old Clyde was buried behind Sacred Stave church.

You search the overgrown grass for a sign of life. There’s a black truck by the caved in garage but that’s about it. It might not be a family. It’s a lot of work to do with little ones around. If anything, it would only be the parents as they rebuild. Your mind wanders, wondering who would buy the old farm and why.

You come down the path, just along the ditch that dips behind a cluster of brambles. There’s a snap and a crack and you skid to a halt on the stones. You spin and look around, a heavy breath pluming into the air. Like the fire reawakened.

“Can I help you?” The deep timbre rolls through you and you step back on your heel as you face the man down in the ditch. He peers up at you above the scraggly top of the brambles.

“Uh,” you gulp and stare at him dumbly. He might think you’re lost. Or worse, trespassing.

His hair is short, only an inch on top and shaved even shorter around the sides. His beard is thick around his mouth, growing sparse across his cheeks, and two vibrant blue eyes beam back at you. The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink away. You can sense the city radiating off of him. He scares you.

“Hello? What’s up?” He waves as if trying to wake you up.

“Um, pie?” You say, cringing at your own speechlessness.

“Pie,” he repeats flatly.

You hold up the basket and blink. You never were very good at introductions. You were the only girl at school without friends. You were just sort of there.

“Pie,” you echo once more and hold out the basket.

He tilts his head, curiously, and huffs. He juts out his jaw and grunts as he pushes the brambles apart and climbs out of the ditchy. His denim jacket is streaked in dirty and pollen.

He takes the basket by the handle, his rough finger brushing yours. He peels back the cloth and to peek inside, “pie.” He utters the syllable a fourth time between you.

“Yeah,” your voice is wispy and small. “Bye.”

You let out a strained breath and spin, keeping yourself from breaking into a sprint. You stomp away frantically, smacking yourself internally for being so awkward. Well, maybe that’s a good thing. He’ll have no reason to talk to you ever again.

#chris #destroyer #dark!Chris #chris x reader #dark chris #drabble #backwoods au #au #series #the stranger

[yanderenightmare]

im with anon, i'll take 500 words or less! anything you have of nasty shigaraki to spare, i'll gladly take with a smile:) also, kinda unrelated, but maybe not ;) iv'e never seen you do soulmate aus?

BNHA ! IMAGINE

Shigaraki Tomura x darling

I love soulmate aus! But only when I give them my own awful unromantic spin. 

TW: soulmate au, yandere, implied noncon/dubcon

I like to think the words written on your arm are “Why aren’t you dead?” and the fear you felt in your heart when you first heard them being spoken – lying naked in the decay of a city Tomura had just leveled with the single touch of his fingertips. Followed shortly by the sound of your voice cracking into a scream and a cry when you cough up those few pitiful words written on his arm – “No, please, no!”

I like to think Tomura hates you for making him go through his entire life, knowing those were the first words his soulmate would ever say to him – and how he’s going to torture you for it by forcing you into doing nightmarish versions of all those romantic clichés soulmates usually do.

You try to run even knowing how silly it was, crawling barefoot over sharp crumbling debris with your heart in your throat. He grabs you with ease and takes you home – each wrist and ankle tied tight to the other, a piece of ripped cloth gagging you, and a sack pulled over your head – your naked skin dusty with ashes of people and buildings laid to waste while he holds you in a bridal carry.

You were thrown on the bed with a startled yelp, bouncing on the springy mattress for a moment before stilling and sinking – swearing that the soft feel of it was moist and clammy to the touch, clinging to your skin while slowly swallowing you -and stuffy as though a million spores had just burst upon your impact, spewing out a thick fermented stench that stuck in your throat like a coat of slime.

You heard a door being locked and a key being hidden before feeling his presence crawl over you again where you lay, tied up and shaking. 

Your hood disintegrated a moment later, leaving you to stare up into those beady red eyes.

“Psh-” He scoffed, having cast a glance over your face, from the teary streaks running through the ashy dust on your cheeks to the shifty whimpers leaving your lips. “Who would’ve guessed my soulmate would be a pretty thing like you?” 

You swore it sounded less like a compliment and more like a jeer while his dry lips further cracked when stretched over the horrid smile that soon broke across his face – sharp like jagged shards of glass you feared would cut you. You shriveled in sight of it, feeling all types of gross and all types of dread twisting your gut as his hand, pale and dry like the rest of him yet unexpectedly warm, started to touch.

Your eyes swiveled with dread, spinning while eerily watching him and how his own two followed the path of his hand. Beginning at your neck in slow fascinated strokes – all five fingers with crass fissures scratching down your jugular and collarbones, making your breath hitch. Drawing down your body with a deepening sense of ownership.

And all you were left to do was chew the cloth spreading your teeth and lips, wettening it with pitiful whimpers and cries. Hands wringing pointlessly, charred and aching from the strict bonds keeping them locked snug beneath you.

A sudden giggle sprung from him then. A dry type of snicker that came from somewhere raspy deep in his lungs. Almost sounding painful if it weren’t for the glistering gleam of something terribly perverted pooling in his eyes – and the tongue that suddenly swept up your face.

“Fate can be such a sweet bitch, can’t it?”

#yandere shigaraki #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere shiggy #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere mha #yandere bnha #shigaraki smut #shigaraki thirst #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere tomura #tomura smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki imagine #shigaraki x you #tomura x you

[biographydivider]

Calling it a warmup for a busy writing day ahead, but it’s really a present for @yamujiburo​ - I read that ask about my favourite awful feline scamming his way into two meals and got inspired. For the most accurate reading, Meowth is in his Maddie Blaustien era, because she was the best thing to ever happen to the character and that was the version of Meowth I love the best.

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Pallet Town, and Delia was in her vegetable garden; occupying herself while Jessie took Arbok and baby Ekans for a training day in Viridian Forest. Ash was supposed to be home soon, and she thought she’d make a fuss. She had some garlic growing, and a crop of beautiful tomatoes that were practically falling off the vine; she’d make a nice pasta sauce. Oh - and those razz berries were looking just delicious, too! Perfect for a sponge cake.

“Haaa...oh, woe is me...”

Delia looked up to see the strange little Meowth that Jessie and James had adopted on their travels wandering along the path that led to her home. Delia knew that Meowth had taken the breakup of Team Rocket to heart; he technically lived with James, but sometimes he just took himself off on an adventure to Pallet to bother Jessie for a few days. He’d follow her around, yammering about this and that, bringing up the Good Old Days, and Jessie would pretend to be annoyed by him right up until the second he planned to leave. Then, the tears would start.

“I just don’t tink I can go on for much longer...”

With a swoon, Meowth flopped down just outside Delia’s garden gate.

“Oh my goodness!” she cried, scrambling to her feet and running to his side. She scooped the Meowth’s massive head into her lap; noticing how hot his fur was to the touch. “Are you alright, Meowth?”

“Huh? Who’s there? Come closer...”

“It’s me, Meowth. Delia. Jessie’s partner.”

“Oh, Delia!” coughed Meowth. “You were always so - hack! - so kind ta me...”

“Have you walked all the way from Celadon City by yourself?”

“Yeah...James was busy for the weekend. Wit his fashion stuff, yanno. He said he didn’t have time to feed me, so I...hack, hack! I wanted to see a friendly face.”

“Well, Jessie’s not home right now --” The pitiful whine from Meowth didn’t so much tug on Delia’s heartstrings as yank them painfully out her chest. “But you can stay with me until she gets back! I have a glass of fresh lemonade chilling in the fridge, you really must quench your thirst after that long walk...”

“Really? You’d do that for lil’ old me-owth?”

“Of course, dear.” Delia set Meowth on his wobbly two feet. “Now, run inside and have a nice long drink. Then, when you’ve cooled off, you can help me pick some razz berries for later.”

“Okay!”

Meowth dashed into the house happily, and Delia tutted under her breath. She loved James - really, she did - but she sometimes wondered if he and Jessie forgot that Meowth was a living creature who needed their care. She couldn’t imagine Ash forgetting to feed Pikachu, after all.

“Yanno, I gotta say, Deels - can I call ya Deels?” Meowth asked, popping another berry into his mouth, “You got real a nice setup, here. All’a this food, just growin’ on your doorstep?!”

“Well,” Delia said, filling up her basket with berries, “it takes a lot of work. But I’m happy the end result is so tasty, Meowth.”

“Oh, yeah; an’ after such a long walk, too, I really - ooh, chezz berries! - I really needed some sustanance. So, whaddaya pickin’ all this food for, anyway?”

“Ash is home, soon. And I’m going to make pasta sauce from scratch, and a cake.” Delia looked out over the horizon; wondering idly what the plume of dust rising from Viridian Forest was. It seemed to be approaching fast. She hoped Jessie and the Pokemon were safe. “I know Pikachu will appreciate a good tomato sauce, and Ash always did love my sponge cakes.”

“Oh. How, uh, how nice. For the twerp.” Meowth chewed thoughtfully on a chezz berry. “Say, uh - d’you think I could maybe stay a lil’ while longer? Maybe, uh, try some of that pasta you was talkin’ about before I go...?

The plume of dust was getting closer. Delia watched it race along the footpath, until a familliar and beautiful and violently angry figure emerged from within it.

“Jessie...?”

“MEOWTH!” Jessie shrieked. “I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU’D GO RUNNING TO DELIA, YOU LITTLE SNEAK!”

Meowth was on his feet as Jessie crashed into the garden gate, Arbok and baby Ekans in hot pursuit. “Hahahaaaa...Jeeeessiiiiee!” he cried; voice breaking, hands held out in front of his body - trying either to placate his friend or protect himself from bodily harm, “Whaddareya doin’ here? Delia said you was out training Ekans in the forest?”

Delia blinked down at Meowth. “I didn’t tell you that,” she murmured.

“I was,” Jessie hissed, “until we met you and James for our picnic. Until you ate all the food and wouldn’t stop blabbing for longer than five seconds. Until James told you that you can’t have cupcakes because sugar is bad for Pokémon --”

“Dat’s a gross oversimplication of events, Jess --”

“And until you --” Jessie picked Meowth up by the face and shook him violently this way and that, “went flouncing off into the forest saying he shouldn’t have brought anything you couldn’t have, and that you didn’t need our stupid picnic anyway! I should have known you’d go to Delia with some sob story, you greedy little freak!”

Meowth kicked out, aiming for Jessie’s face with his long, brown-and-white feet. “At least she’s nice to me - unlike you, ya big nasty mean ol’ lady!”

“What did you call me you --”

“That’s enough.” Delia hated pulling out the Mom Voice, but as both of them fell into guilty silence, she had to admit it gave results. “Jessie, I know you’re angry at Meowth but I wish you wouldn’t hurt him like that.”

“Ha!” cackled Meowth, wriggling out of Jessie’s grasp. “See, Jess? You should be nicer ta me, coz Delia says so --”

“And you.”

Meowth froze.

“You took advantage of my kindness, Meowth. You lied to me and told me James was mistreating you. That really hurt my feelings, and I’m very, very disappointed in you.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then, to Delia’s surprise, Meowth plopped down onto the floor and began to sob. “I-I-I’m sooorryyyyyyyyy...” he wailed, thick wet tears falling down his cheeks. “I didn’t wanna hurtcha feelin’s, but everyone’s so busy and the gang’s all split up an’ you’re so nice an’ I just wanted someone ta be kind ta meeeeeee...”

“Meowth, kindness goes both ways. Now,” Delia pushed the basket of berries into his paws, “you can go wash these for me in the sink, and put them in the fridge until I need them. That would be a good thing to do, to show me how sorry you really are. You want to show me you can be kind?”

“Yeeees...”

“Then scoot.”

“Okaaay...”

Jessie watched her friend head into the house - head bowed, sniffling - with a look of total wonder. “Did you just get Meowth to admit he wants to go straight?”

“Yes,” Delia said, standing up and kissing Jessie on the cheek. “I did.”

#hanamusa #yamujiburo #pokemon #meowth #delia ketchum #team rocket #my best boy forever #donnie may be living in my brain #but Meowth is part of my genetic makeup at this point

[texture32]

Some things, insight.. full of love… it seems.. but what is true of what is happening. To some joy is a pity.. almost lost in the dust of the ashes, burned cashes and stashes for the sake of what we feel is a better future.. the past is always new.. remember that.

Love found again, is like brand new.. swaying the mind in to the beuatiful blue is nothing new.. but that magic can break hearts.. like lost joy. Real joy

That is what some search. I researched as a past time. Some would pay a dime for that, in other places and other times.

And like lemons, same with limes. I dont spit bars, i make lines. For myself.. sad as it seems, blue was always a hint of the dream.. in all senses..

Romanticism is often plagued by the word love. But like a virus.. if true, only corrupts the bad in us… So keeping the dark hidden and what not, i feel i have a step towards true thought.

Purified, process or not, direct indirect, both, indirect direction and vice versa.. my boredum may be a sign to myself that i should do something. I dont know what ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ weakness like luck? Hard to care.. when all is confusion to one. Understanding what pain is.. something ive pondered if i should have knowledge of. Something ive.. thought to sought from time.

Path of pain.. suffering understanding how not to blame…

Stay ignorant. Or not. Enlightenment has a dark or.. soft spot. But like a compass without gauss to gauge and navigate the seas, lost adrift, maybe to find a new breeze. A new scent from shrubs and foliage and trees. Blue fruit.. blue weeds..

They say the Dao flows to the lowest place.. im quite simple.. but i know that means searching low is where you find peace. Be that it, i search deep. Desires euphoria is not what i thought it was. Glad to know. Never knew magic existed. Now i must play the true fool, and be caring of the seeds i sow.. and when they grow.. not take them for granted. Thats human to understand.. but what would an inscect think of such a thing.

Humanity brings forth good things. Maybe i should stay in the know. But keep my darkness for those who need it most. Doping the brain with drugs.. id rather not, however im stuck in this rut. Humanity brings good things. Nature and its creator mapped out something… im just a screw lose. Its somewhere out there stranded. I can hold myself together. But i actually feel unhinged, windows got no outside pane, no ledge.

Of itself.. can you go below the Dao.. maybe the blueprint of life is being rebuilt to something high.

Natural true joy and bliss, no needs to be met.. thats the paradise i imagine in my head. But never a memory to forget.. only grateful we met the goals end and start. Maybe build higher things, dream new dreams. Find a higher place in harmonious strings…. Ionic bonds and spag being old things, i cherish the old teachings, taking them literally.

Intelligence… ive always loved.. but my heart is upside down. And the higher parts not so well. Confusion alone isnt so swell. So i keep to myself. Compassion turning on itself.. purify the truth within..

[spacemarinewithastick]

I love the night lords because one moment they are all like

“I wanted to be a hero” “we are the only legion hated by our primarch” “we used to have integrity”

and you feel sorry for them and then they say shit like

“I will burn every man, woman and child so the smoke from the funeral pyres eclipses the sun, with the dust that remains I will take the echo of damnation into the sacred skies above terra and rain the ashes of 20 million mortals down onto the emperors palace, then they will remember us, then they will remember the legion they once feared”

And you suddenly remember *ah, right it’s the night lords* and all of that pity goes away

My second favourite lads, those little scamps skinning people

#warhammer #warhammer 40k #40k #chaos #night lords #sevetar #talos

[sidprescot]

love me forever, a yenralt fanmix 23 songs, 1hr 53mins listen on spotify here tracklist and lyrics under the cut

YENRALT APPRECIATION, VOL 2. -> prompt: forever + two colors

poison, alice cooper

I wanna love you but I better not touch (don't touch) I wanna hold you, but my senses tell me to stop I wanna kiss you but I want it too much (too much) I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison

be my druidess, type o negative

Around the pyre, a circle of thirteen Throughout these woods, ecstatic screams I look deeply into your eyes I smell your hair, caress your thighs Now we'll make love by fire light A blaze so high it lights the night

love is a fire, subvision

Baby, listen, I'm sellin' my soul to the devil in you So give me, give me the strength and I'll push it through Love is a fire, and it's ragin' out of control Love is a fire And it's burnin' up my soul

love walked in, thunder

So tired of waiting, I walked an empty land I was looking for something to help me understand But bad luck kept turning my dreams into sand I didn't want pity, I had my share of friends I wanted somebody more special than the rest I was aching inside like I was approaching the end Just about that moment the timing was so right You appeared like a vision sent down to my life I thought I was dreaming when I saw you that night

spell i'm under, winger

Woman, never before Without a word I hear so much Woman, under the spell Every sin holy in your touch It's all I feel, it's all I see And all I know it must be you You're the spell I'm under

prisoner of your eyes, judas priest

When I saw your face I became a prisoner of your eyes And I would do just anything To stay and be with you

love me forever, motörhead

Love me forever, or not at all End of our tether, backs to the wall You give me your hand, don't you ever ask why Promise me nothing, live 'til we die

hold on to my heart, W.A.S.P.

Take away the pain, inside my soul And I'm afraid, so all alone Take away the pain, that's burning in my soul Cause I'm afraid that I'll be all alone So just hold me, hold me, hold me

love you to death, type o negative

In her place one hundred candles burning As salty sweat drips from her breast Her hips move and I can feel what they're saying, swaying They say the beast inside of me is gonna get ya, get ya, get

dance macabre, ghost

How could it end like this? There's a sting in the way you kiss me Something within your eyes Said it could be the last time 'Fore it's over

sleeping (in the fire), W.A.S.P.

Touch, touch in the flame's desire Feeling the pain's denial And your finger's in the fire Look, look in the candlelight See in the flame of life And my spell is our lie

darling, mcc

Been on my way so many times I walked away so many times From you But in the end you held the key And as it seems the fate of me In you It's ashes and dust Where are you now? I need you now You're lost somehow Where are you now?

jasmine and rose, clan of xymox

The air tastes just like you, it's the smell of June A sensory shock that jolts my spirit, I slowly swallow you A spray of little droplets, a fragrance so refined The spirit of nostalgia is passing me by

darkness at the heart of my love, ghost

There's a darkness at the heart of my love That runs cold, runs deep The darkness at the heart of my love So bold, so sweet

one more fucking time, motörhead

Both your eyes wide open You see the shape I'm in It wasn't of my choosing It's only bones and skin And I will plead no contest If loving you's a crime So go on and find me guilty Just one more fucking time

hell is living without you, alice cooper

Try to walk away When I see the time I've wasted Starving at a feast And all this wine I've never tasted On my lips your memory has been stained Is it all in vain? Tell me who's to blame, yeah

mama i'm coming home, ozzy osbourne

You took me in and you drove me out Yeah, you had me hypnotized, yeah Lost and found and turned around By the fire in your eyes You made me cry, you told me lies But I can't stand to say goodbye Mama, I'm coming home I could be right, I could be wrong It hurts so bad, it's been so long Mama, I'm coming home

only my heart talkin', alice cooper

Anybody's dream can fall apart Anybody's mask can break Couldn't tell you how I wanted you Enough to make you want to stay I never said the words out loud I guess I couldn't get' em straight Baby, give me one more chance Before you walk away

this heart of mine (i pledge), pain of salvation

I lie awake watching your shoulders Move so softly as you breathe With every breath you're growing older But that is fine if you're with me I pledge to wake you with a smile I pledge to hold you when you cry I pledge to love you 'till I die 'Till I die

i don't want to live without you, sleeze beez

I find myself in a strange situation And I don't know how What seemed to be an infatuation Is so different now I can't get by if we're not together Ooh can't you see Girl, I want you now and forever Close to me I'm longing for the time I'm longing for the day Hoping that you will promise to be mine And never go away

save your love, great white

I wake in the night To find you on my mind Deep in a dream, You'll always be Until the end of time I look in your eyes They touch my soul My love is hard to hide I'm never alone when we're apart. I feel you by my side

angel, judas priest

Angel, put sad wings around me now Protect me from this world of sin so that we can rise again Oh, Angel, we can find our way somehow Escaping from the world we're in to a place where we began And I know we'll find a better place and peace of mind Just tell me that it's all you want, for you and me Angel, won't you set me free?

life eternal, ghost

Can you hear me say your name forever? Can you see me longing for you forever? Would you let me touch your soul forever? Can you feel me longing for you forever, forever?

#thewitcheredit #yenraltsource #the witcher #the witcher netflix #twn #yenralt #geralt x yennefer #playlist #fanmix #rj.gif #i have not felt like giffing lately rip #so have this silly little fanmix instead

[alexius-fr]

Martyrs Waste Chapter 1: Dust and Ash

Sanguine, Silas and Khadiyah travel to the Waste to find Nerissa

_______________________________

The air was thick here, much more so than they had been used to before. Dense fog hid the land below them in a mystery of red and orange hues with the occasional sickly green bioluminescence shining through dimly. But the smell was familiar to Sanguine, who had always belonged here, no matter how far he had tried to run from that truth.

“How much farther?”

“We’ll get there when we get there!”

Silas wailed a pitiful cry of woe is me. “But my wings hurt!”

“Oh shush, you’ll be right at home there.” Khadiyah laughed as she ridiculed her mate. Sanguine, who flew ahead of them, couldn’t help but laugh.

“True, it is called the Martyrs Waste after all.” he chimed in, always down for a little jab at his dear brother. Silas groaned and rolled his eyes. “You two have no empathy! I’m getting old, you know!”

“Sanguine is older than you and he has not complained.” Khadiyah reminded Silas.

“Because we haven’t gone very far!” Sanguine agreed, picking up the pace to show his point. He might have been older, but he hadn’t lost his form yet. In fact, he probably looked healthier than he ever had. Years of Rowan’s care and love had left him in peak physical and mental shape. His hide was shiny, blood red and healthy despite it’s many scars. His wings beat as strongly as ever, his spikes were sharp and his eyesight- well, that was perhaps a little questionable, but it was good enough.

Sanguine saddened a bit at the thought of Rowan. His old mate had returned to the Wasteland’s embrace recently, ‘to slumber with the Plague Mother until they would be reunited and reborn together’, or so Rowan had phrased it. But Sanguine still had a part to play, lessons to teach and learn, and so here he was, honouring Rowan’s last request.

Go see Nerissa.

Apologize to her for pushing her away. She strove for his acceptance and he had cast her out. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of doing this himself, but always there was something that would stop him from going, an excuse, a child that needed him more, an injury that prevented him from going, he had to hunt for food for them all, etcetera etcetera. And recently, taking care of Rowan had taken all his focus. Now though, there was nothing to justify not going any more. Rowan was gone, all his children had flown the nest. It was time he made amends with Nerissa, to avoid becoming his mother. To avoid her making the same mistakes he did.

Silas and Khadiyah had offered to accompany him, curious to see their niece once again. They had heard of her clan in the Martyrs Waste, an area that had been the site of many a battle in the past, not in the least between the Mother and her mortal enemy, the Gladekeeper. It was a place of great infamy, where Plague’s toughest dragons battled each other for the right to survive. Those who died in battle there were named martyr to the Plague Mother, though Sanguine was sceptical of this practice himself.

“There, the rock that looks like a mushroom!” Silas called with relief. “Finally!”

Sanguine said nothing, feeling nervous as they descended through the thick fog, Sand particles swept up into his face and battered his hide before they reached the floor, dust and sand kicking up as the three of them landed not far from their landmark. Though the air was thick, it felt welcoming as Sanguine breathed in deep, the scent of home.

Silas was also taking deep breaths, though it was more like he was gasping for air.

“Mother save me, I can’t breathe with this thick fog and sand in my nostrils!” he complained.

“Don’t be dramatic.” Khadiyah frowned and swept her tail up to whirl an extra load of sand Silas’ way. Silas coughed when he got some in his mouth, covering his face with his wing while Khadiyah laughed wickedly.

Sanguine took no notice of their antics behind him, taking in the environment. A huge rock formation towered before them, shaped somewhat like a mushroom. Specks of green luminescence shimmer through the dust, some kind of fungus? The sun behind the rock cast a large shadow through the sand and the fog, but it’s heat was still present, warming Sanguine’s deep red hide. He strode forwards carefully, looking around with purpose for a sign of any dragons other than them. So far, nothing. He turned his head to Silas and Khadiyah.

“Quiet you two. We have to consider the possibility we are not welcome here.” he reminded them.

“Right, because you were rude to her.” Silas said, deadpan. Khadiyah grinned in unison with Silas, like the little shit she was. “He’s got a point.”

Sanguine sighed, quietly shaking his head before moving ahead.

A natural arch big enough to accommodate a large Guardian stood before them, but beyond that he could see nothing but a turmoil of swirling sand. Still, he knew he was in the right place. He could smell his daughter’s distinct scent, sense her presence.

“Stay here.”

Sanguine said the words to Silas and Khadiyah sternly, then proceeded into the thick wall of red sand before him. It battered him, blinded him, all of those things he had expected, but he had not expected the fluorescent green light to pierce through the sand as if a great eye had locked it’s gaze upon him.

The green light was just enough to project a silhouette through the dust on top of the rock. It was far away, but Sanguine recognized the silhouette as an Aberration dragon. When she spoke, it sounded like two voices at once spoke in unison, echoing between the rocky walls.

“I knew you would come.”

#fr #flight rising #fr lore #flight rising lore #long post

[fairyringsandwings]

Sauron x Galadriel Fanfic Recs

Don’t judge me, I’m weak for villain/heroine ships ;A; 

Spoilers for Ring of Powers below xx

shining like a fiery beacon by The_Duchess_of_Fiction

Summary: Set after the Finale. 

Galadriel has left Eregion, has ran as far from the Southlands as the map allows. It was fitting that she wanders to where her search for her enemy (her almost) had last ended, on the opposite end of this Middle Earth in the northern wasteland.

She doesn’t remain alone in her exile for long.title from lana del rey’s gods and monsters.

a fair form by properhaunt

Summary: There was a time when, with his speech, he could do and undo things as he pleased. He could cast his eyes onto whatever he liked—always the beholder, never held. He could fashion anything with only his mind and make it true, and terrible.

Or: Galadriel and Halbrand in Eregion.

a dream of spring (whisper of winter) by Potterology

Summary: “I would make you a queen,” he answers. Voice pleading. Familiar. Gentle. It is a voice she has listened to in the darkness, a voice she longed to hear in the dusted ash of an erupted mountain. It is a voice she thought would lead the realms of Men into new power. Men are fickle, perhaps they will yet be ruled by this rot. “Together we can save this Middle-Earth.”

She controls a flinch, ignores a tear which falls unbidden from the corner of an eye. It is only pity, she thinks. For him, for Halbrand, for what could have been. For the Southlands and their smallfolk and their desperation. It is only pity, she swears, it is not grief.

A slight extension to the scene in Galadriel's mind.

after the end of it all by EllieCarina

Summary: After the end of it all, ages after, Galadriel is called to Aman where a prisoner dwells in the shadows. A prisoner whose trial is at last approaching. And he will talk to one being alone:

Galadriel.(Here be Spoilers... beware!)

TWO RINGS by Magnolie

Summary: My take on how Halbrand/Sauron had imagined the proposal to go - before she found out herself.

that i may rise and stand, o'erthrow me by mortaltemples

Summary: The line between lies and truth is fine indeed.No one knows that better than Halbrand.

“I cannot help but be curious…what happens,” he sneered, “When she finds out? Do you truly believe that the golden princess of the Noldor will forgive you? Do you think she will grant you absolution?” The air was silent until --

“Do you truly believe that she will want you?”

#galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand #ring of powers spoilers #spoiler #spoilers #lotr spoilers #saurondriel #I'm not really a fan of the series but by stars am i sucker for ships like this #and fanfic writers know how to come up with some beeeeautiful peices #haladriel

[eluvisen]

Truce

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Characters: Karlach/Tav

Rating: T

Summary: It may or may not be a mistake falling in with these lunatics, but at least they look like fun. And one of them in particular looks like fun.

(Karlach’s first night in camp, as told by her.)

Notes: Written for Femslash February 2024. Prompt: once upon a time.

—

Wreathed in smoke and infernal fire, Karlach laughs as the tollhouse burns. Gouts of fire tower on all sides, devouring everything in their path and scorching her throat with every breath. But the inferno is fucking nothing compared to the hellfire inside her. The engine shudders behind her ribs, its vibrations ribboning down her torso and all the way through her guts, so hot and furious it feels like someone poured the magma from one of Avernus’s volcanoes directly into her chest.

With several swings of her axe and a swift kick, she bashes through the debris blocking the door. But past the shower of cinders and ash, the sky is blue. The sky is blue, and when she steps outside, the air is clean.

To her surprise, that gang of adventurers are waiting around. Away from the flames, mind, but waiting.

Karlach strides over, greataxe resting on her shoulder. The metal burns, but she burns hotter. “Hope you didn’t take much of a scorching in there. I had to let off some steam after facing those imp-fuckers.”

The engine thunders in her chest, feeling like a burr made of lava that she can’t cough out. Bloody thing isn’t cooling down. Seems it isn’t made to work outside Avernus, which means she needs to find an infernal mechanic. Fast. 

The rogue smiles at her without showing his teeth. “Only mild burns and the immediate threat of immolation, darling.” There’s something about him that makes her want to keep him in sight at all times, and not just for the safety of her coin purse. He isn’t infernal, she can tell that much. Maybe it’s his hair putting her off. “I don’t suppose you’ll reimburse us for spilling their guts on your behalf?”

Karlach snorts. “You didn’t kill them for me, you killed them with me. And I’m afraid I left my soul coins in Avernus. Could give you a hug if you wanted, though.”

His smile twists into something darker. “What a pity. I hear soul coins are especially valuable currency, and this isn’t a charity.”

“Strange,” says the walking fringe. She stays at the edges like a regular cleric, but there’s something… tricky about her. Yeah, that’s the word. Tricky. “I thought we were a charity. Why else would you be here, Astarion?”

Rhodeia, meanwhile, wears the perfectly pleasant expression of someone who’s mentally screaming into the Abyss. Making firm eye contact with Karlach, she says, “Since we all need a cure for these mind flayer parasites, you’re welcome to come with us.”

The rest of the party look just as loony. The githyanki undoubtedly draws eyes, and it’s a tossup whether her bloody huge greatsword or her scowl is the scarier weapon in her arsenal. Then there’s good man Gale. If he couldn’t conjure such a wicked scorching ray, she’d assume he’s a lost librarian. Or maybe libraries are more interesting places than she thought. At least the Blade of Frontiers is pointing his namesake elsewhere, although he sure doesn’t look pleased by current events. She’ll have to keep an eye on him. 

All in all? A group of miserable, argumentative misfits.

Gods, to be one of them.

Karlach opens her mouth. Hesitates. “There’s no contract, is there?”

“No,” Rhodeia answers, so perfectly startled that either she means it or she could give Flo a run for her coins. 

“Then fuck yes I’m in.”

Rhodeia smiles, and her expression is brilliantly, unnervingly genuine-looking. She has to be a half-elf—she’s got the ears, but her features are just a little too blunt to be a timeless beauty. Not to say she isn’t a looker, with freckles dusting her light brown skin and plump lips. In the sunlight, Karlach notices for the first time that Rhodeia’s eyes are a dusty mauve, as pretty as cut gems—definitely inherited those from the elven parent—and matching the hair falling down her back in intricate braids. Pale tattooed vines frame her face and curl invitingly down her neck to the collar of her leathers, raising the question of just how far they go down, exactly.

But that is a question best left uncontemplated for now. Karlach hangs her greataxe on her back and sweeps an arm at the road before them. “Let’s move, eh? Time’s wasting.”

When the party sets off, Karlach falls in with them. Behind her, the tollhouse burns.

[Read on AO3]

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #karlach #karlach cliffgate #bg3 karlach #karlach x tav #druid tav #rhodeia whitebloom #femslash february #femslashfeb2024 #writing

[masterwords]

without trying to bite down

Summary: Coming to terms with suffering one bottle of whiskey and one kiss at a time. (Coda to Profiler, Profiled...Ashes and Dust...and Birthright. Yeah, you read that correctly. We're jumping through 3 episodes here.)

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: ~5k

Warnings: alcohol, divorce, talk about past abuse (Hotch & Morgan), canon-typical darkness/angst/suffering (mind the episodes listed above)

Notes: Another one-shot in the Restless Heart universe. This one is going to directly lead into another jumping off on the Profiler, Profiled bit. Anyway, maybe I'll take a break for a bit and let the dust settle here...maybe jump back into the Chicago Times universe for a while and also bust out a few Halloween theme fics here and there.

And when we can see things clearer than we think we see them now Maybe kiss each other sweetly without trying to bite down Maybe then all this will be better & maybe then we ll recover (We'll Recover | Matt Nathanson)

**

Beers. It always came down to beers. JJ bought the first round even though she’d said she had other plans, Dave decided to spring for the second and third. The case had been bad, but watching Hotch take those divorce papers and walk out of the BAU had set them all on edge in a different way. Going out for beers felt forced but still necessary.

“Derek, you’re still on round one. You’re missing out on free drinks. That’s not like you.”

“Sorry,” he said like it mattered. Like he cared. He couldn’t shake the image of Hotch accepting that folder in front of everyone. Of Hotch living out a nightmare, his private struggle on center stage. He liked to keep everything locked up tight, and the team were pretty content to let Hotch keep them all at arm’s distance.

“What’s eating you?” Emily asked, nudging his elbow. He looked downright pitiful. It wasn’t like Derek not to seek out the most fun at a bar – the dance floor, flirting with the bar tender, commandeering the jukebox for the night. He always had a plan and instead, right now, he looked like someone had pissed in his Cheerios.

“Ah, just thinking about Hotch. That was cold as ice, don’t you think? Haley having him served right there in front of all of us.”

Emily’s frown told him she disagreed, but before she could say anything Dave took the opportunity to share wisdom he’d gathered following three divorces. He’d paid enough divorce lawyers in his time to be considered an expert in the field and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Derek thought, on some level, he probably should have been.

“She is supposed to have him served in a public place if possible. I’m sure she intended for him to be served in his office, that’s where he usually is. It just happened that he was on his way out. You can’t fault her for circumstances.”

“We would all have found out anyway,” JJ chimed in, but Derek had his doubts. Hotch hadn’t shared the knowledge that they were separated, he had made sure more than once to check. Each time he was met with the same icy glare that said no, he wasn’t sharing the news. Hotch would have just carefully removed his wedding ring and quietly gone about his business, never announcing or indulging the topic. And none of them ever would have asked. “Right?”

“I had a feeling there was trouble in paradise.”

Everyone turned to look at Emily, last of all Derek. He already knew what she was going to say.

“I was on a stakeout with him. The serial arsonist in San Francisco last year? We were watching Abby, waiting for him to come out of the bank and Hotch took a call from Haley. It sounded bad.”

“What was it about?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t ask. He’s not exactly an open book, Jayj.”

Derek looked down into the foam that had settled in a small circle atop what remained of his beer. He remembered the case, and how he felt working it. He’d known when Hotch walked in to the BAU that something was wrong – another fight with Haley, probably, they were happening more and more frequently. Little things, big things, they all took a toll. That morning it was written all over his face, in the tears that made his eyes shine bright and mad. It dripped off of him when he volunteered to go to see the victim in the burn ward. When he looked at her picture in the file. If Derek had been on his game he would have confronted him then, but he waited. Things were still a little shaky after Chicago, after Buford.

“Oh, yeah,” JJ said, nodding. “He was so angry on that case. He snapped at me when he showed up for calling everyone to the BAU instead of right to the jet. Said I was wasting time because the victim wasn’t going to live much longer. He made it sound like I’d blown the case.”

“We did only get a few minutes with her,” Emily said, her tone a little defensive. Hotch wasn’t wrong, but it was unlike him to be so cruel. Especially to JJ who he had a soft spot for. JJ just shrugged.

“I know he was right. When they called about the case, they didn’t make it sound like she was...I thought we had time.”

Derek stopped listening after a while. That case, he hadn’t seen much of Hotch. They had been in a quiet place then, he remembered. Cordial but cold. He thought it had started in Chicago, but now he thought it happened maybe even before that. He couldn’t give you an exact point that things started crumbling but he did know that the case in San Francisco had given them something back. A fresh start.

It hadn’t been pretty though. It had been laced with mistakes and tears and a lot of whiskey.

(x)

They were in the SUV, and Hotch had gone silent. Derek watched the way his features strained around the realization that Abby was going to light up that warehouse with himself inside of it. When he realized that Abby meant to sacrifice himself, and he watched the way the tears brightened Hotch’s eyes as he turned on his heel and stalked out of the station. Without thinking or waiting for instruction, Derek hurried after him with keys in hand.

“Hotch! Slow down!” he called as they broke out into the brisk night air. There were no stars in the sky, it was just pitch black above the ghostly glow of city lights. The world felt wrong. Hotch didn’t slow, but he did stop at the passenger door of the SUV and wait with his head hanging low. He was breathing heavily. “What’s the plan?”

“Get to the warehouse. I don’t know, Derek…”

“It isn’t on fire yet. Get in.” He was going to indulge Hotch the best he could, but there was a sick feeling in his stomach that told him this wasn’t going to end well. It was just one of those cases where even winning felt like losing.

They drove in silence. Each time Derek thought about saying something to break it, he glanced over and saw the way the color had drained from Hotch’s face, the way his lips stretched in a grim line, and he decided not to. When his phone rang, he relished the sound until Gideon’s voice began, until Gideon told him what he’d been dreading. They were out of time. There was no hope. And when the explosion rocked the earth in front of them, when it lit the sky with a bonfire for giants, he felt the tremors coming from Hotch himself.

“Morgan what are you doing?”

“Hotch, it’s too late man. I’m sorry.”

There was a wildness in Hotch’s eyes, flickering obsidian in the light of the fire. Derek had never seen his face cast in shadow like this and it reminded him of a frightened and cornered animal. Ready to claw and gnash and tear its way to safety, to justice. He threw the door open without a word, spitting angry and full of righteous abandon met by Gideon and then by Derek, hands to his chest, ceasing his forward motion. What would he have done? Marched right into that blaze? Gone up with Abby, for the cause? For justice? Derek knew this wasn’t justice. Abby had a son, he had time left on this planet, but who else might have to die for him to live? He saw the recognition of sameness in Hotch’s eyes as the building burned and wondered what the fight with Haley had been about that could be so bad Hotch would run toward a fire with all his might.

But then, he always ran toward fire, never away. Derek had always wanted to ask him about it, how it looked like a compulsion wrapped in compassion and heroics. How it looked like payment for a debt he didn’t owe anymore and still carried. Maybe he would.

“You wanna take a drive?” Derek asked as he started up the SUV, eyes still focused on the fire. “Take a breather before we tackle the reports?”

Hotch was silent, and Derek took that silence as approval. Or, rather, a lack of protest...in this case they sounded about the same.

“I could go for a drink.”

“I don’t want to go to a bar.”

“There’s a liquor store down the street from our hotel that’s open late.”

Hotch nodded. He wasn’t a big drinker, but he thought right now was as good a time as any to numb some of the intensity inside of him. He was on the verge of explosion. His whole body felt electric.

Yeah, he could go for some whiskey.

(x)

On a bench overlooking the bay, the two of them sat side by side. In the distance, though he tried not to let his eyes wander that direction, Hotch could still see the benzene burning. Evan Abby was long gone, had probably been since before Hotch even knew the fire had started but it still ached in him like the man was suffering alone out there.

“We’re not good,” Derek said, passing Hotch the brown bag with the whiskey bottle inside. He’d already taken a swig of it himself, and now it was Hotch’s turn to stare into the abyss. “We gotta talk.”

“About?”

“You and me. This. Us.”

“I’m not upset with you, Morgan. You were only doing what Gideon told you, and it was the right call. I just...wish this case had taken a different course.”

“Nah. See, that’s not what I’m talking about. There was a time when you woulda told me about it. You woulda taken me out on that stakeout with you and told me you got into a fight with Haley, or that there was something about Abby that hit a little close to home…”

Hotch took a pull on the whiskey and let out a soft cough at the sting of it going down. They were only a few blocks from their hotel room, neither of them had to do more than stumble back to their beds. That knowledge brought with it a sense of reckless abandon – the case was over, and the charred remains could wait until morning to be sifted through. Hotch’s heart was broken.

“There was a time when you would have asked.”

Derek let out a chuckle and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, peering out into the inky black night. There were murky clouds hovering near the horizon, obscuring the stars. A storm probably, and he kind of hoped it would take its time – that fire didn’t need a downpour, it needed time. Beyond the clouds he stared as the starry sky met starry water, the sounds of waves lapping against the rocks, engines and tires and brakes on the bridges. Headlights danced over the water surface creating the effect of a Dahli painting.

“That’s true.” Derek waited, like Hotch might take over. Like he might start. He was the kind of natural leader that didn’t often sit back and let someone else drive, but in this case Derek was out of luck. Hotch was silent. And when he didn’t, Derek took the bottle from him, pulled a large mouthful and leaned back until his face was turned toward the sky. “Fine. I’ll start, ya stubborn ass. You know why I didn’t ask? Because things got weird in Chicago. Because things have been weird since Chicago. Because you and Gideon know things about me that no one else knows, and every day I come to work wondering if Reid or JJ or Garcia or Prentiss is gonna come up to me and give me a hug and tell me they’re sorry for what I went through…”

“I sealed the reports for that case as confidential. I left out all details that weren’t of direct relevance to putting Buford in prison and keeping him there. I’m the only person who saw the reports and I’m the only Agent being called in for testimony during the trial in a few months. No one else knows or needs to, and my testimony doesn’t mention you as a victim at all. We’ve got a solid case without it.”

“Yeah, I know that. I know, and I appreciate your discretion but...you get it right? It isn’t that I didn’t want to tell you, like I thought you’d weaponize it or think differently about me...but I didn’t want it to become public record. When you walked into that room with my expunged juvie record lookin’ at me like I was some kind of thug...I don’t think I’ve ever felt more humiliated in my life, Hotch. I didn’t tell you about that because it didn’t exist, because it was a bullshit charge on a bullshit arrest by a cop who was out for my blood since I was a kid and for what? What did I do to him? You know what I did?”

“Your father was a cop and he saw a scrappy young man from the wrong side of town using that privilege to get into trouble and get away with it. And when your father was killed, he saw his opportunity to finally make something stick.”

“I was TEN, Hotch…” Derek said, shaking his head. “I was a good kid. I went to school every day, I tried to keep my grades up...yeah I got into some scrappy shit on the playground, man, I was a little boy. We do stupid things sometimes. But that fat bastard tried to accuse me of shoplifting when my mom sent me to the bodega on the corner to get a quart of milk so my sisters and I could have cereal for breakfast while she was at work. Her paycheck was a few days late and Mr. Jannings, he’d let her take what she needed without paying and then she’d run him a check and some cobbler or a cake to catch up when she got paid. We always paid up. That’s what tight knit neighborhoods do, man. You take care of each other. So yeah I took that damn milk and Mr. Jannings watched me do it and he fuckin’ waved at me and said goodnight, and it just happened that fuckin’ Gordinski was coming in for smokes when it happened.”

Hotch nodded and set his lips to the bottle of whiskey, turning it up, splashing the cold liquid against his tongue. It was good whiskey, much too good for the way they were drinking it but it still burned going down.

“I didn’t look at you like you were a thug, Derek. I was…” he paused, searching for the right words. For the key to unlock a moment in time he’d already sealed up tight. He still had the trial to look forward to, the trial that he knew Derek would insist on attending with him. That was a conversation for another time. “I was hurt that you didn’t tell me, that you kept things to yourself that you knew could save you because you didn’t trust me.”

“It wasn’t about trust.”

“Then what was it?”

“I didn’t want all of that on camera Hotch! You gotta see that, right? If it was just you and me, no camera, no one way glass, no fat fuck Gordinski or JJ with her huge sad eyes...just us...I would have spilled it all. If there was a way to explain it to you without all of them knowing…” There were tears streaking Derek’s cheeks and Hotch sighed, looking down at his hands. He wondered if this was going the way Derek anticipated, if this was what he’d been needing. He sincerely hoped so, because it felt to Hotch like it was about as bad as it could get.

“Did you ever think I had anything to do with it?”

“No.”

“You never believed Gordinski? Even when he gave you that bullshit record and told you I had a violent history?”

“Of course not, Derek. I just knew that you were hiding something, and that whatever it was you were hiding was the key to getting you out of that room and catching a real killer. I couldn’t tell if you were protecting yourself or someone else, but you were hiding something. I let myself get caught up in it being a case and I forgot that the man I was trying to save was more than just a falsely accused suspect, he was my friend. I am sorry for that.”

“I know. You’ve said so like five times already.”

“Well, to my knowledge you haven’t accepted it yet so I’ll keep offering.”

Derek nudged the bottle in Hotch’s direction and turned to look at him. “Apology accepted. Your turn.”

Staring at the bottle with wide eyes, Hotch’s tongue felt like a dried out dish sponge. Tasted about like one too. “My turn?”

“Talk to me. Why’d this case fuck you up so bad? Why’d you and Haley fight? What’s going on with you lately?”

“You don’t want to hear my sob story.”

“Hotch, that’s the whole damn reason I bought that bottle and walked your sorry ass to this spot. Start talkin’.”

“I don’t remember what started the fight. I know where it ended, I know that when I go home I’ll be walking right back into it only she’s had a couple of days to plot out her next moves while I’ve been here focused on the case. I know that she’s getting fed up with this job, and that she’ll have a list of alternatives when I walk through the door – jobs she thinks I could do that will keep me home more often, no travel, sitting at a desk not in the line of fire. We had family photos scheduled twice and I came home with stitches or bruises on my face, so she had to keep postponing them. She’s tired of putting her life on hold for the BAU.”

“Is it so bad that your wife wants you around more? I can’t say I blame her.”

“No, that isn’t the problem. I just...can you see me working white collar crime? Sitting at a desk all day?”

“It’ll kill you.”

“It isn’t that my marriage isn’t worth sacrifice, Derek, but…I’ve worked my ass off to get here and I still have aspirations, I still have goals. I gave up a lot to get here, because this is where I belong.” Hotch sighed. “I am giving it thought, though.”

“You’ll make the right decision.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Okay, well...what about the case then? It can’t all be about the stupid fight.”

“No.”

Hotch was silent for a long while, listening to the bay, the squeal of tires against wood on pylons, the gentle slapping noise of water against rock. In the distance the storm rumbled and the smell of smoke carried on the wind as it picked up. He began to cry.

“As I watched Abby meet with lawyers and doctors, clear out offices and bank accounts, I realized I knew what he was doing because I had watched my father do it too. I had watched my father come out of the oncologist’s office with tears in his eyes, look right up into the sun like it might be his last time ever seeing such a sight, and it hit me harder than I expected. My father was...we never had a good relationship. But in that moment, watching him come to terms with his mortality, I wanted to hug him. I don’t think I’d ever hugged him, at least not since I was toddler who didn’t know any better.”

“How long did he have?”

“A couple of months.”

“Did you hug him?”

“No.”

“Your dad was a real piece of work, I can tell. Just by some of the things you say...sometimes things you don’t say.”

“Another time,” Hotch said sadly. Defeated. “I’d like to focus on Evan Abby. He’s worth remembering, my father is not.”

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“It just hit a little close to home, and to watch him as he decided to sacrifice himself to put an end to the killing...that wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Sometimes I still get caught up in the good guy bad guy mentality. The good guys are supposed to win. It’s childish of me, I know better. I’ve been doing this long enough that I shouldn’t get caught up in that, but when the lines are so clearly drawn like they were in this case it seemed like maybe...this once…”

“The bad guy did lose, though.”

“So did the good guy. And so did his innocent son.”

“Why’d you take the burn ward again?”

“Again?”

“Gideon said you took it last time, but I know you’ve taken it more than that. In fact, I don’t remember the last time you didn’t.”

“I knew she was going to die quickly and I didn’t want any of you to have to be there.”

“You’re lying. You’re hiding something.”

Hotch took a drink, this time, instead of just looking at the bottle. His head was cloudy and he was already crying. He didn’t have much to lose at this point, his dignity had hit the road hours ago. “I had a teacher, when I was twelve. When everyone asked where the bruises came from, how I broke my arm, why I missed a week of school...there was a time I was innocent enough to tell the truth thinking someone might help me. No one did. I was branded a liar, but Mrs. Thorpe believed me. She gave me a place to be so I didn’t have to go home right away. She would let me help her clean the classroom or organize her books, do little odd jobs here and there. It was probably more trouble than help, I wasn’t very attentive to the work itself. And then one day, just after spring break, she didn’t come to school – her husband had come home piss drunk, probably after shutting down the bar with my father and the good old boys – and decided to beat on her some. I guess that was pretty normal, I found out later. I suppose that’s why she believed me. In any case, after he had his fill he passed out on the couch with a lit cigarette in his mouth. They lost the whole house, he was barely hurt, she survived for about a day before dying. I skipped school to go to the hospital and what I saw…”

“Jesus,” Derek said quietly, his eyes wide. “Hotch.”

“The bad guy won. He had a few small burns on his arms, got a fat insurance check and moved out to Texas to start a new life. As a child, I saw too many bad guys win. I thought that was how it worked.”

“Damn.”

“You’re profiling me now.”

“You’re damn right I am. Jesus Hotch.”

“What are you thinking?”

“That you feel responsible for what happened to her. That you think if she hadn’t known about your father, somehow none of that would have happened. That you take the burn ward every time as a way to make it up to her, hoping that you can be there for them while they pass because you weren’t there for her. But Hotch...you were just a kid. Nothing you did caused what happened. You gotta know that.”

“I do,” Hotch whispered. “But regardless of my reasons, I just want to help. I would rather sit with a victim and offer comfort as they pass than think about the unsub.”

They sat in amiable silence, Hotch’s eyes raw and burning, Derek’s chest tight. Two men pouring it all out, with whiskey breath and chilled skin. Above them the storm clouds crackled and began slowly releasing their rain. Neither of them made a move to leave where they sat. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know. This was your therapy session, Doctor Morgan.”

Derek laughed and leaned forward, dropping his head. “I was kinda hoping you’d take the lead at some point, I’m way out of my depths here. I just thought you were gonna say some shit like oh you know, I left a load of clothes in the washer too long and Haley was up my ass about it before we left…”

Rain drops plunked down quickly into the water, small at first, gaining momentum. The sound became like a roar for a moment and drowned out the sound of their breath. “Did you really think that was it?”

“Okay, no, but I didn’t think it’d be all of that…”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“How do you do it? Walk around with all of that inside of you?”

Hotch didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t know. It was just what he did. Another pull for each of them and Derek stood, arching his back, craning his neck from one side to the other. Hotch followed suit, feet landing softly in a forming puddle. Water seeped in through the worn sole of his dress shoe, this was his favorite pair in spite of how worn down they were. Now his sock was wet. The bench had made them both cold and stiff.

Their shoulders bumped as they leaned and twisted at the hips, stretching and bringing life back into stiff limbs, and then their knuckles brushed warm and soft. That brief touch, skin to skin, was electric. Hotch turned to look at Derek, his eyes still shining with tears, and Derek leaned forward automatically pressing a soft, warm kiss to Hotch’s lips. It was fast, tentative, a little shy and when Hotch didn’t pull away he pressed in again. This time it was a little longer, a little more certain, his hand coming up to Hotch’s jaw, hooking the back of his neck, and for a moment the world melted away from them. There was nothing but whiskey lips and a whirlpool of stars and rain and in the distance the sound of a boat’s foghorn as it made its way through the downpour. He’d been so sure when he leaned in, but now as they broke the kiss, Derek couldn’t help feeling sad. Not exactly regret, no he’d wanted to kiss Hotch for years now. But there was some feeling of sadness here he couldn’t quite place.

“Sorry,” Derek said, backing away slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Don’t get cute. You know for what. You’re married.”

“And I’m your boss. There are several rules about fraternization that you just...”

“Fuck off with that.”

“Don’t be sorry, Derek. Please.”

That was the last thing Hotch said to him before taking one final sip of the whiskey, one regretful sip that would send him right to the toilet the minute he was alone in his hotel room, and heading back across the street. He splashed through puddles that gathered beneath the sidewalks and rushed down the storm drain, pulling his suit jacket up over his head like he wasn’t already drenched. Derek didn’t try to stop him, instead he just sat back down on the bench with the half consumed bottle in his lap and stared out at the water.

“What the fuck.”

(x)

“Hey, thanks for the drinks guys but I’m gonna bounce. Not feelin’ it tonight.” Derek looked around the table at his friends and waited for one of them to inevitably try to reel him back in. None did. It was like they could sense something he hadn’t yet figured out. Everything about him being here felt wrong and they all knew it.

“Drive safe,” JJ said and he laughed, shrugging into his leather jacket.

“Jayj, I had one beer. I’m good. You guys call if you need anything, I’ll haul my ass outta bed to get you home safe.”

Derek started for home, turning up his music to almost full volume as he drove. He didn’t feel like singing along but he thumped his fingers on the steering wheel and bobbed his head and hit every single green light between the bar and his house. As he pulled into the driveway, he noticed a shadow on the porch, leaning up against the railing, long legs sprawled out before him like a lazy shadow scarecrow. He smiled. When he stepped out of the car, the shadow turned toward him and began to go from sitting to standing, pulling itself to full inky height. The porch light caught disheveled black tufts of hair, the harsh angle of his nose, the shine of tears in wild eyes.

“Hotch,” Derek said, approaching quickly. Like he’d known what he would find when he got home, somewhere inside of him he’d been drawn back. He was needed here, with Hotch, not out at a bar talking about Hotch.

“I didn’t know where else to go. I hope you don’t mind.”

“How long have you been sitting here? You should have sent me a text or something. You know where the key is.”

“Wasn’t sure if it was still in the same place...or if I was still welcome to use it.”

It felt like they would kiss, right then. The electricity that shuddered between them as they stood just a little too close, the beer on Derek’s breath, the brown bag around the whiskey bottle hanging from Hotch’s hand. An offering, a relic, a reminder. Derek looked up like he thought the sky might open up any minute and start pouring on them again but it was crystal clear, the kind of night you dreamed about.

“You’re always welcome.”

“Noted.”

Hotch lifted the bottle and offered a sad little half-smile that looked a lot like he was going to start crying. “For old time’s sake?”

“You wanna talk or you just lookin’ for a repeat of the kiss?” It was a joke, or he thought he meant it as one...but he found that saying the words made it too real and he leaned forward to meet Hotch’s lips. They tasted like the ocean, salty and a little sweet, and Derek pulled him closer. Closer. Until they were pressed together so close that they shared a heartbeat. Expectation and a little excitement mingled with a heavy sadness, the ending of something huge and maybe the start of something else. Derek felt like his knees might buckle beneath the weight of it. “Come inside.”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #criminal minds #hotchgan #fanfiction #restless heart au #mind the warnings

[kurocatsstuff]

11:24 ★ : what’s the point in this life?

genre : fluff, angst (?)

note : scaramouche x reader > ^ < ,, haven’t worked on a fanfic in like.. three months 😨 story taking place a few years after Scaramouche joined the Fatui :3 (please reblog, it would help)

You took pleasure in seeing people laugh or genuinely being happy and enjoying life and the phenomenon called love. You worked as a clown on the outskirts of Inazuma, a nation known for horrible storms and lightning.

You, yourself took in the common fears of little children and personality. Which made you perfect for the “kids” side of the striped tent in which you worked in. When a storm struck you would gasp or yelp in unison with the kids and wait as they huddled up close to your, looking at you as the “bigger kid” or the “adult” in the situation.

Your fears and personality were relatable with little kids which made you a big hit once you had joined the show as a clown, yet you’d like to consider yourself a jester since you referred to the kids as royalty.

Months gone by as you worked there, you were envious of the kids playing as your childhood was deprived of love and decency.. but we’ll get into your past later..

—

The puppet sighed irritated by the Doctor’s words, the thought was ridiculous. Visiting some distant circus to people laughing and kids pushing and shoving, if someone were ever to shove him aside like he was nothing, whether on accident or not. He would immediately kill everyone there.

“I have better things to do than see some dimwits waste their time making kids laugh only to get decent pay. I’d almost feel sorry if I didn’t have better things to do.” The puppet scowls, his eyebrows furrowing. Scaramouche glanced at Dottore with annoyance, turning his head back to the paper works he was originally working on.

The Doctor chuckled before chucking one circus ticket his way, after he so he clapped his hands together, rubbing it against each other wiping the non-existent dust off his gloves. “I think you’ll enjoy the pity show, it’ll be amusing watching someone desperate to make a fool out of themselves.”

In response the Harbinger working with a pen retorts irritated. “I don’t have the time for this type of thing! It’s irrelevant to me, I don’t like crowds anyway either. Why would you think I would go to that shit place willingly?!” He slams his pen to the desk, grabbing the ticket ready to rip it—yet he stopped for a second. “Why do you even have this in the first place?” He stared agitated yet confused at the blue haired man, of course it isn’t of many surprise that the man would try to pull off something like this.

“What happens if I were to tell you that one of the surviving residents of Tatarasuna were to work there?” The man grinned at the seated Harbingers reaction.. with eyes widened he looked down at the ticket then at Dottore with disbelief. “You really expect me to believe that?!” He snapped, bad memories being dug up from the depths of his mind and it being rubbed in his fair face. “Ah, yes. I’m sure of this, a reminder of the past still lingers alive.”

His past was supposed to be burned in ashes all of it.. oh well, it’s only one mortal. Not worth death. “..who cares.. how do you know this?” Scaramouche eyed Dottore suspiciously. “That’s a secret for now..”

—✦ 12:35

notes: BITCH I DONT WANNA CONTINUE THIS SHIT😭😭😭😨😨🙏🙏🙏😔😔 I wanna go to sleep now, also putting a poll for voting, this considered part 1 ig … 😭💀 GO FAMOUS MY CUTE LITTLE WORDS

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche #genshin impact fatui #genshin angst #clowns

[robinette-green]

Greek Hero AU (Eclipse x Reader outline)

(Someone take this from me, please. I don't need another WIP right now) 

Eclipse is a demigod like in the old greek legends, like Heracles and Achilles. 

 A human woman with whom the gods Sol (Sun) and Lune (Moon) both fell madly in love, in the way of Greek god logic, gave birth to a child fathered by both the Sun and Moon god. This child is Eclipse. 

Eclipse grows up being one of the greatest heroes of the age, and all the fame and power go to his head. He becomes a self-centered, arrogant asshole, gorging himself on the joys of the flesh and becoming a thorn in his fathers' sides. 

Eclipse starts to drop his fathers' names regularly to get what he wants and make people do unsavory things. 

Finally, Sol and Lune decide enough is enough when, deep in his greed, Eclipse turns on his mother. Shunning her and driving her from their home. 

Angered by their son Sol and Lune trap their child in the realm of the gods, challenging him with three tasks. 

If Eclipse can complete these three tasks then he can escape punishment, but if not, he will be stripped of all powers and be cast to the edge of the mortal realm to live out the rest of his life in shame and solitude. 

In the mortal realm, Eclipse has a human form, but in the realm of the gods, Eclipse has a form reminiscent of his fathers' forms. (The shift in forms causes much destress) 

The first task: To climb to the top of the fire god's volcano and retrieve the ash flower. Ash flowers are delicate, and the acquired flower must reach the volcano's base alive and unharmed.

Eclipse has no problem making it to the top of the volcano and finding the flower. Still, no matter how many times he tries, he cannot manage to bring a flower down alive. 

Eclipse goes into a rage, frustrated by the seemingly impossible task, as yet another flower turns into dust and blows away.

Laughter bubbles up from a small spring that rests a short distance from where Eclipse is throwing his tantrum. This only serves to feed into Eclipse's anger. 

Shenanigans ensue as Eclipse insults the water sprite and wades into the spring in an attempt to strangle the individual mocking him. 

The water sprite reveals themselves and Eclipse in at one enamored with their beauty. 

Being who he is, Eclipse automatically assumes that this creature would fall for his charms like all the humans he's wooed and changes tacks, trying to coerce the sprite into telling him how to retrieve the flower. 

The sprite refuses and this sends Eclipse over the edge again and he goes back to trying to strangle this beautiful creature. 

Eventually Eclipse calms down

Assuming that the sprite had left him, Eclipse starts to wallow in self pity. He's soon to have everything taken from him because of a stupid flower. 

This goes on for a few days in between angry attempts to get a flower and failing. 

The sprite takes pity on Eclipse and places a large seashell next to him. 

This causes confusion but eventually Eclipse figures out that he must scoop a flower out of the ground, dirt, roots and all, and carefully carry the whole thing down to the fields below.

Task completed. 

Unsure what to do with the flower he plants the flower by the little spring. 

The sprite unfortunately assumes that this is a thank you for the help. 

The second task: To swim to the deepest part of the ocean god's domain and give the Celestial seashores a gift. This seahorse is especially shy and must be approached carefully, or it will flee. 

Swimming to the deepest part of the ocean is a much more difficult task for Eclipse because he cannot breathe underwater. 

He attempts it anyway and almost drowns. 

The water sprite saves him. 

He doesn't thank them 

Eclipse comes to with the lovely sprite sitting over him, making sure he's still alive. 

Flirtatious shenanigans ensue

Eclipse suddenly remembers that water sprites can grant the ability to water breath. 

The sprite refuses. 

The gift of water breathing is given with a kiss. 

Eclipse spends the next several days attempting to woo the sprite but his usual tactics don't work. So Eclipse changes it up, trying something he's seen a few humans attempt. 

He brings the sprite flowers and sings to them in gentle, soothing tones. He sits by their spring tells stories of his adventures in a soft voice (lying mostly and making everything much more PG than what actually happened)

Eclipse is about to destroy all the work he's done and fly into a rage as he starts to think that the sprite will never come around when finally they agree and grant him the gift of water breathing. 

Eclipse is quick to jump right into the next task, swimming down to the seahorse's layer with a pearl he found days ago and he finds that giving the pearl to the seahorse is easy compared to what he had to do to woo the water sprite. 

Task complete 

The water sprite follows Eclipse to make sure everything goes well but gets attacked by a giant squid and Eclipse saves them

Eclipse feels something shift inside himself as he holds the small water sprite in his arms. 

They feel fragile

The third task: To battle and defeat the guardian of the summer glade and take the star the guardian protects.

Eclipse is congratulated by his fathers on completing the first two tasks. And they inform him that the guardian he needs to defeat lives in a small spring in the summer glade. This is his final task and his last chance to avoid his punishment. 

Eclipse finds the spring and recognizes it as the one where he first met his little sprite. 

He decides to ask his sprite about the guardian in an off-handed way and finds that the sprite is the guardian 

This sends Eclipse for a loop.

How could he possibly fight and kill his fragile little water sprite? 

He would have to if he wanted his life to go back to the way it had been. 

Eclipse decides that maybe he could ask the sprite for the star and get it that way

The sprite refuses to hand it over.

Eclipse starts to get angry

A fight does occur and the sprite is stronger than Eclipse gave them credit for but not strong enough. 

The fight ends with Eclipse holding the sprite trapped against his chest, a knife pressed to their throat, tears streaming down the sprite's face. 

The water sprite had started to believe that Eclipse wasn't the arrogant brute they had been led to believe they were but was proven incorrect. 

He had been so soft and gentle with them but clearly it was only because Eclipse had wanted something from them. 

How could they have been so stupid to fall for someone like this? 

Eclipse can't bring himself to kill the sprite. 

Shoving the sprite away, back into the water, Eclipse proclaims that he is unable to complete the finally task and his fathers should do their worst 

Task failed 

Sol and Lune cast Eclipse back to the mortal realm and strip him of all his powers. He is left to live out his days in a small cottage in the edge of a forest at the ends of the earth. 

Shortly after Eclipse settles into his new life, the water sprite comes looking for him.

#glitter rock #glitter rock outline #fnaf fanfic #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf eclipse #eclipse x reader #Greek hero AU #fnaf security breach #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf fanfiction #glitter rock writing

[these-velvet-comforts]

it's you that i lie with (I)

     The Black Manor is dark, dusty, and depraved to put it lightly. That much is clear with just a glance. Its obsidian wallpaper is stained with dust and flaking off wood on the edge of rotting. Once glimmering candelabras, china, and other trinkets lined with gold and silver are now coated in ash and dust. Even the recently polished flooring followed suit, giving a soft depressed sigh as the Boy Who Lived slunk through the manor. In spite of the Order and Weasley family settling in and leaving signs that the living indeed walk the manor's halls—a homely chipped cup here, a crumpled newspaper there, a mark of smeared griffin droppings off to the side—Harry can't shake the dreary feeling hanging in the atmosphere. If anything, it dragged his mood into deeper depths as he climbed the steep staircase, each step creaking, as the paintings of long dead Black wizards and stuffed house-elves' heads decorating the walls seem to watch our hero pass by. 

     Harry had left Privet Drive.

     Finally, Harry had left Privet Drive after a month of hunting down discarded newspapers, gorging out on Mrs. Figg's dried out tea cakes, and prowling the neighborhood. All it took was him being attacked by Dementors. 

     No, it was him having the audacity to use magic to defend himself—that was the catalyst.

But that doesn't matter now.

     Now, Harry is going to be with everyone he cares about: Ron, Hermione, you—

You.

     Harry had swallowed an impossible question when his guardians stood guard in the Dursleys and kept it down as they traveled by broom to Black Manor. He knew the answer they'd all give and already see the pitiful look on their faces, but still the urge bubbles forth. Even in his head, the question echoes, reminiscent of a child begging to keep a stray puppy. 

But…

     …but you deserve to come. The boy's heart contorts at the thought of you alone with Mrs. Figg and her horde of cats. The mere fact that you share the same street as the Dursleys makes him want to jump out of the nearest window and fly back 'home.' You have nowhere to go, no Hogwarts to run to, not even a decrypted Black Manor to hide in. 

     The idea of you coming with—to ride a broom with him, to show you a spell he knows, or just to crack jokes—makes his heart leap up his throat and burn with a bright fuzz. It's a much better alternative than leaving you in that dark, creaking house full of cat paraphernalia older than time itself to play video games, eat dried out devil's cake, and care for an old woman. Alone. 

     If only he could talk to Sirius–perhaps even Dumbledore–and convince them to…to do something! If only they let him, the Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the almost fifteen year old who’s now survived constant murder attempts four years in a row, who watched helplessly as Cedric Diggory was killed in cold blood barely a month ago, be a part of the Order's meeting. If only they'd listen to him—

     "Harry?"

     He blinks, hand on the knob of a door he had opened without realizing. Harry drags his gaze from the decaying wallpaper he spent a moment too long focusing on and takes in the familiar warmth engulfing him and the mop of bushy hair atop it. His eyes meet Hermione's through her locks and her brow furrows at his lack of a response.

     "Mate, are you alright?"

     Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see a head of red hair with a face etched with worry.

     In a heartbeat, he recognizes them and an unmistakable warmth trickles into his veins. Then the memories of the past month spark behind his eyes.

     "I'm fine," Harry hisses like a boiling tea kettle and pushes himself out of Hermione's grasp. "Brilliant, really ."

     The two share a glance, guilty or frightened. Perhaps both. Harry ignores them, choosing not to care, and closes the door. Mrs. Weasley had ushered him off upstairs with a promise of answers from the pair, but the sight of them boiled something beneath his skin. The room's décor didn't help his mood either—high, cobwebbed ceilings, almost mournful, flaking wallpaper, and moth-eaten twin beds weren't what Harry was expecting when he finally escaped Privet Drive. 

     Harry extends an arm once he catches sight of Hedwig on the wardrobe. Her snow white feathers glow against the wallpaper. She sails down to him and affectionately nibbles on his ear.

     "She’s been in a right state. Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters," Ron weakly laughs, awkward voice cracking at a poor attempt to break the tension. A glance at the redhead's hands would've confirmed his statement, but Harry once more can't bring himself to care at the moment. Instead, he settles on one of the twin beds and tries to appear unfazed. It only results in him glowering at the bedposts.

     "We wanted to tell you everything, truly!" Hermione squeaks out after a strained pause, "But Dumbledore promised us to not tell you anything."

     "I realized as much," Harry drones out as he threads his fingers through Hedwig's feathers. She nips at him for scratching too hard. Ron glances at Hermione, but she pays him no mind.

     "He seemed to think it was for the best—" Harry looked at her hands and saw scars mirroring Ron's. He still couldn't find it in him to care.

     "Right," he snapped at her, "and staying with Muggles was any safer?"

     Only the silence answered. Harry's body tenses with unadulterated rage and his eyes bore into theirs.

     "I was hunted by dementors in the one place Dumbledore thought I'd be safe. The one bloody place that doesn't have magic or spells or anybody to protect me. The best I got was a batty old cat lady and a bloke who dropped me for some cauldrons. Isn't that such a brilliant plan?" Harry all but spits the question out.

     "There were other people from the Order following you, protecting you, Harry--" Ron steps in.

     "--And look how well that went? In the end, I had to fight off dementors. Two dementors! On my own! I was alone. I…" His voice becomes hushed and focuses on Hedwig. For a moment, the softness of her feathers calms him. His voice almost cracks when he looks at them again. Almost. "...I was alone."

     "We know, Harry. We saw Dumbledore when he found out Mundungus had left," Hermione's eyes start to well up. Ron stumbles into the conversation, saying, "The Ministry is bullocks. What they are doing is–-what they are doing to you is–-is bloody insane!"

     Harry's eyes squint, suspicious of their intentions. His mouth twists, feeling bile bubbling into it. He lets his fury settle in the back of his throat and the perfect words to scream find themselves before he opens his mouth.

You shot awake, skin sticky from the summer heat, wrapped in a thin comforter. The fan creaks with a steady rhythm and the sunlight that streams in through the window is too bright, too hot. Both aggravate the pounding behind your ears.

The beige room you are curled up in is small and simple. Even after so many months of staying there, only a few marks of 'you' have been left. A handful of sketches and paper (newspaper and magazine alike) clippings sparsely decorate the walls. A sun soaked desk is parked in front of a window. More papers lay atop it with books, pencils, and a multitude of hobbies. A leather journal is tucked between the mattress and bedframe. Cheap glow in the dark stars stick to the ceiling, right above the rickety bed you've claimed. 

After a fruitless attempt of rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes, you slowly stretch with a lazy cat's ease before shuffling to the kitchen.

The kitchen, along with the rest of the house, feels empty. If you and Mrs. Figg didn't live here, you'd say it was a hallmark to a bygone era. One that worshiped cats and faded floral prints. It is fairly clean with a thin layer of dust and cat hair strewn in some easy to overlook places. The house's aesthetic is a culmination of every stereotypical old white woman home: flower covered china adorning cabinets, faded wallpaper from over a decade ago, lovingly carved oak furniture that always creaks. It even smelled old— stale. Nonetheless, you ignore it all and begin to pour yourself a drink with quivering hands. Water, coffee, orange juice, it didn't quite matter at the moment once you began to feel your hollow stomach tremble. While chugging the drink down, the growing sound of sandals slapping against wood wakes you up a bit more.

"...'morning." It comes out quieter than you intended, huskier too, but your cotton filled head can't bring itself to care at the moment.

Mrs. Figg, already dressed for the day, enters just as you begin to rummage through the fridge's freezer for frozen waffles.

"How are you feeling?" 

"Hungry. Tired." Victorious too as you snatch the waffles and stuff them into the toaster. She just squints at you. Oblivious to her, you begin collecting snacks to add to your smorgasbord and grab the piping hot waffles after a few minutes. Finally, after a little over 72 hours, you can sit down at the kitchen table and eat solids.

"Feeling better?" The old woman asks after you plow through three waffles, a banana, too many protein bars, and a handful of grapes. The feast is strewn across the table. She's acting cautious, you note.

You belch in response.

"I feel full at least," you say somewhat embarrassed before finishing the cup of water Mrs. Figg had forced into your hands a few minutes ago. Your original cup lays in the sink, long forgotten. The sunlight bleeding through the windows burns a bit less now. "But my mind is still…still a little outta sorts."

"Meaning?"

You lean back in contemplation and shrug.

"I feel like shit. Inside and out." Her eyebrows twitch as the cuss. You ignore it and rest your forehead on the pleasantly cold table, letting your muscles and mind sing in soreness, "I might go back to bed."

"Before you do–" Her tone is different now. It feels like you are about to be poked and prodded. Of course, that is a pretty unreasonable assumption. Worst case scenario, Mrs. Figg will scold you for something technically criminal like throwing trash away in someone else's garbage can. The last time she had a 'talk' with you, it was about walking down the street when the local 'gang' (a pathetic bunch of bored teens, really) were on the other side. "Never ever go near those hooligans!" She had proclaimed with incensed vigor, as if possessed. "I don't care if the groceries melt—take the long way and stay out of their sight!" And yet…

"—last night, we talked."

That's news to you.

"And what you said was…disturbing." 

Now, you are sitting up and sweating. There are a million things you've seen on the internet, and about as many ways to describe them. Any of them could be taken the wrong way by a conservative old lady, especially drama, horror—Wait, scratch that, what about anything remotely sexual?! 

"I, uh," you roll your shoulders as a cheap way to relieve stress, heart pounding a mile a minute, "I don't quite know what you are referring to."

Play it cool. Maybe you just babbled on about something dark or gory like Stranger Things or We Are All Dead or maybe something that just has an inch of violence. It's probably not as horrible as you think it is. It will be okay. Play. It. Cool.

The old woman is as stiff as a board with scrutinizing eyes boring into yours. It would be haunting if a fat cat wasn't strewn atop her lap, belly up and blatantly begging for attention.

"The books."

"The books?"

"You talked about books you read as a child."

That’s what this is about??

"Like what?"

"Harry Potter." She utters the name as if it was a key to Pandora's box. Your heart rate falls back down and you slump. The cat still does not care. You share its sentiments.

"Oh. Okay. What else?" Her face sours at your response. Mrs. Figg coldly utters your name. "...yes?"

"How do you know about him?" You tilt your head to the side, confused, to look at her.

"Everybody has read it. Or watched it. Heard of it at least. Did…did I do something wrong?" A part of you wonders if she's one of those people who sees Harry Potter as the gateway drug to Satanism. 

Her shoulders sag and it seems that she’s just as confused as you.

“[Name], have you ever seen him?”

“Um, I’ve just read about him? Though, I have seen some fanart of him. He’s the namesake of the series, after all.”

Mrs. Figg’s face is unreadable as she thinks.

“You also mentioned your home, too,” the old woman says after a full minute of silence.

Oh!

oh.

oh, that’s worse.

“And I said?” You spring up, words tumbling out a bit too quickly.

“Parents, friends, pets. You talked about a few other things also, but what interested me was when this happened.” 

Your mouth dries.

“What was the date you thought it was when we met?” 

“‘Met’ is a kind word for it—”

“The. Date.” Her voice is higher pitched. It sounds strained, and makes your heart skip a beat at the possibility of her being disappointed because of you.

“...I don’t know the exact date. But it was in…” It’s been months since you’ve come here, but the year still stands in your thoughts' shadows. Looming. “...the 2000s.”

“I need more than that.”

“...the early 2020s. But I wasn't in my right mind then-” You can’t help but shy away from the exact year as if that’ll make you seem less crazy.

“When were the books produced?” Her face still hasn’t changed when she interrupts. An envy builds in you at the cat lazing on her, willingly oblivious.

“They started sometime in the late 1990s. It got more popular in the early 2000s." Your response is automatic before you can think of a better one that'll fit the 'I was insane for five minutes, don't think about what I said then, don't worry about it' story you've been shilling for months. "Um, is there a, uh, reason that you want to know about this?” She opens her mouth but you interrupt, “Are you going to commit me?! I know it sounds crazy, but I swear, I—”

“Merlin, no!”

‘Merlin’?

“Child, I think that you’ve been…cursed. With something.” Your thoughts scramble at her words, blindly trying to connect dots and tie frayed wires. 

"Cursed?"

"Despite having no magical aptitude, you have a condition that cancels out magic. Its radius varies but it has remained a constant. Why, you haven't even noticed!" Mrs. Figg laughs with mirth despite your obvious confusion.

"Magic?"

She nods and you, again, slump into your seat. You want to ask if you two should get institutionalized together, to spit out something snarky, to laugh at her joke. Yet there's a voice that rings within you—reminding of where and who you are.

"My colleagues and I believe that you've been cursed and sent into the past." There's pride lacing her voice at the 'colleagues' bit. "Likely with a Time-Turner, but the fact that there's decades between now and then does not escape us. A new spell could've been developed by then that could do the same thing and more."

"..."

"..."

"...What does that mean for me? And–and the 'Harry Potter' bit you mentioned—?"

"The past few days could've been your body either rejecting the curse or time travel. Being sent that far back hasn't been done before so there are likely side effects we don't know of. And Harry…You've been spending time with him, dear."

A chill trickles down your spine.

"...Harry? The neighbor boy, Harry?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes, dear."

"I…ah…uh…..Oh, I'm an idiot," you groan when the shock wears off and fall back onto the table with a thump.

"At times. Not always." 

You snort at her assessment before hastily standing up, stumbling as you do, with head buzzing with static.

"I…am gonna go to bed."

The cat mews in agreement and rolls over to fall asleep.

#im just dumping my ao3 stuff here lol #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #harry potter #hp fanfic #harry potter x reader #x reader #no y/n

[asheepinthenight]

The Blessed Orchard (Talon's End Extra #1)

Here's the first monthly extra for Talon's End! "The Blessed Orchard" is an in-universe fairy tale about what can happen if you ask an elf for a favor. The MC would have grown up with this story and others like it that were passed down through many generations to warn humans against dealing with elves. Is the story true? Maybe so... CWs: insects, mild body horror, death

Long ago, there was an orchard known far and wide for its delicious red apples. The man who owned the orchard loved it and had tended it all his life. He saw the trees as his family, and indeed, he wished for the orchard to be a legacy to pass down to his children and grandchildren. But one season, there was a great battle between sorcerers, and they unleashed a blight upon the land. The apples, so near to harvest, turned black as night and crumbled to dust. Even the trees began to slowly wither, their leaves growing pale and brittle. Though the orchardist worked day and night with the skill of his hands and his magic, he could not save his trees.

One night, as the orchardist sat in his orchard, exhausted and weeping, a beautiful Elf appeared to him. Her hair was poppy-red and her eyes grass-green. She looked upon him with pity and asked, "Child, why do you weep?"

"My orchard is dying. These trees are as children to me, and I fear the blight will take them." He prostrated himself before the Elf. "I beg you, if it is in your power and your will to grant, save these trees."

"I have often walked in this orchard," the Elf said, "and I have seen how you tend it. As you have cared for these trees, so will you be rewarded. Have patience." With this promise, the Elf departed.

And so, the orchardist tended his trees even as their colorless leaves fell and crumbled to ash. As the weather grew cold and the trees stood still and lifeless, his family scolded him for squandering his time on the dying trees, but the orchardist's faith did not waver. Yet the cold Winds of winter settled in his lungs, and the orchardist fell ill, for he was no longer young. In his stead, he sent his eldest son to the orchard to see that the trees were cared for. Though he thought it was a foolish task, the eldest was a dutiful son and went to the orchard each day as his father asked.

On the morning after the first snow of winter, the orchardist's son returned home with strange tidings: "Father, the orchard has blossomed overnight! Yesterday, the trees were dead, but today, every one is in full bloom as though it were the height of spring."

"It is as the Elf said: we have cared for the trees, and so we have been rewarded. I have not much time left in this life, my son. Tomorrow, you must take me to the orchard so I may see the labor of my years one last time."

The next day, when the orchardist's son brought him to see the orchard in bloom, they found the petals of apple blossoms fallen upon the snow and bright red apples in their place upon the boughs–the work of many months ripened overnight.

"Truly, we have been blessed, my son," said the orchardist. "Fetch me an apple, for I am too weak now to do it myself." The orchardist's son did as his father asked, and as his father bit into the apple, he wept with joy for it was the sweetest apple he had ever tasted. "Now may I die in peace. This orchard is yours now, and if you care for it as I have, great will be your reward." With these words, the orchardist breathed his last in the shade of his apple trees.

The orchardist's son took his father's final words to heart and worked honestly all his life tending the orchard his father had planted. The trees were hardy and long-lived and never again suffered a blight, no matter what sorcerous Winds blew. The orchardist's son was both wise and clever, and by the end of his life, the orchard had grown and flourished while his family lived in great comfort. Yet, he despaired, for his own son was a wastrel who had no love for his grandfather's legacy.

One winter when he had grown old and frail, the orchardist's son fell ill. He asked his own son to see to the orchard, but the orchardist's grandson knew little of the trees and often spent his time drinking in town rather than seeing to the orchard. And so, not long after the first snow, the orchardist's son rose from his bed and went into the orchard to see the trees for himself. The apples were heavy on their boughs, and the orchardist's son knew his time had come. He sat in the snow beneath his favorite tree and bit into one of its green apples, tart and crisp. Quiet as falling snow, the Elf with poppy-red hair came to him.

"As my father did, I have something to ask of you," the orchardist's son said. He bowed his head, for he was too weak to kneel. "My son is foolish, and I fear for him. I beg you, if it is in your power and your will to grant, let my father's legacy flourish in spite of his grandson. I pray he will learn to value the work of his hands and his mind before it is too late."

"I have often walked in this orchard," the Elf said, "and I have seen how you tend it. As you have cared for these trees, so will you be rewarded."

And the orchardist's son was satisfied with this promise and breathed his last in the shade of his apple trees.

The orchardist's grandson, despite his father's wish, never came to love the orchard his father and grandfather had grown. The trees, blessed as they were, bloomed every spring and gave fruit every autumn without tending. And so, the orchardist's grandson dismissed the orchard's workers and paid the trees no mind until it was time to harvest each year. The work of his father and grandfather and the blessings of the poppy-haired Elf brought him great wealth, but never was he satisfied. In the orchard, the trees were parched by drought, and the orchardist's grandson never slaked their thirst. They were choked by brambles, but the orchardist's grandson never relieved their pain until the time came for harvest.

After a decade without tending, the apple trees, in spite of the Elf's blessings, at last refused to produce fruit. The orchardist's grandson, who had not looked after the trees, did not see until harvest time that no apples grew. He was not wise and had set nothing aside for a year of poor harvest for he had never in his life known anything but plenty. And so, remembering the Elf who had blessed his grandfather's orchard, he did not tend the trees but instead sought out the poppy-haired Elf. But though he wandered the orchard and the surrounding lands until winter came, the Elf did not appear to him. The orchardist's grandson, who believed the Elf's blessings were his right as the orchard was, did not tend the trees but set to burning them, one by one, to bring the Elf to him. Dozens of trees did he burn until only two remained, and at last, the Elf came to him.

"Look what you have done to my orchard!" the orchardist's grandson said to her. "It has borne no fruit, and now it is in ashes because you have delayed in coming to me! As my father and my grandfather did, I have something to ask of you." He did not kneel or even bow his head, but instead raised his chin to look down upon her. "These are my trees, and yet they withhold their fruit from me. They must give me my just due, or I shall burn the last of them to embers."

"I have often walked in this orchard," the Elf said, "and I have seen how you tend it. As you have cared for these trees, so will you be rewarded."

The orchardist's grandson, who had seen the blessings his father and grandfather received, was pleased and returned home to await his reward. The morning after the first snow, eager for his harvest, the orchardist's grandson went to the orchard and found that every tree he had burned was restored, mature and in full bloom. Satisfied that he had little time left to wait for his harvest, he went to town and spent the last of his money on vices for he was yet young and hardy. The next day, he went to the orchard to find the boughs heavy with ripe apples.

"I will call up laborers, and they will gather my harvest," the orchardist's grandson said to himself. "But first, I will take the first of the fruit, as is my right." And so, he plucked a golden apple and bit into it. At first, it was sweet and juicy, but as he chewed, it turned to rot in his mouth. When he looked at the fruit he had bitten, its flesh was black and brown and crawled with maggots. He tried to spit out what he had eaten, but the rotted fruit sealed his mouth shut, and he felt a seed crawl down his throat. In his stomach, the seed took root, tendrils snaking into his flesh. The orchardist's grandson fell to the ground, and a tree sprouted from his body that gave golden fruit sweeter and more beautiful than any other in the orchard.

The orchardist's grandson had loved none but himself, and so no one noticed his absence for many months. His corpse had long rotted, ensnared in the golden tree's roots, his soul trapped in the orchard as it grew wild. Blessed by the sweat and blood of the orchardists, it lives on to this day, and its seeds have begotten the most beautiful wild apple trees in the kingdom. Beware what you say in the presence of such trees, lest you be given your just due.

#talon's end #te: extras

[rivalfortune5768]

Reforged.

CWs Willingness to throw one's life away Death mentions

"I'm tired of hosting a waking nightmare. Please, make me into something beautiful. I don't care what parts of me end up as scrap but I can't keep existing like this" Said the panicking young humanoid thing with what seemed like space spilling out a crack in their skull.

"Who the hell told you how to find me?" It wasn't exactly easy, I picked a cave system under a gods-damned mountain for a reason. Not to mention most shouldn't even be able to see me.

"Why does it matter?? Hello! Prime material right here!" They said, motioning to their body, then further emphasizing by patting the crack on their skull. "I'm full of what some people think of as hell! I trail Paranoia and Fears like a fucking slug! SURELY you can use that, right?? You're the one who turned the First Heaven into a spear, aren't you??"

"Halberd." You respond curtly. Still trying to puzzle this one out. They start to speak before you hold up a hand and sigh. "Look. You seem oddly well informed, and determined. But let me stress-"

"I'll be reduced to nothing? Changed forever? Might not recognize myself or remember anything? I've heard it all, I'm ready for-"

"ZIP IT or I'm sending you home packing. Let me finish before you go jumping around my words." This earned a nod from the poor thing. I put my hand on my face as their posture held firm. "Let me stress: I have the power to change you. Yes, forever. But not every Work is Great, and not every project succeeds. Isn't there a better use of you if you're so determined to burn and warp?"

"I don't want the Nightmares used. I want them to be something else, or nothing at all. Not even the most abhorrent beasts deserve what I've been blighted with. I won't have some sorcerer or engineer spreading me around the worlds like a virus."

My eyes roll and I pat my anvil "Fine. Your funeral. Let's see if you've got a phoenix in you, huh?" They nod. "Thank you... My name is-" I snap my fingers to interrupt them. "Your name might as well be "Bronze". I don't name my materials, I name my projects. Wait until you have a new one to tell me." They stop, and nod.

We're silent as I set up. Star-cores with dragon-fire to heat them. A hurricane in my bellows. Tools prepared and pristine. I take the materials in my hands and I empower myself through their faith. "I am Kiln, Spirit-forger. I will smith a fantasy from your Nightmare, or you shall be reduced to dust and ash in my furnace."

. . .

Some hours in, through a floating voice on the hot air, they ask me a question. "Have... others you've worked on told you how this is supposed to feel?" Their form was embers on the wind at best, shifting from the slightest thought.

"Agony, for some. Peace for others, like they know the reaper is upon them." I say as I hammer out the insides of their skull, ever expansive on the inside. "I assume you are feeling something between wanting to empty your guts and wanting to ride into battle, from your tone."

"Something akin to that..."

"You're not made for battle. Don't have it in you, literally."

The embers go quiet. Much time passes before they speak their mind. "What am I made for, then?"

"You think we made your kind with a purpose? Not one of you are "Made" for anything. I can tell what you're not, I can't tell what you are. I can tell I'm forging a cloak of some kind using that gunk you lugged around everywhere, can't tell you what it'll do."

"But I want a purpose. I've been through so much..."

"And I'm sure you're convinced you've put others through more. Stow the pity-party, Material. Let me work. If you crave purpose so thoroughly then use this time to reflect on it."

. . .

They were quiet for the rest of the process. When I was done they lay asleep on a small chair I'd stored long ago, for when "volunteers" were a more often occurrence. The cloak of their "Nightmares" laying on the anvil, softly flapping against the heat of the room moving through the tunnels.

The small figure, crack filled in with iron and rivets, groggily roused from sleep. "Mmmnghh... Am I... Did it work?" They ask, bleary eyed. The embers in the room dance towards them.

"Well enough, little phoenix." I say as my eyes follow the embers. They're moving like fireflies to the iron on this one's head. "Your "nightmare", by the way. Was a corpse. Something died in your dreams and it got stuck there. Something like *Me*"

They blink at me, astonished.

"How did you kill a god, small one?"

"I... Didn't?" They pull their knees up to their chest. Looking quite insecure in their statement.

We both say nothing for a long time. Eventually I sigh and turn to inspect the cloak before they pipe up once more.

"Can I serve you? As an assistant?"

"I'm against it. I still don't know how you found me or how you can see me in the first place. As far as I know you're some kind of anomaly, you contain a blessing you don't know of or won't share, you're some kind of demigod, or you're just plain lucky."

When I turn to punctuate my thought, I see the embers that had wafted over to them have taken to melting the iron on their skull, the didn't notice it starting to drip. "I think... Whatever died in that dream might have been my mom?" They look almost lost in thought before they nearly jump out of their skin noticing molten metal dripping down their skin without harming them.

"...How old are you?" I ask, quickly narrowing the list of recently deceased deities and realizing with startling clarity that this child may be a direct reincarnation and offspring of one.

"I was born..." They blink "I..." They look like they're about to panic, before clarity washes over them and they let their posture fall. "I've forgotten. I don't remember... much aside from the Nightmare, and some of what we spoke of before I woke up. Just that I was thinking about purpose, and could only think of you."

I'm about to remark on their missing story when they ask a question in return. "Why is my head still leaking? It's different now." As much as I dislike being interrupted, the question is a good puzzle. More iron has poured off their face than I'd put in there originally. Perhaps...

"Hold still" I say, grabbing a clump of nickel and gently placing it in their molten fountainhead. Within moments the iron flowing from them has become liquid steel, and in impossible quantities for what was put in.

They stare up at me, unsure what's going on as I connect several dots and make determinations over the next few moments.

"Well, I've got three answers for you." I say as I take across from who I now realize is a godling, looking down at them. "First: I'm fairly confident your mother was the fountain goddess Genesis. How she died? Beats me. Second: Your head's still leaking because you're the new fountain deity. Your source was poisoned, now it's not sure what it's supposed to be producing."

They nod slowly, trying to grapple with what I'm telling them without being impolite. They swallow as I groan. "Third: ...I'll have you as an apprentice, perhaps assistant one day, but not forever. I'll house and train you until you're ready to go and bring a missing god back to the mortal folk."

They smile weakly. "Thank you... But, what does the cloak... How does it work?"

"How should I know? I may have used it, but it's the remnants of a dead god. Ultimately It's up to her, and now you, to figure out what it does. I can tell you it's damn near unbreakable, though, like fluid diamond that piece of cloth."

They slowly get up from the chair, grabbing the dangling edge of it from the anvil and clasping it around their neck, it shimmers and suddenly takes the form of billowing steel. Well, at least we both know one thing it can do now.

"Oh, child. I have one more answer for you." They stop inspecting their mother's parting gift to them and look up once more at me.

"Your name is Radix. For you will grow and flourish with things this world has never seen."

~FIN~

#drabble-babble #we know we talked about uploading old works recently #but this is actually new #inspo striking often this week we guess #that's what happens when we're busy enough!