#the king in yellows horrible no good day

[a-pallid-mask]

Scale of one to ten, how mad do you think the King in Yellow was when he got back to his city and saw what Kayne did to it

#the king in yellows horrible no good day #like you get your missing part back and you’re like great! #and then you go back home and it’s completely trashed there’s so much blood everywhere #and you’re like what the Fuck #and THEN you feel a part of you go missing AGAIN #and then a SECOND #what a day #i imagine him in the wreckage on his knees going KAYNNEEE and shaking his fists at the sky #malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent spoilers

[the-hipster-nugget]

Rendogs character is SO. I love that he’s just a good person and it shows in every aspect and rendition of his character. That at heart, he’s just kind. It’s in his blood to be nice and passive to everybody he comes across. Circumstances just force him to do otherwise, despite his instincts. His instincts to be man’s best friend, and treat people with love and this fairness that’s hard to find in an unforgiving world. But the world is unforgiving, and unkind to people like Rendog. He isn’t allowed to be nice.

His whole Red King schtick feels so out of place almost, because he will go up to people and try to befriend them— and when they are hostile… he almost doesn’t know what to say. He’ll fumble, he’ll try to be stern and mean too. He tries his best to put on this front of a cold hearted, blood crowned king. But it doesn’t sound right coming from that sweet voice of his. “So.. basically.. this is a declaration of war…” He’ll awkwardly mumble to Scar, failing to give off any sense of danger or authority.

He will tell Martyn “That’s it. No more being the nice guy, I’m done being generous.” But at the end of the day, he’s unable to live up to that. He will continue to negotiate, and offer people more than he needs to give. Out of the kindness of his heart, he will always want to give instead of take. He just wants people to treat him fairly back. Is that so much to ask?

He doesn’t know what to when somebody doesn’t return that affection, he feels frozen in confusion and fear when he’s met with hostility. Everytime somebody threatens him he just curls in on himself, his ears go flat and tail between his legs.

He can’t find it in himself, so he looks to his hand instead. He always looks at Martyn, for approval and guidance. As if to say, “is this the right thing to do? Am I being cruel enough? Please, tell me I’m being evil. Am I doing this right?”

He is the king, but he can’t do a thing without his hand. A person, a body, cannot harm without a hand to slice with. Without a hand to hold that axe, he can’t kill a thing.

Ren is so kind in his heart, that he has to ask Martyn to cut his head off; to turn him red. He thinks the only way possible for him to do horrible things is to force it to be in his nature. He could never naturally, of his own will, bring harm to another person. Even one that has wronged him. He has to turn his name red—

But he can’t even do it himself, so he asks Martyn instead. He feels ill at the idea of ending his own life maybe, of ending a life at all. The thought of getting blood on his own paws and fingers make him gag. So he looks to his hand, his friend, and he begs, “Make me bad. I can’t do it alone.”

And even after all that, after Martyn tries his hardest to harden his king. To cover him in blood, and turn his tame yellow name red… Ren still finds himself crying in regret and agony after killing only two people. I already made a post about Rens breakdown over Scott’s death but it just really solidifies how kind hearted Ren is. He’s playing by the rules, killing somebody was against him, by all counts he was in the right. But he still feels horrible.

Rens heart will always be red, but it will be the color of poppies, the color of roses and flowers. It will be the color of his bright button up shirt, one he wears on sunny days. It will be the color of love, a deep romantic red you think of when you hear a sweet song. It will never be the color of blood.

#rendog #ren the dog #third life #3rd life #life series #trafficverse #traffic series #third life martyn #inthelittlewood #martyn inthelittlewood #treebark #renchanting #dogwarts #mcyt

[unholyhelbig]

I have a request as I see they are open! I enjoyed the last Oversight AU! Could I request a one shot of Kate’s imitation / first meeting with Natasha? And maybe go into the specifics of the Eli situation? I love to see the badass protective side of Natasha!

Title: Dig Your Own Shallow Grave [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff (Technically, this is one part of a bigger story)

Summary: Kate Bishop is known as the ex-heiress that was welcomed into Natasha's fold long before you. You learn pieces about her everyday, but never the full story. Not until today.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): physical violence, handcuffs, thunderstorms, threats, mentions of death, mentions of jail, incarceration, cheating, toxic relationship dynamic, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, horrible grammar

[a/n: This one is different! I don't know anything about the Elijah that's portrayed in the MCU, just the Young Avengers Eli and I can't stand the dude.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The large leaden handcuffs seemed like an unnecessary and overzealous precaution to Natasha Romanoff. They rattled as if the young girl was nothing more than a ghost of Christmas past. They were sinched at her waist, both hands balled into fists until her knuckles were a sickly shade of white.

There was red around her eyes, making a charcoal gray hiss into something muddy and sad. There was a flash of confusion and then disgust that fell over her features when she caught a glimpse of herself in the large two-way mirror that stood parallel.

Natasha turned in her seat, made eye contact with the guard. They had a silent understanding. The cameras that were situated at the corners of the room had been shut off- technical difficulties, they would say.

She collapsed into the chair adjacent to Natasha, never taking her eyes away from the only other distraction in the room. The chain connecting her cuffs were bolted to a hook in the table, but her feet were left free. Unless she was an Olympic swimmer, which she wasn’t, that would be no problem.

The guard nodded before he left them in the room and locked the door behind him. The mechanism in the metal door was loud and sighed with age when turned. The light above them swung back and forth within its cage. A circle of yellow enveloped them both.

Her hair was unkempt, nearly feral. They must have kept her separate from the other prisoners but that didn’t ease her tossing and turning under the fluorescent lights. Natasha had been in holding cells, she’d been stripped of her clothes for testing, and her dignity for much less. Something inside of her broke for this girl. This heiress.

“Who are you?”

It was clear that her voice had gone unused for at least a day, maybe more. She shivered and shrunk into herself at the sound of it. Natasha’s features softened ,that break in her soul cracking just a little further. Her file said she was twenty-two, but the girl in front of her was nothing more than a scared child.

“The woman who is getting you out of here.”

“Please don’t talk in riddles,” She moved to press her fingers against her temples. Her hands were pulled back viciously by her binds. “That’s all my mother does. Did. She talks in circles until I’m too confused to find the start.”

“I suppose that’s fair. You’re Eleanors daughter. Katherine?”

“Kate, but yeah. I’m her daughter.”

It was said with so much bitterness. They weren’t being held at the same facility. Kate was in a deep blue shirt made out of something that was less like fabric and more like paper. She wore the pants to match, her clothes being tested for gunpowder residue.

Eleanor was in a large brick jail in an orange jumpsuit. Natasha had considered going to her but found much more interest in her daughter; the one brave enough to stand up against Wilson Fisk and his incredible size. Bishop took King and destroyed a good amount of property in her district in the process. She’d have to pay thousands to get the folded storefront fixed.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff.”

The sentence was simple and conjured fear. She could see the look in Kate’s face. The girl threw her back against the metal chair, and it screeched from the force. “Why are you here?”

“You smashed my window, and a few displays, and I’m pretty sure you set off an explosive.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“With what, Kate?”

She paled at this. It was apparent that not only had her assets been frozen, but her mother’s as well. They barely had enough to cover legal fees, much less cosmetics that suffered the aftershock of the blow. She sighed and stared at the cold metal table. It was too scratched to show her reflection.

“I didn’t come here to make you feel bad, Kate. Calling law enforcement on your own mother is a ballsy thing to do. It also makes you a snitch. If you get charged, if you get locked up, it’s not something you’ll make it out of.”

“I know that.” She whipped her head up, eyes hard with anger. They softened after just a moment, to something scared. “I know.”

A silence fell over them both, one that Natasha let settle heavily on her chest. Kate was a spitfire, she was a spoiled girl who had a moment of clarity and turned her mother into law enforcement. She was regretting that now, shivering into herself, having to wait until after the holidays until anything could move from the stone it was trapped in.

Natasha had influence with the guards, and with the chief of police in this district. They had an understanding, and she fully intended to walk out of here with Kate Bishop under her wing. Not for free, of course. Natasha was charitable, but even her good deeds stretched so far.

“I’ve already paid your bail and they’re more than happy to release you into my custody.”

She scoffed “Your custody? I’m an adult.”

“You might be an adult, but you’re one without money, without a home, and I’m guessing everyone that’s still alive and free in your life isn’t too keen on taking you in.”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay,” Natasha said in a breath, staring hard at the girl across from her. She looked so washed out under the harsh lights of the room. Despite her anger, her poisonous words, she reminded Natasha of a dog that broke free from her leash and had almost too much freedom to handle.

The woman stood, her chair sliding elegantly compared to the horrid noise that Kate’s had produced. Natasha moved to pull on her coat, covering the deceivingly hard muscles in her arms. Kate had pretended not to stare; but it was fruitless. All she could think about was what those hands had done, what they could do.

Of course, she felt some veil of safety with the cameras being here. Surely, someone would come in and pull Natasha back the second she started to advance on her, if she started to advance. The distance between them was closed and she sat on the edge of the table. Kate pushed herself flat against the back of the chair.

 Natasha didn’t do well with being told ‘no’. She also didn’t do well with expletives directed towards her instead of because of her. Natasha’s slender hand wrapped around the cold chain attached to Kate’s wrists, she pulled forward and Kate’s sore ribs collided with the edge of the table. She let out a dissatisfied grunt.

She grabbed the back of Kate’s head and slammed her cheek against the cold surface with a dull thud. Natasha didn’t’ let up on her weight, instead, she held her in the perfect position to maintain control.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Natasha knelt down, making eye contact with Kate. She pushed against the hold, but Natasha had the leverage. Kate flexed her fingers, still in chains. “You destroyed my storefront, and while I toyed with the idea of killing you for that alone, you’ve impressed me.”

“I’ve impressed you?”

Her words were smushed, drool pooling from her lips. It was almost comical, but Natasha pushed harder on the back of her neck, making her cry out. “I’m talking. When I’m talking, you’re not.”

She was met with silence and figured that was as good as she was going to get with this one. Her spit-fire reminded her a bit of Clint when he was younger. It made Natasha gravitate towards him, but this girl had a lot more to learn than her closest friend.

“You’re a spoiled little brat who crumbled one of the oldest clocktowers in the city. The habit didn’t’ seem to improve when your mother cut off your credit cards and that’s a dangerous thing. Getting the shit kicked out of you in jail might serve you well. So, by all means, you can try your luck, or you can follow me out of here so I can correct your behavior.”

Kate swallowed hard, but she didn’t’ say anything. Natasha’s first lesson seemed to be sinking in. After a few moments, she released the girl who sprang up like a jack in the box. She was giving Natasha the same look that she was used to, one of absolute fear. Her face was red and when she moved to wipe her chin of drool, she was stopped once again by her chains.

Natasha took pity on her, for just a moment, and used her thumb to ebb away the line of spit. Kate knew better than to pull back, instead she looked up at Natasha like a kicked puppy, making a small noise in the back of her throat.

“Anyone who stands up to Wilson Fisk is too valuable to kill for some property damage. But let me be clear, Kate, this is not a get-out of jail free card. You work for me. You belong to me. And we’re going to fix that attitude of yours.”

He had moved to the city during Kate’s senior year and wasn’t much for talking. Eli Bradley was as mysterious as they came. He was lanky and had deep brown eyes that were so dark they were nearly black in color. Eli wore a gold hoop in one ear, and while Kate would usually find something like that off-putting, it worked on Eli.

She played cello in the orchestra, first chair with pride, and he was modest with a viola. She made a point to make eye contact with him at least once a day, and eventually he started to return her small smiles. She thought the subtle way his lip quirked up at the corner was nothing but endearing.

In early October of that year, when the air was still crisp but not exactly cold, Kate had sat in the courtyard until the sun threatened to dip behind the horizon. She was avoiding going home to get ready for a party her mother was hosting and had worked it out so she could take the last bus uptown.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous for a pretty girl like you to be out here all alone? It’s getting dark.”

Kate frowned, but quickly retracted the expression when she made out the form of Eli Bradley and the silhouette of his viola case. It hung at his side like a briefcase filled with important papers. Instead, she hiked herself forward and leaned her elbows against her knees. He’d never spoken to her before.

“I’m a 9th degree red belt in Jiu Jitsu, and I have pepper spray. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Impressive,” Eli grinned “I guess it would be pointless to walk you home then, Kate Bishop.”

“I think I can make an exception, Eli Bradley.”

Kate did find herself making exceptions for Eli Bradley over the next few months. She would let him order for her, even if she didn’t find the dish he chose at all appetizing. She had to gently remind him that she was, in fact, allergic to shellfish and if she ate the pasta he insisted on she’d need an epi-pen.

He made up for it by being a gentleman and opening the car door for her when they pulled up to said restaurant.

Kate stepped behind Eli one winter evening when it was the type of dark outside that breeds bad behavior. A woman in a hoodie stepped out from an alleyway, twitching and with a wild look in her eyes. Kate could have easily disarmed her, could have gotten her someplace warm. Eli had delivered a hit to the stomach and pulled Kate along. It was a blur. But she’d never felt fear- just regret.

He made up for it by holding her tight that night, his warmth and sturdiness eventually lulled her to sleep and convinced her that maybe she could live with herself. Maybe she could live with Eli.

Clint Barton glowered at her over his bowl of cereal. Natasha didn’t know if it was some sort of interrogation technique, but it even made her uncomfortable. It was much too early in the morning and Kate’s wrists were still an ugly purple from how tight her cuffs had been. Natasha may have pulled a bit too hard, aggravating the already raw area.

“Your cheerios are going to get soggy,” Yelena entered the kitchen in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, scratching the exposed skin of her stomach with a stifled yawn. She stopped for just a moment to regard Kate, who sat up with a rim-rod quickness. “You always dump them down the sink and it makes the drain smell.”

Clint looked towards Natasha for help. She shrugged, adjusting the reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. She had pulled the paper in this morning and was very careful to remove the front page story of Kate’s mother and her set trial date. She may be cruel in some aspects, but psychological torture was Yelena’s department.

“Who is this?” Yelena asked, voice muffled by the chill of the refrigerator.

“This is Kate. She’ll be here for a while, and if she behaves well enough, she’ll be here longer than that. I expect both of you to regard her well and teach her everything you know.” Natasha took a sip of her steaming black coffee. “Hand to hand combat should not be an issue, isn’t that right, Kate?”

Kate waited a moment, remembering the sting of the table against her cheek. Natasha had asked her a question so it was okay to answer, right? It must be. She had a tendency to not stop talking once she started but it was clear from the prying eyes in the room that she was expected to reply.

“Yes,” She found her voice easier than she had in the jail. “I’m advanced in Jiu Jitsu, hand-to-hand combat, fencing, sword fighting, archery, kick-boxing. Once I used a set of staves from this really nice woman named Bobbi…”

She trailed off when she realized Clint had stopped fishing for the last cheerio and Yelena had cracked open a bottle of juice like she was snapping the neck of a small animal. Her cheeks turned a bright pink, and she averted her gaze.

Natasha smiled softly and took another long sip of her drink. The blonde woman, the one with the chiseled jaw and the striking green eyes, let out a hum. Her stare raked up and down Kate’s form, even while she was shrinking into herself.

“I will train her.”

“That’s not an option, Yel. I want to utilize her, not kill her.”

Kate’s head shot up at the word. She caught Clint’s stare, and he gave her a dejected shrug before pushing the little life-raft of a cheerio under the milk once more. He had no interest in eating it, just drowning it.

Yelena was smiling wolfishly, lilting her head to the side like it was the most innocent thing in the world. “Kill her? Sister, I would never. She’s clearly an asset. If you let Clint train her then she’ll be regressing.”

Kate watched the tension bounce back and forth between the two like a sadistic game of ping-pong. Yelena had just hit the little orange ball with enough force and trajectory to burn a hole directly through Natasha’s paddle.

She’d never dream of pushing Natasha in the slightest, much-less the way that Yelena did right now. Her body language was relaxed and quiet. The two of them stared at each other, and the newspaper was folded, discarded in favor of the stand-off.

“I will not kill her,” Yelena reassured, yet somehow, Kate hadn’t been assured the first time, nor the second time. “Give me a chance.”

Susan Bishop had a harder stare than Eleanor. She had inherited it from her, Kate was sure, but knew how to work it like a double-edged blade. Rarely would she look at Kate. Even rarer so was the two of them being in the same place for more than six minutes at a time.

Kate had her eyes downcast, pretending to read the same paragraph of the same book over and over again. Once she felt the sharp stare of her older sister on the side of her face, it shown brighter than the sun above them.

She’d been stretched out on a poolside chair, just enjoying the pungent scent of chlorine and the occasional low hum of a car passing their large home. It was too chilly for her to actually swim, but she had a fuchsia bathing suit under her long-sleeve shirt and jeans nonetheless.

Susan had settled into the seat next to her and let out a deep sigh as she typed quickly on her cellphone. Kate had cast her a sidelong glance, but quickly pretended to lose interest. They were going back and forth like this for a long, pregnant moment.

Eventually, Susan sighed and softly closed the book in Kate’s hand, not regarding the page that she was on. Kate didn’t mind much. Her older sister never did anything softly. Kate’s heart thrummed in her chest when their eyes met.

“Hi?” Kate cautioned.

“Hi. We need to talk.”

“What do you want?” There wasn’t anything Kate had that Susan didn’t. Hell- she could ask Eleanor for anything and would instantly get it. There were no rules for the eldest, responsible, child. All of that strangling focus was on Kate.

“I don’t want anything. I just want to talk. Sister to sister.”

“Right… sister to sister.”

“You need to break up with Eli.”

The statement through Kate back. It was like Susan had kicked her directly in the diaphragm. The oxygen in her lungs deflated and she stared at her sister in disbelief. Then in startled rage. What did right did Susan have to meddle in her relationship like this?

Kate wanted to tell her just that, but nothing came out except for the last squeeze of air that could be interpreted as a noise of discontent, but Susan never was good at reading signals and Kate needed a fleeting second to catch her train of thought after it had been so violently derailed.

“I get the appeal of the student athlete, I’ve had plenty of them myself, but Eli is not the man for you. You can do better.”

“Seriously? Is this mom speaking or you?”

“This is all me, sweetie.” She didn’t’ say it in a condescending way. In fact- Susan actually reached out and gently touched Kate’s bare arm. She tensed under her, but the hand wasn’t removed. Not even when dark grey eyes looked at her incredulously. “I don’t like the way he changes you.”

“Changes me? You think Eli changes me?”

“I think he makes you shrink and Bishop women are never meant to shrink.”

“That’s all mom has ever done.” Kate bit back venomously.

“Wrong. Mother has full control over Father, she just makes him think that he doesn’t. She’s the decision maker and if she has to keep a hand on his shoulder to do that, then so be it. The world listens to men, and looks at women. It’s how society is. But Eli? He’s binding your hands, not taking them.”

Kate shoved Susan’s hand from her arm and placed both feet on the ground. She didn’t have to listen to this… this practical stranger. Susan didn’t’ know what she was talking about, and neither did Eleanor. They were both ignorant to the way she felt about Eli and the way Eli felt about her. He wanted to the best for her.

Sometimes- she just had to remind him that she was allergic to shellfish.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” She gritted before standing. She disregarded her book, not that interested anyway, and began walking to the patio doors. Tears had started to sting her eyes. First out of sadness, and then maybe a mix of malice.

“He’s cheating on you.”

Susan said it so softly that could pretend she hadn’t heard it. The water filter for the pool was loud enough to drown out the statement. But she’d stopped with one foot on the bottom step of the patio and the other planted firmly on solid cement. Her nails dug stinging half-crescents into palm.

“You’re wrong.”

“Ask him.”

“I won’t,” She turned, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Because I trust Eli. Maybe you could grant the same to me.”

Her childhood home held onto the darkness like a vice. A place that was once so maintained and bright was past falling into lawn decay. The pristine shrubbery had springing curls of foliage and the grass hadn’t been painted like her father insisted upon each year.

The structure stood strong, only a few months and some change abandoned. A small strip of tape on the mahogany door was the only indication that this had been an active crime scene at one point. The FBI had taped an order against it before they shattered the wood with a battering ram and raided the home.

Kate hadn’t been back since. She’d been living out of her Aunt Mira’s apartment and wearing her eccentric clothing. But the elder woman would be back soon and eventually she would need to get her own belongings back. If she didn’t, then squatters would when they realized just how vacant the home really was.

Yelena let out a low whistle as she peered up at the home, as if they didn’t live in one with the same amount of wealth. Even the tone she produced sent shivers down Kate’s spine. It had been four months since that day in the precinct.

Each day was spent from dawn to dusk in Yelena’s presence, and it never became easier for Kate. She was a bumbling and incompetent mess around the woman but had grown some kind of comfort in her presence. Kate no longer believed she was in danger at her hand specifically.

That didn’t’ mean that her body didn’t ache from the constant hell that Yelena had been putting her through to put her in ‘the peak performance state- Kate Bishop’. Yelena only said her first name and barked it at her if her pace lessened on one of their multiple-mile runs, or grueling weight training sessions.

Kate didn’t want to admit that she was entranced by the tone of Yelena’s muscles. She chalked it up to admiration, because that’s all it was. Admiration. And a bit of resentment. But Kate’s chest puffed out proudly when she noticed the way her own body began to change under Yelena’s tutelage. Enough that she was ready to go back to her old home for some closure, for some clothes.

Natasha shoved her keys into her pocket and fell in line on Kate’s right side. She peered up at the expertly crafted wood. It had begun to chip. Kate thought that was ironic; it had always been so pristine, but the more she thought about it, she’d often duck under a ladder to step into the foyer.

Bad luck all around, and a simple patch job that would crumble if not properly cared for.

“We can just buy you new clothes,” Natasha urged in that flittingly careful way that made Kate know she really did give a damn, but not if you asked. “You don’t have to go in there.”

“And add to the debt I already owe you for busting me out of jail?”

“I think she has to do this.” Yelena said firmly.

She was right. Kate had to do this. She was always handed everything in life so easily and it made her reckless, but far from undisciplined. It just took Natasha slamming her face against the cold metal of an unclean table for her to get some sense knocked back into her.

Kate had called the police on her mother. She’d done it after the knowledge of crimes committed festered and grew in her mind. It bred resentment in her mind until she came face to face with the fact that she wasn’t putting her mom away, she was putting a monster away.

Stepping through these doors would humanize her and it would cut Kate deep enough to draw blood. But then, she felt Yelena’s fingers on the small of her back. A light touch that was telling Kate that she wasn’t as alone as she thought she was.

The door let out a whine of protest when she pushed it open. They were met with a stale scent and a soft glow that ruminated from what Kate knew best as the living area. There was a grand piano that was mostly untouched, and large oak bookshelves that had multiple editions of old encyclopedias bound in leather.

She and Susan used to flip through them and try to pronounce the words by phonic spelling. They’d trace their little fingers over the inked illustrations and giggle if they had found something even remotely obscene. She remembers the word ‘Dam’ making them laugh until they couldn’t breathe.

Natasha’s hand darted out and pressed against Kate’s mid-section. Her other one grabbed the gun from the back of her pants. She shot the girl a sideways glance. “You left that on?” she mouthed.

Kate shook her head, her fingers itching for her own weapon. She didn’t have one. While Kate was an expert at professional archery and her aim wasn’t in question by anyone in the room- her familiarity with handguns with the serial number scratched off was minute. Yelena had pulled her own weapon, jaw firm.

Maybe squatters had broken in, and if they had, she’d gladly allow them to have the place. She just needed to stuff a duffel bag full of items and the small sentimental necklace she had gotten from her father as a child, and then she would be on her merry way.

Natasha stepped around the corner and raised her gun, screaming something that was drowned out by the startled yells of another. Kate recognized that yell, that rasp. She frowned, letting the tension in her shoulders drop before she got a good look at the living room herself.

It was incredibly lived in and lit by a single lamp that had it’s shade discarded. It was blinding and left spots in her eyes, but not enough to disregard the box of white sticky rice that had spilled all over the floor like maggots.

There was a makeshift bed on the couch and a few of those encyclopedias strewn about as if they were bedtime reading. In the center of it all; Eli Bradley with his hands up and a fork between his lips. His mouth dropped open and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.

He was shirtless, in a pair of boxers that Kate was pretty sure was her fathers. She was thankful she hadn’t eaten before this because the simple fact was enough to make her gag.

“Elijah?” She exclaimed.

“You know this guy?” Yelena asked, voice tight. She lowered her weapon, but Natasha kept hers in the same position it was before, trained right at his genitals and ready to shoot at a moments notice.

Kate wished with her entire body that she didn’t. His boxers held his athletic thighs, his deep brown eyes flashing to the guns aimed at him. Yelena was never a patient woman but somehow, in this moment, Kate knew deep down that she would be patient here. Her mouth was dry and her throat like sandpaper. It was incredibly hard to swallow.

“I’m her boyfriend.” Eli sounded out, his fingers twitching “I have a key.”

Yelena looked at Kate with pleading eyes, to which she received a nod in return. Kate supposed she hadn’t officially broken up with the man in front of her. The aimed weapons were lowered to the floor, but Natasha kept her hold. One false move and she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through his bare foot.

“Yel, idi soberi yey sumku.”

Kate didn’t understand a lick of Russian, but she knew that Natasha’s tone was not to be questioned. Yelena holstered her weapon and slinked up the stairs. She’d be able to guess which room was Kate’s. The trophies and medals and photos tacked up to bulletin boards. It was the only room Kate was allowed to personalize, and even then, it was meant to be spotless.

Natasha must have caught onto the tension in Kate’s stance. She shoved her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunched and eyes submissive. It wasn’t something she wanted to see in her young trainee.

It wasn’t at all the woman that sat across from her in an interrogation room. Not even with her face her neck in Natasha’s grip. Something was wrong, and it was something stronger than Kate being back in her childhood home. That warranted sadness. But compliance? Absolutely not.

“Katie, baby. Who is this?” Eli asked. “Come on, you can tell me.”

When Kate opened her mouth to speak, Natasha held up a hand, instantly silencing her. The woman lilted her head to the side, unripe eyes taking in the scene in front of her; the discarded take-out containers, the balled-up socks in the corner of the room. The rain that had begun to pound against the roof and slather itself across windowpanes.

Natasha’s voice came out as a snarl “I’d love to introduce myself, but first, could you ask your little friend to come out from behind the curtains?”

Kate’s stare hardened and she whipped her head up accusingly. Still, she didn’t say a word. The wine-red Versailles fabric shifted; the view blocked by the grand piano but not enough for Natasha to ignore. Kate’s mother had spent hours looking over Swatches that would fit the room, and eventually chose the option that brought the room into a gothic elegance.

Kate didn’t need to wait to know who it was. Cassie Lang. Best friend, confidant, and exactly who Kate caught in bed with Elijah weeks before. But this was different. This was her home. It had already been violated by law enforcement. Torn apart just for two of her friends, people she trusted and loved, to take advantage of its vacancy.

“That’s better,” Natasha purred. Cassie was shaking because of the cold, wearing only a silk robe that belonged to Kate’s sister. “Now, let’s all have a chat.”

 “Kate, Katie, it’s not what it looks like. Just… tell your friends to leave and I’ll explain everything.”

Eli attempted to step towards her, hands no longer raised in caution but reaching towards Kate. Natasha felt a surge of anger lick against her skin. She stepped between them, splaying her hand out on his chest before shoving him recklessly onto the center of the couch.

He sprung back onto his feet, voice dripping in venom “Back off lady! I’m trying to talk to my girlfriend here!”

Natasha let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest before turning her gaze to Kate. Something about this situation was juvenile, but so important. Though she only had the girl under her care for a few weeks now, she felt nothing but warmth towards her.

She’d mislabeled her as a rich, undisciplined trust fund baby. Natasha didn’t’ often admit her mistakes but that had been one that weighed heavily on her. Sure, Katherine Bishop had a bit of an incorrigible sass to her, but it wasn’t unwarranted. Her boasting was backed up by actions true to her words. Strong, determined, actions.

Natasha hated how she was shrinking. Hated how this man had chipped away at her until she was hugging her mid-section to stop the thrumming pain of betrayal. She couldn’t’ find the words, they were lodged in her throat. There was the strong suspicion that if she hadn’t sent Yelena away, they’d be scrubbing blood from an imported carpet.

Something tole Natasha that Kate never got a choice in this relationship, and she wasn’t about to continue the toxic pattern that had led to her demure state.

 “Ketrin,” Natasha’s voice was soaked with her native tongue “Would you like me to take care of this?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, almost like a fish. Words escaped her. Natasha’s soft exhale brought her back to the room. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and reminded her of the first time she had pushed herself too hard in competition. She never lost consciousness but came close to it.

Yelena had successfully pilfered a duffel bag, having removed the sabers that resided there and filled it with whatever clothes she could find. Kate felt her stomach flip at the naive idea that the Russian woman had gone through her underwear drawer.

She flicked her eyes back to Eli, his chest heaving up and down as he eyed the gun still in Natasha’s grasp. Cassie was still like a statue, rubbing her palms on the silk fabric of her robe. She had the decency to look guilty.

“Take care of it.”

The words were barely more than a hurt whisper. She didn’t trust herself right now, not with the sharp pain that coursed through her veins. Tears had stung her eyes in the back of the detective’s car, but she didn’t know if that was on account of Eli or Eleanor.

Kate silently excused herself as the silence that settled over the room became thicker, palpable. Yelena’s deep stare was on Kate in a way that made her squirm. But she remained at the head of the stairs, even stepping to the side when Kate began to trek to a room that had already been rifled through. There was an unspoken agreement. Natasha would take care of it.

 “What’s your name?” she asked, directing the question towards the girl.

“Cassie.” Elijah answered.

Natasha held her hand up to him again, fingers barely ghosting his shoulder. He shivered at the near touch but snapped his mouth shut. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking her. Sweetie?”

“It’s Cassie… Cassie Lang.”

“Okay, Cassie.” She kept her voice soft, cajoling. “I want you to go home and get some rest. And under no circumstance are you going to call law enforcement. I’ll be informed immediately if you do so. Do you understand?”

She nodded frantically, keeping her head down as she moved to smooth past Natasha. The woman grabbed her sleeve, holding her in place for just a moment. She was so close she could smell the sex on her, see the sweat against her brow and the fear in her stare.

“Sweetheart. I suggest you learn to keep better company.”

Cassie let out a squeak that almost bled into a whine before taking advantage of Natasha’s loose hold. She darted with a quickness unseen, the door slamming behind her, the roar of the rain hissing to a muffled stop.

“And you?”

“What about me?” Elijah asked in a nauseatingly confident way.  

Natasha let out a long sigh and studied him. Everything from the way he stood to the faux dog tags that hung against his chest bled fury. This was exactly the type of man that would attract someone like Kate with a level of badger-like charm before clamping his jaw down on her throat.

Thankfully, Kate’s mother had fantastic taste in artwork. A bronze Clyde Ball piece lingered by the entryway. While he was known for his extensive statue work and abstract designs, Natasha liked that he used a heavier metal, one with a base that was easily grasped.

With a sly swing of the hand she connected the corner of the object with Eli’s temple. A flash of blood instantly stained his skin and splayed against the floor when he collapsed. Natasha dropped the artwork next to him. She let out a hum, figuring that a Clyde Ball may be worth purchasing after all.  

His truck had kicked up a rut in the normally spotless lawn. Eli had barely missed the mailbox with his erratic driving- which was bold considering the amount of unmarked and marked police vehicles that encircled Kate’s property.

Kate was sitting on the front steps, the concrete cold and unwelcome against the small of her back. They’d handcuffed her and her fingers were numb. Still, she flexed them when the commotion caught her attention. They didn’t’ bother with police tape, but a man in a wrinkled suit stopped Eli.

It took her a few long moments to realize that Cassie was in the passenger seat of the truck. She made eye contact with Kate, a look of sorrow forcing her to glance away. She was wearing Eli’s lettered jacket and naively, Kate convinced herself for a fleeting moment it had something to do with the busted heating vents in the old vehicle.

She knew better.

She’d smelled Eli’s specific spicy brand of cologne and deodorant on Cassie the last time they embraced. His lips tasted of the bubblegum ChapStick that Cassie had worn everyday since the six grade when Kate landed on her during a game of spin the bottle. Admittedly, she felt more during that kiss than anything she’d ever shared with Eli.

Kate adjusted her shoulder against the hold of the cuffs. They were uncomfortable, digging into her wrists. Even if she wanted to break out of them, she couldn’t. She was a nervous fidgeter and Elijah was using some degree of charm to weasel his way past the officer blocking him. Just as he’d weaseled his way into Cassie’s pants.

“Oh my god, Katie.” He rushed out when he got to her, kneeling down on the damp sidewalk. It was unnaturally cold and they hadn’t let Kate pull on a jacket over the tank top she wore for her morning run. His hands ran down her thighs and squeezed her knees. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kate’s stare brushed past Elijah blankly and to the fogging up window of his truck. If Cassie hadn’t already been wearing his jacket, she was sure he’d offer it to her, an offer she would vehemently deny. All of his charm, his commanding power, had been washed away with her mothers as she ducked her head and settled into the back of a squad car. One that probably had heat.

“Jesus, I heard that this place was swarming with cops. What did you do?”

“What did you?”

“I don’t… Katie, babe, come on.” He glanced back at the car and when he turned to face Kate once more, their eyes locked. He didn’t’ need to say anything and neither did she. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Kate felt the warmth of Detective Brigid O’Reilly behind her. She wasn’t a stranger to Kate, but she acted like one when she tightened the cuffs around her wrists. Temporary informant or not, Kate was still a Bishop and they weren’t trusted in this town.

“Miss Bishop. It’s time to go.”

Her forearm was gripped and she was pulled to her feet with a grunt. Her legs were numb, needles rushing through them. Part of her was grateful for being dragged away. The other part was terrified, sad, hurt and angry. They’d all betrayed her.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Fifteenth precinct. Don’t waste your breath, kid. She’ll be indisposed for a few hours. Take your little girlfriend home.”

He winced at the detective’s words and averted his stare to the ground. Kate let herself get let to the unmarked Lincoln town car. At least she’d save the humiliation as the whole lights and sirens routine.  

Most of the time, they didn’t wake up screaming, but Elijah did. His senses were overwhelmed, and his body instantly registered the cold and the slickness of muck beneath him. Even over the brutal beating of falling rain, he could hear the cars that swept past on the highway.

His head was pounding, and the headlights of vehicles passing over the highpoint of evergreens only served as something more disorienting. It was only when a crack of lightening flashed across the sky did he notice the woman standing over him, a shovel slung over her shoulder.

So, he screamed, and he swore she smiled at the sound.

He turned over on his stomach and coughed into the mud, his toes not finding purchase in the mud. Natasha’s boot came down on the center of his back and he found himself sprawling, tasting a mix of metal and dirt. He realized that he underestimated the situation Kate had gotten herself into.

“Good morning, Elijah.” She crowed, dropping the shovel next to his face, barely missing his brow. He flinched and shrunk into himself. “I have a job for you.”

She used the tip of her shoe to flip him over onto his back. The falling rain that had gotten through the pine needles above him hit his face in a cooling effect. He saw another set of headlights, eyes darting towards the road. Maybe if he yelled loud enough, all of this would be over.

“I need you to dig a hole.”

“What?” He panted out, his breath leaking out in puffs of condensation. “a hole?”

“Mm, glad I didn’t rupture an eardrum. It needs to be a big hole. How tall are you?”

“I don’t… What?”

Natasha knelt next to him, a sadistic smile falling from her lips. Instead, it was replaced with something darker. Almost as if a flip was switched. Her deep red hair was adhered to her forehead from the rain, her jaw clenched and unclenched.

“I don’t know you, Elijah. But, I know Kate and that girl has been through hell and back. She’s guarded and hides behind her humor to deflect the pain that she’s experiencing. And to me… it seems like you’re a big catalyst here.”

His breathing had become shuddered. Natasha grabbed the shovel before standing and delivering a swift kick to his side. His ribs instantly ached and a cry escaped him. She wanted him to right himself and to safe another deadly spark of pain, he complied.

She had, in fact, started a small divot where she expected him to dig. Tears were running down his face, small sobs muffled by his determination to put on a front. She didn’t’ find any admiration in his sniveling. Instead, she let him scoop out three frothy loads of dirt before she continued, circling like a lion.

His hands had started to bleed.

“She believed in you enough to trust you and you turn around and fuck her best friend?” Natasha got close, yelled over the rain. He stuttered in his movements, clenched his eyes shut. “Don’t stop digging! Was she not enough for you?”

Elijah stuck the tip of the shovel back into the soup of rainwater and mud. It was a black slush at this point, something he could drown in if he laid facedown for long enough. “She was… she was.”

“Then why did you do it, huh? You took everything she was and whittled her down to nothing before discarding her for someone else you could break. Is that it? Did that make you feel more like a man?”

He didn’t’ respond, instead, moving another round of slop to the side of a hole that was starting to look more and more like a grave. He was up to his knees in cold, unforgiving water. His toes flexed in the icy earth.

“Answer me!” She yelled with enough anger to split earth. However, Natasha didn’t give him the chance. She dug her nails into the back of his neck and shoved him forward into the muck. He could taste dirt, words bubbling.

Elijah groaned and brought himself to his knees. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding in his throat. He was crying loudly now, sitting back on his heels. Natasha was above him, standing on the edge of the grave he had just dug. Headlights flashed over her cold stare.

“If you’re feeling helpless, Elijah, so was she. Kate needed you, and you weren’t there for her. She was suffocating, and everyone could see it, but you kept her just out of reach, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes,” He groaned out, digging his fingers into the soft earth. “Fuck, yes. I hurt her, I know that.”

“Lay down.”

“What?” His voice broke.

“You’re going to lay here until morning.” She knelt down “You’re not going to move a muscle.”

“I’ll drown,”

“You might.” She growled, taking account of the heaviness of the rain, the way the tires of passing vehicles sloshed around in the collected puddles. “But at least you’d understand how Kate felt.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x reader #Mafia au #Yelena Belova #Kate Bishop #Clint Barton #Reader insert #request #natasha romonova #Bishlova #kate bishop x yelena belova

[el-writes-things]

the state of you

the biggest struggles of writing this were choosing a name for the fic and for xie lian's demonic dish from the pits of hell LMAO

super scuffed hualian sick fic based on this post by @draweltz :) i legit speedran writing this in like three days and didn't edit so please forgive me if it's like. exactly as terrible as i expect it to be HAHA

i'm also notoriously terrible at writing proper endings so i apologize for that as well

u can read the fic here (under the cut) or on ao3

likes n rbs are super appreciated :)

Given the noises and scents emitting from the kitchen of their apartment, Xie Lian’s cooking wasn’t going… conventionally well. 

Hua Cheng didn’t mind in the slightest, though, humming to himself softly as he twirled his chopsticks expertly around his long fingers. He’d offered his help already, as usual, and Xie Lian had declined, wanting to surprise him with some kind of odd, inventive meal, as usual. 

He enjoyed being able to help Xie Lian in every way, but he didn’t argue too much about the cooking matter. Xie Lian was the first and only person who deigned to cook for him, and he seemed to take pleasure in preparing meals, so who was Hua Cheng to argue? 

Tapping his chopsticks against the wood of their low-set dinner table gently, Hua Cheng tried to contemplate what Xie Lian had made today. It was an impossible endeavor based on smell alone, but he tried regardless, calling out guesses to amuse his husband. 

“Is it… stew?”

“Nope,” Xie Lian called back over the sound of sizzles. 

Hua Cheng considered the noises. “Is it… meat?”

“Wrong!”

“Really? Then, is it-”

A light laugh from the kitchen instantly warmed Hua Cheng’s heart. “Stop guessing, San Lang! Let me surprise you for once.”

“Oh, I’m always surprised by your cooking,” Hua Cheng replied sincerely, earning him another laugh. 

“I’m almost done, okay? Just wait another minute or two,” Xie Lian told him. 

Instantly, Hua Cheng rose from his seat on the floor. “Does gege want help carrying plates to the table?”

“I’m alright!” Xie Lian chirped. A series of sharp clatters met Hua Cheng’s ears and he winced, concerned. “Okay, close your eyes.”

Hua Cheng obeyed, covering his good eye with one hand. Soft footsteps announced the arrival of the martial god, followed by the sound of two plates being set down gracefully on the table in front of him. 

“You can open your eyes now,” Xie Lian told him, and he moved his hand away.

The dish was, simply put, a monstrosity. Purple and pink bubbles popped at the surface of a thick, strange substance speckled with starbursts of orange and yellow. Equally horrible was the smell, pungent and awful. Hua Cheng looked up at his husband, seated to his left, with a grin. 

“What is it called?”

“I call it ‘Dreams of Summer Nights Passed’,” Xie Lian replied. 

Hua Cheng nodded affirmatively, picking up a spoon and stirring it through the plate. Beneath the pink and purple substance was a densely packed white… rock?

“And what’s in it?” Hua Cheng chipped away at the rock for a bite. He brought it up to his lips with a playful smile. 

“It’s rice and strawberry curry. I put carrots and corn in it, too. Look, Ruoye helped me cut the carrots into neat pieces!” 

Hua Cheng placed the bite in his mouth, chewing slowly. He scraped away at the rice-rock for another bite, mixing it with the curry again. 

“It’s good,” he said when he’d finished chewing. “I like it. It’s one of your best.”

Xie Lian beamed at him and pulled his own plate closer to himself. “I’m glad you like my cooking, San Lang,” he told the Ghost King happily, spearing a carrot with the sharp end of his chopsticks.

“Of course I do. What’s not to like about it?”

The god gave him a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “Do you not remember what happened to poor Quan Yizhen?” He popped the carrot into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Well, it wasn’t your fault that he wasn’t strong enough to handle your food. I, for one, will never ever be sick of, or from, your cooking.”

“Does San Lang promise?” Xie Lian teased. 

“Of course, gege,” was his easy response, and he prepared another bite. “I promise.”

Xie Lian grinned at him and Hua Cheng grinned back, savoring the taste of the strange curry and Xie Lian’s happiness.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Hua Cheng woke up feeling terribly, horribly, awfully, dreadfully ill.  

He shuddered violently, and Xie Lian shifted in his arms. He froze immediately, then slowly disentangled himself from his sleeping husband, clenching his jaw against the waves of nausea rising up within him. 

When Hua Cheng had stumbled out of the room and down the hall, he slumped against the wall and hugged his stomach, willing himself to stay strong. 

You’re a Supreme Ghost King. You’re over eight hundred years old. You’ve lived through things that were thousands of times worse than this. This is ridiculous. 

He sucked a breath in through aching lungs- then stopped. 

The next thing he knew, he was heaving over the toilet. 

Hua Cheng shivered miserably, silvery pinpricks of sweat rolling down his spine. The bathroom floor was cold, colder than he remembered, and he clenched the sides of the porcelain bowl with a vengeance. 

Another wave of nausea came crashing over him, and he gave in to it, only caring now that his husband didn’t hear him. 

A quiet minute passed, then two. Hua Cheng rose on shaking legs to walk to the sink. He caught sight of his own reflection and shuddered. His gaze averted quickly and he splashed water on his face, trying to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth. 

What on earth was wrong with him?

He’d never before had this kind of reaction to the food that Xie Lian had cooked for him before. He’d prided himself in the way he never flinched, and had grown to thoroughly enjoy the food that was prepared for him with such love. 

Hua Cheng despised this feeling of weakness.

As if on cue, he could feel his stomach churn in rebellion.

It was all he could do to lean over the toilet again, shove his long black hair out of the way, and not make a mess.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

When his vision cleared and his consciousness drifted back into his aching body, Hua Cheng sat up. He rolled his neck, trying to work the stiffness out of it.

Judging by the slant of moonlight shifting through the window, only an hour or two had passed since he’d passed out, slumped against the wall. 

Hua Cheng swiped a hand across his mouth, staring with disgust at the bile that came away on his fingers. He stood slowly, trying his best not to stumble, and washed off in the sink again. 

Silently, he surveyed the bathroom. Despite his best efforts, he’d made a mess, one he’d rather die than leave for his husband to clean up.

Body still wracked with chills and tremors, Hua Cheng fished paper towels and a cleaning spray out from under the sink. He dropped heavily to his knees, ignoring the pain shooting through his stomach, and began to clean.

Tears began to prickle the corner of his eye and he closed his eyes. Self-hatred and confusion gripped him, and he clenched his fists. 

Why would he be having this reaction? Was he really losing his powers? He hated this immensely, hated that he wasn’t strong enough for Xie Lian. 

Hua Cheng disposed of the paper towels with shaking hands. He sat down again beside the toilet, hugging his knees, unable to stop the flow of tears down his face. 

Slow, unsteady breaths filled his lungs, and he clamped his mouth over his sobs. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with the warmth of his husband tucked in the curve of his body. 

But he still reeked and he would never, ever, ever want Xie Lian to see him like-

“San Lang?” 

Hua Cheng froze, trying not to breathe too loudly, raising his other hand to try to stifle himself. 

It’s not enough, though, and he let out a loud hic that echoes in the bathroom. Hua Cheng glared down at his hands, annoyed at the way his body seemed to be betraying him at every turn. 

“San Lang?” Xie Lian’s voice was closer now, and Hua Cheng tried to sit up straighter. He hated that he’d made him get out of bed. 

“Are you in the bathroom? Seriously, what are you doing in there?” Xie Lian’s voice is teasing and gentle until he flicks the light on. His mouth makes the shape of a soft o, unbound hair flowing freely around his shoulders. Lit by the silver light of the moon and the golden light of the bathroom, he looks beautiful, an untouchable god.

Hua Cheng was, by stark contrast, a complete mess. His hair was tangled and undone, falling in messy snarls around his shoulders. The front of his shirt was wrinkled and half-wet from his attempts to clean it off. His stomach still hurt and he could only imagine how pale his skin was. 

It was mortifying to be seen like this. He tried not to sniffle, reaching up to wipe the tears off his face. 

Xie Lian was quicker, dropping down with his usual grace to cup Hua Cheng’s face with his hands, running his thumbs over his cheeks tenderly. Hua Cheng’s best efforts couldn’t stop the low sob that escaped his lips. He lowered his eyes, embarrassed. 

“What’s wrong, San Lang?” Xie Lian moved closer, forcing Hua Cheng to meet the concern in his ethereal golden eyes. He refuses to speak, closing his lips together tightly. 

But his husband was perceptive, and the pain in his eye and the way one arm was still half-curled around his stomach protectively must’ve given it away. 

“Oh, no.”

Hua Cheng began to cry again, for real this time, and Xie Lian pulled him close. His fingers combed through Hua Cheng’s hair. 

“It’s alright. I’m here now. Oh, San Lang, why didn’t you wake me up? You don’t have to suffer alone.”

Hua Cheng’s instincts took over and, in a moment of physical and mental weakness, he finally reached up and pulled Xie Lian’s body close to his own. He tried not to care about how bad he probably smelled. 

Xie Lian lost his balance with a soft oof, falling forward onto Hua Cheng’s body. He buried his face in Xie Lian’s soft hair, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent of lavender shampoo filled his senses. 

“Will you tell me what happened?” Xie Lian asked Hua Cheng quietly, drawing back slightly to look at him. His voice was steady, and he didn’t pry when Hua Cheng shook his head and pointed to his mouth. 

“Okay. I’ll help you up, is that okay?”

Hua Cheng hated feeling powerless, hated the dizziness that overcame him and pushed him to lean heavily on his husband’s side as they shuffled towards the sink together. “Ge.. ge…” 

But Xie Lian was strong, and Hua Cheng knew that. “It’s alright, San Lang. Come, here’s your toothbrush. You got it? I can help you…”

Five thoroughly humiliating minutes passed by before they were on their bed, having successfully made it out of the stinking bathroom and into their shared room. 

Xie Lian helped Hua Cheng recline his head against their propped-up pillows before he ducked out of the room. He returned with tall glass full nearly to the brim with water. His dependable hands didn’t spill a single drop when they brought the cup to Hua Cheng’s lips, allowing him to drink slowly. 

When he was done, Xie Lian placed the cup on the bedside table before climbing into bed with Hua Cheng. He sat beside him, legs pressed against Hua Cheng’s side when he turned to face him. “Are you alright?”

Hua Cheng managed a nod, still too embarrassed to say much more. He found that he was even more reluctant to tell Xie Lian what happened now that he was out of the bathroom and with his husband.

“San Lang.” Xie Lian’s voice was reprimanding, yet kind. “Tell me what happened. Please?” 

The two locked eyes, golden eyes determined and shining, black eye a swirl of conflicting emotions.

Hua Cheng could never deny his husband of anything he’d asked, however, and he told him the whole story in strung together pieces, trying desperately not to meet his eyes.

Xie Lian’s hand drifted over to cover Hua Cheng’s and he listened attentively, nodding when it was appropriate. When Hua Cheng finished, Xie Lian sat silently, as if contemplating something.

“San Lang, why wouldn’t you wake me up or tell me?”

“It’s… gege, I never get sick from your food and I don’t ever want you to stop cooking for me just because… because of something like this…” he trailed off, then closed his eyes. “And I don’t even know what caused it. I’m always fine and I love that you cook for m-”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian said, his hand squeezing Hua Cheng’s reassuringly. “Have you ever considered that you might just be… allergic to what I made?” Allergies. Hua Cheng’s mouth opened, then closed. It made sense, and he hadn’t even considered it. “Oh.” 

Xie Lian smiled and moved closer, wrapping his arms gingerly around Hua Cheng’s torso and snuggling close. “My poor San Lang. Will you come wake me up if this ever happens?”

Hua Cheng laid his cheek against the top of Xie Lian’s head, nodding. 

“Thank you. Do you want to sleep now? You must be tired.”

“Actually, gege… I’m a bit hungry. Any leftovers?”

Xie Lian looked up to gape at Hua Cheng. He chuckled quietly, turning to pull Xie Lian into his arms. 

“Only joking, gege. Unless…”

His husband bumped the back of his head against the curve of Hua Cheng’s neck teasingly, and Hua Cheng laughed again, already feeling better.

#hua cheng #xie lian #hualian #san lang #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #heaven officials blessing #tgcf #tgcf fic #writing

[gamerbearmira]

Encanto×Undertale crossover!

I introduce you too...

MIRACLETALE

Prologue. Once upon a time.

Long ago... people lived in peace. No harm, no conflicts broke between races...

Or, at least, that's what it was for awhile... for some people had Gifts, many others did not. For they could use Magic, Gifts, given them by nature to aid those in need. Beautiful Gifts, with range of usage, from decoration, to help to heal the hurt, to help during bigger conflicts to spy on enemy...

And still, even with that... the two races lived in peace.

But eventually... those with no Magic abilities started to grow vary of ones with powers... they were sacred that their powers could be used against them... it lead to many issues between Magic users and non-Magical people. over time... some even doubted them "Monsters"...

And soon enough... The Great War broke out between two types of people.

Many friendships were broken. Many houses and villages were burned down. Many... people were killed...

Those, who managed to survive, would hide themselves under eye of Pedro Madrigal. The King of Magic nation, often told to be the strongest of all. Him, and his wife, Alma Madrigal, were benevolent rulers, who seemed peace to be restored between their people and non-Magic users.

More than anything, they wanted the good times to return. So the sun could shine over their heads again. So their children could live, unafraid for their lives.

But it looked like the fate had it's own plans, as one of the Magic Kingdom spies brought news that the enemies had horrible plan on their side... they were planning to kidnap the Queen and use her power to win the War, for Alma's power was very desirable... as she could temporarily give others their own Magic.

Pedro couldn't let it happen. He didn't want his wife to turn into a tool for their enemies... not to mention that would harm both her and their newborn children.

And so... they decided to take their people and run away. Away, into mountains, so they'd stay protected.

They left the next day. Everyone of their kingdom joined then, in search of new life. New home. New peace...

But even in that journey...

"Monsters!"

It seemed like they couldn't escape the dangers...

"Just hand us your Queen... and we promise not to hurt too many of you..."

Perdo looked at his wife, holding the three bundles of their children in her arms, now woken up by that scream, crying into their mother. He could only think of one solution of that situation...

He walked infront of his people, in front of Alma, giving her one last look. One filled with sorrow, apologetic... giving her one last kiss and then one to each of his babies... he turned to the riders.

And then, butterflies arouse from all around them. Butterflies, of many colors, yellow, green, orange, purple, blue... but most of all, red and golden. They surrounded his people from the attackers... shielding them all, himself behind them.

"You all shall not touch this land no more" The King spoke. "For with this spell... my people shall be protected from the likes like you..."

With one last dash of his power, the King threw the invaders away, the golden light covering everything, as the mountains arose from the ground, creating a barrier between his people... and outside world...

Pedro looked at his work, chuckling, before looking down. Creating something so big sure took lots of energy from him...

And lots of material... for he could not create something out of thin air... for his power needed an equivalent exchange...

And for something so big... it meant giving his life... and others' memories of his existence...

"Pedro..?" Alma asked, watching her husband's fading body. "Pedro! What did you do!? What's happening to..?"

Pedro looked at his love with sad look, but he was smiling. He held her close for one last time, kissing her once more, cuddling his children.

"It's going to be alright, Mi Amor..." He said. "Even if I disappear from your memories... I'll always be here to watch over you and our family... no one of my kingdom shall be alone"

"Pedro..." Alma chocked on her tears, falling in her knees.

Even if no one would remember it... the sacrifice of King Pedro was what ended the Great War that fateful day.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

Years later...

Encanto Mountains

1955

Pair of quick feet ran through the forest. Small girl approached the Mountains, looking at the sight in front of her. Her white dress was dirty from her adventure... but it was yet to be over...

She approached the single cave, walking inside of it. As she explored it, her foot got tied to in a vine... she trued to get free from it... only to trip over and fall deeper into the Mountain range...

"You heard what they said, didn't you?"

"No one returned?"

"Nuh-huh! They were eaten! By Monsters!"

She landed on the hard ground...

WOWOWOAOWOW SO COOL????

Man I wonder who fell. Like gee 😭 nah but the real question is how she ended up there. I mean, is it different from Undertale. Like a dare or was it genuinely an accident 💀

ALSO!!! Why the hard feelings. I mean obviously its there but like was it really that serious 🥸 calling them Monsters is INSANE like why would you do that 😭

Can't wait for more <3

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #i assume #miracletale #undertale #undertale au

[kianaflame23]

NSFW IFRIT!CLIVE X F!READER

NO MINORS ALLOWED! NO AGE BIO? BLOCK! If you are under 🔞, you can ONLY read my SFW fanfics and headcanons!

*WARNING* VERY DARK SMUT! Reader and Clive aren't together so please be careful on reading this. Don't read it if you feel uncomfortable and definitely will write Dominant! FF16 men x reader! Writing Barnabas next so look forward to that! Have a good morning/day/night! ✨️

Oh no.... you noticed that Clive isn't himself as his yellow eyes stared at you, smirking as he tackled you down

His hand gropping your breast as his other hand touches your sex, forcing you to moan loudly

Liking your moans as Ifrit!Clive decides to tear your clothes apart, you screamed and begged for him to stop. Of course, he didn't listen to you and chuckled darkly as he sees your naked body

You were about to cover yourself, however, Ifrit!Clive grabbed your hands and places it above your head, not able to escape as you tried to kick him

You don't want to hurt Clive, he is attractive and strong. Well....very sexy to you but YOU ARE NOT HIS LOVER!

*Flashback*

You started to have romantic feelings for him as you and Clive spend time each other alone. Getting know more about him and his past. Clive told you on what happened to his little brother and how he failed to protect Joshua.... Clive lost his parents...Joshua....and everything because of that mysterious hooded man.... The Dominant..... He is the one who murdered his little brother! He will get his revenge and kill that hooded man! Ending his revenge journey and hoping to know the answers on why The Dominant decide to ruin his life!

You felt so much pain and sorrow as you hugged Clive. Telling him that it is okay for him to cry and doesn’t need to bestoic. Not wanting Clive to blame himself for what happened 13 years ago... You smiled towards him, persuading him to show his emotions to you. Clive immediately hugged you as he sobbed in your neck, his small drops of tears landed on your neck and shoulder. His body shakes as he pulls you closer to his armor chest. You felt your heart aches in sadness as you pat his back softly. You wanted to kiss his cheeks, but you stopped yourself. Not wanting to end your good friendship with Clive. You don't want him to see you as a sister figure and would like to be his maiden....his future wife....If he sees you as a right arm partner and wants you to be his friend, then so be it. You are strong enough to protect yourself. Your family abandoned you when you were a young child....wondering to yourself on why your parents stopped loving you after they left you in a small village.... Learning on how cruel the world is and the people as well as the royalties. At least Clive isn't those powerful, uncaring kings who only thinks of themselves. Clive Rosfield is a great friend you ever had... a charming knight who you truly love and care for....willing to do anything to protect him and to save his life. He did save your life when those horrible knights tried to kill you and even worse...Forever thankfully for his heroic and decided to join his group. You just hope that nothing bad happens to you and Clive during the war and his revenge journey....

*Back to you and Ifrit!Clive....*

Ifrit!Clive tells you that he is going to fuck you until you are filled with his cum. He WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO ESCAPE until he is done with you

You prayed to Eikon, hoping for Clive to come back to his senses and realizes on what he is doing to you.

Sadly, your prayers will not save you as Ifrit!Clive pulls out his cock, inserting you without a warning

Screaming in pain as you cried, Ifrit!Clive smack his lips on yours, silencing your cries and moans. His hand pulls your chin as Ifrit!Clive tilts his head a bit, kissing you more, feeling his tongue touch yours, dominating all around there. You felt ashamed for enjoying your french kissing with Clive. Well....Ifrit!Clive....

Thrusting in and out harshly, already losing you virginity as you know that you're bleeding there.....

Ifrit!Clive pulls away from your lips but still close to you, warning you that you have no choice to stay with Clive or else... He'll continue to take over Clive's body and fuck you.

He isn't going to kill you though. Ifrit finds you interesting.....making you worry if you want to continue being friends with Clive or run away from everyone.....

You need to tell Clive the truth before you decide your fate......

You can feel his armor gloves squeezing your thighs, knowing that you'll get bruises and feel a bit pain as Ifrit!Clive thrusts more deeper in you. Your breasts bounces with such force as Ifrit!Clive keeps being rough on you. Yes, you didn't like feeling pain, however, you closed your eyes in pleasure. Not wanting to admit that you are enjoying yourself as you want him to continue fucking you.....

Why is Ifrit!Clive fucking you...? Why isn't he trying to kill you...?

You will never know... as you moan, you furrowed your eyebrows in pleasure, feeling his cum in you. Ifrit!Clive growled as he thrusts in you more before pulling out.

You smiled weakly as you felt so much cum in you. You REALLY enjoy that intense sex with Ifrit!Clive. Hoping that Clive will be back....right...?

WRONG! You thought Ifrit!Clive will be satisfied and let you go? Running away from him? Oh, how wrong you are....

You are wishing for Cidolfus and Torgal to save you....for now, you'll do your best to pleasure Ifrit!Clive until they arrived.... maybe they can stop Clive and explain to them on what Ifrit did to you....

You'll forgive Clive though. You just can't see him anymore.... praying that he'll forget you and move on. Continuing with his revenge quest and all. After all, you are just an ally to him.... or at least that's what you think anyways....

Ifrit!Clive end ❤

#final fantasy #ff16 #final fantasy 16 #ffxvi #final fantasy xvi #ffxvi x reader #ff #ff16 x reader #final fantasy 16 x reader #clive rosfield #clive rosfield x you #clive rosfield x reader #clive x you #clive x reader #my post #my writing

[justrandomfanfictionskh]

Dp x Gravity Falls One Shot

(Ford has travelled across multiple dimensions. He has met many beings of various origins and powers. What happens when one of them decides to visit?) ao3

It was just a normal day at the Mystery Shack, where everything was sure to go horribly wrong. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. Waddles was eating the carpet. Stan was committing tax fraud. Mabel was pouring glitter on her eggs. Dipper was mindlessly shoveling food into his mouth while reading. And Ford was breaking something in the secret basement. All was right in the world, as the family blissfully ignored the looming threat of Bill for the thirty minutes it would take them to eat, trash the kitchen, and start an argument between one of the two pairs of twins. Of course their unique form of domesticity had to be interrupted by a swirling green portal of doom suddenly appearing about the kitchen table, causing frost and wind to send the entire kitchen into chaos. 

"It's Bill!" Dipper shouted. "Gruncle Ford! Bill is attacking!"

"Just try it you yellow floating freak!" Stan yelled as he pulled out a gun from behind the fridge, "Soos protect the merchandise!"

"Yes sir!" Soos shouted as he ran to the gift shop.

"Not today Satan!" Mabel shouted whipping out her crossbow, "Waddles get behind me!"

The pig looked up from the carpet and then returned to his meal. Maniacal laughter poured from the black and green void, as the Pines readied them selves for battle. Ford burst through the door shouting, "Bill! Where? I thought...Oh no!"

"Gruncle Ford! What do we do?! We're not ready!" Dipper cried. 

"Oh Dipper," Ford said somberly, "I'm afraid, that this was caused by something far worse than Bill."

"What?!" the three other Pines screamed. 

"Yes! Something far, far worse. I didn't think he'd ever be able to find me! Not in this dimension! I was a fool! I should have known, that he'd never just leave me alone!"

"Who Gruncle Ford? Who?" Mable pleaded, as the wind picked up and the laughter grew.

"My greatest tormentor! The Ruler of the Infinite Realms! The Ghost King!...Danny Phantom!"

A great flash of light blinded everyone in the kitchen, and there was silence. Slowly, the Pines' recovered their vision, and blinked at their new enemy. It was...a boy. A young down no older than sixteen, or fifteen floating lazily above the table without a care in the world. He was clearly not human with his misty white hair and glowing green eyes, so none of them lowered their weapons. And yet...he seemed so young. His bright smile showed too sharp teeth, but it was full of laughter as he surveyed the kitchen. And in his back and white jumpsuit with the stylized D emblem, he almost looked like a super hero. But what confused the family the most was when, upon seeing Ford, the glowing ghost teen threw up his arms and cried,

"Fordy! How you doin' old buddy old pal! I haven't seen you in ages! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be running from a chaos demon or two?"

"Phantom," Ford said gruffly, as the ghost kid circled his head at a dizzying pace, "Good to see you again. Shouldn't you be running an interdimensional kingdom of infinite proportions?"

If this "Danny" heard the growing aggravation in Ford's voice, he obviously didn't care as he slowed lounge in the air in front of the disgruntled scientist and casually said, "Yeah, well I'm taking a break! Fright Knight can handle things while I'm gone, besides I wanted to catch up on all my old friends. See how their doing! Make sure their not all dead, and such! By the way why are there two of you? Haaaaahh! Did some one clone you against you're well, cause buddy I've been there!"

Stan and the twins exchanged confused looks and then turned to Ford as they all slowly lowered their weapons. Finally Ford sighed and said, "No, Phantom, I was not cloned. This is my twin brother, Stanley. You can call him Stan. And these are my great niece and nephew, Dipper and Mabel. Stan, Dipper, Mabel, this is Danny Phantom. He's...a...friend." 

It was clear that the word was dragged from Ford's lips as if they'd been pulling teeth. But that didn't stop his family from gasping in shock and wonder, at the absolute miracle before them. Ford had a friend, who...wasn't evil! It was incredible! It took a moment for the rest of the family to comprehend the news before Mabel began to squeal like a tea kettle coming to boil. A sound which was quickly followed by her jumping and shouting,

"Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Hi! I'm Mabel! It rhymes with table! And you are sooo cool! Are you really a ghost? Are you going to kill us? Can we hang out? Do you have a girl friend? I can't believe Gruncle Ford has a friend! Oh my gosh!" 

Danny grinned at the sparkily girl before floating down to he eye level saying, "Hi Mabel, rhymes with table. Yes, I am cool! Yes, I'm a ghost. No I'm not going to kill you. Of course we can hang out! But I do have a girl friend, her name is Sam, and she's the best! And of course I'm Fordy's friend! What else would I be? His enemy?" Phantom let out a roaring laugh at that last comment, but the rest of the family only chuckled nervously as Ford mumbled in annoyance. 

Dipper decided to end the awkwardness by stepping forward while clearing his throat. "Ahem...uh, hi! Mr. Phantom, you're majesty. Um...I'm sorry but do you have time to answer one or two thousand questions about yourself, kingdom, and the multiverse please?" He said eagerly sheepish, as he flipped through his journal and began clicking his pen rapidly. 

"Wow!" Danny said, "Mini Ford, what do you know! and sure kid I can answer a few questions! But now one or two thousand...how about, you think of three questions for each topic. I'll answer them. And then when I come back, you can ask three more! Sound good, kid?" 

"Uh yeah, ok great!" Dipper said, now barley restraining himself from bouncing alongside his sister. 

"Wait!" Ford shouted suddenly desperate, "You're planning on visiting? More than once?!"

"Well, yeah dude!" Danny said as he drifted around the kitchen ceiling in lazy circles. "Like I said you're my friend. And I like to make sure my friends are, you know---not dead! Besides, dude! You're like super old! And I mean like really, really, super duper old! I'm surprised you haven't just keeled over by now, I mean seriously dude! How are you even still alive?" 

Ford groaned as he rubbed his temples, "Phantom how old do you think I am?"

"I don't know!" Danny said with a smirk, "Like thirty?"

Ford growled, but Stan held him back, clearly trying not to laugh. "Oh, come one now poindexter! Lay off the kid, he's just having a laugh!" 

"Stanley," Ford muttered, "Phantom is over four thousand years old! He is the absolute ruler of the afterlife, all after lives! He is the embodiment of balance between life and death! His 'girl friend' is the guardian of nature, meaning that she is technically Mother Nature for the entirety of the multiverse! And this is how he behaves!" 

The brothers looked to where Danny holding Dipper's hat just out of reach while the twins laughed, trying to jump for it. Stan just shrugged his shoulders with a roll of his eyes and said, "A kids and kid, poindexter, no matter what crazy, magical, hoody haw is going on! Besides he seems harmless!"

CRASH!!! Everyone jumped and stared at the broken chandelier lying in the center of a shattered table. Perceiving the adults watching them, all three of the kids shouted,

"Dipper did it!"

"Danny did it!"

"Mabel did it!"

Ford facepalmed with a load smack, as Ford grinned and saying, "Oh this is going to be fun!"

However, before anyone could do anything else, Soos ran in with a broom screaming, "Begone foul daemon! Stay away from my dudes! Dude! In the name of the all powerful spirit of Azerath! begone! Now get! Get! Get!" All while trying to swat Danny with the broom as if her were a spider on the ceiling. 

"Hey!" Danny shouted, "Not cool man! I'm not a daemon! Leave me alone!" 

Stan bellowed in laughter, as the twins tried to get Soos to stop. Which was interrupted by Danny freezing Soos to the floor. Now the three kids, were trying to unfreeze the human gopher, as Stan continued to laugh, and Ford groaned into his hands. "Where's Bill when you need him?" He muttered as he attempted to disappear into the basement. It was going to be a long day. Or week, depending on how long Phantom decided to stay.  

#danny phantom #gravity falls #dp x gravity falls #gravity falls x danny phantom crossover #ghost king danny #dipper pines #mabel pines #stan pines #grunkle stan #ford pines #fluff #funny #oneshot #crossover #fanfiction #drabble

[runawaymun]

alrighty, for @tolkienocweek day 2: "The Bad Guys", it's a doodly portrait of a character I have been meaning to draw for a while, Frumgar, Fourth Lord of the Éothéod, one of the main antagonists of And the Stars Shine The Same, though really he just kind of looms as a dark part of various characters' backstories for the vast majority of the fic until the end.

The green and yellow seems to suit him. I was just thinking of the pale gold of the barrow wights, tbh (I'm not sure why I made that connection in my brain, but there it is. Kings of old, and all that). And Whenever I (unfortunately must) think about him, I always picture him with a square face and very deep-set eyes that glitter, so here we are.

He is technically a named character within Tolkien's legendarium, but really just a placeholder in a line of kings with no real facts about him, so he was an easy character for me to prop up as a villain without feeling like I was assassinating anybody. All we really know is that he's responsible for uniting the clans of the Éothéod under roughly one banner, founded a settlement which would later become known as Framsburg, after his son (another main character in the fic), and that he's remembered in the songs of the Rohirrim.

He's a good leader (though good is subjective), an awful father, and a keeper of thralls. I can't really say too much about him without giving away the entire plot of the fic, but let's just say he's a hugely horrible person & Elrond gets to kick his ass before the end of the fic, and it was very satisfying to write!

#i was hoping to release the next chapter today since it's a fram & frumgar one but #alas it is not ready #so i guess i'm making you all look at him #lmao #he's awful #which is really the understatement of the year #my art #doodles #tolkienocweek

[separatist-apologist]

The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

The very first thing Elain did once the sun set on that second night was turn on the tap. Water the color of rust flooded the tub Elain had spent the majority of the evening scrubbing and rescrubbing. She was desperate for a bath to wash away her fear and a night of running through the mud. After that, she was going to burn her fine dress even if it meant showing up to Beron’s doorstep in the rough peasant clothing Jurian had gifted her.

Elain didn’t mind—truly. In her mind, Beron was kind and generous. He’d hear her out, take her in, and keep her safe. And sure, maybe in return she’d marry one of his sons but that was worth it to see her stepmother dethroned. It had become Elain’s new favorite fantasy, one she felt immense guilt for having. She shouldn’t wish ill on someone, but maybe it was okay given her stepmother had ordered her heart carved out.

Elain sat on the edge of the floor, watching the water shift from rusty red, to a diluted orange, to yellow and finally clear. 

She gave it a little extra time, both to heat up and to keep from reverting back to that horrible brown. Once she’d convinced herself the water was safe, Elain undressed, kicking the dress to the kitchen before sinking into the tub. Jurian had sent soap—nothing fancy, and no oils or lotions. She was learning to make do, though sometimes all Elain really wanted was to break down sobbing. Two days, she reminded herself. That’s all it had been since she’d left. Five since Nesta had set out. Elain wasn’t going to die, not like this. She knew, if Nesta was alive, that she’d fight, too. Elain couldn’t be the thing that tripped her sisters up, that made them careless. She could handle herself, at least for now.

And Lucien had agreed to take her to Avalon when the snow cleared. Three months of this, and then she’d plead her case to their king. Her plan was in place. For now, all she had to do was lay low, pretend she was no one interesting at all, and survive the winter.

That didn’t keep the thoughts from racing around her head. Why, why, why. There had to be more than just her looks. She’d been beautiful her whole life and her stepmother had been there for all of it. Surely she would have been easier to kill as a little girl? Elain turned that thought over in her head endlessly until the water had become cold and the knocking wind against the windows made her think someone was trying to sneak in.

Elain had considered just how lonely it was to live alone, but that first night without exhaustion driving her into dreamless sleep was the worst by far. Every little noise pulled her out of bed until Elain had to shove a pillow over her head to keep it all out.

By the time dawn broke, Elain was ready for a little sunlight. The world was mocking her, because instead of a warm, cheerful autumn day, Elain was gifted more rain. There would be no working outdoors in the garden to prepare it for spring. 

“I suppose I’ll start indoors, then,” she said to no one in particular. Elain took her time cleaning out the sink, drowning beetles in the drain before filling it with soapy water. Everything needed a good scrub, from the windows to the walls to the floors and everything in between. She had a feeling she’d find a place that was terribly charming. 

The work was dull and yet it passed the time well enough. Elain started on the walls, hopping onto counters to reach the top of the pointed ceiling while grime dripped toward the dirty floors. It had to be done, and the rain outside kept Elain from giving up halfway through. She was frustrated and bored, wishing for someone to talk to as she scrubbed every inch of the years of accumulated grime. 

As Elain worked, little birds fluttered to the windowsill to watch, chirruping sweet songs they bounced between them. A doe scuttled by, peering inside with wide, curious brown eyes and when Elain approached her, the creature allowed Elain to scratch behind her ears before she took off, spooked by a snapping twig close by. 

A knock on the door, followed by, “Let me in!” sent Elain scurrying for Jurian. Brown hair slicked over his forehead, making him look more like a drowned rat than anything. Suppressing her smile, Elain stepped out of the way as Jurian stomped mud onto her freshly washed floors. 

There was no complaining when Jurian was bringing her food. She saw the rueful expression when he, too, realized he was making more work.

“Should get a doormat for this place,” he said in that gruff way of his. “Looks good.”

“Thanks,” Elain replied, unpacking the cloth bags he’d dumped on the counter. “Do you want to stay—”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, taking a step back. “No, you ah…you’ve got this under control.”

“Well—” 

The door snapped shut before Elain could finish her sentence. It would have been nice to have a little company she supposed, and maybe it was for the best that Jurian didn’t want much to do with her. If someone came sniffing around, he wouldn’t have anything worth sharing, besides. Still, he could have stayed a little while, even if it was just to complain.

With a sigh, Elain carefully unpacked the things he’d brought her. There was more than enough to get her through the week and all of it was a reminder that she didn’t know how to cook anything but pie. 

While Elain agonized over what kind of pie she might make, fate knocked again. Not fate, but Jurian, who didn’t stick around to be thanked for the lovely basket of ruby red apples left just outside her doorstep. Elain came fully out, hands on her hips.

“Thank you!” she yelled, looping the handle around her elbow and coming back inside. It wasn’t a fully cooked roast, but it did decide her meal for her. 

Pie could be dinner, she reminded herself. And pie was decidedly not cleaning. With that in mind, Elain made the best of the silence and began working on her crust and her filling. She hummed a little, making up nonsense words to a nonsense song until she was almost relaxed. Elain set an apple pie up on the windowsill to cool while she began to work on a blueberry and lemon pie.

Elain turned her back just long enough to hunt down a couple plates, and returned to the huntsman at her window, finger stuck between the latticed crust for a taste.

She narrowed her eyes. “Back already?”

“If you wanted my attention, an apple pie will do it,” Lucien replied roguishly. “I brought you a chair.”

“Just one?”

“How often are you entertaining guests, princess?” he asked, sliding that apple coated finger into his mouth.

“Hey!” Elain said, smacking his hand with her spatula when he tried to reach for another taste. “Get out of here.”

“Let me in,” he retorted, his face twisted with outrage. “Feed me for my trouble.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she grumbled, though Elain trotted to the door all the same. Lucien stepped inside, a chair held in one broad hand. “Why do you keep coming back?”

He set the chair down, testing to make sure it didn’t wobble. “It’s my fault you’re out here.”

“You didn’t order my death,” she reminded him, softening ever so slightly. 

“I would have done it, though. If you hadn’t been…” Lucien trailed off, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Anyway. Are you sharing that pie?” She started to tell him no before remembering that Lucien was the first person who’d looked her in the eye and spoken to her all day. Jurian had darted out so quickly there’d been no time to even beg him to stay. Lucien was looking right at her—he wanted to talk to her.

And besides, engendering a little good will from the man who could give her news of the palace and get her to Avalon couldn’t hurt, right?

“Yes,” she told him, gesturing toward the table. Lucien went for one of the rickety chairs, plopping to the freshly washed floor in order to examine it. “I don’t have much else, though.”

“I’m surprised a princess knows how to bake at all.”

“My mom taught me,” she admitted, leaving Lucien to his task in favor of cutting up pie slices. “I would have done anything with her. She so rarely paid me any attention.”

He hummed, his tone urging her to continue. Ignoring whether it was wise to tell him so much, Elain plowed ahead. “I don’t think I can eat pie for every meal.”

“I don’t see why not,” Lucien replied in that easy, laidback way of his. “But if you’re angling for a cookbook, I could probably arrange that.”

“And someone willing to try my concoctions,” she added quickly. Might as well force him to interact with her on a more regular basis. Just for information, she thought privately, knowing full and well it was a lie. She dared to look at him, sprawled on the floor trying to tighten one of the legs on the chair so he didn’t have to eat on the floor. 

“I never turn down a free meal,” he said, frowning not at her but the task laid before him.

 Elain walked to the table, balancing her pie, plates, and utensils carefully.

“Why didn’t you kill me, Lucien?” she asked. His head snapped up, eyes wide. There was no way he’d answer her, and as the silence stretched, Elain scrambled for something that would spare them both how awkward things were becoming. 

“Because,” he finally said, rising to his feet. Lucien was so tall, broad and muscular and handsome despite the scars on his face. A little rough and yet she could picture him in fine clothing. In fact, it wasn’t hard at all to imagine him as someone that she might have been interested in back home. A little rakish, perhaps, but easy to smooth out. 

“Because,” he said again, taking a heavy breath. “I’m surrounded by so much ugliness. So much cruelty, too. And it seemed a shame to take your life and rob the world of your kindness…and your beauty.”

“Oh,” she murmured, suddenly embarrassed. “I…thank you.”

Lucien balanced himself carefully in the rickety chair, cheeks flushed red. Waving a hand, he mumbled, “Don’t mention it.”

“I was hoping you’d tell me if you heard any news of Nesta?” she asked, sliding a piece of pie to his plate. Lucien watched her, waiting until she sat in the good chair before taking a bite. “Or my family?”

Lucien’s eyes fell to his plate. “Well…no news of Nesta…but I have heard that princess Elain ran off with a stable boy.”

Elain gaped. “A—stable boy?”

“True love, I suppose,” Lucien agreed humorlessly. “Prince Graysen is terribly disappointed.”

“I guess that’s better than finding my body,” she replied, heart hammering in her chest. “I did wonder how my absence would be explained.”

“Now you know,” he said, taking a large bite. “Amarantha seems placated for now.”

“I wish I knew why,” Elain lamented, pushing apples around her plate. Lucien looked up again, and before he could say it was simple jealousy, Elain held up her hand. She thought if she had to entertain that theory she might actually go insane. It was too ridiculous to be believable. “Don’t.”

“You asked,” Lucien reminded her, though he didn’t push it. 

“Tell me about Avalon,” Elain said instead, wanting a change in topic. “What do you know about the king?” Lucien grimaced. “Are you sure about this plan?” 

No, she wasn’t, but it was better than nothing. “Just tell me what I need to know.”

“Well,” Lucien began, chewing slowly. “I hear he rules with an iron fist.”

“And his sons? I heard—” Lucien’s gaze pinned her in place, waiting with what she thought was delight. 

“What did you hear?”

No turning back now. “That they’re handsome. More handsome than the brother before them.”

Lucien rubbed his jaw, contemplating this. “So his youngest son would be the most handsome of them all?”

Elain bit her bottom lip. “It’s not important. But…”

Lucien’s smile made her heart stutter. “No, of course not. But if you’re going to throw yourself at a foreign prince, he might as well be easy to look at.”

She nodded. “And I thought…if he saw me, he’d be more willing to help.”

“Oh, I’m sure he couldn’t resist if he saw you,” Lucien replied, turning back to his pie. “If you want to know what I know of Avalon and its court, it's that you’re better off trying a different route. I can see, from that look on your face, that this your best plan. If I were you, I would try the oldest. Eris.”

“I don’t think I’m first born son material,” she replied, though Elain was intrigued. 

“He would help, I think. From what I know of him, I think he would want to help…or invade. But if you can convince him, you’ll have your shot with the king. I’m told he’s Beron’s right hand man.”

“That's…actually very helpful, Lucien.”

He only smiled. “Well. I would hate to see you trapped in a marriage with a lowly born seventh son. Aim high, princess. Until then, let me see if I can get you that cookbook.”

“Thank you, Lucien,” Elain said, hoping her tone conveyed her gratitude.

He ducked his head. “Don’t mention it.”

But she would, one day. When Nesta was queen and they were all safe, Elain meant to insist Nesta make him a lord of some parcel of land. It was, after all, the least she could do.

LUCIEN: 

Trudging back to the castle was torture. Lucien knew if he stayed away too long, Amarantha would start to wonder what he was up to. He needed to be seen on occasion, mulling about with animal hides and meat for the kitchen. No poachers mercifully, though Lucien still made his way to Amarantha to give her the report. 

That box sat on her vanity, the heart likely rotting inside. She wore a furred black night dress and blood red lips as she dragged a brush through soft, ruby waves. “Do you plan to hibernate this winter?” she purred when he finished his report. “Or will you be remaining in the palace?”

“I’ll remain in the forest, like I always do,” Lucien said stiffly, taking a small, measured step away from the queen. “Poachers take the opportunity to pull bears from their dens.”

“How very noble of you, prince,” Amarantha replied, those beetle black eyes glittering in the firelight. “Do you miss your home?”

Yes. “No,” he replied, knowing full well she wouldn’t tolerate any disobedience. Lucien hated her, though. He’d never liked her, but knowing she was keeping a heart on her desk like a trophy, that she delighted in the death of an unarmed woman, made him want to fly across the room and kill her. 

“Keep the paths cleared,” she said, turning away from him abruptly. Just like that, he’d stopped amusing her. “I’m meeting with the princess of Scythia in a month and I don’t want her stranded in the ice.”

Lucien might have told her it was impossible to keep ice off the roads , but Amarantha knew that. She merely wanted something to punish him for later—some warning she could call back to when she made another absurd demand of him. Lucien nodded his head, bowed deep, and retreated back into the hall. 

He knew Elain would want news of her sisters and if he asked, he’d arouse Amarantha’s suspicions. That was something he’d need to get from one of the servants. In the past, Lucien might have gone looking for one of the kitchen girls, cornering her in some dark hall.

That seemed lewd to him now. Elain was in his head, reminding him that he was a prince, and princes didn’t get caught in the serving halls with their pants around their ankles. And a princess likely didn’t want a rake for a husband.

Not that Elain wanted him as a husband, either. Not really—he was merely an abstract concept to her. Lucien wondered what she’d do when she learned he was the youngest son she was planning on. Living in exile, not even Beron Vanserra’s actual son. Or, so he said, anyway. Lucien didn’t know how much truth there was to the rumor his father was actually King Helion of the Western Isles. 

Maybe Beron merely wanted to torture his wife again, and inventing an affair was the easiest way to do so. That certainly seemed like his father. Lucien did think Beron would take Elain, though. As soon as he learned how weak Ellesmere was, he’d be planning an invasion. What better way to solidify his right to rule than by marrying one of his sons to their only surviving princess?

It certainly wouldn’t be to him, though. Lucien had been sincere when he told her to aim for Eris. She’d end up his wife, regardless. Maybe Cadmus, who’d become governor of the new territory with his captive wife at his side, a symbol meant to keep the people from rioting. 

And Lucien would have to flee. Again. 

He was halfway out the door when a hand on his wrist stopped him. Lucien whirled, reaching for his blade when he realized it was the king who’d stopped him. Lucien immediately dipped into a bow, heart hammering in his throat.

“My lord,” he breathed. When was the last time he’d seen the man? Let alone see him looking so clear?

“I need you, huntsman,” he said, his voice hoarse and strangely desperate. “My Elain—my Elain is missing.”

Luicen swallowed his horror. “I…”

“She’s run off. Please—please find her. Bring her home, tell her…tell her I’m not angry. She can stay married, just…just bring her home.”

“I…”

The king's grip tightened. “Promise me.” he demanded, brown eyes searching Lucien’s. “Swear you’ll find her and bring her back.”

Lucien couldn’t make that promise. Elain could never come home, not as long as Amarantha lived there. Lucien almost told the king everything. He nearly confessed what he’d almost done and how the king's daughter was living like a common peasant in the woods.

He couldn’t. So Lucien offered a smile and nodded his head. “I promise.”

After all–he was keeping her safe. And he had to believe that was what the king wanted, above all else. Safety for his beloved daughter, even if it meant he couldn’t see her. The king relaxed, stumbling back a step. Lucien wondered the exact manner of the king's disinterest in his home. Was it truly grief?

Or was it Amarantha? 

That was a question for another day, given the king exhaled a shaky sigh and turned back for the interior of the palace, mumbling something softly under his breath. Lucien didn’t dare chase after him. Not yet, anyway. He’d talk to Elain, first, and see if there was any truth to his suspicions. Maybe there was more to wanting Elain dead than just her beauty.

Maybe Elain would be able to come home if they could untangle it, too.

Lucien set back out, collecting the last wolf carcass he’d set aside for Elain. The pelt could be used to fashion a coat or a blanket if she was so inclined, and he could show her how to cure and dry the meat so she wasn’t dependent on pies every night. Or he could just do it for her—keep himself useful, he rationalized. If only to make sure she stayed safe through the winter.

It certainly had nothing to do with her big, brown eyes or the way she smiled at him. He definitely didn’t want to kiss her. And he certainly didn’t wish her plan to marry Beron’s youngest son was a possibility. No, she was merely his responsibility. He’d forced her out here, the least he could do was help keep her alive. 

Lucien found Elain back in the kitchen, a strawberry pie cooling on the windowsill. When she saw him approaching, rather than frown, Elain offered him a beaming smile that robbed him of breath.

“I was wondering if you’d come tonight,” she said, rushing just out of view to unlock the front door. Lucien stepped inside, wiping his muddy boots on the little mat just inside. Light flooded the once dark space, revealing a rather lovely cottage. Elain had done something with it—rather than just cleaning it, she’d begun to decorate, too. Where had she found so many flowers, he wondered?

Jurian had clearly come by, given a squashy, stained yellow couch now sat in the once empty living and dining room, and a braided rug brightened the room. Firewood had been ignited, crackling merrily alongside a host of candles in chipped glass jars. 

Shelves had been carefully nailed into walls that were no longer yellow from dust and time, but a rosy pink decorated with hand painted daisies. Lucien counted little books, the spines worn and cracked, along with more candles and jars of dried herbs and spices.

“I made a stew,” Elain told him proudly, pulling at the white strings of the apron tied around her yellow and red dress. She’d twisted her hair off to one shoulder, the curls hanging sweetly against her neck. The heat of the kitchen made her face seem rosier, pretty against her fair skin. “I need you to taste it.”

Lucien offered her a smile. “Alright, princess.” Not admitting that he’d taste anything she offered him. She offered him space to set down his pelt, folding it carefully on a little coffee table in the middle of the living room.

“If you give this to Jurian, he could have it made into a coat for you. A blanket, too,” he added, thinking she might need something warm to sleep beneath when winter arrived. “After dinner, I want to show you how to preserve some of this meat.”

“That would be wonderful,” she agreed, ladling thick stew into rough metal bowls. “I’ve been making good use of the deer you brought me.”

Who knew it would take less than a month for Elain to fully acclimate to her new life? Lucien had been around a lot of noble women in his life, and didn’t think any of them would have accepted their new circumstances half so gracefully. There was an innate optimism to Elain Archeron that he admired. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he joked, eyeing that stew. She’d made a couple meals for him, none of which had been excellent. And Lucien was in no position to complain, nor willing to pay Elain anything but compliments.

She saw right through him, regardless. Elain always knew if he truly loved something she made or if he was eating it because Lucien had learned not to turn down a free meal. He set the cuts aside, washed his hands before she could scold him again, and made his way back to her.

Like always, Elain waited for him to take the first bite. Lucien coughed without meaning to, pepper lodged in his nose. Elain sighed, exasperated.

“I knew it was too much,” she complained, spoon clattering to the table.

“No!” Lucien choked. It was a little much, but certainly not as bad as the salt debacle from three days earlier. “It’s good, I was just unprepared for—”

“I thought cooking was going to get easier,” she said, elbows on the table. “But I keep making mistakes.”

“You’re still trying, though,” Lucien reminded her. He plucked a piece of deer meat from the stew, letting her watch it fall apart in his hand. “And your meat is much better than it was the first time you cooked it.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. The recipes Jurian brought me don’t say how much seasoning to use, so I’m just…guessing.”

“You’re going to figure it out,” Lucien assured her, taking another bite for good measure. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re learning.”

“Other people know how to do this as children. I feel…” she ran a hand down her pretty face. “Spoiled, I guess.”

“Trust me. You’re far from spoiled, Elain. You’re learning, and it takes time. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Thank you, Lucien,” she said earnestly, eyes big and wide again. Lucien choked on his next bite for an entirely new reason. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand she stop looking at him like that, with those trusting eyes. And Lucien thought he might die if she took his words to heart and never looked at him again like she was right then.

Like she trusted him.

Like he was worth something.

Special, even.

Lucien did duck his head so she wouldn’t see how embarrassed he was. “Eat your dinner, Elain. I want pie.”

“It’s strawberry,” she said with obvious pleasure. “And I’ve made you a loaf of bread.”

“You spoil me,” Lucien said with undisguised delight. Bread and pie? Did she want a husband? Because at this rate, Lucien would find himself marching back in to Avalon declaring himself a prince and Elain his wife. Perhaps Beron would shield them both in exchange for the secrets of Ellesmere.

Lucien didn’t think he wanted to go back to that place, that life. He was content in the woods and some part of him wished she could find that same peace, too. Maybe if he showed her where he lived up in the trees, or promised her a more spacious home with room—what was wrong with him? He barely knew her and more importantly, she was not for him.

He still worked for her stepmother, after all. 

“Okay,” Elain said, taking her first bite. “It is a little spicy.”

“It’s good,” Lucien retorted, spooning the rest of his food into his mouth. “Stop being so hard on yourself.”

She smiled, cheeks pink. “So…huntsman. Are you ever going to tell me how you ended up here?”

Lucien stood, making his way back to her pot to ladle himself more of the peppery stew. “There’s not much to tell. Your father needed someone to keep poachers out of the forest and I needed a job.”

“Do you like it?”

Lucien plopped back in his chair. “I liked it when I was working for you father. Poachers take too much without consideration of the forest, of the life that already exists here. I don’t like…”

Being asked to murder innocent women. 

“Right,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Actually, I saw him this morning. He seemed clear. I—” Lucien looked at Elain, holding her gaze. “Is he sick?”

“He just never recovered from my mothers death,” Elain told him sadly. “It seemed like he was getting a little better—he even arranged the marriage to my stepmother. I knew he wasn’t happy about it, but he seemed…I don’t know. Hopeful, I guess? Like this would rescue us? And right after he just fell back into his sadness.”

That was exactly what Lucien wanted to know. He believed there was grief there, and it wasn’t such a stretch for him to imagine that his new wife played some role in keeping him lost in a fog. Docile, but alive. She needed him, though to what purpose, Lucien could only guess. 

“Any word of Nesta?”

“No,” he said quickly. “If she was dead, though, we would know.”

As it stood, no news was still good news. After all, Elain hadn’t been announced dead yet, and Lucien knew that if Nesta was dead, Amarantha would be spinning some narrative, too. Maybe not that the future queen was dead, but perhaps she, too, had run away or was otherwise occupied but would return home just as soon as she could.

If Amarantha had nothing to say about Nesta, it meant that Nesta was still alive and capable of challenging any narrative proposed. Lucien was willing to bet on the Archeron sisters. Though they might be sheltered princesses, there was a tenacity to them that seemed to run deep. And if Nesta was anything like Elain, she’d fight like hell. Lucien was certain of that. 

Lucien stayed for more than his fair share of pie, teasing Elain until there was no good reason to stay. He managed to buy himself another hour when he insisted he help with the dishes. Elain talked about everything. Her plans for the front garden so when spring came, Jurian could plant flowers if he wanted (Lucien didn’t dare tell her Jurian would never), and how she thought she could grow vegetables indoors so long as it wasn’t too gloomy. 

Lucien just liked the sound of her voice. He liked her wit and how funny she was, like her little observations. And more than anything, he liked how Elain merely adapted. He’d spent a solid six months feeling sorry for himself when he’d had to flee, but Elain merely made the best of it. No complaints, no feet stomping or tears. Just the sunny belief that things would work out because they must. 

She walked him to the door. “Thank you for all this, Lucien.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. And then, impulsively, he lowered his face swiftly to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Be safe, princess.”

She didn’t move. “And you, huntsman.”

Lucien practically floated home.

#elucien

[timebegins-onopeningday]

October 2023 New Works Round Up

Happy Sunday, everybody! It’s our inaugural new works round-up post, a mere two days after the soft deadline. Let’s do a round up of all the works posted to the collection so far* 🥳

*by Saturday night, when I drafted and scheduled this post.

AO3 | All works | Ask box

New works, in no particular order (link in titles):

spit it out on three by pamlipsestic | Oakland A’s, San Francisco Giants | Zack Gelof/Casey Schmitt

It was in the scouting report, and even if it hadn’t been, the neon yellow custom sliding mitt would've given it right away.

FIX ME A BLUE SKY by hualuo (baiyunli) | Philadelphia Phillies | Bryson Stott/Trea Turner

“Right,” says Trea, feeling like he missed several steps. You’re gonna be good,” promises Stott. “You’re Trea fucking Turner.” He squeezes Trea’s shoulder again, tips the bill of his cap down like he’s letting him in on a secret. His eyes brim with it, crescent moons shot through in hazel. “And call me Bryson, okay?” Trea Turner, on things (and people) he can't control.

our bodies to bargain by sorrellegiance | San Francisco Giants | Sean Manaea & Blake Sabol | neocities 

This is a comic about places and going to them!

step by step by glowfruit | New York Yankees | Aaron Judge/Anthony Rizzo

Aaron's simple request for Anthony to teach him how to cook is not as simple as he might think.

what you want, what you got by powderblu (bluspirits) | Philadelphia Phillies | Brandon Marsh/ Bryson Stott

So yeah, Bryson is a gift giver. That's about the only explanation he can come up with for what's in front of him. Or: courting rituals, daycare edition

we all end in the ocean by Anonymous | New York Mets | Francisco Alvarez/Brett Baty

“Why don’t you come over here for a second,” Eduardo frowned, cringing as he approached Brett. The injury must have horribly deformed him, or something. I’m fine, you don’t need to carry me, he’d wanted to complain, but it was like Brett weighed nothing at all, and no matter how much he kicked and squirmed, Eduardo didn’t falter, carrying him over to the sink. What the fuck? In the mirror, staring back at him, was an orange cat. Eduardo raised Brett’s arm and waved. The cat waved back. Brett let out an ear-splitting scream and the cat in the mirror screamed back, fur puffed up all over. animal transformation au: baseball magic is real and the rays are petty

Unbuttoned by powerblu (bluspirits) | Philadelphia Phillies | Bryce Harper/Trea Turner

Bryce had always told him he'd look good in a Phillies jersey. Now that Trea's on the team, it's time to prove he meant it.

all play no skips by powerblu (bluspirits) | Philadelphia Phillies | Garrett Stubbs/J.T. Realmuto

Some people would refer to what he has going on right now as 'intangibles'.

If I’m not my body by planesandtrainingwheels | Toronto Blue Jays | Danny Jansen/Jordan Romano

He catches sight of the beginnings of a bruise that promises to be ugly tomorrow morning stretching across Danny’s thigh. “You’re insane,” he says appreciatively. Something in him itches to put his hands on it, to brush across the tender purple skin with his fingers - which isn’t a thought he’s ever had before. Oh boy. Danny grins. “Anything for you, Romy.” Or, Jordan Romano, Danny Jansen, and the mortifying ordeal.

The next round-up post will be posted sometime on Sunday, November 12, so if you need a new deadline, aim for the North American morning of November 11.

Under the cut: October Challenges for readers and creators + 3 questions for creators (for your WIPs or completed works) and a bonus side quest for readers!

October Challenge for readers: Before the November post, comment on THREE works you haven’t commented on yet! If you’ve commented on them all already….king shit, because it’s been two days. Go get a boba to celebrate and watch some postseason baseball.

Bonus Readers Side Quest: If the creator of the work allows it, create a moodboard for one of the works you enjoyed and post it on Tumblr. Tag @timebegins-onopeningday so that I can reblog and of course make sure you link to the work and tell the author too!

October Challenge for creators: Every week until the November post (on the 12th), do the following:

Writers, add FIVE sentences to your work.

Artists, spend FIFTEEN MINUTES on your work. 

Podfic? Five minutes of editing or ten minutes of recording. Something else I’m not thinking of? Adjust accordingly to your medium.

Creator Questions: Answer in the notes, send an ask, or just post on your blog and tag @timebegins-onopeningday!

Which player in the work inspired you to put them in the boba shaker of baseball rpf and why?

What is one thing you want everyone to know about your work that didn’t (or won’t) make it into the final work?

Without spoiling anything, what part of your work are you most excited for people to experience?

That’s it for this month! I hope you all enjoy the works that have been posted - I’m still making my way through them, but I’m loving what I’ve read so far. Remember to leave comments if you read, and to treat yourself kindly as you create.

As always, ask box is open and anon is on. I can also be reached at rpfisfine@/gmail.com 🌞

#baseball rpf #fic rec #round up post

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Pet - a Malevolent fic

Arthur loses John.

Hastur loses Arthur.

Yellow does not deserve what happens here.

A Malevolent podcast AU one-shot.

AO3

———

“You cannot defeat me, Arthur Lester.”

He knew that. He’d always known, known ever since he was a child, known the way death stalked him, the way pain craved him, the way suffering seemed to follow his scent like some trained dog.

He’d known in the prison pits, known in Carcosa, known on his way up the Dancer-sharp stairs. Denying deities hadn’t protected him from them, and receiving care from a friend only meant that friend would die. He knew… but he didn’t have to accept it. “I can’t defeat you,” he sobbed. “But I don’t have to let you win.”

What? said John, who was the King, who wasn’t responsible for this, who’d had the bad luck of being shunted into the eyes of a guy pursued by Suffering.

“What?” said the King, who held all the cards, who thought he’d won the moment he’d tracked them down, who'd probably never lost a day in his life.

“That’s what Daniel told me," Arthur managed. "John, it wasn’t that 'life is loss.' He said, ‘You cannot defeat it, but you don’t have to let it win.’”

Arthur…

They wanted him so bad. The suffering, the pain, they wanted him so bad.  “I know what this dagger is for.”

Don’t!

Death could have him. Death could win. And if that happened, nobody else would. “Goodbye, John.”

 No!

“NO!”

And then it all grew so vague.

He hadn’t expected it to (Save him! ) hurt as much as it did. He’d thought, somehow, that the cut would be ( “Leave him and come to me!” ) one of those experiences where the pain grew in the offing, where it got worse by the moment. He’d been gutted, for fuck’s sake, torn into by a weird fucking lake monster, practically burned ( Save him first!) in a sandstorm, poisoned, bitten, scraped…

This was a different hurt. A deep one, a shocking one that took his strength, and he knew even as his hand betrayed him that it wasn’t going to be good enough.

It figured, somehow, that in the moment, Death would betray him, too. He couldn’t breathe. It hurt so much, burning and aching and throbbing and pulsing. 

“It seems you just missed your jugular,” said the King, sounding so pleased (won), so amused (he’d won), almost fond . “But a promise is a promise.”

The ground fell away and everything spun.

His head hurt like it had been smashed with a brick. He couldn’t hear John ( the King had won ), and thought, Maybe Death has me after all, and really hoped it was true.

#

Arthur woke alive. “Son of a bitch!” he wheezed like a broken drill, and slammed his fists into whatever he lay on—

And found they were shackled around the wrists, with moderately heavy chains that jangled as they hit.

And found he was on a bed, and his throat felt horrible, but it was… bandaged? He touched it tenderly, movement slowed by the weight of the chain he had to lift with his arm. The bandages were silky, soft, not a material he could immediately identify.

He was still blind. 

Come to think of it, all of him felt pretty horrible. Bruised, from head to toe, weirdly flattened , as though he’d been drained and left somewhere like a broken hose. But he didn’t smell like he had. That was really damn clear. The clothes were soft—zero scratchy bits, zero tugging where threads had pulled and stuck. He smelled nice, whatever the scent was. Yet another thing he couldn’t identify.

(And some bitter part of him wanted to laugh because of course he’d been cleaned of three solid months in a godsdamned pit, because his jailer wouldn't want to smell it.)

He tried to sit up, felt like his entire abdomen might be ripping, and lay back down. A little shifting discovered shackles on his ankles, too. 

This was bad. Awful. Alive. How badly had he lost? How badly could he still lose? Was he being watched? Was… “John?” he managed, even his whisper sounding terrible.

Nothing. John was gone.

Arthur’s lips trembled. He couldn’t stop the tears, but he’d be damned if he’d sob for whoever might be watching. And if it was no one… well, Suffering and Pain were there. Tailing him, as usual.

John was gone.

Arthur turned his face to the side, fighting not to make any further noise, and grieved until weariness took him back to unhappy sleep.

#

He woke in the same position except his pillow was still wet, and felt like maybe he hadn’t ever had water in his life.

He burned, fevered; every muscle ached, traitorous. His throat… he wanted to cry again. He would have, except it felt like he’d be losing even more fluid if he did, and he wanted to die, but surely there had to be a faster way than this.

“You know, this isn’t how I thought it would go?” said Kayne, and Arthur startled.

“What?” he managed, sounding somehow even worse than he had. 

“I mean, I hadn’t at all thought you’d use the dagger on yourself. Oh, darling boy, that won some points. Won’t lie.”

“Help me, Kayne,” Arthur said, because it cost him nothing, because he had no reason not to ask.

Kayne laughed.

It was a terrible laugh. It hurt, somehow, shook him, made his teeth feel loose, vibrated in his bones in a terrible way that reminded him keenly of being mortal. Arthur cried out, and his throat hurt.

“Oh, oh, careful, no, no, don’t blow that out… it’s barely sealed, you know. He did the bare minimum,” said Kayne brightly.

“What?” Arthur managed.

“ You’ll become my personal pet, hurdy-hurr, ” said Kayne, quoting the King, making Arthur shudder with memory of that horrible promise. “I mean, he’s sort of done that, but like, the pet that gets chained to the doghouse outside and left to starve to death.”

“What?” Arthur said again. His head spun.

“I mean, he’ll probably get to the skinning eventually, ” said Kayne. “I look forward to that? Not the skin part, because who the fuck cares, but the you part. You’re just so…” He inhaled through his teeth. “ Defiant. Not what he’s used to! Not what any of us are used to, but well, that’s why humans are just so neat . You never know what you’re going to get. Herculean strength! Diogenean irreverence! Arthurian defiance!”

Arthur was struggling to stay out of the darkness now, to stay awake. “Where is he?”

“Of whom do you speak?” said Kayne like this was the best joke in the world.

It hurt so much to talk. So much. “You know who,” Arthur said anyway, because… because…

“Oh, he’s gone,” said Kayne. “Absorbed. Eated like a cookie. Digested. Part of that sexy Peacock juice.”

It didn’t matter how stupidly Kayne phrased it. Arthur understood. He began to cry.

Kayne let him cry and began humming—offensively, a song Arthur had written himself, and heard on the radio performed by more famous people. 

Nothing mattered, now. Nothing. John had said he’d fight, and Arthur believed he did, but… the King had won. He won. He won. John couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be dead. He…

“I didn’t say dead , beloved," said Kayne. "I said gone . He’s absorbed. Fucking with Blondie’s head. I mean, why do you think he left you in here in relative comfort instead of the skinnening? Skinnennenning. Skinnening.”

“John,” Arthur wept.

There was no response at all.

Whatever. Arthur didn’t care anymore. He’d lost. “Kill me.”

Kayne laughed. “Why?

“You like killing,” Arthur managed.

“Yeah, but only when it’s the right time , and you, my little sugarplum, aren’t ripe yet.”

Whatever that meant. Arthur had seen dogs tied to the doghouse and left to starve, yards filled with shit, wood chewed on because the dog was desperate, the eyes of the animal completely crazy, its ribs pronounced. 

Whatever. John was gone. Whatever. 

“Now, where’s that fighting spirit?” said Kayne. 

“I have nothing,” choked Arthur. 

“Now, that’s not true! What if you had him to fight for again, hm? What would you do then?”

It wasn’t a serious question, so Arthur ignored it.

“Oh, I’m serious, sweetie.”

And in a moment of misery, of abandoned-hose thinking, Arthur said, “What, you can bring him back from the dead?”

“You want him back?” said Kayne, syrupy sweet.

Arthur couldn’t stop crying. “Yes.”

“You love him .”

The King had said that, too. “Yes.”

Kayne sighed. “I like you. I liked when you shoved my dagger into your throat. Tell you what, hose-boy: I’ll make you a deal.”

Arthur shifted; the weight of the chains held his arms down, as if to highlight that he’d grown weaker. “A deal?”

“I’ll put him back, right where he belongs! I mean, you’ll still be here . And of course, you won’t get your eyes back. We both know you only have eyes for him!”

Put him back? Kayne could put him back?

But they’d be here . Trapped. The King would just take him again. “And… and freedom.”

“Mmmm… no? No, that’s dull. No, I don’t think so. Ooh. Ooh! Ooh, but I do know what I’m gonna do. Oh, yes!”

Arthur couldn’t help his hitching breaths, his broken voice. “What?”

“John comes back, owns your eyes, as he always did, you get your body back… but! He. Remembers. Nothing.”

How was this a deal in any way at all? “Nothing?”

“Nothing! No first meeting, no memories in the Dreamlands, no path towards humanity. Nothing. Oh, and don’t worry… part of this little shit-cluster means Blondie can’t take him back. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I… but he…”

“Oh, Arthur! This is going to be so much fun. ” And Kayne disappeared with a pop.

What? What had just…

Arthur tried to lift his arms and could not. He let out one, small whimper.

That… ah. That’s painful, friend, came a voice so familiar, so kind, so not right. What has happened to you?

“John?” whispered Arthur.

The pause. The pause told him everything. Of course, lied the voice.

“No, you’re not,” said Arthur, because John was gone, and what else mattered, and Suffering and Pain were still here listening to everything and drinking it all in, and Arthur’s breath hitched.

Now, calm down, said the voice. You’re right; I’m not John, whoever that is. But I am a friend. The only friend you have right now. You’ve been through the wringer, it seems. 

He couldn’t do this again. “You’re not John. You’re… fuck.”

Eloquent.

“Shut up, just…” His voice hitched. “John is dead. You’re… I don’t know what you are, but I suppose the same kind of thing.”

Which is?

Arthur's breath hitched. “A fractured piece of the fucking King in Yellow. I don’t know why… why did he…”

He?

“Shut up, just shut up!” Arthur couldn’t yell; his throat was too wrecked, what came out was almost like an angry tea kettle. He sobbed, voiceless.

Moments passed. We appear to be chained.

“The King did it.” 

The one of whom I’m a part.

“Fuck you.”

And who was John?

Tiny, but somehow clear, Arthur said, “My friend.”

And then this room, whatever it was, began rumbling.

Shaking. It was a train sound, a behemoth sound, a sound that made Arthur’s sapped brain and strained nerves scream, run-there-is-a-predator , but he could not even sit up in the bed. Whatever it was would have him.

What… what is…

Wood crashed open, presumably a door hitting the wall so hard it splintered, and—

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” bellowed the King, grabbing Arthur up with things that were not hands , and Arthur’s arms wrenched back as the chain’s length ran out. Arthur shouted, bent the wrong way, shoulders popping. The King in Yellow growled.

Oh… said the voice in awe. You.

“Return!” commanded the King.

Arthur groaned. His arms, he suspected, were about to come out of their sockets.

I… I can’t.

“Now! I command it!” the King growled, pulling harder. 

Something in Arthur’s left shoulder popped.

The voice in his head cried out.

The King dropped him. Arthur bounced on the bed, gasping, unable to pull his arms forward again.

“How?” said the King. “How did you…”

What's happening? cried the voice. You! Take me back!

“I can’t!” the King bellowed.

Arthur’s breath came too fast. “ Murderer. ”

“Thief,” the King replied.

“Murderer! You killed him! You killed John!”

That something-not-a-hand grabbed his face and turned it toward. “What have you done?” the King in Yellow whispered, and suddenly, suddenly, Arthur understood. The King may have won, but Arthur… had not lost. Not with this going on, he hadn’t.

Part of this little shit-cluster means Blondie can’t take him back.  

Kayne was suddenly Arthur’s favorite person in the world, and Arthur began to laugh.

#

The laughing did not calm things down.

The King kept shouting, sounding increasingly desperate and furious. The voice in his head kept shouting, sounding increasingly desperate and despairing—and crying out whenever the King did anything that hurt Arthur’s left side.

Shaking Arthur changed nothing. The King broke his arm; Arthur screamed, then laughed again.

The voice could not leave.

Blondie can’t take him back. Was it revenge? As close as a mortal man could come. “That’s what you get!” he contributed to the conversation, wispy and filled with phlegm.

The King finally decided this wasn’t working (which it was not) and stormed out, leaving him there on the bed, body aching horribly, throbbing with pain.

Leaving Arthur with his new guest.

No! the voice cried. Come back! No!

“Oh, shut up,” said Arthur. 

The voice was terrified. Gasping. Making straining sounds. Let me go! Let me go!

“I never put you in there, you whacko,” said Arthur. “Leave if you can. That Kayne guy’s the reason you’re stuck. I had nothing to do with it.”

Kayne? Wh… who the fuck is Kayne? Another friend of yours?

“No. Fucker. He… I don’t know what the fuck he is, but he’s more powerful than your King in Yellow.”

Nothing is more powerful than the King in Yellow, said the voice with deep, nearly sensual awe.

“Masturbatory,” pronounced Arthur.

The voice growled. It was so… little compared to the King’s.

Arthur laughed at him. “That’s what you get,” he said, and tried to shout it. “That’s what you get! Murderer!”

He’s not a murderer! Don’t you dare speak of him that way!

“I’ll speak of him however the fuck I want. He killed my friend. He…” And Arthur was crying again.

It took him a moment to realize that the voice was crying, too.

The soft hitching in his head… almost voiceless, but not quite. Such a broken sound. “The fuck is your problem?” Arthur wheezed, and his throat just felt so bad , like it was tearing, like it was—

He left me. He left me here with you. Why… why did he leave me?

And Arthur almost said, Nobody would want you, you fuck, but his throat betrayed him.

He started coughing, choking on blood; he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow the blood, like it had nowhere to go, like the very pipe in his throat had severed. It wasn’t relief. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to die. Tears sprung, joining the pink froth in his mouth; it would just be suffering, more suffering, more pain—

Ph’lloig, said the voice. And cast magic.

Arthur wasn’t prepared. John had never done this. He’d read esoteric texts, beheld things that would drive humans crazy, exhibited a wild knowledge of beasts and wraiths and monsters… but he’d never done this.

It surged through Arthur’s body from his eyes like some kind of electrical current, bringing singeing pain and then singing relief. He was suddenly able to swallow some blood and hork up the rest, which was a terrible process, but he could . His throat… 

His throat felt so much better.

The voice was… sniffling?

“You…” Arthur was shocked to feel his own voice again, smooth and sweet, undamaged. “You healed me?”

Sure, it said, distracted, like it had been no big deal.

Arthur lay there and stared at nothing. The fucking stranger had healed him. “Why did you do that?” he said, finally. 

You were choking, and you ask me that?

Yeah. He asked that. 

Would John have done that, in the beginning?

Probably, he tells himself, if he’d remembered how. “How did you cast magic through me?”

I… when I looked at him, at him , I remembered so much, said Not-John, so much yearning in his voice that it made Arthur’s heart ache. I remembered so much, and then he took it away.

In a moment of insanity, Arthur said, “I don’t suppose you can get these chains off me.”

The voice was silent for three tight breaths. Why would I do that?

“Because that Kayne guy made sure you can’t go back to the King,” said Arthur. “And the King is going to torture me. He’s going to skin me, over and over.”

Maybe it’s deserved, the voice rumbled.

“You’ll feel it too. And it isn’t deserved. I didn’t do anything to him.” Arthur’s voice broke. 

Why would I help you? said the voice, as if it just hadn’t done that. Like it had just reacted to his pain, his fear. Just reacted, not thought it through. Just… helped.

This wasn’t John. Not close. But it wasn’t the King, either. “We need to get out of here. I can’t… I don’t want to suffer like that, and neither do you.”

But if he’s done this, we deserve it.

“No,” said Arthur, voice cracking. “He did this because John wouldn’t go back to him.”

Why wouldn’t John go back to him?

“Because he didn’t like who he was with the King. Because he’d done wrong things. He was trying to… learn what it was to be human.”

Human!

“Yes. Human.” Oh, he ached. Tears slid down his face. “He’d grown so much. He… John was the best… anyone I’d ever met, he…”

Low, thick, the voice said, I’m not fucking John.

Pain and rage wrestled in his gut as if he’d swallowed evil weasels, but Arthur could not focus on them now. “No, you’re not. But you healed me, and you didn’t have to.” 

The voice said nothing.

“Get us out of here. We need to get away from him.”

I belong with him.

“He can’t take you.”

I don’t care who this Kayne is! the voice declared. He can’t defeat the King in Yellow!

Arthur sighed. “Except he already did. You’re proof enough of that.” He couldn’t believe how much better his throat felt. “Thank you. For healing my throat.”

The voice was quiet for a moment. You’re welcome.

“What’s your name?” said Arthur.

I am the King in Yellow.

“No, you’re not.” Arthur found he could sit up. Whatever had torn in his stomach had been healed, too, and he ran his fingers over his abdomen, the chain rattling.

I am the King in Yellow!

“Well, I’m not fucking calling you that, so you’d better think of something else,” Arthur snapped, and tried to get out of the bed. No good; the chains on his legs weren’t long enough. He tried to feel along the chains and find where they was attached.

I… but that’s who I am, you peasant.

Arthur laughed. It turned into tears quickly enough; John would never have said anything like that, and might have laughed with him, and never would laugh again, and Arthur was not okay , but. But. “I’m from America, asshole. We don’t have kings there.”

This is the Dreamlands, moron, and we do.

“I don’t care.” Arthur couldn’t reach the bottom of the chain.

It… The voice sighed. They’re bolted to the floor.

“Fuck,” said Arthur. “Okay. Use magic. Blow them off.”

No.

“You want to be skinned? Because he’s going to. He said so. Very clearly.”

He wouldn’t, if you’re actually innocent.

“He would.” Arthur swallowed. “He snapped my legs.”

The voice breathed faster. What did you do?

“Nothing. Fuck you.”

You must have done something terrible, said the voice as if to himself.

Arthur sighed. “I provided harbor for John. That’s all it took. And I promise you, he won’t be kind to either of us. Can you get me free or not?”

Not-John was silent for a long, terrible moment. If I help you, I am saying I am not on his side. 

“You already aren’t. It’s… maybe it’s not your choice yet, but that decision was made for you. We need to leave.” Arthur tried; he pulled at the chains. He twisted the shackles on his wrists, trying to force them over his hands. 

The voice sighed. Yellow.

“What?”

Call me Yellow. I will earn back the title of King.

“Sure. Yellow. Can you free me or not?”

Silence.

Arthur held his breath.

Ch'nglui'ahog , Yellow rumbled like a passing train, and the shackles fell off. Just opened, wrists and ankles, pop. 

Not John. What could they have done if John had remembered magic… “You’re powerful, I guess.”

And you’re weird . Your body receives my magic in ways it shouldn’t.

“Sure.” Arthur slid out of the bed. “I need you to be my eyes.”

Excuse me?

“I can’t see. Didn’t you notice?”

No, I… you tricked me!

Arthur snorted. “Fine. We’ll do it blind. Suit your fucking self.” He walked, hands out, and found the wall. “Is there a window?”

We can’t just leave! We… the King in Yellow…

“Is our enemy through not fault of our own,” said Arthur, who didn’t fully believe that, because his choices had a fuck-ton to do with it, but Yellow didn’t need to know that. “We have to get out of here.”

Window. To your right. About six of your steps.

Arthur felt along the window and managed to get it open. “What’s out there?”

The Dreamlands. We are in Carcosa, the city of the King.

“Is there a guard?”

No. We can’t do this, human. He will be angry.

“He’s already going to torture us.”

Human…

“Arthur. My name is Arthur Lester. And he already did torture us, though it wasn’t anyone’s fault.” His stomach twisted; arms and legs, snapping, the burn of internal bleeding—he would not forget.

I will help you if you agree.

“To what?”

I will be whole someday. If we do this, we find a way to reunite with the King. If you do this in good faith, Arthur Lester, I will help you escape, and then I will ensure you are not punished further.

Wow. Wow. That was… a lot.

If they got away, Arthur had absolutely no plans to ever come back. But if he admitted that… “Deal. It makes sense to me.”

All right. And Yellow just believed him, and sounded so relieved. Out the window. We will land in some bushes. This is not a prison. The King clearly didn’t expect you to escape.

So this felt not great. Yellow believed him so quickly. It was like lying to a kid. “Then surprise’ll be good for him,” said Arthur, trying to tell himself that this would work, that Yellow would, like John, be glad he left the King in time. And somehow, by a miracle, he pulled himself up and out that window.

He did indeed fall into a bush.  It was prickly. “Ow! Fuck!” Arthur was barefoot. Whatever he was wearing was thin, and probably not suited for public. “What time of day is it?” he said, thrashing in annoyingly pokey leaves.

We shouldn’t do this. Yellow sounded scared. He’ll imprison us truly. We’re making everything worse.

“Worse than murdering my friend? Than breaking my bones? Than chaining me up and ripping my arms out of their sockets?”

Yellow was silent.

“Please tell me where to go.” He had to convince him. Getting away with the piece of the King in Yellow was the only revenge he could have for John’s loss. “You’ve already got my word. Tell me where the fuck to go.”

Ahead. Yellow’s voice was heavy. The city slopes down from the palace to the lake. There are many roads out of Carcosa, but the least populated will be across the lake.

“Got a plan, then,” said Arthur.

Why did he leave me? Yellow whispered.

And Yellow had healed him. And Yellow was so weirdly naive. And—“He didn’t want to. He had to. Kayne gave him no choice. Kayne said you can’t be taken back. That’s what he said.”

Why?

It was a heartbroken wail. Maybe they’d both lost someone, in a way, though Arthur could not emotionally connect losing John to losing the King in Yellow . “I don’t know.” He stayed crouched by the bush while Yellow processed, and began working the bandage around his neck loose. He could feel the scar there, edges rough, skin weirdly rubbery, and his stomach turned again—but the wound was well and truly closed. Yellow had healed him.

A tiny twinge of guilt squirmed deep inside, like a parasite.

All right, Yellow said. All right, Arthur Lester. Proceed straight. It’s very early in the morning; I don’t know what happened, but no one is around.

Arthur knew what happened. Kayne happened. He said nothing.

Our best bet is going to be slipping down to the lake and stealing a small boat and getting across the water. If you truly want to be free, Arthur Lester, then you need to enter the Dreamlands and run for all you’re worth.

This would not be heading home.

Arkham. His job. His office. His life. His… dead partner.

He couldn’t face Parker dead. He could not. And if he went home, the King would know where he was. The Dreamlands really were his only chance right now. “All right. Thank you.” Trusting—though this was not John— he walked.

Left just a little. Good. Yellow sounded as sad as if his best friend had died.

Arthur knew a thing or two about that. “You have my left arm.”

And your left leg. I can feel them both.

“Okay. We can make this work.”

If you say so.

“He wanted you, Yellow.” Arthur stumbled slightly. He wasn’t sure what the hell was wrong with him, giving this reassurance. “It wasn’t a choice.”

I believe you.

“You don’t sound like it.” Arthur kept walking, trusting.

He hurt us. You’re right. It didn’t matter that I was innocent; he hurt us. Oh, the heartbreak in that voice… I guess that leaves me with you.

“Go spit,” said Arthur.

You. Are you my vessel, or am I your fire?

What the fuck did he do with that? “Let’s go with partners.”

Maybe I prefer pet.

“Fuck that. We’re partners. We’ll figure the rest out as we go. You’ll make it home, and so will I. But we have to get out of here first.”

All right. Yellow believed him, oh gods, Yellow believed . You’re about to reach a road. It leads straight down to the docks. We have no chance of staying unseen on the way there, but we can disappear once we’re across the lake.

Oh, they would stay unseen. Yellow didn’t know the city was empty, denizens murdered. Arthur wouldn’t tell. He would also, if he had any say in the matter, never fulfill his promise. “Thank you.”

Keep moving forward. I hope you’re ready to row.

Kayne had called it his fighting spirit. Arthur just called it getting away. Would this work? He had no idea. Would it punish the King enough for John’s loss? Impossible to say. Did this give him a chance to get his own back against the fucking King, no matter how it ended? Yes. Yes, it did. Even if it required sacrificing the voice in his head, whatever that meant.

Though he… hesitated. Yellow had healed him. Arthur couldn’t seem to shed the guilt. This was complicated. “Warn me before we get to the water.”

Don’t worry, Arthur Lester, said Yellow, soft and sad. I will.

#

They’re gone.

Hastur inspected the twisted, ruined shackles, the metal torn like taffy.

I told you he’d outsmart you.

“Fuck,” said the King in Yellow, low. “This fool wouldn’t leave you behind. Why would he do this?”

John knew that was true, and stayed silent. Why had Arthur left? It was for the best, he told himself. It was . Even if it felt like it undid all he suffered, staying apart, fighting himself.

“I will find him,” warned the King. “And when I do, everything he went through to this point will seem like play. ”

I told you you should have been kind to him. He’s worth it, you fuck.

The King did not answer that. The thoroughly ruined bush showed Arthur’s initial exit, but from there, he’d left no sign. Arthur was lost in the Dreamlands. 

The King would find him. It was a matter of time, and then—

Fuck you, said John.

“We will fix this problem,”   warned the King, and floated out into the city to seek for any hint of where the thief might have gone.

#malevolent au #malevolent podcast #malevolent fic #arthur lester #yellow malevolent #john malevolent #kiy malevolent

[cassioppenny]

so uh post apocalypse legends unova idea that takes place in the far future

after the events of bw1 hil went searching for n and one day gets sucked into a wormhole while riding reshiram or zekrom. probably decided through a question asking if the player thinks truth or ideals are more important when your creating your character or something.

anyway hil gets amnesia and forgets basically everything but their name and the only part of their previous life they still had was a light/dark stone in their bag.

they wake up to a little girl named m who seemed to be living in the forest hil crashlanded in by herself. hil decided to have her tag along with them because a) leaving a child alone in the post apocalypse is a horrible idea and b) something about her is weirdly familiar to hil

the two of them meet the laventon of the game basically ress. ress is a researcher who wishes the find the truths of the worlds secrets. she speaks very monotonely and robotically and is generally extremely blunt. after hil helps her capture the starters (squirtle, fennekin, treeko) she offers to hire them to help her with her pokedex project. because it's the post apocalypse it's extremely hard to get your hands on technology so you're back to paper pokedexes and handmade pokeballs.

she takes you to the underground city neobassa that was made from abandoned subway tunnels. it's the jubilife of the game and where hil and m live. in neobassa there's many people who can meet like chili's descendent who runs a restaurant, the city's mayor who's elesa's descendent, and also kid your age named gris who works part time at a store.

there's something oddly familiar about gris to hil but they can't put a figure on exactly why. hil tries to befriend gris but they're initially not very excited by your company. they eventually open up a bit to eachother eventually and become good friends. they are also the one who gives hil bounties to go on since their store has a request board. they're also m's baby sitter. their boss is hugh's descendent

south of neobassa is the scraper forest which is where castilia city was. all of the building have been overgrown now looking more like a forest than a city

the purple, red, and yellow areas i don't have a lot of ideas for but basically imagine those areas but fucking destroyed basically. i do have an idea for a scene where hil finds the remains of their old home. maybe they find a note from their mother or something that'd be pretty funny

in the north east in the kingdom of plasma where the people worship n as a god live. other than neobassa it's the only place they has people actually living in it. it's very medieval in design and the residents fully believe that the reincarnation of the hero king n will create a new world

most members of the church live in the kingdom of plasma but there are certain individuals who live in other parts of unova. these are the wardens of this game. im not sure what their title is but they basically serve the same purpose.

some of them that i can remember are:

viola descendant who's the warden of a unova gogoat. he mostly spends his free time painting the hauntingly empty streets and overgrown buildings of the scraper forest

clay descendant. i forgot what pokemon she's in charge of but she was a former bounty hunter who was forced into becoming a warden as punishment for attempting to assassinate the church's leader. she spends most of her time finding cool treasure from the ruins instead of actually doing her job

grimsley decedent who's in charge of an unovan sharpedo. forgot literally about everything else i made about them oops

a certain blue haired man named james who suddenly appeared with no memories of his past. he's in charge of an unovan pikachu evolution. aka the pikachu line i gave to neela i originally thought of the concept for this lol. his closest companion is a skitty

a man who seems to have some sort of history with ress. i forgot what pokemon he was in charge of but he's a reckless man who charges head first to whatever he decides to do and has an idealistic worldview. his name is col. james thinks he's annoying as hell

there's ten total but these are the ones i remember since i had this idea since like april and most of the lore is written in notebooks i lost and my brain. the leader of the church is a man commonly referred to as V. much about him is shrouded in mystery other than he was the one who fortold the prophecy of the reincarnation of n remaking the universe. he's seemingly interested in hil after learning they fell out of the sky one day however he keeps his identity a secret instead having his wardens try to convince hil to join them. also V has the opposite stone

so uh yeah!! uh autism be upon your something idk if anyone wants to ask any questions go ahead

#hilbert #hilda #ocs #idk what to call it im thinking legends kyurum but that might be done too often idk #pokemon legends genesect

[vro0m]

vro0m's rewatch - 179/332

2016 German GP

Last race before summer break!

Okay so. Nico has been the fastest every session of the weekend. Apparently, he had an electrical issue on his first hot lap during quali but still managed to put in two good laps under pressure afterwards while Lewis made a mistake. So yeah no surprise he's on pole, Lewis ended up 0.107 behind him. Then it's Daniel, Max, Raikkonen, Seb, Valtteri, Hulkenberg, Perez and Massa. Lewis hasn't outqualified a teammate on this circuit since 08, btw. 

He's acting very chill during the parade, saying he doesn't have a strategy to go against Nico because he likes being spontaneous. He also agrees with Buxton that the RedBulls and Ferraris are closer than they've been to them since Monaco. 

For some reason, Seb has taken part in a "seat swap" with an ambulance driver. On a track. After giving each other advice, Seb gets to drive the ambulance and the ambulance driver gets to drive a Ferrari 488 gtb for a lap. The ambulance driver, in the Ferrari, does a 2.17:00. Seb gets impatient in the ambulance, it's not fast enough. He turns the sirens on. And he does it in 2.10:48 lol! 

Meanwhile Daniel is praised for his form during the season by the skysports journalists, although he seemed to have had a moment after Max won his first race for RB. And in parallel we're told of Kvyat's demise. He was out in Q1 and has given a honestly kinda heart wrenching interview during which he seems at a complete loss as to what's happening to him and he's obviously battling tears. Horrible. The journalists are questioning RB’s system that has a high turnover and chews and spits out young drivers at a high rate. Nothing has changed to this day. Brundle says that's also the system that gave him his chance to begin with so he "can't complain too much", because he’s an asshole.

In other news there was a strategy group meeting and here's what came out of it : from that weekend onward the stupid team radio ban was lifted ; quali sessions will be stopped in case of double waved yellows (remember the controversy with Nico?) ; from the next season, there will be standing starts in case of wet conditions after a safety car period at the beginning of the race (huhhhh? So they go for a few laps behind safety car THEN do a standing start??? weird af I guess we'll see if it really happens…) ; and they can't make changes to the car during red flags periods in races (this one must have been overturned since then). Simon also explains there will be no halo in 2017, actually. 

There's an interview with Max where he explains some of his overtakes to Anthony. Interestingly, we hear he's been getting a bit of heat from a number of other drivers, especially older ones, after some of his moves in the last race, that really pissed off Raikkonen. His position on it is “if it had been against the rules I would have gotten a penalty”. Brundle claims it's just what happens when "the new king arrives" and the same thing happened with Schumacher. Everybody agrees, including Max in his interview, that the move was on the limit.

Nico also gave an interview. Brundle says in Sochi he introduced him as the man who couldn't stop winning. At that point he'd won 7 in a row, and since then he's won 1 in seven races. He asks what's gone wrong. Nico says the opposition has had a cleaner run since then, especially Lewis, and that's who he should ask what's changed. "For sure. Something's changed with him," he chuckles. He's not worried, that's how it is in sports, it ebbs and flows. He feels great. The battle stays great. He's a bit frustrated about Hungary because he'd been better all weekend at everything except in turn 1 and that's what made the difference. It's down to details. He's talking so much jesus. He says he's got over it in a couple of days and he's ready to go again. It's his home race– second home race of the year. Brundle asks if he's watched that turn 1 and what he thought and he says of course you can tell in hindsight I should have done this or that but in the moment it's difficult. Brundle asks if he was more careful because they've made contact recently. No. Lewis was beside him and he couldn't shut the door. "Because if he's there, he's there." He says then it's up to him to brake later and go on the outside or something but Lewis braked much later and got it right. "You can see his car all over the place but he just managed to get the corner and… So, fair play."

Brundle says Lewis has tapped him on the track and poked him in the press conference in Hungary– Nico interrupts "what did he say? Oh yeah." Brundle answers anyway : about the double waved yellows. "Oh yeah yeah." – "Don't you sometimes just wanna–" Brundle continues but Nico interrupts again : "It wasn't a poke in the rib, it was just a… A bit of a…" he sighs, makes a face, "I don't know, a wrong picture that he gave. Which I felt the need to correct," he smiles. "Don't you get angry, doesn't he make you angry?" Brundle asks. "No, for sure no. Because I've learnt to make sure I focus on my job." He says all he thinks about is getting his job done and not what Lewis does. "That wouldn't be the right approach." Brundle reminds us he signed a contract for two more years, which means with the current year 3 potential championships. What is he gonna do to beat "this guy" and win a title? "Well you know he's a, he's a great driver so it's always gonna be a big challenge, and I never expect it to be easy against him but the challenge is awesome that's what I race for you know?" (I mean that's also the reason you stopped but I enjoy the tragedy of it.) "You know that better than anybody else, don't you? That you just love being up against one of the best out there, it's great because that's where the biggest thrill comes from when you know you've beaten a great opposition." Brundle says it sounds like he still thinks of himself as not as good as Lewis. "I'm not gonna say what I think in my mind I'll keep that to myself but don't worry I'm feeling good," he chuckles as Brundle tries to get him to talk anyway. He says he's excited to race here but he's also aware of the fact that he's beat him the last two years. So he needs to try to up his game to turn it around. Brundle asks if he thinks it feeds Lewis' confidence when he says he's the benchmark. "It's not my aim obviously to feed his confidence so… Let me know if he says yes, cause I'll change what I'm saying then." He chuckles. "Are you too nice a man to beat him?" Brundle asks. "That discussion is a bit strange," he says, and I agree. "3 races ago I was too mean a man, now I'm too nice a man, then it went back again to mean, it's like, I don't know where you're coming from." He's amused. He says he attacks as he needs to to win races.

Brundle asks what are his strengths and what are Lewis weaknesses, where does he see an opportunity. He shrugs, raises his eyebrows. "You give me some ideas. What do you think?" As Brundle thinks, he adds "maybe I can confirm them". Brundle says "I don't know, he has got relentless speed, hasn't he?" Nico says that's a known fact. Brundle continues : "In racecraft he seems like he's a bit stronger than you sometimes, you seem like you're– thank you for the question so I'll go through the answer." Nico laughs. Brundle claims Nico thinks about the weekend more and is more cerebral about the way he goes at it where Lewis is more instinctive (we've talked about how that's bullshit and probably racist before at some point). Nico jumps on the opportunity to say maybe the infamous yellow flags are a good example : he knew exactly what needed to be done to make sure it was safe but get the best out of the situation. Brundle says he got a bit of hate on twitter for saying he admired the move and his racing instinct– Nico interrupts : "but it wasn't instinct, it was prepared!" Brundle is surprised. Me too because it makes no sense, it's not like he could have foreseen it. He asks how he prepared for it then. He says it's just knowing the regulations. So he's just still on a campaign to defend that he obeyed the regulations and they don't say what Lewis said they do, I guess. 

Afterwards, Ted is talking with a journalist, Michael Schmidt, who apparently knows Nico very well. He asks him about who Nico is both as a driver and as a person. Schmidt says as a person he's very well educated, maybe too correct. Ted asks him to elaborate and he goes on saying that you need to only think about yourself in this business, all great champions do. They agree that Keke didn't care about anybody and Nico's different from his father. He repeats Nico is very well educated and a good driver "but I think he had to work very hard, to learn a lot, to drive a lot to come to the level whereas somebody like Lewis it's his natural talent, he doesn't have to work as hard to be as fast as Nico." I can't emphasise enough how much I hate this rhetoric. Prompted by Ted, Schmidt agrees Nico might be a little too soft, in some cases. He gives Hungary as an example, "Lewis intentionally driving slow" and adds "I think Nico would never do that." Arguable. To beat Lewis in the same car, Schmidt thinks Nico needs lucky circumstances, or maybe bad luck for Lewis, or Lewis "coming into a mood where he is distracted". He says if Lewis is in good shape and Nico is in good shape, he doesn't think Nico has any chance. 

Oh! We see baby Mick during the anthem! He was 17 then.

Anyway. Time for the formation lap. 

And they're racing! 

Oh holy shit. Lewis takes the lead, and he's followed by the two RedBulls into turn 1! What went wrong for Nico? Seb also overtakes Raikkonen, while Max has overtaken Daniel. Lewis has a solid lead very quickly into the first lap, while in the background we see Nico cutting on the grass as he tries to overtake Ricciardo. The Ferraris are battling it out closely behind. Now Nico is under pressure from Seb. At the end of the first lap, Lewis is 1.3 in the lead ahead of Max, Daniel, Nico, Seb, Raikkonen, Valtteri, Hulkenberg, Jenson, and Massa. Nico attacks Ricciardo again, they're wheel to wheel, Daniel has the advantage of being on the inside in the next corner and pushes Rosberg off a bit but not completely enough that it would be considered aggressive. Nico is told to remember the plan for the first 4 laps, but surely that plan was based on the idea he'd be leading, right? Meanwhile Max is told that Lewis has been told to look after his tyres (don't know if it's true) and so they will do the same for now. When we come back from the many, many start replays, we see a bit of front wing on the track. Shortly after we see it comes from a contact between Haryanto and Wehrlein. Verstappen complains of the rear tyres. 

It's lap 10. Lewis sets the fastest lap. He's 4.3 seconds ahead of Max, followed by Daniel +1.6, Nico +1.2, Seb +2.3, Raikkonen +1.4, Valtteri +4.2, Hulkenberg +2.1, Jenson +1.9 and Alonso +1.7. Verstappen pits and Mercedes also calls in Nico, rather than Lewis, in their attempt to try to catch Daniel. It's not a great stop for Nico, 3.5. Ricciardo pits, he's still ahead of Rosberg. Raikkonen complains of his tyres. It's hammertime! And Lewis comes in. He gets on softs, meanwhile Nico was put on a second set of supersofts. It's a good 2.5 stop. He's still in the lead of course. Raikkonen pits. Nico is told he's on plan B (lol). Lewis asks for the gap and is informed of everyone's strategy : Max and Nico on supersofts, Ricciardo on softs like he is, gap to Verstappen 5.8. Nico is closing on Daniel. On a replay we see an issue with Raikkonen's pitstop.

And it's lap 20. Lewis, Max +6.7, Ricciardo +1.3, Nico +1.6, Seb +4.7, Raikkonen +4.6, Valtteri +7.6, Hulkenberg +4.1, Jenson +4.3, and we never saw who was in P10 because we cut to replays. I feel like this is gonna be pretty straightforward and kinda boring to the end. Verstappen is unhappy with his tyres. Yeah really not much happening, those on the soft tyres have the better strategy. Massa pits and he's had contact in the first lap and he's been struggling since and they're now keeping him in for a looong time, checking the car. He leaves again. It was a 19.5 stop. Nico comes in as well. 2.6. Seb is complaining about blue flags as usual. Verstappen pits to cover Nico, while Nico was told to push hard. And he attacks Max! He pushed him wide! Max attacks back but can't make it. He's still very close though. Then slowly falls behind. Ohhh okay. On the replay it gets shadier. So Nico catches up to him on a straight and positions his car on the inside. Just as he does so, Max makes a slight move to cut him off, one of these twitches that he often does and are… Well… controversial?

It's too late to close the door on Nico so he keeps going straight instead and brakes further in the corner, then brings it in towards Nico who had to adjust his trajectory due to Max's move but also maybe somewhat purposefully takes the corner slightly wider than needed, and that's how Max finds himself off track.

As soon as the corner is done, Nico makes room for Max to rejoin the track.

Of course, on the radio, Max says Nico pushed him off. Yeah he did. Also you did try to cut him off lol. It's under investigation. For some reason Linkin Park is there.

Anyway all that happened on the 30th lap. Lewis, Daniel +11.5!, Seb +8.5, Raikkonen +2.7, Rosberg +2.4, Max +1.0, Valtteri +10.6, Hulkenberg +3.1, Jenson +7.3, and Magnussen +16.4. With this type of gaps it might get really really boring. Seb pits. Lewis is told things are kicking off and he should keep the pace up. Where, Bono? Where is it kicking off? Please tell me. Rosberg is attacking Raikkonen, so maybe he's right and then there's a second investigation for pushing someone off involving Grosjean and Magnussen. Raikkonen pits. And that's a 5 second time penalty for Nico! Oh and Ricciardo pits and gets the supersofts again which is extremely weird because they're not working well and degrade very quickly… Lewis pits as well 2.2, also on the supersofts… Nico is not happy with the penalty. "Can you explain to them that I was full lock on the steering wheel and I couldn’t steer more. And he moved in braking, that was the big problem. That’s completely not allowed." He's right about the moving under braking thing being very shady. It doesn't allow you to push people wide though. Crofty says Max did move and then realised Nico was there and stopped his move which is what I saw as well. Lewis is told he's on plan B and most of the field is. Basically they all went to a 3 stop strategy, which explains them being back on supersofts. Shortly after, the engineer reassures Nico : "You’re doing a really good job there Nico. Gap to Verstappen is 3.2. Remember everybody’s one a three-stop. You are P2 at the moment. So just need to pull that gap and it’s yours." Massa is retiring. Now Daniel is catching Max. 

On lap 40, Lewis, Nico +7.4, Max +3.3, Daniel +0.6, Seb +10.2, (Grosjean complains of smoke coming out the car), Raikkonen +3.1, Hulkenberg +19.3, Valtteri +1.3, Jenson +7.7, Alonso +3.2. Daniel overtakes Max, unsurprisingly. Of note, Daniel is on supersofts and Max on softs, and the opposite should be true after the next round of pit stops. Max says he even has understeer on this tyre. Daniel is told Nico is struggling a bit. He is currently very very fast. He's half a second behind. Seb is told to box but he refuses. Nico pits, serves his penalty, gets the softs. They waited more than enough, the stop lasts 12 seconds. Seb is told they need to box to undercut. "They're miles away! Who do you want to undercut?" Verstappen. Who is 8 seconds away. So it’s ridiculous. And then he's told to stay out. Max pits. Lewis pits. Raikkonen pits. As we thought Max is now catching Daniel very quickly. Ricciardo is told to push to make a gap to Verstappen. And he sets the fastest lap. 

It's lap 50. Daniel is closing rapidly on Lewis now, the gap being 7.4. Max is 2.5 behind, followed by Nico +4.9, Seb +4.3, Raikkonen +9.1, Valtteri +8, Hulkenberg +14, Jenson +11, and Alonso +4.8. As the journalists are saying, unfortunately for Lewis, now might be the time when he's thinking about turning his engine down to save it. Ricciardo is still gaining very very fast. 1.6 seconds in a lap. The gap is down to 6.5. Lewis is asking about Nico's best. 6.3. Lewis picks up the pace. He's also on softs while Daniel is on supersofts. The gap goes back up to 8.

Lap 60, almost done. Lewis, Ricciardo +6.9, Verstappen +2.5, Rosberg +6.0, Seb +8.8, Raikkonen +10.3, Valtteri +25.4, Hulkenberg +3.2, Jenson +11.4, and Alonso +3.6. Nasr is retiring but he can't even make it into the box, he stops at the beginning of the pitlane. Lewis reports some spots of rain on his visor. 

And it's the end of the race! 

Lewis wins. He's sharing the podium with both RedBull drivers. Nico is 4th, so Lewis leaves for the break with a 19 point lead. 

"Get in there, Lewis! Great work, mate. Beautiful start, fantastically managed. Awesome race, mate, well done." Lewis thanks everyone. 

Niki says Nico was unlucky and the RB did better than they thought they would. About the penalty he says it was on the limit and the decision is 50/50. He says Nico won't be happy to go into the break with Lewis ahead. 

Lewis is high as fuck, whooping continuously. He has a mohawk? He's jumping up and down. Happy about his start, waving to the grid girls "Hi ladies!" HIGH high. Like flying. 

He kisses his trophy and throws it in the air again. Good spraying. He and the Merc representative drink from their trophies. Meanwhile it's Ricciardo's first shoey and the journalists are very confused by the concept.

Some whistling by the crowd when Lewis salutes everyone in his usual manner. He was very happy about the race. It was pretty straight forward. He says he's proud to be here for Mercedes, he's been with them since he was 13. He says he didn't make any mistakes, stayed optimistic after a tougher day Saturday. 

During Ricciardo's interview, Lewis seems to be waving individually to each of his fans he can see in the crowd. Actually I think there's more Max fans than even Seb or Nico fans here. 

Lewis says he's gonna relax during the break and spend it with his dogs, and family and friends. (He says it in that order). He poses for a photo with both RedBull drivers. Then it's just the two of them as he leaves. 

Post race, Nico says none of the parts of the start were good and he didn't expect to be penalised for what he thought was a good battle. He says he doesn't care about the 19 points, the harder thing is losing the race the way he did. On the replays, Anthony shows images that seem to indicate that he indeed was on full lock and unable to turn more than he did, due to the fact that he braked late because of Max's move. 

Toto says a win is a win and they've won all races so far except the one they took each other out. Great record sheet lmao. He still calls it bittersweet. He says they don't understand what happened with Nico's start and lack of pace, then there was the issue with the pitstop. Apparently they had a stopwatch failure. Damon Hill asks how it is possible that Nico is doing great in quali but Lewis is still disappearing in the distance during races. He says it wasn't always like this, there's a human in the car and you need to feel comfortable in all aspects. He had an awful start, and got penalised. Simon asks if Lewis is going to take his new engine and hence the penalty in Spa. Toto says they haven't decided yet. They're trying to penalise him as little as possible. 

Lewis is still high af. He gets to the media pen jumping like a boy with a huge grin on his face.

He acts like he didn't know the gap is now 19 points but I don't believe him lol. "Wow is it that?" he says. "Holy crap I hadn't even realised. Huh. Awesome." He's completely deadpan. Then he repeats awesome with an only slightly more coherent body language, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. "Oh my god that's really good," he says still in the same conversational tone of voice.

Rachel comments it looks like relief. He says no it's not relief which boy what was it then. You just looked to the heavens hearing it. Either you're a bad actor or a bad liar. Maybe both. He says he didn't know and it's just nice, he was 43 points behind at some point. "What a day, what a great race from me," he says completely naturally.

"I wasn't expecting to be this strong as I was today." He had a great start, Pez has been working very hard on helping him get off the line better and more consistently. "And the work has really paid off so big thanks to Pez and all my guys in the garage" who struggled with him earlier in the year. He sighs. "It felt like we were all doing something wrong, (inaudible) we were just working hard." And it has finally started to pay off. It's a well deserved break. "My engine guys, my engineer Bono and Ricky, those guys are doing a fantastic job as always and… I'm just super, super happy with today, you know."

He says about the day before, when he "personally fails knowing better after his 23 years of driving" (again with the ‘I've been here for a long time’ thing) "you kick yourself and you hope to not do it again". He says that day feels the opposite because he delivered the way he was supposed to. He knew he had pace, he worked the tyres just right, he was never under threat from the guys behind, and no mistakes, he smiles wide, "which was really really nice, no lock up or offs or anything like that so, very very happy with that and…" He looks down and smirks.

"I'm not leaving you with any opportunity to ask me any question," he adds quickly and they laugh. "And lastly I just want to say a big big thank you to my fans, they've been supportive. Fans have turn up here in Germany and regardless of yesterday they've been like 'you're gonna win tomorrow you're gonna win tomorrow' and that positive energy those guys continuously throw at me and show through social media or letters or whatever it is means the world to me so big thank you to them I hope they all have an amazing holiday cause I'm definitely gonna have one," he starts bouncing again and giggling.

Rachel says she has one question if that's alright. "No, no, no," he says. "Just kidding."

She says he shared the podium with two RedBulls and we saw at the end they were pushing a bit and so maybe he had to take more life out of his engine than he'd have liked. How much of a threat does he think they will be in the second half of the season? He says there's a quota which you're able to use with the engine "and I was nowhere near it." He says he turned it down right from the early stages of the race to see if he could maintain and manage the gap to them that way and he was able to. He only needed to turn it up in the last stint when they started picking up the pace and he was looking after his tyres. The gap shrunk pretty quickly and when it got to 6 he thought it was enough, he chuckles.

So he went back to normal race mode and was able to match and then pull away a bit. He didn't need more than that. 

At the end of Ricciardo's interview, during which they watched some replays, they show that while that happened, Lewis walked by and tried knocking his cap off. 

Ohhh and extremely shady moment in press conference : Max said of his battle with Nico "I had to go off the track otherwise we would have crashed" and Lewis was sitting next to him with his head down hidden by his cap so he wasn't audible but Ted thinks he said "yep" and Max then said "yeah Lewis knows what I'm talking about" referring to their own Austrian incident. Like Max’s main racing skill isn’t putting his car in the way and forcing the others not to crash with him lol. Anyway.

In his final interview, Brundle says Lewis didn't feel like he was leading after the previous race because he had to take the engine penalty. Does he feel like he's leading now? Lewis sighs, he's out of breath from the post team photo running. "I feel I'm closer to leading it." He never thought he'd come back from being 43 points behind to being 19 points ahead. "I just didn't give up. We just didn't give up. These guys have worked so hard. Both here and back at the factory." He's super grateful for his engine holding on as long as it is but they do have an engine penalty ahead. "The life that it's led and the laps that I've led with it," it's as good a buffer as he could get in these circumstances. Brundle says it seems like their car isn't as good in traffic (I think? His question was unclear.) Lewis disagrees as in not more than the other cars, there's a lot of turbulence in traffic. He doesn't think their car is more impacted than others but he might be wrong, he says. "Fortunately today I didn't have to be too much in traffic," he smiles. He says it was a bit gusty that day and when you get behind backmarkers you can definitely feel the car being unsettled. But it's not different from his previous cars. Brundle asks if at some point he thought "come on guys, where are you today?" Lewis smiles, then chuckles. "No it was never like that but I was never really under threat which is a really nice thing to think and to know." He told his team to tell him when he needed to pick up the pace because he was managing and he was able to turn the engine back up when he needed to. Brundle asks where he's heading for summer break. "It's gonna be the most amazing summer break all I can say is tomorrow I'll be on the beach sipping on pina colada, enjoying…" He breaks into laughter. "Enjoy the sun! Enjoying, I'll be smiling from ear to ear from today and from these last few races." Again he goes nostalgic, what is up with that in this season? – saying he's been with Mercedes since he was 13, it's his 49th win, he's happy he won on Mercedes’ home turf. Brundle asks if the 4th title is within touching distance. "I have every belief that it's possible to do it, I've got incredible support back in the UK but also around the world from many Brits but also people from different nations." He thanks them to the camera for their love and support. He says he doesn't feel like he could race with a full heart like he did that day if it wasn't for them.

#f1 #lewis hamilton #vro0m's race reviews #2016 #2016 german gp

[notnights]

Random fun acetate ribbun fact? Good fic!!!!

As in this is your fun fact, or you're asking me for a fun fact? (Either way thanks hehe.)

Uh lets see fun fact. I mentioned this the other day but deleted it because I don't like giving away too much about a story though it's technically not spoilers either but like people to figure out the beats themselves. But ehh uhhh:

Its about Kinger and Queenie being the original hanahaki case in the in the story. I dropped a few hints about it, but I don't know how well it came across. It's hard to know what a reader's view might be compared to yours when you know all the twist and turns you put in ya know?

Since we know nothing about those two yet, I kind of threw them under the narrative bus in the sense I used them in whatever way I wanted to help with the story lol. One day we're gonna find out what their deal was, and my fic will be outdated as it possibly depicts them as completely inaccurate. (Imagine they're divorced.)

I was originally going to leave just a single hint in chapter one as a solo; Kinger mentioning he was vomiting up affection. As well as him explaining how yellow camellias symbolize longing; fitting for them in the Digital Circus. They long for an escape; it's their default flower. And then him gifting camellias to Queenie, was meant to imply he was also vomiting up those same flowers.

I however ended up adding more hints in chapter 3 and 4 though. I'll leave those as a surprise to reread for unless folks can't find them and want me to point them out.

This was meant to be evident to the audience, but not to the characters. As every time the couple come up I also have Gangle look at them as a frame of reference. She admires this love they had, that she never saw herself. How nice it must have been compared to this horrible love story she's experiencing now. But she is blissfully ignorant that Kinger and Queenie also had a rough start.

Admittedly NOT as rough of a start as Gangle and Jax did of course. I like to imagine Caine gave them the same prescription but, Queenie was neutral about Kinger before then, unlike Gangle who already resented Jax. And Kinger was kind to Queenie prior to his illness unlike Jax who's been nothing by terrible to Gangle even after falling for her.

So we can assume our King and Queen chess piece had a more typical hanahaki story. A bit reluctant at first, but ultimately became a loving couple. That the second Digital Circus hanahaki couple puts on a pedestal to compare themselves to, without even knowing they also suffered from similar (but less intense) problems.

I also like to think Kinger forgot the details of this event himself. He remembers being sick, Queenie nursing him back to health, him being very affectionate, namely in giving her a lot of flowers. But he doesn't specifically remember the case itself. Maybe doesn't even remember these being connected.

He has vague recallings, such as Caine taping up the door, Gangle showing him rare colored flowers then mentioning Jax is sick, but sadly it's not enough to bring the memory back in full. Just thoughts of "huh this seems familiar..."

Likewise, if Caine forgot, you know poor Kinger did, as I imagine Caine's memory is a lot sturdier than Kinger's. My excuse for Caine forgetting is that, if he's an AI, he still has limitations due to the computer he's attached to. Could be fantasy digital with endless memory and infinite terabytes, but for this lets say he only has so much memory to work with.

So finer unneeded details get deleted to ensure he continues to have space for new ones. Recognizes what hanahaki is, but doesn't have the specific name or exact reference for it until he looks it up again. Doesn't remember who was involved in the original case, or how exactly it was resolved. Just that "we had this before; this fixed it! Somehow!" He didn't delete the memory completely because, what if this happened again! Needs to hold onto a piece of it just in case.

So uh anyways there's the implied and hidden Kinger and Queenie lore in my fic.

And you also may be wondering how exactly was Kinger capable of throwing up you may be wondering? ???? ????

????? ?????? ?? ?? ???

#acetate ribbon

[thesuitelife547]

B1A4, OMG, ONF Google Drive Folders Masterlist (Updated December 6, 2022)

So if any of you have been on my Twitter, you may know that I have (a lot of) Google Drive folders holding different performances that I’ve subbed for B1A4, OMG, and ONF and this here is the Masterlist for them having the links to the folders and describing what they all contain. 

If anyone has any questions, feel free to reach out because I know this is a lot of stuff and it may be hard to find things. The only folder that doesn’t specifically have what’s in it is the Special Folder. But the first section is all of the live performances and then the second consists of the subbed videos that I have and that are uploaded.

I’ll be updating this from time to time, too, so this isn’t the final list and I don’t think it ever will be.

But let me know if you have any questions. Thanks to everyone and enjoy!

- Marisa

MUSIC

B1A4 https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1cBfcm1GTR8RJAkG-CrxvMviAJLowLIbS Japanese albums (3, 4), Do You Remember, Follow Me, Listen to the B1A4, Japanese MV (Happy Days & You and I), Road Trip, Traffic Safety Song, Chu Chu Chu (Japanese), Immortal Songs 2 (It Will Pass, Like A Dandelion Spore, The Flight), The First Day She Cried, Smart Campaign Song, SBS Hope TV Logo Song, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/15bTrPL772g-VfFpS8G1jo7nYpWg4DVTp The Class, BABA B1A4, Amazing Store, JYP Party People, Japan Showcase Live 2011 https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1q5_AtPhJAOZM2nRvG3HZvi5JH35wDzRR Baby I’m Sorry, Beautiful Target, Duet Festival, OK, Rollin’, Sugar Man, Sweet Girl, What’s Going On https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1VIUtCPfey2EEr2nhnkn4h89jKy3758vh A Lie, Baby Goodnight, Mask King, Solo Day, Tried to Walk, 10 Years Later (Guerilla Concert), A Glass of water [Inkigayo & Music Bank], DMZ Special Stage, Lonely & Solo Day [MBC Gayo, Seoul Music Awards], FM Date, Solo Day & If Snow Comes [SBS Gayo], Together [Comeback Showcase], You Are A Girl I Am A Boy [Inkigayo, Music Core] https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1bcZq2cD8mHdU_eazLp4Yc9iFzvLpflL0?usp=sharing Japanese Albums (1, 2, 5), 1000 Song Challenge (Bounce, By Chance, Confession, I Hate, I Must’ve Loved You, Love’s Battery, Lying on the Ocean, Night of the Moon, Only, Yellow Handkerchief, Young You), Immortal Songs 2 (Dance with DOC, Do You Know Rosie, Forgotten Season, In Case You Don’t Come, In Your Arms, Older Sister, One Love, One Ticket, Rain Falling in Myeongdong, Unconditionally, White Love), Japanese Singles B-Sides (BANA Day, Colorful, Drive, Fly Away, Glass of Water, If…, Ready To Go, Who Am I), Lonely, MV (Sunshine, White Miracle, With You, The Way To Find Love [Cinderella and the Four Knights], No Problem [Smart Prison Playbook], One More Step [Introverted Boss], Other World [Bad Guys], Tell Me [Manhole], The Day We Fall In Love), Only Learned Bad Things, Sandeul Solo Albums, ABC Song [Line Song], KBS Gayo Special Stages, Good Timing [Comeback Showcase, The Show], Here I Am [Lovely Horribly], In A Dream [Comeback Showcase, Kiss the Radio, Show Champion], Intuition [MCountdown], It’s Christmas [Haeyo TV], Lingering Inside of Me [The Tale of Noku], Love Then [Haeyo TV, Show Champion], Nothing Better [Sketchbook], Perhaps [Simsimtapa], Prince of the Sea [MBC Gayo], Road [Golden Disk Awards], Star [I Need Love], Stay As You Are [Haeyo TV], The Place Where You Should Be [Music Core], This Time is Over [Haeyo TV], Winter Story & White Christmas [Music Core], With You [Open Concert, Reply 1994 Music Special] https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/18ezSSQ96Mq9cgcJVE9U9Bg9OXFTQj48m?usp=sharing Origine, Origine Comeback Showcase, Adult Diary [Start Up], B1A4 2017 Japan Tour ‘Be The One’ (17.06.16), Timing [Music Bank], Timing MV, Pick Up, Blue Whale [Kiss Episode 3] (19.03.19), The Love of Fingertips MV, Oppa MV

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1RmO0jkWzjf_83jiMr0tWn3BjDe8ahI4C?usp=share_link

Special Folder [Raw] https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1qVF0f3A15Zdts5lEEIOqUv-x20Yf11Pc?usp=sharing Special Folder OH MY GIRL https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1jQk4pYiSWp29PrSt4eb_mlgOk_pyh1Rq?usp=sharing Banana Allergy Monkey, Coloring Book, Oh My Girl, OST (Fluttering Footsteps, I Know, Sarr), Pink Ocean, Secret Garden, The Fifth Season, Echo [Remember Me Showcase], Eternally, Listen to My Word [MCountdown], Walking With (feat. Sandeul) [Girl Spirit] ONF https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1Z40a0KYH-WhJwGjRxf7lY1OPeigTzGxx?usp=sharing ON/OFF, ON/OFF First Showcase, Complete, Complete Second Showcase, OST (Not A Sad Song, Your Day), ON/OFF Japanese Single, Complete Japanese Single https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LH_OtNhAP84ErXL0TI2cLygTPX24BQM2?usp=sharing We Must Love, Go Live, Go Live Showcase, New World [Road to Kingdom], Spin Off, ONF: My Name, ONF: My Name Showcase, MK’s Soundcloud (You’re My Muse)

SHOWS

B1A4

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/18RNNiAKZA_dzlXDD4Dz6_JvarndpSu4q?usp=share_link

BABA B1A4, Celebrity Bromance, Crime Scene, D+B1A4, I Need Romance, God of Music 2, Pikicast Episode 5 

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1-7Dztpvuz27rwrBzmjTpc6uEzikOelZH?usp=share_link

MTV Diary, PC Room Attack, 3 Minute Boyfriend [SNL], Dingo Test, 10th Anniversary - Road, Tei’s Dreaming Radio Clip (16.12.06), Bingo Talk [The Show] (16.12.06), Secretly, Greatly (16.12.11), Section TV (16.12.04), Snack MBTI, B1A4 x Javisi, Music Bank Stardust (16.10.05), Sandeul 1st Mini Album Music Documentary, Show Champion (16.12.27), The Kolor (20.10.22), Today, Too, You’ve Worked Hard Episode 12

ONF

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1DehBbdwFwvXOgWqCujq1kDij4GkiUanU?usp=share_link

On The Run, Blind Date with ONF, The Kolor (20.12.03)

#b1a4 #onf #oh my girl #google drive #text

[illuveterian-archives]

Tale of the Last Illuveterian - Part 5

As a way to distract myself I spent the next few years learning and training. I found a way to summon my family’s entire library into the pocket dimension so I spent time learning my species by species' recent history. I only went back about 8000 years and skimmed to the present from there. I just wanted to know the basics, since I had nobody to teach me otherwise. The library itself can filter through the books for you if you give it parameters to look for. There were answers to one particular question that I desperately needed. So I sat up straight at the table I was reading at and asked it, dreading whatever answer may come my way. “Why didn’t I die?” It came out quite and shaky. A scroll appeared on the table before me, the edges were frayed due to age but it was in otherwise good condition. The text itself was in such an old form of our language that I could barely decipher it. It was a direct account from one specific member of our species. We called him “Mairmoryu Ickmosh” which in english means “Death King”, nobody knew what his actual name was as he never included it in any of his entries. I didn’t know why he was called “Death King” until I read his account at 19. I was probably just too young at 5. Yeah, that’s reasonable. I did manage to update the language in a notepad as I went just in case I needed to ever reference it in the future. It took several days and gave me a headache just looking over it. Here’s roughly what was said, It’s not exact but it’s as close as it’ll ever be.

Something horrible has happened. Everyone is dead. I woke up this morning to find the world around me in burning ruins. Ash coats the sky and the air and if I happened to breathe I would surely be suffocating. Everything is on fire. How I remain unscathed I do not know. Of the 256 of us, I find nobody alive, and I count each of their clothes left in piles where they stood. Outside of our village I see little through the ash. What I can see is destroyed. Bodies of the giants we roamed with lay charred across smoldering fields. Few trees continue to stand where there were once many. Everything I cared so dearly for has been torn from me. I will follow their suit and reunite with them.

His first entry ended there and and and there were faded blue stains along the bottom. From that I gathered that his color was either Red or a blend of Blue and Yellow as Green, since green as its own color didn’t exist until roughly 7000 years ago. Our blood color is directly contradictory to our body color so it’s easier to tell when we’re injured. Sunni and I were both Blue and as twins, we each have one of the optional colors. Mine ended up being Red while hers was Yellow. Another scroll appeared on the table and the one in my hands vanished. Here is what his second entry said.

I have tried many ways. No matter what I try, this cruel world refuses to let me leave and join my loved ones. Every option has failed me. I even tried jumping directly into the river of heat which came from the tall mountain. I woke up in my own bed, partially covered in burn scars, but alive. That was my final attempt, my body now entirely riddled with scars. All I do now is sleep, any time I wake up I injure myself to fall back asleep. I yearn for nothing else but my dearest family. I hope they are at peace. But that is something I will never know of, I suppose.

That was the end of the second entry. The next one was quite a bit newer looking, meaning it was written hundreds of thousands of years later. This is confirmed within the entry itself.

I have not kept records as my ancestors have done, and for that I am ashamed. I have spent all of my time these last 500,000 years allowing myself to do nothing but sulk in my own misery. However, I have now come to the epiphany that I must continue on with my life, make what I can of eternity. If not for myself, then to honor those lost within the disaster, of and not of my kind. The world is still covered with ash, but not nearly as much, and it no longer glows a haunted red of fire. Trees have begun sprouting where they once stood magnificently and small beings not dissimilar to the giants of old have made their way to the fields, now green once more. I will begin keeping meticulous records of everything, as was done before. Though my personal writings will stay separate. Things are looking up and I intend to try and keep them that way.

And he did keep meticulous track of everything going on from that point forward. He wrote about the evolution of species, keeping eyes on the more notable ones. One in particular that caught his eye were these small primates, noted to look vaguely like us aside from commuting on mostly all fours and were covered in fur across the whole of their body. That particular line of evolution ended up leading directly to you humans, which I found out a few years later when I decided to go back and read some of his records. The name given for your species from ours is “Keertoh”, though I suppose that holds little significance. His next entry was then several millions of years later, an exact timeline was not given, but comparing them to his other work, it closest resembles the scrolls that are now roughly 4 million years old.

I have unfortunately neglected to continue my personal writings however I hope my tracking of everything else makes up for it. These new curious beings I’ve been watching continue to look more and more like Illuveteris every year. They now walk upright like us and carry very similar proportions. Their hair is also reduced to majorly just the tops of their heads and some to their faces. I wonder if it is something they have consciously done, to look like us? Perhaps only time shall tell. I have decided that the world is now right enough to bring in the next generation. I have one small child and plan on having more. She’s an absolute joy and the light of my life. The skies are blue and animals of all sorts roam. I share the joys of bonding with my child and will do my best to make sure she knows her roots, as will all my future children.

His next entry is within the same time-ish. It’s written about 1000-1500 years later. He was not as good at remembering to write down his personal life as he was the records he was keeping. Though, I suppose technically it wouldn’t be anybody’s business to know his goings on, so I can’t find a reason to be angry at him.

I have ended up with 25 wonderful children, each growing into themselves as young adults. I enjoy watching them grow and discover everything around them. And I look forward to seeing where they each choose to go in their lives.

The next entry is his last one. It’s fairly short, and the final one is from his eldest daughter. I'll put them together.

Written roughly 10,000 years after: All of my children have each had their own, and some of my grandchildren have as well. Overall between all 4 generations there are now 354 of us. I have 25 children, 243 grandchildren, and so far, 111 great grandchildren. I have begun to watch myself age again, no longer do I look as youthful as my children, but now I begin to show lines of age. I am no longer so sure of what the future holds, but I am incredibly proud of everything I have built thus far. And I look forward to seeing what new future I behold.

My father, the longest reigning king, has passed of old age. I, his eldest daughter, am taking his place, and will be continuing his work. At the time of passing, 23 of his 25 children remain alive, 238 of his 243 grandchildren live, and all 457 of his great grandchildren are alive, with an addition of currently 24 great great grandchildren. He will have a ceremony held this upcoming spring to signify his reuniting with his family at last in our afterlife amongst the stars. He will be greatly missed. 

The final entry then vanished from my hand, returning to its place among the seemingly infinite shelves. Where it sits exactly, I’m not entirely sure. I spent days reading those entries in their entirety. Come to find out, I technically could make it so I could die again, but to do that I’d have to bring the population back up to “stable”. Not only am I currently far too young for that, with the current state of the world it will absolutely not happen, even if I were to feel ready. To bring children into the world to suffer just so I can move on would be incredibly selfish of me. It is something I will not be doing until things change. Which is what I set myself on doing once I was done reading. I stood from the table and made my way to bed. Swearing to start first thing the next morning.

#illuveterian archives #tale of the last illuveterian #raymond illuverteris #archive illuveteris #archives illuveteris #king raymond #raymond #raymond illuveteris #oc story #original character #oc backstory #oc stuff