#Scott sure is a prick isn't he | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mummybear · 4 months

Text

My Brother's Best Friend - Chapter 5 - Unwelcome Visitor

Words : 3831

Warnings: Swearing, Grief, Angst, Anniversary Of A Death, Talk Of Virginity, Degrading Talk And Threats, Protective Stiles And Scott. Think that's it.

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Reader/Sadie McCall, James(OC), Mystery Person! Find out in the next chapter ;)

A/N: So sorry about the wait once again guys! Really hope you like this chapter! Let me know what you think and feel free to ask for a tag if you would be interested! :D

Chapter 5 - Unwelcome Visitor

Stiles doesn’t even try to stop you when you leave your room, and you have to force yourself not to look back. You hold back the urge to ask if he’s coming. Whatever his reasoning, you need to get out. If he’s acting this way because he needs space, then he can have it. Nothing else matters today, you have somewhere more important to be. You can’t let yourself get distracted by anything else.

Today is the anniversary of Callie’s death. You’d promised yourself that every year on the day of her death you would go to her grave, to take her flowers and tell her about what was going on in town and in your life. After all, you’d made sure to be with her for every birthday celebration when she was alive, why should the anniversary of her death be any different.

Last night you’d planned to tell Stiles about your scheduled visit after breakfast, but right now, with everything going on between the two of you, the distance could be good for you both. Besides, food is the furthest thing from your mind. As you enter the kitchen the entire room falls silent, and you can feel the ball of nerves that sits at your throat, like a heavy weight that never leaves. Wringing your hands together, you take one look at the plate of food on the table and sickness sweeps through your stomach.

You feel someone take hold of your arm and you turn to face your mom. She gives you that all knowing look, that she gives better than anyone. She pulls you over to one side, as far away from the others in the room as possible.

"What happened? This isn't just Callie, is it?" She whispers, more than aware of just how many beings with super hearing are around.

Swallowing thickly you feel the tears pricking at the edges of your eyes.

"Can we do this later? I promise, I won’t bail, I just need to get out of this house, I need to get some air.”

Sighing deeply she shakes her head gently. You can easily see the worry in her gaze and the guilt of making her worry causes you to hesitate a little.

“It’s okay. If that’s what you need to do right now, sweetheart, then just be safe. Call Scott or me if you need to speak to someone. Just don’t shut us out, okay?”

She pulls you into a tight hug and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Never, I swear. I’ll be back later, okay?”

You can’t face anyone else, so with a final goodbye to your mom you head out. Maybe the others knew not to even try to talk to you, since nobody even tries to stop your escape. You inhale deeply as the fresh morning air hits you in the face, you put on your headphones and select the playlist that you’d updated earlier in the week. Slowly you make your way to the cemetery, trying to ignore the thoughts which want to invade your mind. It’s a peaceful morning, where only a select few people wander the streets. A lone tear rolls down your cheek as you step through the entrance of the cemetery, and you make no move to wipe it away as you slowly make your way to Callie’s grave.

You smile softly when you see her grave coming into view. There are clear signs that people have been here recently, probably her parents, maybe even her grandma.

You sink to your knees right in front of the headstone, gently brushing away the fallen petals of the flowers which have been left behind. You carefully pick up one of the photos that’s leaning against the gravestone.

The tears come thick and fast, because it’s a photo of the two of you. One of the last ones you’d taken before her death, and your heart breaks all over again.

“Hey Cal, here we are. I can’t believe it’s been a year already,” you sigh softly, looking up at the sky briefly, before you allow yourself to look back at the headstone.

“So much has changed since… you’ve been gone. Especially in the last few days. Honestly it’s been kind of crazy. I guess I’m still not one hundred percent sure that I didn’t dream… well… all of it,” you chuckle to yourself as you wipe your eyes on your sleeve. “I need you now more than ever, God, I need you.” You let out a shuddered breath before continuing.

“That’s selfish, I know. I just miss you, so much. I miss your smile, your laugh, your advice and constant support. Nobody ever did get me the way you do… did, not sure they ever will again. I can practically hear your voice every time something big happens to me,” smiling at the thought you place the photo back against the headstone. “Things have definitely escalated with Stiles, to say the least. Beyond anything we ever talked about. I still can’t wrap my mind around it all.”

Remembering your other best friend, another wave of grief hits you.

“Josh still talks about you, all the time. He’s just full of regret, Callie. I know you probably don’t want to hear that, I’m sorry. But we both are, though his reasons are a little different to mine. I know you would lose your mind with what I’m about to tell you, if you were here.”

You smile fondly, thinking of her crush on Josh. “He wishes he’d told you about his feelings for you. Before that awful day that turned everyone's lives upside down. Before everything went wrong…. and you were taken from us. He loves you so much, I’m not sure he knows how to cope with the situation.”

Tears roll down your cheeks once again, showing no sign of stopping, as you wipe your arm across your face. Doing your best to focus on her name written in stone right in front of you, though it’s blurred with your tears.

“We both wish we’d been there to save you, to help, hell, to do something. I’m so sorry, Callie. I should have saved you…. somehow.” You whisper hoarsely, feeling the unbearable ache in your chest.

Pulling the letter from your pocket just like you have on every visit, you place it under the flower pot, in the small hole you’d made. Knowing that Callie’s parents likely read these letters every time they visited. You’d made no secret that you’d been leaving them there, and every time you returned the previous letter had been taken away. The amount you came to see her might seem strange to some people, but you couldn’t help it, maybe that would dwindle a little with time, though right now it felt like the right thing to do.

A shiver wracks your body as a gust of frosty wind blows through the cemetery, the bushes around you rustling. You wrap your arms around yourself, resting your head on your bent knees.

“I swear this gets harder every time I come here, Cal.”

You stiffen, feeling a presence behind you, without needing to turn around or even lift your head, you let out an irritated sigh.

“You of all people shouldn’t be here, especially not today. Not around me.”

“You still owe me. It’s been a year, grow a set, Love.”

Fury fills your every thought as you lift your head and quickly get to your feet, turning to face him.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’ve got some nerve, you son of a bitch!”

“You’re still hot when you’re angry, princess. But don’t sass me, and leave my mother out of it would you. You know what I want. I’m here to collect.” He grins at you with those stupid white teeth, and you remember just how dangerous this man is. You’d fallen for his charms when he’d promised to protect Callie, if you went out on a date with him. He’d obviously been full of shit, since she was dead. He had seemed like the only option at the time. Scott was busy with the pack, and you hadn’t wanted to bother him over something that might have been all in your imagination. Something which you’d regretted to this day.

“Excuse me?! Collect on what, exactly? You promised me you would protect my best friend, which you clearly didn’t do! Since I’m sitting here at her graveside. So get fucked, James. We haven’t had anything to talk about, not for a long time.”

He’d lured you into a false sense of security when you’d first met. You were lonely, obsessed with your brother’s best friend, who’d never looked at you twice. Then this hot werewolf came along, promising you he wanted to be there for you, that he only wanted to help. You’d been an idiot to fall for it, but he was hot, charming, confident and seemingly capable. You would never fall for his shit again. However, he was dangerous, so you needed to tread carefully. At least that was what the smart part of your brain told you, unfortunately, you weren’t listening to that part, you were hurt, upset and consumed with thoughts of Callie. Not to mention your earlier interaction with Stiles.

“Stay the fuck away from me you scumbag,” you all but growl, your fists clenched at your sides.

James turning up out of nowhere after such a long time, and here of all places had your common sense at breaking point.

However, before you can act you’re pressed against a tree with his big hand wrapped around your throat.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, you ungreatful little bitch?!” he snarls, his face impossibly close to your own.

“You’re kidding me right! She’s dead! You didn’t do shit, James. There is no deal! What exactly should I be grateful for?” You grit out, trying to ignore the pain in your throat when his grip tightens.

He leans in closer, running his nose along the side of your neck inhaling deeply.

“Still just as pure as last time, in all the ways that matter to me anyway.” He chuckles deeply, as he pins your arms above your head with his free hand.

You shiver in disgust as he licks up the side of your neck with a groan, “get the fuck off of me.”

Suddenly he stiffens against you and you jolt in his grip as he rips your t-shirt down to reveal the rest of your neck and collarbone, and you immediately know what he’s seen.

“Who’s fucking touched you. You were supposed to be mine, you whore.”

Before you can even think of a reply a deep rumbling growl fills the graveyard, and you shiver involuntarily in his hold and a whimper slips past your lips. That growl is quickly followed by a few others, but the ground shaking roar fills you with relief.

James tosses you aside and turns to face the pack of wolves who are quickly advancing on you both. Your eyes fix on your brother immediately, the tension and fury coming off of him is palpable. You force yourself to climb to your feet, but you don’t dare to go around James. You know how quick his reflexes are.

So instead you try to focus somewhere else to calm your nerves, but as much as you try to avoid Stiles’ gaze, it’s like a magnet pulling you in, and when your eyes lock his eyes begin to glow purple. You hadn’t noticed that James had edged closer to you until it was too late, and his hand was wrapped in your hair tightly.

“Let her go.” Scott demands as you’re forced to your knees. Scott’s eyes begin to glow red with the power of the Alpha that flows through him.

To James’ credit he does well to hide his flinch, but not well enough judging by the looks on the packs’ faces. Everyone except Stiles, who is now standing at Scott’s side, still focused on you. Scott reaches out just in time to stop Stiles from taking another step towards you.

“What’s it to you? You’re the true Alpha, right? So go find your own bitches to play with. This one is all mine, and she needs to be taught a lesson about what happens when she disobeys me.”

Scott’s smirk is dangerous as he takes a step forward, and you can’t help but wince as James’ grip tightens in your hair.

“Even if I ignore the fact that there’s a woman being held by you, who clearly has no interest. I can’t exactly ignore the fact that she’s my twin sister, and she’s in trouble. So, here’s how this is going to go, you can either let her go right now, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

James remains silent as he stares back at Scott, you try to pull your head away as he lowers his mouth to your ear, “you can go for now. Just know, I will find you again, when nobody is around to save your ass. When you’re all alone again, I’ll finally take what you owe me.” The threat is as clear as the anger in his voice, he throws you forward with so much force you land at Scott’s feet.

Scott reaches for you to help you up, but sudden movement has you distracted as you watch Stiles walk forward.

“You so much as speak about Sadie like that again, and I will fucking hunt you down and rip your throat out. You touch her again and you’ll damn well pay for it. You want someone to blame for the marks on her, you’re looking at him.”

“It was you?!” James spits as he squares up once again, and Stiles just smirks at him.

“Stiles, don’t.” You rasp, stepping in front of him and resting your hands on his chest, until he looks down at you.

His eyes drop to your neck, probably seeing the marks from James’ hands on your skin. His fingers gently touch the skin as his eyes move back to yours.

“Stiles, get her out of here.” Scott demands as the rest of the pack move in behind him, pushing you and Stiles to the back of the group.

Swallowing hard, Stiles moves his eyes away from your neck and to your surprise he takes your hand, gently tugging you along with him, until you start to follow on your own. You’re surprised, but extremely glad that he actually listened to Scott for once without argument.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks hoarsely, as his fingers tighten over yours, he instinctively pulls you closer to his body.

Things still feel a little awkward and strained between the two of you. However, there’s no denying that you feel yourself relaxing now that you’re close again. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop your feelings from this morning, resurfacing.

“Yeah, I’m fine Stiles. Thanks for coming for me,” you sigh softly, looking around the forest as you continue to walk away. The sounds of anyone else, all that noise it just disappears, until it’s just the two of you.

“Of course we came for you,” he sighs in reply, and you drop his hand now you know nobody is watching, and wrap your arms around yourself. Unfortunately the feelings from this morning return completely as do his words, repeating on a loop in your mind.

You scoff, unable to help yourself. You move quickly, coming to a stop causing Stiles to follow suit. Allowing you to walk in front of him, so that you’re face to face.

“Why, because I’m Scott’s little sister? Because I’m your responsibility now? Let me save you the trouble Stiles, you’re under no obligation to save me! I was fine before you decided that I was worth your time, and I’ll be just fine after you leave!” You all but scream at him, feeling the anger surging through your body. Somewhere deep inside you know you’re angry at him, furious even, but there’s a very small part of you that feels as though not all of this anger is being aimed in the right direction, but it’s like you just can’t control yourself.

Stiles looks taken aback for a moment, though you can see that your words have hit their target, and hit hard by the look of hurt that crosses his face. Although he also looks worried, he still steps closer, and you clench your fists at your sides as he cups your cheeks in his hands.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry, Sadie. I was such a fucking idiot this morning, you caught me off guard, and as usual my stupid mouth said shit I hadn’t even processed yet. What I should have said was that I was scared to tell you, of all people, what had happened to me. I was worried you’d see me differently, stop giving me shit, and I couldn’t lose that look you give me when nobody was watching us.” You feel your anger beginning to calm as he rests his forehead on your own.

“I should’ve told you that I was too chicken shit to make a move before all of this happened, that I’ve never been happier to have almost died. And now that I know how good we are together, I can’t imagine being away from you. I should’ve told you that although it’s only been a day and a half, everything with us feels beyond right,” he takes your hand and rests it over his heart, you let your fist unclench as he lifts his eyes to yours, you feel a tear slide down your cheek. “You calm this beast inside me… well in all the ways that matter at least.” He smirks at you and you feel a smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, I suppose that is a much better answer. You always ramble when you get nervous.” You agree with a smile wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer as he buries his nose in your neck, inhaling deeply.

You wince when his fingers brush the bruises forming on your throat, and you feel the growl in his throat before you even hear it.

“He wont fucking get away with this, Sadie. I promise you. If Scott doesn’t make him pay, I will. Nobody should lay their fucking filthy hands on you.”

Trying to lighten the mood a little, you tip his chin so your eyes meet. Doing your best to take the attention away from the thing that’s making his mood sour.

“Well, everyone except you, of course.”

The purple flares in his eyes as he backs you up against the closest tree. You can’t stop the whimper from slipping past your lips as his body presses in tightly against your own.

“Was that an invitation?” he asks gently, tugging your head back by your hair, so that he can press soft kisses to your throat, masking the other man's scent on your body the best way he knows how.

The kisses come to a stop just as fast as they’d started as Stiles pulls away to look you in the eye.

“Why did you stop!? It was definitely an invitation,” you pout at him, trying to pull off your sulkiest look.

He groans in regret, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, “look, I need to say this before I lose the nerve, as much as I hate to admit it, not everything you said this morning can be talked away between the two of us this quickly.”

Swallowing thickly you meet his eyes, “what do you mean?”

He looks unsure of himself as he runs a hand through his hair, settling on scratching the back of his neck.

“We do need to go see Deaton. Sooner rather than later, you do need your options as much as it kills me that this might come back to haunt me. But we also need to find out what else he knows.”

“I was upset, Stiles. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know you were, with good reason. Sadie this isn’t some kind of trick, I just want you to have all of your options. If we keep going, you know, with this thing between us. Then I think we need to fully understand what you’re getting yourself into, and honestly, I really need to know what the hell is going on with me.” Stiles tells you nervously but with so much passion you’re no longer able to argue.

You sigh sadly before wrapping your arms around his neck again.

“I know you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Trust me, I want to slap myself right now.” Stiles sighs, sitting down leaning back against the tree.

You smile and carefully straddle his body, gently sitting down in his lap.

“Okay, so say I agree to go. Will you tell me how long you noticed me watching you?”

You giggle as that playful expression crosses his face and he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close.

“You weren’t exactly subtle, Minx.”

“So how long?” you whisper against his lips.

“A few years. I liked it, you’re so beautiful, so smart, like my forbidden little secret,” he murmurs quietly, softly brushing the hair back from your face.

“You should know it was much longer, I had so much planned for you. Still do.”

“Come on, don’t do this to me, not now. I’ve always loved that bad girl sparkle in your eyes.”

You can’t help but grin, and the thick bulge you’re now sitting on is only putting a strain on your self control.

“And you never thought about making a move?”

Stiles bites his bottom lip as his grip tightens around you.

“Oh, trust me. I thought about it regularly. Things have changed though, I won’t fuck you, or make love to you or mark you, not until we know everything. Then as soon as we do and you make a decision. If you choose me, I promise you, a pack of wolves couldn’t stop me from taking and marking what’s mine.”

You moan at his words just before his lips crash against yours, you get lost in the passion as you grind your hips against his, the two of you holding onto each other like the world is going to end. Suddenly Stiles pulls away and his hands grip your hips halting your movements.

“What is it?” you whisper sensing his distress.

“Someone’s coming, trust me and stay close,” He whispers in reply, carefully getting to his feet, he pushes you behind him.

“No matter what happens just promise you’ll stay behind me.” He sniffs the air and his body stiffens under your hands.

“Oh, Mischief,” a haunting voice calls and a shiver races up your spine, you know that voice.

Tags:

@julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @mogaruke @lilulo-12fanfiction @charmed-asylum @defenderrosetyler @emilyshurley @foxyjwls007 @mylovelydame21 @akshi8278 @peaches0007 @stylesismyhubs @peachyyybabyy @fantasy-myth1 @death-unbecomes-you @coffeebooksandfandom @magssteenkamp @screamxqueenx94 @brien-odylan @riseandshinelittleblossom @ceceliaking-18 @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @missindecision @deans-number-one-fan @onethirstyunicorn @amberboo329 @chewie-redbird @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @ilovewriting06

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #my brother's best friend #chapter 5 #teenwolf #stiles teen wolf #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you

30 notes · View notes

siriannatan · 25 days

Text

Ice and Blood

After some thought I decided to start putting my dragon!Scott propaganda in one place, hope you enjoy :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55694242

It would seem like ever since Xornoth has been sealed away, peace settled between the Empires. Old conflicts forgotten, old alliances drifted apart and mingled with their former enemies until they'd been formally dissolved over a cup of tea. Peace and quiet. Even Sausage and Jimmy stopped quarreling over their quite obvious border in the form of a massive hole.

Well, it was certainly peaceful for a time. Until fWhip got bored and became a menace. Arguing and threatening war at the slightest insult or joke. Even Gem couldn't control her twin’s temper. Leading to tensions being high whenever anyone even just heard his cane from a distance.

After a couple months of that Gem decided enough was enough and grabbed volunteers - Sausage, Jimmy and Scott - to represent everyone in trying to talk sense to him. An hour into the talks it didn't seem to be working too well.

“Come on fWhip, just cut the nonsense threats,” Jimmy signed and the count just laughed.

“Sorry, don't feel like it. And this ganking up certainly isn't helping convince me,” fWhip shrugged. Ever since they came he sat casually on his throne, crown askew on his head, mocking smirk on his lips. He didn't even get up to greet them. What a menace. He was lucky he was pretty or Scott would have frozen him to his stupid chair.

“Why won't we talk alone then? Just you and me?” Scott offered knowing none of his companions, especially Gem, would ever agree.

“Scott you can't be…” Gem started in a hushed whisper.

“Why not, that certainly sounds better than this,” fWhip nodded with a laugh. The pompous prick.

Gem and Jimmy tried to protest but Sausage was smart enough to practically drag them out. Much to fWhip's amusement.

“Finally some peace and quiet, won't you agree?” fWhip smirked, and finally got up from his stupid chair. The clicking of his cane on the hardwood floor had Scott's scales itching from nerves. Maybe being alone with fWhip was a bad idea considering their history.

“Why have you decided to be a nuisance as of late?” Scott asked, suppressing the urge to step back as fWhip circled him. He could not shake off the feeling of being looked up and down.

“Oh, that's very simple, I was waiting for you to come to me. Alone. And now I have you right where I want,” fWhip grinned, stopping in front of Scott, just inches separating the two of them.

“You could have sent a letter,” Scott huffed, holding fWhip's mischievous stare.

“But, darling, wouldn't that be terribly boring?” fWhip's head tilted as his smirk grew, exposing just a hint of his fangs. Since when did fWhip have those? “And I got you here anyway, didn't I?”

“What do you want with me?” Scott asked, lowering the room's temperature by a few degrees. He was not going to be intimidated by fWhip's antics.

“Well, you see, shortly after we dealt with your dear brother I had a little dream. A vision really. Haven't been the same since. You just seem like the kind of person to not be turned away by small things like… blood,” fWhip explained, leaning closer and closer until his face was practically in Scott's neck. He for sure didn't imagine the sharp fangs grazing free of scales skin.

fWhip was of course damn right. Him being a vampire wasn't in the slightest an issue for Scott. Anyone else might have gone looking for a solution not involving biting anyone or a cure. Scott? Scott could not deny how exciting he found the idea. “You might be right…”

Scott barely finished the sentence before he was pulled and pushed to sit in fWhip's throne. “Ouch, watch the wings,” Scott hissed as fWhip clambered into his lap.

“Can I take that as a permission?” fWhip seemed to be present enough to ask.

“What? You never bit anyone before?” Scott could not help but tease him. It was just the two of them there, he didn't need to behave like a proper ruler. fWhip shook his head as he trembled in Scott'sap. “Aww, you've been saving yourself for me? How cute,” teasing fWhip was never this fun.

“Sure, whatever you want to think. Can I bite you?” fWhip grumbled, clearly starving.

“Go ahead but I'll push you off if you drink too much,” Scott agreed but felt the need to have an out.

“You can stay the night if you feel too unwell after,” fWhip breathed out a very tempting offer before sinking his fangs into Scott's neck.

Scott instantly wasn't sure if he could ever push fWhip off. The feeling was simply too good. He could barely hear himself moan from behind the pleasant fog that settled around his mind. Was it fWhip's doing? Some vampire poison to keep pray from struggling? Not that Scott particularly cared at the moment.

After what felt like forever fWhip pulled back. And maybe seeing his lips red with Scott's own blood shouldn't be an attractive sight but Scott felt too loopy to care. “You said you'd push me off,” fWhip instantly jumped into fretting about the half-dragon.

“I'm fine, I cab take you drinking some of my blood,” Scott grinned, no doubt looking like an idiot.

fWhip scoffed at that. “Try standing up then,” he challenged, arms crossed over his chest. He looked awfullya lot like Gem when she gave out lectures on how proper rulers should behave.

Scott, never one to back away from a challenge, tried standing up. His legs held out for maybe total of five seconds before fWhip pushed him back into the chair as he was about to collapse. “Okay, maybe you're right, but it's still all your fault for not just sending out a letter to me,” Scott huffed, pulling fWhip into his lap as revenge.

fWhip glared at him but acot knew he didn't mean it. “You're staying the night, no arguing,” fWhip decided before freeing himself from Scott's hands. “I'll get the kitchen making you something to eat,” he informed and left Scott alone on Grimlands throne.

Scott grinned as he looked at fWhip's back… lower back… He didn't have his cane with him, he thought with a smirk. Maybe he'll point it out later. “Your cane?” He pointed out just as fWhip was about to open the door. Elven king just assumed no one knew fWhip didn't really need it anymore.

And he had to be right as fWhip marched back. Not a word said. Grabbed his cane and walked back. At least he seemed to be in a better mood now that he has eaten.

If on the next meeting anyone asked how Scott got fWhip's attitude fixed, he'd just say ‘charm’. If fWhip didn't want to tell anyone then Scott would play along. Especially if it meant fWhip would bite him again.

#my stuff #my stories #fanfiction #empires smp #empiresshipping #empires fwhip #empires scott #ScfWhip #scwhip

13 notes · View notes

gemandthescotts · 1 year

Text

Wcsmp fae au: Motivation pt 1

Scott's motivation is simple, love. He wants to rule the fae realm so he can get access to the secrets of necromancy to bring back his love. For you see Scott for most of his life was found undesirable, he was born in the scary, dark, creepy unseelie court, in the scariest kingdom of all, Grimwood, he also wasn't born with much power being the second born child so it really wasn't worth it to anyone, additionally being a sorta forgotten middle child compared to Aimsey and Xornoth just sorta left him alone a lot of the time. He thought he was fine with it, until he met him. Not only did they have a lot in common, but they just sorta clicked! After Xornoth's unfortunate demise and the rumors that spread about Scott, he was at his lowest and yet he stayed by his side... Until he couldn't... He needs this

Tiffany's motivation was simple too, it's her duty. Sure she was born a lowly farmer in her large family, but mother nature calls and she can't just let her down. She could question for days apon why, but in the end it wasn't going to do much. This would definitely change her life if successful and if not then she would have to go home empty handed. Most spring fae mind their business among political matters, and perhaps her newness would be her fall, who knows. She certainly doesn't

Eloise's motivation isn't quite simple. If you asked her, she would tell you she just wants to have fun and make new mischief pals. But that really isn't the full story. Her parents died when she was young leaving her to inherit a crown far too big for her head. With no older siblings she was suddenly put in serious pressure not to rule, she was too young for that, but rather the pressure to learn. She gave up her childhood practically to be alone forced to do, what was in her mind, boring things. She never really had friends before and as she is given this chance. Maybe she can both prove herself and find a real family to call her own.

Cleo's motivation isn't quite black and white either. She has explored timeline after timeline of vast world's different from her own, met so many people, but they started blending into each other. She knows there is someone, a person she once knew, that's where the castle came from, that's the place she is thinking of, but she needs to remember. The 3 other time fae want this, sure, but in the end she stands her ground and proves herself to them and she can do the same for those royal pricks!

#wcsmp #wcsmp fae au #witchcraft smp #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #smajor1995 #ihascupquake #soupforeloise #zombiecleo #zombie cleo #you might notice tiff and cleo's were shorter #that's not because i don't have ideas for them i just didn't have to go through politics #also will eventually get to part 2 #:p

42 notes · View notes

percivex · 2 years

Note

could you do English marigold/barberry with team rancher? your writing it just aaaa

Barberry ☠ - Ill temper; Petulance; Satire; Sharpness; Sharpness of temper; Sourness; Sourness of temper

Tango is sitting in front of his son's grave, quiet and head bowed, when Jimmy returns to The Ranch in a flurry of movement.

Jimmy, to his credit, doesn't say anything to disturb him when he realises what Tango is doing, but it's a little hard to ignore him when he throws himself into Tango's side, pressing into him and clinging to his side.

Tango shifts, throwing an arm over Jimmy's shoulder, only slightly disconcerted by his palpable frustration. "What's up, buttercup?" He asks lightheartedly, to show he's open for conversation. His grieving was real - it was almost ridiculous how endeared he had become to the Warden in his short life - but Jimmy was always his priority. He was his other half.

Jimmy grumbles wordlessly, curling closer and accidentally knocking their heads together, which Tango has gathered from personal experience is often a bad thing. There is something surreal about being on the other side of anger. "That bad, huh?" Tango muses sympathetically, rubbing his hand over Jimmy's upper arm, before adding, only half-joking, "Who do we have to kill now?"

"Joel and Etho, and Cleo, and Scott, and- and everyone!" Jimmy hisses, red eyes shining with something uncharacteristic. In fact, he seems startled by his own words, blinking and pulling away from Tango slightly, enough to shake his head. "I- no, no, I don't mean that, I think. Maybe?"

"Come on, talk to me. I can't figure out if you mean it or not if I don't know what caused all this." Tango prompts, trying to tug his soulmate back towards him to comfort him. Jimmy folds easily, leaning heavily into him with a heated sigh. Bloodlust doesn't suit Jimmy, he thinks; it doesn't fit right on his face, and swallows too much light when locked behind his eyes.

"...It wasn't even bad timing." Jimmy mutters eventually, suddenly looking tired and sad, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over him. "They weren't after Grian and Scar at all. Scott and Cleo ordered a hit on us, Joel told me." His eyes narrows, something bitter and sharp laying like barbs over his tongue. "They wanted to kill us. We were gonna die no matter where we were."

Oh.

There is something dark and angry roiling in his gut, and Tango can feel his chest growing hotter, ash collecting in his throat. His temper was bad enough without the goading of Red urges in his veins, and for a moment, that's all he can see.

(There are thorns and blood red berries dancing up his legs, and clustered around a phantom arrow wound on Jimmy's stomach, and Tango wants to prick everyone who had any sort of hand in planting them.)

But then he notices the way Jimmy grits his teeth, pupils closer to pinpricks and wings flared to intimidate an invisible threat. His grip is tight to the point of discomfort, and Tango wrestles with his rage furiously to be able to help calm him, because being angry may be familiar to him but Jimmy being murderous isn't.

Tango understands. Of course he does. Jimmy hadn't been subtle about how guilty he felt about losing their second life, even though they later realised he fell because of a hit Tango took. And now, to find out it didn't matter, because they going to end up dead no matter what?

He exhales heavily, smoke billowing from his mouth, and that's enough to distract Jimmy, eyes flicking up to his face and softening somewhat.

"Well, I was planning on adopting another Warden anyway." Tango says in a forcibly cheerful tone, nodding towards the humble shrine in front of them. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind a bit of, uh, impromptu babysitting."

Jimmy starts to smile, which is already a postive in Tango's book, and his posture loosens a little. "It'll be dangerous to go to the Deep Dark now that we only have one life left." He points out hoarsely, absentminded as if he was only saying it because he was supposed to.

"I'm up for it if you are." Tango replies easily, and that might be a lie, but it doesn't feel like it, not with that itch seated steadily beneath his skin, their skin.

Jimmy is quiet for a moment, before his smile unfurls into a grin. "We're gonna die anyway." There is nothing emotional behind that, a simple fact they both know and acknowledge. "We might as well try to drag as many people down with us, right?"

And Tango returns his grin, all sharp edges and so, so warm, but oddly soothed. "Exactly."

#thank you <3 #team rancher is always a joy to write #i wanted to do a switcheroo and focus on jimmy being an angry lil guy since i've already written some tango being feral #solidaritygaming #tangotek #double life smp #percy writes #plant prompts

33 notes · View notes

scribbling-dragon · 2 years

Text

Shifting Perspective

Chapter 11

Summary:

Discovery

(AO3 Link)

(5,012 words)

He stumbles a little as he lands, the sodden ground shifting under his feet as he scrambles for balance, elytra flaring out behind him as he attempts to steady himself. He manages to rebalance himself after a few seconds, the ground steadying beneath his feet as he stills.

He ducks his head a little, beginning to walk back towards the main area of his empire. His elytra drags in the mud behind him for a few moments, before he picks them back up, unbuckling the harness and allowing it to fall loose around his shoulders.

He gathers the shimmering material over his arm, allowing it to gather in the crook of his elbow, away from the mud that would most certainly ruin it in a few seconds. The buzz of the town has grown closer, and when he looks up, a few of the citizens are stopping and staring at him, eyes curious as he continues to trudge towards them.

He waves his hand at them, dismissive, and they seem to get the idea, eyes darting away and merging back into the crowds, disappearing like small minnows into a shoal. He continues into the town, trying to build his composure back up as be ducks through the crowd, pretending he doesn't feel the watching eyes boring into his back.

He's sure word spread like wildfire, it's not like the Codfather disappearing hurriedly in the middle of the night isn't going to be a cause for concern. He knows the people noticed his departure, but that doesn't mean he has to address it, he doesn't even have to acknowledge it if he doesn't want to. And he won't, he's sure it would create more problems if he did.

He pushes his door open, the hinges creaking slightly from where it had been left ajar. No one bothers him as he steps inside, closing it firmly behind himself and only being partially surprised by the darkness that has swallowed his home.

The lanterns have long since burnt out, leaving the room dark, the only light slipping in through the cracks in his curtains, still closed as though he had been asleep. He hadn't slept that night and he doubts he'll sleep during this one.

Only once he sits down, once he stills, elytra hanging neatly on a hook by the door and silence blanketing the room around him, only then does he allow himself to breathe. Inhaling deeply as his thoughts still, exhaling heavily as they boil back over, every muttered phrase and spat word circling through his head again and again as he sits there.

He breathes again, guilt overwhelming, flooding his lungs like tar, seeping into every crack and crevice and making him feel heavy. It makes it hard to breathe, and tears prick a little bit at the edges of his eyes as he sits and breathes.

It doesn't feel like he's getting enough oxygen in, but that doesn't bother him as much as it probably should. All he can do, all he can think of, are the words he had spat at Scott, the way the other man had recoiled from them, hurt flashing in eyes that were so incredibly wrong that he couldn't help but fear. Yet that hurt had been real, and now, as the image repays in his mind, blue eyes glimmering against the sandy backdrop he feels even more guilty.

He had been injured, too. Casmira below, he had well and truly put his foot in his mouth with that. He'd come after Scott after he had a disagreement with his brother and he had done nothing but make the situation worse. Scott may have been snapping back at him, but what he said crossed an unspoken line. He saw that he had crossed that line at the meeting, and he knew he crossed the line then. But he words were out, and he can't take them back.

He groans, head falling into his hands as he slumps forward in his chair, elbows leaning on the edge of it. Scott had been in the right to send him away, and he'll be in the right for whatever stories he spins on him in his absence. He's sure he would do the same with the opportunity.

He drags his hands down his face, trying to think of a way, any way, to rectify this situation. His mind draws on a blank, and he drags his hands through his hair, finding some small comfort in the tug of it. It doesn't do much in summoning any thoughts, mind swirling with what he could do to heal what he said to Scott.

He can at least admit he had been a bit critical towards shapeshifters as a whole. Maybe a little bit more than just a bit. Maybe a lot more. Okay, might have just been a complete arse about the whole situation, so that could be somewhere to start. But how could he fix that? He doesn't know anything about shapeshifters, and. he's sure asking around would arouse suspicion.

His eyes drift as he thinks, looking absently over the items littering his counters. There's a few empty mugs, probably from when he last had guests around, several papers scattered, ink bleeding from the coffee stains and mug rings imprinted on their surface. He might have to ask the Council for another copy of those legal sheets. His eyes stop on a stack of books, bound with dried twigs and patterned with dyed wool. It doesn't take a genius to guess where those particular books came from.

He sits up a little straighter as a thought begins to form, standing a few seconds later and gathering the books in his arms. The corners poke into him at odd angles, and he winces a little as one digs its corner almost perfectly into his ribs. He shifts the stacks, readjusting them and holding them to his chest.

He then stares at his elytra, still hanging up and not fastened around his shoulders. He sighs, setting the books down and beginning to fasten it around his shoulders, forgoing the moss cloak as he knows it will just dry out and become uncomfortably itchy later on.

He buckles the last strap and gathers the stack of books into his arms. He has to nudge the door open with his foot, gripping the corner of the books as he takes a running leap off of his wooden porch, the planks creaking beneath him as he launches himself into the sky, shooting away with the quick firing of a rocket.

He almost drops one of the books in the ocean, fumbling with it and gripping the small bundle tighter as he swoops over the Prisma Palace. He fires off another rocket, the orange coast of Mezalea hurtling closer and closer as he shoots closer.

He lands, far more gracefully than he had earlier, rearranging the books again and moving the corners away from his ribs again. He feels his gills flare a little as he looks around, alone in the mossy fields in front of the Matral Palace.

"Can I help you?" He jumps, dropping a book as he spins on his heel, looking down at Joel. Only it isn't Joel, because the face that stares back up at him is porcelain, and the eyes don't blink as they stare at each other.

"Can I help you?" They ask again, handing him back the book he had dropped. He didn't notice them pick it up.

"Uh, I'm looking for Joel?"

"That's me." They state, straightening up a little bit. They still haven't blinked. He swallows a little, feeling a bit uncomfortable in the situation.

"I meant the original Joel?" He manages after a moment, swallowing again as the clone continues to stare at him.

"He's right behind you." They look past him, and he turns, finding a significantly more human Joel behind him. Joel grind at him, beginning to make his way over.

"You found my books!" He exclaims, pulling them from his hands.

"You left them at my house."

"No I didn't." Joel dismissed, turning away from him, one hand clutching his books to his chest, the other waving flippantly. His gloves are stained a reddish-brown, so he can only assume the man has been working with his terracotta.

He follows after him, quickly catching up to the shorter man. "Did you need something else?" Joel asks, sending him a small glance.

"Yes, actually." He stops, and Joel stops too, turning and looking at him expectantly, one eyebrow quirked.

"Well?" He asks, after a few moments of silence.

"Can I look around your library?" He asks, after a moment. "I just wanted to look for some things on-"

"I don't care." Joel interrupts him easily. "What's mine is yours, y'know?" He begins to walk away again, before pausing. "And that does not mean you can ransack my vault again. Joel wanted to kill me after that happened."

He stares at him for a few seconds, processing what's just been said, before slowly nodding, beginning to turn towards the Matral Palace. "You're a confusing man, Joel!" He calls, and three voices shout their thanks back, two terracotta clones appearing to aid Joel in moving a stack of shulker boxes.

He ignores the weirdness, instead heading inside of the palace, taking a right as soon as the entryway opens up, dashing up the stairs and almost slipping on the top step, barely managing to catch himself before he crashes into an embarrassing heap on the stairs.

"That would have been embarrassing if someone had seen that." A voice intones from above, and he glances upwards, meeting the eyes of another clone.

"Yep." He says, giving them a tight smile as he stands back up, beginning to continue up the stairs, slower this time. He cringes a little to himself, embarrassment making his skin flush as soon as he's away from the clone, cheeks warm to the touch.

It doesn't take him much longer to find the library, stepping through the open archway, beneath the trailing vines and under the colourful terracotta. The library beyond is vast, and he's sure if it shouted that it would echo for a long few minutes afterwards.

"Can I help with anything?" he's barely through the threshold, and there's already someone behind him. He jumps again, and another clone is behind him when he turns, wearing glasses. He can see that the frames are empty, and they're obviously lacking the need for them. They still wear them though, and when he doesn't answer they tilt their head, glasses chain glinting in the faint sunlight.

"Do you need any help?" They rephrase, a small and jerky motion around the library. "It's rather large, and I've known several people to become lost in here. I'm sure there's a few still wandering the shelves."

He blinks at them for a few moments, before coughing and glancing away. "That's, uh, that's nice?" He manages, sounding a little choked as he speaks.

"Not really." They muse. "One of them likes to scream. Sometimes." They blink, and their face seems to reset, a smile pasting itself onto it. "Was there a specific topic you were looking for? Or just browsing?"

"Uh, I'm looking for items on magical abilities?" He asks, and the clone pulls a face.

"That'll be in our fiction section, then. Follow me." They beckon him, before setting off at a startlingly fast pace. He has to jog to keep up with them, and they simply take that as a cue to go faster until he's almost sprinting after them. They come to a sudden halt in front of a row of bookcases, and he skids to a stop a few paces past them, slightly out of breath.

"The best novels on magical abilities are here." They turn to look at him, blinking. "Any specific magical abilities?"

"Do you, uh, have any books on shapeshifting?" He asks, and they nod, silently turning back to the shelves and rummaging through the books there. It doesn't take them much longer than a few seconds before they're pulling one free and spinning back to face him, book already extended towards him.

"Anything else I can help you with today?" They ask, voice even. The lack of inflection in their tone always serves to unsettle him and this conversation has dragged on too long. He looks down at the cover of the book, brushing the dust away from the cover.

Shapeshifting, and the History Behind It, the title proudly declares. "You don't happen to have anything on the recent elven history?" He asks, looking up at the statue.

Their eyes seem to roll back in their head for a moment, but they blink, and they snap back into place.

"We have one book on that topic." They state, already turning towards their destination. "Apparently the author met an incredibly gruesome end because of the contents."

He swallows a little uncomfortably, but nods anyway, coming to a more dignified stop this time around, watching as the clone pulls a book from the stack, handing it to him. He takes it with a small thanks, not bothering to look at the cover and instead tucking it close to his chest.

He follows the clone out, a suffocating feeling of closeness he hadn't even noticed before dissipating quickly as soon as he leaves the towering stacks of wood behind him. The clone departs quickly, and he doesn't miss their presence once they have left, focusing instead on finding a nice corner to tuck himself into, pulling a small chair into the crack between two bookshelves, wedging it in the gap before he sits down.

He balances the elven history book on the arm of his chair, ignoring the way the whole title page is two names, ink dripping and bleeding slightly. He imagines it is a first, and only, edition. Instead, he turns his focus towards the book he's still holding.

He flicks the first page open, smoothing down the middle of it with one hand, eyes already tracking over the text.

I have read many books similar to my own. Many of which are filled with blatant lies or horrifying depictions of our people. I am here to, hopefully, provide a refreshing new outlook from a first person perspective. Maybe your outlook with change too, especially if you've taken the time to seek out this diamond among the rough.

It's a small introduction, but it's effective anyway, and he can't help but feel intrigue as he turns the page. A large and elegant title curls over the whole page, swirling title proudly declaring the section as history. There are small animals drawn into the title, and he can't help but admire the artistry and attention to detail it shows.

History for the shifter species as a whole is rather clouded. We have no records that go back that far, as no written records existed at the time. It is similar, in that regard, to that of the Natural Mages - they have simply been around since the beginning of time, the magic is so innate that the first humanoids possessed it, though we are unsure if this burden was taken on willingly or not.

Despite the gaping lack of written history, we still have archaeological evidence. There are several fossils and remains that prove the existence of shifters beside other humanoids of the era, ones that would later evolve into current day humans.

However, something that is sorely lacking from this early history are hybrids. They're a common view among people now, we see them dotting the sky with their multicoloured wings and populating our oceans and swamps with the fishfolk. The land dwellers live among us in the towns and villages, and we regard them as equals, but only after the protests that took place from 1IF9 to 1IH0.

There has been mounting evidence now that hybrids originated from shifters. We can only assume that the genes that allowed shifting in shifters either were malformed, meaning the shifting process didn't work as it was meant to and they became stuck halfway, or if they were simply born with these traits. We can only assume that it was one of these, as any other possible theories have been discounted.

He hums a little to himself, mostly in surprise, looking up around himself a little. The sun has barely moved in the sky from where he last saw it remaining heavy at its peak, illuminating the bookcases around him in an almost ethereal glow, dust mites drifting between the pages. He looks back to his book, away from the almost entrancing view ahead of him. He's here for a reason, and he's reluctant to be distracted.

We know very little otherwise about this early history, meaning it is hard to deduce the exact origins of the shifter species; their beginning may even be intertwined with that of the mages, but I suppose we shall never know. Perhaps it shall be better that way.

He turns the page again, the paper making a slight whispering sound, slipping and slithering over each other as it releases a cough of dust into the air. He coughs himself, waving it out of his face and blinking to try and rid his face of it as best as he can.

The most well known part of our history is that of the Deaths. I have not met a single person that does not scorn me for the participation of shifters on that day. I, myself, do not regret my participation. I am proud of myself for what I achieved, even if it brought great sorrow to the other empires. It was just.

It would have been morally incorrect to allow the Gods' treatment to continue on after Aster informed us of their crimes. I was horrified, as were many of my people, and we were the ones to suggest their killings, rather than Aster himself, despite the way the history books love to paint him as the one with bloody hands.

Aster is mostly a pacifist, but even he turned his back on his morals for this, allowing us a gateway into the Spirit Realm with the Gods themselves. He did not participate, he simply gave us an entryway to do our deeds.

I was at the battle with Aeor, and I had to fight for the opportunity to be there in the Great Stags final moments. Many of my fellow shifters wanted to be the ones to kill him after they heard of his listed crimes. He was unnecessarily cruel, and trust me, I am not confusing him with his brother, and he forced his Champions to sacrifice themselves for his own purpose. Neither of the Champions ever survived longer than a day after the final battle, either giving into grief over the kin's blood on their hands or being struck down by Aeor himself.

I watched as Aeor bled out, and I did not feel pity for him then, bathed as he was in gold. I could wax poetic about how it looked like a million suns setting over his corpse, how it was as though the sun had laid her own rays onto him in her grief. But I shall not, because I still do not feel guilt for my actions, and to wax poetic would be to admit defeat to an echoing remnant of a God. I do not regret it, and I doubt I ever shall, even when Merikh is not there to chaperone me into death.

He has to take a moment to breathe after reading that, staring at the delicate penmanship, noting the way it turns more and more jagged as the speech continues in, ink blotting and dripping with the anger of the author. He flips back to the front of the book, thumb holding his place as he reads her name.

Ivanka

It is simple, and he does not have a meaning to put to the name, but he does not care about that. There isn't even a surname to properly identify her, and he can't help but feel as though that was purposeful. He stares at it for a moment longer, gaze absent and glassy, before flipping back to his place in the book to continue reading.

He turns the page again.

I'm sure there is not much else I could contribute other than my own musings. Most of what I say can likely be found in hunter's guides, but I shall repeat it anyway, even though I am loath to admit they got anything right.

The most common knowledge of all is that of a shifter's base form, their natural form, whatever you insist upon calling it. It is simply what a shifter returns to when they cannot maintain their energy. It marks us as different and it is more of a curse than a blessing now. A hunter simply has to tire a shifter out enough, and they will revert, collapsing back into their base form.

Some are luckier than others, lacking anything but slightly slitted eyes and sharper teeth. Some may possess a tail, and the unluckiest of all have wings. Some may choose to live their lives in their base form, hoping to pass it off as hybrid traits, though many choose not to, preferring not to paint a target on their back.

Another part that is common knowledge is colouration. It does not change much between species, remaining consistent as their form shifts and changes. It means we can keep track of each other, but shifters will stick out like a sore thumb among actual animals, meaning they're easier to target.

This next thing, I am not so sure on, it may just be my family, but those with the ability have been closer with nature, it almost seems to aid them as they slip through the forests. Thorns do not snag on them, where they trip and catch hunters. The branches seem to move out of their way and the air currents seem to guide them where they wish.

Leading scientists do not believe that the world is living, but I believe that they are fools to not see it as I do.

I do not have much else to contribute, only that this book may find the right person, and not fall into the hands of those that may wish harm. Though I doubt that will happen. I am unsure if my book will even survive after I am gone, for I have heard rumours about the two elven rulers, Nox and Ghysso I believe are their names, and their cruelty seems to know no bounds.

I can only hope the future I am writing to exists, and that my words are not falling upon silent mountains.

The book ends there, several blank pages following it, and he flicks through each of them, the fluttering sound of the pages almost calming. He sits there, filling the silence with the absent minded flicking of paper.

The information takes a while to process, the neatly compacted facts of shifters that he hasn't truly known before. He looks down to himself, spreading his fingers out until the membrane between them is taut, turning it over slowly, eyes glancing across the scales on his skin.

He thinks, and he thinks hard, eyes narrowed in concentration and gills flaring as he thinks, truly and properly thinks for himself. He doesn't think the thoughts he has heard others have, but he thinks his own.

His origins are based in shifters. His origins are based in shifters, and the two he knows are fellow empire rulers. Both of which he has been rude to- scratch that, he's been horrible to Scott. You don't just wish another ruler dead over something as simple as hereditary genes that they cannot control.

He swallows, stomach feeling heavy. He has been atrocious, and he's only just realising it. He's thought despicable things for years, yet he never stopped to question it. Never stopped to consider basic human empathy.

He curls his hand into a fist until his skin begins to prick uncomfortably. And then he sets the book aside and picks up the next, fingers curling around the spine as it cracks.

Nox and Ghysso, the title proclaims, ink bleeding as though it was written in a hurry, The Cruelty Within a Kingdom

He pretends not to see the red stain on the corner of the book, blinking and swallowing as he opens it. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the red substance coating the inside lage, running his fingers over the tacky and flaking page until he finds the edge, flipping it again.

When he does open his eyes, he's greeted by two portraits. One is of a feminine elf, high cheekbones and an extravagant amount of jewellery covering the whole of their figure. The jewels almost seem to drip from them, and they stare towards the photographer with half-lidded eyes. The plaque beneath reads Ghysso, and he puts a name to the face of an elf he has never seen before in his life.

The elf beside their picture looks similar, a facial structure similar to that of Scott's, and he can't help but find the resemblance between the two, the way their nose curves, the shape of their eyes, even the way they look towards the photographer is the same. He swallows a little uncomfortably, finding too many similarities between Nox and Scott. He thinks, though, if he squints a little, that Scott's eyes are kinder than the elf's he is looking at.

He turns the page hurriedly, the similarities almost making him uncomfortable.

Nox and Ghysso have reigned for a long time. I was alive before their reign, and I was gladdened by the day their predecessor died and they received the crowns. I wish I hadn't been so hopeful, for perhaps, then, I would not have had so far to fall.

They were cruel from the very beginning, there is not denying that. They hoarded food for themselves and the rich, selling it at prices that the working could never hope to afford, never in their millennium of life.

We still had trade from the other empires at the time, and that was how we sustained ourselves, grateful for the sympathy of our fellow empires.

It was here, during one of the harshest famines of our lives, that the brothers were born. Fallon was born first, the next in line for the throne, raised to take the mantle of crown next. They were loud and obnoxious, everything that Nox and Ghysso looked for in a child. They took what they wanted without waiting for permission, preferring to be scolded than told no.

They were raised a brat, someone that had everything handed to them, and I despise them for it.

Ameer was born second, and he was born during a harsh winter, one of the harshest we had since the famine began. Many of the people in my village died that year, and those that survived did not have the strength to bury their dead, let alone remove them from their houses.

Ameer was quieter than his brother, more timid. And for a while, the two were close. Fallon would take the lead, and Ameer would follow behind them, content to reside in their shadow. All the citizens had seen the two running through the streets, clinging to one another as though their lives depended upon it, giggling and laughing as though they hadn't a care in the world. Ameer made Fallon soft, and I'm not sure what it truly was in the end that turned them jagged again.

There had been rumours, for several years, that the nobles and royalty had been trying to revive Aeor and Exor. I was not sure of the truth in these statements, and I'm still not, unsure even now if what I utter holds any truth. But, we saw the meetings that would occur, the nobles shipping their children into rooms they wouldn't escape from unscathed. Some didn't emerge at all.

Once, and only once, when I was delivering supplies to the castle I caught a glimpse into the room these meetings occurred in. The only items within were a pair of antlers, one a deep black, the other a radiant gold. I did not look again, I did not dare, but it was confirmation enough for me.

He's not sure what that means, but he finds that he doesn't want details, staring at the page for a few seconds, trying to ignore the blood that has stained this page too.

Fallon turned on their brother, and Ameer retreated again. You could see Fallon on the streets every day, mingling with nobles far above in age, yet you would be lucky to see Ameer once a year.

When Fallon disappeared, the country did not mourn. They mourned the prince that returned to the public, for he was not the prince they remembered. He would never appear without a bruise or cut, and I am sure the castle staff saw worse than we did.

I only hope that the prince learns to fight back, or takes a page from his brother's book, as otherwise I fear he will end up in the ground beside his predecessors, eons before his time.

He slams the book shut, the noise echoing around the library as he stares ahead. He has heard the name Ameer muttered only once before, and that was from Shrub, during the first meeting Rivendell had bothered to attend in around a century. He swallows again, gills rippling as he looks around the empty library.

He abandons the books in the chair, all but sprinting from the library and out of the front door. He takes off, shooting over the heads of Joel and Lizzie, before making a sharp turn that makes his head spin.

He ignores their shouts after him, only one destination in mind.

#reblogs help more than likes btw <3 #juno.writes #shifting perspective fic #jimmy solidarity #solidarity gaming #empires smp fic #empires smp #flower husbands

34 notes · View notes

mrmallard · 5 years

Text

This is the mark of a garbage politician.

Clive Palmer is an Aussie fatcat who wants to get a foothold in Australian politics with his own political party. He's building the Titanic 2, and he's courting the conservative vote by taking a stand against foreign investors into the country.

I do think that we might have sold Australia out super hardcore to China, but I don't think that Clive Palmer is the right person to sort anything out, or look out for the best interests of Australia. He's a bumbling fool who drew the ire of the Liberal National Party for his loud and stupid statements that advertised his business ventures at the expense of the coalition's best interests - so when the other shoe dropped, he made his own political party to compete with our major political parties.

Clive Palmer is a businessman and entrepreneur before he is a politician, and a vote for him is a vote for big business. The image I've provided shows what he thinks of the Australian people that he wants to essentially be in charge of - thousands of Australians received unsolicited text messages telling them to vote for Clive Palmer, a lot of people complained about him using their private information to send out campaign material, and his response was "it's legal, so I'm going to do it again".

And like our current PM Scott Morrison is an asswipe, sure - his attempts to come across as a down to Earth Aussie bloke come across as alienatingly bad as Tony Abbott at times (repeat the phrase "just like everyone else" as much as you possibly can) - don't get me wrong. Australia isn't in good hands at the moment. But Clive Palmer is probably an even worse choice than electing the Liberal Nationals for a third time, and he doesn't seem to have the Australian people's interests at mind by the way he steamrolls over their legitimate complaints about him to say "It's not against the rules, so I'll do it again!" With the way he advertises through memes and phone games, you would have to be a bottom of the barrel moron to vote for this prick.

Sorry for the long political rant, it's over 40 degrees where I live and I'm stressed the fuck out.

#auspol #clive palmer #united australia party #long post #politics #also quick note - I'm not a fan of china's government or any of the awful spying shit they're doing #but don't take that as me disliking chinese people as a whole - similar case as russia where the folks might be fine but the govt. sucks #to scaremonger against ''the Chinese'' as a whole is fucking deplorable #and I understand that a lot of that sort of racist rhetoric makes its way into complaints against chinese companies #who buy up aussie land #I'm not that hardline but I've started to get worn down by what seems to be a pretty widespread backlash against privatization of australia #feel free to like dispute my 'selling out to china' comment with some decent sources - not intending any harm on my end #and like if you're chill with me I'm 100% chill with you

1 note · View note

starbright18 · 2 years

Text

MAGIC BULLET

☾*✲⋆.☾*✲⋆.☾*✲⋆.☾*✲⋆.

One by one, our graded history tests were passed back to us. In History, I sat next to Scott, who seemed to be twisting anxiously due to the events of the last few days. From what I understood, both boys were convinced that Derek had killed the bus driver. Arguing with them was futile, so I chose to ignore it.

I got grilled about what had happened two nights before by both boys, but I chose to omit the fact that my wounds magically healed. Both boys were confused about how I suddenly knew Derek was in trouble and why my eyes glowed, but it chalked up to Stiles' new theory that I was connected to Derek's pack.

All morning, my body and mind screamed at me, overwhelming me with the feeling that someone was hurt. Scott and Stiles were fine, which left Derek as the only option for who was hurt. However, he ignored my texts and calls when I tried to check-in. After school, I planned to make a trip to his house to ensure he wasn't dead somewhere, but in the meantime, I continued trying to call. My eyes were constantly flashing white, as Stiles and Scott so gracefully informed me. My solution was to wear a thick pair of sunglasses and pray that nobody noticed. So far, it was working.

"If Derek isn't the alpha, if he's not the one who bit you, then who did?" Stiles asked quietly.

"I don't know," Scott shrugged.

"Did the alpha kill the bus driver?"

"I don't know."

"Does Allison's dad know about the alpha?"

"I don't know!" Scott snapped, turning to face Stiles, who recoiled in his seat. The class turned to face us, causing my cheeks to burn while the teacher placed my test on my desk, followed by Scott's and Stiles'.

"Dude, you need to study more." Stiles chastised, eyeing Scott's exam. I snatched it from his hands, peering over my sunglasses to eye the large 'D-' that was accompanied by the words 'Not like you! See me later.' I sucked air through my teeth when I passed it back. "That was a joke."

"That's bad, Scott," I mumbled. Stiles and I had studied together, both pulling out with an 'A'. History was my second favorite subject behind chemistry, so I took pride in being good at what I did. "Look, it's one test. You have time to make it up, yeah? I can help you study."

"I'm studying with Allison after school today." Jealously smacked me in the face at Scott's admission. I had no reason to be jealous, sure, but my heart hated the fact that Scott was so happy with Allison.

"That's my boy!" Stiles cheered.

"We're just studying."

"Uh, no, you're not."

"No, I'm not?"

"Not if I'm forced to live vicariously through you. If you go to her house today and squander that colossal opportunity, I swear to God, I'll have you de-balled."

"Gross, Stiles," I cringed, turning to face my twin.

"Okay, just stop with the questions, man," Scott begged.

"Done, no more questions. No more talk about the alpha, or Margo, or Derek," Stiles nodded, leaning away from Scott before leaning forward again. "Especially Derek...who still scares me." I snorted in response, shaking my head at Stiles.

"Derek scares you?"

"Pretty sure the only reason he doesn't scare you is because you two have some weird, witchy link." When he finished spoking, the hair on my arms stood up and I felt the familiar burning in my eyes. I shook my head harshly, forcing all thoughts out of my head. I felt a prick in the back of my neck and I raised my fingers to the skin, not feeling anything on the surface except for a tinge of pain.

Soon after, the bell rang signaling the end of the day and I found myself all but running toward Stiles' jeep. He begrudgingly agreed to take me to the Hale house after I asked him about a hundred times, stating that if I die, it'd be my fault and he'd get to at least be an only child. That joke hurt more than it should, but I didn't let it bother me too much because my warning bells were still going off about Derek. Once we were out of the sight of other students, I removed my sunglasses.

"Your eyes aren't glowing anymore, that's good." Stiles nodded, jumping into the driver's seat. I gave him a half-hearted smile, leaning back in the passenger seat while he started the car. "You okay?"

"I feel like I'm going crazy," I admitted. "Like, how am I all of a sudden experiencing sudden feelings of danger and glowing eyes when I was normal for 16 years?

"I still think—"

"Stiles, I don't think it has anything to do with Derek." I rolled my eyes. "I would know if it did."

"All I'm saying is he's definitely hiding something."

"Aren't we all?" I muttered. He said nothing further, joining the line of cars that were leaving the parking lot. Just before we left, a body stepped out in front of the jeep, causing Stiles to slam on the brakes. "Holy fucking shit. It's Derek."

"Oh, my God." When Stiles spoke, Derek collapsed to the ground. I jumped out of the jeep immediately, crouching down next to him. He looked awful — sweaty and pale like he was barely hanging on to life. "You've gotta be kidding me. This guy's everywhere." Horns began to honk and Scott ran up, crouching on the other side of Derek.

"What are you doing here?" Scott demanded, sparing me a small glance.

"I was shot," Derek breathed out.

"So, you were hurt. I—I had a feeling, you weren't answering your phone, but—" I cut myself off from my rambling, falling silent at the weird looks coming from Stiles and Scott.

"He's not looking so good, dude." Stiles shifted nervously.

"Why aren't you healing?" Scott demanded.

"I can't. It was—it was a different kind of bullet."

"A silver bullet?" Stiles leaned forward anxiously.

"A silv—no you idiot! That's a myth!" I retorted, staring at him with my eyes narrowed.

"That's what she meant when she said you had 48 hours." Scott looked like he was putting pieces of the puzzle together.

"Who is she?" I asked quietly, hoping Scott would fill me in.

"The one who shot him," Scott informed me. Suddenly, Derek's eyes began to flicker a bold blue. My eyes began to burn, and I knew mine were flickering as well by the shocked look on Scott's face. "What are you doing? Stop that, both of you!"

"I'm trying to tell you, I can't," Derek growled lowly. "Get her in the car before someone sees her." He nodded toward me. A glance down at my arms revealed I was glowing slightly, white light engulfing my body.

"Come on," Stiles grumbled, placing his hands under my armpits and hauling me up, shoving me into the jeep while Scott helped Derek to his feet. Students began to flood the area, causing me to lay flat in the backseat in hopes that nobody would notice me. Scott shoved Derek into the passenger seat, sparing a small glance back at me.

"I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used," Derek ordered Scott.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" He snapped loudly.

"Because she's with them, Scott," I whispered from the backseat, knowing he'd hear me. "She's one of them." After we left the gas station the other night, Derek clued me in about the hunter who approached him being Chris Argent, Allison's father. Which was perfect, because not only was my best friend a werewolf who was being hunted by his girlfriend's father, but I was a who-knows-what, who would eventually be hunted by my best friend's father. How amazing of a life was that?

"Why should I help you?" Scott retorted.

"Because you need me," Derek growled. "And if that's not enough, do it to help Margo. Until we figure out what she is, she's suffering too." Scott looked at me from over Derek's shoulder, and I saw his eyes soften tremendously.

"Fine, I'll try." Scott turned to Stiles who hopped in the driver's seat. "Get him out of here."

"I hate you so much for this." Stiles groaned, begrudgingly pulling out of the parking lot. Once we were far enough away from people and my skin didn't appear to be glowing, I sat up. "How are you connected to Margo?"

"I don't know," Derek groaned.

"Is it like a pack thing? Like she's connected to you because she's in your pack?" He pressed.

"I don't know,"

"What if it's like a mind link? Like something connected you two."

"Stiles, I don't know."

"Oh, my God. Are you guys sleeping together? Because I swear to God—" I smacked my brother harshly on the back of the head, causing him to stop speaking.

"First of all, we aren't sleeping together. He's an adult and I'm in high school, and that's just weird. No offense, Derek." I gave him a sheepish smile. "Second of all, if we knew how I was connected, don't you think we would've told you?"

"Apparently you weren't gonna tell me at all," Stiles grumbled.

"Stiles, I didn't know." I rolled my eyes, leaning back in my seat. I glanced at the back of Derek's head, my eyes falling on his neck. I leaned up, pulling the collar of his jacket away from his skin to see clear, non-injured skin. "Did you hurt your neck?"

"What? No," Derek seemed confused by my question, glancing back at me with his eyebrows pulled together. "I didn't—why are you asking?"

"I felt something in class earlier. My eyes changed and I felt pain in the back of my neck, like a pinch." I admitted quietly. Stiles looked at me with a mixture of shock and hurt on his face, realizing this was something else I hadn't told him.

"It wasn't me who had a hurt neck," Derek shook his head. "But if you felt it, that means you're not just connected to me. But I don't get how you can be—" Derek groaned loudly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats." Stiles snapped. "We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"Your house."

"You can't take him back to his house, Stiles. He got shot!" I scrunched my face up at my brother.

"So, I can't take him to his own house?"

"Not when I can't protect myself," Derek growled.

"Alright, listen." Stiles pulled the jeep to the side of the road. "What happens if Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? Hmm, are you dying?"

"Not yet, I have a last resort."

"What do you mean? What last resort?" Stiles shouted before Derek pulled up his sleeve, revealing a disgusting-looking bullet wound. "Oh, my God. What is that? Oh, is that contagious? You know what, you should probably just get out."

"Start the car, now." Derek snapped.

"I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay? In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead."

"Start the car, or I'm gonna rip your throat out with my teeth."

☾*✲⋆.☾*✲⋆.☾*✲⋆.☾*✲⋆.

We were still driving around when the sun went down, which is when Stiles decided to pull over once more until Scott called him. I lay in the backseat mostly sleeping, trying to take my mind far away from the overwhelming feeling of someone being hurt. My body had since stopped glowing, but every so often I felt my eyes change from brown to white, signaling that Derek was still in danger.

I couldn't help but think about what he was saying earlier. If the pain I felt in my neck was from someone else, then that meant Derek wasn't the only person I was connected to. But that confused me even more, because Derek only had one other member of his pack, and that was Scott, who had no such injuries. Which lead me to believe that it wasn't Derek and his pack I was connected to. But if it wasn't Derek's pack, whose pack was it?

"What am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles whined to Scott, who had finally called us back.

"Just take him somewhere, anywhere."

"And by the way, he's starting to smell."

"Like—like what?"

"Like death," Stiles stated harshly. I frowned at the back of his head, but couldn't find it in me to argue. My body and mind knew that something was seriously wrong with Derek, and my abilities going into overdrive seemed to only reassure me that Derek was in fact dying.

"Okay, take him to the animal clinic."

"What about Deaton?" I leaned up between the seats so Scott could hear me.

"He's gone by now. There's a spare key in the box behind the dumpster."

"You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you," Stiles sighed, passing the phone to Derek. Stiles hadn't looked at me or spoken to me since I revealed that I had pain in the back of my neck, and I knew he was very upset with me because of it. Normally, we couldn't go more than 10 minutes without speaking, but the lack of conversation is how I knew I had severely messed up.

"Did you find it?" Derek panted into the phone.

"How am I supposed to find one bullet? They have a million. This house is like the freaking Wal-Mart of guns."

"Look, if you don't find it then I'm dead, alright?"

"I'm starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"Then think about this. The alpha called you out against your will; he's gonna do it again. Next time, you either kill with him or you get killed. So, if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet."

When we arrived at Deaton's clinic, Derek collapsed on a bag of feed in a huff, looking much worse than before. Stiles searched for the key while I stood beside Derek, not sure about what I could do to help.

"Does Nordic Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?" Stiles asked, turning toward Derek after he opened the door.

"It's a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet." Derek breathed out.

"Why?"

"Because I'm gonna die without it."

"Okay, enough of that." I sighed, reluctantly sliding my arm under Derek's armpits. I felt myself building a mental wall, refusing to allow myself to feel anything while I lugged him inside. Once we were inside, Derek stripped out of his shirt. I found myself searching for ways to lighten the mood in hopes of releasing the ever-growing knot that was forming in my stomach. "You know, if it weren't such a bad time, I'd be inclined to tell you just how nice your abs look."

"Cute," Derek cracked a weak smile, leaning against the examination table. Derek's arm looked much worse, something that made Stiles gag.

"You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good night's sleep can't take care of." Stiles tried, leaning on the opposite side of the table.

"When the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me." Derek breathed. I dug through cabinets and drawers in search of things I could use to stop the bleeding. I found a tourniquet and a bunch of gauzes as well as a bottle of peroxide, all of which I dragged back to the exam table. On my way, I found a bone saw and sighed, grabbing it too. It would be a last resort option, but one that would hopefully work.

"Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Stiles quipped, eyeing the things I placed on the table. Derek searched over them too, allowing me to tie his arm with the tourniquet before carefully dumping peroxide in the bullet hole.

"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time, there's a last resort," I told Stiles, my eyes not moving from the wound as I pressed a piece of gauze against it. Derek drew in a sharp breath and I frowned, feeling a phantom pain in my own arm.

"Which is?"

"You're gonna cut off my arm," Derek told Stiles firmly, who gagged in response. He slid the saw to Stiles, who pressed the trigger and cringed at the sound it made.

"What if you bleed to death?" I asked softly.

"It'll heal if it works," Derek promised.

"Look, I don't know if I can do this."

"Why not?"

"Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood."

"You faint at the sight of blood?" Derek sounded exasperated when he looked at Stiles.

"No, but I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!" Stiles snapped, turning toward me. "Margo is the one who wants to be a nurse! Why can't she do it?"

"No—"

"I'll do it."

"No." Derek's voice was firm, leaving me no room to argue. "We don't even know what you are or what you can do. For all we know, if you can feel my pain then you cutting off my arm is gonna be just like cutting off your own."

"Fair enough," I muttered, glancing back at Stiles.

"Look, how about this. Either you cut off my arm, or I'm gonna cut off your head."

"Derek!" I scolded, leaning over the table.

"You know what, I'm so not buying your threats anymore—" Derek leaned across the table, grabbing Stiles by the collar of his shirt and yanking him closer. "Oh, my God, okay, alright. Bought. Sold. Totally, I'll do it. Okay? I'll do it." With a loud retching noise, Derek was leaning over the other end of the exam table, throwing up what appeared to be black liquid and blood. "Holy God, what the hell is that?"

"It's my body trying to heal itself."

"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it."

"You have to do it now, Stiles," I begged, handing him the bone saw once more. "He's going to die, you have to do it."

"Look, honestly, I don't think I can," Stiles whined.

"Just do it!" Derek yelled. With a groan, I snatched up the bone saw, positioning Derek to lean at the exam table with his arm flat. I placed the saw just below the tourniquet, taking a deep breath. When I looked over, Derek was already looking at me. "It's okay, you can do it. Just try not to think about it. Build a wall in your mind, and disconnect from me."

"Okay, yeah." I closed my eyes tightly, picturing myself in my mind building a wall of bricks, blocking off the feelings and pain that came from Derek's. "Here we go."

"Stiles!" Scott called, causing me to recoil almost immediately. "Margo, what the hell are you doing?" I tossed the saw on the table, taking a deep breath as my stomach began to turn at the thought of what I almost had to do. Retreating to a corner, I began to dry heave, suddenly thankful I didn't eat much at lunch.

"Oh, thank God. You just saved Margo and I from a lifetime of nightmares." Stiles breathed.

"Did you get it?" Derek breathed out. Scott dug through his pockets, producing a small, golden bullet.

"What are you gonna do with it?"

"I'm gonna—" Derek's eyes rolled to the back of his head before he collapsed, crashing to the floor in a heap.

"Oh, God. Oh, my God." I cried out, rushing over to help Scott find the bullet that Derek dropped. It had fallen into a shallow grate under the exam table, and I laid next to Scott while he reached for it.

"Derek. Derek, come on, wake up." Stiles called out, smacking the older man's cheeks. "Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?"

"I don't know!" Scott cried out, stretching his arm as far as he could under the table. I laid in front of him, almost face to face while I peered under the table, trying to see if there would be an easier way for one of us to reach it. "I can't reach it."

"He's not waking up!" Stiles shouted. "I think he's dying. I think he's dead!"

"Just hold on!"

"Scott, you can do this," I reassured, squeezing his free hand with my own. "Just focus. You can do this." His eyes bore into mine for a moment before he squeezed them shut, reaching desperately into the grate. A moment later, his claws came out of the grate with the bullet gripped between them. "Nice."

"Yeah, it was," His breath fanned over my face while he spoke, causing my heart to race just a bit faster. We didn't have time to dwell on it, though, as we rushed to our feet to save Derek.

"Please, don't kill me for this," Stiles begged, drawing his fist back and punching Derek in the face. Stiles cradled his fist while Derek arose almost immediately.

"Give me," Derek ordered, reaching for the bullet.

Stiles and Scott lifted Derek to his feet, and I watched closely when Derek bit the top off of the bullet before pouring the wolfsbane onto the exam table. He pulled out a lighter and set fire to the poison, allowing it to burn for a moment before picking up the ashes and shoving it into his wound. Derek shouted out in pain and I whimpered when I felt pain light up my own arm, right where Derek's wound was. Clearly, my attempt to build a wall had been futile, and I could only imagine what kind of pain I would be in if I had cut off his arm.

Scott snagged my arm while Derek dropped to the floor, writing in pain. "Are you okay?" He examined my bare skin, pulling me close to him when Derek continued to yell. Slowly, the wound on his arm disappeared, leaving no trace that he had ever been injured in the first place.

"That...was...awesome!" Stiles cheered loudly, causing me to give him a dirty look. "Yes!"

"Derek, are you okay?" I leaned into Scott as I focused on the man in front of us, the pain in my arm subsiding.

"Aside from the agonizing pain," He snapped.

"I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health." Stiles quipped from beside me.

"Okay, we saved your life," Scott started angrily. "Which means you're gonna leave us alone. You got that?"

"Scott—"

"And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad, and I'm gonna tell him everything." I took a large step away from Scott when he spoke, looking at him in confusion. How was he, a werewolf, going to trust a family of hunters, who were tracking down and killing his kind?

"You're gonna trust them?" I scoffed loudly. "You think they're gonna help you?"

"Well, why not? They're a lot freaking nicer than he is!"

"Yeah, I can show you exactly how nice they are."

"What do you mean?"

"Stiles, take Margo home. Scott and I are gonna go on a little ride."

1 note · View note