#Twenty spears pointed at his neck and he pulls a weapon

[aeipathy-dendrology]

Legolas is so ride or die with all his friends I swear. His defense of Aragorn at the council of elrond? him straight up ready to murder for Gimli? Priceless

#Lotr #legolas #aragorn #gimli #like all the other elves are just chillin and this blond fool jumps up and starts yelling #Twenty spears pointed at his neck and he pulls a weapon #This guy is who you want behind you in a fight #Completely crazy and ride or die

[warmau]

Dragon!AU Yunho

*this post was commissioned | commission info | other ateez aus  tw: mentions of violence, blood, death

you gently lift up his neck, removing both arrows with a quick pull and then leaning down to press your lips to the open wound his skin is on fire, the contact stings and you can’t help but think: what the hell am i doing?

seonghwa gives you a wary look as you sling your bow over your shoulder 

“are you sure that’s all you will need?”

you nod and check to make sure what time it is on the clock behind seonghwa’s desk. the large wooden hour hand ticks right onto a golden seven.

perfect, i should be home by noon tomorrow if everything goes well

“it is a dragon, you understand one arrow isn’t going to-”

“one poisoned arrow.”

you slip a tiny bottle from your thigh pouch and shake it in front of him, the bright green liquid sloshes back and forth and you try to remember whats in it

jongho, who had concocted it at your request, had mentioned something about mushrooms? or maybe parsley? 

you had not been paying attention.

“as the prince requested, bring back its head only.”

“sure sure - by the way, prince hong is paying me half now right?”

“prince hongjoong” 

seonghwa corrects

“has agreed to pay you twenty-five percent now, the rest comes when the dragon is confirmed to be dead.”

you extend your palm, motioning for your commission fee

you know seonghwa, the ever uptight and too-good-to-be-dealing-with-mercenaries-like-you type accountant is almost seething at the thought of you getting your hands on the royalties gold

but hey, no one else had agreed to take up this dragon slaying business

and you were in need of paying off some debts

turns out the blacksmith from three villages over was still waiting on getting paid for the work he’d done for you a year ago

and he was stopping at nothing to get that money

(several scuffles with some of the cronies he’d sent after you in back alleys had proven enough of a warning) 

so

dragon slaying it was

seonghwa studies you again as you take the gold and tuck it safely inside your shirt.

eyes averting politely when you do the buttons back up

he coughs into his hand, “are you leaving now?”

you wink, “yep - and ill be back tomorrow with the princes’ dragon.”

the trek through the woods isn’t as bad as you had imagined - it’s the transitional period between summer and fall

not too hot, not too cold 

perfect weather to go pushing through thick bushes and hunting for magical beasts 

you recall what little information you have on this “dragon”

apparently, it lives deep - deep within the forest. at least twenty miles past the secluded cabin homes already nestled in the depth of the woods

but twenty miles, a problem for others, is a breeze for you

you can enjoy the silence of nature 

and if you get too bored - you can pull your bow out and practice your shot

the only other thing you know about the “dragon” is that its the only one left of its kind

hongjoong had said something about his father, and his fathers father, the royal bloodline - had made it a mission to drive dragons to extinction

“all they do is wreck havoc, i cant have one so close to my people.”

you snort

nobility, righteousness, blah blah blah - you would never understand why people thought things like that made them better than others

you pat the gold in your chest pocket

money, being rich - that was what made people better - in your opinion

the night comes slowly creeping in, just in time for you to cross a threshold of wild berries and fallen branches 

and you smell it in the air

fire, or at least ash - which meant something living was nearby

and it for sure wasn’t people, and as far as you knew little forest bunnies couldn't burn things with their breath

you look up at the sky - you can see the shadow of the moon peeking out from behind the slowly shrinking sun

you pull an arrow out and test your stance - before continuing slowly through the greenery

the smell of ash gets stronger, stronger and stronger - till you silently pull back through a huddle of leaves and see a large pile of blackened logs at the base of a tree

your eyes narrow - dragons don’t build ........... fires.

they spout them from their mouth. but that looks manmade.

you hear footsteps, no sign of claws or thundering stomps, regular footsteps

and you see the outline of a human

it has to be a human, it has a broad back - with two hands and two long legs

what? hongjoong said humans don’t come out this far!

you try to see the face of the man, but he doesn’t turn your way - all you see is the expanse of his back - various scars of various sizes - or maybe some kind of vibrantly red rash sprouting down his skin

you panic

if there’s a person around, has someone already slew your dragon? 

and if there’s a dragon around, are you going to have to get this person out of harms way?

you’re about to retreat - hurry back to the village and report to the prince that he has to be wrong about the dragons location 

all he did was lead you astray to some weird, hermits home in the middle of the woods

when the person straightens up, you hear their grip tighten on the wood

fuck. they’ve sensed that im here.

you try again not to make a sound as you reach slowly for the arrow once again

but then the person turns and you freeze

their eyes, though shaped like a humans 

are a flickered yellow, with the pupil slit like a lizards

and there is a distance between you two

but that pupil is fixated on you

without thinking twice anymore about it, your instincts kick in and you tumble backwards and break into the fastest sprint of your life

youve just walked over twenty miles over the expanse of almost eight hours and you should be completely weak

but your body knows that whatever that person, or thing, is 

if it catches you - you will be done for

you hear the rustle of leaves, but you dont hear any sound of  following footsteps - until you look up in the sky 

and there it is

the shadow of a large animal against he now darkening sky

the moon shines down and reflects off of one of its large wings

isn’t that the dragon?!?! where did it come from?!?!?!

and just before it swoops down in, you manage to get your bow up and pointed at it - shooting the poisoned arrow directly into it

you hear a monstrous sound

you hope its a wail of pain as you dodge in between trees 

if you can get yourself some distance from the thing, you can find a dark hole to hide in for the night and make your way back to the village at the first sight of the sun

and thankfully, after another twenty minutes of running, you think you’ve got that thing off your trail

you hit the ground with a hard thud, your legs going into a frenzied spasm under you as you grip the forest floor

where did the dragon come from? is it protecting that man?

a million questions swivel around in your mind, but you are so exhausted that you can barely think straight anymore

you manage to make it through the night, not sleeping a wink 

just laying in the leaves and dirt and jumping at the sound of absolutely anything

you’re a mercenary known to have a fear of nothing

but when dragons and beastmen start chasing you

you think you’re allowed to be afraid of them

you get back to the village - and first things first - you bust into the palace ballroom

guards are chasing after you, but you get past those meatheads until you spot prince hongjoong at the throne

“YOU LIED TO ME!”

you yell - finger pointed at the prince - who raises an eyebrow

you feel something cold touch your neck and realize one of the guards has pointed a spear at you, which you just scoff at

“how so?”

“there are people living in the supposed ‘dragons lair’ - people the dragon is protecting!”

hongjoong lets out a bellowing laugh that nearly shakes the room

“are you making up stories to get out of our deal?”

“what? no! i saw it with my own eyes - there was a man and then there was-”

“seonghwa, retrieve the gold we gave this cowardly fraud.”

hongjoong waves his arm and seonghwa begins his long, graceful strides over to you

you duck from the spear at your neck and step backwards

“no - im keeping this money and im getting you your stupid dragon, but what am i supposed to do about the people? do you want me to kill them too?”

hongjoong snaps his fingers and seonghwa comes to a halt, the guards all lay down their weapons and hongjoong rises from his seat

he paces back and forth for a minute

before shaking his head

“no, i dont want them killed. i want them captured and brought here. if what you say is true, they might now the location of other dragons.”

he strokes his cheek and falls into thought again

“you should take a horse with you this time, to transport them when they’re captured. also, go to jongho and get more poison.”

you can tell that as seonghwa turns his head, he’s signaling something to the prince

probably about how this ordeal proves how untrustworthy you are and that you should be thrown into the dungeon now before screwing the prince over for sure

but the thing is, you are not a liar, you are a mercenary but you do your job to the best of your ability

usually that means apprehending thieves or rogues or sometimes its the opposite, participating in break-ins or scams

but when you promised to slay a dragon - you meant it

you just didn’t think you’d now have to be taking hostages too

and although the fear you’d felt the whole night was still felt in the aftermath 

you were also coming to see this as an opportunity

“if you want hostages, alive hostages, you need to up my price.”

“no!”

seonghwa rejects, but hongjoong doesn’t bat an eyelash. 

he names the new price and your fear dissipates as the number floats around your head

“and i dont have a horse, can you provide one?”

you’re hovering over jongho, as you usually do when you come to him for his ‘medicines’

he’s making another vial of that poison, and tying up some bags of herbs to help put the ‘beastman’ you need to capture to sleep

you keep tinkering with his things and he keeps hitting your hand away

“whats with the noble stead?”

he asks, tilting his head toward his open window, where the horse you’re borrowing from the royal guard is standing tied to a post on the nearby street

you shrug, “turns out people are living out in the woods.”

he puts his tools down and gives you a skeptical look

“along with the dragon? you know thats impossible - dragons eat people. did you see a corpse?”

you cross your arms

“sorry, why does no one believe me?!? i saw a man, and then i saw a dragon.”

“he’s probably the dragons lun-”

you shake your head, pulling one of your arrows out to play with as you wait for jongho to finish his work

“no. i think the person i saw might be being protected by the dragon. but it doesnt matter.” 

 you throw the arrow up, watching it do a flip as it lands perfectly back in your palm, “prince hong wants them brought back alive and he’s paying me-”

jongho stops listening, he drops the bag of poison and herbs in your hand and shoos you out

although you hate to admit it, because you know what you saw, you spend the ride back through the forest wondering too

maybe all the walking got to me? maybe it wasnt a man - maybe it was a forest spirit? 

you don’t realize the hours passed until suddenly the horse refuses to go on and you have to hop off and take the rest of the trek on foot

part of you uneasy

animals can sense danger, that’s probably why it didn’t want to go on

but all you can remember is the money

and its getting a little darker - not pitch black - but just the perfect amount that it’ll help camouflage you between the trees

you smell the familiar scent of burnt wood

and this time, you completely silence your movements - up until you’re back in your original position from yesterday

you scope out the clearing - the fire is going - but the man you saw yesterday is nowhere in sight

your eyes stop though on the large body that you spot right curled near the flame 

it’s not human, it’s scaly - huge - and you can see the bone structure of a cascading spiked spine

the dragon!

you almost make a sound of surprise, but you catch yourself before you make a stupid mistake

instead you move again - in silence - to a better angle

if you can hit the dragon in the neck with a poisoned arrow - you can probably subdue it enough to hit it again and make sure the poison takes its effect for sure

then you can go and look for that man

you slow your breathing, and your heart rate

any false movement and you know that animal is going to wake up.

you count down slow, and then take aim, just as your finger lets go

the dragons eyes snap open

but its too late, the arrow lodges itself into the flesh part of its neck and the dragon roars up to life

you take the moment of disorientation to your advantage, as you jump up from the leaves and take aim again - this time hitting the dragon right into its throat

you see it begin to sway, making sounds that shake the ground beneath you

it tries to swing one large claw towards you but before it does

it begins to shrink

smaller and smaller and smaller till its tail disappears, its wings retract, and the scaling hot red skin turns back into something else

you’re so horrified and astonished all in the same moment

that you cant dare to move from your place

as the mighty dragon turns itself back into a human man

the wings fold painfully into the skin of his back

cracking and making sounds that suddenly have you feeling nauseous

the person takes a step but falls down to their knees and flat back onto the ground

you bring your hand up to your mouth

and for a good minute just stare and try to process what happened

the dragon wasn’t protecting a human, this human is the dragon!

you suddenly replay last nights events and it all clicks into place

the yellow pupil slit eyes, the scarred up back, the inhuman speed

you see the two arrows that should have been lodged in the neck of a dragon

sticking from the side of this person neck and you realize that if you dont take them out soon

he’s going to die

so what? he’s the dragon he should die!

you reason, but then you can picture bringing back this person and seonghwa and prince accusing you of cheating them

no - i said id bring back a dragons head, not a dead person!

you settle yourself and take a few shaky steps toward the body

the poison, in that kind of dose, will kill him

the only thing you can do is get the poison out

but how? i dont have an antidote! jongho never made one-

you rack your brain, squatting down to examine the arrows and then remembering

jongho said the poison’s only effective when it directly enters the bloodstream - if someone drinks it but then spits it out they should be ok right?

it’s a gamble and you don’t like to put yourself at risk in any odds, but you need that stupid money 

and you know you’re not going to get it unless you come riding back into town with a dragon, not whoever this person is

you brace yourself, you push the body over onto its back and throw your leg over the mans waist

you realize a tad bit late that he’s absolutely naked - but you’re too focused on the task at hand to feel any inkling of embarrassment

you gently lift up his neck, removing both arrows with a quick pull and then leaning down to press your lips to the open wound

his skin is on fire, the contact stings and you can’t help but think

what the hell am i doing?

you’ve done this twice before, with snake venom, but this is different

if you’re remembering wrong - this could kill you too

but you have to take the chance

so you close your eyes and pray

the aftertaste is gross and your stomach lurches a little when you spit what remains out of your mouth

you wipe at the corners with your sleeve and place your hands on either of his shoulder blades

you shake a little, muttering for him to wake up already

“come on, don’t die on me dragon boy”

you shake him again - groaning in desperation when he doesn’t show any signs of life

his face is still serene and still - handsome and strong - he almost looks too nice to just be the beast you saw before 

you’re about to get off of him and start counting your days till the princes’ people come for your head

when suddenly something wraps around your hip and keeps you from moving

you look down and see his hand on the fabric of your tunic - you turn your gaze and are met with those yellow slit eyes - and

“oh my god im so sorry!”

before you can really comprehend what is happening, you are getting lifted up and off of him

the boy, coming to his full height is huge

which to say for someone mixed with dragon blood should not shock you as much as it does

plus he’s - he’s timid

with the way he puts distance between you two and then apologizes, a second time, for mistakenly thinking he attacked you

“i don’t usually hurt humans i-”

the misunderstanding kind of rubs you the wrong way, you had initially reached for your bow, assuming you’d have to defend yourself right away

but now you were just 

“hey, you didn’t hurt me. i hurt you - look at your neck.”

he stops blubbering, bringing his fingers up to the small wound

“wh-you-”

“i shot you, yes. anyway i also made sure you didn’t die and if you are going to get mad about either of that then -”

you lift the bow up again, “i will not hesitate to shoot you again.”

a stoic silence coats the conversation and then you make the mistake of looking down

“oh fuck you’re naked!” 

you turn around, stupid move for a mercenary in close contact with a target, but the dragon boy doesn’t budge

“wh- why did you shoot me?”

“i.....well i um.....i saw you! i know what you are, i thought you would attack me-”

“why are you out so far in the woods?”

“wow you ask a lot of questions, have you put anything on?”

“put anything- i don’t-”

a noise disrupts his sentence, a noise he can hear, but that you don’t 

so you make the decision to face him again, eyes wavering above waist level, when you realize he’s looking around panicked

“are your friends here too?”

“my fri- what, no im here alone-”

you take a step forward and then something catches you by the neck and tightens

before you can bring your hands up to the rope, your head is yanked back and a large burly hand curls around your waist

“caught ya, you little thief!” the voice is mean and rough, recognizable as one of the goonies that angry blacksmith keeps sending after you

“let go! did you follow me here?”

another voice, more high-pitched and giggly answers- “duh, our boss heard about all the gold that uptight prince gave you and well i mean-”

you’re so busy trying to pry yourself out of the stronghold that you don’t catch the dragon boy disappear

not unril a looming shadow blocks the sunlight and everyone's eyes turn upward

just like you had seen on your first attempt to capture him, it is the large and intimidating outline of a dragon

wings clutched into its sides, but the winding neck and large jaw swooping down and nearly clipping the head off of the man holding you 

you stumble forward when with a scream, he lets you go and shouts

“A DRAGON!?”

you duck and roll to get far away from everything going on, being mindful of the rope still around your neck that you tug off and slip into the bag secured to the side of your hip

when you have a safe distance, you turn around and see the dragon now closer than soaring above you in the sky

sweep its way down and right toward the blacksmith’s bounty hunters - for a moment you think you see it all happen in slow motion

the powerful body of the dragon, an almost golden yellow and green - slit eyes moving back and forth like a lizard on the prowl - talons sharp and huge and cutting through with so much precision

you think you don’t even see any blood

all you hear is the defeated thud of a body to the floor and then another agonizing scream before you 

i should run for it, dragon or human or whatever that thing just-

the cracking you heard earlier, the twist of shifting bones and breaking lines of a monsters body turning back into a normal form fill and echo in the trees

you look up, still crouched half on the floor, to see the dragon gone

the boy turns, the flash of something brutish in his eyes before they go back to a soft, muted brown

“i dont hurt humans.”

he whispers, so low you almost don’t hear it

then he drops back to his knees - falling face forward

and you jump because - fuck is he dead? did i not get all the poison out?

you rush over, stopping from lifting up his head when you see the blood this time

not from any of his wounds, just coating his nails which must have ripped through-

you shake your head, carefully hovering down and closing your eyes

to your relief, he’s still breathing, but he’s definitely knocked out cold

you do not know where the strength comes from inside you to get this giant body dragged out of the deep field you were in and back toward where your horse is still tied up

part of you think you turned into a goddamn monster of some sort lugging his body with no abandon

until the horse gets one whiff of him and refuses to let his passed out being anywhere near it

you groan

“how the hell am i going to get you back to the prince?”

you mutter and finally let go of his hand, eyes averting from his figure as you slide down with your back against a tree

i wouldnt call what happened back there anything like ‘protecting me’ but it is weird that he just.........killed someone like that........and didn’t kill me, right?

you tug your knees up to your chin

and he said it twice - that he doesn’t hurt humans - but that can’t be right. afterall, that short prince has a whole historical fit about how dragons hurt people.

you hear something and immediately tense up 

gaze shifting to the still passed out body of your “loot” and then back up toward where the sound is coming from

you assume that it must be more of the blacksmiths goonies, absolute idiots following you on this mission

but then you hear a voice and groan

“ah - there they are. i told you they were slacking on the job.”

you stand up, bruised knees and scowl on your face, to see seonghwa - sitting high on a white stallion with what seems like an unnecessary amount of men from the cavalry

“first of all, im not slacking. look right there - i got your dragon.”

seonghwa looks to where your finger is pointing, down at the body in the leaves

and you 

you do not like the smirk that spreads across his face

hours ago you had witnessed a human being turn into a dragon, now, you were sitting shackled on the palace floor

explaining again that you had seen it, that you had witnessed first hand 

how the body of the human now laying before the princes’ feet had become the animal he had sent you to hunt

but every time you say it - the princes’ court laughs at you - the worst of all is seonghwa

who toes the body of the dragon boy and shakes his head

“i dont know where you dug up this poor boy, but bringing a dead body instead of the head of the dragon as promise-”

“i told you the first time i came back, that there was a person there instead of a dragon but it turns out they’re the sa-”

hongjoong finally gets up and you know better than to keep talking

the giggling court also shuts up and through the silence you hear him walk down from his throne and then lean over the body 

he stares for what seems like a long while before he snaps his fingers

“throw both of them in the dungeon.”

“THE DUNGEON?!? WHY I DID MY JO-”

seonghwa tilts his head and two guardsmen lift you up and off the floor

“I DID MY JOB I BROUGHT YOU A DRAGON-”

hongjoong opens his mouth into a wide smile, but nothing in his eyes screams happiness

“ALL I SEE IS A CORPOSE, AND HEY LITTLE MERCENARY-”

he moves toward you so fast that you nearly miss him - the guards lowering you back onto your knees

hongjoong’s gloved hand coming down to hold your cheek

“and hey little mercenary, if you are right and he is a dragon - then you two can share a cell and you can be his first welcoming meal, if you know what i mean.”

this he whispers, low and harsh into your ear 

you want to say something - god you want to bite and snarl at this stupid prince - but you can’t

you’re frozen, being pulled back up off your feet and watching over the prince’s shoulder as the body of the dragon boy is hoisted up and you two are brought down and down and down

into the darkest depths of the palace

you’re thrown so hard against the cold floor that you almost blackout from the hit you take on your head

you don’t only because the dragon boys body is thrown in next and you have to move fast enough out of the way that he doesn’t fall directly ontop of you

with your cheek pressed to the floor you curl up into a ball 

for the first time, in a very long time, you feel helpless

your whole life has been built on your own back, running around through danger and defiance and now you were here

with no freedom - alone - with a monster

you shut your eyes, the echo of the loud metal gate shutting behind you before your body

worn out from everything shuts down

when you wake up - you dont know how much time has passed, but you aren’t on the floor anymore

instead you are laying flat across the bench that sticks out from the side of the dungeon wall and your hand is resting on something hot - so hot you pull it away immediately only to look down and see the dragon boy

perched against the side of your bed

he’s been given some old rags to put on and when he turns his head at your sudden startle

you see a gigantic bruise on the side of his face

“what happened-”

“they told me to hurt you. i told them - i don’t hurt humans.”

you’re still too tired to peace apart what he means by who and what in the world he’s talking about altogether

instead you lay back down and groan

“ok so dragon boy-”

“yunho”

you open your eyes

“you have a name?”

“all humans have a name.”

“well you’re not exactly....wait” you sit back up and look at yunho this time more clearly

“wait i need you to clarify something for me.” 

his eyes almost look as if they’ve lost their pupil - becoming just an empty void of darkness - but he nods slowly when you ask;

“are you - do you have a family? are you a person or just a -”

“they’ve been killed, my family. humans don’t like my type of human, dragonborn humans.”

he is still looking at you - in that almost soulless bleak way - you don’t get it 

well you do, you are the reason both of you are in the mess theoretically, but still 

“ok, well. i just had an amazing idea. how about you turn back into a big dragon and go take revenge on the prince im pretty sure his family is the one that well - you know - did whatever to your family.”

you wave your hand around like its nothing, but yunho doesn’t budge 

he turns slowly away from you and shakes his head

“i cant hurt more humans.”

“um im pretty sure you hear that big blubbering idiot back in the forest.”

“that’s because-” yunho stops and you edge forward “that’s because what?”

but he gets up and moves across the dungeon to the opposite side

narrowing your eyes you get up and put your hands on your hips

“well if you don’t turn into a dragon and break us out of here, then yunho you are going to die in here with me. i dont think prince hongjoong is going to be gracing us with warm meals or nice beds anytime soon.”

yunho doesn’t move, doesn’t react or seem aware of your presence

you don’t understand it - “why can’t you then just turn into a dragon and break us out of here without hurting anyway. we can just esca-”

“i cant.”

“what do you mean ‘you can’t’ ive seen you turn into a dragon twice a-”

“im too weak, unless i eat soon i wont have the power to sustain my monster form.”

you heave a huge sigh, half of annoyance and half of defeat

just as you predicted, no meals or visitors come for the rest of the day

the silence between you and yunho just grows deeper until two whole days have past and you’re so weak from starving and dehydration that you cant even stand up anymore

all you can think about is how you are going to die soon

how all these years of survival and honing your craft as an archer was for absolutely nothing

to die in the dungeon of the palace

suddenly a sound comes from somewhere, footsteps growing closer. 

you half dont believe it - you think your mind is conjuring it up and that maybe they’re deaths footsteps

the reaper here to take you when you hear a familiar scoff

“you haven’t eaten them yet dragon boy? i should have known - you really are nothing but some poor beggar they found in the streets.”

seonghwa?

something metal clatters to the floor

“here - eat this while they’re asleep. if anything, youve done nothing wrong. it’s that scoundrel's idiocy that got you into this mess.”

you wait till the footsteps start up again and then dim into the silence

gathering whatever is left in your joints, you force yourself to sit up and see what seonghwa brought

on the tray are three slices of bread - you look once at yunho before lunging at them like a rat on a piece of meat

it must take you under a second to devour them and then just as you finish you turn and see yunho staring at you

“first come first serve”

you turn and tell yourself the weird feeling in your stomach isnt guilt

plus.........this dragon boy.......isn’t he..............isn’t he going to just crack and eat you-

“i dont eat people.”

you jump, which is weird considering your body can barely bare its own weight

“wh-at?”

“i dont eat people. dragons dont eat people, so im not going to eat you like that man says i will.”

“right.........well.” yeah ok, so the feeling is guilt “what do you eat?”

“what humans eat.” 

“ah - well, seonghwa mentioned wanting to keep you alive so im sure he’ll be back with more-”

yunho stands up, again the daunting nature of his giant stature almost catches you off guard and he slowly makes his way over to the now empty tray

there is nothing on it and he takes the plate the bread was on and smashes it

“what the hell-”

“i heard a rat last night, im going to kill it and eat it.” he picks up one of the shards and you gag but yunho doesn’t even flinch

he returns to his corner and you return to your bench

you want to lay down and just close your eyes, start either thinking of a plan of escape or again of how you’re going to die in here alone

when you cant help but ask again;

“so why do people think dragons want to eat them?”

the shard in yunho’s hand clatters and you want to scold yourself for being noisy - seriously, can’t you just lay here and succumb to this torture in peace?

but yunho speaks again

“because they dont understand us. they just want us to disappear and to make something disappear you kill it yourself or you make it so scared it hides away.”

“sorry but how are you, a dragon, going to be scared of some humans making up stories abou-”

you stop yourself before you finish because something in your memory blooms like an unwanted weed in a fake pottery of flowers

a memory from your own childhood

the taunting of the other kids around you, pointing fingers and telling you to go away, to force yourself into a corner, to leave them alone because you were a little different and a lot more poor

you wrap your hands around yourself 

you dont have to as him why dragons would be scared of humans

humans are more terrifying than most other living things

yunho seems to sense the shift of the mood in the atmosphere 

he clears his throat and continues

“so we did hide away, to keep ourselves safe but - sometimes hiding doesnt mean the people who hated you forget. so slowly, one by one, our kind were killed. and now im left alone.....probably going to be killed as well.”

for a long time you don’t say anything, you are sure yunho thinks you’ve fallen back into your weak sleep

but you can’t even close your eyes if you try, tears that you havent wept in years make a small river down the canyon of your face

“you didnt deserve that.”

you finally say, but you don’t know if you’re talking to him or to yourself

you and yunho fall into a routine. 

you fake falling into a deep sleep from weakness and whatever scraps seonghwa brings for yunho you two end up sharing now

somehow you are sure seonghwa has caught on, its been a week and you arent dead which cant be possible unless youre eating and drinking something

but one time he mumbles that you are probably the one catching and eating rats

but it isnt just the scraps you and yunho share

the nights in the dungeon are inexplicably cold

to the point where your fingers almost lose sense from the numbness and it gets to a point where it is so bad that you have to ask yunho to come over to you

his skin is still so much hotter than yours -from the dragons blood you assume - and touching him feels better than freezing 

the first night you ask him, he sits rigid at your side as you wrap your hands around his thick wrists

but gradually he lets you slip closer, or maybe you let yourself slip closer

till you are almost wrapped into the crook of his chest for complete warmth

neither of you talks much - you have no questions to follow up the slaughter of the dragonborns and yunho can understand that there is a pain similar to his living inside of you

instead it becomes an unwritten bond - and you start to toil over how you are the reason you will both 

one way or another

die in here

if you had only paid that fucking blacksmith his money back, you wouldn’t have stooped so low as to bring this poor boy to the feet of that cruel prince

but yunho doesn’t seem to hold any kind of grudge against you

in fact, you think you hallucinate it, but every night you two get closer you think something of a vibrancy comes back to him

one time he had even muffled against your hair a question about your archery

which you just answered with a vague “for self defense” which he didn’t seem to all believe

and you had pulled back to see him almost surpassing a laugh - wanting to tell him off it had gotten caught in your throat

somehow even through the darkness you could see the the outline of his strong features

thinking back to when you’d hit him with that poisioned arrow

and he had laid there in front of you, completely naked - literally - with long eyelashes on soft cheeks and a strong line on his jaw dipping into a sturdy and toned neck

you couldn’t think that way though, those were useless as thoughts of escape where now

so you’d pretended to ignore them and tucked your head back into his chest

and finally, when you think the time is slowly coming 

creeping up with the way seonghwa has reduced the scraps he gives and you can hear him sneering about how you have to just give in someday

you say it into yunho’s chest

“im sorry”

“for what?”

“for being the reason the last dragonborn has to die.”

you’re right - because before you two can peel away from each other the next morning - the dungeon cell is thrown open

and two guards pull you up and to your feet

yunho’s body hitting the floor resounds through your ears - it sounds just the same as when he feel after killing that goon who’d tried to kidnap you back in the forest

and when his body was thrown to the floor in front of hongjoong

it pierces your ears and muddies out whatever the guards are saying

execution? lying to the crown? you don’t care

you just reach your hand out to yunho - going blurry in your weak vision

“just go and accept your death!”

a guard shouts and you agree, you should go and you should accept your death

“just dont kill him”

you mumble, half stringing the words together

“just please dont kill him”

the guards laugh they ask you to beg again - was this beggar you claimed to be a dragon actually your lover all along? 

you see yunho slowly get to his feet and you don’t care about what they’re saying

you don’t care that you’ve been living this principal life of loneliness for years

 a monster of your own traumas creation

you try to reach out for yunho again

“just dont kill him”

and then, just as one of the guards reaches for your neck - the other holding you slightly up and off the ground

you think you see a flash of gold - mistaking it for the light that must come at the end of the tunnel

when in fact, along with the strike, you feel the hands holding you up drop 

and before you know it, you are in a pile of two bodies and the sound of a resounding roar breaks you out of your stupor

you look up - eyes wide - and you see a dragon

but no, it’s not a dragon, it’s yunho - with his huge tinted wings and silted eyes but the chest and legs of his human form

“yunho?” 

you ask as if you don’t believe it to be him, until he picks you up and pulls you into him

it’s the same burning chest you’ve been pressing into these nights - it is yunho - but why is he only semi transformed?

as if reading your mind he answers, 

“only so much rats and crumbs can do.”

you have half the mind to laugh before you hear a stampede coming down the dungeon stairs

the noise must have caused the other guards to be alerted and you want to tell yunho that, but he just picks you up and charges ahead

“wh-what are you doing they-”

you want to say ‘they’ll kill us’ but then you see yunho - with absolute elegance pounce himself up and through the barrage of men

his wings soar him up to the stairs before a single hand can be laid on you two and he grips you a little tighter

the last remnants of his human form start to shift and change and just as he rounds the corner with you in his arms

you hear seonghwa and prince hongjoong - one or the other ordering that the dragon be shot on sight

you want to say something, but yunho completes his transformation and before you know it 

he is breaking through the glass of one of the palace windows and you are being projected up and toward a blue sky that you haven’t seen in what feels like years

“ho-how did you transform fully?”

“you bit me.”

“what?”

“you bit me, when you sucked the poison out of my blood so you bonded me to you.” 

you are about to ask what the hell that means when you realize, you are talking to yunho through his thoughts - he’s in dragon form so he can’t possibly be speaking

so you just exclaim, “how long have you knew - about this bond?!??”

he holds you closer and suddenly the smooth glide upward turns into a spin, avoiding the princes’ arrows which are parading into the sky now

you tuck your head into him, the hot skin now scaly and almost cold

“when you touched me the first night - when you asked me to hold you because you were freezing, it rejuvenated something in me.”

you try to wrap your mind around what is going on - dizzy from the reality and the flying and the - oh you almost look down and scream

“then every night, as we grew closer i could feel it coming back. i could feel my dragon blood boiling and there is only one thing that can do that to my kind.”

he beats his wings and you two fly higher and higher

into the untouchable stratosphere - not even winged horses and zeus’ arrows could reach here

“two things actually, either good healthy meals or the power of a dragons bond to the one they love.”

you swallow - eyes opening slightly as you still avoid looking down

“a-and how does a dragon bond to someone they love?”

you feel his body rattle - his dragon body - so you assume that to be a laugh

“we drink each others blood.”

before you know it, you and yunho are landing softly back deep in the forest somewhere

it’s far and unfamiliar and when yunho transforms back into a human he nearly collapses 

you fall with him, holding his large shoulders in your hands and asking him again

“because i drank your blood? but you didn’t drink mine?”

he looks up - the yellow in his eyes receding into a warm brown

“it doesn’t matter, a part of me is inside you and it is reacting to me. if im with you, ill always be able to turn and protect you.”

you can’t believe it but you are feeling flustered - for the first time in your life, the strong mercenary you - is so close to embarrassment you might die

you lean down, half to hide your face and half to make the first move out of pride, as you press your lips to him 

you feel a large hand push you in closer and you almost bite yunho’s poor lip in surprise

“sorry, sorry - its just you’re naked right, turning back into a human and all?”

he blinks

“yes, is that a problem?”

you shift a little away, making space between the two of you, even after all thats happened

“no just - um - well, where should we go now?”

“south?”

“no that’s where the blacksmith whose still after me lives.”

yunho tilts his head, “who?”

you smile and shake your head

“no one, no one - but um we should get you some clothes first.”

somewhere back in the palace, prince hongjoon turns to seonghwa

whose eyes are wide and shoulders shaking

“he was a dragon, that little theif wasn’t lying.” seonghwa swallows “my prince, what do you want to do?”

hongjoong turns, the crown flinging off his head as his bow and arrow fall to the ground

“what do you think. if i can hire a mercenary to go kill me a dragon, i can hire another to kill me a mercenary and a dragon in one - can’t i?” 

[mommymooze]

Blacksmith

So I had my first ask from @sloth-and-gluttony-are-my-sins, so the absolute first thing I had to do is mess it up. Tumbler, you are mean when they ask a question and then  I ask a question and it doesn’t leave the original dohickey in my mail here so I can use it to respond and then I got all confused but...the important part was someone asked and I wrote and here it is. Enjoy.  Especially Sloth&allthat. 

You first meet the students at Garreg Mach in the summer of the last classes ever held there. Your friend Anna requests your services because the regular blacksmith fell ill. You feel the need to expand your horizons. Working for your father for years, perhaps it was time to start setting up a shop of your own. What better chance than to take this job. Everything is here already except for a smith. They have plenty of horses that need shoes, weapons that need repair and new weapons to be forged.

 Getting up with the sun, you load wood and coal into the forge, regularly working the bellows to get the heat high enough to soften the hardest metals. Each blacksmith has their own tried and true methods of working and molding the metal into their desired shapes, resulting in weapons and tools to sell in markets. Your family has a history of great craftmanship, you must carry the torch.

Today you are working on fine pieces of steel that slowly will become beautiful custom daggers. The blades requested by the handsome gentleman were specifically ordered to be perfectly balanced, incredibly sharp, shiny and deadly.

Pumping the bellows a few more times, you check the glow of the metal, it is glowing brighter, soon you will be able to work on flattening the steel into shape. You pull the strap of your thick leather apron over your head, tying it behind you. Thick leather pants also protect your legs, your heavy leather boots protecting your feet from metals shards that constantly fall and cover the ground, a hazard of working with metal. Your naked hands grabbing the metal long handled tongs, reaching into the superheated forge and grabbing the brightly glowing hot steel, placing it on the anvil. You reach for your twenty pound hammer with a muscular arm that few, if any, in the monastery could compare to. Your shirt is sleeveless to allow the 100% freedom of movement necessary for your work, your arms forever glistening with sweat from the heat of the forge and materials you work with. You spend an average of 12-14 hours per day working with the metal, molding it under your power, shaping it into beautiful deadly tools.

You begin hammering the metal in a rhythmic pattern, giving a heartbeat to the marketplace. You switch hands every so often, glad that you are ambidextrous, developing the thick strong muscles on both arms evenly. It makes you chuckle-some smiths you know who have a single heavily muscled arm, the other tiny compared to the first. Not that the rest of you is underdeveloped. Your legs, stomach, back, even your neck is muscular having to constantly lift heavy pieces of metal, armor, logs, you name it.  You pick up the glowing metal with your clamps, it stretches well under your will, nice and evenly drawn out and ready to be fired again for its next hammering.

You look up in time to see a young blonde haired man. Dimitri as you recall, standing watching you work. Tossing the steel back into the forge, you turn to speak with him.

“Good morning, what can I assist you with?” You greet him as you wipe your hands on your apron, black bits of carbon staining the front.

“I was hoping you could help me with this?” The blue eyed man blushes as he produces a steel lance with the spearhead bent at a very incorrect angle.

You take the lance turning it around and look into his handsome young face. “Were you using it as a lever? Trying to get rocks out of the ground? How many of you were pushing on the handle?” You smile at him.

“Oh no, I was just sparring and, well, I guess I hit the wall and well, here we are.” His blush has crept down his cheeks and into his neck.

Turning the spear again, you find the point where the metal has given way. You move to the right, standing with your legs and knee holding the handle of the spear against your anvil, using both hands you are able to bend the spearhead back towards its original position, then toss the end into the center of your forge. Pumping the bellows a few times you turn to the owner.

The prince’s eyes are as wide as saucers, he had tried to straighten it back out himself and it would not give at all. You simply grabbed it and straightened it back in the blink of an eye.

“Well, Dimitri, what would you like me to do? Just straighten it back out? Reinforce it to make it harder to bend?” You ask as you pull out another piece of the dagger steel and begin hammering it.

“Yes! That would be wonderful if you can reinforce it some. If it would be of no trouble to you.” He looks away shyly.

“That’s what I am here for. I don’t have the fire built for it today, but I do have some welding set for tomorrow. Should be ready in the afternoon.” You answer, not missing a beat with your pounding the metal, drawing out the furthest end into the point of the blade.

Dimitri stands mesmerized as you continually strike the metal, the sweat rolling down your arm muscles then suddenly drops of sweat are flung into the air with the next strike of your hammer. Suddenly he realizes that he’s been staring at you.

“Just how heavy is that hammer?” He asks.

You hold the hammer out to him, your arm straight, the metal head close to his chest. “grab the handle just under the large metal end. It may be a bit hot if you grab the end itself. “

Dimitri takes the hammer in one hand, not expecting it to be that heavy, quickly he gets a second hand on it before he drops it completely. He grabs the handle with two hands, raising it above his head before bringing it down to waist height, then handing it back to you. “It is quite impressive that you can swing it over your head all day long.”

“You could do it too, just need practice. You are incredibly strong to be able to bend your weapons like you do.” You smile, turning back to your work.  You wave to him saying his spear will be ready tomorrow afternoon.

 After a nice lunch break you are back at work on the daggers. Fine tuning the edges calls for a smaller hammer and more finesse work. Clangity-clang! The higher pitch of the five pound hammer working the metal to a fine sharp edge.

“Hail good Blacksmith! If I may have a moment!” A cheerful voice pulls you from your concentration. You grab your tongs and place the blade in the forge for reheating.

You turn to see a Noble Gentleman whose hair color could rival the center of the forge, glowing as orange as the coals in the middle. His wide smile beckons for your attention. “Good day to you sir. How may I assist you?”

“Lady Blacksmith, if I may inquire.” Ferdinand begins, a look of awe is upon his face. He had no idea the muscles that he was admiring belonged to a woman, a very healthy, muscular woman. He coughs into his fist briefly. “In my last battle I incurred damage to my left gauntlet. As you can see the plates on the outer fingers have been bent, making it difficult to grasp my lance properly. I would pay anything if you are able to assist me with this problematic situation.”

You hold yourself back from laughing in the face of this apparently naive noble asking a woman for assistance with the grasping of his lance. You kick the anvil to keep yourself from smiling as you answer. “I would be happy to assist you with the repair of your gauntlet.” You hold the metal glove in your hands turning it and getting a gauge of the metal that was used for the plates.

“You have excellent maintenance skills. A well oiled and maintained piece such as this will last you many years. If you could give me 3 days to complete the work, I can have it back to you then, good sir.”

“Excellent. My name is Ferdinand Von Aegir. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.” He proudly announces as he holds out his hand so that you may place yours within it for a kiss.

You shyly back away, hands behind you. “You wouldn’t want to kiss these hands right now. They’re covered in coal and oil and smell like steel and grease.”

“Another time, perhaps.” He bows. “It would be an honor to kiss the hand that makes the finest steel bend to its will.” The smile he gives outshines the sun as he bows, heading off to merge in with the crowds, long strides taking him halfway through the marketplace in a scant moment.  

The rest of the day is spent finishing the daggers, straightening the lance, and pounding the steel to the correct thickness to replace the bent portions of the damaged gauntlet. Bending the metal around rods of the correct thickness, matching that of the removed parts then finally hammering the punch to make the hole in each side, allowing the piece to be fastened to the glove and inner plate.

 The next morning is cool and the heat from the forge is most welcome. Today mostly coal is in, the fire needs to be hot hot hot to work on welding the additional metal to the spear. Tempering the daggers and gauntlet bits. Twelve new spearheads requested.

You begin with the weld, everything pristinely clean the fire exceptionally hot as you heat the spear and steel to be welded. Placing the first piece of steel on the spearhead and removing them both from the heat. Placing them on the anvil quickly and lining them up with shorter clamps, you immediately hammer the two pieces of metal together, joining them into a single piece. Now you must reheat the spear to weld more steel on the other side.

While waiting you grab the first of the three new dagger blades that are on the outer edge of the forge. The metal is heated to orange, not nearly as hot as the welded pieces. The oil in the metal tub close to the forge is warmed sufficiently and you quickly dunk the blade into the oil, swirling it in figure 8s to cool it quickly, tempering the metal and strengthening it. The flames on the oil dies down as the metal cools. You place it back in the forge, tempering the other two blades.

Now the spearhead is hot enough to weld the other side. You hammer the pieces together tossing them into the firey forge to heat to tempering.

Grabbing your waterskin you take a long drink. For being so chilly this morning, it’s gotten quite hot in the shop. You swear the pink haired girl standing close to the side of the front is just there to warm herself. Dimitri begins to walk past and notices you taking a break.

“Your lance is coming right along. I’m well on track to have it done around lunch.” You lean with an elbow on a huge log standing on end at the front of the shop.

“Wonderful. I was hoping to get in some sparring this afternoon. Not that we always practice with regular weapons, but it’s good to keep the muscles toned.” Dimitri smiles at you. He can feel the heat radiating from you even a few feet away. His eyes watch the drops of sweat dancing down between the muscles in your arms. He jolts when you speak.

“I can tell you work hard. Be proud of yourself. I’ll be here to make sure you’re well equipped.” You give him a big smile and wave as he heads off to his friends.

The daggers are ready for the next tempering, followed by the spear and gauntlet pieces. Now you pull out your files, working the edges of the metal on the spear so there are no sharp bits, making it smooth and shiny.  Only a few files are needed for the spear. The daggers however need much more work, fine tuning the angle of the blade, then having to switch to stones, finely oiled and the edges drawn out until they can cut a hair.  You almost have one dagger complete when Dimitri returns for his weapon.

You’ve polished it up, removed any burrs, smoothed the handle and sharpened the edge.

“Thank you so much, your work is magnificent.” The prince starts off well, placing his payment on the anvil, then reaching for his lance. However once his fingers brush yours, his shyness gets in the way. “Such a beautiful spear completed by a sharp...Uh..no..Sorry. I brought you a muffin.” He says grabbing the lance and stuffing a bag with a large blueberry muffin contained inside into your hands before he turns beet red and runs off.

You laugh, realizing you had not stopped for lunch yourself. Grabbing a bite to eat you finish your tasks for the day.

 The next morning you finish the gauntlet for the red haired noble, polishing the whole thing until it glows. You decide you’ll make the deliveries during lunch. The schedule is light for today and you’ve always wanted to see the students in their ‘natural environment’. You spend entirely too much time trying to knock the smithy smell off of you. Now you smell like coal, oil, iron, steel and lavender. At least your skin is more pink than black on your arms and face. Your hair is pulled back, you’re wearing a fluffy gray blouse and dark gray tight pants with leather shoes.

Most of the students are gathered in the dining hall. It isn’t hard to spot the tall young man with his glowing red hair that is just brushing his shoulders. Of course, for some reason, he has announced his own name, confirming you have found the gauntlet owner.

“Such an unexpected surprise!” Ferdinand says as he stands and bows to you. “It looks magnificent! Do you mind if I try it?”

You nod, smiling at him.

He stuffs his hand into the gauntlet, the fingers wiggling and grasping at his other hand. He looks into the gloved portion, slipping it off. “It is perfect!” the redhead announces loud enough for everyone to hear. “There is something different, there was a spot inside that somehow does not bother me at all.”

“I attached a bit of moleskin to some places that were rubbing at the base of your fingers.” You point to the area.

“Simply magnificent! Your work is perfection with every effort! Thank you! Thank you!” He says graciously as he hands a bag heavy with coins.

You look at him curiously, this was far more than you were expecting, a whole new gauntlet would have been cheaper. “Are you certain?”

“Ahh yes! It fits me like a glove!” He smiles, holding his hand out, waiting for yours.

You cautiously take his hand and he gently brings his lips to your knuckles. You find this cute and can’t help but giggle.

He laughs cheerfully as he turns and heads back to his room to retrieve the missing match for his review.

 You head out towards the classrooms, looking for Professor Byleth. As you’re walking you hear a voice approaching from the right.

“Ooooh. Looks like a lovely, gorgeous lady is about to find out this is her lucky day” A male voice schmoozes as his footsteps come closer, suddenly a deeper voice chimes in “That’s the blacksmith, idiot. She will break you like a toothpick.”

 Alone again, you enter the classroom. Byleth looks up from the desk where she was grading papers.

“Almost have your order complete for the lances. Have you seen Yuri?” You ask, holding out a box.

“He just left, I bet you can catch him if you hurry, just head towards my room, right by the sauna.” Byleth answers, giving you a wave.

 You run out heading towards the entrance to Abyss. You hope you can catch him before he heads down. Something about being underground just gives you the creeps. Like at any time the roof is going to collapse on you. You’re running and thrilled to spy him just around the next corner.

“Hey!” you call out, gasping for breath. Your job doesn’t normally call for you to run.

“Hello there, friend.” He sweetly calls back. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Needed a change of scenery, so I thought I would make a few deliveries, here.” You say as you hand him the box.

“Oh, these are nice. I knew you would come through.” He says as he takes one of the daggers out, twirling it in his fingers. “Sharp as an eagle’s eye too.”

“It’s buy two get one free day.” You nudge his shoulder, fortunately he catches himself before you knock him completely to the ground.

“I pay fair a price. I don’t like owing anyone for anything.” Yuri frowns deeply.

“Well I heard there’s someone you know that makes a wicked fruit tart, one of those would be payment plenty.” You grin.

“That can be arranged.” Yuri smiles and winks.

#fe3h #Fire Emblem Three Houses #feth #fe3h x reader #dimitri x reader

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Can I ask for some badass jason moment like maybe he does something badass and people realize wow Jason's powerful and idk maybe percy just drools after his badass himbo boyfriend

Idk I'm not feeling great and just need some badass jason love all mixed in with percy being the one who drools not the other way (I dont mind the other way but I really want jason to be admired)

Hello sweet Anon. I'm so sorry you aren't feeling all good🥺sending you warm hugs and light☀️

Here's some dark!jercy featuring badass!Jason and some badass!Percy too. I hope you enjoy.

And if you're in need of anymore badass!Jase here's some other fics of mine: Dark!Jason trying to save kidnapped Percy; Dark!Jason forcing the gods to save Percy

If anyone else has badass!Jason fics please link them for Anon💖

Masterlist

But onto this one!

TW: dark, murder, blood. This is not for the faint of heart, please proceed with caution.

"On your right!" Someone screams. It's not for his benefit. He is a weapon of mass destruction. The warning is for his opponent.

Percy Jackson slides under a gleaming sword and vaults back up with a wicked smile on his face. “Missed me."

The demigod shrieks, turning back around to face him.

"I will kill you Percy Jackson."

"You know I get tired of hearing that after ten years of this."

"Stop talking and fight me like the hero you're supposed to be."

He bares his teeth, green eyes flashing with anger, "I'm nobody's hero."

"Now that's a lie if I've ever heard one." A deep, clear voice from behind them drawls.

"Now is not the time you hopeless romantic." He laughs, turning to see his godly boyfriend landing on the ground with a soft thud.

"There's always time to appreciate you." Blue eyes twinkle, love and amusement glittering like stars.

"Can you two just shut up for like five seconds?" The demigod he had forgotten about growls, "I have shit to do and I'd prefer if we could get this over with."

"Better things to do than killing us?" Percy raises a brow, "Gee so sorry we're keeping you from your busy schedule."

"What's the problem anyway?"

"Your worthless trash of a boyfriend refuses to die."

"Oh," He winces, "You probably shouldn't have said that."

Jason's eyes flash with something otherworldly, dark, sinister, beautiful, "Why are you trying to kill him?"

The demigod' s expression flashes with disgust, like this simple task is beneath them, "Orders from the boss."

"And who is the boss?" His boyfriend asks quietly.

Percy can feel the air turning electric around them, can see the lightning slowly crackle in Jason's veins. After all these years, he knows better than anyone when his love is going to explode, can read the signs faster than even the blonde himself.

"We're under oath to keep the secrecy of the boss' identity."

"Cowards!" The Son of Jupiter growls, "Tell us and we can make this easy."

The sky above them goes a sickly shade of grey, and there are bolts flashing behind those blue eyes.

The demigod looks between them, fear finally seeping in. But they see Percy's smirk and something becomes visibly stone in their expression.

"Fuck you. I'll kill both of you."

The world detonates and green eyes dance with laughter as the demigod claws at their throat, eating lightning like candy.

"Tell us." The blonde's voice is deathly quiet. Soft with malice.

"Chiron." They gasp. Their body stiffens, hazel eyes freezing in an expression of horror. And with a single flick of his wrist Jason effaced the air from the demigod's lungs, carrying it in his golden fingers, and blew a kiss to the sky with that stolen oxygen.

"Gods you're hot," Percy sighs, looking at him with dark eyes and seduction.

"Later," His boyfriend laughs, "First we got a centaur to kill."

He grabs onto those broad shoulders, nuzzling his nose into his neck. Jason wraps his arms around him and kisses his forehead.

"You ready?"

"Fly me away Superman." He giggles.

And so they take to the skies, Percy clinging onto him with all his might and Jason laughing into the world.

"Why do I let you convince me this is a good idea?" He groans, "I hate this."

"The excuse to hold me outweighs your fear," The blonde whispers in his ear.

"It's your fault for being so godsdamn attractive."

His answer is met with laughter, and happiness, and never-ending love.

"Do we have to kill Chiron?"

Jason's body goes taut with anger, not at him. Never at him. "He tried to hurt you. He will not get away with that."

"I know," Percy winces, "But he raised me in this world. It seems... wrong?"

"What do you want to do instead?" The blonde finally gets out. Compromise. Collaboration. He knew it took a lot to get to this stage.

"Maybe we could—"

The Son of Jupiter gasps, his whole body shuddering.

In an instant Percy knows something is wrong, very, very wrong. A growing pool of blood is growing on the blonde's shirt, and a pretty wooden arrow is sticking out of his back.

"What the fuck?" He yells, looking around for the shooter.

"Perc," His boyfriend whispers, "I can't hold us up for much longer.

And then they're plummeting to the ground, wind screaming in their ears, twin hearts beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

But Percy is not afraid. For below them is the ocean and in his many years of living that great blue expanse has always been a safe place, a comfort, a protector. So they hurtle to their watery end and when they hit the sea Percy feels himself come alive.

He snaps the arrow at his boyfriend's back and puts a bubble of air around him.

"Here," He offers the ambrosia with a stern look, "Eat."

"We have to go out there and kill them."

His smile is vengeance incarnate, "Oh we will.” It was fine when it was just him they were attacking but to target Jason. To target his love. There are no lines he wouldn’t cross, no place too dark to venture to. He is a hypocrite for it. But he doesn’t care. “First you're going to heal. Because this isn't going to be quick. They will suffer for drawing even a drop of your blood."

Jason's eyes widen, darken, fill with desire, "I love it when you get like this."

"Destructive?" He grins.

"Powerful."

And then his boyfriend is pulling him close and kissing him like the world ends today. He can taste the ambrosia still dissolving on his tongue, more than that he can taste lightning and potent love. The kiss is rough and stinging and full of teeth. But it's raw with hunger and relief too.

"Let's go have some fun." Jason breathes.

And he can't help but giggle with anticipation as they rise through the ocean and walk across it.

The destroyer and his healer.

An arrow flies towards them. With a single swipe of his hand Percy shatters the cool metal. Jason gathers the shards in the air and watches as they group to form a broken spear pointing back at their attackers.

With a whispered hum the broken pieces fly across the sea and pierce six hearts perfectly.

Finally the two reach land, grainy sand sinking under their weight as they take in the scene in front of them. Twenty centaurs, four demigods, and an array of bodies convulsing on the ground as their own arrows slice their organs.

"Why?" Percy tilts his head, staring directly at the centaur he had known for so much of his life.

"You are too powerful. We cannot risk letting you roam free. We must keep the balance." Chiron's voice is almost robotic, as if he had rehearsed the words so many times they've lost all meaning.

"Roam?" He laughs, "I do not roam. I'm not a fucking animal. I live." He glances at the crowd, "And you are afraid because you do not know how to."

"Shoot him." Chiron bellows.

They all pull their bows taut, eyes gleaming with misplaced hate. The arrows let loose. Soar towards them.

"I don't think so." Jason smirks. And suddenly those deadly shafts are frozen midair, hanging like gleaming charms.

Someone gasps, another faints, dies from fear.

"Leave us alone Chiron." The Son of Jupiter says softly. It is not a request. It is a command.

"Stand your ground," The old centaur mutters grimly.

"You know you will not walk away from this." Jason's voice is music, and melodies, and opulent demolition.

Percy can't hold in a beam as he stares at the blonde. Now is probably not the time to be drooling over himself with attraction but there's just something about Jason Grace like this that makes him feral with excitement, temptation.

"Stand your ground!" The centaur screams.

And it works because everyone, cowering or not, straightens their backs and sets hard gazes on the two demigods.

They release twin sighs, knowing they tried their best.

"Why does no-one ever listen?" He rolls his eyes.

"You think at some stage they'd learn." His boyfriend snorts. And the arrows still suspended in the air quake, as if trying to break from their hold.

"Shall we then?" He turns to meet that electric gaze.

Jason let's the arrows go and Percy whips his arm in a circular motion, lifting the ocean from behind them and slamming it into the crowd of killers.

Bloodied and choking the diminishing group sprint towards them, arrows bouncing out of their skin.

They don't get more than ten steps before lightning rains down, stabbing their every orifice. And just to make it special Percy feeds each of them ocean water and laughs as their insides fry, electrocuted by the sea and the sky.

It is over in a matter of seconds, not a body moving, twitching, breathing. Except one. A demigod with bright hair, drunk on fear.

"Please," She begs, "Please don't kill me.

"You tried to kill us even when we asked you not to. Why should we give you the courtesy?" He spits.

"Please," She cries, and that's all she says, all she mutters over and over again.

"Lucky for you," Jason shrugs, "We like to have one survivor to pass the warnings on. The stories."

She whimpers, clawing at the sand in an attempt to get away.

Percy laughs, wraps the earth around her ankles. "Not so fast. Tell them. Tell all of them what happened today. And make sure they know that it was not us who started it. But we gladly finished it."

"Nobody ever wants the villains to win," The blonde looks at her sympathetically, "But I ask you this: if we are the villains of your story, who do you think are the villains of ours?"

Her eyes widen, and then she turns on her side and heaves.

"Take care darling," He waves, "And here's some ambrosia for that wound on your side." He tosses her the little bag of golden squares with a wink.

And then Percy Jackson and Jason Grace link hands, glance at the decimation they caused and share twin smiles.

Villains or heroes?

No, that had never applied to them. They had always be something else, something more.

They are gods.

#Jercy #Percy Jackson #Dark jercy #Dark Jason #Dark percy #Baby fanfic #Baby fanfic series #PJSSG fanfic #PJSSG asks #Anon asks #Fanfic requests #Ciara's Convos #She speaks #not edited #Jason grace

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Twenty-Four: We Help Out Willow’s Big Brother

Luz’s legs were burning.

She was pretty sure she’d never had to walk this far in her entire life. She’d been hiking a couple of times with her Tia Rosa when she was younger, but she definitely hadn’t enjoyed it. And it definitely hadn’t been more than an hour.

The walk down the highway hadn’t been that bad. They’d stayed off to the side of the road, and even been picked up by a nice mom in a minivan at one point. They’d told her that Gus’ dad had a fishing house along Turquoise Lake, and she’d dropped them off right at the edge of the highway. That had probably cut them about an hour of walking, but it was still slow and brutal.

Eventually, the highway had ended and a dirt road took its place. That’s when they started to move uphill. Luz could handle the straight line, but she was wearing vans and wasn’t at all interested in uphill climbing in flat shoes.

After about an hour and a half of moving along this uphill climb, Luz doubled over, clutching her stomach.

“Can we take a quick break? I’m dying here.”

Willow was more than happy to agree with Luz, dropping into a squat right next to her. “Sure, I’m beat.”

“I don’t know guys,” Amity said with a frown. Somehow, throughout the entire hike, she didn’t look even the slightest bit tired. She was sweating a little along her brow but otherwise looked unfazed. “We shouldn’t stop here. We’re exposed.”

“Don’t you guys think it’s a little strange we haven’t run into a single monster?” Gus added. He also looked a little worse for wear, he had shed his button-up and was now just in a t-shirt and jeans. But he was worrying his lower lip, looking around like they would be ambushed at any second. “I mean, we’re four demigods walking in a group, closing in on Mount Pelion. We couldn’t be bigger targets if we tried.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Willow deadpanned, taking a huge swig of water from one of the bottles they’d bought in Leadville. “I really don’t have the energy to fight a monster right now. We’ve been hiking for two and a half hours.”

“If we’re going to take a break, I think we should at least do it in the trees and out of sight,” Amity suggested, and Luz nodded, straightening back up.

“That’s fine with me, any break is a good break.”

They walked off the dirt road and down a little trail until they ended up a creek. Finding a good spot to sit along some rocks, Willow handed everybody a protein bar. Luz collapsed pretty ungracefully along a rock and closed her eyes.

“This is brutal,” she groaned, “and it’s only going to get more intense the higher up we get.”

“It depends actually,” Amity added with a shrug. “We might have to make our way around the mountain in a spiral. Lots of trails don’t go straight up.”

“How do you know all that?” Willow asks, and Amity tucks her arms around her knees.

“I live in the area, remember? My siblings and I go on hikes all the time during the school year.”

“So do you know the trail up Mt. Elbert?” Gus asks, and Amity shakes her head.

“No, we’re not allowed to go near Mount Pelion. I’ve done Mt. Evans a couple of times though.”

“Well that explains how you’re like, not even out of breath at all,” Luz says with a teasing smile. “You’ve got some superhuman hiking strength.”

Amity blushes, rubbing the back of her neck. “It just takes practice. Eventually, you stop noticing the burn in your calves.”

“Ugh, I wish,” Gus groans. “Mine feel like I’ve just run a marathon.

“Do you think we’re going to make it up the mountain before dark?” Willow asks, and Amity immediately shakes her head.

“We shouldn’t, even if we are in a hurry. The higher we get, the more brutal the winds are going to be. It’s just after noon, so we should hike a little longer before we take a break and look for camp.”

“Ok, then let’s get moving,” Luz said, and when she stood up, every muscle in her legs protested. “The sooner we get there the sooner we can stop.”

They started to make their way back to the dirt road, walking in pairs. Amity was leading the charge with Gus next to her, and Luz and Willow hung back, their feet dragging a little more than they would have cared to admit.

They were almost back at the dirt trail when Amity suddenly stopped cold, and Luz wasn’t really paying attention, so she just slammed into her back. Amity stumbled, but Luz reached forward and caught her arm, pulling her back.

“Sorry,” Luz mumbled, but Amity just held up her hand. It was so unlike Amity that Luz quieted immediately, as did Willow and Gus, who were now looking around the clearing with nervous eyes.

“Did you hear that?” Amity whispered, stiffening up.

Luz was quiet, listening to her surroundings as her friends did the same. At first, there was nothing. Just the rush of the creek and the swaying of the trees. But then…

RHEEEEEEEEE!

Luz was so startled by the cry, she jumped right back into Willow, who held her shoulders and kept her steady. Gus and Amity called out their shields, holding a protective barrier in front of them, but it wasn’t needed. The cry had come from somewhere deeper in the trees, and following that right away was another cry, this one human.

A very angry human, cussing so badly her Mami would have washed their mouth out with soap.

Then, another cry from whatever had made that noise.

“Someone’s in trouble!” Willow exclaimed, and all four demigods summoned their weapons. Aletheia spun into a sword, and Luz caught it, and charged through the forest with her friends, her previous exhaustion forgotten.

“What kind of monster is that?” Luz cried out as they sprinted through the trees. There was no doubt it was something from their world. No bear or wolf made a noise like that.

“I have a couple of ideas!” Gus offered, doing his best to keep up and not trip on the rocky ground. “None of them good!”

“Sounds about right,” Luz groaned, before deciding to just focus on running.

Amity eventually skidded to a complete stop right as they broke through a clearing in the trees, and Luz stopped a lot more dramatically next to her, her dominant foot slipping and resulting in Aletheia being held up against her face protectively. When Luz looked past Amity’s shoulder at what was making the sound, she gawked.

In the middle of the clearing, there was a gorgeous white and blue farmhouse, with a huge porch. Luz could make out a clothesline hanging from the top of the porch, and a couple of wicker sitting chairs. There was a variety of hanging plants in the garden, and a huge wreath over the door. And the clearing? It was huge.

In fact, the clearing wasn’t a clearing at all. It was more like a twenty-acre farmers' field, just sitting off the dirt road in mountain country. Luscious green vegetables were growing in the fields, along with potatoes, corn, beans, an orchid of apples, and there was even a gods forsaken red barn smack in the center of it with a couple of animals milling about. The enough was enough to shock Luz since she was pretty sure the soil quality up here couldn’t be great. They looked like they could be in Missouri, not Colorado.

But the biggest shock wasn’t the farm. It was the farmer standing just away from the front porch. The farmer’s huge hands were clasping a boar by the tusks, stopping it from charging. He grunted with effort, gritting his teeth and digging his boots in the dirt, his muscles rippling under a green flannel button up.

Luz had never seen a boar before, but she was pretty sure they were supposed to be that big. It was easily the size of a sedan, with massive beady eyes, and it was doing everything in its power to push against the farmer. It’s feet stamped into the ground furiously as it pushed, and Luz saw the farmer tense as he was pushed back an inch in the dirt, and all the shock drained from her body.

“We have to help him!”

Luz charged forward, her friends at her heels. She approached the boar with a furious yell, and with a quick swing, she managed to take the boar by surprise and cut one of the tusks off sending it spinning into the dirt. The boar was now moving off-balance, diverting away from the farmer and charging in another direction. The farmer stumbled and dropped to one knee.

Gus and Amity charged at the boar with their weapons and shields, keeping it away from the crops. Willow had already leaned down to help up the farmer.

“Are you alright?”

He took her hand and stood, brushing his hands down his dirty jeans. “Thanks, kid,” he said to Willow, his voice gruff and heavy with a deep southern drawl. “I’ll be just fine. But we better go help your friends, cuz’ they ain't’ gonna be fine for long.”

Luz spun around, and her eyes widened in horror. The boar had turned on Gus now and had knocked his shield out of his hand with it’s one good tusk and sent it spinning into the dirt. He stabbed forward with his spear, managing to turn the boar away from him, but now it had focused on Amity, rearing back to charge.

“Amity!”

Luz ran forward, but there was no way she could outrun the boar. Amity didn’t seem to need her help though, because as it charged she sidestepped, managing to graze the side of it with her sword. It wasn’t nearly enough to send it running, but it did squeal and give Luz, Willow, and the farmer enough time to make it to the other two demigods.

They readied their weapons, the five of them standing together and watching the boar murderously. Seeming to realize it was outnumbered, the boar huffed in anger, before turning tail and fleeing, exiting through the trees and out of sight.

Luz exhaled, turning to her friends in terror.

“What was that thing?”

“The Crommyonian Sow,” Gus said, his voice very small as he retracted his spear and picked up his sword. “The mother to the Calydonian Boar. It terrorized the village Crommyon and was later killed by Theseus.”

“Theseus?” Luz asked, her voice quickly rising in anger. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“It’s not, Luz,” Amity said, and Luz’s gaze flickered up to look at her. Her eyes were wide, but not because of the run-in with the boar. “Your dream!”

Luz paled, and Willow and Gus turned to look at her in confusion.

“What dream?” Willow asked, and Luz recalled the dream she’d had of the mountain, from the fight between Theseus and Achilles, Belos’ order, and the Death Mist. When she’d finished, they both had gone pale as well.

“His exact words were ‘stop them before they find us’?” Gus repeated, fidgeting uncomfortably. “That can’t be good.”

“The Sow started showin’ up today, but it’s come back roun’ here three times lookin’ for trouble,” the farmer said, and Luz jumped, forgetting he was standing there. When Luz and her friends turned to look at him, he stuck his hands in his jean pockets, giving them a white smile.

Luz wasn’t sure how old he was, maybe somewhere in his early thirties? He had curly dark hair and a scruffy beard that made him look like a lot of the dads that dropped their kids off at Luz’s school in the morning. He had a deep tan, and his eyes were a dark green, that twinkled in a way that Luz pegged right away as not human.

Though she should have figured that out already based on the way he held back a boar with his bare hands.                                                                                

“I’m Demophon,” he said with a little smile. “Why don’t you kids come inside for some lemonade.”

Demophon’s house was really homely. It was an old farm style, with a lot of wooden furniture, and the décor was mainly light greens and blues. In the living room next to a couple of couches was a huge brick fireplace, sitting barren and unused. They sat down at the kitchen table that overlooked the farm fields, and Demophon returned from the kitchen with two pitchers of lemonade and plates of snacks: cookies, fresh veggies and fruit, and sandwiches.

They probably should have been more cautious, considering they didn’t really know anything about Demophon, but they were so hungry they couldn’t care less. Luz’s stomach grumbled in delight as she dug into a little tuna sandwich, washing it down so quickly with lemonade she barely tasted it.

“Thank you so much for the food, Mr. Demophon,” Amity said between bites, and he just shook his head.

“Demophon is fine, Amity. It’s my pleasure to help you kids on your quest.”

The four of them perked up, now looking at him with surprise. The farmer chuckled, but Luz noticed a slight lift in her shoulders. She did the same thing when she was worried about something.

“Yes, I know all about your quest. My mother sent me a message earlier this month lettin’ me know you migh’ be stopping by… and that you were on your way to free Lady Hestia.” For a moment, his nerves disappeared as he turned to Willow, his green eyes twinkling in pleasure. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, little sister.”

Willow dropped her sandwich on the plate, looking up at him in shock. Luz felt her mouth drop open and saw Amity and Gus tense next to her. Willow, eventually, was able to reply.

“You’re my brother?”

Demophon hummed, taking a seat next to them. He crossed his huge calloused hands together on the table and smiled. “Well, in a sense. Demeter is more of my adopted mother. But over the many centuries I’ve been alive, I have come to grow fond of her.”

“You’re Triptolemus’ brother,” Gus said, his voice lowering in realization. Demophon chuckled.

“Trip is my older brother yes. Though he rarely visits. He has many other duties to attend to.”

“But how… how are you alive?” Gus said in awe, and Luz realized that Willow and Amity were leaning in, desperate to hear his story. Luz really needed to brush up on her Greek mythology. Maybe she’d take it as her elective when she went back to school.

“What do you mean how is he alive?” Luz asked, blinking. “He’s a god, obviously.”

“No, Luz Noceda,” Demophon said with a shake of his head. He settled his warm green eyes on Luz with a smile. “I am no god. But I am immortal.”

Luz’s brow furrowed. “How is that different?”

“Demeter is the goddess of the harvest, but also fertility,” Demophon explained, nodding his head to Willow. “My birth parents were favored by my mother, just as Willow’s fathers were. In exchange for their adoration, Demeter sought to make me a god in their honor. She is the mother of the Olympians and worked with Hestia to have me stoked on their fires and made immortal. But halfway through the process, my birth mother found me on the fire and screamed, rippin’ me off the flames. The process was never finished, but it was too late to turn back. I was made immortal, but due to my… imperfection… I was never accepted into the Greek pantheon. So, mother let me have this farm here near Mount Pelion, and that’s where I’ve stayed.”

“Why weren’t you accepted?” Amity asked in shock when he finished. She was looking Demophon up and down. “You look godly to me. You held back that sow with your bare hands, and you certainly haven’t aged over the centuries.”

“There is more to being a god than just strength and immortality,” Demophon answered, his voice turning wistful as he talked. “You need drive: godly essence that comes from owning and having. You need to stand for something and have mortals who respect and favor you. Mortals don’t see me as a person who can grant them good fortune and prosperity, and I have no claim over any aspect of humanity.”

“Because the legends said you died in the fire when your mother found you,” Willow said, her mouth open wide with shock and realization. Demophon shrugged.

“Mortals rarely get the full story, and so they fill in the gaps with what they want to see. Complex situations confuse em’. I think you know what I mean, little sister.”

Willow flushed, and Luz realized that maybe Demophon had a point. Willow was teased for being “half a half-blood”, but she was one of the strongest demigods Luz knew. The more Luz looked at Demophon, the more sympathy she felt for him. It must be incredibly lonely, living for this long and never being accepted into the mortal world or the godly one.

“I’m sorry we brought the monster to your farm,” Luz said slowly, and Demophon looked over at her with the tiniest hints of a smile.

“Now, now of that, Luz. I’m no fool, and unless you’re the man that sent that beast, I have no quarrel with you. But you kids ain’t safe heading up the mountain until that monster’s been taken care of.”

Demophon stood up and went into the kitchen, but came back relatively quickly. He had a cloth package in his hands, which he handed to Willow.

“These are some of my mother’s apples. She has me grow them here in case harvest on Olympus is poor. It never is, so I always have plenty. When you need a boost, take a bite. Hopefully, it helps you on your quest.”

Willow held the package so gently in her hands, it was like she was afraid they would disappear. She looked up at Demophon in awe.

“These apples… they haven’t been trusted to mortals in centuries. Why would you give us something like this?”

Demophon’s face suddenly went dark.

“I want Belos gone just as much as the Olympians do. Hestia is the reason I’m here, able to tend to my farm and my livestock. She’s always been kind to me… kind to all who cross her path and say hello.”

He looked over at the huge fireplace in his living room, which was completely dark. His eyes were fixated on it, like the sight of it alone physically pained him.

“My fire hasn’t lit since she was taken,” he said, his voice breaking slightly on those last few words. “Without her, all the love and light and happiness that we know will fade from existence. Somebody needs to stop him, and get her back. If I were not bound to this farm, I would go up the mountain myself. I will do anything I can to help you.”

Demophon sat back down at the table and went back to cradling his calloused hands in his lap. Luz was suddenly struck with a pang of homesickness. Demophon did the same thing with his hands her Mami did when she was worrying herself sick about something. He was just as scared about the success of the quest as they were.

“You seem to admire Hestia a lot,” Luz said quietly, so quietly she wasn’t sure anybody would hear her. But Demophon looked up, and so did her friends, turning to look at Luz. She glanced at Amity, for only half a second, and realized that she was watching Luz with a careful expression.

Had she overstepped?

Demophon met Luz’s gaze, and that’s when Luz saw it. It was the same look Amity gave her when she was grappling with a decision. To tell or not to tell.

“I’ve had so few people I could truly call a friend while I’ve worked this farm,” he eventually said, glancing over at the fire. “I could always rely on Hestia to show whenever I lit that fire and passed on my offerings. There are so few certainties in a life as long as mine. If you were in my place, would you be happy with that changing in the blink of an eye?”

“No,” Luz said immediately. She couldn’t imagine just sitting at her Mami’s apartment while her friends were in danger. She’d do anything to protect Willow and Gus. She’d do anything to protect Amity.

She’d move the entire mountain by herself if she had to.

She opened her mouth to reply, to assure Demophon that they would do everything they could to save her, but she didn’t get the opportunity to. Because Amity spoke next, swallowing hard before shaking her head.

“I’ll get her back,” Amity said, leaning in to look Demophon in the eye.

It was so surprising Luz couldn’t help but turn and look at Amity out of the corner of her eye. Amity’s expression was startling. Her face looked exactly like how Luz was feeling.

“I’ll break her out of the cage and make Belos pay no matter what happens. I swear it on the River Styx.”

Outside, thunder rumbled. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Willow and Gus were looking at Amity with a mixture of shock and horror on their faces. Luz didn’t really know what was happening, but judging by the equally as awed look Demophon was giving her, whatever she’d done was pretty serious.

“You don’t know what you’re promising me, kid,” Demophon tried, but Amity shook her head, leaning in again with such a ferocity Luz couldn’t look away no matter how hard she tried.

“I do know,” she insisted, reaching forward and gently resting her hand over his. “I know that nobody deserves to have someone taken from them. Being around the people you love makes life worth living.”

Willow cracked a small smile, nodding her head and leaning forward to rest her hand on top of Amity’s.

“She’s right. I’ll help too.”

“Me too!” Gus added, reaching forward to put his own hand on top of Willows.

Luz broke into a grin, nodding and adding her own hand to the now growing pile. “Obviously I’m in too. We’ll free Hestia, even if Theseus throws a hundred more stupid pig-boars at us.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t,” Amity deadpanned, and Luz laughed, hard enough that everyone at the table cracked into smiles. Even Demophon, who was looking so grateful Luz thought he might start crying.

“Thank you, kids,” he said, wiping at his face. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“We do know. That’s why we want to help,” Luz insisted, her whole body vibrating with adrenaline at what they were about to do. “Now let’s go make some pork chops.”

#the owl house #lumity #luz x amity #Percy Jackson AU #shelby speaks

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Operation Steel- Eye,”

This is probably the last bit I will be doing on this particular thread because I want to do more with it in the book version, but hopefully this will get you guys interested in how things turn out. 

They had gone through another attack. The rundi chairwoman had not been expecting it, but all of a sudden there were voices, and shouts, and people running this way and that, she had been hurriedly bundled into a truck and driven for over an hour in the opposite direction with no idea what was happening, and no one that seemed to want to tell her what was going on. When they finally stopped she was told there had been another attack, and they were trying to get her as far away from the fighting as possible.

They waited there for over half a day, and only began their return journey when a spotty call came in over their radio to drive them back. When they reached camp, a good portion of it had been damaged, especially alone the suwards side, though, as she got out of the truck, she was told they were lucky, and the ashfall cleared enough that their long range weapons became more effective, driving the Drev off for a time.

“However, I don’t think I need to tell you how imperative it is that we get operation steel-eye up and running.” The admiral was saying leading her through the camp, as the soldiers scrambled to repair and re-supply themselves for an attack that could happen at any moment. Ever since the supply ships had been able to get through the atmosphere, thing in camp were looking a little less bleak.

The wounded were better cared for, and the soldiers were receiving more rations. 

Though the ash was still a heavy nuisance, and kept the days mostly dark, they did have occasional times of clearance that allowed them to see the sun.

She moved into place behind the admiral, who had led them to the new medical tent, less of a tent now and more of a pop-up shelter, with reinforced siding, and an actual door. Stepping inside, she couldn’t help but gawk at the difference just a few days of supplies had made. The floors and walls were a uniform steel grey, and proper decontamination equipment was brought in to rinse ash from their bodies. Instead of suits to put over themselves they were washed off and given entirely new sets of clothes.

Stepping onto the ward was a much greater relief. The place was spotless clean, bright white lights shone in from above, and instead of rolled mats on the floor, there were cots, clean bandages, and monitoring machines hooked up to each of the wounded soldiers beeping away with their vital signs. Instead of moaning and pitiful whimpering from earlier, they were silent most of them asleep, all of them heavily drugged under vast swaths of pain killing medication. The first half of the room housed newly injured soldiers lying on cots their missing limbs bandaged and properly cleaned.

But the back of the room, well the back of the room was where things changed. 

The fruits of operation steel- eye. At least twenty soldiers, this being the first medical tent, she was told there were twenty more soldiers in the second.  They did not lay on open beds, but instead hung from the walls in various states of unconsciousness, pinned there by the thick metal contraptions welded to their bodies. A main rod of the metal was riveted down their backs curving around onto their hips and then locking at the knees, similarly with the arms.

Metal protrusions connected to the underarms and over the back of the hands. 

It was a strange sight, and made her rather nervous as she somehow felt the wrongness of the steel next to delicate skin and bone.

Theadmiral stepped forward to examine the sleeping soldiers, “We lost 20% of these brave men and women after the first few hours out from the operation. Bacterial meningitis, and the occasional paralysis. A few of them just stopped breathing, but that could have been a reaction to the medication. This is all we have left.

The rundi chair woman stepped forward looking up at the sleeping humans their eyes close, their faces so much more peaceful now. As per usual she was drawn to one human in particular, the only human that she actually knew on sight based on their history together, or their acquaintance.

From her reports, this human had been the first human ever to meet nonhuman life, and had been instrumental in language acquisition for their linguists, and now here he was reduced to nothing more than a piece of hardware to be upgraded and augmented for the purposes of better battle strategy

The thought made her sick and uneasy. The more she thought about it, the more she was coming to realize that the humans and the Drev had more in common than anyone else on this battlefield, both of them were unwaveringly brutal, the Drev with tearing off limbs…. And the humans continually asking their soldiers to give when they had already given so much. With this thought her eyes shot down towards the human’s new robotic leg still and silver in the painful overhead lights.

No other species had ever considered such a thing as an alternative option, adding machinery to bioology….. As far as she knew there was nothing human’s couldn’t replace, and that thought made her wonder…. How far could they go before there was no more human left before the machine took over completely?

As she thought looking up at the sleeping human the admiral came to stand next to her looking up at the face of the sleeping human.

Her eyes drifted downwards, noting a strange dissimilarity in one of the human’s arms. With one hand she pointed out, “What is that.”

He glanced towards, “Oh, well, that is a drug port.”

“A drug port?”

“He nodded, unfortunately due to our time constraints we cant let their injuries fully heal, which means we will be mainlining morphine during combat, but due to the nature of the side effects of morphine, we are going to have to pair it with a drug classified as a stimulant to keep alert during battle.” 

The rundi chairwoman shifted nervously, “I… not to question your methods admiral, but havent you asked enough from them. First they lose their limbs, then you splice them with robotics, and now you are keeping them drugged.” The admiral looked down at her with a cold unreadable expression, “You wanted us to win this war, and sometimes we have to do things that don’t make us sleep so well at night.” 

There was an awkward pause of silence between them, but she let it go.

What did she know.

The humans probably knew what they were doing.

***

Lieutenant Adam Vir woke slowly, but he did it without pain. 

In a somewhat drowsy haze, he floated upwards towards consciousness like one would float upwards through a pool of warm salt water. lights , beginning as big fuzzy circles, soon condensed themselves downwards into sharp points of light. The buzzing in his ears followed suit morphing and churning before turning dowards and sharpening out into a baseless echo. The echo that soon turned and warped again until, “Lieutenant, Lieutenant, can you hear me.”

The light jumped first to one eye and then the other.

He blinked past the pain squinting as he tried to make out the room ahead of him.

His fuzzy surroundings condensed, contracted, and then finally sharpened out, to the face of a woman. She was small petite, with black hair pulled up in a bun, and large, thick framed glasses. She had one hand on the side of his face as she flicked the light between his eyes.

He groaned slightly and shifted.

“There were are, that's good, can you focus here on the light and follow it please.” It took him a moment to comprehend what she was saying, but finally followed the little pen light with his eyes. She clicked it off andplaced it in her pocket, “Very good.” Reaching out she felt the side of his neck and up under his jaw, “Turn your head to the right…. Now left…. Now open your mouth…. Tilt your head back.” He did as told, though somewhat groggily. As he tried to tile his head back, he felt something strange flexing with him, “Very good, now can you wiggle your fingers for me.” He did as requested tilting his head down to look at his body, which he now realized was hanging upright instead of lying down. 

He blinked again, trying to push a haziness from his eyes as he squinted past his hands and down towards his legs. They were bare mostly, which is how he noticed the metal prosthetic so quickly. 

He missed her next couple of words as sounds and images came flooding back to him. Ashfall, a dark silhouette looming over him, the sharp point of a spear, and terrible horrible pain.

Something was beeping frantically off to his side.

A hand rested on his arm, “Come on back to us Lieutenant, you’re safe here.” He opened his eyes again looking over to find the admiral standing next to him, “There we go.”

He blinked again.

“How are you feeling?” The man asked

“Not… in pain.” He responded thickly

“Try flexing your toes.”

He did as told looking downwards. His left foot flexed just fine, but the right remained still. He grew sick felt his stomach churn.

“Hm that…. Wait, hold on there kid, we need to power it on.” A sudden relief washed over him as the woman bent down to engage the limb. The Admiral patted his shoulder, and suddenly his eyes widened, he could FEEL his leg, could feel the woman’s fingers as they moved across the metal, could feel it as if it was his own skin. 

He shivered, and then shuttered goosebumps erupting across his entire body. She looked up at him, “Can you feel that.”

He nodded dumbstruck, eyes wide.

“That's good, now do what the good lady says and try to raise your arms.” 

He did as told, and nearly clobbered himself in the head as his hands and arms flew upwards. He jolted in confusion, staring down at his arms in shock. He flexed hs fingers watching as tiny metal bits flexed with him clicking softly. He flexed his arm again and it felt as if he wasn’t even moving it, instead being dragged along by the metal frame which held his body.

He dropped his hands again.

“Reduce the response time on those,” the admiral ordered, “Let him get the hang of it first.” The woman adjusted something on the leg. He shivered again, feeling her fingers, the sensation was so real, he expected to look down and see his leg back, but predictably it was still metal.

“Go ahead and flex your toes now.” 

Nervously he did as asked,and this time the toes of the prosthetic twitched and then curled inwards. He moved one, and then the other and then rolled them tilting his head back and closing his eyes, feeling as if he was in ecstasy.

“Good.” All around him, the other soldiers were doing the same. Across the way, a soldier, who was missing three of her limbs had tears spilling down her face as she flexed her new arm.

Another was blinking through a robotic eye and speaking for the first time…. With a mechanical jaw.

“Lets lower him down slowly let him feel the ground. They rushed to do as told racing over to the wall and slowly lowering him towards the ground. His feet made contact with cold metal…. He could feel it, the cold through the soles of his feet, the only difference was that…. Without skin, he didn't feel that subtle deflection as skin puckered and flatted about objects.

He tried lifting the knee of the new leg, and it came as told. He flexed the ankle, and the foot moved seamlessly with it.

“Wow.”

It was almost as if his leg was back, almost as if….

Embers fell from the sky, and that dark shape moved closer to him fro the darkness.

A hand rested on his shoulder and he jerked away, “Stay with us lieutenant.” The admiral moved forward taking him by the shoulders, “Look at me.”

He did.

The other man’s eyes burned hungrily, “This is your chance…. For revenge, to make them pay for what they did to you.”

Adam nodded, but at the same time, something inside him felt very uneasy. IS revenge what he really wanted…. But of course it was… wasn’t it, that roach had taken his leg..? But shouldn't he feel more?

“And, you will help win the war, no more casualties, no more pain. You do this and it will all be over, you’ll have served the UNSC, the GA, and earth….. Can you do that for me?”

Of course the admiral was right.

“Yes sir.” 

[ilguna]

Belamour - Chapter Six (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, murder plot, murder, DEATH IN DETAIL, gore

wc; 8k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games begin!” The words ring through the air, lingering in your head long past their existence.

There’s a sixty second grace period, in which you're allowed to check your surroundings and see what you’re up against. The land, who you’re next to, and what you want to do after the gong sounds. Run away, or run towards the cornucopia? You have to decide quickly. The more daring tributes will head straight towards the cornucopia, and it could end in two ways. Success, or death.

Whoever designed the outfits were right to make the jacket and the shirt thin. You’ve only been above ground for ten seconds and you can already feel the sweat running down your back. It’s weird that it’s so hot already, especially since it’s only ten in the morning. Back home, it would be cooler and much more pleasant outside.

The cornucopia is made out of gold, stretching twenty feet into the air. The mouth is wide, and it thins out towards the back. The tail stretches higher than the mouth, curling in the air like the tail of a scorpion. Inside of the building is everything a tribute could ever wish for. Things that could carry you for days, maybe even weeks.

It’ll all make survival a whole lot easier. Spread out in front of the cornucopia are more goodies. Weapons, food, plastic, firestarters, backpacks, tents, everything you could ever need. The further it is away, the less important it becomes. In front of your feet lies a rope that looks to be six feet long. Not worth it.

To your left is Cass, her dark hair is pulled into a ponytail too. Her eyes are on yours, and the two of you share a nod. Like you’re challenging her to a race to see who will get there first. Her or you? You may be small, but you’ve always been quick. You think she’d have a better chance if she ran away.

Past her is the boy from Six, Amos. Next to Amos is Verda, and beside Verda is Eytelle. Eytelle and you share a knowing look. That as soon as the gong sounds, it’s towards the cornucopia or you’re a coward and forfeit the alliance. You’ve fought hard these past couple of days to get here, and lost a friend along the way. To give up now would be foolish. You’ll see her there.

You can’t see anyone important past Eytelle. To your right is the girl from Ten. She’s weak, small and feeble. You saw how awful she was inside of the Training Center, and she scored an average five. You wonder if it was all a hoax to make people think she was weak. However, you distinctly remember her failing to pick up the swords because of how heavy they were.

Swinging them made her fall. She’s not much of a threat besides the fact that she’s also looking to go to the cornucopia. You’ll have to keep your eyes on her when you get there. To die by her hands would be an embarrassment. 

You see Blaire next to her. He has a kind smile on his face, eyebrows a little raised as he cocks his head towards the woods. Are you going with him? You shake your head no, you’re staying with the careers. You’ve made that decision already, accepting their offer. He’s disappointed, you look past him to see Lennox is also staring. He gives you a hard nod, and you give yourself the last twenty seconds to become accustomed to your surroundings.

This year, the cornucopia sits on sand, something that will be so hard to run on if you’re not experienced. It’s going to spray up everywhere when you run, and it’s going to slow you down. You know you’re quick, but this will slow you down.

There seems to be trees all around you. Behind the cornucopia on the other side, there’s a dense forest. Some are palm, reaching higher into the sky than others. There’s bushes, batches of leaves attached to the ground that you think are wild and could possibly be poison ivy. You can’t be sure how big the arena is, you can only see so far and it’s always a toss up.

Far off to the right is a cliff that looks fairly daunting to climb. Beyond that, you can’t see anything. Behind you is forest too, but you think it’s peculiar that there’s sand all around. You crouch down on the metal plate, being careful not to fall off. You remember the year where a girl had fallen off the plate and it blew her into the sky.

You can see through the trees, now. The trees aren’t as crowded behind you, they’re spread apart. You think you can see water washing up and onto the sand. Yes, there it is, a vast blue body of water. You don’t think you’re in the middle of the ocean, maybe a lake instead. Out there is salt water, the smell is unmistakable. Which only means that somewhere on this island will be a freshwater pond with fairly safe drinking water.

If the arena is an island, it has to be big. The arena’s are hardly ever small, typically they’re gigantic and it takes hours to reach one side of it. There will be plenty of hiding spots here, which means a hard place to explore and find other tributes, unless they’re stupid and pick the obvious spots.

You stand again, realizing that you can’t see Allio or Trink at all. Which just means that they’re too far or they have to be on the other side of the cornucopia, somewhere with Finnick. It’s not your problem, especially not Finnick. They’ll find their way to you.

Your stomach lurches the second before the gone sounds. The race has begun.

You jump off of the metal plate, not liking the way your feet sink into the sand. You take off running, though. It’ll be easier to make the cornucopia yours if you’re one of the first there.

You’re careful to dodge any of the goodies that are laying around in the sand. You don’t want to accidentally get your foot caught in something, and trip and go flying. You dig your boots into the sand toes-first, and use the little divots as leverage to push yourself forward. One foot in front of the other, you know that there’s a spray of sand behind you.

You live fairly close to the coast in District Four. Their beaches aren’t the best, but they’re covered in sand and a pain in the ass to run in. Your brothers always had a way of doing it though, and you’re not sure how. But the more you run, the more you seem to realize you’ve got a pattern down, and focus on that to get you to the cornucopia.

You spare a glance on either side to see that the others are having trouble with the sand, just like you thought. You’re way ahead of the others, the only person that seems to be a runner-up is Lennox. Blaire has made a beeline towards the trees on the far side of the cornucopia. If Finnick were running to the cornucopia too, the both of you would be neck in neck.

Ten more feet and you reach the cornucopia first, out of breath, chest heaving. You reach for the nearest weapon, a sword displayed on the wall. It’s just barely on the inside of the mouth. All the other weapons are too far back into the cornucopia, all displayed just as nicely as this sword. Going back there would mean to trap yourself, though. You don’t bother.

The sword is odd in your hands, heavy. You don’t like it. You can’t throw a sword like you can throw a spear or knife. You turn around, expecting to see you have a few more seconds before the rest of the impact hits, but you’re met face to face with the girl from Ten. In her hands is a sword, which she carries easily. The bitch was faking it.

A loud sting of fear pierces your heart. It’s your first fight, quite possibly your first kill. Despite the fact that you’re a literal threat in front of her, she still seems unsure on what she wants to do. Hesitance at any point during this could cost you your life. You don’t let her decide what she wants to do, and instead you swing as hard and as fast as you can.

She barely blocks you. Realizing that she can’t run, she has no choice but to fight, and she puts up a fight. Every swing you make for an artery or a stab for anything, she deflects you and counters it. You stupidly think of all the times you watched the boys back home pretend to sword fight with sticks on the playground.

Some would use one, others would have two. You remember watching boys and girls throw rocks and tiny sticks, pretending them to be bombs and throwing knives. You never really participated in these faux fights, but there was one time when you did. You hated every moment of it, but you managed to barely make it out.

But that’s all pretend, and this is real life.

Around you, you can hear the panicked shouts and blood curdling screams of others dying. The squelching of blood makes your stomach hurl and you bite back the vomit that is very much rising in your throat. The more you swing the sword, the more tired you grow to be. The two of you are far from the cornucopia, now.

This girl, who has gotten a five on her training score is putting up a fight you’d never had expected from her. You struggle for a moment, trying to figure out a chink in her armor. To see if she favors a leg, or an arm or completely leaves parts of her open. She doesn’t. 

To go from running to fighting has you out of breath and tired.

Without thinking about it, and expecting her to catch it, you fake right but swing left. She misses it completely, and you find your sword lodged in the side of her neck. She coughs, blood spraying onto your white coat. She reaches for the blade, fingers aching to get it out. 

Her eyes are wide, and it’s clear that she’s panicked. She slowly falls to her knees, face twisting. You reach for the hilt again, pulling on it hard, too hard. You fall back, watching the sword come looks and blood spray out of her neck and into the air, landing in the beige-colored sand. 

She watches you, choking. You barely get to your feet, feeling bad for this girl that you’ve just murdered. She’ll never get to go home to her family, she’ll never get to cry and hug them again. But then again, this is her own fault. This girl thought that she’d come out of the bloodbath alive.

You grit your teeth, looking away and towards the rest of the battle as you slam the sword through the side of her skull. There is no canon, and there won’t be one until much later. The gamemakers wait to set them off until the bloodbath is over. It’s hard to keep track of the alive and the dead and it would be a mistake to miss a canon or accidentally put one out when no one had died.

You see Lennox, he’s preying over the boy from Ten, eyes wild and mouth bared to a grin. There’s already blood on his hands, you and him are even at the moment. But he’s going to break the score by killing Ten. You know it won’t be merciful. The moment that Lennox launches himself at Ten, you know that he’s out to make it entertaining.

Trink and Allio have joined you. Both fighting their own mini battles with tributes that you know are going to lose. You can see a few bodies already, but can’t tell who they are. You drag your feet on your way back to the cornucopia, vigilant and wary of anyone who might make a run at you.

You don’t see anyone. You’re quick with leaning your sword against a box, using your foot to keep it upright. You yank off the jacket and tie it around your waist instead. You’ve begun to feel the effects of the heat, and you’d rather not collapse in a useless heap in the already hot sand. On the same box sits a knife that you pick up and tuck into your belt as a safety precaution.

You watch as Ten falls at Lennox’s knees, a sinister smile across his face. A chill goes down your spine as you watch Lennox prepare to kill him execution-style. He raises his sword up, and when he’s gathered enough strength, you flinch at the sight of Ten’s head coming clear off. The head lands face-down in the sand, the body becoming a water fountain of hot, thick blood, before it too, falls in the sand. 

You swallow thickly, and Lennox moves on to his next target. It’s the boy that Trink is having a hard time fighting. From Five, you think. He’s putting up a good fight, and it’s making Trink look bad. You grab your sword, dragging it in the sand behind you as you gather with Lennox.

The boy seems to realize how much danger he is in, now. His eyes darting from Trink to Lennox. When he sees you between them, you think you see hope in his eyes. He must think that you’re there to save him, but you’re not. You’re just here to make his death a whole lot quicker, and that seems to dawn on him.

He’s backing up, away from you guys. Lennox and Trink attack him from the sides, already occupying most of his attention. With you added, he’s working overtime, and he’s fearful. His swings become less calculated and more last-minute and full of fear. All you can think about is how this would’ve been you.

Five deflects Lennox, and then you, and then back to Lennox. It opens up a wide window for Trink, she places her hand on Five’s shoulder. Before he can turn and kill her, she slams the sword through his side, and you watch it come out the other end. You lower your sword, and watch as she slams it in a few mores times.

You turn to survey, hoping that there isn’t much left to do. But there’s a tall tribute, double and a half your height, a scythe in his hands. He’s taller than Eytelle, taller than Laurel. A scream rises in your throat, you reach out to grab Lennox to get his attention, but come across nothing but air.

His dark eyes turn to you. You know who he is now, Horace. Thyme briefly talked about him to Blaire, Verda and Finnick. You didn’t listen to her much, you didn’t care for what she had to say. The only real part that you caught from her was the fact that he’s a butcher’s son, and she’s seen him carry hundred-pound deer like they’re the lightest thing in the world.

She said that her and her friends used to watch him carry much heavier things after school. She said she never saw something he couldn’t carry. 

He scored a ten in training. And you’ve got his attention.

You raise your sword, which seems so useless against his scythe. His is long, and all he’d have to do is extend his arm and he could kill you. One swing of the scythe and your head could come clean off, just like the boy from Ten. One bad move and you’re suddenly a dead body on your way home.

You keep backing up, not wanting him to come close. You don’t even know if you’re the real target, because earlier he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at Trink, but now the two of them are nowhere to be seen. You shuffle your feet back, burying your feet in the sand first.

You need to get around him, behind him somehow. Away from his line of sight, have him focus on someone else again. Not you. 

Before you can move to the right, wanting to make a half circle around him, your feet get caught on something behind you. You think it’s sand, but the moment you’ve fallen, you realize that it’s Five’s dead leg. You go to get up, but Horace has got his scythe too close. Scooting to the side would do nothing, you continue to back up, the sand is resistant.

This is how you die. A child that had played up a show for the Capitol. A girl who had said she would make it home, and made promises that she would along the way. All it would take is one swing to break all those promises.

You release the sword, no longer wanting it to drag you down. Despite this, you’ve still got the knife occasionally digging into your thigh, but never hard enough to break the skin. 

The knife.

You reach for it, pulling it out and holding it in your hand. He doesn’t seem to notice or care. You stop backing up. You can pretend. You’ve been pretending. The sweet girl, you beg; “Please, don’t.” but he doesn’t listen and continues to advance on you. You keep your eyes on the scythe, waiting for the chance and then he raises, clearly preparing to kill you.

You wait a second, and then lunge at his calf the moment he swings. You stab the knife into his calf, yanking it down. The spray of blood is hot against your face. You can hear him yell out, dropping the scythe and instead moving to grab you. You jump again, out of the way and towards the sword that lies only a few feet away.

It’s a race to weapons. You barely scramble to your feet, the sword is warm now because of the sun on the metal, and the blood on your hands makes it slippery between your fingers. You grip it tightly, and then turn to Horace, who still has his back to you, fingers reaching for his scythe.

You raise the sword above your head, feeling the ache in your shoulders at the heaviness of the sword. Just before Horace goes to fight back, you bring the sword down. Like a king to accolade a knight, except the sword lodges in the back of his head instead of a gentle tap against his shoulder.

Another canon. A second person’s life on your hands. You watch as Horace falls forward, and since your hand is still very gripped onto the sword, you’re thrown onto his body. On your knees, you’re face to face with the back of his split-open head. You grit your teeth, the smell of blood is metallic and fills your nose. Tears spring in your eyes, stomach lurching again.

You can’t hold back the gag, or the cough that comes after. In two seconds, you’ve lost your breakfast and the water you drank before you came inside. You’re shakily holding onto the sword, trying to keep yourself upright. There’s vomit in your nose, and tears running down your cheeks.

You struggle to breathe, not wanting a second round. You turn your head away and hum loudly, pulling the sword free of Horace’s head and stumbling back again. You fall onto your hands and knees, next to your knife. You wipe the blood onto your jeans, and then tuck it into your belt. After, you’re struggling to your feet and making your way back towards the others with your sword in hand.

You rub the tears, snot and vomit away. Watching as Trink smears blood across her cheek by accident. Her eyes find you, face twisting. She’s confused, you can tell. She looks around you to see Horace, and suddenly her face is breaking into a grin, “You--wow!”

There’s nothing to say. There’s no more fighting. You didn’t lose a single person in your pack. Everyone who’s dead are outsiders. You regroup inside of the cornucopia with the others.

“What’d she do?” Allio asks, looking over.

“She got that big guy from Eleven.” She claps her hand against your shoulder, “I didn’t even see it!”

There’s a look of jealousy in Allio’s eyes.

“I’m lucky to be alive.” you muse, taking a seat on a box. You take the neck of your shirt and use it to wipe the sweat from your forehead. To them it’s a joke, to you it’s real. You might have been his equal when it came to training score, but that was not going to be a fair fight.

At least your odds have increased, and maybe have gotten a few sponsors in the process. After all, you just killed a man that was bigger, stronger and older than you. He might have had brute strength, but you had outsmarted him. 

You watch and listen to what they have to say about the bloodbath. They say it was fairly easy, and they didn’t have to fight as much as they thought they would. All you can think about is the fact that you threw up a good amount of food that could have lasted you until this evening. Now, it’s just before noon.

At least they didn’t see you lose your breakfast right after killing Horace. You push yourself up from where you were sitting, and head out to check who and how many are dead. There will be canons later, and even a recap of who has died in the sky later tonight, but you can’t wait. You need something to occupy your mind.

Both from District Ten. The boys from Five, Six and Eleven. Both from Nine, Verda, and Cass. You stop above Verda’s body, staring down at the way she’s laid out. She’s not even five feet from her metal plate, and there’s a knife lodged in her forehead. She’s starfished, eyes open. You crouch down, whispering an apology while your back is turned to your friends.

You close her eyes, and then pull the knife out of her skull. It’s a throwing knife, which means that one lucky tribute had made it out with knives. Because no one has them spread out or around them as far as you can see. You note this, and shuffle pass Cass, whose neck is clearly broken.

“Nine dead.” you tell them when you get back to the cornucopia. 

“Nice.” Trink sounds excited.

Five in your alliance, ten out there somewhere. Two of them are Finnick and Blaire. For now, you think that they’re alive. There’s really no way to tell until the canons start blasting and whether or not their faces show up in the sky, indicating their deaths. 

You pack a backpack, preparing to air out of the cornucopia with your alliance. You kick a box open, expecting clothes and useless things but come across a first aid kit and some throwing knives. You pack all of it into your backpack, zip it up and then throw it over your shoulder.

There’s enough food in the backpack to carry you if you get lost or split from your group. There’s a sleeping bag--but you can’t imagine you’ll be needing it anytime soon with this heat--a canteen, some iodine tablets, and a few other useless things. Once the others are ready, you all head off towards the thicker part of the forest, since it’s where you all saw the most tributes fleeing.

The gamemakers waste little to no time picking up the bodies. You’re about a mile into the forest, all spread out in a line, looking for tributes when the canons start. And just as you suspected, it comes out to nine. There haven’t been any extra deaths for now. It’s just a matter of time when there will be.

“So, what would you call the arena this year?” you ask, not wanting to succumb to silence.

“Some sort of island.” Eytelle says.

It’s nice to know they think the same, at least it confirms your thoughts. However, it still makes you wonder if they know about the dangers of an island, just yet. It’s not just dense forest and plenty of trees, it has wild animals.

Allio snuffs, “I’d like to say it’s tropical, but it’s… not.” he says, swatting a branch out of his face, “It’s just your typical wilderness with some curve balls.”

“Tall trees aren’t really curve balls.” Trink says.

Lennox shakes his head, “I think he might be talking about the cliffs.”

And right on cue, all of you look over at the same time. Even through the thick branches of trees, you can see the cliffs. You’re not even that close, but it’s so very obvious how high up in the sky it is. Just leaves a question of whether or not there’s ocean beneath it, or plain ground. Both have a feeling of cement on impact from that kind of height.

“You guys want to take a climb?” Allio asks.

It’s your turn to laugh, “And let everyone know where we are? Do you want them to take from the cornucopia?”

“We’re away from it anyway, so what’s it matter?” Lennox asks, “They have to know because of the bodies being retrieved, right?”

“Maybe.” You say, “Or maybe they think we’re somewhere nearby and we’re going to go right back once they’re gone. And you’re telling me you want to hike up that? What a waste of daylight.”

“What are we even looking for?” Eytelle asks.

“Water.” Trink says just before you can.

And despite your best efforts, you all settle into silence. For about an hour, it’s just walking and keeping an eye out for any hidden tributes. You twist your ring in small circles, trying to keep yourself from biting your nails or anything else that might give off how nervous you are.

You’ve survived the bloodbath, which is possibly the worst part you’ll ever come across in here. Of course, now it’s left to the  unpredictability of other tributes, but you ran straight into the cornucopia and made it out alive. You fought two older troubles, one of them the size of a giant, and came out the winner.

It’s good news to Mags and Anchor, you think. Gets a lot of sponsors to line up after taking them down the way you did. However, you bet they saw your not-so-graceful demise after. Falling on top of Horace and losing your lunch… probably not one of your greatest moments. And honestly, you hope that if you do win, that’ll be cut out of the recap.

There’s no guarantee that it was even shown then, actually. You know that the gamemakers tend to switch the cameras when tributes are having private moments. Which includes an array of things, and you think one of those is puking. Either way, it shouldn’t have turned people away.

If they were to be face to face with something so gruesome and gory, knowing that they’re the ones that caused it, you can almost guarantee that they’d lose their breakfast too. Then they’d probably scream and cry and make it a lot more painful. 

Eventually, Eytelle thinks she’s found water. You all follow behind her, with Lennox taking up the back in case someone were to attack. You don’t really feel like standing guard at the back, anyway. After the two people you killed today, you know that you’ll be able to take the person down. But why would you want to?

If he wants to have blood and murder on his hands, then that’s his deal. With the careers, they’re always after the most kills, anyway. Makes their recap when they win interesting, and they end up getting praised for killing half of the arena. It’s not that way in Four, exactly, but it’s definitely that way in One and Two, since that’s the way they think.

District Four is a unique place. Teetering on the edge of being a ‘real’ career and just a plain district. Your poverty rate is higher than the ones in One and Two combined. It’s all because they’re favored a lot more than you guys, as always. And you wonder why that is.

What makes fish so good, huh? You’ve been around it your entire life, and to be honest it’s awful. The smell, the smell when it’s been baking in the sun all day, the smell when it’s been baking and it’s been around sweaty men. And of course, it’s the cheapest thing on the damn market because you have such a surplus of it.

Needless to say, you’ve eaten a lot of fish in your life. And you’re not really looking forward to eating more when you get home. In fact, you think you’ll take your ass down to the butchers and bakery and finally feel what it’s like to be a rich asshole. Just for one day, before you decide that it’s not worth it.

Eytelle was right about water. It’s a small pond, you crouch down and take off the backpack, pulling out the silver thermos and uncapping it. You disturb the water on the top, and then plunge the bottle in to get the water in the middle. The others don’t really do the same, and you can’t care. They’re going to be the ones drinking it.

They have the sense to drop iodine into the water. You all take a moment to take a break at the water. You strip off the white jacket and use the water to wash off the blood. When you’re done, you work on your arms and face.

You dry your hands on your pants. Then you pull off your shoes and dump out the sand and brush the rest out. Out there, there is no sand, it’s just plain grass and dirt. And it’ll be a lot less distracting and uncomfortable if you get rid of the sand all together.

You tie the laces as tight as you did last time, and then sit back and watch as the others finish cleaning themselves off. The blood on Trink’s face is mostly gone, but there’s now pink streaks down her cheeks. Lennox helps her clean it up.

The water is mostly still, sometimes there’s a ripple. You push yourself to your feet, “I’m gonna walk around the pond.”

“Yell if you need help.” Allio mutters, he’s working with a stuck zipper, “Goddamn.”

You pick up the sword, now realizing that you never traded it out for a spear. At this point, you shouldn’t even bother with a spear. You’ve got the hang of the weight, now. And it’s proved to be useful so far, so what’s the point in making you get used to a spear?

Around the pond are a few bushes, lots of trees. The further you walk, the more you can’t hear your friends. To be fair, they’re not even being that loud. If they were yelling like they were earlier, they’d probably be alerting the whole area of where you are. 

You hum to yourself, watching the way that the pond curves. You can’t find any hiding spots, so far. This would be a nice place to stay. Except for the fact that it’s so close to the cornucopia, and plenty of people are going to use it when they pass through. A dangerous spot, actually. It’s risky.

Nonetheless, you look over it anyway, and you’re satisfied to tell the others that the area should be clean, and you can continue walking. After a quick water break, you all head deeper into the woods, planning to stay the night out here.

It’s more of just wandering and useless talk as the sun begins to set. Allio manages to kill a boar, you’re set on the task of making a fire and the others are forced to argue out who’s staying up late tonight to watch over the others. You and Allio keep quiet, not wanting the attention turned to you guys.

It doesn’t work. Eventually, they’re asking what you and Allio think should happen. Allio says he doesn’t want to do it and thinks he shouldn’t be forced to, because of the boar. Eytelle agrees and says that she found the water, so really it’s just a debate between you, Lennox and Trink.

“If I take it, will I get a pass tomorrow?” You ask, knowing that you’re going to be exhausted tomorrow. But if they insist on walking back to the cornucopia, you’re sure that you can push through.

“Yes.” Trink says.

“Then I’ll do it.” You say, and it settles it easily.

You help cook chunks of the boar, and since you’ve volunteered, you get the first bite. It’s unseasoned, and terribly burnt and nowhere near what you’ve been eating the past couple of days inside of the Capitol, but it’s definitely a wake up call. Slowly but surely, the body is broken down, until it’s left to the more unflattering pieces.

When it’s agreed that none of you are hungry anymore, the pig is thrown away from where you all sit. Almost like a warning, that if you could take down a wild, vicious animal with tusks, then it’s a wonder what you all can do in a fight.

Conversation continues as the fire dies out. The warmth is being sucked away with it, and you watch as the others settle down in the grass. You pull on your jacket, thinking that just in case it does get cold, you’re prepared. You’d much rather be warm, than shiver through the entire night.

The anthem starts to play, and this is when you all look up to the sky to see the tributes faces. It starts with Verda, you can feel the pain begin in your chest. She wasn’t even your ally and you feel bad for her death. It’s all Finnick’s fault, with his damn plan on making you friends with everyone inside of the arena.

After Verda is the boys from Five, then Six. Cass shows up, then both from Nine and Ten, and Horace. Surprisingly, it looks like both of the Twelve tributes have survived. They’re young, twelve and thirteen you think you said. Hardly ever eaten and basically no survival skills. The only reason why they’re alive is because they didn’t run to the cornucopia.

The sky fades to black, and this is when everyone finally decides to call it a night. They all find their respective spots, prepared to spend the night on the ground.

Leaned up against a tree, you count the amount of animals you can hear. Birds, cicadas, you think there’s wolves, crickets. Trink rolls over, curling into a ball. She then uses the jacket as a blanket, draping it over her upper half, rather than just pulling it on. Guess it is cold.

The others don’t move as much. They seem to find a position and stay there for hours. It’s hard to find things to think of to keep you awake. You almost wish you had someone to keep you company. Even if you can’t talk, it would be nice to have another pair of eyes catching anything you might have missed.

It’s a good thing you slept well last night, otherwise you’re sure you’d be delusional and be seeing things. You stare down at the ring for a while, feeling yourself doze but not being able to bring yourself out. You’re just so damn tired.

It would be a shame to fall asleep now. Five careers all asleep around each other. Something would be able to sneak up on you, take out the tribute they want. You’d get in trouble for falling asleep and end up dead, yourself.

With a hefty sigh, you lean your head back up and open your eyes. They’re heavy, and you struggle to keep them open. You rub your eyes to wake yourself up more, and the moment you do, a long, low growl fills the air. You can feel your heart sputter and die in your chest.

You don’t want to move your hands. Moving your hands could set off whatever the creature is. You don’t have much of a choice, you think. You two can’t sit here together in some sort of sick stand off. It’s going to jump eventually. Maybe because Lennox rolls over or Eytelle breathes too loudly.

When you remove your hands from your face, you’re very careful. You can see what you missed before. Just opposite to you, a couple of feet back from Trink, is a tall creature with glowing eyes. You can’t seem to remember any animal that would fit the description. Then it dawns on you, and you can feel the blood drain from your face.

There is only one species that is so flexible to make fantasy come to life. And they’re no creature of nature.

They’re Capitol mutations.

You need a plan. If it’s only one, you think you and the others will be able to fight it. It might be tall, but there’s five of you and it should be possible for you all together to take it down.

Then, the eyes double. Going from one to two to four to eight. 

Fighting it out of the question.

As if you’re a snail, you move over to shake Allio. It takes him a moment, eyes opening and ready to ask you the matter. You press your fingers to your lips and motion upwards. He sits up, a harmony of snarls coming from the beasts. He looks just as pale as you feel.

He gets Lennox up next, and together they get Eytelle and Trink. Trink is by far the worst, with the way that one of them looks over her. She pushes herself backwards and towards you guys. Your fingers fumble in the darkness, finding your sword, slipping your backpack strap over a shoulder. 

The moment it’s free, you all have to run, “Cornucopia.” You whisper.

They seem to get it. There’s a silent, very silent countdown between you all. And then you’re on your feet and running. You’re the lead at first, arms swinging at your sides, backpack jostling at every step. But Trink turns out to be faster because she has no backpack, only her weapon.

Behind you, there’s screaming. Loud and clear, inspiring you to continue to go faster so you’re not the one at the butt end of the group. You’re sure that anyone nearby can hear, and they’re wondering if it’s a tribute getting murdered or something worse. If you were them, you’d be assuming the latter.

Eytelle seems to be at the end, and she’s behind. So long for being able to run faster because of her long legs. They’re no use now. You risk a single look behind you to check on her, and with the help of the moonlight seeping through the trees, you’re able to see what they are.

Pure terror.

When you reach back around, a branch whips at your face, feeling the sting linger and the blood begin to run. It’s not only you who has this problem, the others are struggling to get the branches out of their faces before they hit them.

They slap at your jacket, some get snagged but you keep on running and hope that the thorns come clear off and no rips are forced into the jacket. Most of the branches are low, shoulders and below. Your thighs hurt, you dance around the ones that will get tangled in your feet.

Suddenly, Eytelle is shrieking; “They’re bears!”

And you know. You caught a glimpse. Giant, brown grizzly bears with glowing eyes. They weight more than you, they’re bigger than you. It’s the Horace situation all over again. Except this time, they’re the Capitol’s pets and they won’t stop unless they kill one of you.

Eytelle is the closest, so you think she’ll be the one to die. It’s a sick thought on it’s own, but it worsens when you begin to hope that it’s her. Anyone but you. You can get through.

You slip between a pair of thin trees, the backpack getting caught. You get out of one of the straps, turn the backpack sideways and watch as Eytelle catches up. The backpack still isn’t free by the time she whizzes past you. You hold your breath, frozen in time as you watch all eight bears go past you and right after the others. Two bears to every one tribute.

The snapping of branches and screaming gets further. Once you’re sure that they’re not going to come back for you, you detangle the last of the backpack and take a breather. Sweat is dribbling down your forehead, tickling your skin in irritating ways. You catch a hold of your breath, waiting until you go to catch up with them.

You head right first, and then straight, keeping a distance between you and the path that they should have taken. The jacket is making you feel hot again, but with the cold air blowing through the trees, you can’t be bothered to pull it off. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re cold again.

Just as you begin to slow to a jog again, because you’re so obviously running on fumes at this point. A scream so raw, that you can feel the pain in your own throat, fills the air. It’s enough to make you hesitate on your next step, not wanting to walk in on whatever the hell is happening.

You watch where you step, making sure that there’s no branches or leaves that will crunch. It’s hard to see in the darkness, hard to be sure that every move you make won’t be the last or the cause of your demise. The screaming never stops, never fades into something quieter.

You find yourself getting closer, to your left is the bears. Straight ahead, another half mile it looks like, is the cornucopia. You think you could make it, if you run, not jog. You can’t see the others at all, and telling by the scream, one of them had been caught. The bears might just leave you alone, since they’ve gotten their midnight snack.

Peering through the trees, you’re able to see who it is. Stretched out on a sharp rock is Eytelle. Their hands dig into her limbs, her stomach as they tear her apart. She’s got her head thrown back, mouth open wide in a scream. You almost can’t believe that the animals haven’t shut her up yet. And then, you remember that it’s a show for the Capitol.

It doesn’t have to be, though. If you threw your knife, it would kill her now. Keep her from suffering too, and the others might even appreciate it. To know that you showed a girl you have hardly any knowledge of, mercy. She tries to yell for something, but it’s garbled out in tear-filled sobs that’s eventually interrupted by her own screaming.

Your fingers slip to your belt, pulling the knife out and preparing it in your hand. The distance between the two of you isn’t nearly as long as the spear-throw back inside of the Training Center. In fact, this one should be much easier. 

You wait and wait, looking for a perfect opportunity. Every time you think you have one, they’ll move in front of you. It’s all a game of anticipation. Unpredictable, until you find a pattern. They’re gamemaker controlled, of course. It’s a moving target to keep you on your feet.

The bear moves to the left again, and you throw your knife. You don’t even wait for the canon to go off--which it does--before you take off like a bat out of hell through the trees. You zip up the jacket to your chin, using your sleeves to block your face from the brutal hits of the thin branches that are bound to leave scars.

The roaring is much louder than the screaming. And their running is a lot more ground-shaking than it was the first time around. They’re all pounding against the floor, you can feel the rumble beneath your boots each time they make connection with the grass and dirt.

Before you know it, you can literally feel their hot breath down the back of your neck, feel the spit flying from their mouths during their snarls. One reach and they could grab you and tear you apart, just like they had done to Eytelle before you mercy-killed her. It hasn’t even broken dawn yet, and you’ve gotten your third kill.

You can see where the sand begins, dreading the moment you have to step onto it. In the depths of your chest, you have a feeling that the mutts won’t go further than the trees, and instead will sink right back to either mutilate Eytelle’s body or go back to the circle of hell where they came from.

Your calves and thighs burn, your cheeks flushed and itchy. All these quick breaths have got your mouth dry and throat sore. It’s only a little further, now. It’s right there, you can see it. Feel the free air on your nose. Ten steps, eight, six, four, three, two--

You’re thrown forward, flying over the first few feet of sand before you slam into it. Instantly, you know that something is wrong. And it doesn’t make itself known until you go to push yourself up, and your bag stings painfully. You yelp, tears gathering in your eyes as you give up the idea of saving yourself.

It hurts, even laying here in the sand does nothing but make you twitch. It’s warm, and it feels liquidy. You’re bleeding, and it has to be bad if you can’t even make out a lick of a cold breeze. You grit your teeth, blinking away your tears as you turn your head to the side, looking to the treeline. No bears, no mutts. It’s just you.

“Please.” you beg, you have to pick yourself up. 

The pain alone makes your vision turn black. You have to stop and take a break, using the cornucopia as a crutch to get to your feet. You don’t even know where the backpack or the sword is, anymore. All you can make out through your spotty vision is the vague sense of a campfire light that might be coming from inside of the cornucopia.

You want so badly to reach back and feel the damage, but the second you move your shoulders, you see white and black at the same time. Like heaven and hell clashing together at one, trying their hand at taking you to their paradise. You barely make it around the mouth, startling the hell out of your allies.

Lennox gets to his feet, arms outstretched to you as if you’re a toddler. It’s the same move that you had made to Alyssum when she had begun to walk. Urging her to come to you, and not your brothers. Who might as well be Allio and Trink at this moment.

You don’t want to give up the wall, but reach an arm out to him anyway. The moment you take a step, Lennox catches you.

“She’s gone.” you tell them, “I saved her.”

Two contradicting sentences, but they seem to catch on. You think they’re talking to you, or maybe it’s each other. The words begin to fade, and so does your sense of balance. The world is spinning, the slightest movement of your head has got dizziness stirring in your stomach.

You open your mouth, wanting to ask for help, but getting black vision instead.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair lacuna #lacuna

[writing-the-end]

WS Chapter 38: Red Raid

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

I love this chapter, and you’re all gonna hate me after this. I promise, things are better than they seem- i mean, we still have more than twenty chapters to go!

Red Belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block 

Warning: This chapter contains violence, battle scene, mentions of blood, and character death 

Avon cuts Xisuma free of the vines, letting his elytra open up so he can keep some dignity with landing. Keralis and the other hermits quickly explain why they’re at his base, as well as who the strangers are. 

“I knew that portal was tampering with world magic. At the time I was just happy to think that Doc might become another wizard with me. I could always use a helping hand breaking the natural laws.” Xisuma picks some dirt from his helmet, the yellow mask mimicking that of a bee. Antennae flick dirt away, moving independently of the wind billowing from the savanna. “I just can’t believe it still works. That must be one strong portal.” 

“You know Doc. When he does something, he does something right. GOAT, and all that.” Scar waves his hands flippantly. 

“But I assume you three aren’t really interested in the mechanics of world hoppin’, are ya?” X sighs, looking at the wanderers. The group follows him down the white walkway, entering into a hexagonal building. Red gasps, eyes widening to see that it’s filled with bees, bumbling around busily with butts full of pollen. X offers his visitors some tea- of course with lots of honey. 

“We wanted to ask if you knew anything about someone who attacked us.” Avon states, sipping on the warm drink. It’s a comforting taste, practically healing her from inside out. 

“They came through a nether portal. His hair was like fire, flickering and moving like flames. Anywhere he walked, things would smolder or catch fire. And we always smelled brimstone when things happened.” Ecto recounts, pouring her tea out. She’s focused on the mission right now. 

“That definitely sounds like something from the nether, though...I’ll say I’m thoroughly stumped. I’ve been to a lot of worlds, and never heard of these...these hellspawns you’re talking about.” Xisuma shrugs. “A lot of worlds have something unique, or something that is only shared between a few other worlds. Take these bees for example. In the last world we called home, we didn’t have the little buggers.” 

“Do you think this is something only our world has?” Red questions. “Because he...he looked a bit like me. Short, with similar face structure. But completely different.” 

Xisuma hums. “Y’know, the nether is an unusual place. It’s smaller than our world, a parallel dimension to the Overworld. Distance works different there, as does time. It’s a hellscape, but a mimicry of this dimension. Perhaps in mimicking the Overworld, it also mimics the people that call it home.” 

“This is hurting my brain.” Grian whispers, and all three Wanderers nod in agreement. 

“Sheshwamey, didn't Tango do a lot of work in the nether? Didn’t he spend a lot of time there?" Keralis questions. 

“Ah, that’s right. His base a few worlds back was nether inspired. He knows a lot about the nether. ” Xisuma sets down his cup, eyes blinking rapidly as he begins to piece things together. He stands up, so abrupt that it knocks over his chair and spills his tea. “We have to go talk to Tango. Right now. To the Nether portal!” 

The hermits jump to their feet, Mumbo, Grian, and Stress a lot more careful with their tea than the others. Red and Ecto are also quick to stand, following Xisuma up the vines of a tree. But Avon hangs back, nervous. They’re really going to the nether? After just talking about a danger that could be lurking among it? She’s from the End, the exact opposite place. She hates quartz because it’s from the nether, it’s all unnatural for her. It’s only with Ecto and Red’s help are they able to drag Avon into the hell dimension. 

But luckily for Avon, they aren’t really in the nether. They’re atop of it. The hermits step out calmly, searching the radiating lines of carpet, dirt, and glass for Tango’s path. All across the roof of the nether, in the liminal space between dimensions. The eternal heat of hell below their feet still percolates through the bedrock, causing the group to sweat as they walk on the flat surface. But Avon would rather deal with the inferno than all the monsters that call hell home. 

“How’d you guys do this?” Ecto questions, impressed by the unusual form of transportation. She gazes down a small hole in the roof, the bedrock blown apart. Blast marks still mar the grey material. She was sure that bedrock was unbreakable. And yet these hermits manage to do it. Magic? Science? 

“Get high enough into the sky, and you end up standing on the roof of the nether.” Mumbo states.

“I think it was Impulse that was the first to pioneer this in the new world, but I could be wrong.” Iskall pulls on the collar of his hoodie, starting to sweat against the rising heat. 

“Here we go. If this ain’t Tango’s, then it’s definitely one of the other members of ZIT. Either way, we’ll be close enough.” Xisuma motions, holding his hand into the rift like he’s holding open the door. 

“Such a gentleman.” Stress chuckles, hopping into the open portal. She’s quick to escape the confines of the frame, because a minute later it’s packed full of the boys. Swearing and struggling to all get through at once, they are pushed out when the wanderers come crashing in. Stress was starting to wonder if the teleporting would mix bodies at that point. 

The arguing pauses only when a low bugle mutes their voices. “Does...does Tango have a raid farm?” 

“He wouldn’t have one so close to his iron farm, would he?” Iskall rubs his head, having knocked it against Grian’s thick skull. 

Rockets shoot into the sky, the silhouette of a flying person blasting towards space before leveling out. Red eyes, framed by a mess of fiery hair. “Hey! You guys come to join the party?” 

“Tango! We were coming here to ask questions...but it seems you’re busy!” Xisuma calls, already pulling out his sword and strapping on armor. 

“It’s nothing I can’t- gah!” Tango flutters as a crossbow bolt tears a hole through his elytra, grounding him among more than a dozen pillagers. High up, the hermits and wanderers watch as the raid party swarms towards Tango.

Grian is the first to leap from the platform. “I call the evokers!” 

Everyone else jumps after, even Ecto. Despite being wingless, she manages to survive the fall. And that leaves Red at the top, biting her nails as the battle rages beneath her. She shrugs off her backpack, leaving it at the entrance of the portal. Leaving Fred safe from harm. She’s always stayed far away from pillagers. Most creatures that live in the overworld want no quarrel, even creepers just want to be left alone most of the time.

But not pillagers. They thrive off of the pain of others. Evoker magic is a dark art, relying on the death of others to fuel their spells. Selene told Red that the scholar she learned magic from was raided by pillagers. Any spellbook that they deemed worthy was stolen back to their mansion. The rest was burned. 

Red’s instincts say to stay far away from the raid below, to let the warriors take care of the swarm of illagers. To stay out of their way, out of trouble. But Red grimaces as Ecto barely escapes the fangs, snapping from the ground and ripping at her scarf. He needs to get into the fight, to be helpful. To not be useless. He may not be able to fight, but maybe he can help with distracting the attackers, or bring potions between those that need it. Even Scar, the worst hermit combatant, is in the midst of aiding Tango with ravager wrangling. He should help. 

Avon throws her trident into the tough hide of a ravager, ducking under the iron hatchet swinging for her neck. She kicks the vindicator into Ecto’s awaiting blade. The two may bicker and train by fighting each other, but when it comes to being on the same side they are a masterful team. While Avon waits for her trident to return to her hand, Ecto glances across the battle. “Avon! Red’s falling!” 

At the mere mention of their friend, Avon takes to the sky. Red’s tucked into a small ball, protecting his head from the ground below. The two let out a  simultaneous groan as they collide, Avon’s fingers grabbing onto Red’s vest and landing them both on the ground. “What are you doing?”

“I came to help! Maybe I can kite the pillagers into traps? Or hand out potions and food?” Red winces as Avon raises her wings like a curtain, stopping vex from reaching Red. Iskall leaps from a tree, spearing three of the summoned spirits with a single arrow. 

“You don’t even have a weapon! What if they attack you?” Ecto hisses, retreating behind Avon’s wings. Avon turns, finally grabbing her trident only to throw it back into the mix. Hopefully, it will hit a few raiders on the way out as well as the way back. 

“I’m small! I’ll be fine.” Red squeeze between Ecto and Avon, charging into battle with an armful of food stolen from Mumbo’s farms. She slips between the legs of a ravager and the flanks of vindicators, tossing the heated spuds to the hermits in battle. She yelps as an axe comes terrifyingly close to hitting her, but manages to dodge away with less than a scratch. 

Ecto and Avon can only continue to battle, and keep watch of their friend. Try to stay as close as possible in case Red needs help. But he’s holding his own. His small stature is just under axe swinging height, and he’s creative enough to find passages through the battle no one else would think of. 

“Scar! Take some potions!” Red croons, holding up a bottle of regeneration swiped from Mumbo’s base. 

“Thanks, little fish!” Scar chuckles, removing the stopper and chugging the ambrosia. “Whoa, watch out!” Scar shoots an arrow, downing a vex from hurting Red. He’s not about to let them get a bad rep among any more of his friends. 

Red smiles, and scampers away. Towards Keralis, holding his own against not one but two ravagers. For such a sweet, shocked face, he’s quite the warrior when he wants to be. Red’s path becomes blocked, grey skin and severe vest of a vindicator between her and her friends. The malicious face only grins at the sight of an easy kill. He laughs, and raises his axe to kill the kipling. 

“Red! No!” Ecto screams, running down a pillager and stumbling through the crowd of fighters. One moment, she sees the glimmer of the sunlight against the iron blade. Her vision is blocked by a ravager, chasing after Tango as he kites it towards a mine trap. And when she looks again, the axe has fallen. 

The hatchet lays useless in the grass, metal dirty but not bloody. The vindicator’s arm is still raised, but he’s frozen. Quite literally. Across the field, water has solidified into ice, capturing a number of illagers within it’s cold grasp. And completely encasing the one about to kill Red. Relief floods across Ecto, and Avon above banks to congratulate Red. For standing up for himself.

Red rises to his feet, brushing off the dirt on his trousers. “I told you I could handle on my-”

The world stops with Red’s voice. The sounds of battle die back for all the wanderers, the only ones who see the sudden charge. Across the plain, Ecto and Avon can hear the ragged breath escape Red’s lips. From over Red’s shoulder, a pillager lowers his crossbow, the cables still humming with release. 

Red’s face doesn’t quite register what she feels. Eyes gaze across the battlefield, to her friends. Hurt, but standing. She sinks to her knees, gasping for a breath but still strung with shock. A blank face, even as a shaking hand reaches up to grasp the tip of the bolt. Red finally looks down, seeing the metal tip protruding from her chest. A perfect hit, blood blossoming like a poppy across her vest. He can taste metal in his mouth again, lips turning a new shade with each breath out. The color of Red’s name. 

Avon and Ecto scramble to reach Red, anything to cross the distance between them and their friend. But no matter what they do, no matter how fast they reach him. It’s already too late. Red is gone by the time Avon crashes into the ground. Gone from life. 

And gone from the battle. All that’s left is the bolt, bloody and broken.

#wandering stars #avon #ecto #red #hermitcraft #hermitblr #tango tek #gtwscar #keralis #xisumavoid #grianmc #stressmonster101 #iskall85 #minecraft #mineblr #minesona #mcsona #writing #writeblr #tw violence #cw violence #violence cw #cw blood #blood cw #cw character death

[indiavolowetrust]

Carajillo II

SUMMARY: The sequel to Carajillo, which you can read here. A coup d'etat has been staged in the Celestial Realm. The human proposes a plan to halt the impending war.

Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Part Two: Coming Soon!

Part Three: Coming Soon!

TW: Blood, Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mention of Rape

PART ONE: CHAPTER SIX

The knife strikes with a steady, precise rhythm against the board, the pearly onions rendered to slices within moments. Then there are the leeks, shallots, garlic, and bunches of mint, all of which sit idly by the expansive chopping board. The bandages wrapped around my hands prove to be rather cumbersome in the task, reducing my efficiency -- but it is my experience that allows me to work deftly around the obstruction. It is likely that I would have to change the bandages at some point within the next hour: the crushing of the cumin, cinnamon, wild bulbs, and numerous other spices that I had found myself unable to name have both stained and left the bandages with a savory smell, leaving me currently unable to work with other meat. Or any other food, for that matter. I imagine that baking a butterscotch pie with traces of pork fat and savory spices would have little appeal.

Despite my best efforts, I find that the image of her is branded into my mind. Seared deep into the recesses of my memory, dredging up both unpleasant and pleasant thoughts. Her dark curls had spilled over her shoulders as I pressed her to me, and I was vaguely aware of the soft, full lips that laid beneath my fingers. The moonlight had illuminated her features in such a loving manner, embracing the soft brown tone of her skin, the shape of her curls, the dark pools of her eyes. Everything about her had been impossibly ravishing, even more so than usual. Had I not known she was only human -- a human spirit, to be exact -- I would have assumed she was a fellow demon who had come to seduce me. A succubus in the most innocuous sense of the word.

At that moment, I had wanted to do nothing more than devour her. To tear her apart in the most wonderful ways imaginable. To feel her body writhing beneath mine as I brought her to orgasm again and again, her pretty mouth letting out soft moans. To hear my name on her lips as her blunt, human nails rake down the skin of my back, the control of her body having fully lost itself in the sensation. To feel my own release paint her insides white. I had prided myself once on my ability to resist temptation, even against my own nature as a demon -- but I could not help but become undone at the sight of her loveliness. Despite the guilt --

A sudden warmth carves a path down my palm. I pull myself back into the present, forcing myself to focus on the sensation.

There is a rather nasty, painful cut on my thumb. The blood spills into the bandages. I watch with horror as the skin does not immediately knit itself back together, the wound remaining a fresh, vivid crimson.

* * *

The hours pass by much quicker than I expected. While the other kitchen staff are allowed nearly an hour of a break for lunch, lower servants such as I have only been given half an hour’s worth. The higher-ranking chefs couldn’t be bothered to do something as lowly as peel potatoes and chop onions, after all. I make a note to increase the pay and rest hours of the castle servants once I return to Lord Diavolo’s castle. There are only twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds until I must return to the kitchens. Twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds for me to scout the servants’ halls and whatever else I can find.

And so I make haste.

Maria’s instructions had been vague, given her general unfamiliarity of Sanctum’s layout -- but they are enough. The marble corridors, great columns, and alabaster sculptures pass by in a blur. My eyes flicker towards endless halls and gatherings of various servants as I make my way towards what should be the laundry room, paying little mind to the vicious, judgmental gazes of the paintings as I pass. Even with the aid of the Apple of Lies, there lies enough power left in the paintings for the forms to sense my presence. Given my innate sense of time, it is all too easy to discern the thoughts of the silent works of art, their words echoing in the back of my mind.

Impostor! Impostor! a plump, painted cherub wants to cry out. Its stare is both hateful and scathing. This one is an impostor!

Sinful, abhorrent demon, another wishes to spit. If the alabaster sculpture could shift its features or throw its voice, it would. I hope you rot in the ashes of your own guilt. Have you no shame?

You are but a simple, loathsome creature, says the carving of Samson, one of the Celestial Realm’s greatest demon-slayers. Who were you to play god? Who were you to make her suffer for your own ends? The human hates you! Detests you! Loathes you with every fiber of her being!

Or perhaps it is only my imagination.

True to Maria’s words, a relief of an archangel stands just outside of the laundry hall. The sounds of splashing water and falling garments can be heard from within. I stride just to the threshold of the room, catching sight of a ruddy-faced angel. He stands on the highest most step of a ladder and reaches towards a clothing line that has been strung up high on the ceiling. A sopping wet garment and a pair of pins are in his hands. I knock on the door.

The angel nearly falls off the ladder. The pair of pins clatter onto the floor, the garment meeting the surface with a squelch.

He regards me, eyes wide. “You -- you --” he stammers angrily, clutching the ladder, “-- you could have killed me, you idiot! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock.”

“You know what I meant!” The angel looks with frustration towards the fallen garment. He begins to clamber down the ladder, each step prompting another creak from the rickety object. “Now look what I’ve gone and done. The head laundress will have my neck for this, I assure you, and I’ll be sure to mention --”

“I’m looking for someone named Maria,” I lie. “Do you know where she is?”

He raises a bushy brow. “Maria?”

“Frizzy hair, frail, stands at approximately this height.” I gesture with my hands. “Have you seen her?”

He taps a sole finger on his chin, his free hand holding himself in place on the ladder. “Frizzy hair, you said?”

“Yes.”

“You must be talking about the little one, then. The head laundress sent her out back to gather some water for the washing.” He juts his chin towards the end of the room. A painted door stands wide open, the rays of sunlight nearly blinding me as I look towards it. “Don’t expect info like that to come free, though. In exchange for nearly killing me, lad, you can --”

I’m already halfway to the door.

The sunlight nearly blinds me as I step outside, flooding my vision with pure white. I find myself blinking in the aftermath, shielding my eyes against the sun. Thankfully, the effects do not last long. It is only nine seconds and twelve milliseconds before I am able to fully discern the image before me, the overgrown flora nearly obscuring the path. The nearly hidden path seems to have experienced little, if any, tending, reflecting only a few other areas of Sanctum. Areas that are less likely to be seen by high-ranking officials tend to be either under construction or completely unattended. Even the great hanging garden at the heart of Sanctum appears to have just experienced the fruits of the gardeners’ labor -- an aspect that the pale creature had checked on the first day of our arrival.

That indicates one of two options: one, the new empress has little control over her servants and people, thus leading them to be disobedient; two, the new empress has just come publicly into her position and has had little opportunity to exercise her power. If it were the latter -- which I would assume it is, given the general lack of unrest -- that would further indicate an unsteady balance of power amongst high-ranking officials.

If the new empress wants to keep her head, she’ll have to rule with an iron fist.

I continue onto the path, deftly avoiding the brambles and clumps of thorny flowers that seem to lunge at my feet. Five minutes and forty-one seconds later, the path finally opens into something a bit more spacious. A dry well sits in the middle of the space, a bucket having been long abandoned beside the stone structure. The sounds of activity can be heard beyond the weathered walls of the buildings that surround me. I press forward.

The sounds of activity, as it would turn out, originate from a rather extensive training yard. Despite its size, however, as well as my own biases towards those of the angelic persuasion, I must admit that its design is rather clever. The training yard is divided into exactly three levels, each of which is populated by a number of recruits testing the true might of their weapons. Swords ring out rather noisily against spears; another group trains with a smaller set of daggers. A stairwell leads up to each level, allowing convenient access to the space, while an observation deck sits some distance from the highest level. My gaze flickers instinctively towards the observation deck, inspecting the figures that stand there.

My eyes widen at the sight of the pale creature. A rather thick veil covers her visage, creating a shadow -- but it is obvious that she is having great difficulty discerning the finer details of the training. Her pink pupils shiver and waver under the assault of sunlight, and she squints. A slightly shorter angel stands beside her, her skin a deep, rich umber. A number of painted designs trail what skin is visible through her light robes, the fabric dyed surprisingly a vivid collage of orange and gold. Her long, braided hair is beset with gold coils. She lifts her hand to her mouth as she laughs, the multiple rings on her fingers gleaming under the sun, and her teeth --

I pause. I have never seen such a sharp, fearsome maw on an angel.

“Barbatos?”

I turn towards the noise, despite the nearly inaudible quality of it. Maria stands by a well that is situated on the far end of the training yard, hoisting a  sizable bucket of water under her arm. A number of curls fall from her low bun, making her appear disheveled, but she strangely shows no other signs of effort. Then again, the shadow created by the awning above does much to obscure her form. Her sudden vigor is likely my imagination.

What are you doing here? she mouths. Aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen?

I tap my wrist, miming a wristwatch. She nods in understanding, positioning the bucket of water at her hip as she begins to make her way towards me from the well. Given the odd structure of the training grounds, she manages to pass where it is cooler in the shade.

Tomorrow, she mouths once more. As if I would forget. She manages the steps quickly, spilling only some of the water over the edge of the bucket. I am only vaguely aware of the racket of the training yard as Maria begins to near me.  If --

I sense the shift in the air before I hear the scream. The sharp reverberation of a blade, passing wildly through the air. The gasp of an onlooking recruit as they turn to witness the disaster that will be, their own reflexes and speed too underdeveloped to make a difference. My eyes only catch the vestiges of the image as the blade moves towards Maria, the human continues unaware down the steps, the balance of the bucket occupying her thoughts at the moment.

I lunge for her. The blade nicks my cheek as it passes by, slicing open the flesh -- then it is embedding itself audibly into the column beside us. Maria squeaks as she falls beneath me, releasing the bucket. It is only a moment before we are both soaked in its contents. I wrap a bandaged hand behind her head before we can both fall against the stone, disregarding the pain that is to come. It is, as anticipated, as unpleasant as I thought it would be: the flesh of my hand nearly tears itself open upon impact, the cut on my hand reopening within the confines of the bandages, and I can just barely see the blossoming of crimson. No matter. Maria’s head has not met the stone. Her body has likely produced no more than a few bruises.

It is six seconds and twenty-one milliseconds before I pull myself away from her. One hand propped up against the stone, the other cradling her head. Her eyes are still wide with shock, the dark, coiled strands sticking her forehead, but upon inspection I discern that she is unharmed.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

There is a clamor before us. I look in its direction, curious -- only to see the empress making her way down the stairs in her finery, the gold coils clinking against one another as she does so. A portion of her robes are gathered beneath her fingers, allowing her to move with haste. Combined with her many rings and golden bracelets, however, it is a wonder how her pace has not slowed from the sheer weight of her jewelry. Even more surprising is the worry that is etched on her features. The pale creature follows close behind, nearly soundless as she glides down one stair to another.

“Are you two alright?” the empress asks, stopping a mere distance from our fallen bodies. Her robes meet the stone once more as she releases them, falling with a hush. Her golden eyes -- the form of which also seems a bit strange, I note -- inspect both Maria and I thoroughly. They widen at the sight of my cheek, which has now been fully drenched in its own blood. “You are wounded, good angel!” she cries, bringing a hand to her mouth. The empress turns to the pale creature. “Oh, Gallatha -- Gallatha, my dear, come closer -- this one is wounded!”

The pale creature, Gallatha, nods. “It would appear that he is. I will send for a healer.”

“Send for the best one that we have, my dear,” she orders. “What if he expires?”

“My Divinity, I am sure that he will not expire at this very moment.”

Before I can react, the empress pulls me from my position and back onto my feet with astounding ease. She reaches for Maria as well, searching her for injuries as she does so, and frowns at the sight of lacerations on her knees and elbows. Maria fidgets awkwardly beneath her inspection, clearly unsure of how to react to the overbearing empress’ attention.

Her face flushes, her eyes quickly averting themselves from the empress’ gaze. “My -- My Divinity, I’m pretty sure that Boris and I are --”

“Oh, nonsense!” She ruffles Maria’s hair with ringed fingers, smiling with the grace of a benign monarch. “There’s no need to be so reserved, my dear girl. The days of that horrid system are now gone. I will ensure that the recruits are duly reprimanded for their carelessness. My advisor will ensure that you two are treated in the infirmary.” She turns to the pale creature. “Gallatha?”

Gallatha steps forward. “Of course, My Divinity.”

I cannot help but stare in disbelief.

According to what Maria could remember in limbo, the coup d’etat had seemingly been the work of one ravenous, powerful beast. A golden creature had stormed into the throne room one day, interrupting a private meeting between God and his council members. The grand doors had slammed against the marble walls with such ferocity that none could help but stare at the intrusion, the sound giving the act a sense of finality. The air of an execution. It was only after a moment that God had dared to speak from his throne.

Begone, foul creature! he had ordered, rising to his feet. You have no business here. Leave this place, and you shall leave here alive. Stay, and I shall smite you until you are no more than scorched earth!

The creature had only tilted its head in a curious manner, its teeth clicking together in terrible humor. Is that so? the creature had said, the sound of its precious stones and many golden coils echoing in the hall. Will you smite me, truly? You, an insect who dares to place himself above the affairs of men and beasts? You, a cowardly beast who has become obsessed with power? You are nothing more than a false idol. Your throne is no more worth than a bed of mud.

And then the great creature had thrown back its head and laughed, its maw shining in the divine light. God had ordered his guards to seize the blasphemous creature, demanding that it be executed at once. Declaring it to be an affront to the Celestial Realm itself.

But he had neither the foresight nor the knowledge to realize what this creature was.

The creature took God by the collar, dashed him against his own throne, and devoured him whole. All was silent for a moment, the screams of the desperate being dissipating to the air. The council, who had for so long reveled in the absolute power and control over the caste of the Celestial Realm, could only watch with horror. And then the golden, wondrous creature had turned to the council with an all-consuming hunger, licking its chops, and the throne room regressed into chaos.

Rich, sweet blood, pooling on the marble. Lumps and limbs scattered about, the bodies having been long torn asunder. The golden creature had lapped at the remnants, its maw a deep, vivid crimson. And then it had plucked the crown from the marble, the precious metal stained with the blood of its former owner, and settled upon the grand throne.

For all that Maria could not remember of her time in limbo, given her state, she had told me these things with the utmost confidence.

And so the kind, generous empress before me cannot possibly be the one who had staged the coup d’etat. She cannot be anything more than a figurehead. I find myself searching the empress’ smile before she is escorted away by her guards, searching for any signs of that terrible maw. Yet there is nothing but the image of her plump, smiling cheeks, her teeth very decidedly not sharp and horrible, her genuine, kind gaze, and her array of golden adornments.

END OF PART ONE

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me! #obey me barbatos #obey me oc #obey me oc x barbatos #obey me mc x barbatos #obey me mc #obey me writing #obey me fanfic #fanfic #writing #carajillo ii

[hgb94]

Time for Grizzop and Sasha playlist quote crimes. Charlie, thanks for putting Battle Cry on your Grizzop playlist and inspiring this, I gave myself feels trying to put it together.  Battle Cry by The Family Crest

Grizzop: I’ve only got a limited amount of time, to, you know, do good work and be a good paladin of Artemis, and I’m worried that I won’t have the chance to do right by Artemis, and…I want to do as much as I can and what I can do now is limited cause, well, I’ve only got another 20 years if I’m lucky.

Watch the stars at night How they shake against the dark Like firelight

Sasha: I never really expected to…live that long. It’s not really traditional in my line of work. But…a month is pretty, is pretty short. Grizzop: Yeah. But, look. You’ve got people who want to keep you alive, so, we’ll do our best.

And feel the weight of time As we move about this world Love, you and I

Grizzop: While on a hunt, you do what needs to be done. You know, for the good of the pack, alright. If you’re strong you lead, if you’re weak you get helped, if you’re a threat you get destroyed. That’s how it works...Guard the pack, so that you will succeed together. Sasha is part of our pack. So we will guard her.

Oh my love my heart don't cry We were born to die But for this moment, for all time

Grizzop: She’s gonna die. And you can stop it. We’re supposed to help people, so, you know. The decision seems clear to me....You asked if given the choice I would, and yes, I would. So, there you go. That’s my honest answer.

Oh I will fight for you I will die for you Oh I will fight for you I will die for you I will die for you

Grizzop: You, are more important than a thing! I don’t care what the thing is made of, or if it’s magical, or divine, or the best thing in the world! You are more important than that THING! You are not getting yourself in danger like that again, alright!

Rage against the waking dawn Take the seconds of this life And pull them through your palms

Alex: The spear plunges into Sasha’s back and out through the front of her shoulder. Ben: No! No! No! Retcon, retcon, Paladin’s Sacrifice! Paladin’s Sacrifice! Can I just take the hit, please?

And watch the day break through the night And watch it die

Alex: You feel it go in, at which point there’s a big strong flash of light as the spear is retracted. Grizzop, blood gushes out from your shoulder. Ben: I am turned around with a hand outstretched. Grizzop: I got you!

As we bend and break through time Lover, you and I And for this day, for all our lives

Alex: The shots go off, the first of the weapons plunges into Grizzop, and the second, and then the third and the fourth, all plunge into Grizzop simultaneously. One of them misses, but it doesn’t really matter, because one of them, the one immediately behind you, the spear goes in the back of the head and comes out through the neck…Grizzop is dead in front of Sasha. Lydia: She screams. She screams the kind of scream that would break the mics.

Oh I will fight for you I will die for you Oh I will fight for you I will die for you

Alex: He’s there, face down, tattered, gaping, gaping wounds, and his eyes are still open, albeit facing down. Lydia: She turns him over and closes his eyes, and gives him a hug. Alex: There is a moment of stillness for you.

Run lover speed now fly

Sasha: I’m just gonna walk out of Rome and you’re gonna come with me...there’s nothing left to save here.

Sasha: Do you have any friends? You know what’s useful in times like this? Friends. You got anywhere? Cicero: I might know a place. Sasha: Well, we’ll go there then.

Feel the years go by

Alex: I’m gonna jump ahead about twenty years...There is some kind of estate, it clearly is out in the middle of nowhere and self-sufficient, there is nothing nearby within sight...There’s a lot of children, large numbers of children roaming around, some of them seem to be playing and laughing in the farmyard, some of them appear to be doing maneuvers...Cicero is there, pretty old by this point, and he’s wandering around, he’s just surrounded by children and trying to make them listen...It’s actually a very calm serene place.

As the weight of time it shakes As the earth it turns and quakes

Sasha: I hadn’t really planned much. I never got much chance to plan. Grizzop: Well, you should Sasha: That’s nice, actually Grizzop: Yeah, it’s good. You know, it gives you motivation

Shed your fears your tears your pride And then ramp into the night

Sasha: This is my, I think people are gonna call ‘em moral codes in the future, it’s a new thing I’ve come up with. Let me know if what you need keeping secure crosses any of these, and I’ll get my team on it. … Alex: As we head out of the office, out of the window, we see all of the kids are starting to be brought in for a meal and we’re just gonna pan out on this scene...one of the kids is on the roof, but it’s okay because there’s an adult there looking up and applauding...And I think we’ll leave it there for Sasha.

And I will fight for you I will die for you I will fight for you I will die for you

Grizzop: Even if you are gonna cark it, you might as well try and do as much with your life as you’ve got. That’s my philosophy...You can mope around and then die and not have done anything, or you can do as much as you possibly can and then die having done something.

Oh I will fight for you I will die for you I will die for you

Grizzop: When you die it’s not the end. You can still do stuff, it’s just not here.

Ben: Grizzop will look up to the moon: Grizzop: Right, so this is what’s next. Ben: And he’ll scuttle off to hunt that beast.

#rqg #rusty quill gaming #sasha rackett #grizzop drik acht amsterdam #grizzop playlist quote crimes #thank you for murdering me with this song charlie #i hope this murders you back #it killed me putting it together #rqg spoilers

[leahxx129]

The Last Descendant (Sam Winchester x Reader) pt.4

Disclaimer: Tumblr is being weird again so if you’re using the app, the ‘Keep Reading’ cut off line may not be visible inspite of the fact that I always insert one.

Summary for pt.4.: You split up into two search parties to look for Dark Kaia in order to obtain the spear and your teammate turns out to be an outstanding company. When you find her an unexpected turn of events ensues.

Warnings: cursing, some really awful smut (sorry for that)

Word count: 2.820-ish

PART 1.  PART 2.  PART 3.

The car ride to the location is pretty much the epitome of awkward. Dean drives, Sam sits by him and you and Cas have to share the backseat. He sits as far away from you as possible, which you guess is the normal reaction to almost being stabbed to death by you. Nobody utters a single word. You are kind of still pissed at Sam a little for expecting you to just fess up and of course for keeping a teeny-tiny bit of an information from you such as Lucifer has a son. Once you catch him staring in the rearview mirror at you, but as he realizes he’s caught, he looks away. You’re thankful when the car finally starts to slow down and then stops. You leave every belonging of yours in it. When you get out you notice a police car just a few meters away, a lady is leaning to the side of it. Her face lights up when she sees the boys and starts off in their direction.

„Sam, Dean!” she hugs Sam first, then Dean, but her eyes widen when she reaches Castiel. „Oh my God, Cas, what happened to you?!”

„She did.” he points towards you and you shoot a smile to the astounded lady.

„Oookay?” she looks at them confused but as none of them seems to be keen on offering explanation, she turns to you with an extended hand. „I’m Jody by the way.”

You look at Sam.

„So, you say she can be trusted?”

„Absolutely.” he nods in reassurance.

„Very well then. I’m Nat. Nat…Colt.” you take her hand and squeeze it. It feels a bit strange to use your real name again after all those years.

She suddenly appears to be thinking hard.

„Why does this name sound familiar to me…? Hey – isn’t your omni-killing gun called Colt?”

„Yeah, it is. It’s named after its creator, Samuel Colt. You just met his last living descendant. But I should warn you, her identity is not quite public and she can get stabby so… ” Dean shoots you a sarcastic look.

„Oh, wow, okay. Got it. I’m keeping my mouth shut.” she jabbers.

„So, how are we going to team up?” Cas takes the chance to speak up.

„You and Jody are with me ’cause I doubt that Little Miss Trust Issues over here is gonna go with anyone else but Sam.” Dean replies.

You roll your eyes as a response.

„So, Jody, where did your men see Dark Kaia?” Sam clears his throat and asks to switch the subject.

„They saw her west of here, but she’s been moving around, so basically the whole area is ground we need to cover.”

„Fan-freaking-tastic.” Dean pulls a face.

„I suggest we start moving. The sooner we find her, the better.” Castiel speaks on everyone’s behalf and so you all do as he says so.

The other bunch starts off to the direction Jody has mentioned and you and Sam take the other way. You’re a little bit ahead of Sam, trying to avoid any interactions at all costs. You really don’t feel like doing a heart-to-heart in the middle of the woods. Whenever he catches up with you, you start walking even faster. You probably keep on doing this for about a good twenty minutes when he finally grabs your wrist and turns you to face him.

„Okay, that’s enough! I know I screwed up by not telling you everything - and I’m sorry for that – but you haven’t been the most honest either so I don’t exactly think I deserve the silent treatment.” he bursts out, looking intensly in your eyes. You hold his gaze.

„I’d let go of me if I were you and wanted to keep my hand.” you say calmly.

He lets out a breathless laugh.

„Right. Empty threats. Your speciality.”

He’s crossed a certain line and before you know it, your free fist is on its way to collide with his jawline, but he catches it mid-air. Only a couple of seconds pass and he lets go of both your hands just to grab your face and crash his lips onto yours. You totally freeze because of his unexpected actions and forget to kiss him back. He pulls away, visibly puzzled from your lack of response. You realize your mistake and immediately yank him back by his plaidshirt. Your positive reinforcement really escalates things. In just a fraction of time he pins you against the nearest tree with his body, kissing you passionately. You bury your hands into his hair, getting entirely lost in the moment. His kiss is hot and wet and everything you imagined it would be like. He tears off your shirt, leaving you in your bra and that’s when you get back to reality.

„Sam…Sam! We…” he kisses your neck and it takes everything within your power to suppress a moan. „We… we can’t! Okay? Just – just stop!”

He pulls away just enough to be able to look in your eyes.

„We can. And we will.” he says out of breath and returns to kissing your neck. „You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this – how long I’ve wanted you!” he growles against your skin while his hands are traveling all over your body, making his argument even more valid.

„But..but what if the others stumble upon us, huh?” you give rationality one last try.

„Well, Dean’s a big boy, he can handle it and Cas is not as innocent as he seems. As for Jody… she’ll look away. I want you. Now.”

You don’t need to hear anything more to be convinced – the probabilty of an unwanted pregnancy equals zero, your pill makes sure of that. And as for other concerns…you hope for the best. Sam doesn’t strike you as the sleeping around type.

You take off his jacket and start to unbuckle his belt. He does the same for you and as a final step of the process, he yanks down your jeans as far as he can. You can see the lust clouding his eyes as he looks at your black lace panties. Soon enough he pulls it to the side, caressing you with his index and middle finger. Despite all your best efforts, now you’re not able to withhold a moan. He grabs you under your thighs and lifts you up gently so you would be at the same level he is.

„So wet…” he whispers against your lips and he pulls out his length to push into you. The first couple of thrusts hurt a little, but then it’s just pure pleasure.

You both know exactly that this is not a romantic act. It’s an act of passion and longing and displaying feelings – everything that have been held back for a long time now. His movements are fast, but gentle at the same time and you can’t help moaning his name. He moans yours in return before he starts moving even faster and it’s not long before you both reach bliss. Even though he’s released into you, you stay like that for a moment or two, panting. He kisses you one more time before putting you down. You take your torn shirt and use it to clean yourself up. In approximately three minutes both of you are dressed fully – well, almost fully. Your upper body’s single coverage is your bra thanks to the younger Winchester.

„Here! Take this.” he chuckles as he hands you his plaidshirt. ”I’ve got a t-shirt under this.”

„Oh yeah? And what should I do with it? It’s at least three times my size.”

„I don’t know… Put your belt around your waist, it’ll look like a dress.” he suggests.

„Dress on jeans? Sam, I hate to break it to you but we’re not in the eighties anymore.”

„Relax a bit, Nat. You’d even look smokin’ in a potato sack, a little dress on jeans won’t make you any less attractive.” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and gives you a long kiss, which earns him a warm smile from you.

After you’re both ready, you continue your journey of looking for Dark Kaia, walking hand in hand.

„Jesus, Sam, you’ve been smiling for three consequtive minutes, are you alright? I think this is a new record for you, by the way.” you tease him.

„Very funny, Nat. I’m-I’m just happy, that’s all.”

„Really? And why is that?”

„Because of you.” he admits shyly. „I’ve been waitig for someone like you for a while now. You know, I used to think I can only have healthy relationships with women if I get out of this life. Been there, done that, got back in and I thought I could never have anything that even remotely resembles to it. But then you appeared in my life and messed up everything I believed in.”

„Same here, Sam. Same here.” you confess as well, squeezing his hand harder. Since the death of your family, Sam’s the only person who’s managed to break through to you, demolishing each and every one of the walls you built to protect yourself.

You stand on your toes and kiss him. As a result, he pulls you flush against his body, but both of you freeze upon hearing the horrible screams that – judging by the volume - come from a frighteningly short distance.

You both start running in the direction you think they come from and soon enough arrive at a small glade. The scene playing out in front of you is anything but encouraging – Jody is laying on the ground unconscious, blood trickling from her forehead; Castiel is kneeling next to her attempting to heal her wound, but you weakened him significantly in the diner so it’s going a lot slower than usual; and Dean is getting his ass kicked by a girl prominently smaller than him. Based on the stories Sam would tell you about him before you fell asleep together in the bunker, you imagine this is gonna shatter his ego.

The girl they referred to as Kaia is about to stab Dean with her spear, but she stops when Sam yells at her. Instead she just quickly delivers a punch to the older Winchester and turns to hurl the weapon at Sam.

“NO!” you scream and push him out of the way just in time, but consequently your left shoulder gets grazed by the pointed head before it settles in a tree trunk.

“Well, you’ve just ruined my shirt.” you exclaim indignantly, while you examine the hole that the weapon ripped into the fabric. Slowly, blood begins to soak the frayed ends. “Agh, and blood, too?? You can’t wash that out! Now it’s personal.”

You both start running at each other and upon colliding, you both manage to take in a hit. A long, tiresome combat ensues between the two of you – the others are too mesmerized by both of your grace and all the beautifully executed motions to join. A busted lip and several bruises later you see an opportunity to render her harmless by bringing her to the ground and you go for it. In a blink of an eye she’s down in the grass and you’re on top of her, holding her in a way that’s impossible to escape without obtaining serious injuries.

“Would you just stop it already?!” you hiss into hear ear, panting heavily. You consider yourself fit, but this little match made you sweat like a pig. “We don’t want to take that stupid spear of yours for good, girly! We’d just like to borrow it for replication so that we could kill an archangel named Michael with it! He’s gonna eradicate every reality you’ve ever known if we don’t stop him. And right now, it looks like our best bet at doing so is your pointy stick.”

“Well, your friends kind of failed to bring all of this to my attention!” she hisses back just as equally out of breath as you.

You let out a frustrated sigh.

“Alright. Promise me you’ll stay calm and I’ll let you go.” her lack of response makes you motivate her into cooperation by pulling back her arm just a bit more, making her scream out in pain.

“Alright, alright! I promise!”

You let go and both of you jump to your feet. When Kaia realizes Sam is holding the weapon, she goes over and takes it from him then brings it to you. Judging by her facial expression, she would have gladly punched Sam in the face for touching it, but a promise is a promise.

“That man you mentioned has sent his minions to get this from me. They’ve almost killed me twice now. If what your saying is true, take it. Make a copy then get the original back to me. Although I’m uncertain if it’s replicable. “ she says, handing the spear to you.

“Well, this is kind of my job, so I’ll try my best to replicate it.” you say as you take it. Sam, Dean and a now-conscious Jody with the help of Castiel all come closer to take a look.

“Your job is replicating weaponry?” she inquires, curiosity taking over her.

“Well creating and replicating. Whatever the customer pays for. But I make things for myself as well, just look at this ring.” you touch the ring on your right middle finger with your thumb. “This has angel grace in it. It glows when it comes in contact with angels. All I need is a handshake and I’ll know if the person is an asshat from upstairs or not. See?” you touch Castiel’s shoulder and the ring starts glowing with a bright blue light. “But when I touch Dean for example, it’s not glow-“ the words freeze in your throath as the ring burns brighter than ever.

Everybody stares at Dean expectantly, who seems utterly shocked for a minute, but then the mask falls off - he rolls his eyes and a look of indifference appears on his face. He straightens himself, even the tone of his voice changes when he speaks up.

“Alright! I must admit I did not expect such turn of events that would lead to my untimely exposure... I planned on pretending to be Dean for a much longer period to get what I want.”

“Michael…” Sam breathes out.

“In the flesh and bone.” he smiles coldly as he raises his arms and an invisible power pushes each of you against a different surrounding tree. Before your back collides with the trunk and the air gets pushed out of your lungs, you manage to throw the spear into the tall grass. If he wants it, he might as well just look for it.

To the biggest surprise of everyone present, the weapon is not the thing he opts for.

It’s you.

He calmly strolls over to you.

“My, my…” he says as he grabs your chin and scrutinizes your face. “You look just like her. Tell me, Nat, what is your story.”

Your eyes snap to Dean’s green ones, though he’s unmistakably not the person looking back.

“My story?!” you almost can’t contain the rage rising within you “You slaughtered my family when I was a kid, asshole, and I’ve been on the run ever since! That’s my story!”

“Interesting. In my dimension, I murdered your family, but you did not escape. You chose to serve me instead.”

“No!” you feel tears starting to sting.

“Oh, yes...” he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “In fact, your services covered a much broader area in life, including warming my bed. I have to admit, I felt a pang of jealousy when you appeared here in Samuel’s flanel.” he whispers the last sentence, his breath fanning your face.

“DEAN!” Sam’s voice rips trough the air all of a sudden. “I know you’re in there! Fight it, man!”

Michael appears to be a bit irritated by this and turns to walk in Sam’s direction. Your thoughts are racing, so it takes a couple of seconds to realize that what Sam’s doing is distraction. While Michael is set on him, he would concentrate on restraining the others less. It takes all your physical power to move your hand, but you succeed. You are able to dip your fingers into your bleeding shoulder wound and start drawing the angel banishing sign on the tree.

“Samuel. You know, your brother is pushed back so far in his own mind, that he cannot hear you. You might as well just stop talking.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll make you.” with a snap of his fingers Sam’s begins choking on thin air.

Your heart rate rises seeing Sam in agony. You swiftly dip your fingers one last time to finish the sign.

“Hey, Michael!” you scream, immediately earning a head turn from him. “This isn’t over, asshole!”

You slap your palm against the sign and both him and Castiel disappear.

#Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #SPN #spnfic #series #fanfic #supernatural #sam

[drowning-in-dennor]

I’m Coming After You

Just as the little town of Hetalopolis is settling into a long-awaited age of peace, another villain rises in power. A swift-footed bandit is draining Hetalopolis of its valuables, and it’s up to a local superhero to stop him. [Recommended listening: I’m Coming After You by Owl City.]

  It’s the same headline as yesterday. 

  BANDIT PULLS OFF ANOTHER HEIST, the Hetalopolis Times screams, STARZKA CLOTHING STORE COMPLETELY LOOTED! The page-long article includes a tearful interview from the owner of Starzka, lamenting the loss of his clothes and the ransacking of his store. Henrik shuts the newspaper and tosses it across the room, watching as it hits the wall with a satisfying smack.

  He feels bad for not stepping in to stop the bandit, but again, what can he do? Hetalopolis has a plethora of other superheroes, after all, most of them way stronger than him. Henrik gets up from his moth-eaten couch and picks up the newspaper. Then he throws it at the wall again for good measure.

  The sudden ear-piercing chimes of his cell phone makes him clutch his head in a mixture of pain and surprise. Rubbing his temples and reminding himself to change his ringtone, Henrik answers the call. “Hullo?”

  “YO!”

  He almost drops the phone again. “A-Al?”

  “WHO ELSE WOULD IT BE?”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Henrik winces. “Can you, uh, quiet down?”

  “Sure, sure.” On the other side, there’s a pretty large chance Alfred is grinning. “Sorry if I burst your eardrums, dude. But anyway, I called because I need your help.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m going villain-hunting tonight, and I need a sidekick,” Alfred says, “and Gil’s already piss-drunk, Mattie’s asleep and Artie’s working. So can you help me out?”

  “...what?”

  “You heard me!” Henrik places his phone a good few inches away from his ear. “I’m gonna find that thief and turn him in, and you’re gonna help me!”

  The notion is so ridiculous that Henrik takes a few moments to reply. “Al, look for someone else. Out of all the heroes, why the hell are you talking to me?”

  “Because you’re my friend! It doesn’t matter if we get booted off a skyscraper or run over by a tractor, or something. We’ll just patch each other up and go for a beer afterward!”

  Leave it to Alfred, stupidly optimistic Alfred, to worm him into the most stupid things. “You’re really cheesy.” 

  “I know.”

  “I’ll do it, you gremlin.” Henrik runs to his bedroom, rummaging through his closet for a long-forgotten outfit. “But you’ll have to pay for my hospital bills.”

...

  Fifteen minutes (and a struggle to fit into clothes meant for a man far younger than him) later, Henrik finds Alfred at the base of his apartment complex, his cape flapping in the wind and hands on his hips. “Hey!”

  “Why do you look so much cooler than me?” Henrik picks at his worn-out tunic, pulls up his drooping breeches and reminds himself that at twenty-six, being the local half-retired superhero is still a valid job.

  “Because I’m actually in shape!” He adjusts the mask covering the top half of his face. “Unlike you, I don’t just sulk at home when there’s crime to fight.”

  He decides not to reply and lifts up his axe, arms straining with the effort. Henrik curses himself for getting so out of shape. Alfred snorts at his struggle and begins to march off.  

  They race through alleys, stalk under streetlamps and peek behind trash cans, before heading to the little shopping district of Hetalopolis. The stores are all closed, double-locked to keep out any thieves. Alfred, with his ability of super-strength, lifts up a truck parked next to a restaurant and lets Henrik crawl under it. “D’you think he’ll be here tonight?” He whispers.

  Henrik shrugs.

  Neither of them know how much time passes as they stare out from below the truck at the streets, at alleycats scrounging for morsels of food from the trash, at the occasional car driving past. It must be around midnight when a shadow, one that’s undeniably human, passes them by.

  Alfred nearly kicks him in the groin as he points at the shadow, whisper-screaming “IT’S THEM!”. Henrik wiggles out of the way and peers at the bandit, who creeps along the pavement in muted black slippers, pressing a gloved hand to the cap concealing their head. A masquerade mask of midnight blue covers the top half of their face. As they step past the truck, the hem of their navy tunic swishes past. 

  Craning his neck, Henrik watches as the bandit makes their way toward another clothing store, running slender fingers over the glass window that displays elegant, expensive clothing. In split seconds, the glass bursts. The bandit steps inside.

  On the floor, neatly camouflaged among shards of broken glass, a spear of ice begins to melt. 

  “There they go, there they goooooooo...” Alfred hisses. He begins to inch out from beneath the truck. “Should I toss this truck at them?”

  Following his friend out, Henrik shakes his head. “I’ll surprise them.” He digs his boots into the pavement, squares his shoulders and runs through the hole.

  Before he can even blink, he’s inside the store, watching as the bandit walks, movements fluid and graceful, toward the cashier and tugs at the drawer. It seems that the bandit doesn’t even see him, as they pocket wads of banknotes and walk toward the hole in the wall again, right past Henrik.

  Then they turn. A harpoon of ice, jagged and sharp, flies toward Henrik’s face.

  He dodges it, skirting past them and zipping out of the store before more ice can hit him. “Al!”

  His friend appears swiftly, jamming a car into the hole of the window and skirting back. “You didn’t get them?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll call the cops, then. You can grab them until they get hand — “

  The door, now completely frozen over, flies off its hinges. The bandit sprints out from the doorway, stopping only to summon another spear of ice and turning on Alfred and Henrik.

  “Or we might have to fight now!” Pulling the car out from its hole, Alfred tosses it at them. As though dancing, they jump it effortlessly. Henrik swings his axe at the bandit, only succeeding in slicing off part of their tunic. They retaliate with a smack of their ice-spear.

  Reeling, Henrik only avoids another smack by a hair. Alfred darts at the bandit, trying to throw a punch, but gets knocked back with another harsh strike of the cold, hard spear.

  His axe breaks the spear cleanly in two, the sharp tip flying off onto the road, but a new weapon is in the bandit’s hand almost immediately afterwards. Even though he’s practically teleporting around them, every one of Henrik’s attacks is swiftly dodged. Even without Henrik’s superpower of enhanced speed, the bandit is quick.

  Alfred’s attempt to punch them is again parried away with a harsh jab of the spear that punctures a hole in his shirt. “Dang it!” He goes for a kick. He misses for the third time. “They’re so hard to catch. Almost like a, uh...”

  Henrik sweeps his axe-handle at the bandit. It knocks him back slightly, but is nowhere near enough to defeat him. “Think of that later!”

  “A pixie!” Alfred rushes in, shouting, “they’re like an annoying little pix — “

  He falls down, knocked out cold with an ice-block to the stomach. Henrik watches as he slumps down, then hefts up his axe with what almost feels like excitement running through his veins. “Guess it’s just you and me now, Pixie.”

  He charges.

  Actually managing to slice a tiny cut in Pixie’s calf with the tip of his axe and knocking them down once, Henrik’s blood roars in his ears. He slashes, ducks and counters with newfound strength, his ability allowing him to escape a few deadly attacks to the head. He has almost forgotten the exilharation of a good fight.

  Now wielding a mace, the Pixie slams their icy weapon into his ribs. Hot pain lances through his side, but, not bothering to check if he’s broken any bones, Henrik lunges forward desperately, axe aimed at Pixie’s face.

  Pixie dodges at the very last second, and the blade only catches the corner of their mask. It falls off, clattering to the ground after being sliced in half. Victoriously, Henrik stares at Pixie, who falls to their knees... and pauses.

  He looks at his opponent, now unveiled. A few scattered golden locks fall above murky blue eyes blown wide with surprise. Their smooth, round cheeks are red with the cold and with exertion, and their rosy lips are squeezed in a tight “o” of shock. They struggle to their feet, standing uncertainly and squaring their shoulders.

  Screaming at himself to pick up his axe, Henrik is frozen in place, despite the fact that Pixie hasn’t cast anything on him. He stares, as Pixie turns, stumbling a little, and runs.

  At his feet, Alfred groans. “Whuh?”

  “They got away.”

  “Whuh?”

  “Pixie ran away.” Henrik starts to feel the adrenaline fade, the pain in his ribs increasing tenfold. “I don’t think ice is their only ability.”

  “Whaddaya mean?” Alfred crawls toward a street lamp and pulls himself up with it. 

  “I don’t know what it’s called, but y’know, it’s like that Medusa thing. When you look into their eyes, you freeze.”

  “Wait, really?” He massages his head. “That didn’t happen to me when I fought them, though.”

  “Maybe they hadn’t activated their ability then.” Henrik grabs one of Alfred’s arms to keep him steady as they limp away from the crime scene. “But enough of that. Let’s get you to a hospital, then we’ll tell the cops about Pixie.”

...

  He’s in the headlines again.

  SUPERHEROES AMERICA AND VIKING TRY TO STOP HEIST, is printed on the front page this time. MONEY SAVED, SHOP DECIMATED!

  Again, the newspaper is thrown against the wall. It’s exactly twenty-four hours after Alfred took him to go villain-hunting, but with his friend at the hospital, there’s no way he can face Pixie alone.

  Then their face flashes in Henrik’s memory, of astonished midnight eyes, puckered lips and a slender frame stumbling away with all the grace of a bird with a broken wing. He remembers the thrill of fighting a bad guy again, and his bruised ribs ache with the thought. 

  But who cares about broken ribs when there’s crime to fight? Once again, Henrik changes into his outfit, grabs his axe (not so heavy this time) and returns to the shopping district.

  This time, Pixie is looting the florist’s, easily picking their lock and gathering banknotes, which are cleverly hidden in a flower pot, but still not hidden cleverly enough to escape their eagle eye. When Henrik enters the store, axe held protectively in front of them, they turn. Their mask is intact again, and Henrik reminds himself not to knock it off.

  Then they lunge.

  The first bolt of ice is easily dodged, the second one missed by a hair. Backing out of the flower store, Henrik swipes his axe and catches Pixie’s lance. It cracks in two, then skitters across the pavement far away from the fight. While they look at their lost weapon, Henrik kicks them in the back of the knees, making them stumble, and thrusts out his axe-hand to slice him in the chest —

  Pixie grabs his wrist.

  Henrik freezes, like he did when looking into their eyes. His hand trembles. His axe falls to the ground. Agonising cold is spreading across his arm. When he looks down, his entire forearm, from wrist to elbow, is covered in ice.

  He wrenches away, head reeling. He can hear every one of his breaths.

  Before Henrik can get a hold on himself, or a hold on his axe, Pixie walks away, throwing something behind their back.

  That something lands right at his feet. He looks down — it’s a bouquet of roses. But Henrik can barely register why he was thrown the bouquet. The only thing occupying his mind, making him feel giddy despite his defeat, is the warmth in Pixie’s hand he felt the split second before they attacked.

...

  Everyone says the third time’s the charm, and Henrik can’t help but agree.

  Pixie is far easier to fight this time. Perhaps it is the strain of fighting three nights in a row, but their icy mace is smashed in half, and their tunic is quite torn up from harsh blows of Henrik’s axe. A few paces away, Henrik can see their chest heaving. When he raises his axe, he hears them gasp. If not for the fact that they’re fighting, he’d almost find it cute.

  He charges for what he’s sure will be the last time — he’ll take Pixie down once and for all, and turn them in. He knocks them to the ground, presses them against the hard, rough asphalt, right outside the chocolate store they were trying to rob. Strangely, they don’t struggle. Henrik reaches into his pocket for his phone.

  But when he’s about to call the police, he looks down at Pixie, who has turned their face so that their mask falls off. And once again, Henrik looks into surprised eyes, glazed over slightly with pain. Their delicate lips are parted, struggling to take in oxygen. The bruises mottling the right side of their face, marring fine skin and sharp cheekbones, make him wish they never fought.

  Henrik feels as though he is being enchanted. He gets up, slowly, and extends a hand to Pixie. They take it. Their gloves have been sliced off, and his hand tingles when their skin touches. Despite being a master of manipulating ice, Pixie’s hand is warm, their skin soft and smooth. Henrik resists the urge to squeeze it.

  As Pixie limps away, clutching their battered mask in one hand, Henrik screams at himself for being so stupid.

  At his feet, he finds a box of chocolates.

...

  Their game of cat-and-mouse continues for weeks. No matter if it’s a win or a loss, Henrik lets Pixie go after every fight, watching as their slight, wavering figure disappears down the street. And every time, without fail, they leave a gift behind, a remnant of what they tried to steal. A packet of candy, a pair of expensive new boots, a soft, fluffy blanket.

  Alfred, still nursing his injuries from his fight, tells Henrik that Pixie’s trying to frame him for his thefts, advising him to throw those gifts away. But he eats the candy, tries on the boots (which fit perfectly) and falls asleep wrapped in the blanket, dreaming of grandeur and glory.

  One night, he can’t find Pixie in the shopping district. He walks across Hetalopolis, like he did with Alfred at first, and it takes him almost an hour to find them, lingering in front of a darkened building. 

  There’s no staring match. Henrik grips his axe handle with both hands, and looks at Pixie. “En garde, my bandit?”

  No other prompt is needed. They create a transparent, shimmering mace of ice, and swing.

  After fighting so many times, they’re both accustomed to each other’s style. The exchange of blows fall on nothing; it’s more feinting than anything. Henrik can tell, by how Pixie lags behind, how their icy darts miss by miles, that their heart isn’t into the fight. It’s almost like they want him to win.

  Pixie leaves their right side unguarded for a few seconds. He leaps forward, intent on bringing them down.

  Henrik drops his axe when Pixie grabs his arm instead, pulling him closer. With their other hand, they pull their mask off and knock their cap to the ground. Cornsilk hair that appear silver in the moonlight half-conceals those beautiful dark eyes, and those pale, slim lips appear to be smiling. He wonders if they’re as soft as they look.

  He gets his answer when Pixie leans in and kisses him. Like his hands, his lips are warm and as soft as flower petals. His other arm moves to wrap around Henrik’s waist, pressing him so close together that he can inhale their scent, drown in them completely. When they pull away, Pixie’s cheeks are red.

  “I won’t turn you in if you kiss me again,” Henrik gasps. He feels as though he is floating. Pixie continues to hold his hand, tracing their thumb across the back of his hand.

  And when they talk, he nearly forgets how to breathe. Pixie’s voice is quiet, comforting, like the murmur of rain. He wants to hear them talk forever.

  “That’s strange.” They smile, just a little, and Henrik practically melts. If either of them think it’s strange that their opponent is adorable, they don’t say it. “I was going to say that I’d turn myself in if you kissed me again.”

  “I’d rather have you in my apartment than in jail,” Henrik says, “so we can kiss each other plenty without consequences.” His heart skips as he asks, “what do you think?”

  Their eyes light up. “That’s an excellent idea. I’d much rather spend my night with you than in a cell. But a few things you should know, if you want this relationship to go anywhere.” Henrik almost faints when he hears them use the word “relationship”. “My real name is Stell. For goodness’ sake, stop calling me Pixie. I’m not short.”

  He watches as Stell draws themself up to their full height, and still be a good few inches shorter than them. “My name’s Henrik. And you are short. You’re tiny and cute.”

  An ice cube hits him on the side of his head. Henrik rubs the wet spot left behind and laughs, crushing the ice cube with his boot. Stell rolls their eyes and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. He kisses their forehead, as they make the slow, lazy walk back to their apartment.

  He wonders what the headlines will say tomorrow.

#aph dennor #APH Denmark #APH Norway #APH America #aph fanfiction #my writing #owo

[jinmukangwrites]

Feast

Prompt @ammo-never-runs-out-of-knives

Gosh this is pure crack. What have I done. I'm sorry. If you hate it please yell at me and I'll try again. Oh gosh what sort of terrible creature have I made. I’m sorry readers, I’m sorry JoJo.

Summary: Wild is always eating something.

-o-o-o-o-

No one notices at first. It was a simple thing, something that didn't call attention to itself. Like how Sky rubs the back of his neck when he's nervous or how Four is always tapping his fingers on something. It was inconspicuous, something that went ignored until it was mentioned. Now, everyone is painfully aware of it.

Wild has a habit.

He's always eating something.

Whether it's a handful of berries he's snacking on while Time is doing his hair or fish rice-balls he's stuffing in his mouth before he swings his sword at an enemy. There's always something edible in his hands, an apple, a steak, a whole cooked bird, or a fruit cake. During conversations he's always standing there, speaking through bites and nibbles like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Hyrule was the first to find out, and now no one can unnotice it. The funny thing was? Wild hasn't even realized he does it yet.

-o-o-o-o-

Hyrule is trying to have a conversation with Wild when he notices. They are in the middle of talking about the different kinds of plants in Wild's Hyrule when his eyes catch on Wild stuffing a bite of carrot cake into his mouth after saying his bit about Silent Princess.

"Where did you get that?" Hyrule asks. It is already mostly eaten and he hasn't even realized that Wild was snacking on it. Wild gives him a confused look and swallows before he looks down at his hands.

His eyebrows rise as he looks at the cake. "I don't know," he says quietly. Hyrule doesn't have a chance to question that answer before Wild shrugs and stuffs the rest into his mouth.

He swallows and folds his arms across his chest. He then continues the conversation like normal, like nothing even happened.

Hyrule watches in awe as Wild almost robotically reaches into his traveling back and pulls out a pouch of nuts as he still speaks.

After that conversation, Hyrule is suddenly hyper aware of every single time Wild has some sort of food in his hands. And it's all the time. He wonders where all the food goes. Wild doesn't seem to be gaining any weight…

-o-o-o-o-

Wind is the next to take notice of it. He wishes he hasn't noticed it, because now it's the only thing he can look at while they travel. Even when Wild is cooking he's munching on something. It's horrible, it throws off his concentration and takes over his thoughts.

He doesn't even know how he found out. It just occurred to him randomly when he was helping Wild clean up dishes after their dinner. He was biting into a mango with one hand and drying a dish with the other and Wind just thought "huh, he's always eating something."

And now it's stuck in his head. He cannot stop thinking about it because he's always eating something and no one comments on it.

Even now, Wind is sitting on a fallen over log as the group are taking a short pause in their traveling and Wild is across the clearing, biting into an apple mindlessly.

"Where did he even get that?" Wind asks quietly to himself.

Hyrule, who was walking past him at the time, stops in his tracks and looks down at Wind with wide eyes. "You see it too," he breathes.

Wind is so thankful someone else has noticed that he feels like he's going to cry. Instead, he nods his head and Hyrule slumps down onto the log next to him.

"I thought I was going insane," he says. Wild is working on a new apple at this point.

"Has he always done this?!" Wind asks.

"Done what?" Twilight asks from where he's sitting on the ground, getting dirt out from his boots.

-o-o-o-o-

Naturally, Twilight the the third to know. He wishes he didn't ask. Because this knowledge? It's terrible.

He thought he knew his prodégé inside and out, how could he not notice that Wild always has some sort of food with him? How has it gone on for so long with no one noticing?

Hyrule and Wind shouldn't have told him, Twilight thinks as he's watching Wild practice swordplay before they call it a night. He's executing perfect technique while biting into a drumstick at the same time, and Twilight hates it. He's never going to be able to unsee it.

Curse Wind and Hyrule. They should have kept this horrible knowledge to themselves.

Speak of the devil, they both suddenly walk up to Twilight and he wants to snarl at them to go away. They have ruined his entire life.

"Hey," Hyrule says.

"He's doing it still," Wind says.

Twilight rolls his eyes. "I can see that."

It's silent for a few seconds before Hyrule speaks up. "We're going to tell Legend."

"Why?"

"Because."

"… Good reason."

-o-o-o-o-

Legend wants to die. A few minutes ago, he was completely fine, enjoying himself even. He was happily setting up his bed spread when Twilight, Wind, and Hyrule all walked up to him.

"What do you want?" He asks.

"Did you know…" Twilight starts. He's grinning. Legend doesn't like that grin. He sits down next to Legend and Legend gets the feeling he should run. "That Wild is always eating something?"

"What?" Legend asks.

Wind chuckles and points over to where Wild is practicing with his sword. Legend sees nothing wrong with it until he notices Wild take a bite of a drumstick and continue as normal without breaking pattern.

It all comes rushing to him, so quickly he feels dizzy.

"No…" he whispers, because they're right. Wild is always eating… and he hasn't noticed at all until now. He looks up towards the three horrible people besides him. "Why would you tell me this?"

Hyrule shrugs and he, along with Wind, join Legend on the ground to watch Wild stuff himself with cucoo.

-o-o-o-o-

Four finds out on his own. It was gradual, slow, so slow he didn't even realize that he knew until he spoke out loud to Twilight while they traveled.

"You even notice how Wild is, like, always eating?" He asks.

Twilight stops in his tracks and looks down at Four with impossibly tired eyes. "Yes," he whispers like the very fact of Wild always eating has taken twenty years of his life.

Four looks back at Wild who stuffing berries into his mouth from the bushes as they walk past. The ones before him are full, the ones behind are bare.

Then, Four suddenly understands why Twilight looks like it's an evil thing.

"Shit," Four says.

-o-o-o-o-

Warrior also finds out on his own. He'll later argue that he has the worst finding out story and no one is inclined to argue with him.

It is during a battle. An ambush. They are just walking down the forest path when the sounds of screeching monsters reach their ears. Every hero whip out their swords as the first Moblin barges through the trees. More follow along with multiple Bokoblins close behind, all holding wooden weapons but looking mighty threatening with them.

They run into battle.

Warrior swings his sword and takes out two Bokoblins at the same time and turns to fight the next one, but he pauses when he noticed Wild take a bite from a kabob and then run a Moblin through with his sword.

"What the-" he starts to say, but he is cut off by another monster as it swings it's spear around like a bat. He ducks and rolls out of the way and falls back into the pattern of fighting, yet he can't keep his eyes from traveling back to Wild as he continues to munch on his kabob.

Then, at the very end of the battle, Wild's sword breaks. Warrior is about to run through the monsters towards him so he can protect him, but Wild only shrugs and stabs the monster in front of him with his kabob stick.

He proceeds to fight another monster with an empty stick in one hand and a new one somehow filled with food in the other.

Warrior feels like he's going to faint.

-o-o-o-o-

Sky is confused. Most of the group has some sort of secret that they're not telling him. Time seems to not be a part of their loop, and neither does Wild, but neither of them seem to care about being left out.

Sky cares. He wants to know what they talk about every night when they gather and shoot looks at the members not apart of their secret conversations.

A few days pass, and he's has enough.

He pushes himself off from his sitting place and marches over to the group. Legend looks up at him and desperately shakes his head, mouthing the word run, and that makes Sky hesitate ever so slightly, but his curiosity wins over and he sits down next to Wind.

"What are you talking about?" He demands.

Twilight glances at Hyrule and Four gives Sky a don't do this to yourself look, but Sky gives then his most determined face. He won't leave until he knows what's going on.

Twilight sighs. "Fine," he says, sounding defeated. "We'll tell you."

"Sky," Four says softly, "have you ever noticed… that Wild is always eating?"

Sky looks at them like they're crazy, yet every single one of them have very serious looks on their face. He doesn't get why they were acting like it was forbidden knowledge. What's so bad about that?

"I guess not," he says. He looks behind him and sees that Wild is digging into a bowl of soup that he hasn't noticed before. Time is sitting besides him, completely oblivious. "That's interesting."

The next day, Sky doesn't think it's interesting. Wild is always eating and it's absolutely horrifying. He cries that night, with his hands covering his ears and his eyes screwed shut.

"Make it stop," he whimpers.

"We tried to earn you, buddy," Warrior says as Wind rubs Sky's back.

"Please... Make it stop…"

"There, there…"

-o-o-o-o-

Okay, now Time is curious. Whatever is being talked about every night is becoming too much of an issue. It's clouding their minds and making them sloppy in battle. They are always looking at Wild with sadness and at Time with sympathy and he's had it up to here with that.

So, after a particularly disastrous battle against a hoard of Lizalfos, he sits each of them down and folds his arms across his chest. "What is going on?" He demands.

Wind shifts nervously in their seat and Legend shoots Wild a glare. Wild looks confused by the action.

"It's nothing," Twilight says, "nothing is going on."

Time narrows his eye. What a load of bull. He turns to Sky, who is looking like he'd rather be the dirt at the moment. "Sky."

"That's low, Time," Four hisses but Time ignores him and steps closer to Sky.

"Sky, what's going on?"

Sky, not being able to last very long under Times judgmental eye, breaks just like he plans.

"Wild is always eating!"

Time is taken aback with surprise as Wild lets out a muffled "What?"

Time looks over at Wild who has half a roll in his mouth.

Come to think of it… Wild is always eating.

"We tried to save you," Hyrule whispers as they look at Wild with barely restrained fear.

Time watches as Wild slowly chews up his roll and swallows, and it clicks. Time instantly regrets asking them. He should have let himself remain oblivious.

"I don't eat all the time," Wild says as he begins to take a bite of the rest of his roll.

Time watches likes he's watching the moon fall all over again.

Out of all of them, Wild is now the only one who doesn't know.

Oh Hylia, have mercy on them all.

#linked universe #hero of the wild #hero of hyrule #hero of the wind #hero of twilight #hero of legend #hero of the four sword #hero of the sky #hero of time #hero of warriors #jin writes #nonsense this is all nonsense #proof i need more sleep #i could physically feel my writing abilities fly out the window as i wrote this #im sorry

[margoshansons]

My Power’s Turned On:

Part Three in the My Mother’s Daughter mini-series /// 01. 02.

Summary: After being sent on her first international SHIELD mission, Y/N Danvers discovers several well-kept secrets.

Notes: I may have fudged the timeline a bit, seeing as this takes place about a month before Winter Soldier, but I’m also kinda re-writing the MCU with this so...

“You joined SHIELD?!” Carol Danvers’ voice yelled through the Kree communications device. Y/N sighed, annoyance rising in her chest. “The one thing I specifically told you not to do? And you did it?”

“Yes, Mom” Y/N replied, rolling her eyes, “Look, you are the one who flies off every year to save the universe, so really you only have yourself to blame.”

Carol scoffed, “How the hell is this my fault?”

Y/N shrugged, “You set too good of an example when I was a kid. Besides, I’m twenty-five, not fifteen. I can handle my powers.”

“That’s not why I want you away from SHIELD” Carol confessed. “Look, Fury has told me something that could potentially put you and Monica in danger. I know you two can handle yourselves, but this is beyond anything Fury had ever planned for this organization.”

Y/N nodded, her annoyance fading, “I’ll be careful, I promise.” The comm shut off, with the agent promising to give her briefing to the woman who raised her after her mission.

“Mom says hi,” Y/N told Monica, collapsing into the seat of the Quadjet beside her. “She’s worried about us.”

“She’s always worried,” Monica smirked, “But I guess she has good reason to be.”

Y/N tugged on the collar of her new suit. The older ones always burned up when she went binary, hopefully, this one would last. The synthetic polymer sat tightly around her chest and inner thigh, while the more lightweight material stretched from her hips and shoulders down her limbs. She was thankful for the similarities to her mom’s suit, no doubt Fury’s idea. Camoflague was useful, especially on SHIELD missions.

“Agents Danvers and Rambeau come in” Fury’s harsh voice came over the comms, the two women affirming their presence.

“The city of Sokovia has been struggling with internal struggles for years, your job is to keep citizens safe while you try and take down the base.” Fury relayed, his neutral tone sounding out of place for the two women. 

“Yes sir” Monica replied.

“Danvers” Fury addressed, his tone growing dark.

“Yes, sir?” Y/N asked, unsure why he was singling her out. 

“Keep the glowing to a minimum until you get inside the base. Sokovia doesn’t need any more destruction.”

“But sir” Y/N protested, knowing she could do more good than evil with the binary. “These people need our help, if I can do some good--”

“These people are not your mission Danvers” Fury called her out, “Your mission is to take down the Hydra base, understood?”

Silence filled the jet as she met Monica’s brown orbs in confusion. “Understood Sir.” She replied resentfully, taking her place in the cockpit with Monica, ready to complete the mission. 

“Target in sight” Monica replied, the small city base growing larger as they grew closer. The ship shook, sending Y/N into a flashback four years ago when a similar position revealed the existence of aliens near Earth.

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asked, scanning the controls for any idea.

Monica shook her head in confusion, “They seem to have some kind of energy tech, hold on” She veered right, taking a sharp turn before moving upward, flipping the jet to face the attackers. “It looks too similar to the Chithari to be a coincidence.”

Y/N put it together before anyone else did. “They have the Scepter.” She stood up, securing her gloves and hitting several buttons, the hatch opening up to the chilly Eastern European weather. 

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Monica yelled from the cockpit.

“We can’t take them down just using our weapons, we need something stronger.” She responded. 

“Danvers stand down!” Fury yelled, “That’s an order!”

Monica shut off the comms and turned to face her sister. “You sure you can do this?”

Y/N smiled, “I’ll get you an opening, when I say so, fire.”

Monica nodded, turning the comms back on. Y/N pressed a button near her ear, the protective mask crawling over her eyes as she launched from the jet, allowing herself the brief sensation of free fall before her body warmed, the binary propelling her forward. She shrieked in joy, the experience never growing old. 

She pushed forward, wind flying past her as the chilly weather remained. The gunners were easy to spot, and their attempts at hitting a target smaller than the Hulk were just pitiful. Metal clashed against her unbreakable skin as she flew through the middle of the ship, her surrounding energy destroying every piece of the HYDRA owned vehicle. She stared down with pride at her work, pushing forward to continue it. The ships fell one by one with ease, and Monica had an opening. 

She had done it. 

Y/N smiled, her sister flying beside her as the two pushed forward. A shot of pain hit her stomach and sent her reeling, her body crashing against the snow. The energy had hit her. 

It had taken her down.

What the hell was in that Scepter?

She launched upward, flying above the trees to see what she had missed. 

The vantage point. They were on a hill. They had a shield. 

“Monica!” Y/N called over the comms, “Don’t engage, I repeat don’t engage!”

She flew forward, her body whipping through the air as she continued to repeat her warning. “The base is covered by the same energy we’ve been experiencing. Unless you can find a way to take it down, we’re not getting inside.”

“Scan for any weak points” Fury encouraged, the slightest shake in his voice. Y/N heard Monica announce that she would. 

“I’ll go into the field, see if there’s any other way inside” Y/N yelled, ignoring the protests in her ears. Gathering energy once more she slammed the ground of the base, sending soldiers flying and explosions raging. 

Her fists blasted any of the other remaining ones as she fought her way through. HYDRA may have had defenses, but they were pretty poor ones if she said so herself. 

It wasn't until she managed to get ahold of one of the energy spears that an idea came to her. “Monica, how fast are you able to find that weak spot?”

“I’m scanning now” Her sister replied, “There's nothing concrete, our best bet seems to be on top of the leftmost tower.”

Y/N shot upward, headed in the direction Monica had suggested. “When I tell you to, fire”

“Y/N” Monica protested, “Our firing system isn’t that accurate, if we end up missing then--”

The agent cut herself off as she realized what her sister was planning. “If this goes wrong, I am so telling Mom.”

Y/N smirked as she took her spot, her body warming as she charged up, the glass encasing her face strong enough to withstand the power inside her. The spear began to spark and Y/N kept her eye on the Quadjet. It flew closer, and closer until--

“Fire!” Y/N shouted, thrusting downward with the spear, energies colliding with the artillery, blowing a hole straight through the base. 

She was in.

Finding the room with the Scepter was much easier than actually getting into the building. Y/N swore up and down that she could almost feel her energy getting stronger as she approached.

“Attention Headquarters” She whispered in her Comm as the Scepter entered her vision. “I have a visual on Loki’s Scepter.”

“The Scepter’s there?” Fury’s surprise was cut off by a scream coming from the adjacent room. Something pulled her there. Whether it was her own conscious or her curiosity, she couldn’t tell. 

She stared at the glass wall before her, shock filling her system as she watched the scene unfold before her eyes. On the opposite side of the glass stood two teenagers, identical in everything except gender, chained to the wall. Y/N stood in horror as the Scepter blasted the two kids, their screams the ones she had heard earlier.

“Hey!” She tried to call through the glass, “Hey! You guys okay?” The chains fell and so did the kids. The girl collapsed into the arms of what she assumed was her brother, their furious eyes meeting hers. 

“Y/N!” Monica’s voice yelled in her ear. “They know we know about the Scepter. You need to get out of there now.”

She could see what lay behind the anger in the siblings’ eyes. Fear. They were afraid of what she would do next. 

Y/N’s body began to warm. Except, she wasn’t in control of it. Her eyes landed on the Scepter, finally understanding what Loki had coveted two years ago. Finally understanding why HYDRA was after.

The Scepter was an energy core. Like the Tesseract that gave her binary. 

These kids had been exposed to enough energy to give them the same abilities she had. They were enhanced like her. And she couldn’t leave them behind. 

She retreated back into the hall, slipping into the adjacent room. The room with the Scepter. Her body began to pulse, the yellow photons she had become familiar with surrounding her hands. 

“Hands up!” The HYDRA agent announced his presence and Y/N made her decision. Grasping the Scepter, she felt their energies collide, mixing until her body was at an unholy temperature, reddening her skin and sticking her hair to the back of her neck. 

She slammed the Scepter to the ground, an earthquake shaking the core of the base, rattling it, causing the glass wall to collapse behind her, killing the agents that had entered that room. 

She took a look behind her and met the newly empowered eyes of the enhanced siblings. “Take care of this” She instructed, placing the Scepter back on the table before launching upward, deciding it was time to follow her Director’s orders. 

“Y/N!” Monica shouted, her voice hoarse like she had been screaming for minutes. When the ringing in her ears finally stopped, she could hear what her sister had been saying for the past several minutes. “They’re firing at the civilians, what do we do?”

“You take down the gunners,” She instructed, shaking herself free of the experience she had just performed, “I’ll protect the citizens.” 

She flew toward the wartorn city of Sokovia, the citizens desperately crawling for cover. Ships were decimating the city, all in an attempt to get her away from the base. She propelled through them like a knife through butter, her newfound energy coursing through her veins like nothing she had ever experienced. 

She landed on her knees in the middle of the city, facing down the sniper determined to take out every man, woman, and child in the village. It should’ve taken her less than a second, just one photon blast and he would be decimated. 

Instead, she was the one hit with an energy blast. The weapon left a lightning-shaped hole in her uniform, the synthetic polymer hanging on by mere threads while her tank top was exposed. She struggled up, barely avoiding a dodge from another blast. The building beside her crumbled and she ran over, holding it up, urging the citizens to escape. 

She fell to her knees as another blast scraped her leg. The building couldn’t stay up forever. There were still people that needed to be saved. A blur passed her gaze and before she knew it someone gave her a verbal confirmation that the building was truly emptied. Using whatever strength she had left, she dropped the ceiling behind her, flying forward to meet the Sniper firsthand. She dodged several more blasts before using one of her own. 

The man went flying, his gun disabled.

Y/N heard the sound of planes above her, and she looked up, seeing the Quadjet make an appearance. Her mask had flown off during the toppling of the base, and the citizens of Sokovia gathered around to take a look at the woman who had saved their lives. 

The jet opened and Monica collided into her, the older sister squeezing Y/N so tight, she almost couldn’t breathe. 

“Looks like we need to get you another suit” Monica joked, a chuckle coming from the two siblings before they embraced again.

A light touch brought Josie back to the Sokovians, and her gaze met the grateful one of the girl she had saved from HYDRA earlier. 

“We wanted to thank you,” The boy said, “List told us that experimentation was the only way, now we know it is not.”

Y/N nodded, “You were trying to protect your home. Keep doing that, but know that there are better ways than just the first option someone offers you.”

The siblings went silent at that. 

“Take care of this place,” She urged, “You’re its protectors now but if you ever need any help…”

She reached in the pocket of her suit and pulled out a similar pager to her mom’s. “Just hit that button. Don’t worry” She assured as confusion crossed the pair’s faces. “It uh, has international coverage.”

The girl gingerly took the pager, twirling it in her hands before stuffing it in her pocket. Y/N sent the siblings a smile before heading back into the Quinjet.

***

Wanda fingered the strange device in her hand for a few minutes, her mind still on the woman who had saved them earlier. Something in that stone had given Wanda her powers, and she suspected that if the woman’s display was anything to go by, she had obtained hers from a stone as well.

They were calling her The Commander in the streets, the woman who came from the skies. Wanda couldn’t help but be impressed by her dedication. Hardly anyone knew that Sokovia existed, let alone cared enough about its citizens to sacrifice her strength for them.

She had to smile.

“Still thinking about The Commander sestra?” Pietro teased, sending a playful look her way. 

“Shut up” Wanda retorted, failing to keep the blushing smile off her face.

***

“You sure you don’t want to get another suit?” Monica asked as Maria helped put the finishing touches on the damaged fabric, the golden polymer filling the hole the sniper had left.

Y/n shook her head, “Nah, this way I always have a reminder of my first international mission on my chest.”

Monica rolled her eyes as she flipped through the book she had purchased earlier that day, “You’re such a sentimental dork.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, pulling the suit on over her singlet. 

“She’s not wrong” A familiar voice rang through the house. Y/N turned around, her gaze meeting the bright one of Carol Danvers. 

“MOM!” She shouted, bolting from Maria’s side to embrace her mother. Carol squeezed almost as tightly as Monica, relief flowing from her.

“About time you showed up” Maria retorted. Carol pulled away from Y/N to embrace the woman she had been missing for so long.

“Yeah, well I was going to stop by sooner, but their other mom is a bit of a pain.”

“Shut up” Maria chuckled, pulling Carol toward her. 

“Gladly”

The two women smiled as they kissed for the first time in two years. Monica and Y/N linked arms at the sight, wide smiles across their face.

Hell yeah, that’s some Carol/Maria right there. They deserved to kiss onscreen and you can’t change my mind. Also, I know Wanda is like sixteen in AOU so her attraction is more of a crush than a serious thing.

If you wanna be tagged let me know and feel free to leave a request in my inbox!

Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog! Thanks!

#danvers!reader #carol danvers imagines #carol danvers x daughter!reader #carol danvers imagine #carol danvers #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel fic #aou fic #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x danvers!reader

[author-morgan]

Phobia ☤ Alexios

nineteen - a mother’s prayer

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

HIS SEARCH LEADS him to Naxos and the closer the Adrestia sails to the island, the more anxious he becomes. It is the closest he has been to his mother since that night on Mount Taygetos, and somehow he still feels leagues away. Irene walks with him along the white sands of a quiet cove. "Go on," she whispers, trying to soothe his addled nerves.

"What if she doesn't recognize me?" He asks. He had only been a boy of twelve on Mount Taygetos –still growing and not yet a warrior. Now though he is a man, hardened by life. All traces of the boy Myrrine once knew are gone. The boy his mother raised died on the slopes of Taygetos.

Irene smooths her fingers over his creased brow and across the scar below his eye before taking his face into her hands –forcing him to meet her gaze. She focuses on his eyes, which are darting back and forth, shining in the fading light of the sun. They are a deep, earthy brown with glints of old copper and flame. "You are her son," she tells him, "she will have never forgotten you, Alexios."

He desperately wants to share the princess's sanguinity. It's not just seeing his mother again for the first time in over a decade –it's figuring out how to tell her Kassandra is alive and she may be past the point of redemption. It's gathering the nerve to ask about his real father and the Cult. It's hoping his mother will adore Irene as he does.

There's a storm raging inside him and only action will quell it. The longer he waits, the stronger the storm will become. "Chin up, Spartan," she remarks, tipping his head back so he's no longer looking at their feet. Alexios takes her hands into his own –the briefest of smiles appearing on his lips. Irene raises to her toes and places a chaste kiss just below where his jaw and ear meet. He steps back but does not let go of her hands. "Go," the princess smiles, "I'll be here."

MYRRINE THINKS THE gods are playing a cruel trick, but her son is alive and so is her daughter. She has just as many questions as Alexios, but hers can wait. Though the words on the tip of his tongue aren't a question, not yet anyway. "Mater, there's someone I want-" Timo rushes onto the balcony before he can finish.

They both turn at the interruption. "Soldiers from Paros just made landfall in the cove!" She announces, out of breath. "A small force, maybe a dozen."

His mother curses and sighs as though this is a common occurrence. "Gather the troops," she commands, then turns back to her son –eyeing the spear on his back and sword at his hip. "I assume you can use those weapons?" She asks. Before that fated night, he was still clumsy and timid –steadily improving like any boy yet to enter manhood.

Alexios smiles. "Better than when you last saw me," he notes with a soft laugh. Myrrine motions for him to follow. They will make short work of Silanos' troops. As he and his mother near the cove, Alexios feels his heart sink into the pits of his stomach. It is the same beach where he and the princess walked. Only now she is no longer on the white sand looking off to the horizon. In her place is a dozen men though two are already bleeding out.

He wastes no time trying to be stealthy and drives his sword through one man's gut then thrusts the broken spear up into another's neck –pulling it free from the other side. They fall concurrently, blood creeping toward the sea. A third brute hoists an axe above his head, though before it comes down, Alexios spins. Slashing both sword and spear across the brute's stomach –eviscerating him in a single fluid motion.

The other half of Leonidas' spear is laying in the sand, the blade glistening with blood. "Irene?" He calls. There is no response. Another soldier rushes toward him. Alexios turns, ramming the spearhead into the soldier's chest and slams the twitching body down onto the beach. "Irene!" He shouts but there is still no answer.

In only minutes. Paros' troops are defeated –either dead or dying. Myrrine raises her spear to finish off one of the soldiers. He is the only one still clinging to breath at the moment. The Eagle Bearer prowls toward the man before his mother can send him to meet Hades. "Where is she?" Alexios asks, seething. He had not come all this way just have Irene torn away from him.

The man lay dying, clutching his bloody entrails. "He. Took. Her." Pulses of bile and blood flow from his mouth between each word.

Alexios hauls the man to his feet. "Who?" He growls.

"Silanos," the man gasps.

"Tell me where he is and I'll ease your passing." The soldier opens his mouth, but no words come. His head lolls forward, spilling blood on the sand by the Eagle Bearer's foot. Alexios throws the corpse down and kicks the sand, brimming with rage. Not Irene he pleads to whichever god will hear him and listen. You already took Phoibe, don't take Irene.

Myrrine looks across the water to the sister island of Naxos. "Paros," she tells her son, laying her hand on his bloody shoulder. That is where Silanos resides.

SILANOS CROUCHES NEXT to the lost Persian Princess, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. She squirms at the touch but has nowhere to go with both hands and legs bound. They'd gagged her too after she almost bit off one of the deckhand's ears. Before that she'd been kept tied to a post like an animal.

"I imagine the Order will offer a handsome reward for such a prize." For twenty years, she has evaded the Order. A Tainted One in plain sight, rising amongst the ranks of the Athenian elite. His hand slides down to her throat and squeezes lightly –fear floods her eyes and stirs a carnal desire deep in Silanos. "But you may be of use to Deimos too. Yet that is for others to decide." The Cult and Order would choose what became of her, but until she was delivered to Phokis, Silanos of Paros controls her fate.

The cultist leans toward her. Irene feels his hot, acrid breath on her flesh and trembles. His hand moves from her neck, slipping below her peplos and apodesmos. "You must enjoy the touch of a Spartan," he says, roughly, squeezing one of her breasts.

She clenches her jaw and rears back, smashing her forehead into Silanos' nose. He falls backward, two streams of red flowing over his lips and into his greying beard. Silanos touches the blood, looks at his fingertips and laughs. Struggle only makes his conquests sweeter. He surges forward, one hand winding into her hair, pulling her head back, the other pushing up the tattered remains of her skirt. Silanos drags his bloody nose and tongue up the pale column of her neck. He will have her before the day is done.

Irene writhes in his grasp, shouts, and curses silenced. Silanos shifts and she manages to quickly bend her knees, and kick out –her feet colliding with his groan. His wince of pain is followed by a snarl. The pressure on her scalp lessens and both his hands twist onto the thin material covering her breasts –it tears and bears her to him.

A cultist guard steps into the dark underbelly of the trireme and ends Silanos' assault. "A ship with an eagle figurehead approaches!" The Adrestia.

Silanos growls and grips onto Irene's chin. "Perhaps I'll let you look upon your dead misthios while taking you." The princess thrashes against her bonds as the cultist leaves and screams, but the sound is muffled.

PAROS' FLEET SINKS to the bottom of the Aegean, but there is no sign of Irene. Alexios' grip tightens on her half of the broken spear –feeling the faint indentation of her hand on the wooden shaft. He turns his sights to the island until one of Silanos' captured men laugh, asking how long he thought the princess could survive in the hull of a sinking ship. Myrinne races to look over the edge of the Adrestia into the depths and watches as her son dives into the water without a second thought.

Her hands are still bound and she struggles to open the hatch to the deck. The butt of a broken spear is wedged under the hinges for leverage, but she is not strong enough and the weight of the water grows heavier with each passing second. One of the rowers' corpses floats past her.

Alexios reaches through the latticework of metal, fingers brushing over her arm. She looks up and sees his shadowed outline –hopeful even as her lungs begin to burn and darkness creeps into her vision. He plants his feet on the deck and pulls as she pushes with what strength remains in her body. The hinges give and the hatch lifts. He grips onto the rope tied around her wrists –begins swimming toward the surface as the trireme sinks further into a watery grave.

Two heads emerge next to the Adrestia. Alexios holds Irene against him, keeping her above the water he swims toward the ship with one arm. "Help get her up!" Barnabas shouts, spurring the crew into action. Five deckhands link arms and lean over the water –carefully pulling the princess up.

They lay her upon the deck. Barnabas slices through the bonds and quickly lays the ragged scrap of brown fabric draped over his shoulders across the princess –to protect her modesty. The Eagle Bearer collapses on his hands and knees next to her. Alexios pushes black hair from her face, leans down and is relieved to feel shallow puffs of air against his cheek. He runs his fingers over a fresh scratch on her temple and presses his forehead against hers. "Alexios," she breathes –unsure if it was him or a dream, but the way his arms tighten around her feels real. Irene's smile is ethereal and ephemeral before exhaustion takes her.

"Back to Naxos!" Myrrine shouts and the rowers extend their oars into the water, turning the ship back to the island. Alexios carries her from the dock through the streets up to his mother's villa and lays her on a kline, falling to his knees. She still breathes, but it feels as though he has failed her all the same. Aella follows him from the ship with a golden chlamys and one of Irene's spare gowns. He removes Barnabas' mantle and replaces it with the soft golden fabric.

Weary, the Eagle Bearer rises, kisses her temple then stumbles from the room leaving her to rest. Myrrine finds her son on a balcony overlooking the sea. She has not seen him smile since Silanos' men landed in the cove.

Alexios glances to his side as his mother comes to stand next to him, leaning her hip against the stone railing. "She must be special to you," Myrrine notes.

He looks to the sea again and the depths remind him of her eyes. A lump rises in his throat. The princess is more than just special to him. They share a connection he has never felt before with another woman –or man. It is more than physical attraction with Irene, his soul longs for her as does his heart. The gods must have crafted them for one another and fate had brought them together at last. Alexios glances at his mother and realizes there is a word that describes how he feels about Irene. "I love her, mater," he tells her, voice low and heavy with guilt.

"Did you know humans were created with four arms, four legs, and two faces?" He shifts toward his mother, brows furrowed. "Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." She lays her hand on his cheek and wipes away the dampness beneath his eye. Myrrine sighs –she had felt a great power lying dormant within the princess. The same kind of power than ran in her and Alexios' bloodline, but much more potent. "She is your other half, Alexios." He blinks, unsure if he heard his mother correctly. "And she is strong."

#Alexios #Alexios x OC #Alexios Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #story: Phobia #my writing

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Sian265!

I wish you and your loved ones a wonderful holiday season and a healthy and prosperous new year! And I hope you enjoy your gift, dragons and all!

*****

a thousand miles from comfort

Dragons are supposed to be extinct. No shadowhunter had encountered one in almost a hundred years, and if any downworlders had met up with one recently, they sure as hell hadn’t shared that bit of information with the Nephilim. Even if dragons aren’t entirely extinct, they’re supposed to be extinct enough that Alec can reasonably expect not to run into one when he’s late picking up dinner from his and Magnus’ Tuesday shawarma place. 

But sometimes “supposed to” misses the mark on reality. 

He drops their lamb and falafel as soon as he sees the glimmer of scales reflected in a taxi mirror. A rat hisses at him as it scurries towards his discarded dinner. Alec stops mourning their fallen fattoush when he hears the dragon shriek.  

The only way he can describe it is awful. Once when Alec was a child, not more than ten or eleven, he was allowed to join his father and a few other shadowhunters on a patrol. The night was mostly quiet. They broke up a werewolf fight and charged a fairy dust dealer, but when they were ready to call it quits, they were ambushed. Alec watched helplessly as a horde of kuri demons ripped his rune tutor limb from limb. He still remembers her screams.

This dragon’s shriek is worse. 

It shoots up into the night sky like a bullet fired from a gun then flies towards the piers. Alec hears the slap of his combat boots against the pavement before he registers that he’s chasing after it, grateful that his instincts are always one step ahead of his consciousness. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, sending off a quick text to the Institute for backup. He wants to send this bastard back to edom before it hurts anyone—praying to the Angel that it hasn’t already. But he also doesn’t want a repeat of that patrol night.

The dragon swoops upwards and perches itself on top of an old furniture warehouse. Alec grabs for his bow (another ingrained instinct he’ll never overcome) and quiver. 

The metal string of his bow digs into Alec’s long since calloused fingers as he draws back. He sucks in a breath and holds it, biding his time as he aims for the perfect shot on his target. The arrow flies as he exhales, releasing his breath and his weapon into the crisp night air in perfect harmony. 

The arrow soars towards a soft spot on the demon’s underbelly, but it’s quickly shot off course when the demon flaps one of its aging leather wings. 

Alec has to jump and roll, just narrowly missing being speared at his own hand. “Dammit,” he curses, already digging into his quiver to set up another shot. 

His second and third arrows meet the same fate. Panting and breathless, Alec takes cover behind a tree. “Where the hell are they?” he asks, staring down at his phone. His backup is taking too long, and it’s only a matter of time before the dragon gets bored of him and finds a helpless group of mundanes to terrorize.

Alec heads southside, zigzagging towards the building so the dragon can’t track his movements, figuring there must be some kind of fire escape he can take up to the roof for a better vantage point. The rusty metal creaks as Alec hangs onto the bottom rung of the ladder like a mundane school child playing at recess. He tugs and the rickety old ladder slides down, so he can climb up to the next landing with expert precision. 

Another terrible shriek pierces the sky, and suddenly Alec feels sweat beading on the back of his neck. Running headfirst into the storm, Alec rolls up his sleeves, and climbs to the next landing. 

The roof is an ocean of flames. Waves of fire ebb and flow towards him, only fizzling out when they reach brick shore. Alec wades through the heat, trying to find cover on this desolate terrain. The dragon huffs out another burst of fire, shooting off flames into the night air as if they were fireworks on the Fourth of July. 

Alec hopes that’s what any passersby mistake the scene for. A bunch of drunk kids and some Roman candles. He prays to the Angel none of them try and investigate. 

Alec finds refuge behind a glass skylight, a moment to catch his breath and regroup. He fumbles for his arrows to fire off another shot before it gets too hot for him to focus. The scent of burnt sugar swirls through the air, mixing with the stink of burnt ichor, and Alec knows that his distress signal has been answered. 

“Sorry I told you dragons were extinct,” Jace shouts up to him as he steps through the portal with Clary. 

“Extinct?” Magnus questions, the portal closing behind him. “Where do you think I source the scales for my vitality elixirs?” 

“You never told me,” Alec huffs. He ducks and rolls to dodge the dragon’s lunging talons. He hesitates a moment too long, and the dragon’s claws graze his side. “Fuck.”

“Alexander,” Magnus calls out, his voice unsteady and wavering. It twists the knife deeper into Alec’s bleeding side. But before Alec can get the chance to lie and tell Magnus that he’s fine, the demon charges towards him and swoops up into the air. With Alec hanging in its clutches. 

The world below grows smaller. His family’s voices grow softer. And all of his senses are filled with the crushing pain of the dragon’s grip tightening around his torso and the burning desire to be free. 

He tries to reach for the dagger strapped to his thigh, but the demon’s hold on him is to rigid. His arms are practically immobile. Cracks and pops fill the air, and Alec’s vision goes hazy. He tries desperately to suck in a breath, but his lungs don’t have the space to expand. 

The dragon glides downwards with Alec on the verge of passing out. “Drop him,” Jace commands, Seraph blade drawn and ready. And so the demon does. 

Alec has never minded heights. In his line of work, high up places offer cover, safety. “The view is always better from a rooftop,” Hodge used to say. One of the reasons Alec chose a bow and arrow as a child was the draw of tall, dark places during a battle. 

He had always found comfort high above the city, but falling was completely different. 

“Alec!” he hears Clary’s voice call out. She sounds distant, far away as wind rushes by his ears. 

His stomach does backflips as if he were riding a roller coaster at Coney Island, except it’s a thousand times less pleasant. He fights against gravity, desperately trying to angle his head and feeling the weight of a thousand pounds bearing down on him, because if this is it for Alec, he needs Magnus’ face to be the last thing he sees.

His beloved’s face flickers gold in the smoldering fire light, but Alec’s view of him is immediately obscured by Clary running forward, stele in hand and already drawing. She paints the sky the same way she fills a canvas, using her stele to reify the secrets whispered to her by the Angels themselves. Her swirling script produces a rune unlike Alec has ever seen before.

He braces for impact, trying to find peace in the reality that his life is ending the way he was always taught it would, but the crash never comes. Instead, Clary launches her rune and it collides directly with his chest, knocking him another twenty feet into the air. 

He starts to fall once again, but then he just stops. Suspended in air. Unmoving. For a moment, Alec thinks he’s hallucinating or that maybe he did pass on, because whatever this is, is just insane. A piercing pain shoots from his shoulder blade, and Alec realizes that he’s very much alive. 

A second pain mirrors the first, and his back feels like it’s on fire. He hears a popping sound and feels his bones rearranging beneath his skin. He claws at his back, trying to do something, anything to stop or soothe or heal whatever the hell is going on, but there’s nothing he can do. 

Two sweeping white wings sprout from his shoulder blades, and Alec understands Clary’s message from the angels. He flaps his new wings a few times, testing them out. They seem sturdy, able to hold his weight, and completely absurd. They’re exactly what he needs to take this bastard down.  

The dragon shoots up into the air and pirouettes towards Magnus, bearing its razor sharp teeth dripping with ichor, and Alec charges after it, blade unsheathed and ready to kill. Magnus leans back, charging up his power and unleashes an orange blast of energy. 

His magic connects with the dragon’s open mouth, and electricity sizzles throughout its demonic form, charring it alive. The demon shrieks and plummets to the ground, where it turns to ash in the night wind.  

Alec flutters to the ground. His wings sag, the weight of them throwing him off center. They’re going to take some getting used to. “Well done.”

“More like medium rare,” Magnus shrugs.

“Are these…” Alec turns to Clary. “Permanent?”

“I don’t actually know.”

“Well, I rather like them.” Magnus steps towards him and leans in close so only Alec can hear. “I have always thought of you as an angel.”

He takes Alec’s hand in his and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Alec’s wings wrap around him reflexively, drawing Magnus in closer so Alec can hear his heartbeat. It sounds steady, content even, a much welcome contrast to the erratic pounding Alec put him through earlier.   

“I love you. No matter what.” 

#Sian265 #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19