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thefireintheshadow · 2 months

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He’d done it. He’d gotten his mending book.

[authors note: this seems like a cute little fic about grian and his mending book but it is in fact a dark mafia fic jsyk…]

Grian couldn’t believe it had finally happened. It was so surreal that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

He went through the motions of cleaning himself up. It felt good to shave, see some color on his cheeks. Even his eyes were brighter.

When he returned to the dock to clean up all of his fishing gear, there was a silhouette in the setting sun. He couldn’t make out who it was, a broad frame almost haloed in glittering red.

“Hello, Grian.”

He squinted. “Beef?” As he grew closer, he could make out the source of the glittering, a suit that appeared to be crafted from salmon scales. “Wow.”

“Been doing a lot of fishing lately?” Beef asked, running a hand up one of the pillars of the little hut.

Something felt off in Grian’s gut. Something in his friend’s tone felt…predatory. It couldn’t be. This was Beef. He was one of the sweetest guys around. “You could say that,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “But I’m all good now, got my mending book.”

“Is that so?” Beef cocked a brow, and stuck both hands in his pockets, as if on a casual stroll. Something in his gait screamed danger, though, and was this just too much time spent in death games? Was this overflow from Secret Life and Demise and—

Beef stopped on the block over Grian’s storage room. No.

“Why don’t you come on downstairs?” Beef asked, but it was hardly a request. “Because somehow I don’t think you’re all good.”

He pulled out a handful of seeds and composted them, disappearing through the floor.

Grian’s pulse thundered in his ears. What the hell was going on? How did Beef find out about his secret area? And what the hell was up with that suit? His head spun.

On the surface this would look like a fun prank. A bit.

But it didn’t feel like a bit. It didn’t feel fun.

He didn’t want to go down there.

But something told him he needed to, some instinct buried deep. Though surely Beef just wanted to make a deal for something in the chests down there, right?

Heart hammering, he composted and dropped down.

But there was nobody there. His guts twisted. Beef meant down downstairs. This was getting weirder and weirder, and that sense of danger felt sharper and heavier.

He dropped down into the cave and his heart ceased to work.

He couldn’t quite register at first the tableau in front of him. His gaze zeroed in on Mumbo’s face, beautiful skin marred by blood and tears.

“Grian! They’ve gone-” Mumbo cried, but his words choked off on a scream as a sickening snap echoed and suddenly time seemed to stop.

Grian’s ears buzzed, as if no other senses other than his sight were capable of working at a time. Mumbo was on his knees, hands behind his back, face twisted in pain. Skizz stood behind him, muscled arms gleaming as he took the kneeling man’s disheveled hair in one of his fists.

Skizz didn’t look quite right, though. His eyes were too big, almost bulbous, and too far apart. His face shone with what Grian had at first thought was sweat, but no, it was as if his skin were made of…scales? And nowhere was that soft, sweet, fun-loving Skizz energy. He looked maniacal. A maniacal, half-mutated fish man.

And Beef. Beef in his salmon-scaled suit, still cool as a cucumber, hands in his pockets, watching the scene with detachment.

Grian sucked in a deep, ragged breath as his lungs screamed for air, and time seemed to start again, his brain somehow catching up with the fact that he couldn’t just watch the scene forever.

“Walk with me, Grian,” Beef said, strolling towards the redstone door.

“No!” Grian cried, his entire body quivering. “What are you doing to Mumbo? Skizz!” He took a step forward, but in a flash, Skizz jerked Mumbo’s head back, exposing the tender flesh of his throat, and pressed a glittering diamond sword against it.

“I already broke his wrist, want another lesson?” he warned, and something was wrong with his voice, it sounded so distorted.

“My associate here will take good care of Mumbo,” Beef said as the door opened. “I’d like you to show me this room.”

Grian swallowed hard, staring at Mumbo with desperate eyes, the man he cared about most in this world, the man he’d do anything for. Somehow, somehow he’d fucked up and now Mumbo was in pain and there was fucking nothing he could do. Why hadn’t he brought any weapons down here? Why hadn’t he acted on his instincts up there…god.

A drop of crimson beaded on Mumbo’s throat, and he hissed in pain.

“You’d better go, your little friend has thin skin,” Skizz warned gleefully.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Grian said, forcing his feet to move, one in front of the other, towards Beef, towards the door…away from Mumbo. “Please stop hurting him.” The words came out so disgustingly weak sounding, and he hated it. He wanted to press his thumbs into Skizz’s mutant eyes until they popped out of his fucking head, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything.

Skizz lowered the sword at least, and Grian scurried after Beef into the manifest room.

“Tell me about this,” Beef said once the door closed behind them, spreading his arms.

“It’s my…my manifesting mending room,” Grian said, and it sounded so stupid now. He had to admit he’d gone a little batshit with all of that fishing, with his obsession. What did this have to do with Beef and Skizz, though?

Beef pursed his lips, shaking his head. “It looks to me like a cod-worshipping room,” he said.

Grian’s blood rushed through his ears. Was this what this was all about? Types of fish? “No, they were just, easier to build statues of,” he insisted. “The color palette-”

“I don’t believe you,” Beef snarled, and his blazing anger was so jarring after being calm for the entire exchange. “Big Cod is trying to get a foothold here and my employer is not going to let that happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Grian asked, head spinning. “This is literally just for me, you can see my painting at the other end-”

“I saw the painting,” Beef interrupted, turning his back, clasping his hands there, walking down the platform to look at the painting in question. “Quite an expensive piece, for a fisherman.”

Grian scrubbed his hands down his face. “Well I’m not just a fisherman-”

“No, you’re not,” Beef said, whirling on his heel. “You know, my original thought when I was tasked with eliminating the cod threat was just to blow this whole thing to hell with you inside it.” He raised a finger. “But I thought, no need to make such a mess. I think I can bring you to heel with the right motivation.”

As if in cue, the redstone door opened, and Skizz dragged Mumbo in, shoving him back to his knees. His nose was freshly bleeding, and he looked about to collapse completely.

“Beef, please, whatever you think this is, it’s not,” Grian begged, whirling back towards him. “I swear I don’t know anything about…big cod-I just-”

There was a thump and Mumbo groaned.

Grian whirled again as Skizz pressed his boot against the man’s back, shoving him into the floor.

“Stop hurting him!” Grian cried, turning back to Beef. “Please, what do you need me to do? Just stop hurting him!”

Beef reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar – since when did he smoke? – and flicked a zippo, taking his time lighting it evenly. He puffed, then tossed the zippo over his shoulder, landing it neatly at the bottom of the painting.

It went up quickly. Grian watched the flames, swallowing hard. He was happy to trade the painting for Mumbo’s safety, but it was still hard to watch it go up like that.

“Since you have your mending book, you won’t be needing that anymore,” Beef said, smoke trailing as he strolled up the walkway, free hand back in his pocket. “And since you’re certainly not working for Big Cod, you won’t need this room anymore. Dismantle it. Destroy it.” He pointed at Grian, cigar smoldering between his fingers. “I will be checking. And you don’t want to have this meeting again, do you? Who could I motivate you with next? Gem? Or how about Scar?”

Grian shook his head vigorously. “No, you don’t have to motivate me, I’ll do it.” He took a step back. “Please, just let Mumbo go and I’ll do it right now.”

Beef patted him on the cheek, chuckling as the sickly-sweet smoke made him cringe. “Yes you will,” he said, and stalked past him, snapping his fingers on his way by Skizz. “Kill him.”

Grian screamed, launching himself towards them, but he was too late, Skizz stabbed Mumbo through the back of the skull and Grian landed on the hard floor, next to the bundle of bloodied ropes left behind.

“I don’t want to see your face on the surface until it’s done,” Beef said as Skizz crossed the threshold. “Or else.”

The door closed, leaving Grian alone and sobbing on the floor.

[read on ao3]

#I couldn’t help it #hermitshipping #grumbo #hermitblr #hermitcraft #brainrot #fanfic #hermitcraft fanfic #grumbo fanfic #big salmon #big salmon fanfic #ao3 #dark fanfic #dark salmon #salmon mafia #what are these tags idk

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fatallyfalling · 4 months

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Bitter Water 0.03 ~ ♆

“ Let the 67th Annual Hunger Games begin, “

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, death, nightmares, etc

{{ word count }} 4.5 k

{{ prompt }} The tribute Parade comes and goes as training begins and the next two weeks all but fly past. Then after an intrusive interview the day of the Games arrives.

{{ outfit visuals }} Here

{{ a/n }} Super quick “highlights” up ahead !! This chapter jumps around a bit and is much faster paced than normal but i swear it makes sense in the long run I just didn’t want to bore you all with regurgitated details to be revealed later on. enjoy!!

You didn’t see Finnick again.

Not even after arriving in the Capital on the train platform. A small piece of you had started to regret your outburst, but a bigger part was too stubborn to admit that. Besides, the likelihood of you seeing the boy again was slim. Thatcher was right in saying you’d be “whisked away” because everything moved incredibly fast from then on.

Your transport to the Tribute Center was quick and efficient. You were barely able to settle before a prep team all but kidnapped you and whisked you away once more to the Remake Center to prepare for the parade and opening ceremonies of the Games.

The prep team’s techniques were invasive, to say the least. Almost every inch of your skin was examined, prodded at, scrubbed, washed, plucked, waxed, moisturized, and polished when they finished the lengthy cleaning process. Even The dried blood under your fingernails had been picked away. As more time passed, the more you really did start to feel like some kind of show animal or “prize-winning salmon” leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

Managing a weak thanks as you’re handed a flimsy gown to cover up with, your prep team gives a nod before leaving. That too-clean feeling from the train ride sends pinpricks up your spine again as you sit up to slide the gown on and peer around the sleek room. It’s wide open and similar to some kind of medical bay, although much more modern than the small clinics back in District 4. Peacekeepers line the outside wall along slanted windows. There are many smothered voices behind plastic, vinyl curtains used to separate the small prep rooms down the open corridor. It’s safe to assume you’re surrounded by the other Tributes.

A stylist introduces herself to you as Hyacinth, briefly explaining the vision behind the luxurious garment as it’s pulled from a protective sleeve on the hanger in her hands. Every set of Tributes was given costumes to match their District’s core industry to wear throughout the parade. District 4’s costumes, obviously, represented their many fisheries. The garment was difficult to distinguish from any other fishing net made on your ports back home, but as the stylist began to wrap the intricate material around your exposed skin it began to look more like a costume.

You were right about the ensemble being mostly netting. Thankfully, you were provided a bodysuit that had been airbrushed to match your complexion and painted details to resemble gills across the sides of your ribs. Large iridescent blue-green fish scales had been woven in and across the netting on your chest as if splattered there, crawling up your collarbones and wrapping around your shoulders. More scales were placed down your arms towards your fingertips, and the same process was applied to your legs with a sticky substance. The bottom of the netted costume had more scales adorning the hemming, their colors changing under the lights. You were left barefoot, which you felt was a bit dangerous, but you were too focused on their intricate handiwork to object to. Your hair was left in its natural texture, although Hyacinth laid a few pieces just how she wanted them. Ear cuffs made to resemble fins wrap around the shell of your ears. Your makeup was painted on in colors to match the color-shifting scales, and your fingernails and toes were painted an ocean blue.

“You look absolutely stunning Darling,”

Hyacinth had stepped back to admire her finished product, and you couldn’t help the insecurity churning your insides. A bathing suit revealed more than a netted outfit, but you couldn’t help feeling completely exposed. “I-It is very beautiful. Thank you,” You try not to stumble on your words as you do a small twirl in the mirror. Hyacinth’s smile spreads, and she gives a giddy clap of her hands, largely appreciating the flattery.

“Wonderful Darling!! Now, come, come, we must get you downstairs. Your chariot awaits!”

You’re ushered away from the small prep room and quickly transported from the Remake Center to an open-air stadium for the Tribute Parade. Upon entering a large open hall connected to the stadium floor, you notice the twelve shiny mental chariots pulled by beautiful inky Clydesdales. The horse’s mane and tails are freshly groomed, and their coats shine in the stadium lights. You can’t help thinking what magnificent creatures they are as you approach. The other Tributes around you are resigned to themselves, talking only to their stylists or one another. Your district partner and their stylist are already beside your chariot as well. You offer a small hello but wander over to the beautiful inky-colored creatures attached to the chariot.

One of the Clydesdales gives a soft whinny as you gently reach out to stroke its mane. You’d only seen horses less than a handful of times but had always admired the strong creatures. The remaining minutes you have before the opening ceremonies begin are spent stroking the horse’s strong neck and muzzle while whispering sweet nothings to the creatures.

Once an announcement is made that the ceremony is about to begin, you give the horses a sweet smile in farewell before stepping up onto the chariot beside your District Partner. You hadn’t noticed the odd look they’d given you, but their eyes quickly averted upon you meeting their stare. That familiar anxious knot twists your insides as the gleaming chariot lurches forward to follow the procession. Your knuckles turn white from how stiff your grip on the front of the chariot is.

The parade runs smoothly, though you find the loud cheers and hollers of the hundreds of thousands gathered to watch the event extremely overwhelming. Bitterness sets in your jaw as you remember they only care about the entertainment your death will provide. Your promise echoes through your mind as you take your eyes from the grandstands to look ahead toward the President of Panem, Coriolanus Snow.

You will not die.

Training begins in the morning, bright and early. There’s officially less than two weeks before the Games. All twenty-four tributes are transported to the Training center from their quarters and dressed in nearly identical uniforms consisting of black athletic long sleeves and pants with sleek black combat boots. Burnt orange accents run up the side seams and across the shoulders of their uniforms. The only distinction between Tributes is their district number embroidered on their backs in the same burnt orange as the accents on their clothes.

You scan the large training area as everyone spreads out to show off their personal strengths. Shifting your weight between your feet, you try to focus on your brief discussion with mags over breakfast. The goal of the training is to be observed by potential sponsors who can send aid in the arena. The more sponsors you get, the better your odds of potentially surviving. Your goal wasn’t to gain as many sponsors as possible by showing off but instead focusing on honing your skills to survive without the extra gifts. With a deep inhale, you make your way to a tall rope course that stretches the expanse of the upper levels of the hall and get to work.

The first few days spent in the Training Center, you work on getting through the ropes course, then getting through the course with weights, then doing both things while being as light-footed and silent as possible. You try to distance yourself from the other tributes, especially the growing pack of careers. Your best bet is to blend in and remain invisible to keep others off your back. Tensions increase after the first week, and a fight inevitably breaks out between the careers. Two female tributes are arguing for power within the alliance, ending in the pack dividing in two. You can only hope the grudges they now carry become their downfall in the arena as you resume your knife-throwing practice.

You’re not the best, but you manage to at least hit the target a few times. By the end of the next day, you’re hitting the target, although nowhere near the center or any crucial extremities on the human cutout. It would be enough to slow an opponent but nothing lethal at long range. You tried to push away the bile that threatened to rise in your throat whenever you remembered the high possibility of actually facing another human being with these knives. You hoped it wouldn’t come down to that, but your rationale knew better. The claim you spat in that bronze-haired boy’s face rang in your ears.

“I’d rather choose death than a life with blood on my hands.”

You scrape by with a score of six during the private Tribute Showcase, nimbly traversing the ropes course with a heavy weight on your back with barely a sound. Your goal of staying under the radar had worked.

Tonight, Hyacinth was fawning over another luxurious garment designed for your impending live audience interview with the ever-charismatic and flamboyant Caesar Flickerman. The stylist monologues her vision while zipping the back of the ensemble. Your costume tonight was made to represent the sea itself, a deep aquamarine bodysuit covered in various droplet crystals hugging your form, and a makeshift cape of the same deep color fades into layers of progressively lighter sea greens and blues, mimicking the sea foam of rolling waves on the coast. The many layers of the waterfall cape move in a satisfying cascade down your back to the floor, trailing behind you.

You’re given slim boots to match the bodysuit, and your hair is pinned up to showcase your bare back and the excessive cape. Ear cuffs nearly identical to the ones you wore during the parade wrap around your ears, and your makeup is honed more to accentuate your natural features than cover them. The polish on your fingernails is a muted sea green that causes a twist in your chest. The color reminds you too much of a certain bronze-haired boy.

Regret flashes through you again.

“Alright, Darling, shoulders back. Head high, you’ll be a spectacle no one will look away from,” Hyacinth coos as she brushes the fabric across your shoulders and adjusts finishing minute details. You offer a small smile with a sweet thanks before she loops your arm in hers and leads you toward the wings backstage. You really weren’t fond of the many cameras or prying eyes that awaited beyond your shadowy safe haven out of view, but you didn’t have a choice but to smile and play the part.

The male Tribute of District 3 is wrapping up their brief interview, and that anxious knot contorts harshly inside your chest. Soon, the interviewer and interviewee stand, shake hands, and the Tribute exits stage left.

“Now, Our next Tribute hails from the northern end of our beloved District 4,”

Caesar chirps through his introduction, and a nudge from behind urges you forward at the call of your name. You startle forward but manage to keep a sureness in your steps. The bright flashing lights and mechanical snaps of cameras form an overstimulating cacophony between the roar of the Capital citizens. The host of tonight’s event is adorned in sparkling silver, from the top of his slicked-back hair down to piercing eye contacts and a monochromatic tux that you could’ve sworn was closer to chrome from the gleaming shine.

You offer a wavering smile as you approach the host. Caesar Flickerman motions you to the seat beside him as he descends to the eggshell-colored swivel chair. You take your seat, adjusting the cascading cape to flow over the arm of the chair to remain because of the audience. A chorus of “ooo’s” and “ahhh’s” reverberates through the auditorium, and you can’t help the burning flush at the tips of your ears. “You look absolutely stunning tonight, my Dear,” Caesar compliments through a picture-perfect smile. You nod in thanks as he dives right into the questions.

“So, how has Capital life been treating you?”

“Uhm, it’s been very.. different, to say the least,” You stumble a bit through your response, but Caesar simply nods and leans out to the crowd with that picture-perfect smile and a laugh. “Well, what’s the most?” and a chorus of hoots and laughter rises from the audience again. Your faux smile falters, and your hands wring together in your lap anxiously. “It’s just more..extravagant than back home, is all. More colorful.” You reply shakily. The host nods in encouragement before moving on to the next question.

“Well, a little birdie whispered that a certain Sweetheart of the Capital arrived with you on the Tribute’s train. Our beloved Finnick Odair, one might say. Correct me if I’m wrong, but is there possibly a star-crossed lovers situation on our hands?”

Your blood runs cold as the phrase leaves Flickerman’s lips. He’s leaned forward, clearly on the edge of his seat, with the microphone pointed towards you, and the auditorium falls deathly silent. Your throat feels tight as all you do is stare in pure disbelief. “W-What?” You choke out, bewilderment on your face as your ears flush red from a burning embarrassment in your chest. The audience scoffs in disappointment at your response, and your confusion grows.

Caesar’s expression shifts as his smile falters, his eyes all but telling you to answer or make something up so he can move on. You stutter in reply while firmly shaking your head from side to side,

“No, no! It’s nothing like that at all. Honestly, I find him more irritating than anything. Besides, I’d never fall for a stuck-up Peacock like Finnick Odair in a thousand years!”

Your embarrassment turns into anger at the question as the audience groans in further disappointment, a few “Boos” echoing through the rafters above. However, much to your dismay, a few conspiring whispers slip through under all the noise that signifies your words weren’t taken as truth. This makes your blood simmer as Caesar barks a laugh, slapping a tanned hand on his silver knee.

“Ah hah! Well, that’s a mighty claim my dear, but I’m not so sure you’re well believed seeing that blush on your cheeks!”

Your jaw sets as you sit through two more equally ludicrous questions about your life before you exit the stage and return to your living quarters for the night. Upon returning to the Tribute Center and changing out of your ocean blue costume with the help of Hyacinth and her team, you immediately sink into the heavenly warmth of the large tub in your private washroom. However, not before receiving a thorough chew out from Thatcher over your once again “unprofessional behavior” when answering Caesar’s questions and for apparently “disrespecting” the Capital’s Darling.

Gently, you scrub yourself clean but remain in the comforting heat and steamy air till the water is frigid, trying to soak in the pleasuring warmth as long as possible while enjoying the brief privacy the washroom allows. Eventually, you drain the tub and towel yourself off, slipping into soft, lightweight bottoms, similar to the ones Finnick had thrown at you on the train, and an oversized short-sleeved tunic.

Finnick.

Unwanted pinpricks of regret stab your chest again, and a crease forms between your brows as the remembrance of the bronze-haired victor brings the interview questions surging back to the front of your mind. You grip your toothbrush tighter as you try to push away the embarrassment from earlier tonight. You didn’t know or understand how a rumor like that could even be an inkling in someone’s mind. You didn’t even see the boy at the station platform, and what business was it of a bunch of old snobby Capital Elites to reach after the love lives of children picked to slaughter one another in less than a day? Your stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought.

Once you finished preparing for sleep, you pad your way over to your bed and find a comfortable seating position before flipping through a few of the ‘sleep aids’ with a small metal remote. The floor-to-ceiling windows in your luxurious, Capital-provided, bedroom flashed between different sceneries till you landed on one of the waves crashing on a foggy shore. The muddy sand of the beach drifted under the lull of the tide. Occasionally, seagulls cawed from the clouds above.

You knew you should be doing something with your last night of so-called ‘freedom’ before the Games begin tomorrow, but all you can do is stare at the waves. You wonder how your siblings and father are faring like you have every night since your departure from District 4. You could only hope they were learning to adapt with you being gone. Trying not to spiral over your fate, you drag your hands down your face to scrub at your eyes with a heavy sigh and thick swallow.

“I can do this…”

You mutter the mantra to yourself as you internally review the strategies Mags had made you memorize. There weren’t any clues given as to what the arena entailed. Rumors had been overheard in the Training Center, but the Gamemakers never repeated an arena. There could be anything in that dome of death tomorrow. The waves continue to crash on the screen, the whistle of a breeze blowing through the tall pines just beyond the beach that helps keep you grounded.

You could do this. You had to. Your father’s only word in farewell echos like many others.

“Survive,”

The morning comes too soon. You didn’t touch much of your breakfast even though you know you need as much energy as possible. Mags gives a pointed look your way, and you begrudgingly force a few bites down. Afterward, Mags, Hyacinth, and you are escorted by peacekeepers to a flight hanger near the Tribute Center. You receive an almost bone-crushing hug from your mentor that you graciously return with equal vigor.

“Thank you, for everything”

You murmur into the older woman’s hair. You feel her tears dampen the tunic covering your shoulder. Forcing yourself to pull away and wipe the tears from the elderly woman’s face as she signs her care for you. You offer a sweet smile and other thanks before a Peacekeeper takes your arm and leads you onto a hovercraft. Hyacinth follows, and you're pushed into a seat.

“Your arm,” The Peacekeeper orders while reaching out their hand. You hesitantly reach out, and they quickly place a device with an abnormally large needle into your arm. You grimace at the sting as a trigger is tugged, and a small glowing object appears beneath your skin. Your arm is dropped, and you place two fingers lightly over the slight bump caused by the device. “Don’t touch that. It’s your tracker.” The peacekeeper remarks, and you startle, returning your hands to your lap. The flight is long, but you don’t doze off as adrenaline pumps through your core. Tucking stray flyaways behind your ears, you look across to Hyacinth, who offers a solemn smile. The hovercraft eventually lands, a group of Peacekeepers in stark white uniforms meet you, and you’re quickly led to a small room.

The room is bare bones with only a rack containing your uniform for the Games, a small desk, and an overhead lamp. Two peacekeepers stand guard outside the door, and Hyacinth helps prepare you one last time. The uniform doesn’t give much away about what to expect of the arena besides its colors. Consisting of dark brown hiking boots, slim-fitted pants with multiple pockets in burnt umber, a warm brown skin-tight tank top, and a lightweight khaki-colored windbreaker. The possibility of a dry, warm climate arose in your mind as you examined the materials of your uniform. Hyacinth gave you a sad smile as she fixed the hood of your jacket.

“Good luck my Darling, it’s been my pleasure to know you.”

The stylist’s smile is sad, tears brim her eyes, and you can’t help feeling emotional. This was it. She would be the last person you saw before the Games began. You wrap your arms around the tall woman in a hug, surprising the stylist, but she gently accepts and returns the gesture. You give her your thanks before an announcement comes through a speaker somewhere in the room that the countdown is about to begin. With a thick swallow, you step towards the glass elevator indicated to ale you up into the arena. You hesitate, a shaky inhale entering your nose before gingerly stepping onto the panel. The glass door wraps around with a slick “shink” and your whirl to face your stylist. But she’s already left the room, probably unable to watch another one of her tributes enter the thunderstorm of the Hunger Games arena.

You don’t blame her.

A moment passes before the platform you’re standing on begins to rise, and your gaze turns skyward. The light is bright, causing your sensitive eyes to squint. You take note that you’re at least in an outdoor setting. The air that kisses your skin is dry and warm as your platform fully breaches the earth into the arena. Your head swivels as you take in the surroundings as a bright yellow countdown has begun in the sky above via hologram.

The arena of the 67th games was a ravine.

Half the tributes are spread on your side of the steep, open-mouthed drop, the other twelve across the wide mouth on a parallel cliff. There are trees behind, but there are no weapons because they’re all in the center across a woven net. The footholds are wide. If you’re not careful, you’ll trip and either plummet to the rushing water miles below or succumb to a Tribute’s attacks. Weapons and supplies are placed on a tarp in the center of the woven bridge. The Cornucopia. Maybe things would be over sooner than you thought.

The countdown is halfway.

Wetting your lips, you take a glance down and fight the urge to vomit, hearing someone else already do so over the side of their podium at the descent less than a foot from the cliff edge. Layers of cliffs jut out in makeshift ladders and walkways with alcoves to possibly hide in, but you quickly realize the only source of fresh water will be the rushing river at the bottom of the ravine. Glancing back up, you quickly try to stop the blanking panic in your mind as you try to recall everything Mags had taught you. Your best bet was to run. You can use your jacket as cover and get to the bottom to hide while everyone is too busy risking the crawl to the weapons. There was bound to be edible plant life at the bottom, or worse, you hunt for something better on the way down.

Ten seconds left.

Nine,

Eight,

Seven,

Six,

Five,

Four,

Three,

Two,

One,

“Let the 67th annual Hunger Games, begin.”

A bell sounds, and all hell breaks loose. No one yells, only the fierce grunts as Tributes race for the Cornucopia. You don’t see your District Partner, but you don’t stay static long enough to see the carnage that ensues as you bolt in the opposite direction. Two other Tributes bolt after you but veer straight into the trees beyond. Your heart feels like it’ll burst from your chest as you sprint down the edge till you find a slope to take you down. Falling to a slide, you slip down to another cliff as the first canon booms.

twenty three left.

Two more canons burst through the arena as you continue your rocky descent. Children are screaming above you, and you hurl what little substance is in your stomach as a body falls in front of you with a sickening crunch. The blood splatters across your skin, and you bite back your terrified scream. You have to keep moving.

Another canon.

Twenty left.

You dare take a glance behind and luckily manage to escape unnoticed. But you don’t hold hope on that factor as loud snaps reverberate down the canyon. Someone was cutting the net to the Cornucopia. There’s more screaming as you nimbly jump from the rocky slab you stood upon down to a jutting-out cliff, narrowly avoiding a fall to your demise. A pained scream catches in your throat through gritted teeth as your shoulder makes contact and you roll across the red earth. A dampness coats your tongue with a metallic taste of copper. Blood.

Forcing yourself to stand, your knees nearly fall out from under you, but you remain upright as you take another running jump to an even lower rock platform. By now, someone shouts above the screaming, “Go that way!” and you force yourself to move faster. You don’t have time to see what the voice originating the order meant. All you know is you have to get away. You land chest first on the edge of the cliff, and the wind is knocked from your chest. Blood splatters on the gravel, projected from the cough of air escaping your lungs. It’s an effort to pull yourself back up over the edge, slipping on sliding feet for a foothold on the rock wall, but you manage. There’s the crunch of boots above, and your terror amplifies tenfold as a spear shoots past you down to the depths. “S-Shit..” you gurgle on blood as you take off running once more, choking down small gasps of air that never seem to reach your lungs.

You can’t stop.

Another canon goes off and you hear another body fall to the depths, following another grotesque crunch of bone and muscle on rock.

Nineteen left.

A metallic clatter fills the expansive cavern of the ravine, and you spare a fleeting glance above just as the netting of the Cornucopia plummets. Metal cases, weapons, backpacks, and other supplies become entangled in the tarp they had rested upon as debris falls. Cases shatter and clang on the many cliffs. You do your best to evade the sharp debris but aren’t fast enough as a blade slices across the back of your left leg. You’re brought to your knees by the searing pain but again force yourself up, barely remembering to grab the small blade and continue your descent. White hot pain shoots ribbons through your entire leg, but you keep moving, albeit slower than before. Two more canons.

Seventeen Tributes left.

Seven children already dead.

You could only hope your canon wouldn’t fire anytime soon.

Another canon, sixteen left.

You will not die.

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime @violettbae @the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore

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legally-allowed-to-slime · 3 months

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grian’s new episode got me going hm

might probably do a gem-centric one soon because they make each other worse

He wouldn’t let go.

Grian clutched onto the fishing rod, his grip having worn down the wood by now. It was a week into the server. It felt like an eternity.

Sometimes he forgot what came before, before he started fishing.

He recalled, yes. Things like the big moon, Grumbot, whatever. They seemed less memories and more fragmented experiences just laying around waiting for someone to claim them.

It was like his mind was a vase, and the ocean had smashed it into a million tiny little pieces, left for him to fish out.

Another salmon. Grian let out a short, harsh shout and threw it in a nearby barrel and cast his line again.

And again, and again.

There was one rod, seven or eight lines. He peered through the web of black lines and distinguished the single working one. The ocean kept fooling with him like that.

“It kind of looks like a net,” Gem’s voice chirped behind him. They didn’t bother with greetings now. They just talked about fishing.

“I don’t even know how this happened,” he said.

“At least you can get mending ten times as fast now.”

“No, only one works.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Then, having exhausted all possible subjects of conversation, they lapsed into an awkward pause. Grian caught another fish. Cod.

Gem made to leave, but couldn’t resist a final comment.

“By the way, you should sleep. And, uh, shave, unless you’re going for that rugged aesthetic.”

She left.

Was it that obvious? Grian wondered. That he was addicted?

Come to think of it, he hadn’t thought of himself for so many days. He’d just been fishing, dragged himself to chip away at his base, and then went back to fishing.

He stared at himself in the water.

Oh.

Beard, check. Eyebags, check. Suspenders and a beanie for some reason. A bobber hanging from his waist and his pants dipped in seaweed. His hair was overgrown and soaked. There was even a patch on his sweater, for goodness sake.

Grian only felt it now. How had he not noticed it before? Was he just that focused on fishing? His hand subconsciously wandered to his face and brushed against the scales.

The what.

Grian spun around, looking for a clearer mirror than the water, rubbing his cheek in disbelief. Scales, wet and smooth like a fish. He should know. He’d handled thousands of them in a week.

He glanced at his arm, the texture very fishy in both ways. His heart dropped. He just wanted mending, not this. He was supposed to be the fisherman, not the bloody catch!

“Gem, Gemgemgemgem!” He yelled.

Gem turned. “What?”

“I think I’m turning into a fish!”

To her credit, Gem didn’t react much. She did run closer, but she didn’t scream or anything. She just said, “Hmm. Same.”

“What do you mean, same?” Grian yelped.

She rolled her eyes and pulled up her sleeve, revealing the same scales. “It’s probably a side effect, chill. Impulse wasn’t actually a dwarf last season, he just started growing shorter. It’s the Hermitcraft air or something.”

Grian stared at her, gears in his brain turning furiously to process her words. “Didn’t you guys base near the water?”

“That’s true, that’s true. I don’t think that was it, though.” Gem said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Anyway, I need to build. See ya.”

She sauntered away.

Grian didn’t have the presence of mind to call her back. He dropped the rod he’d been clutching this whole time and stared at his hands, moist from sweat.

He was short of breath, and after fifteen seconds he realised it wasn’t just from the panic. He physically couldn’t breathe.

Fish can’t survive on land.

Before he could think, before he remembered he was human, Grian leaped into the water, which enveloped him comfortingly like a drug.

The part of Grian that was still Grian realised this was like walking into the tiger’s cave, and forced himself to surface, gasping for air. He ordered his brain to use the lungs he had, and he started breathing again.

He clambered up onto the pier, and laid down on the wood, drained. He fumbled around and found the rod. Well, what else was there to do? Cast line, sit down, wait.

After all, the next one could be the one.

He just wanted mending. Then he’d stop. He’d stop.

The ocean wouldn’t let him go.

#grian #geminitay #hermitblr #hermitcraft #hermitcraft smp #hermitcraft season ten #hermitcraft season 10 #hc s10 #hc10 #hermitcraft 10 #hermitcraft fanfic #grian fanfic #might do a piece about the gambling aspect of it

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splatsvilles-fashionista · 1 year

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BIG additions coming to Salmon Run in Fresh Season 2023!

Lots of exciting news fresh out of the Japanese Splatoon twitter today, and a ton of them are about Salmon Run, so let's dive into it! As you can no doubt see in the image above, the Splatoon 2 Salmon Run work uniform is being added as new rewards available for purchase with Fish Scales. It even comes in some new colors!

But that's not the only Splatoon 2 throwback, as that game's monthly gear is also returning as a new reward!

Additionally, new time-limited contests are being added, with the first one launching in April. In these events, you team up with friends and play through five pre-set waves that are the same in every single attempt. Like Big Run, you'll get rewards that change depending on your global ranking.

Speaking of Big Run...

A new one is starting soon! March third (or fourth, depending on your time zone), next weekend at the time of writing, taking place at Inkblot Art Academy. Like the first one, participation is rewarded with a trophy, though I can't say I've seen anything resembling it before.

Except maybe, no, because that would mean...

...that the sightings of the new King Salmonid, the Horrorboros, are real after all! Run for your lives!

#splatoon 3 #splatoon 3 fresh season 2023 #salmon run #horrorboros

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orqheuss · 11 months

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A Fish to Water

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader HUMOR)

Summary:

Sebastian handed you the last leaf and sip of the potion. You smiled at the boy, something unidentifiable twinkling in your irises. He quickly shut his eyes one final time and waited for the last of their trio to shift.

The spell was spoken, and the two boys turned their ears to the sound of flapping. Sebastian’s eyes opened in excitement.

Greeting him, slapping the ground with its scales, was a salmon.

Word count: 3.5k

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

The forbidden forest was decidedly not the best place to transform into your animagus form for the first time. You realized that quite quickly after nearly being run over by a group of thestrals out for a late night romp. You enjoyed a little thrill now and again, but running screaming from an invisible horse creature was not in your divination homework, nor was it in the two fellow Slytherin’s that were hightailing it alongside you.

Ominis was most definitely not a runner, that much was for sure. The lack of sight really put a damper on his hand-eye coordination, and he made sure to remind both of his closest friends. He was the one, though, that noticed the hoofbeats first. Without him and his amazing hearing abilities, you may as well have been as dead as door-nails.

Sebastian was the most athletic one out of the bunch, leading the pack with his feet harshly smacking the ground. He was also the loudest; you were amazed none of the professors had ventured into the night after hearing his banshee level hollering. That boy had some pipes. The freckled boy had luckily remembered to grab the blond’s hand on his grand exit from the glowing pasture the trio had found. What he didn’t remember, though, is that even when leading the blind, you had to remember that they were, in fact, not able to see anything . The brunette, in his desperate sprint out of the forest, leapt over the roots of the large sycamore trees at least twice, sending Ominis to the muddy ground each time.

The wiry boy taught you a few new swears that night.

In an attempt to keep the poor boy on solid ground and not airborne, you grabbed the other hand flapping in the wind behind him. If any Ravenclaw’s were to look out the tower window, they would see three Slytherin’s absolutely booking it out of the woods, chain linked together, throwing a fearful glance over their shoulder to look at a pack of absolutely nothing chasing them.

What a sight.

Sebastian still led the charge, switching directions and throwing the other two around the bend leading towards Hogsmeade. You had begun to make your way around Ominis, now pulling him from the front as well. The blond boy began to resemble a cat on a lead being dragged where it didn’t want to go. He dug his heels into the ground in an attempt to stop the two lunatics he called friends from inadvertently tossing him into the river below. The stampede had left you alone once you exited the forest, but the brunette continued to scurry ahead towards the ruins near the small wizarding town whilst swearing like a sailor.

Eventually, the three students’ scamper sputtered out when the taller of the two boys tripped over a rather large boulder, sending himself into the ground onto his face and launching his two friends over his shoulder and down the nearest hill. They all tumbled ungracefully across the lush green grass, dew and dirt coating their once clean uniforms. They all lied there panting for a moment, trying to catch their long gone breath after their marathon.

Sebastian rolled onto his back and stood up, spitting the grass he had accidentally ingested out of his mouth with a disgusted expression. He heard the bickers and grumbles of his companions making their way up the, thankfully, shallow hill. They were greeted at the top by the brunette, an apologetic smile decorating his face and a hand behind his head rubbing at his hair at the sight of their dirty clothes, dust covered faces, and a thunderbird’s nest of hairdos.

Ominis, finally able to use his wand once again, stalked towards the other boy with a visage of anger that made him look a bit constipated, and promptly socked the young wizard in the arm.

“Ouch!” Cried Sebastian, his eyebrows raising into a look of hurt.

The smaller boy was not done quite yet. He swung his arm back once again and continued to assault his friend between staccato-spoken words.

“Never,” Punch.

“Drag me,” Punch.

“Like that,” Punch.

“Again.” Punch, punch, punch.

“Merlin’s beard, Ominis! Ouch, I’m sorry, stop punching me you bloody lunatic! I'll leave you to the death horses next time!”

Sebastian rubbed at his arm in pain, a look akin to a kicked crup pup frowned across his features. The Gaunt boy attempted to dust himself off to the best of his ability, smoothing down his hair back into his signature quiff, before navigating towards a large chunk of building and sitting down. He unlaced his left shoe and held his leg off the ground like a flamingo, muttering to himself while he shook the tiny pebbles from the sole.

The Sallow boy turned his attention to the other member of the party. You were still standing at the edge of the cliff, hands on your hips like a disappointed mother and a look of amusement dancing in your eyes. You smirked at the boy before loudly questioning,

“Chaps, are we doing this or what?”

It was Sebastian’s idea to become animagi. He had been perusing in the restricted section of the library, again, and stumbled across a transfiguration textbook from the early ages of Hogwarts. Inside detailed exactly how to go about the process, and his eyes had lit up in mischief before racing to the Undercroft and to his two best friends. When he presented the book to you both, you had instantly been on board. Ominis, on the other hand, was harder to persuade. After incessantly pestering the boy for a day at least, going as far as to mention the fact that as an animagus he could sneak out of his atrociously macabre house whenever he wanted over the summer, he finally agreed just to get you both to quit it. Sebastian had run off excitedly to the greenhouse to gather the necessary materials at that very moment and you turned to follow him with equal enthusiasm, but not before seeing a mischievous smirk creep up the face of the smaller Slytherin. You knew that even with his reserved nature, no one, not even Ominis, could turn down a little debauchery every once in a while.

Ominis grunted as he stood from his perch, sounding vaguely familiar to when Professor Sharp stands from his chair before lessons, and tied his shoe before walking back towards the pair of students. He dug inside his cloak for the case containing the three mandrake leaves needed for the ritual. You scowled at the sight of the affronting plant. You three had barely made it through the ordeal of keeping the leaves in your mouth for a month. You practically went on a hunger strike because of the disgusting taste that invaded your senses each morning, noon, and night. The boys had to basically force toast down your throat on multiple occasions, causing you to nearly swallow the leaf and beginning your torment all over again.

Sebastian patted his robe pockets for the vial of dew they had collected the previous month. A look of panic crossed his face, frantically slapping at his hips, chest, and buttocks looking for the small tube. You narrowed your expression at him, hissing in annoyance.

“Sebastian I swear to Salazar, if you dropped the potion so help me I will-”

“Aha!”

The boy produced the small container from his back pocket and held it aloft in the air with a look of relief. You sighed and shook your head at the freckled boy, your hand reaching up and pinching the bridge of your nose in indignation.

The taller Slytherin accepted the snuff box from the other and began to pass around each of the necessary ingredients. He tittered in excitement, the prospect of transforming into a completely different creature absolutely tickling him pink with glee. Ominis cleared his throat.

“Alright, who would like to go first?”

Sebastian looked like he was going to drop anchor in his pants in excitement, eagerly volunteering to be the tester for their little experiment. He produced his wand from his sleeve, pressing the tip over his heart. He took a deep, calming breath, before repeating the incantation and throwing back his swig of the potion.

“Amato Animo Animato Animagus!”

You closed their eyes and waited for the sign to open them when the Sallow boy had transformed. After a moment, a momentous bark echoed across the ruins. Both sets eyes shot towards the animal resting at their feet. In front of them stood a sable merle colored border collie. His fur was the color of butterscotch with brown and tan spots decorating his body and legs. The hound bounded around the two students in excitement, his tag wagging so fast that it was barely visible. The duo laughed at the excitable animal, reaching down to run their hands through his smooth fur. You described what Sebastian had shifted into to Ominis, amusement lacing each word. He threw his head back, cackling into the night at the accuracy of the transformation. You spotted a stick lying near your foot. Quickly grasping it in your hand, you drew your arm back and launched it over the destroyed buildings.

“Here boy! Go get the stick, fetch!”

The dog bolted after the piece of wood, jumping to catch it in the air before circling the rubble and returning in front of you. He dropped the stick, his tongue hanging out of his canine smile.

With one more lap around and through the legs of his companions, Sebastian transformed back into his human self. His cheeks were glowing with embarrassment. He turned towards you and pointed angrily.

“We will never discuss what just occurred ever again.”

You barked a laugh at the color of his cheeks. With a smirk still on your face, you nodded solemnly at the boy. He quickly spun to face the other boy across from him.

“Ominis! You should go next. It was absolutely exhilarating!”

The Gaunt boy nodded in excitement, a smile stretching across his face from cheek to cheek. He repeated the process on himself, gulping the potion before tossing the flask behind him. Just the same as Sebastian, the two remaining students quickly shut their eyes in anticipation. A moment went by in silence, both waiting with bated breaths to see what their close companion would change into. That moment turned into two, then three, before both creaked their eyes open. One moment the Gaunt boy was there, and the next he was—

Gone?

The two friends looked at each other in confusion before creeping towards where their third had once been. Lying on the ground seemed to be a small cluster of dirt, rough textured and shaped like a knot. They knelt down to get a closer look, eyes peering curiously at the…object? Mass? Before them. Just as Sebastian was reaching his hand towards the clump to poke it, the rock began to move. Both students jumped back in shock, each landing on their behinds.

Two clouded blue eyes peeked out of the top of the mass. A small forked tongue flicked from under Ominis’ upturned nose, his head poking out more to sense where his two friends were. The tiny caramel colored hognose snake was wound around itself, its scales shifting under its muscles.

How very fitting.

The reptile slowly unfurled itself to his full length. He was maybe the size of your wand, a little over ten inches at best. You stared wide eyed at the small creature, a startled grin stretched across your face. The small animal swung its head around the vicinity, hissing as if to ask the duo to speak. You swallowed a barking laugh, your voice laced with mirth.

“Ominis? Is that you?”

The snake turned in your direction and began to slither towards you. His body moved stiffly along the rocky ground. Seeing his struggle, you fumbled to your knees once again and held a hand out to the creature, hovering just before its snout. The young animagus sniffed the air before climbing into your outstretched palm. Ominis wiggled himself around until he was secure, wrapping a portion of his tail around your thumb. You brought the tiny snake up to your eye level, gazing into its slitted eyes. You cooed at your tiny friend.

“Ominis, you’re adorable!”

The small snake wound himself back into a tight ball, releasing a hiss from the back of his throat. Sebastian held out his hand for a chance to see his friend up close, desperately holding back guffaws. His eyes were filled with tears of enigmatic glee. The tiny reptile slowly slid from your hand to his, raising up on its upper body like a cobra.

Sebastian promptly lost his mind.

Loud chortles left the freckled boy. He positively howled in merriment, doubling over and grasping onto his knee with his free hand, his other still holding his tiny friend aloft. The snake hissed at the display, long and threatening. Sebastian looked into the animals eyes for a second time and dissolved into laughter once again. Ominis curled around himself, his head and upper neck still raised in displeasure. His tongue flicked against the hand he was perched on, sensing the shapes around him.

The snake then promptly bit Sebastian on the thumb.

Yelping, the boy nearly dropped the tiny creature. He quickly lowered the snake back to the ground, shaking out his stinging hand.

The reptile released a final hiss and transformed back into the blind wizard.

Much like Sebastian, a brightly colored blush decorated Ominis’ face. Once you both hoisted him up from the ground, he crossed his arms across his chest and asked you to describe what his animal was. He knew it was a snake, but other than that he didn’t have any ideas. You explained his shape and color to the blond boy through barely contained giggles. His cheeks somehow grew even more red and he hid his face in his hands. The brunette crossed the space to his friend, a jocund smirk still dancing across his lips. He patted the smaller boy on the back in comfort before being swatted away in embarrassment.

The spell was spoken, and the two boys turned their ears to the sound of flapping. Sebastian’s eyes opened in excitement.

Greeting him, slapping the ground with its scales, was a salmon.

What the boys didn’t know is that you had decided to play a little prank on them. You had done some of your own research on animagi, and in one of the many tombs you read it said that in some cases the wizards' animagus form was the same as their patronus. You thought back to learning the patronus charm in Defense Against the Dark Arts the previous week, and spotting a silver scaled fish across the room sprouting from a random Hufflepuff boy’s wand. This set your brain into motion, and a plan began to form in the cogs of your mind.

You stood behind a nearby tree, watching your friend stare at the fish for an extremely long period of time. You had a hand slapped over your face to muffle your laughs as you saw his face morph from confusion to absolute, unbridled joy.

You had never heard the boy laugh that hard before. He was on the ground, rolling in the dirt in howling delight as tears streamed from his eyes. Each time he turned towards the fish he would quickly deflate back into cackles. Ominis stared confused at the spot where you once were, his wand blinking and sending the image of a strange shaped shadow wiggling around near his feet to his mindseye.

He turned towards the taller boy on the ground, asking him to explain what was so funny. Sebastian hesitantly rose to his feet and turned back towards the smaller boy.

“Ominis, you’re not going to believe this. They’re a fish!”

The Sallow boy dissolved into laughter once again, doubling over and holding his stomach in pain. His fellow Slytherin took in the information slowly, the gears in his brain clearly turning at a rapid rate.

The fish continued to flop helplessly on the ground, sounding like a sopping wet towel falling onto a tiled bathroom floor.

Ominis’ eyes suddenly widened as the color drained from his face. He began to call for the brunette across from him, trying in vain to get his attention to the situation at hand. Sebastian wiped the tears from his eyes and turned towards the blond.

“What’s up? What’s going on, Ominis?” Tittered the Slytherin.

The smaller boy stared wide-eyed at the other. “What animal did you say they were, again?”

Sebastian tilted his head in confusion. “A fish, why?”

Ominis gulped, quipping quickly, “Sebastian, what do fish need to survive?”

The taller Slytherin put his finger to his chin in contemplation, pondering what his friend could possibly mean. Could it be a riddle?

“Ominis, I’m not sure what you’re getting at. It’s a fish. Fish need water to— oh. Oh. Oh no. ”

Sebastian began to pace rapidly in place, his hands ran through his hair in panic as he continued to swear at the ground.

“Oh bollocks— fuck— Merlin, oh— shite, balls— Rowena’s saggy tits— god damn— son of a banshee. ”

Ominis knew that fish rarely survived long outside of the water. He hopped from foot to foot, wracking his brain for a quick solution that would save his friend and their very unfortunate animagus form.

Sebastian scurried over to where the fish flailed on the ground. He gently picked it up in both of his hands, cringing slightly at the feeling of its slimy scales. Its eyes bulged as its mouth opened and closed rapidly. He shushed the fish in his hands, stroking its fin with his thumb.

"It's okay. We got you. Don't die little guy." He tipped his head back and groaned at the sky. "Professor Weasley is gonna kill us."

A lightbulb went off in the Gaunt boy's brain. He quickly scrambled towards the other boy, drawing his wand in the process.

"Sebastian, put down the fish. I got this!"

He quickly swished his wand towards the fish, yelling the new spell he had just learned in charms yesterday.

“Aguamenti!”

A jet of water shot out of the blond’s wand, splashing along the dirt ground and smacking into the fish at an extreme speed, sending it rapidly down the hill next to it and into the river below.

The two boys sprinted to the cliff's edge, slamming into each other and peering down the grassy slide. Sebastian watched as the salmon swam away, its silvery blue scales glittering in the water, and made a sound very similar to an unhappy kneazle.

“Hey boys, what are you looking at?”

The two students nearly died from shock. The freckled boy wiped his head around at an almost 180 degree angle, eyes bugging out of his sockets and his mouth open like a trout. Ominis rolled over onto his back, grasping at his chest over his poor heart. He groaned in your general direction,

“Merlin, don’t do that!”

You grinned at the two boys in mischief. “I’m sorry, but the opportunity was too good. I absolutely had to.”

You helped the two boys to their feet, dusting them off and smiling with insincere guilt.

“Okay, I’m actually going to do it now.”

Sebastian irately chirped at you in response, “Yeah, and I’m bloody watching you this time.” He picked up his wand, having dropped it in shock earlier. “God damn, nearly gave me a heart attack.”

This time, you did the incantation properly before drinking the remaining potion. You felt your body change uncomfortably, your bones shrinking and shifting under your skin. Fur sprouted from your pores, and you shrunk towards the ground.

A stoat, slightly smaller than average and decorated with brownish red fur and black accents, pawed at the ground where you once stood.

You looked up at your friends, suddenly incredibly low to the ground. A chirp-like sound left your mouth, inviting them to join you on a run around the hillside. Sebastian quickly whispered what you looked like to Ominis before he smiled down at you, kneeling to pet your coarse fur. He looked up at his friend and lightly tapped him on the leg.

“Whaddya say? Care to join them on a little adventure?”

The slender boy smirked down at the other boy and nodded.

Both transformed once again, the snake finding his way to you and winding around your body; his tiny head resting on the top of yours. The large brown dog trotted next to you and barked. You chittered back at them in agreement, and the trio once again ran off into the night.

AN:

Why these animals?

Ominis: I made Ominis a hognose snake because they're 1. adorable, and 2. incredibly dramatic. Hognose snakes are picky eaters and are the most likely species of snake to be born blind. When threatened by predators, or in some cases a very spooky pair of tongs, they will roll over on to their back and play dead. The whole nine yards, tongue lulling out of their mouth. It's incredibly entertaining, and it reminds me a lot of Ominis and his tendency to be dramatic.

Sebastian: I made Sebastian a border collie because they are one of the smartest dog breeds, as well as one of the most rambunctious. They are known cattle dogs, meaning they herd farm animals for a living. Sebastian is definitely a mother hen type when he wants to be, and he is incredibly loyal to his friends. These dogs are full of energy and are incredibly curious, which fits him to a T.

MC: I made the MC a stout because, much like all animals in the weasel family, they are fearless. Weasels are known to fight animals twice their size, and have historically gone toe to toe with venomous snakes like King Cobras. On top of all that, they are mischievous. They love to steal parts of nests from other animals, as well as their eggs. Since the MC is pretty neutral in this, I thought a stout would be a good fit.

like what you read? here's more!

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fountainpenguin · 3 months

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"Now you've used up all your luck! It's time to get what you deserve! I'm holding out for karma..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 19 - “Extinguish (Cleo, Grian, Bdubs)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Cleo and Tango take off with Jimmy and his super nice friends hard on their heels. Grian and BigB talk about 100-day courtship customs as they debate whether it's time to go their separate ways. Also, Impulse and Bdubs discuss feelings in the rain or something, idk.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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ZombieCleo - Salmon

Quarry: MumboJumbo

Hunter: Renthedog

Allegiance: Lush Cave Alliance

💚 💛 ❤️

Stumbling down the pokey-hole passageways, shoving feet in boots, is far from the way Cleo wanted to be spending Truce Night. Running's hell when you're a partial fish person with webbed toes, actually. She's got a newfound respect for however Scott pulled it off in Limited Life.

Tango sprints ahead. He's the first to reach the end of the tunnel- he spins his pickaxe into his hand with a swirl of white light and starts hacking at a patch of coal. Cleo, cheeks all puffed, glances back. Water gushes across the floor. A bucket would've been nice. Tango's got all their buckets.

"Oh, we should've grabbed the water-"

There's no time for that now. A pillager with a loaded crossbow drops and fires another shot. Cleo slams flat against the wall. The bolt grazes past their cheek. Geez. She unsheathes her sword in a crackle of sparks. Their shield flashes to their other arm. Tango's behind them, yelling that he's carved a doorway they can crawl through. But, see… It's only one pillager.

That patrol doesn't see Jimmy as a threat. They see him as a captain. If they're player-managed instead of AI-led, that's gonna bite- Not many opportunities to get this close-

"I'm fine!" Cleo charges forward, sword arm reared behind her. Oh, it totally leaves her an open, gaping target, but that's what shields are for. The pillager doesn't even blink before launching another crossbow shot. The bolt thuds against wood. Cleo slashes down. The pillager flashes with the hit and Jimmy's shriek sets every scale down her tail bristling on end.

She goes in for the stab. A second blur plunges into the water and Cleo veers their attention, only to clash swords with Jimmy. The angle's awkward- backhanded on their part, actually. Jimmy's left-handed and he nailed the hit. Her sword goes flying. It clatters down the wall. Jimmy's eyes scream bright and violet in the dark. Her own green glow reflects off his clenched and hissing teeth. A second pillager drops down, thumping around the limited elbow room like a squash ball.

"Jimmy, stop playing- What are you doing? You can't" - (Duck, stumble backwards, shield struggling against the assault of a crossbow and a sword at the exact same time) - "Why are you here? Oh, you are so suspended from my class!" With a finger flutter, she summons her sword from the ground and back to her hand.

"Sorry, Cleo! I did break your beds!" Jimmy rears back, but instead of his sword, he kicks the heel of his boot directly down the center of her shield. Cleo staggers back again and barely gets it up in time to deflect two crossbow bolts in a row. Tango yells from down the hall, but from the sound of it, he's digging a tunnel. Wants them to join. Thank gods he didn't disappear down one of those side paths- I'd never find him in time.

"You're on purple! You can't do this!"

"I'm not, I'm not! It's them!" This time, Jimmy flips his sword and ominous banner to opposite hands. The banner's wrapped around a long pole of reddish jungle wood. He rears it behind his head and brings it slamming down like a blade. Cleo jerks back, feet skidding on wet stone. She smashes her shield against his skull. Jimmy yelps. The pillagers grunt, pressing closer to him. They look like baby birds on the prowl for warmth. Gods. A third drops from above and Tango yells again. One crossbow shot catches her on the shoulder. She's low- Oh, she's so friggin' low-

"TANGO!"

"I'm here!"

Right. Cleo shuffles backwards, fumbling through her absolutely meager food supply. She stocked up on half a dozen salmon in the river, but Ren and Bdubs were there and that's all she got. At least she took the liberty of cutting her meat in advance. She shoves two small chunks in her mouth. Jimmy…

Jimmy's blinking, clutching one hand against his left eye. He slumps against the wall. Cleo, with a breath, turns and sprints down the hall towards Tango. Boots slam and clunk on every step and her webbed toes pinch against the tip. Tango races towards her, yelling and holding up his shield.

"Eat! EAT!"

"Okay!"

Tango shoves past, taking the next pillager shot dead-on. Cleo hurries past him, scarfing down salmon, and ducks inside his tiny cave. Tango keeps pace as best he can, hustling backwards in a crouch. The pillagers flicker… then turn to look at Jimmy. Their bows hitch up. Jimmy's mouth drops down. Instantly, he's fumbling the banner between his hands again.

"No, no, no! I'm your captain, see? See?"

That's the last glimpse she catches before Tango slips inside the cave and Cleo blocks the whole behind him with rough cobble. There's no time for panting or even high-fives. As one unit, they turn and start mining their way through the dark. Cleo fills the path behind them and Tango digs down.

🖤 💛 ❤️

Grian - Enderman

Quarry: Smajor1995

Hunter: Smallishbeans

Allegiance: Jungle Duo

The lush cave's huge and multi-leveled. All the tunnels are damp and tangled (and smell like warm salt and rotting squid flesh), but Grian's determination never falters. Nope, nope, nope- not even once. This is his server now, and even the underground bows its neck to see its admin. He strides down every passage with his sword bouncing at his hip. The torch broils against his skin. It even leaves his gums dry through his cheek. Tsk…

At one point, he passes a tiny cave with nothing but a red-sheeted bed. No one's asleep beneath the sheets, though they're kicked to the side like they've been used. A moment's digging reveals no hidden chests in the walls or floor, so Grian kicks the bed until it pops into its dollhouse-sized duplicate, then pockets it in his inventory. Might as well. He moves on again. No way is he setting spawn down here considering where he's got his respawn flag at the moment. That would ruin everything. He'll sleep on the dang floor if he has to.

The sound of trickling water is ever-present down here, made worse by the rain up above ground. Grian uses that as a guideline, sinking deeper into the caves. BigB's still wrapped in blaze traits right now, and since he went to bed - Sweet dreams! - he's definitely outside the Nether. Apparently Tango and Pearl had their portal somewhere down here, and BigB's blaze instinct would be to escape the water…

Aha.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

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