#water which is full of sharp pointy rocks

[hebuiltfive]

HEBUILTFIVE TURNS ONE!?

I made this blog account a year ago today, which blows my mind (how has it already been a year???), and so I thought I'd post something to celebrate!

Before I made this account, I'd already started writing Thunderbirds Fanfiction. This story never got finished beyond the inital drafts, but I thought I'd share the first part of the first 'chapter' for the first birthday of this blog. It seemed fitting!

It is not great, oh my god it is terrible, and the science in it is awful, but! I hope it's at least a fun read! There is more of this that I might post at a later date, if I pluck up the courage, but for now...

International Rescue, We Have A Situation!

It was just a scratch. 

Gordon didn’t know what all the fuss was about, because yes, a fuss was being made, and much to his chagrin. So what if he’d had a little rendezvous with a pointy rock face? He’d survived, hadn’t he? He was convinced it wasn’t that bad of an injury, complaining the moment he’d been prodded and poked and examined. His older brother, the cause of the prodding, poking and examining, however, disagreed.

“Ow! Will you stop that?” Gordon was in two minds to just jump off the infirmary bed and pull his top back on, hiding the wound behind fabric to stop being tampered with. He knew it would have been pointless, however. His brother would have just stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Stop whining and stay still.” Virgil, the older brother who was currently tending to the gash down Gordon’s side, ordered. “You are, without doubt, the worst patient ever. And I’ve had to treat Scott.”

Scott Tracy, the eldest of the Tracy brothers, was notorious for being difficult in similar situations. Much like Gordon, he would have refused to admit that something was wrong, and would have insisted he was fine without the need for worry.

“No, you’re just being fussy.” Even as he said it, Gordon knew that hadn’t been a fair comment to make. Despite his moaning, he knew deep down that Virgil had every right to be fussing over him, even if he didn’t want to admit that to himself. 

He barely remembered the flight home, and even Gordon knew that was something to worry about. Though the aquanaut had insisted on staying in the co-pilot seat of Thunderbird 2, Gordon silently regretted not taking his older brother up on laying in one of the beds in the hold. 

The whole flight back his head had pounded, sharp pains lancing through even at the slightest of movements. No concussion, Virgil had declared after a quick check over, and no vital damage from where the aquanaut had collided with the rock face, their brother John had confirmed from a quick scan from Thunderbird 5. 

Thus, Gordon had been spared from Virgil’s mother-henning until they had arrived back on Tracy Island, whereupon he had been whisked away to the infirmary upon landing, and before their grandmother could worry. That was the last thing Gordon needed. Virgil, he could deal with. Grandmother Tracy was a whole other ballgame.

“That stings!” Gordon flinched as Virgil cleaned the wound. He’d been lucky it hadn’t been deeper. The force at which he’d collided with the rock face had been dangerous, or at least that’s what John had told him on the flight back. In all honesty, Gordon couldn’t remember most of it.

He remembered going out to Belize; a seaquake had caused a submersible to go off course. Full of scientists, it had developed a ruptured hull and was threatening to take on water. John had been worried the quake had been man-made and had warned both him and Virgil to be careful. From there, Gordon remembered going down in Thunderbird 4 to retrieve the scientists on board the submersible. He remembered being on the look out for any signs of unusual activity to suggest a man-made cause for the quake, and then… it got blurry. 

How exactly had he ended up outside of his ‘bird? What had caused him to crash into the rocks?

“Hey, Virg?”

Virgil hummed in response as he finished up on his brother’s wound, a go-ahead for Gordon to continue his question.

“What actually happened down there?”

His brother stepped away, taking the various used cotton pads, scissors and tape to the counter nearby Gordon’s bed to sort through. “You were flung into the rocks with quite some force.”

“Yeah, I gathered, but how did I end up outside Thunderbird 4?”

Virgil paused, glancing over his shoulder. “You don’t remember?”

In answer, Gordon shook his head, and pulled on his top now that Virgil had finally finished nursing the wound. From the way the aquanaut sat, casual and calm, anyone who didn’t know Gordon would assume he was unbothered by it, and that he was just curious, but Virgil knew his brother. He could see the confusion, see that he needed to know all elements of what went wrong down there so he could piece everything together for himself. If he couldn’t remember properly then perhaps his little brother had taken more of a hit than Virgil previously thought.

“The scientists were trapped. Thunderbird 4 couldn’t open the door properly, so you had to go out and manually wench it open.” The elder of the two began to explain, dropping the used items into the trashcan beside the counter, and putting the metal utensils into the sink for disinfection at a later date. He then made his way back to Gordon’s bedside. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be risky.” Virgil continued. “Well, not more so than usual. You had got them all out and into Thunderbird 4. You were about to get back in yourself when John warned us of an aftershock. You couldn’t get back inside in time, and that’s how you ended up dancing with the rocks.”

Gordon remembered it all then. It was Virgil’s yell through the comms that haunted his thoughts as the memory of the accident replayed. Stuck in the big ‘bird high above the sea, there was nothing his older brother could have done but wait as the radio silence from Gordon answered him. Pain lanced through the aquanaut’s side as the memory of the collision returned. He winced. “Did I find anything down there?”

“Other than the rocks?” Virgil joked. He wasn’t usually one for making light of injuries or accidents, but his little brother seemed like he could use the tension easing. It worked; Gordon cracked a smile. Virgil continued. “If you mean about it being man-made, no. There was nothing down there to suggest those quakes were anything but natural.”

“But John said—“

“John is like the rest of us, Squid. He doesn’t always get it right.”

Something didn’t sit well with Gordon, however. Just because there was something at the scene of the crime didn’t mean there was no further explanation to be had. It felt like there was a missing piece to the jigsaw that was laid out before him. A dull ache had him out of his thoughts in a heartbeat, hand gently pressing to the bandaged wound on his side.

“You’ll be out of action for a few days. I’m tempted to make it a week, just to be sure you’re healed.” Virgil decreed with a nod.

“What? A week? Virgil, no! I’m fine! You saw to the scratch. I can be back on duty by tomorrow.”

“That, little brother, is wishful thinking.” He ruffled the blonde tresses atop Gordon’s head, and made to leave the infirmary, calling back. “No heavy lifting or straining that side, bro, else I’ll have Grandma fix you up next time.”

No doubt with a batch of her famously indigestible cookies to help him ‘heal quicker’. It was enough to make Gordon shiver, and keep him in line.

#thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #five fics #thunderfam #gordon tracy #virgil tracy

[jinlizz-dragondrama]

Chapter 8

Hide n Seek and Evil Shoes?

3rd POV

Two years have gone by, and it feels like yesterday when you just met Donnie and the gang. You guys are pretty much inseparable, heck Master Splinter thinks of you as his second daughter (Number one daughter goes to April love you girl!!) Anyways, with you now, soon to be turning 16, and in your sophomore year of high school, things have gone by pretty smoothly. You've grown into quite the woman, acne please def not an issue (lucky bastard wish I didn't have acne in high school) *clears throat* Now then you still have your cheerleader bullies and are still a bit insecure about your eyes so you continue to wear brown contacts.

Your pops have been acting suspicious lately, and it doesn't help that you've been having nightmares that keep you up all night. Such terrible dreams of vines and purplish red tentacle-like appendages protruding from your back, eyes turned into cat-like slits with yellow scleras, teeth sharp and pointy. People scream in the background as you are holding your best friend Donnie by the throat choking him with a vine. An armored person from head to toe walks up behind me, the metal foot pads clanking with each step it took, a menacing stare and red eyes glare at the turtle, it places its sharp metal hand on my shoulder encouraging me to finish him. Don's eyes are brimmed with tears as he reached out to you, as he was desperately trying to force air into his lungs. No matter how hard you try to let go, you can't. It's as if your body isn't your own. Then you are thankfully woken up by your alarm.

Y/N POV

Waking up in a cold sweat, I sit up and try to catch my quickened breath. My T-shirt is sticking to my skin, my hair is an unruly mess, and warm tears streak my face. As I slow my breathing, I check the time and see that it's 9 am. on a Saturday. Dropping my phone onto my bed, I walk to my bathroom, and start the shower with cold water, walking past the mirror I look at my reflection and a flash of an evil grin and murderous eyes stare back at me. Rubbing my eyes and looking back quickly, the image is gone. After my shower, I get dressed in some grey leggings, a sports bra, and a hoodie, skipping on putting in my contacts as I doubt I'd see anyone I knew from school. Grabbing my phone, charger, some snacks, and an already-packed swim bag with a change of clothes, make my way out of the new secret hideout under the shoe store. Using the back entrance, I make my way through the alleyway. Clicking my sneaker heels together the skates pop out, and looking down at them I admire how they look thanks to Donnie's upgrade I can go way faster, input coordinates and not have to move my feet. But I only use the autopilot if I'm going long distances, skating to the school pool, climbing over the fence, disabling the cameras from my phone on an app (perks of having a tech-savvy friend and after the purple dragon incident he got a pretty good layout of the security system which in his words was "subpar"). I changed into my bathing suit and started my workout. Even with swimming I couldn't escape the images and sounds from my nightmare once finished I dried off wrapped a towel around me, sat on the ground, and began to meditate to calm my mind.

I was soon rudely interrupted by my phone ringing, opening one of my eyes and seeing the caller ID is Mikey. My anger quickly dissipates, and I answer getting an invite for pizza and hang-out time. Dressing back into my clothes, finding the designated manhole, and jumping down. I enter the lair, and walking into the kitchen I see Raoh opening a piping hot box of pizza, putting my stuff down on the floor I walk up to them.

"Ok, Rock, paper, scissors for the first slice. Me and Mikey are up" Raph says

Knowing full well that Raph picks Mikey because he always uses scissors. Everyone but poor Mikey has realized this. Of course, Mikey loses and Raph is about to take a bite into his slice when the lights go off, then back on, and his beloved slice is gone. Soon the lights flicker again and the whole pizza is gone, we all freak out at how quickly it disappeared.

"The table is eating our pizza!" Mikey shouts

We hear chuckling, scampering, and mouth-stuffing sounds.

"It's the chair!" Mikey shouts and points at the chair

As the boys start to get ready to attack the chair, Splinter appears seemingly out of thin air eating a slice of pizza. Apparently, today is the day we learn about ninja stealth and invisibility. He shouts "Lights off jitsu", the lights flicker again, and the pizza slice he threw at Leo disappears. We meet on a building behind a billboard, I sit next to Splinter behind the billboard while he explains to the boys about sneaking into Big Mama's Yokai Hotel.

"Ninja invisibility lesson number one keep to the shadows," he says while he moves into the shadow of the billboard

"Lesson two Blind spots use your enemy's blind spots," he says while popping out of each of our blind spots which freaked me out a bit not gonna lie.

"Lesson three be as light as a feather...as quick as a fast feather move quickly and softly," he says as he bounces around our surroundings

"Lesson four Slooow Moootion Juuutsuu" he says while I watch him slowly grab Donnie's tech Bo from his hand and his wallet.

"Oh please like you can sneak up on- hey give me back my Tech Bo" he pats himself down "And wallet"

Splinter tosses my Donnie's wallet and I catch it with an evil grin.

"Sweet now I can buy some stuff off my Amazon wish list!" I say evilly

"You wouldn't dare!" Donnie says while pointing at me.

"Now using your new skills sneak up on me and attack," Splinter says while side-eyeing them with his back turned towards to boys.

Mikey....being well Miket announces he's about to attack but is reminded not to do that by Splinter then he does the most hilarious thing and attempts to do lights-off jutsu with the sun. I couldn't help but snicker at his attempt. But then Raph tries to do light as a feather jutsu and you can guess how well that went...spoiler alert it didn't go well his stomping caused a mini earthquake that shook us about and caused a water tank to topple over and wash us into a garbage-filled alleyway.

"Boys you're not kindergartens, Lesson five blend into your surroundings," he says After using a ninja smoke pellet and disappears

The boys can't seem to find him, but he reappears in a turtle disguise. I immediately know it's him but I let the boys figure it out...which they don't. I roll my eyes and smack myself on the forehead when they fall for the trick and they attack a bag of garbage that was very close in shape of Splinter's body. Each one of the boys receives a karate chop to the head after he removes the disguise. Master's last hope is to send the boys on their own to figure it out for themselves. They hover over to the hotel using Donnie's battle shell. We watch them leave and Splinter tells me to go after them and that I'll benefit from this lesson. He tosses me a disguise brooch that Sunita gave to him for me, placing it on my clothes I transform into a teenage turtle, putting on my pink ninja mask and quickly admiring my turtle body I take off after them. (Don't judge my design please it's a work in progress 👀)

Splinter watches the Nexus Hotel waiting for us to return and several days go by without our return. He starts to go into panic mode.

"I've sent my children to their doom! Don't worry kids help is on the way" He shouts and runs towards the hotel.

Once he arrives he changes into Bell Boy clothes and sees that the hotel is in utter chaos...come to find out it's spa day for Big Mama. Splinter tries to close the elevator but a bunch of Yokai fill it up and Im pushed in as well. Once they all leave the elevator and reach their floor, Splinter and I look at each other and sigh. Donnie and Mikey, are hiding under a room service cart not their greatest moment but I got bored of hiding in the shadows and watching each of them utterly fail so many times to get the dog tag. So I dressed in the hotel staff uniform and was pretty much blending in. They roll themselves into the elevator and Mikey thought it would be the best time for him to try slow-motion jutsu which made me sweat a bit with how slow he was going that it was very obvious. Once they reach their "desired" floor the boys speed off and almost bump into Gus. Thankfully Master was able to distract Gus with a steak dinner that was on the tray. We then go to find the other two boys, Raph is doing horribly at blending in with the shadows, he grabs a huge leaf, chuckles to himself, and tiptoes towards Gus to get the tag, but his sneaking up on people stink activates and I toss a tennis ball towards Gus which he gleefully catches and plays with while Splinter hides Raph behind a painting. We then get back into the elevator to look for Leo, we find him in a room full of yokai, quickly grabbing a seat at the bar. Leo moves from blindspot to blind spot, which thankfully no one notices because they are distracted by the fight that is being shown on these snow globe tv things until he reaches Gus and goes for the collar just as one of the competitors wins and everyone stands up to cheer. Leo is left dangling and holding onto the collar we both spit out our drinks when Gus recognizes him. Leon splashes Gus's drink in his face and takes off running, we quickly follow him.

Mikey and Donnie are going up a stairwell with the service cart still hiding them, but Leo runs into them, he tries to grab onto something which ended up being me and we fall down the stairway. We all take off running and crash into Raph as we roll into a hidden room. We are surrounded by a bunch of Big Mama's henchmen. They look at me with confused looks on their faces.

"Who's she and how did she get here?" Mikey says

"It's me you dumb dumbs, but now is not the time," I say interrupting their awe

"Come on let's make Pop's proud," Raph said

"Lights off jutsu," Mikey says as he claps his hands

"Oh come on Mikey that's not gonna-" Donnie says before he is cut off by the lights going off and the giant lava lamp is still on but casts very dark shadows around the room.

"I will never doubt you again," Donnie says shocked

"Alright guys, keep to the shadows," Raph says as we disappear

Taking out each henchman at a time, Master watches from the air vent in the room. The lights turn back on and we each take turns demonstrating what Splinter taught us. In the end, Donnie catches the dog tag that Raph unhooked from Gus's neck. Once we made our way back to the building with the billboard we start to celebrate and Splinter congratulates the boys and me on a job well done. We are dismissed to go celebrate as a group, I jump onto Donnie's jet pack and we head out to get pizza.

"So are we gonna talk about Aqua's turtle disguise or nah?" Leon says with a smirk

I roll my eyes and retort, "Well this is a disguise brooch I got from Sunita, now I'm part of the turtle club"

Leo snorts and we fist bump. Unbeknownst to me Donnie is blushing as I took on the characteristics of a Soft Shell turtle just like him.

Donnie POV

Wow, who would have thought she'd look adjacent in both her human form and a turtle form?

We grab some pizza and head back to the lair to play some games and possibly watch a movie. April finally stops by wearing a work uniform and tells us about her job working at the Foot Shack. I smile that she got a job there and we can be work buddies. I've been working there ever since they opened, it's a fairly popular store and I love working there. I even designed a few shoes.

I'm on the couch with one of Donnie's purple weighted blankets and with a closed Jupiter Jim comic on my lap. The boys had left the room before April came and once the movie was done to skateboard. Splinter returns to the lair doing his "conga dad dance" (Don't judge the name of the dance lol). We both laugh at his dance, which surprises him and pops his back out of place. We try to help him but apparently the conga dad dance has more than one use and he uses it to pop his back into place.

He sees the Foot Print on April's shirt and says "That is a curious symbol"

"Yea, it's my Dads logo for their shoe store, April and I are work buddies now" I say happily while high fiving April.

"The Foot Shack, hm perhaps I should drop by I do love kickies" he says somewhat suspiciously

April puts an end to it by telling him that his whole "situation" isn't gonna come and disturb us at work. But knowing Splints he doesn't take no for an answer. April and I leave to head into work and Splints gets to work with his teenager disguise.

April and I are stocking up the shoes when we see Splints wearing open toed shoes. Those puppies have seen better days, I try my best not to puke.

"Now do not be alarmed, but I suspect your store is being run by the most evil forces to ever walk the earth" He quietly shouts to us

"You cannot be for real" April retorts

I start picking up the boxes April dropped when both of my dads walk in. They walk past us but not before Papa Brutus ruffles my hair and gives me a thumbs up. They enter through a circular door vault that locks behind them. April tries to get Splints to leave well enough alone but he makes a break for it and rushes up a fire escape to look into the secret room.

We follow after him, I briefly hear the boys screaming and some loud flapping but when I turn around I don't see anything. Shrugging it off and watch as Splints falls through a window and lands on upper part of the room.

April and I hop down and see both of my Dads and a group of Foot Clan warriors. Splinter pulls us down and shushes us

"You two please, you do not know the great evil these men are capable of" he says seriously

"Behold warriors of the Foot Clan" says Papa Lui as he pulls a cloth to reveal something...it was a really long cloth so the suspense was killing Splinter.

"Our new sprung line, aren't they beautiful" Papa Lui says

"Wait a minute pump sandals? That is a real thing?" Splints says completely shocked

"Hey!" I say taking offense to that statement

"That our darling daughter created" Papa Lui says proudly

"Such talent" Papa Brutus says while wiping a tear

"Oh sorry Aqua..." Splinter says awkwardly

But he continues to laugh "The Foot Clan has become shoe salesmen"

"Which we will use in today's aquasituon" Papa Lui continues while holding a scroll and revealing an armor. Both Splinter and I freakout a bit before April pulls us back before anyone can see. I have flashbacks of the dreams I've been having lately and start sweat and have a mini panic attack. Splints tells us the history of the armor, April and I gasp while looking at eachother.

"I work at an evil shoe store" April says exasperated

"For years I had a hunch they were hiding something from me" I say sadly as a tear runs down my cheek.

April tries to comfort me, the Foot Clan starts to leave the vault while wearing my new shoe design to the van. Splints goes to jump down but slips, kicking over shoe boxes and falling onto two foot clan warriors. We both look downbat him as he rips the uniform off of a guy.

Rushing back outside we see the warriors getting into a van, Splints gets in line with them and April and I follow behind.

"Were coming with you!" I say

"No, I'm going deep undercover to make sure they take not one shred of the evil armor. Please give my love to my sons." Be says heartfelt

"Hey guys your pops loves you, do not reply all" April says while quickly typing the text to the boys

Meanwhile the boys are attacking a giant mutant pigeon but we'll get back to that later 😉.

April gets a text notification and it Alerts Papa Lui, he quickly shows us away telling us to get back into the store.

"Awww, you never let me get to go on your missions" I say trying to get him to let me go which fails miserably.

Splints is able to get in the van with everyone. April grabs her bike and I follow her using my roller skates. We quietly enter Grand Central Station finding places to hide. The Clan starts searching for the armor pieces. April ends up making noise from her hiding spot and I peek my head out from my spot. The two of us are dawned in Foot Clan clothes and Splinter instructs us to distract the Clan while he gets the piece. (Insert not so ninja moves as we make our way over lol) Once we successfully distract them, I hear the sound of a horn, the Turtle Tank comes barreling through the glass window.

"And he sticks the landing" Leo says proudly

I face Palm myself and groan inwardly

"Mystic Metal" Donnie shouts while pointing at undercover Splinter who's holding the metal

"Just as I planned...wait what are the flameheads doing here" Raph questions while using Donnie's habd to point at the Clan.

The Clan starts to attack, April and I rush uo to Splinter, he gives is the metal peace and quickly make our way to a train. Getting onto a train we are ambushed by purple tentacle vines, immediately I fly into action using vines to fight them back to protect April, it was a pretty intense fight that I desperately hope to win.

The warriors were easily defeated by the boys, seeing that Splinter is the only one standing Papa Lui forces him to fight The boys. Which he kicks serious butt wish I was there to see it. Knowing Donnie records everything he wouldn't let me see it...scoff. Anyways purple tentacle vines force their way through the floor and causes it to collapse. Draxum, The boys and my dads exchange words, but is cut off by Draxum throwing April to the floor and holding me tightly with his tentacles.

"Caught these two stealing our property, But this one is quite interesting, put up a really good fight, I wonder who this could be" Draxum says while pulling off my mask.

"Let go of me you overgrown goat freak" I shout

Everyone gasps and Donnie clenches onto his Tech Bo ready to attack and save me.

"Sweetheart what are you doing here?" Says Papa Brutus shocked

"Let her go, she's one of us" Papa Lui says

"What no way Aqua is a part of the Foot Clan?" Mikey says

"Yes, I mean no, it's complicated" I say while struggling to break free not bring able to concentrate and use my powers.

Draxum looks at me and smirks, "Interesting I think I might do some experiments on her, her powers may be of use to me"

The boys get into fighting stances and My dads had looks that could kill directed towards Draxum. Splints goes to attack Draxum but his pops out of place once more and quickly does his conga dad dance which the boys recognize and freak out once they realize it's their Dad. Draxum grabs Splints, he breaks free from the tentacles and comes to the realization that he's Lou Jitsu. In their shocked states April reveals herself and they charge an attack to save me, both my dads think the boys are coming to attack me so they send paper ninjas to protect me. The armor piece gets tossed onto the tracks of the train and gets run over. The gang easily defeats a few of the paper ninjas, Donnie hits Draxum with his Tech Bo, Draxum ends uo dropping me, Don catches me abd holds onto me tightly. Papa Lui sends more after them, Raph grabs all of us and jumps onto the oncoming train. It was like everything was moving in slow motion, I see my dads reaching out to grab me with sad looks on their faces, tears stream down my face and I bury my face in Donnie's plastron. We hop if the train once it reaches near the lair, Splinter karate chops the boys and grounds them all. I'm in a corner trying to calm down and wiping tears from my face. Mikey comes over to comfort me, Donnie awkwardly stands back and rubs the back of his neck.

"Well since you have no place to go-" he's cut off by a glare from everyone. "I mean um you're welcome to stay with us as long as you want, right guys!"

Everyone agrees with him and smiles at me.

"Yea, we know you aren't in kahoots with those guys you'll be safe with us" Leo says confidently

Smiling and rushing to hug everyone doing the weird crying-laughing thing. Splinter interrupts asking one of the boys to carry him and we make our way to the lab. Little did we know that my dad's and Draxum put the armor pieces together and attached them to the almost complete armor. My dad's vow that they will stop at nothing to bring me back home to them. And this is the start of my new life with the Turtle brothers.

#rottmnt #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt x reader #rise donatello #rottmnt fanfiction #rise donnie #rise of the tmnt #donnie x reader

[littlemisspascal]

Pedro Pascal Characters as Element Benders

This has probably been done before, but I watched an episode of ATLA earlier and thought wow, I wonder what Pedro’s characters would be and thus this was written in about 15 minutes. It’s probably not very good cuz it’s so rushed, but read on if you want to see my headcanons for the boys.

Also if anyone out there wants to come up with their own versions, I’d love to see what you imagine ❤

Javier - firebender, definitely. I mean, the guy smokes more than any other character I’ve seen on tv and I love the mental image of him lighting a cigarette using his own hands. His anger, too, at the corruption of the government I imagine as a fire constantly burning away inside of him, making his skin warm to the touch and his snappy retorts scorch the ears of anyone who gets on his bad side.

Max -- waterbender only because he’d totally master bloodbending through it. He’s a vampire so of course blood has to factor in somewhere. His bending skills in combination with his hypnotism ability means he’d essentially be the most dangerous predator in the whole office building, inflating his arrogance beyond measure in the process.

Whiskey - waterbender because if Katara can use a water whip then Whiskey would definitely make use of one too. Enemies would think he carries a flask full of alcohol, but it’s really full of H2O ready to unleash upon them as a powerful wave. 

Pero - I really feel like he’d be an earthbender. I just picture him grumpily stomping the ground whenever William pisses him off (which is often) and sending a wall of rock directly at the Irish man’s face. Or if he gets really stubborn then he’ll just build himself a little rock fortress to block out the rest of the world and give him a minute of solace so he can pretend aliens don’t exist.

Oberyn - firebender, no questions asked. I mean, I don’t know much about GOT but I know Oberyn constantly wears a yellow robe with suns on it, plus I’ve seen a lot of interviews where Pedro talks about the prince’s passionate personality makes him impulsive. All those characteristics to me scream firebender and wouldn’t it have been awesome if during his final fight he actually breathed fire?!

Marcus P - this sweetheart is totally an airbender. He just seems like such a tenderhearted man and wants to help anyone in need whether that be sending them a cool breeze in the middle of a hot summer day or helping get a child’s kite down from a tree with one well-aimed current. Aesthetically I imagine his hair always looking fluffy and windblown, making his lover want to run their hands through his hair all hours of the day and he’d love every second of it.

Maxwell - earthbender. It’s canon he has a passion for gemology and an interest in oil and I mean, he literally becomes the dreamstone (sorry, spoilers) so in my mind it stands to reason he’d be a pretty good earthbender. Another spoiler (sorry) from the movie is that scene where the giant wall rises out of nowhere and blocks off the city? Imagine Maxwell doing it because that rich oil man pissed him off with his condescending personality. Everyone would know to never make a joke out of Maxwell Lord ever again.

Marcus M - airbender. I mean, the movie doesn’t really show what Marcus’ powers are precisely other than apparently he’s got a pair of katanas, so I think it’d be cool if instead of just having a really strong bond with a pair of weapons, he bends air to send them flying into his hands. Also that scene where he leaps at the alien and gets captured? It was a super high jump so I could totally see him using his airbending to help give him a boost. (I got nothing in this headcanon to explain why he uses the little droid to fly around though, so let’s just pretend that doesn’t exist).

Ezra - of course he’s an earthbender. Just like Maxwell, it’s canon this guy has a passion for digging stuff out of the ground and becoming rich off of it. I imagine it’d be a little hard for him to relearn how to bend with only one arm after the events of the movie, but maybe he could use his feet like Toph does and master a form of bending unlike any other seen before. He would also use his massive vocabulary and honey-sweet tongue to confuse/charm competing prospectors right before he makes the ground disappear beneath them. 

Din - I thought long and hard about this one and I kept coming back to earthbending only because the Mandalorians would teach him to learn metalbending through it. He would use it to get dents out of his armor as well as fix his beloved Razor Crest, but without a doubt the most important thing he’d use his bending for would be to play catch with Grogu and the little metal ball. The cuteness would kill all of us. 

Frankie - I see him as an airbender. He’s a pilot at heart, loves to soar above the earth through the clouds. When he was a kid, he definitely had one of those gliders like Aang does in the show and showed off to Santi just how high he could fly (I totally believe him and Santi were childhood friends, you can’t change my mind). There is nothing he loves more than the breeze ruffling his hair and occasionally using his airbending against the boys when they’re misbehaving by sending their hats flying off their heads. 

Dave - this murder-loving suburban dad is a firebender. He’s the type to burn at a low simmer, deceiving those around him by thinking he’s calm and collected, but he’ll burn you to ash the second you tick him off or get in the way of his plans. It also would explain why he lost so badly at the end of the movie because the torrential rain would weaken even the strongest of firebenders. 

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan​, @vintagesaph​, @sylphene​, @over300books​, @aerynwrites​, @softly-sad​, @chibi-yuki​, @theocatkov​, @oh-no-a-whovian​, @freeshavocadoooo​, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world​, @randomness501​, @lin-djarin​, @happiestsparkleofall​, @gallowsjoker​, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​, @captain-jebi​, @absurdthirst​, @coaaster​, @leilei-draws​, @melobee​, @stilllivindue2spite​, @pointy-sharp​, @artsymaddie​, @disgruntledspacedad​

#Pedro Pascal #avatar the last airbender #pedro pascal character fanfiction #headcanon #pedro pascal character headcanon #Din Djarin #oberyn martell #dave york #frankie morales #Marcus Pike #marcus moreno #Javier peña #Agent Whiskey #Max Phillips #maxwell lord #pero tovar #Ezra #ezra prospect #my fic #my headcanons

[ashleewentoffline]

When, where & why?

I tripped, i tripped? My eyes flashed open, confused on why the subway floor wasn't there any more, maybe this was a fever dream, or a lucid, the last thing I remember was Falling asleep against Kiylun's shoulder, Kiylun was my friend that often went with me into town because he knew it was a struggle with being a woman and, you know, plus we were quite close and enjoyed each others company.

But not anymore, My lace gloved hands were pressed firmly against long and thick grass in front of me, water rolling onto my finger tips from a water fall in front of me, stretching out onto a lake surrounded by a bunch of rolling hills, where a group of people seemed to be strolling in my direction, though it was quite a far distance, holding a couple of buckets.

If this was a lucid dream, which it probably was considering you weren't this conscious during fever dreams, it was a weird one, i couldn't control it, at all, maybe I'll ask those people, see if they tell me anything important.

I struggled to get up, the ground was very un even, but what can you expect, it's a natural place after all, Once achieving the goal I edged towards the lake and away from the shallow dirt cave, gazing into the dark waters, i wasn't used to dark waters, i was from the pacific ocean so it was quite unusual being in a lace like... this.

I looked the same as i did in the other world, bright blue nail polish painted messily onto my fingers, fingerless lace gloves climbing up to my elbows, A DIY black and beige singlet held together by pins And a patterned marron skirt that fell to my ankles sitting a little lower on my hips, my hair a fluffy mess around my face, and smudges eyeliner across my waterline.

I kicked a rock into the lake, bored, before i remembered those people, i would much rather go annoy them then be stuck in a foreign place all alone with no idea what's to come, I started to run - jog Towards them quite horribly, i was wearing platform sandals that were less than ideal for any form of athleticsm, So i stopped for a moment and pulled them off, twisting the wedges in between my fingers to hold them up.

"Fuck" I muttered, i was on the hill in front of them, out of sight behind a large oak tree, running out of breath and breathing quite shallowly, theres no need to run any more as they were quite close and getting closer to me. I flopped my legs out infront of me, setting my sandals beside me as i tried to correct my breathing pattern. closing my eyes for a moment.

I could hear sturdy foot stopes getting closer to me, something sharp, pointy, pressing against my nose, that feels oddly a lot like an arrow, oh fuck, why did i forget the importance of stranger danger, they definitely didn't miss it..

"Jeez tommy, we meet a new person and your first instinct is to out a bow to their head, don't be so rude" A masculine voice scoffed, it sounded quite european, maybe and probably british, The arrow left my nose, sending an alert to my brain that i was safe in a situation i wasn't, this is probably why i speak so much.

"Ouch wilbur! what was that for" A second voice said, sounding much more whinier and less masculine, but you could tell it was possibly a male, or at least biologically one. "Because there's no need to be so hostile tommy" A very light, airy, feminine voice said, sounding like a mother or a sister talking to her younger brother.

"I was just keeping my guard up! They could be a predator" The second voice said, i squinted my left eye, opening my right the slightest bit, i could only just see through my eyelashes, very thank full for having perfect eyesight today.

the whiny one seemed to be tall, not taller than the person beside them though, and had messy blonde hair, they were wearing a red and white t shirt with khaki colored shorts, holding a large loaded bow and arrow, the person beside them wasn't as visible as they had their hand pressed to they're forehead that was covered in curly brown hair, wearing a black denim jacket with a dusty purple shirt underneath and was wearing a black beanie and jeans, mixed with a pair of dirty converses.

The girl beside the blonde had bleached strawberry blonde hair and was wearing a flowy yellow sundress and a crochet cardigan over top, she was very pretty, in a platonic way because i'm not creepy.

"Oh it looks like shes awake" The strawberry blonde said, i mentally sighed, "Was it that obvious?" I asked quietly, Fully opening my E/C eyes "A bit, I'm niki" She reached a hand out after placing a wooden bucket on the grass beside her, i took it, expecting her to shake it but instead she pulled me up, damn, nice. "My name is Y/N"

"Niki don't converse with the stranger!" The other blonde said, crossing his arms, he looked around my age, 19, [Go with it], I raised an eyebrow, The brunette shook his head. "She's doing better than you, not treating it like a, a zombie sheep... I'm wilbur and that is tommy" He turned to me after lightly smacking the boy on the head, giving my a wave-like salute, i smiled back at him.

"Anyways, what bring you here?" Niki asked, I shrugged, i hadn't thought about that. "I Uh, just woke up here after falling asleep on a subway Back in Y/C, I spotted you guys in the distance and thought to ask, to be honest i'm quite sure this is some type of messed up fever dream"

"Ah a newbie, well, here, where we are right not is a land called Gendov and by what your talking about i'm quite sure to you this would be an alternate universe, We're in an exact replica of earth, chosen by hand of an unknown source to live in a world that's a lot like a you might of heard of, minecraft." Wilbur said, I love minecraft! If i was in it that would be so cool, though a little scary, will i get back home, or is there another me there to take my place? Will anyone notice? I wonder if they'll miss me.

"I know that's a lot to take in, we'll give you some time to process it, but those cut's need to be cleaned and it's not exactly safe out here..." Niki looked back at wilbur for confirmation, who nodded, "We'll take you back to our village, assuming your peacefull, but in the mean time we were sent out for a reason! Water sources" She continued, Motioning towards the bucket in her hands, And the one in tommy's that wasn't holding a bow.

"Okay, i could hold that bucket if you would like?" I asked, brushing a stray piece of hair out of my eye, plucking a couple of leaved out, It's the least i could do for her kindness. "Oh no you don't have too!" Niki reassured, i Shook my head, Threading my hands together, itching at the nail polish on them. "Please, It's the least i could do!" I responded, Niki hesitated a bit before handing it over. "Thank you" She said, before we started to srtoll towards the lake, which was only about 5 odd rolling hills away now.

#mcyt #mcyt au #mc au #mc irl #wilbur soot #tommy innit #niki nihachu #x reader #mcyt x reader #y/n #x y/n #self insert

[maine-writes]

Vonvon's Space Adventure, Part 3

Another resplendent scene of Beach City. The azure waves crashed upon the golden sand, darkening it to an earthy hue. Steven and Connie eagery awaited the crystalline vessel descending from the atmosphere. Its ivory body glimmered in the sun, its strking eyes looking ever onward toward the horizon. To them at least, their darling child's weekend went without a hitch. But little did they know of the horrors that transpired on a distant world.

It began on a Saturday.

"So, where are we going again?" Vonvon asked.

Shortly after waking up from a rather restless night, Vonvon was brought aboard White Diamond's ship; a massive, crystalline upper torso. All they were told was that the Diamonds had prepared a "game" of sorts. After all, children enjoy games, at least that was what Spinel told the Diamonds.

White Diamond sat in her command chair, supervising her bridge crew. The central viewscreen above was focused on a strange alien world. White clouds swirled around the northern hemisphere, a vast ocean covered a majority of the planet, which had only three major landmasses.

"Vonvon." said the Diamond, directing their attention to the planet. "This was Exoplanet D-23, one of Blue's. Despite initial findings, she deemed the planet unfit for full colonization."

"So what happened to it?"

"She decided to use it as an educational facility. Gems under her supervision were sent here for training." She continued. "This was once a place where Sapphires would go to learn proper etiquette and learn how to decipher their visions. If I remember correctly, the Sapphire you are familiar with spent some time here herself."

When the ship landed, Vonvon looked out an idyllic, tropical landscape. To their surprise, the seas were relatively shallow, no deeper than several meters. There were extremely deep pools, however, which were noticably darker as their depths descended deep into the limestone below. Strewn all across the landscape were sandbars and the occasional solid landmasses, with crystalline trees sprouting out from them. The combination of the warm sun and salty breeze refreshed Vonvon's little body.

They then looked to the distance, spotting great spires on the horizon. These were once the courts of Blue Diamond, where countless Gems would congregate and speak on matters and events from across the great dominions of Homeworld. These were places of culture and refinement.

"What do the Gems there do now?" Vonvon inquired.

"Whatever they desire, dear." Said the Diamond. "Blue still occasionally holds court here, mostly to hear about what they've experienced."

The child wondered if they were going to meet with these Gems. But it seemed as if the Diamonds had another idea.

White led Vonvon to a massive, dome-shaped construct that stood on crystalline pillars in the water. Inside, they were greeted by a crew of Gems and the other two Diamonds.

"Welcome to a Gem warfare command center." Yellow Diamond said, visibly excited for the day's activity.

"Command center?" Vonvon wondered.

"According to our studies on what sort of games human child enjoy," Yellow explained, "We've decided on allowing you an opportunity to command a small army for war games. Blue, White, and I will be commanding our own forces, while you try to take our command centers."

The Diamonds led the child to their small, human-sized command chair in the center of the room. It was elevated over a crew of diligently working Gems, who were making their final preparations and communications checks.

"Are the Gems okay with this?" Vonvon sheepishly asked.

"As you know, with the beginning of Era 3, Gems are free to pursue whatever lifestyles they desired." Blue Diamond assured them. "Some, however, didn't know what to do with themselves and so we organized a number of activities for them."

"Does Papa know about these sort of games?"

"W-Well, no." White Diamond said. "Your mother suggested that we not tell him of her idea."

Vonvon wasn't at all surprised that their mother suggested that militaristic Gems take part in these war games. But they did wonder if she took part in any herself. The more they thought about it, they began to wonder about the large rolls of paper that Connie kept hidden in the broom closet that somewhat resembled battle plans.

Vonvon was given an hour to prepare their forces as the Diamonds left for their command centers. The game seemed easy enough, command units to capture bases, and only after capturing all their bases can forces move on the command center. Units included artillery, cavalry, armored, infantry, logistical support, and air support.

As the Diamonds left, Vonvon excitedly waved them good-bye, joined by Spinel. But as soon as the doors closed, the child's demeanor instantly changed.

"Alright, Spinel show me what we have to work with."

Outside of the command center, Vonvon's grand army awaited. As soon as they saw the child, the thunderous echo of hundreds of Gems standing at attention and giving the child the old Homeworld salute filled the air.

"Good morning, General!" Said hundreds of voices.

Vonvon donned a pair of violently outlandish and dramatically pink visors, as pointy as they were outrageous, as they took a deep breath.

"Smell that, Spinel?" They said as they popped a lollipop in their mouth. "Smells like a good day for war."

Little did the Diamonds know, Connie had trained her child for this day. Fire Emblem, Advance Wars, Chess, Risk, Monopoly, years of playing strategy games and dealing with Connie's competitiveness were about to pay off.

"I wonder what Vonvon did all weekend." Steven said as he and his wife watched White Diamond's ship descend from the upper atmosphere.

As the door at the front of giant crystal torso opened up, the pair were greeted by Vonvon and White Diamond, the former decorated in military medals, flashy regalia, and a flowing, dramatic cape.

"Mama! Papa!" Vonvon laughed as they ran to their parents.

Steven was relieved everything seemed to have gone well, but wondered about Vonvon's strange outfit.

"Had a fun weekend?" He asked, looking up to White Diamond.

"Oh, absolutely!" She assured him as Yellow and Blue Diamond emerged from the ship. "They're a regular chip off the old Gem!"

"They remind me of myself when I was newly emerged." Yellow Diamond added, wiping an emotional tear from her eye.

"Huh?" Steven asked. "What did you guys do all weekend?"

"Pretty sure they just played games, hun." Connie quickly interjected.

"Like Battleship?"

"Sure."

While Steven was distracted with an excited little Vonvon, who was babbling what sounded like nonsense, Blue Diamond caught Connie's attention.

"They caused a little damage in their first battle." She whispered to Connie. "So our usual game will have to be postponed until the repairs are finished."

"What game?" Steven inquired, curious as to what the two were talking about.

"Chess." Connie said.

"Chess? I didn't know Blue played chess."

"You child is surprisingly sharp." Blue said, consciously failing to mention the sea of carnage they left on the distant world. "How was the colony?"

"W-Well..." Steven began as a distant, orange dot appeared in the distance.

Slowly, the dot came closer, changing into a large, humanoid shape.

"Steven!" Jasper yelled as she approached. "I formally request that you expla-!"

Vonvon noticed both Steven and Connie sigh while the Diamonds looked on in both confusion. They then had an idea.

"Jasper Facet-9 Cut-1T4!" They barked.

The big, buff Quartz stiffened up, straightened her back, and crossed her arms in salute.

"What is the meaning of this insubordination?!" They continued.

"I-It is not insubordination!" Jasper explained. "As Steven's bodyguard, I only wanted to do my duty and prove that I am as capable as Connie!"

"Elaborate."

"I simply request an explanation for what Connie can do for Steven that I cannot."

"Oh, that's a good question." Vonvon innocently noted. "You are a big, strong Gem. Mama can swordfight, but I don't think she can crush rocks with a headbutt."

Everyone, including the Diamonds, looked to Steven and Connie, waiting for an explanation. They could feel everyone's gaze piercing their souls, unblinking, unwavering.

"I'll handle this." Garnet announced, appearing without explanation. As she whispered something to Jasper, the big, orange Gem glanced over at Steven and Connie, then down to Vonvon.

"That's disgusting!" She screamed.

"It's what humans do." Garnet shrugged. "Rose did it."

Jasper struggled to process the information she was given. She then approached Connie.

"You survived what Pink Diamond could not." She said, deflated. "You truly are more capable than me."

Fortunately, Vonvon and the Diamonds weren't curious enough to ask Garnet about what she told Jasper. But more importantly, Jasper wasn't going to bother Steven or Connie again.

@artsycooky13

#im excited for advance wars #imagine General Vonvon #steven universe #vonvon #wonder what Garnet told her

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 7

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

Hallowe’en chaos.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

After trivia night, Emily Prentiss found her world had shifted slightly. 

For the first time in her life, she had a friend group: a consistent presence of not only just Derek and the occasional Hotch, but also Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia and most importantly, Jennifer Jareau. 

Emily noticed it most in the dining hall. Most mornings this semester, she would grab coffee and maybe an apple on her way to class. Now, she was invited to breakfast in the caf. And everyone was also invited, so the six of them began eating not only breakfasts together when their schedules lined up, but soon that melded to include dinners and the odd lunch between classes. While Penelope initiated at the beginning, soon this became a routine. 

While they were all busy, and driven people, all with full course loads, extracurriculars and miscellaneous commitments, they managed to get the whole team together multiple times that week. 

A few times, extra faces joined them. Penelope’s friend from class, Kevin… something, joined for a lunch on Wednesday. He sat shyly as Derek stared him down the entire time. On Thursday, somehow Hotch convinced their Criminology TA, David Rossi, who was part time Masters Student and part time weed dealer, to have lunch with the bribe of them using their guest pass so he could get a free meal. He reluctantly acquiesced, but seemed to enjoy himself. On Friday, the day before Halloween, Emily brought Tara Lewis, the MC from the Trivia night that was two years ahead of her in criminology, they ran into each other in the quad, recognizing each other. This open door policy made these dinners fun, with new faces alongside their team.

This was all new for Emily. Not having friends, that is, because Emily could always muddle along with some friends, and when she was younger she shaped herself easily into whatever the popular kids wanted her to be. No, it was new because it was so easy. The team, as they now called themselves as a shorthand, had fallen together so effortlessly. 

Today was Halloween and they had plans at Dave’s student house, the shabby place that she had ran into JJ, Penelope and Spencer all that time ago. Had it only been a month? She felt like she had known them all for lifetimes by now. 

It happened that way with Derek last year, the whole living together thing sped up that connection. Intimacy comes fast when you brush your teeth next to someone. 

Emily was sitting at her desk, finishing up her makeup. She was aiming for a vampire, which wasn’t hard given her previous fashion aesthetic. 

Yes, Emily did have a goth phase. She will admit it. Not to her new friends just yet, and Derek had been sworn to secrecy. She was now a much more toned down goth, more alt than goth, wearing mostly black but significantly less chains and make up. 

Tonight, she wore her fishnets, a short black dress and a cape that was already tied around her shoulders. She had put a slightly too pale foundation on her face, down her neck, and was currently working on her eye liner. She carefully created elegant swoops over her lashes, coming to sharp points. 

Next, she added a deep red lipstick. Blood red. It was all very spooky. 

Finally, she struggled to test out the fake teeth insert that she had ordered online, slipping it over her top teeth. It fit surprisingly well. 

“Happy Halloween,” she said to herself, testing out whether or not she had a lisp. She did. She didn’t care. It was perfect. 

Emily did a couple of spins in the mirror on the back of the door. Turning off the overhead light, she looked at herself in the glowing light of her string lights. 

She was satisfied. She looked like a hot vampire. 

She grabbed her tote bag, which was filled with six miscellaneous beers and coolers that she had leftover from the last few weeks, knowing that she hated the cheap hoppy beer that Rossi would have at his party. 

Emily was picky about her alcohol.

She glanced out the window, considering taking an extra layer. It was dreary outside, with the sky an eerie green and powerful gusts of wind rattling the window. Emily grabbed her leather jacket. 

Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and draping her coat over her arm, Emily peeked out of her door, looking out into the hall. In both directions were students in costume; she spotted a Frankenstein, a couple of cats and even someone dressed up in an inflatable t-Rex suit. 

She made sure her door was locked and then walked down the hall to Derek’s room, who was at the very end of the hall, as he had lucked out and got a massive room with lots of windows, across from the showers. 

She opened the door, finding just about all of their friends already there, sneakily drinking out of mugs, cups and water bottles. 

Reid was a zombie, wearing tattered, bloody clothes and a full face of makeup that Emily assumed that Penelope did for him. Sitting next to his computer, queueing music for their pre, was Derek, dressed in a baseball jersey and hat, apparently as a baseball player. This was expected, he wasn’t big on Halloween. Hotch was… a devil? He wore all black and simply had devil horns on his head. Low commitment but the spirit was there. 

Emily hoisted herself onto Derek’s bed and greeted her friends. 

Spencer was sneaking up behind Derek, peeking his head over his shoulder. Derek, at that moment, seemed to be texting, squinting down at his phone. 

“I’m going to eat you!” Spencer yelled into Derek’s ear, causing the larger man to jump to his feet, swatting at the boy in his fright. 

Emily laughed at her friend’s distress. He really didn’t like Halloween that much. 

“Are you ready for a spooktacular evening?” Spence asked, making his voice wobbly as he put on a dramatic effect. He shone an orange, pumpkin patterned flashlight under his chin.

“Of course,” Emily lisped, “In fact, I vant to drink your blood!”

She lunged forward, and Spencer hid from her behind Derek. It was silly but she could tell how much he liked Halloween, he had talked about it all week, and she couldn’t help but adopt a lispy vampire voice to go with her costume. Though the boy was only two year younger than them, his thin frame and wide eyed expression made him seem much younger. 

“Your teeth are excellent,” Spencer pointed out, “Very realistic.”

“I don’t get the hype about Halloween,” Derek said, “Disguises? Pass. Horror movies? No thank you.”

“Booooooo,” Emily protested, “Don’t be a buzzkill, Morgan. Let us have a little fun.”

The door opened again, and Penelope, followed by JJ, joined them. 

“Is my statuesque god of sculpted chocolate thunder being lame again?”

“He barely dressed up,” Emily complained.

“Neither did Hotch!” Derek said, gesturing to Hotch’s devil horns. 

“Hey, at least I bought these at the party store,” Hotch said, “I’m sure both of those are items from your own closet.”

Derek did not confirm or deny this. Emily knew he wore the same get up last year.

“So when should we be there?” JJ asked.

She was dressed as a witch, with an oversized pointy hat perched on top of her head, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders in perfect curls. She wore a purple dress and tall boots to go with her witch look. She and Penelope joined Spencer on the floor, sitting with their backs to Derek’s closet and cracking open a beer for JJ and a fruity cooler for Penelope. 

With large wings, glittery make up and an adorable skirt, Penelope was clearly dressed up as a fairy, which was entirely apropos to who she was as a person. In fact, it was not entirely dissimilar from her normal outfits. 

“Rossi said to come by eight,” Hotch said, “So in party talk he means nine-thirty earliest.”

“It’s, what?” Derek checked the time on his laptop, “Eight fifteen now, so we can pre here for an hour or so then start walking over.”

“Yeah,” Hotch said, “His house is just off campus.”

“The weather is crazy out,” Penelope said, looking out the window. The trees were swaying and the leaves were blowing everywhere.

“We could take a cab?” Emily offered, “I’d rather avoid getting leaves in my hair tonight.”

There were some nods, then they got back to preing, playing a few rounds of King’s Cup to ensure that all of them were sufficiently drunk before they left.

Morgan put on his new playlist, not “For The Boys (and emily)” this time, but one titled “Team Vibez” that Emily had seen him make during their lecture on Thursday. It had a lot of his normal songs, some top hits, but a few fun pop songs that Emily knew he added for Penelope, and even some classic rock for Hotch. 

At this point, Emily was feeling buzzed. She had two cans discarded in the bin, both hosting lipstick prints from her dark red vampire lips. 

JJ was currently chatting with Hotch about some student government scandal that was happening at the time. While politics gave Emily the heebie jeebies, she had reluctantly joined the Criminology Academic Society. It would give her a leg up on grad school applications, for one, and so far, even as a low-level member, she found she was actually making a difference for her classmates. This meant that Emily, despite her deepest urges to not touch political scandals with a ten foot pole, knew exactly what they were talking about.

As the two discussed the student politicians—there were some minor accusations of nepotism, embezzlement and coverups by the undergraduate executive—Emily looked at JJ. Her brows were furrowed in concentration and she was gesturing wildly with her hands as she talked about how badly they were handling their crisis communications. 

Suddenly, interrupting this discussion, their phones blasted out a siren, followed by a chorus of the same robot voice announcing an emergency alert.

“National Weather Service: TORNADO WARNING in this area until 10:15PM EST,” the robot announced, “Take shelter now in a basement or an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building.”

They looked at Derek’s three, large windows, and watched as large gusts of wind sent leaves barrelling down the street.

“If you are outdoors, in a mobile home, or in a vehicle, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris,” it continued. “Check media.”

Then, their phones went silent and Derek’s music continued unheeded. 

“A tornado?!” Penelope said, “Here?”

The window rattled. Derek stood up and hesitantly moved away from it. 

Penelope grabbed Derek’s computer, her hands moving in a flurry.

“Ok so,” she began, “from what I can gather from the good old Internet, we’re in a region of extreme winds and the meteorologists are thinking that funnel clouds and tornados are possible this evening.”

“So much for Halloween,” Spencer whined. 

“Party is definitely off,” Hotch said. “We should probably take shelter. Is there a basement here?”

“There’s the laundry room?” Emily said. 

Adrenaline started pulsing through her veins. She’d been through some severe weather before in her life but never a tornado, nor did she expect one. They were in the north east, nowhere near tornado Alley. 

They all stood, making a move for the basement, when the lights flickered once, twice, then shut off entirely. Rain begin to fall down, hard onto the windows, and the boom of thunder filled their ears. 

“Shit,” Emily said. “Anyone have a candle?”

 ---

Ten minutes later, the six of them were seated in a circle, on the strange carpeted floor of the laundry room, with the severe weather making the wind howl outside. Between JJ’s two candles, which were very against the rules, and Derek’s laptop screen, they had enough ambient light to see, but it was all very spooky. 

The room smelled damp and earthy, with a strange combination of laundry soaps and dryer sheets. They had to move a spare sock to form a circle around the candle. It looked very much like a séance, so that did fit the Halloween spirit. 

“Well,” Hotch said, “At least this is festive.”

Derek was still queuing his music, filling the silence with his DJ skills. 

“Aren’t you worried about your battery life?” JJ asked, “What if the power doesn’t come on in the morning.”

“Then I have a great excuse not to finish my essay,” Derek said with a shrug.

“Fair point.”

“Anyways,” Derek continued, “No sense giving up on our party. We have drinks, we have music and thanks to JJ we have illegal candles.”

“They’re not illegal!” She protested, “Simply very against res rules! I like lighting a candle while I study.”

“It’s lucky that there was no one left in res because of Halloween,” Emily said. “Or we would've had a bunch of party crashers.”

“This is better,” Penelope, “Team bonding!”

“What should we play?” Hotch said, “we don’t really have much to work with.”

“This is all very high school,” Penelope said, “A couple of kids, in a basement, sitting in a circle on the floor…”

“With a tornado tearing through our city…” Emily quipped. 

“Statistically speaking for this region we are more likely to experience dangerous winds rather than an actual tornado. Worst case is that fallen tree branches hit power lines, or fall onto houses or cars.”

“So you’re saying that we’re in the worst case scenario right now?” Hotch said. 

“Yup.”

Hotch frowned. 

“How about we play truth or dare?” Penelope changed the subject.

“I’m down,” Emily said, surprising herself. “If everyone else is.”

“I’ve never played!” Spencer said.

“Never?” JJ asked. “Not at any sleepovers.”

“I didn’t get invited to many sleepovers.”

“Neither did I,” Emily admitted, “Some parties I went to played it too.”

JJ looked at her, there was a brief look of sympathy, and then understanding on her face. Emily made note of that. 

“I guess we’re playing,” Hotch murmured. 

“Derek,” Penelope purred, “Mon cher, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said defiantly, bracing himself with a swig of whatever was in his water bottle.

“Who is the prettiest fairy in the basement?”

“You, of course,” he replied with a wink. 

“Gross!” Emily exclaimed, “Truth or dare is not for flirting. Hotch: truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Show us the… most embarrassing photo of you on your phone.” 

He frowned. 

“I don’t take many photos.”

“Try,” Emily urged with a laugh. 

He fumbled in his pockets, grabbing his phone and scrolling through his photo album for a few minutes. 

“It’s from high school,” Hotch said with a sigh. “I was in a play.”

He held up a photo of him in a pirates outfit, he looked smaller, younger than he did now. His hair was shaggy and his face rounder. He was pointing the sword at the camera. 

“Who’s the girl?” JJ asked. 

“My girlfriend Hayley,” Hotch said, “we’re long distance now. I joined the play to get close to her and it seems to have worked.”

“That’s not embarrassing,” Penelope said, “that’s adorable. Try again.”

“Oh I have one!” Emily said, pulling up her Snapchat memories. She had a photo of him conked out in a lecture last year. His mouth was open and his head conked back, fast asleep in a dimly lit lecture hall. Emily had taken a series of these photos before waking him up. 

“Now that’s what i'm talking about,” Derek said. 

“How can you fall asleep during lecture?” Spencer asked in horror. 

Hotch shrugged. 

“I was tired, we had a game the night before,” Hotch said. “Morgan: Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I don’t know any dares,” Hotch looked around for help. 

“He could play the tinder game?” Emily said. 

“What tinder game?” 

“Oh that’s a good one,” JJ said, “Derek opens tinder and we randomly tell him which way to swipe and see who he matches with.”

Derek groaned. Opening the app and placing it down onto the carpet. 

“Right!” JJ said to start. 

A match.  

“Left?” Hotch said, it came out more like a question. 

“Right,” Emily said. Another match. 

Left, right, left, right. New message from a recent match, left, right, right, right, right. Derek looked on in horror. 

“Ok I think he’s had enough,” Emily said with a laugh. 

“Derek it’s your turn,” Penelope said. 

Derek sighs in relief. 

“Uhhh, Pretty Boy,” he turned to Reid. Thinking for a moment. ��Have you ever smoked before?”

“Smoked what? Cannabis, tobacco? Something else. Be specific.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. 

“I dunno man,” Derek said, “I was talking about weed but go off.” 

“I have.”

“How?” JJ said, “You’re like sixteen! I haven’t even smoked weed.”

“Me neither,” Penelope said, sounding outright disappointed. 

“I believe it,” Hotch said. “He has a Juul.”

“Seventeen now,” Spencer said. “Kids in my first degree found it funny when I performed actions that they deemed mature for my young age. 

“What?” Penelope said. “But you were sixteen last week.”

“It was my birthday on Wednesday,” he said. 

“And we missed it?” JJ asked.

Emily decided not to inform them that her birthday had been a few weeks back as well. 

“It’s no big deal,” Spencer said, “I don’t really do birthdays.”

“Well I do birthdays!” Penelope said, “and you’re getting one.”

Emily could see the gears turning in Penelope’s head.

“Wait you haven’t smoked weed?” Emily said. She didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but hell, it was college. 

“I’ve never been offered,” Penelope said with a shrug.

“You have a Juul, Spence?” JJ said. 

He shrugged. 

“Anyways,” Derek said with a laugh. “Reid it’s your turn to ask.”

And the game continued roughly the same for a few more rounds, with some truths, some dares, a lot of drinking and a fair amount of laughter. 

Emily learned that JJ likes some angry rock music when she’s upset, that Penelope has committed several federal crimes, that Reid used to coach basketball in high school, that Derek has been posing nude for art classes on campus for extra cash, and that Hotch has never successfully completed a word search in his life. 

The dares were limited, because frankly they were basically hiding out in a basement during what might actually be a tornado. Emily was dared to do an impression of Hotch, which wasn’t good and involved a lot of eyebrows and frowning. After, JJ was forced to leave her snapchat at Garcia’s mercy for the entire night. Other dares involved dancing, attempting gymnastics, and seeing whether or not Reid fit into the dryer. He did. 

The game finally had played out when it was Hotch’s turn again to ask. 

“JJ, what’s your greatest fear?” Hotch asked.

“Mr. Serious over here,” Derek said with a whistle. 

“Probably the woods,” JJ replied. 

“Why?” Spencer asked, tilting his head. 

JJ grabbed a candle, holding it under her chin much like Reid did earlier. 

“I used to be a camp counselor, when I was a teenager. In the woods up in Vermont.”

She leaned forward. Emily didn’t know she worked at a camp. It made sense. She pictured her in a camp t-shirt making a bracelet. It suited her. 

“I had the night shift. I tucked the girls in, turned off the lights. The typical drill. Everything seemed fine; all the kids were asleep. You know, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

Another dramatic pause, both Spencer and Derek had leaned in, invested in the story. 

“Until I noticed there was some blood, on the hallway floor. So, I followed the blood trail out to the camp director’s cabin, walked up to his bed and he was just lying there, underneath his covers. Dead!”

Penelope gasped. The room was silent.

“Someone stabbed him. I ran out of there so fast, out the door, down the hall. I just remember it… being really dark. Once I got to the door, there was another counselor there. I guess she heard me scream.”

JJ set the candle down, looking at the flame flicker. This couldn’t be real, Emily thought, this had to be a joke. 

“They caught the caretaker on his way to town, I guess he still had the knife on him.” 

“Anyway, I guess that’s probably when I decided I didn’t like the woods.”

“You’re serious?!” Derek demanded. 

“No!” JJ said with a laugh. “You bought that! I’m kidding!”

“So are you afraid of the woods?” Emily asked.

“Yeah,” JJ said, “They’re spooky I don’t know.”

They all laughed at that. 

Emily glanced at her phone; they had been down here for almost two hours. According to Penelope’s intermittent checks on the status of the extreme weather, most of the city was experiencing black outs, but there was no sign of an actual tornado. They were still supposed to take shelter for the next hour or so, just in case. 

In this time, Emily was close to five drinks in, with only one left in the basement. A growing pile of empties had built up around them, and Hotch had pulled out a small bottle of whiskey in addition to his beer, passing it around the circle. Having recently turned 17, the group had officially decided to give Spencer a beer, which he nursed slowly, wincing at the bitter taste. 

“Emily,” JJ turned to her and looked mischievous. “Truth or dare?”

She felt her heart flutter.

“Truth.”

“Hmmm…” JJ said, “Where was the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Emily found herself blushing at the memory.

“Oh god,” Emily buried her face in her hands. “IHOP parking lot.”

“What?”  

Emily nodded, downing the last of her beer. 

“No further questions,” she proclaimed as she opened her next drink.

“I think that should conclude Truth or Dare,” Penelope said, “It’s time for another sleepover classic, since some of you are sleepover virgins.”

She grabbed Derek’s water bottle, plopping it down onto the carpet and spun it. 

“Spin the bottle!”

Emily went pale. What was Penelope doing? She stared into her drunk, not daring to look at anyone else. 

“That doesn’t seem very sanitary,” Spencer said.

“Boo,” Penelope, “You’re no fun. It’s a classic! And we’re all friends, it’ll be fun. Hotch you spin first.”

He looked horrified, but took the bottle. There was no getting in the way of Penelope Garcia’s will.

“The rules are simply: kiss or you have to finish your drink?,” Penelope said, “Got it?

Hotch nodded, he spun the bottle. It went around the circle, once, twice, three times, then landed clearly on himself.

“How do I kiss myself?” he said, deadpan. 

“Drink!” Emily told him. He downed his last beer.

Derek spun next, rubbing his hands together nervously as it went around and around. It landed on Penelope.

“Come here, chocolate thunder!” 

Derek took his baseball cap off, turning it backwards. Penelope pulled his shirt towards her, tugging on him as their lips met. They both closed their eyes, she could hear JJ giggle at the sight.

“Was that the only reason we’re playing this?” Spencer asked, “So that you could kiss Morgan?”

“Maybe?” Penelope, “What’s it to you, boy-genius!” 

He put his hands up in surrender, it was his turn. 

He spun the bottle awkwardly, so that it rocked back and forth in addition to spinning. It went around once before landing on JJ.

Emily wasn’t sure what to think about that. On one hand, he was just a kid and the kiss wouldn't be anything, but on the other hand, Emily was jealous that she didn’t get a kiss. 

“Come here, Spence!” JJ said, making a grabbing motion at the boy and laughing. 

He leaned in with his eyes closed, Emily wouldn’t be surprised if he told them he hadn’t done even this before. JJ put a hand on his face, turned it gently, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Derek clapped him on the back and made a comment about it being ‘pretty boy’s first kiss,’ and Reid simply sat and blushed as he busied himself with drinking some of his beer. 

Emily’s turn. She tried not to cross her fingers and pray for JJ, but it happened anyways. It landed on Derek. Emily sighed dramatically.

“Ewwww,” Emily mock protested.

“Come on, princess,” Derek jeered, “You know you want some of this!”

He lifted his t-shirt up and rubbed his hands down his abs.

“Put that away sir!” she covered her eyes. 

“Oh come here,” she said, leaning in. They kissed on the lips with a loud ‘mwah!’ noise. 

“That was cute,” Hotch commented.

Emily fake gagged, while Morgan tried to wipe her red lipstick off him. 

Last was JJ in the circle. She spun it casually. Emily tried to read her facial expression, wondering if JJ, too, wanted it to land on Emily.

See, Emily was starting to believe that JJ liked her back. She was single, and for all Emily knew, she was straight, but the more Emily got to know her, she got queer vibes. She played soccer! Her nails were short and- 

Emily couldn’t think of any other things that moment, as she was currently freaking out about the spin the bottle situation that was presently unfolding. 

The moment in the bathroom, Emily thought, that was something! The way she looked at Emily… she was sure that she felt JJ’s eyes on her linger. 

The bottle landed on Emily. They had to kiss. It was part of the game.

Holy shit. 

Penelope squealed and Emily could feel the entire room's eyes on her, except JJ whose eyes were on the ground. 

Emily could hear her heartbeat. She desperately wanted to kiss JJ but did she want to under these circumstances? For a dare? 

JJ looked at her. Blue eyes staring into brown. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. She found herself leaning forward, only slightly. JJ did the same. Her lips parted, her eyes hungry.

Emily shifted forward, she sat with her legs tucked under her, bracing herself with her arms. JJ was cross legged, her arms free to grab at her face. JJ’s hands tugged her forward.

Their lips met. 

It was uncertain, chaste, soft. Then, JJ’s hands pulled her closer. They were pressed together, heads tilting so that their noses didn’t bump.

Jennifer Jareau was kissing her. They were kissing!

Emily’s brain short circuited. JJ filled her senses; the blonde’s vanilla perfume and soft lips and the taste of alcohol on her tongue. 

Oh god, her tongue. 

Emily did not want it to end. Their mouths opened and their tongues slid against each other, feeling so perfect and sending Emily’s blood racing away from her face and noticeably south. 

JJ was incredibly hot and Emily desperately wanted to do more than kiss her. Or kiss her like this forever. Her ams were caressing her cheek and tangled in Emily’s hair, pulling her closer.

The lights flickered on; they had power, again. JJ pulled away from her, sharply. 

Emily sat back, sitting up straight. The room was luckily too distracted by the lights to notice how out of breath Emily was. Or that they probably shouldn’t have passionately made out on a dare. 

JJ wouldn’t meet her eye, but Emily could see her own lipstick on the other girl’s lips. Emily blinked at the bright light, started by the sudden return of the electricity after she had become accustomed to the dim light of the candle.

“What impressive timing,” Spencer murmured.

Taking the lights as a good sign, Penelope checked on the emergency alert. It was over and they were safe to go back upstairs. She found out that a few downed trees were the cause of the outage and there was never an actual tornado. No one was hurt but there was a bit of property damage throughout the city. 

Without the atmosphere of the candle light, and the likelihood of a RA doing a check of the building, they decided that that was the end of their party. They gathered up their empties, and blew out the candles.

As they finished up cleaning, all making sure not to leave any trace of their illicit affairs, Emily tried to quell her racing heart and blushing face, completely unable to look anyone in the eye. 

The door opened, their RA was there. Erin Strauss. She was a hardass.

“What are you all doing down here?” she demanded. 

They all stood, stock still, jaws dropped, smelling of alcohol and clutching clinking tote bags. 

“Erin,” Emily said, trying to sound as sober as possible despite the five plus drinks in her system, “We were simply following the directions on the emergency alert.”

“Yes! It said to seek shelter from the storm and the basement seemed the best for that,” Penelope said. 

“Uhuh,” Erin said, “What’s in the bag?”

The bag clinked. 

“Oh just some garbage,” Emily said, lying through her teeth. “We had some snacks.”

“Sure,” Erin said, not believing them. 

Emily tried not to sway, but did not feel steady on her feet. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or her recent kiss with JJ.

For a second, Emily was sure that their RA would bust their asses, but the girl simply sighed and told them to go to bed, muttering about how dealing with non-existent tornadoes wasn't part of her job.  

The six of them scurried upstairs, all freaked out about their near-miss with a write-up.

Reid disappeared up to his room, then JJ and Penelope walked down the hall to their’s. Emily slipped into Derek’s avoiding Erin Strauss’ watchful eye, helping Derek steady a very drunk Hotch.

Hotch, who had probably had a little too much of that whiskey, stumbled into Derek’s room and decided to sleep on the floor. Emily placed a water bottle next to him, and placed him in recovery position, glad for the distraction from the blush that refused to leave her face or the lingering taste of JJ on her lips. 

She walked slowly down the hall back to her own room, the events of that evening playing back in her mind. She threw herself onto her bed, dazed by her situation. 

Emily fell asleep with vampire make up still on her face that night. 

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #jemily #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #gravelyhumerus cm college au #prentiss x jj #jemily cm #fanfiction #fanfic #criminal minds fic #my post #my writing #this is such a chaotic chapter!!! #enjoy!!!!

[mommy-medusa]

Medusa’s Child

First chapter of Medusa’s Child! I’m posting this just as a test to see if y’all like it!

———————

She was first alerted of a presence by an uneven splashing against the nearby shore.

It was the early evening, and the sun was at its best point in the sky, raining down on Sarpedon in just the right way to make her scales light with painless flames. She stretched out on her branch, pressing her bare belly up to the warm rays. Her tail flicked lazily while her mane of snakes hissed and tugged in the direction of the noises. She swatted a clawed hand at them.

  “Let him come,” Medusa murmured in a husky, languid voice, not bothering to open her eyes. “You know he won’t stand a chance anyway.” She ran her black talons down her exposed breasts and stomach, chuckling deeply. “He may as well die with the image of a beautiful woman in his mind. We can give him that, at least.”

There were mixed reactions from her snakes, some spats of disapproval, some hisses of agreement, but they all coiled back down into quietness. Or, as quiet as a head full of serpents could be.

Compared to other creatures across the land, Medusa had a remarkably good childhood if she did say so herself. Her parents were the ferocious Ceto and cold Phorcys, ancient sea gods that kept the ocean seething with their monstrous children.

Phorcys was a grey-haired, fish-tailed mountain of a man, with rough red, spiky crustacean skin and huge crab claws that were strong enough to snap off the head of any mortal man that approached his territory. He was faster than any sea creature and stronger than any current in the existing waters. He could create a tsunami big enough to drown Greece with one splash of his mighty tail.

Ceto was quite possibly more terrifying than her father, however. She was a fair maiden with shiny, unblemished ivory skin she never covered up and long, wavy black hair that floated like Kraken tentacles in the water around her. Her eyes were green and sharp enough to cut through obsidian, and her voice was booming enough to crack the earth and drain the entire ocean. She was as venomous as her animal creations, but she taught Medusa discipline and respect at a very young age.

Together, the two of them brought forth a myriad of devilish children. Ekhidna, a dangerous she-dragon with the head and breasts of a beautiful woman and the body of a coiling serpent; Scylla, a giant crab that ate sailors; Ladon, a dragon with one hundred head; the Graiai, three grey hags that shared one tooth and one eye; and the Gorgons, a trio of women with the bodies of serpents and hair made of living, venomous snakes.

Medusa was a part of the final group. Which was the best, for the record.

Medusa and her two sisters were born on a dark day, where the sky seethed with storm and the sea seemed to wrath against its gods. Through crashing waves and spitting sea foam, Ceto dredged her soaked, swollen body from the hissing water and into a cave where it was dry. The tide tried to chase her, nipping at her heels like desperate piranhas, but could not chase her all the way up the sand.

Within the cave, the pelting rain and howling gales were muffled by thick stone. Droplets of water dripped from stalactites that hung from the ceiling like dozens of monster fangs. Small tidepools were laid across the ground like traps, seemingly existing to trip Ceto and make her crash down onto her thick belly. But she managed to avoid them, hissing strings of curses to the starfish and crabs and tiny fish that thrived within the wet sinkholes before collapsing to the ground, powerful cramps rippling through her body.

There, Ceto gave birth in the eye of a raging hurricane, her monstrous children writhing out of her womb, clawing and scratching for the world outside of her body.

Stheno was first, born thrashing and hissing and brimming with rage the moment she came out. She was a thin little thing, but her blood red tail whipped around with enough power to crumble mountains. Her crimson mane of snakes sprung to life instantly, fangs flashing, hissing so loud they challenged the whirlwind outside the cave. The scales upon her head and face made it look like she was permanently stained in mortal blood, and the boar tusks curling out from her mouth looked wickedly sharp. Mere moments after being born, she had lunged at a tidepool and ripped apart a small crab with bronze claws, devouring it in just a few snaps of her powerful jaws.

Euryale came next, sliding out in a slick of fluids and screaming so loud she threatened to bring the whole cave down on top of them. Her white and yellow tail lashed as she cried, sending clumps of wet sand flinging through the air. The mane of snakes upon her skull, which had red snouts that looked like they had been dipped in blood, wailed with her, strange, raspy sounds that vibrated through the air like static electricity. There were small horn nubs protruding from her forehead, which had explained the pain when she was coming out. Stheno tackled her, whacking their tails together, and began wrestling with her.

Finally, out came Medusa, green scales shiny and new-looking. The first thing she remembered was seeing her eldest sister chewing on her second eldest sister’s tail. She had blinked her golden yellow eyes at them, flicking her own emerald green tail like she was expecting something to be attached to it. And then, she was lifted up and she saw a beautiful woman gazing down at her. Her mane of snakes snapped at the long black hair cascading down onto her belly.

  “What peculiar little beast you all are,” She remembered her mother rumbling. Ceto scooped up Stheno and Euryale and held all three sisters in front of her. “And what slayers you will all be, indeed.”

And she was right.

Medusa’s childhood passed by in a blur of mortal blood and seawater. Her mother taught her how to strike fear into mortal men. Her father taught her how to swim and fly when all of their wings eventually grew in. And her sisters taught her to hide her prey or else it would get stolen.

She was raised in the darkest reaches of the ocean depths, where granite tunnels formed interlocking caves and caverns below the rolling waves. While most children grew up raising family goats and playing with dolls made of straw, Medusa and her sisters grew up taming sea monsters and playing hide-and-seek with venomous lionfish. They created crags of coral along the seafloor with their eyes alone and swept through the ocean currents on scaled wings. When they would go up to the surface, they watched the mortals in their wooden vessels, laughing at the way they attempted to overpower the waves that rocked them mercilessly.

That was when they discovered their deadly eye power.

Medusa was a monstrous teenager, floating along the ocean’s surface, when Stheno presented the idea to her.

  “Swim into their nets and pretend to be dead,” Her older sister had said. Sunlight glinted off her blood red scales. When she smiled, her teeth were like a shark’s. “When they pull you up, give them a scare.”

Medusa gave a laugh. The only thing better than observing a mortal’s stupidity was causing the mortal’s stupidity by interacting with them. Of course, she agreed.

She swam into one of the large nets drifting beneath the boat, startling off a cloud of slippery grey-blue fish. She let herself get tangled up in its loops, tugging on the ropes enough to alert the sailors. After a few moments, the net began to rise, and she faintly heard the giggling of her sister’s vibrating through the water.

Cool sea air hit her bare skin; a series of gasps exploded throughout the vessel. The rough feeling of wood chafed against the scales on her exposed back as the net was dropped into the boat. She struggled to keep in the giggles and play dead as loud murmurs whisked around her.

The men were wondering what she was, asking themselves how they managed to wrangle up a thing. One of them poked her tail with something pointy and she almost flinched, but managed to tighten her muscles and stay still.

And then, there was a hand grabbing her breast.

The man above her purred out something about her being beautiful and warm and the others should “give it a try.”

Her eyes snapped open wide. She ogled the man above her in shock and fear and disgust; he was a scruffy and flabby creature with hungry eyes and crooked yellow teeth. His hand remained on her breast as they locked gazes, and then his face did something strange.

It twitched. And his eyes went weirdly blank. And he sucked in a harsh breath.

The man’s entire body jerked like his soul was trying to claw its way out of his back. His brown eyes bulged and rolled wildly in his skull, and Medusa could see grey spreading rapidly over the eye balls.

Stone began to march across the man’s flesh like a swarm of fire ants. He tried to scratch it off, but his nails bounced right off. His movements quickly began to stiffen as whatever came over him took hold.

His chest froze solid first, then his hands and feet, his ears, his arms and legs, all the way to his throat. His eyes were no longer brown, rather blank grey. His greasy blonde hair did not sway in the cool breeze. His mouth was open, teeth blunted by rock, and twisted in an agonized expression. One hand was extended outward to his crewmates in a final gesture of desperation.

The man had been turned to stone.

The other mortals on the boat began to frenzy. Some ran away in fear, others brandished their weapons, but they, too, met the ill fate of their crewmate. One stare and they hardened into a statue against their will.

Stheno and Euryale had been alerted by the noise and they flew up to the ship. Both of them looked shocked at what was going on.

  “What is happening?” Euryale asked.

  “I-- I don’t know.” Medusa replied, slowly sitting up. She was absurdly confused at what was going on. “I turned them to stone.”

  “How?” Stheno demanded.

  “I looked at them.”

  “Hm.” Stheno lashed out at a fleeing young man and flared her giant red wings open, essentially trapping him. Medusa heard a short scream, and then silence. When her sister pulled back, the man was frozen in an encasing of stone.

The discovery of their power sparked great fear across the land, but amazement inside Medusa and her sisters. Stheno used it the most, killing more men than Medusa and Euryale combined. She kept her favorite statues in her lair as trophies, adorning them with her jewels and other treasures.

Euryale rarely ever killed, not because she didn’t like it, but because she never went out of her way to go around mortals. She rather watch them from afar, observing their strange hive mind mentality.

Medusa was a mix between the two. Sometimes she would simply stay away, other times she liked to see how dumb mortal men were when she came across them.

When they eventually came of age, the three sisters ventured off from the darkness of their homeland sea. Medusa went to an island called Sarpedon, claiming it as her own domain. Mortal men saw it as an arena, however, and often sailed to her home to challenge her. It wasn’t long before her island was filled with the statues of foolish men, decorating her gardens with the trophies of her success.

And another was about to be added to the collection.

There were crashes through her jungle; the stupid man was romping through her home and disturbing her nap!

Sighing, Medusa uncoiled her elegantly long body from the tree branch and carefully climbed down the trunk. Her emerald green scales and lucious brown skin shimmered in the sunlight filtering down from the canopy of leaves up above, dewdrops from the condensation of her garden sliding like melted diamonds down her tail. She slithered through the weeds, passing by ruined pillars and petrified statues, all of which were swathed with moss and vines. She admired them as she went by, as she always did, as she always would. It was quite lonely on her island, but she rather be alone than have the company of a man.

A spray of bright yellow birds exploded from the trees when she came slithering by. Sharp-tusked creatures of fur darted in and out of the bushes, poised and waiting to flee while they watched her. The boars always liked to test her. Perhaps that was what made them so delicious. The looks on their faces when she managed to snatch one and scarf them down was priceless.

There was rustling near the bay. Medusa pricked one of her pointed ears while her mane of venomous snakes hissed in alertness. She smacked the nose of one of them to quiet them down and then went after her prey.

  “Hello?” She called out in a purr. “Come out, come out wherever you are…”

Emerging from the lush underbrush, Medusa set her eyes on the small wooden boat bobbing slowly in the waves that splashed upon her shore. Even through the cracking of seawater and crackle of forest fronds behind her, she could hear small noises emitting from the vessel. A smirk came upon her face, flashing her fangs into the sun.

Medusa flicked her ears and slithered out onto the beach. A bright red crab saw her coming and darted into the splashing waves to hide. A mere crustacean was the least of her concern right now, though. She could eat later.

Right now, she had bigger prey to catch.

Nobody fled from the boat as she approached it, which she found odd. Usually the men ran towards her or at least away from her, none of them ever lied still like an animal in a trap, waiting for her to end their pathetic existence.

Well. At least it made her job easier. Rushing through the jungle wasn’t exactly her favorite pastime.

  “Here we go, ladies,” Medusa whispered to her snakes, earning a harmony of eager hisses.

Medusa sprang up to the boat, claws raised and brandished, fangs bared, wings flared out to their full size. Her snakes swelled up and hissed loudly, mouths loaded with potent venom. Her bright yellow eyes were flashing, ready to strike this man into stone, and--

--and she froze.

There was no man in this vessel.

It was a woman.

She was a mangy, bedraggled mortal, with matted brown hair, agonized amber eyes, and mud-slathered ashy skin. But upon closer inspection, Medusa realized that it wasn’t mud at all, it was blood. And the woman was absolutely dripping in it thanks to the giant gash across her belly, along with numerous other cuts from swords and holes from arrows. In her bony arms, she clutched a tiny bundle swathed in sheep’s wool to her heaving chest.

  “I apologize over intruding, fair lady,” Croaked the woman, her voice thick with her own blood. “You do have to understand my dilemma. I am afraid I cannot leave, though…there is not much time left for me anyway.” She coughed, and the wound across her abdomen strained so much that Medusa was surprised all her guts didn’t come bursting out. “I made it this far. Wrapping my wounds, washing them out with saltwater in a vain attempt to combat infection. But I am afraid my breast milk must taste like blood. And nothing will matter anyway. They treat us like SLAVES. Breeding cows owned by our husband. I had to kill him! I couldn’t let him arrange MY BABY--” A coughing fit consumed her, and blood gushed from her mouth as if her aorta had been severed. “I had to… I had to…”

Medusa was still. Not even her snakes were snapping or hissing, instead bobbing silently around her head. They, too, were stunned at the outpour of emotions spilling out at them.

The woman craned her head around slowly. When her body spasmed as if it had been shocked, Medusa knew the stone curse had taken hold. And yet, the mortal smiled.

  “You…” She rasped. The curse always started in the chest and spread like a wildfire throughout the rest of the body; her lungs were rapidly being devoured by stone. “You are no monster…”

Medusa reared back slightly. If this stranger willingly meeting her gaze wasn’t strange enough, then that certainly was. Medusa knew better than anything that she was a monster, it was what her mother taught her.

  “I didn’t expect the man-slayer to be so beautiful,” The woman went on. She pulled the wool-swaddled bundle from her chest and held it out as dark grey marched across her skin. “Well, Medusa, killer of men…now’s your chance to show the cosmos what you truly are.”

The woman’s entire body froze, locked in an eternal casing of stone. She wouldn’t be in pain any longer, for her gaping wounds had been filled in with granite. In her petrified grey hands, rested the bundle.

Medusa carefully peered over the wrapping of wool and to the tiny baby resting within it, undisturbed by the ill fate of its mother.

For a long moment, only the crashing of waves and distant sound of island fauna filled the beach. The crab from earlier came cautiously creeping out of the wet sand, but bolted the moment it saw Medusa move to scoop up the little mortal.

It had to be only a few months old, if mortals were anything like her and her sisters. She was now wishing she had studied humans as much as Euryale had. She had no idea if it was supposed to be this light or small or what gender it even was. What she did know, however, was that it was very, very white, as if it had never been in the sun before. She also noticed the tufts of ashy brown hair on its head and the constellation of freckles swirling across its chubby cheeks. Unfortunately, she was unable to see its eyes, as she had to whip her gaze away when its eyelids began to flutter.

Medusa stared intensely at a cluster of seaweed-tangled driftwood as the baby in her arms began to make little noises while it woke up. It shifted in its wool blankets, sending small tremors through Medusa’s arms, but then Medusa realized that was just from her own trembling.

What was she going to do with this thing? She couldn’t bring herself to gaze into its innocent eyes and infect its helpless body with cold stone. She couldn’t leave it to be eaten by the animals on her island, either. And she DEFINITELY couldn’t raise it herself, and yet…

Medusa held the baby to her chest and felt its soft cheek press against her skin. Its pasty flesh was warm against her own, and she couldn’t help but cuddle it closer. One of her snakes made a low hiss.

  “You will say nothing.” Medusa warned as she turned and went back into the forest.

Medusa began slithering through the dense brambles and interlocking thickets of lianas. The tangled trees seemed to be reaching for her and her mortal straggler with long trailing roots and branches like skeletal fingers snarled together overhead to create a canopy of sorts. Sunlight filtered in from above, casting pale yellow spots across the large boulders and ruined pillars dotting the foliage. They were all huge and just lied around like the remnants of an ancient landslide. A few packed together tightly against a tall fjord of earth, creating a rocky corridor of sorts. There was another path to get to the other side, beneath a log suspended in the air by two crags and through some weeds, but Medusa decided the crevice would be easier to traverse with the child she was holding.

Walking through the passageway felt like she was getting a hug from the Gaia herself. It was a slight squeeze to go through, she had to hunch her shoulders in to keep them from scraping against the walls, but it felt worth it for the sake of saving time.

Yellow and purple flowers were blooming from vines etched in the moss-matted bedrock on either side of her. Orange and green and amber were streaked through the rock walls, glowing beneath streams of water that glittered like melted pearls from a spring somewhere up above. Specks of sunlight bleeding in through the canopy above would hit the stone’s tears in just the right way to set them off in radians of iridescent and silver. The deep emerald moss was fluffy beneath Medusa’s fingers when she tentatively touched the patches. Ahead, she then saw braids of vine dangling down from a long, reaching branch that had itself draped over one of the boulders. When she pushed through the curtain, she was met with a small clearing full of scattered trees that broke down and folded into a field of rock crags that bordered a glistening river.

Medusa walked through the grass and down onto the shoreline. Most of the bay there were shallows that have leaked into the openings between stony ridges risen from the ground. She shivered as she waded through the water, feeling the cold jolt through her scales. She clambered up the first rock she could reach as fast as she could, doing her best to not splash the delicate cargo she was holding.

Medusa had to traverse the rock formations carefully. Usually she jetted across them, but now she had a fragile mortal baby in her arms. She didn’t want to accidentally trip and be sent sprawling onto the little one.

As she crossed over a fallen log that allowed access to the other side of the river that fed into the ocean and to the dense jungle bordering the shore, a dark green and yellow, blobby frog croaked from in a pool of bubbling mud, then bobbled at them with its big yellow eyes. Medusa’s mane of snakes hissed in a chorus and the frog nearly keeled over dead as it scrambled back into the depths of the mud. Medusa chuckled, then shifted the baby closer to her bosom when it squirmed.

  “I’m sorry, little one,” She said. “Hang on for a little longer. We aren’t very far.”

Through the vines and under the branches she went until Medusa broke into her gardens.

It was the greenest part of all of Sarpedon, bursting with flora and fauna alike. Pillars from fallen ancient ruins dotted the area, forming ledges and small places to hide when it would rain. One of the temples was just barely still intact, though overgrown with flowers and plants. Medusa always thought it was an eyesore in the midst of all her nature, but now that she was looking at it, she thought it would make a brilliant home for a child.

  “Urrg,” She shook her head wildly, causing her snakes to hiss in shock at being jostled. “Stupid.”

She set the child down on some flowers and began to pace throughout her gardens. She tried not to listen to the whimpers and hiccups up the baby, tried not to look over at it in fear of getting too attached to something she knew she could not keep, tried to stop herself from rushing back over and scooping it into her arms once again because she felt like it belonged there.

  “What was needed to summon her again?” Medusa muttered to herself. She looked at her snakes. “Palm trees, right?”

The snakes seemed just as clueless as she was.

  “It was palm trees. But hopefully palm leaves will do because I am not cutting down an entire tree for this.”

She did, however, end up hacking off a large piece of palm back on the beach, all for something she definitely did not care about or want to keep. She forced herself to stare at the fire as she burned the husk and fronds of a palm tree. When the flames grew high enough, she took a breath and spread her wings to the sky.

  “Leto, mighty Titanides, goddess of motherhood, bearer of Artemis and Apollo, lend me your aid. Receive my call, for I need you.”

For a moment, all was silent, and Medusa almost felt embarrassed for even trying such a measly summoning, and then the fire crackled and sparked, and a body formed out from the smoke.

Medusa had forgotten just how massive the Titans were. Leto was as tall as the trees, and as sturdily built as one, too, especially for someone who was known solely for giving birth for nine days straight.

Swathed in emerald green robes that were inlaid with silver and gold weaving patterns, Leto now stood before Medusa. Her wavy brown hair floated weightlessly around her head, as if she, too, had a living, writhing mane upon her scalp. Her eyes were a deep, piercing yellow-green color, seeming to drill into Medusa. Around her neck she wore the red-brown fur of a weasel as if it were a scarf and a sun and moon pendant, most likely in remembrance of her children. When she spoke, her voice was deeper than Medusa expected, but also sounded like molten honey that was slathering gold.

  “It has been a long time since I was called upon,” The Titan rumbled. The faint golden glow around her faded and her hair was released from whatever had been suspending it in the air, causing it to flow elegantly down her shoulders. She smiled faintly down at Medusa. “I certainly did not expect it to be from you.”

Medusa flicked her tail and gathered herself up to her full size, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to measure up to Leto’s height. “I have a problem.” She said, then turned to the baby lying a few feet away and picked it up. “This.”

  “Oh my,” Leto said, peering down at the child. She delicately scooped it up when Medusa held it out to her. “A strange situation you’ve gotten yourself into, indeed.”

  “It’s not mine,” Medusa said. “A woman washed ashore. She’s--she’s dead now, but she had a child with her. That child. I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “She.”

  “What?”

Leto looked up from having unraveled the baby’s blankets and smiled softly at Medusa. “It’s a girl.”

It took everything in Medusa to keep her tail from wagging like a damn hound. A girl! She was so happy it was a girl! She didn’t think she could handle a male.

Wait-- what was she saying? She couldn’t handle either male or female. She couldn’t keep such a thing!

Leto pushed aside one of the overlapping covers of fabric on her robes and held the baby to her breast. She gave a soft laugh when the infant seemed to latch onto the nipple instantly and began to suckle greedily.

  “What a hungry little beast you have here, Medusa,” She said.

  “I already said she’s not mine.”

Leto furrowed her eyebrows at her. “You aren’t going to keep her?”

Medusa actually laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I would not joke in the name of a child, Medusa.” Leto said firmly. Medusa wouldn’t lie that she was slightly intimidated by how hard her voice had become.

  “No, I’m not going to keep her, Leto.”

  “But you want to?”

  “I do not! Why would I ever want to raise such a fiend?”

  “Because you’re lonely.”

Medusa was taken aback. She coiled her tail in close around her, glaring at the dirt as if it had wronged her for bringing the child to her shore and making her feel all these stupid, conflicting emotions.

  “I am not.” She growled.

  “You’re getting defensive,” Leto pointed out.

  “Because you’re bothering me!” Medusa blustered, flaring her wings up. She turned away sharply, whacking Leto’s ankle with her tail. “Go. Take the creature with you. I don’t want to see it.”

All was quiet for a moment, and Medusa actually got the sick sensation that Leto had listened to her, but then she heard the crunching of grass beneath bare feet and saw Leto circle around to be in front of her. The Titan kneeled on her knees before her, still holding the baby to her breast. Medusa couldn’t help but glance at it several times in what she could only describe as longing.

  “Medusa, how long has it been since you’ve interacted with another person?” Leto asked. “Not counting your sisters, of course.”

Medusa refused to look at her. “Why does it matter? I can’t keep--”

  “How long,” Leto repeated with the same firm voice from before, “has it been?”

  “I don’t know.” Medusa answered through her teeth. “Forever? It’s always been my sisters, Mother, and Father. No one else.” She clenched her claws until they drove into the tender green scales on her palms. “There can be--no one else.”

Leto frowned. “And why is that?”

  “You know why.” Medusa said bitterly. “Don’t play dumb, Leto. I know the Titans are smarter than that. It doesn’t take Athena to know why I can’t be around people.”

  “I’m afraid I do understand why.”

  “So why are you even asking me this?” Medusa looked up at her, yellow eyes stinging with unbidden tears. If she had known the meeting with the Titan would be the equivalent to physical and psychological torture, she wouldn’t have even bothered in the first place.

  “Because I wanted to prove my point.” Leto said calmly. “And I was right.”

  “How?”

  “You want someone.” Leto said as if it were perfectly obvious to everyone in the entire pantheon of gods. “You’re very lonely, Medusa. It doesn’t take Athena to figure that out, either.”

  “I can’t.” Medusa whispered hoarsely.

  “You can.”

  “I can’t!” Medusa flared her wings at Leto and brandished her claws, flashing her teeth in the sun right as it began to fall from the sky, her snakes a chorus of hisses and snaps. But Leto was unfazed by her outburst.

  “I will help you.” The Titan said patiently. She smiled down at the suckling baby in her arms. “After all, I don’t expect you to be able to feed her. And she still needs a name, you know. Did the mother tell you one?”

Medusa decided to ignore Leto. Perhaps that would finally end the wrenching anguish she was feeling.

  “I like Aretha.” Leto went on, pleasantly not taking the hint Medusa was trying to give to her.

Medusa scoffed. “Aretha? Really?”

  “I thought you didn’t care about the child.” Leto said, feigning her surprise. Medusa really wished she wouldn’t grin at her like she was.

  “Nemesis is going to come curse you into the body of a cow or something if you keep exuding your hubris onto me.” Medusa said.

  “Are you all full, Aretha?” Leto said to the baby, once again ignoring Medusa. She brushed the little girl’s face with a finger. “What pretty eyes you have.”

  “Stop that.”

  “You could strike an entire army dead with those eyes.” Leto continued. She smiled down at Medusa. “Just like your mother.”

Silence.

Medusa’s throat ached with pent up sobs. “Her mother is dead.” She growled.

  “You’re her mother now.”

  “I am not!”

Medusa whipped her head away quickly so Leto wouldn’t see the tears that came slipping free without her consent. She wiped them away harshly, accidentally cutting herself with her claws in the process, but she could hardly care. It could not measure up to the pain she was feeling from this awful interaction.

  “I never should have called upon you,” She hissed.

  “But you did.” Leto said, unfazed by the insult. “And now I am here and I am going to help you with this baby, Medusa. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

There was silence once again.

  “I’m a monster, not a mother.” Medusa said, her voice wavering treacherously.

  “If that were the case, then why is the baby still alive?”

  “What?”

  “If you truly were a monster, then you would have killed the baby on the spot. And not just by turning her to stone, you would have gutted her alive with your claws, ripped her tiny little head off, devoured her insides. That is what monsters do.” Leto’s stare seemed to pin Medusa to the ground. “And you, Medusa, are not a monster.”

Medusa swallowed thickly, trying to bury the emotions welling up inside of her like a volcano.

  “What if I’m not the mother she needs?” She whispered. She felt like she was drowning. “I don’t think I can do what is needed of me.”

  “Yes, you can. And you will. You’ve been so good with all of this so far. The only thing you can do is your best.”

  “And if that isn’t enough?”

Leto looked into her eyes, her own so soft and caring, so patient even in the face of Medusa’s pessimistic attitude. “Then you’ll learn.”

Leto extended a hand and thumbed away a few fresh tears running down Medusa’s cheek. She smiled warmly at her.

  “You’ll learn,” The Titan said again, this time softer.

Neither of them said anything after that for a long few minutes. Not until the baby began to coo softly, which made both of their gazes shift down to her. Leto pulled her hand away from Medusa’s face to brush the infant’s.

  “Theodora.”

  “What?” Leto looked back at Medusa.

  “That’s going to be her name.” Medusa said. “Theodora. Teddi for short. Not Aretha.”

Leto smiled. “I knew you would come around.” She said. “Would you like to hold her?”

Medusa internally cursed herself for nodding so eagerly. However, as she extended her hands out to take the baby from Leto, she jerked back sharply, as if she had touched fire.

  “I can’t look at her,” Medusa said. “I can’t look at my…”

Leto frowned, then looked down at the wriggling infant in her arms. A soft golden glow lit up in her eyes, and the baby’s did the same, causing her to coo at the sensation of godly powers now streaming through her veins. Leto then turned and gently pushed the little girl into Medusa’s arms.

  “Leto, didn’t you hear me--”

  “Look, Medusa.” Leto said. “Trust me. It will be okay.”

Medusa stared up at the Titan, then slowly brought her gaze down to the baby.

For the first time in her entire life, the flesh of a mortal did not harden to stone beneath her claws, and she was able to see the beautiful mossy green eyes her new daughter bore.

#medusa’s child #medusa #theodora #leto #greek myth #greek mythology #greek myth retellings #greek stories #greek writing #greek gods #gods and goddesses #my wriring

[notoriousjae]

Love is a Little Box (For Home to Lay Inside) || Edeleth Fanfic (1/?)

Chapter Title: A Heart

Pairing: Byleth Eisner (F)/ Edelgard von Hresvelg

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

She’s read about Happiness: it’s the thing people lose in war; the emotion that sparks up the edges of their lips into a smile, or fills them with contentment when faced with something they’ve done that’s good ; it’s the emotion that everyone fights for and searches for as desperately as love, just as elusive and fickle, or so it seems in books and operas and plays.

Chapter 1 (Current) | AO3 | Below:

It's a peaceful day in Garreg Mach.

The sun catches along the lightly swelling waves of a familiar pond, wrinkles in blue caused by the light winds dancing Sothis’ fingertips along its surface. It’s hard to know whether Sothis was a Goddess but it’s  easy  to imagine that contradictory carefully carefree  smile full of restraint and curiosity as small hands skimmed along the ripples of the pond in the heart of Garreg Mach, feeling moisture beneath palms--learning what water might feel like, again, for the both of them.

You need to experience things, Sothis would say and Byleth would experience them, because she had never known to experience them, before. 

Or maybe Sothis would just...hover behind Byleth’s shoulder as she watched a line bob for an hour before she yawned, disappearing into the cold of a tomb she’s made in a baby’s chest that became the casket nestled in a woman’s.

It’s easy, too, to understand why people think Sothis is  everywhere , because Byleth feels her, still. In the air...and the wind...and the water--

They were both familiar with the pond at Garreg Mach and a sense of... something--easy; warm; familiar?--stirs quietly in Byleth’s chest as she watches the pond and thinks of green eyes and hair and soft fingertips before she hears paper rustle a little behind her.

The feeling transforms a little like that tomb had.

“You know, Edelgard,” Byleth hums, chin dipping over her shoulder to watch her--a rare moment where  both of them happen to actually be in the same place without a need for something sharp and pointy (or a strategic exit). “Fishing is a tactician’s game.” 

Edelgard chuckles quietly to herself but looks up from her book all the same. Edelgard having time to read is probably rarer than them sharing time together, at all, and pulling her from it makes Byleth feel--

Hmm…

Her chin tips up in thought. It makes her... feel …

Edelgard interrupts.

“Is that so?” 

Byleth nods, serious, and watches the way red fabric shifts as Edelgard turns to listen to her--to watch her--with the same rapt attention she had as a student, and still keeps to date in the war council. 

“They say it’s chess, but that’s not the case.”

“They say that because chess is the tactical routing of an opponent. It’s meant to  mimic  a battlefield.” The Emperor practically quotes from the  tactician’s guide and Byleth watches the breeze skirt over the surface of the water and wonders if Sothis would have fondly chuckled, but the only sound she hears is the water and the idle, far-away chatting of a few soldiers.

How would Edelgard feel, knowing a Goddess was so fond of her?

Byleth shakes her head.

“How many battlefields have you been on, El?” 

“Countless.”

“How many battlefields resembled the neatly-drawn lines of a chessboard, where everyone took turns and you could predict your opponent’s attacks with statistics and  math?” 

“...none.” Edelgard looks pained to admit, begrudging, sighing as she tucks her book at her hip. 

“Chess is just…” Byleth’s head tips, “...the memorization of strategies. You’re not creating anything new. When you’re facing someone in chess, you’re...just applying the most appropriate thing you’ve memorized that you can think of for that moment for the situation in front of you and hoping it works.” 

“Alright.” And Edelgard stands, then, setting her book upon the bench, armored boots clicking as she walks along the stone towards the pond with that same studious look, hands settling on hips. Maybe one of these days they’ll both be comfortable enough fishing and reading and relaxing to do it without wearing armor. “Then what is  fishing ?”

“Fun.” At Byleth’s amused look, Edelgard tutts and steps closer, obviously not having appreciated being  baited over to the pier. She likely also wouldn't approve of the pun a little too similar to Alois' (and Petra's, lately) so Byleth keeps it to herself. A little more serious, “Are you sure you want to know? You don’t enjoy fishing. But I'm always okay teaching you.”

“You are currently the most renowned tactician Fódlan has ever seen. It could be argued you are a key point in elevating the war campaign into a rousing victory. If I have a chance to learn  how that wonderful mind of yours ticks, I’d be remiss not to take it for the betterment of the Empire.”

“...you could have just said yes.” Brows knit, head barely tipping to the side--no longer teasing--and Byleth cuts off Edelgard’s undoubtedly annoyed reply. She doesn’t have to divinely intimate it’s coming to see it on parted lips, “Not everything needs such a complicated reason, El. If you’d like to learn, let yourself learn. You don’t have to explain your motivations just because people have questioned them in the past. And you don’t always have to do things to make you  better , it’s fine to just fish. Although," A thoughtful look, "You’ll probably learn something in the process, anyways.”

Maybe Byleth has spent too much time answering the notes in the confessional.

“You’ll teach me to the end, won’t you?” It’s fonder--softer. Edelgard purses lips before letting the criticism settle, nodding. “Then...yes, Byleth.” Byleth smiles and Edelgard’s shoulders visibly lose the last of their tension when she quietly smiles back. “I...suppose I  would  like to learn. Especially since it’s something you take such an interest in.”

Edelgard slowly unhooks gauntlets about wrists, setting them to the side, white gloves underneath catching the sunlight like melted snow.

“Fishing,” Byleth nods before reeling in the line. “Is a  real  battlefield. It’s long moments of waiting followed by sharp, tense moments of excitement. Everything is planning. You find fish like you scout your battlefield--” Once the line is reeled, she hands the pole to Edelgard, whose nose wrinkles only a  little at the feeling of her gloves getting wet. 

Unlike most nobles, after all, Edelgard doesn’t mind dirt and muck and mud--she had been covered in them for years. Battlefields weren’t glamorous.

(Neither was fishing).

And so Byleth feels her chest swell with... something  as the other woman totes up the rod, ready to learn, like she had picked up a lance in lessons. Not proficient with it, but  willing . 

A challenge.

“So we scout our enemies--what do you see in front of you?” Byleth steps behind her and scans the horizon over her shoulder.

“A pond. I see a ripple in the corner--” A true general starts, “The wind is shifting the current  towards  me, so I’ll likely have to adjust how I throw my line in order to hit my target.” Her chin tips backwards and looks to her professor, who nods, encouraging. “The light is hitting the right side of the pond, and will fade across it in an hour, creating warmth for the fish, and they’ll likely follow it. They’ll stay below the surface because they’ll want to avoid predators. Or my professor’s  infamous rod and net, which catches anything under its shadow.” 

“You approach things like a soldier.” There’s a knowing praise on her lips and Edelgard straightens just a little beneath it, “And a leader of troops. You’ve noted some important things, Edelgard, which are good to trap the fish in this moment...but we need to think of the bigger picture. What else do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell?” 

Light brows knit as an Emperor once more takes in the blue, glistening pit that’s become her battlefield. 

Byleth leans forward to gently wrap fingers around her wrist, guiding the shorter woman backwards so that she can mimic her eyes with her own, listening to the faint gasp of breath that catches on lips before Edelgard seems to focus, determined, now. 

A professor settles her chin on Edelgard’s shoulder, far more familiar in touching this student in particular, these days. 

Rare, but...familiar.

And the way Edelgard eases just a little into her reminds Byleth that sometimes the rarest of things are welcome. 

“What matters to people on a battlefield?” 

“The same as what matters to people founding cities: food, shelter, water, and safety.” Edelgard immediately replies. 

“So what matters to fish? Your goal is to trap the enemy and reel them in--what might stand in your way of that?” 

“I see…” Realization floods that calm voice, Edelgard’s head moving about as she takes in the pond in a seemingly new light. “The monastery. It’s...four o’clock, coming into five, and that path on the left will be tread by the church service let out. They’ll be noisy and their footfalls will probably disturb the pond. The squires like to come here to throw rocks on Wednesdays, and the washing happens in the corner. They’ll be pushed into the middle of the pond, even though the light will be on the West end of it. And I smell…” Edelgard’s nose wrinkles. “...fish soup? How is that relevant? Are they scared of their fate?” 

It’s... nice to hear Edelgard joke.

“Rain.” Byleth offers knowingly. “You can taste the condensation on the air, if you can't smell it.”

“How could you smell that over the kitchens?” 

Byleth shrugs, stomach idly grumbling because she  does smell the kitchens. 

“Is this...how you look at everything?” Edelgard is looking over her shoulder, now, close enough that Byleth smells far more of her hair than the rain and it’s a welcome change. She could smell the clouds over the food, but Byleth isn’t sure anything but Edelgard could ever fill her lungs, in this moment. “Is this how you see battlefields?” 

“Yes.” Hands curve gently over the rod, raising fingers to paint a grid in the pond where Violet eyes can follow, “It’s  real  chess. You’re good with strategy when you’re expecting it. You can plan in advance and are great facing adversity on the battlefield as a soldier--you’re always quick to react--but a battlefield is never as clean as chess. We both know that.” 

She feels fingers flex beneath her own, gripping the rod not out of being corrected, but vigor.

“I see.” And Edelgard  has  always been good with critique--with that infinite urge to  strive further --and there’s that tightness in Byleth’s chest, again. Warm and soothing, pressing herself against the flat of Edelgard’s back. 

She hadn't thought holding someone could be so comfortable.

“You shouldn’t be...picking a strategy to go up against whatever opposing strategy you  think  you're seeing on the battlefield, hoping the one you picked is better." 

“I... should  be thinking of how they respond, and naturally taking in the world and their needs. You’re saying I shouldn’t just assume they’ll react tactically--but...naturally and true to themselves?” 

“Exactly. Everyone has a primal urge--it’s true there’s...math and statistics, and we can always take two strategies and see which path people will be most  likely  to take, because the truth is that  most people are just as skittish as these fish. If I toss a rock into the pond, they’ll flee to the other side, because we know they’re scared of it--it’s something they’ll avoid. But not everyone is as scared as a fish.”

“Many enemies are...noble. Are fighting because they believe in the opposition of your own wants and desires.” Edelgard quietly agrees and Byleth nods. 

“So if you  identify  your enemy’s needs and desires--what they think is important, whether the rain will make them move, whether the light will keep them warm, whether the noise will scare them--you’ll know which way they’ll go, and you’ll know what they do. And then you go fishing.” 

“I see.” Edelgard repeats, quieter, now, watching the pond for a moment before she asks, “Is that why you--” A rare pause and it sounds like she might think over the question before redirecting, or maybe rewording. It’s interesting enough for Byleth to lean back and watch her, fully. “...spared Flayn?” A moment passes before she continues, “We were surrounded by soldiers with the city on fire and I  trusted you, I never hesitated to accept your choice in sparing her, but I didn’t understand, then, that it might have been…” She shakes her head, and this is one of those moments where she wonders if there’s a question behind the words. Edelgard is full of layers, she’s found, and while Byleth has learned so many of them, she feels there’s so many more to be found. A woman of secrets, all tucked away in a hidden box Byleth has yet to fully find. “Was it a tactical decision?”

A bare hand comes up to rest on Edelgard’s shoulder in thought, still pressed against her back as she thinks--lets the question settle before nodding. 

“Yes. And no. Our enemies aren’t the only fish.” Byleth offers, “Flayn...didn’t have to die. Neither did Seteth. The best battles are the ones where you minimize casualties on both sides,” Her head dips to the side, remembering the heat on her shoulders. Her back. Remembering the way she had barely cupped Edelgard’s palm in curling fingers after the fighting in a rickety war tent on the outskirts of the battle, the puckered flesh of hands beneath gauntlets singed through and burnt along the metal of Aymr in the flames. The healing waves from Byleth’s fingertips had turned them into slivers of scars beneath red grieves--two more to match thousands that litter ivory skin. 

She remembers the way Flayn had coughed, the smoke settled in both their lungs, fingers curled and bloodied into the tuft of a Pegasus’ quaking wings, matted with soot and blood. Both of them panting wisps of heat. Weak.

We’re family , she had said once, but looked at Byleth with nothing short of sadness, then. Not betrayal, just...sadness.

Perhaps that’s what family filled in people: hope, sadness, and loss in equal measure. That’s how Byleth remembers Jeralt. It's how she remembers Sitri.

It's how she remembers Rhea.

Byleth mulls over the words--the odd...ache that the memory fills in her chest--the worried gratitude that had settled on Edelgard’s features, after the fight. A look she’d seen several times, over the years, when Byleth had chosen  Edelgard and life over a church’s firm thumb.

The Emperor of Fódlan, cloaked in red and black and on her knees in the soot, didn’t want the world to die (despite what some apparently claimed) and the moment Byleth offered someone might be spared, Edelgard always took the chance with equal parts relief and trepidation.

Just because war had been the only way didn't mean death truly was.

This thought, it-- feels--

“They needed an escape route. They needed to know that our battle was righteous, not  wicked,  I guess. To use...whatever words the Church probably used. If we took them, we took the battle, and we would demoralize the troops. But it isn’t always about killing. If we killed Flayn, Seteth would have been...inconsolable. He would have become a danger to fight, and he was already dangerous--we didn’t  need  to fight him. Some fires are better to...put out quickly, than let them burn and spread. Some fires are  supposed to burn, but...not that one.” 

Her brows knit and she’s surprised when Edelgard turns Byleth’s chin towards her own, something unreadable in her eyes. 

And Edelgard waits, simply holding her for this brief moment, like she knows there’s more, because there is.

“ And  I didn’t want her to die.” Byleth says simply, only to her--only in this safe quiet of a courtyard--and the woman who she intends to spend  all days like this with, who nods as fingertips curl beneath Byleth's chin. 

“How did you know they wouldn’t retaliate when you let them go? That they wouldn’t go back to Rhea?” Edelgard quietly presses. 

“I didn’t, I guess...but I know my fish.” Byleth looks back towards the pond. 

“Which is why we won.” Edelgard surmises. “Our initial strategy was outmatched when we arrived. And your responding strategy on the battlefield to split up and focus our forces around the fire--sparing key combatants... that’s  what won.” And she sounds almost  praising  when she says, a little in awe, “You didn’t just choose a strategy or response, you...went fishing.”

“A tactician’s game.” Byleth’s voice skirts along her ear and Edelgard eases backwards against her enough that she can wrap an arm fully around a slim waist, now.

This information seems to cement Edelgard's drive.

“What do we do next?”

“We take all of that into account and cast the line.” 

And so Byleth shows her the technical aspects of fishing--of how to throw and cast and reel in, despite the elements of noise and wind and heat. Shows her how to tactically assume where the fish might try to escape upon being caught on a line--how to pull it and unhook it without harming it and kill it the quickest way possible. She tells her about bait, and how to read shadows, and how to choose a fishing spot--

“So you just...stand here and  wait for it to bite?”

“Like waiting for a charge on a battlefield. See? The anticipation--” Byleth lightly tickles her stomach and Edelgard chuckles and bats away her hands and Edelgard listens to every word, until she stands on her own and reels in a smacking fish that flops against her knee with no guidance, a few hours later.

Ever the quick study. 

The warmth spreads through a chest still so unaccustomed to it and settles in her lungs and fills her so deeply that Byleth has to pull away to look at the happiness on Edelgard’s face. 

Proud. Edelgard looks proud.

This feeling is...startling.

“I’ve forgotten how marvelous you were at teaching, Professor. Unorthodox, as always, but still so phenomenally proficient.” Edelgard  hums , careful to unhook the fish exactly as shown, shaking away water and the scent from her fingertips before slipping back on gloves. And then turns her attention up to said professor. “You look yalms away.” It’s softer and Byleth slowly looks up from fingertips to familiar eyes, that warmth pressing against her chest...consuming. Distracting.

Her face contorts in confusion and she shakes her head.

Does she look far away?

“...I’m sorry--” 

“Are you alright?” It’s even gentler, barely heard over the wind and the soft sound of the rain starting to gently patter about their feet and the fish in its bucket full of water in deep plops, and the pond where the fish scatter from its cold intrusion. Edelgard steps closer and Byleth nods.

“I’m...fine.”

“What is it?” It’s an invitation and Byleth must visibly hesitate because Edelgard steps closer, still, careful--

“I…” A huff of breath through lips, feeling-- feeling  -- “I just...  felt something, is all.”

“What do you mean?” Edelgard is rare with her affection on the grounds but fingertips raise up to gently brush ragged bangs from Byleth’s eyes. This is the closest she’s felt all month, even a moment ago in her arms, and an ache churns in Byleth’s stomach. It’s a testament to how much a student changed over the years, because she asks instead of assuming she knows the best recourse: “Are you in any pain? Do you want me to call for Manue--”

“No. No, it’s nothing like that. I felt--” Brows still knit and, words failing her, Byleth gently takes Edelgard’s hand and lowers it to her heart, where its weak thud aches (and aches) up towards the warmth of familiarity. Presses a palm of white against the black-cloaked, hidden place that used to be so  still. It stirs like coal simmering beneath ashes, vibrating fingertips and her chest and her throat. It beats so steadily that Byleth might think it would scare those fish away. “I  felt something. New.”

“Oh.” The realization settles deep in widening violet.

“Maybe not  new , just...different. It all feels…”

Different.

Edelgard’s fingers splay over heart and Byleth’s breath catches, looking away.

“Do you know what it was?” 

“No. It felt...like--” A tongue darts over lips before she tries-- “I’m still--” It feels so odd to say--to  admit --out loud.

“You can tell me.” El promises, leaning closer so that it’s just them standing in the soft, gentle rain, neither of them minding. For the moment, at least, their voices barely heard over the sky’s gentle cry. Byleth hesitates. “My teacher…” El whispers in her ear, “They’re  our  problems, remember? You’ve taught  me  so much, the least I can do is help you untangle  this.” 

“I’m…” Byleth eases tense muscles beneath Edelgard’s fingertips, wordlessly lifting up her cloak to shield them from the rain, “I’m still learning what all of them mean. It’s like...waking up and trying to remember a dream. I’ve...I think I’ve  felt  these things before. I’ve just never felt them so...” Her head tilts to the side, “...  strongly.” 

“And what do you feel now?” 

It’s started to rain a bit more, gentle, graceful drops. The kind that makes the grass smell like dew and hides the scent of enemies in a battlefield, even if it helps make their tracks clearer due to the mud their boots will sink into after it's settled, trapped.

The kind that makes Edelgard’s hair stick to her chin, if they’re out in it long enough, framing the curving edges of her smile on the unlikely occasion it’s only them en route to a mission or a skirmish or a battlefield.

Or fishing by a pond in Garreg Mach.

Byleth pulls up her cloak enough to block out the rain from Edelgard's eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Alright.” Edelgard pulls enough away to see her in the shadows of the black cloak surrounding them, looking thoughtful and determined for a moment before she tries, “Then what...did it feel  like ? What were you thinking? What did you want, in the moment?” 

“I don’t know.” Byleth admits, trying to sort it through, calm and methodical, “...it was... good .” A little more certain, mulling it over before she repeats, firmer: “It was good.”

“Good.” El sounds relieved in a way likely only Byleth and Hubert would be able to hear of it in her voice. 

“Warm. I was watching you fish and I was thinking of how much you’ve  grown as a person, and into who I knew you could be, and how...” Her head tips upwards, thinking of the way Edelgard had looked at her own catch, realizing: “...proud of you I am.”

El blinks, rain tickling down cheeks to Byleth’s chin before she quietly...smiles. Beautiful. And the warmth is there but  different  , again. Spreading.  Aching . 

“You felt  proud of me?”

“I...yes. I  feel  ,” Byleth settles on, a little more sure--a little more confident and sturdy--meeting Edelgard’s eyes with her second resolute nod, “  Proud of you.” 

Byleth has read about pride. It’s the emotion that precedes arrogance in novels--the emotion that can heat someone’s palms to war; It’s the emotion that swells up in a lover’s chest when they watch the eye of their heart succeed, or a mother when their child writes a song and defies them to sing it to a nation; it’s many people’s downfall. Heroes. Villains. People.

It’s Byleth’s success, as a teacher. And...the woman who feels for Edelgard as she does.

“Byleth…” El softens and beneath the thin weight of Byleth’s coat, which must seem like safety enough from prying eyes and the scattered fish, she leans up to kiss her cheek, near the edge of lips, and the breath rattles in an Emperor’s lungs before it pushes out between them, steady and warm. Her voice rumbles like quiet thunder in the distance, but Byleth's never seemed safer beneath it, “Who I am, today, is because of you, I think you have  reason to be proud.” 

“You’re giving me  too much credit.” Byleth murmurs, dismissing, and Edelgard kisses her again, near the other edge of barely curved lips, the sound of a fish flopping in the bucket next to them missed beneath the rain.

“My love,” Edelgard doesn’t laugh, but she does  smile in her wry amusement, and that warmth burns and burns and burns in Byleth’s cool chest, “You don’t give yourself enough.” 

Pride

Byleth knows this word, but didn’t understand its meaning. 

Not until Edelgard taught her.

“Next time you feel something new, you should tell me,” El offers, “We can sort it through, together. However confusing it might be, certainly it’s no rival for our combined wits.” Byleth thinks on it for a long moment before she nods and looks down towards Edelgard's first catch. “For now...why don't we cook tonight's dinner?" 

The cloak lowers as Byleth pauses, an almost shy smile tucking up the edges of lips before it smooths into something calm, "Sure. We'll cook it together." 

There's many things Edelgard rouses pride in her Professors' chest. Her passion and compassion--her intellect and deduction--her triumphs and the way she's learned humbled, and with dedication, from her failures--her fishing and, perhaps, most of all...her smile. 

Edelgard seems determined to add  her cooking to that list and while Byleth has a staunch feeling that today will not be that day, she finds herself...excited(? Hopeful? Pleased?) at all the days they can spend finding out.

(Even if she always makes sure the Head Cook sets aside a separate meal for them, just in case).

Byleth leans over to pick up a small little wooden box off the bench and later that evening, slides Edelgard's first hook inside.

----

In truth to their vows to each other in the Goddess Tower, they become a unified front. Although Byleth is unsurprised by the fact that this means not much  changes in their lives (outside of winning a war) because they were a unified front, before.

In strategy, battle, and tactics--in facing their enemies and their friends--but maybe... some things are different.

Like the nearly shy looks Edelgard sends Byleth’s way when no one is looking--or their moments, after the long days have set to night and the war counsel empties to two, that they sit and discuss what future might await them on the horizon, just out of reach but growing closer by the day. 

‘I’ve always wanted to go to Albinea’  ,  El’s wistful hum is lost in the quiet of the room, echoing around them as she leans up against the table they once had lessons on. Byleth’s arms cross as she leans next to her, their hips resting comfortably side-by-side as they have for the past two and a half years.

Byleth wouldn’t be surprised if El insisted the past   eight    years.

Time has passed, since the war, but she’s learned it doesn’t stop. Not anymore. Then again, it never   stopped    for Byleth--it only ever folded backwards in on itself like a rumpled shirt or sifted through her fingertips like sand she’d intended to throw into the eyes of an attacker, but lost to the ground, instead.

‘Me too.’ Byleth’s hand idly scratches nails along her chest and she lets out a small breath when she feels Edelgard’s fingers barely skim along the inside of her wrist, both of them hovering over her heart. ‘Maybe we can go there, when this is all over with.’

‘Let’s.’ And El smiles and that feeling...   blooms    and Byleth’s hand stills along her heart and Edelgard stills along with it. A curious look must have settled on Byleth’s face, because the next thing she knows--

‘...perhaps you’re feeling...hopeful.’ Edelgard boldly offers, shifting a little closer and Byleth’s eyes flick down to her lips. 

‘Is   that  what I feel?’ 

‘That’s up to you to say.’

‘Hopeful.’ She tastes before the summoning bell rings above them and they pull away.

Edelgard’s fingers linger in her own before they untwine, walking down the hall hip-by-hip towards the tower, their knuckles brushing with each step.

The moments are still rare, but they seek them out, now, the light from the sky catching along Edelgard’s ring before a glove is slid over fingertips.

Hope.

(Maybe not all futures must wait until after the shadows are scattered by light).

And hip-by-hip is how they tackle a professor’s removed, textbook examination of her own heart with Edelgard’s life experience (what she  has of it), slowly sorting out the feelings that have begun to stir in Byleth’s chest. 

They’ve both been removed from emotions for so long, maybe it’s nice for Edelgard to find them, too.

What is this feeling? Byleth learns to murmur in the air by Edelgard’s ear, and they’ll arrive at a conclusion, together. 

‘Contentment’ in the early morning as Byleth sets tea down on the soft, rustling white cloth in the gardens, watching the steam curve around Edelgard’s smile like hair caught around her cheek in the rain, their wrists creeping towards each other beneath the chipped porcelain that’s survived far more than a war--something soft and settling like fresh linens on a bed Byleth is still getting used to sleeping on; 

‘Disappointment’ in the moments their fingers touch and are pulled away by duty, the sound of their quiet laughter lingering throughout the stone halls similar to how the cathedral used to catch Dorothea’s voice as it rang throughout--aching and quiet as Byleth watches Edelgard’s smile fade into something serious and resolute; 

‘ Amusement ’ Edelgard wryly comments as Lindhardt successfully spars Caspar by continuously ruffling his hair with a sleepy grin and a yawning, batting hand--fluttering like a bird’s wings against her ribcage, bouncing about bars waiting to break free; 

‘ Sadness ?’ She asks Edelgard in a guess when the Emperor finds her in the courtyard overlooking a great chasm, her father’s and mother’s gravestones stalwart bastions against its empty void, as if they’re holding Garreg Mach’s penetrable walls of stone and lost faith from falling into the endless dark gravel below--muted and constant, a dull ache. It lessens, somehow, when Edelgard’s rare open touch skirts along her hip and rests along her stomach, guiding Byleth backwards against her chest.   

Soon, Byleth has experience to back the names of emotions she’s read about and dully felt and Edelgard, ever one to rise to a challenge, has stepped behind her professor without a second thought, trying to answer the questions of a quiz before her. 

“Joy?” Edelgard tries as Byleth’s fingertips run along the edge of a flower, blue hair spilling over shoulders and head tilted to the side in thought as she calmly regards El’s determination. 

Thinks it through.  No. It doesn’t sound right.

“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head, fingers curving beneath the edge of a flower, not wishing to disturb the small bird fluttering around the surface, lips barely pursing in thought.

She’s been in the Greenhouse for an hour, or so, watching this small little blue bird bat from leaf to leaf of a plant she’s been growing, fingers scratching thoughtlessly at her heart.

Byleth hadn’t asked what the emotion was, but Edelgard took it upon herself to find out, regardless.

“Contentment.” Edelgard tries again, brows furrowed in deep thought, herself, the leader of a ruthless strike force and a now-impervious Empire. It’s a tactical strategy--Edelgard had initially tried to talk it through with Byleth to see what she was feeling, what it reminded her of--

‘It’s a bird. I just see a   bird  , Edelgard.’

‘That’s not exactly helpful, Professor.’

--before talking through some of the more base aspects of what was stirring in Byleth’s chest.

‘ Well...is it positive?’  

‘It’s...good, I think.’

When nothing else followed, Edelgard had sighed.

And then did what any leader might do: try to find a solution regardless of adequate facts, because it simply had to be done.

Peaceful?  No.  Nostalgic?  No.  Analytical?  No.  Joy?  No  --

And finally,  contentment , which like the ones before it, is met with a shake of the head. 

Edelgard frowns, the crease of it barely indenting between brows as she lays a hand against Byleth’s back, easing forward to look at the bird, herself.

At a loss and not admitting it, probably. Now  that  makes Byleth feel  amused . That fluttery little bird in her chest, far warmer than it had been watching Caspar and Linhardt. 

Most things are far warmer when she’s with Edelgard.

A cat by the doorway meows with what might be agreement and fingertips thoughtlessly curl around the stone of the planter’s box.

El hesitates before almost guiltily suggesting:  “...hungry?” 

“Hunger isn’t an emotion.” Byleth pauses, chin tipping up to look for Edelgard’s counsel, “It’s a need, isn’t it?” 

“Hmm, I suppose it is. And I might be disturbed if you wanted to eat a swallow you found in the garden.” 

“Mercenaries don’t have many choices, so I probably could. But if I  had to eat anything here, I’d rather have that squirrel up the tree.” Byleth’s lips barely tip upwards and the leader of Fódlan looks up towards the tree as if taking in the squirrel for the first time with a barely wrinkling nose.

“And I’m  still  disturbed by your sense of  humor  , my teacher.” But Edelgard smiles all the same, a hint of her competitiveness ebbing in light of the softness of the air in the garden as Byleth turns from the bird to brush a strand of hair from violet eyes--it had been tickling Byleth’s shoulder, given their close quarters, and was a little  annoying, but she doesn’t want it blocking Edelgard’s vision, either--fallen from a curving braid, tucking it behind that attentive ear. 

“Maybe some emotions don’t have names.” Byleth’s head tips to the side, palm warmed by the soft blush along Edelgard’s cheek from the gentle touch of fingertips as she leans into a cupping hand like it is both thoughtless and a very conscious choice, all in one. 

Warmth spreads from a clenching stomach to beating chest to curling fingertips, resting against El, who gently circles Byleth entirely in her arms, a little bolder every day.

Warmth.

Is  this contentment? Maybe it is. 

“Well...do you feel differently, now? Or is it still the same?”

Byleth’s head tips to the side, thinking it through before she leans close enough to taste El’s breath, wanting to be  closer , somehow, which makes no sense since arms are wrapped around her and there’s no real way to get closer, is there? Or maybe there is.

Oh, she thinks there  is.

Bergamot. Edelgard’s lips smell like the tea Byleth had brewed for her in the early morning, fingers curling around the ivory of a cup as a humming Emperor inhaled it through nostrils before taking a long, slow sip. The same tea likely sipped even when it grew cold throughout the day for a reason Byleth’s not certain of, and still doesn't feel the need to ask, because there's a certainty to the knowledge. This fact. That Edelgard is more than capable of brewing her own tea, but always seems to favor Byleth’s pot long into the afternoon, even after it grows cold.

Bergamot. 

It’s not the first time Byleth’s had the urge to kiss Edelgard and it probably won’t be the last. Even though they’ve tackled everything together, they haven’t had much  time  like this, alone. Fleeting moments for  months--

“I think I feel…” Byleth smiles--a little wider, however small it might be in comparison--gently guiding Edelgard closer as that blush spreads. “...distracted.” 

And that quiet laugh tastes as nice as it sounds and it dances up into the air like the flutter of the bird's wings below them and it fills all of Byleth’s lungs with it until that  content breath spreads through her and between them. 

Edelgard's laugh is as beautiful as her smile.

Bergamot, she decides, is a good scent.

“Oh, are you, Professor? What by?” A light tease despite that flattering blush, gloved fingertips smoothing out the rumpled collar of a dark cloak; work that’s ruined the moment Byleth’s other hand raises up to gently settle in the small of El’s back, pressing her up closer, and those gloves fist in fabric until suddenly white is engulfed by the shadows spread over shoulders. 

“What...do  you feel right now, El?” It's a murmur--curious and soft, letting out the smallest flutter of a breath when one of those tangling hands falls down to her chest and rests a palm against the skipping beat of a heart. It’s...soothing, now, how Edelgard holds her. It's been so seamless, how hesitation has slowly morphed into...familiarity. How Byleth's body seems to expect it as much as her mind might, heart pattering like soft rain and shoulders easing like knots of a ship that have been unmoored into calm waters.

“Maybe...some emotions  don’t  have names,” It’s a breathless recall, leaning just a little further up into Byleth until their noses brush and the words sink onto parting lips like a welcome drink of water. “But...if this one did, I suppose it would be--”

“Lady Edelgard.” 

Both of them tense, twisting around to see Hubert’s impassive face and devilishly twinkling eyes, voice monotone as Edelgard huffs underneath her voice--

“ Annoyance  .” To Byleth’s quiet chuckle, before she says much louder, “  Yes , Hubert?”

Surprisingly, Edelgard doesn’t pull away, although she does give Byleth a far more apologetic smile as those white gloves once more smooth out the wrinkles they've caused in fabric before facing Hubert and leaning into the palm settled in the curve of her back for just a moment more--just a moment more--before Byleth’s hand dutifully falls, facing the familiar stoic vassal, as well. 

“There’s word on the Slither’s movements on the outskirts of Hyrm.” 

Both of them straighten their spines, then, tender could-have-beens once again tabled for another day. Another tomorrow, brighter than the day before. 

They both have higher priorities.

“They’re heading towards Morfis?” Edelgard surmises and at Hubert’s nod, the Emperor sighs up towards her tactical counsel, something far more serious taking root in features. “It appears you were right, Professor.”

Neither of them take pleasure in this fact.

Those Who Slither in the Dark were not just slithering in Fódlan. 

“But unfortunately there’s been even more...unnerving developments than just Morfis.”

The war room is full within the hour after Edelgard and Byleth have both been briefed, their heads bent and hushed whispers bouncing along the high stone walls.

The map sits stalwart upon the table, crisp and loose around the pins keeping it stapled to the large desk centered in the room, holes widened from half a decade plus of wandering hands shifting it about as eyes took in a war front.

In the center of the map still sits proud Garreg Mach, whose conversion these past six months following the Won War from a Monastery to a genuine officer's school has not changed its current occupancy of forces. It's true that many hearts' hatred eased with each and every day of Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg's steady, firm rule--more compassionate than they had been lead to believe through the mayhem and tragedy that consumed houses for neigh a near decade--but not everyone was pleased.

While The Great Beast (as she's come to be called within the troops, propaganda and pamphlets continuous and circulated, still) Rhea was felled and Dimitri, Deluded King (a term Byleth frowns at in its use every time), put to rest, there is still upset in much of Fódlan. Uprisings and spattered, enraged, frightened villages fighting back against who they view as an evil conquering force, taking away their land and religion, combined with the nobles who clutched desperately to their power and riches and crests, insistent that equality threatened their livelihoods.

“Perhaps if your excess of...livelihood cannot exist with equality--if you believe you require the lesser futures of the men and women you swore to protect and serve as their noble leader to maintain it--then you do not understand the worth of human life, at all, and are not fit to hold your position over them, von Gideon.”

Edelgard had been cemented in history as a fierce leader, but her rousing speech at a large estate set ablaze by righteousness in the North East of what was beneath the Lions Snare, where a noble had tried to fight the Black Eagles by using his peasants for fodder, would likely go down as a key quote to attest to it. There wasn't a scribe in sight as Emperor Hresvelg held a glowing axe to the last noble nephew of Gideon's neck underneath his mansion's towering stone pillars, the disgraced man scrambling backwards in the muck he'd fallen into from the gallop of his dismayed horse, cowering on his back with sniveling pleas as his flee from battle was thwarted...but the story has been told time and time again by every soldier and in every tavern Byleth's been to since. 

All with such a great dramatic flair and liberty to storytelling that she wouldn't be surprised if Alois wasn't the first one to tell it.

Edelgard's amused face as they sat on a carriage heading back towards Garreg Mach a month later after quelling another uprising was well worth the bumpy ride and sitting next to a skew-eyed pegasus. 

'--that's not how it happened at all! Edelgard beheaded him on the spot after he spat on an orphan boy that was working for him!'

'Oh, is that so? I had heard him jailed 'n Enbarr with the rest of the noble filth, waitin' judgment.'

'Oh, yeah--yeah--had a friend there, took his head clean off! He's not jailed, he's a yalm under!'

'You don't have friends, Jaspard.'

Normally, they ride proudly, but given the Slithers’ spies having eyes in   every    hill, it would be better not to be caught unawares by a trap. It was wiser to sneak into a caravan than to take the entire group across the border when Ferdinand would already need to head Northwest and Petra and Dorothea South. At least, that’s what Byleth suggested off-hand to Hubert’s   sighing    assent, all of them breaking off to go separate directions in common clothes. 

Which is why Hubert sets across from them looking   unnervingly    threatening towards a Pegasus that’s just licked his jaw in the back of a rickety, open-top caravan for the next three days. Byleth and Edelgard have settled next to each other far closer than they might have been were anyone else there.

This, for some reason, does not seem to improve Hubert's always dour mood.

‘I’ve never had roast Pegasus before. I wonder, is it a delicacy on the outskirts of the mountains?’ Hubert's smile is something reminiscent of the tales told of Byleth, herself, in the taverns:   devilish . 

Definitely not improvement. If this is how Hubert’s doing, Byleth can only imagine Ferdinand’s fear at riding in the back of a straw-filled cart.

Maybe he’ll think it’s an adventure. Caspar certainly looked excited.

'It seems this new Emperor wants the best for   all    people in Fódlan.' Edelgard pipes up underneath a particularly rough bump, a hint of red that might be indignation or amusement creeping up her neck and Byleth is just glad the farmers didn’t hear Hubert’s dry musing.

The men look back from their conversation and tilt their heads, appraising, and ultimately nod. 

'Y'know, lady...you might be right.'

Byleth's sword easily tips underneath her nails to dig out the dirt, casually shrugging with a serious nod, stilling it underneath the next bump. 'She usually is.'

The red was certainly not ire, now, spreading further upwards and that same, amused smile twisting up Edelgard’s lips as lips brush along the dirt-scuffed cheek resting upon a sword's hilt, paying little mind to the weapon...or to Hubert’s heavy   sigh    across from them, it seems.

Byleth offers a smile, shifting to hold Edelgard beneath the next jostling bump so that she might steady herself against it. Out of the corner of an eye she catches t he Pegasus nosing beneath Hubert's chin as if trying to lift his scowl.

It's not a surprise it doesn't work.

'Oh, Hubert, we're just traveling companions. Wouldn't you say, Jaspard?' Edelgard's voice is practically sing-song over her shoulder and Jaspard, once more paying them notice instead of squabbling with his own companion about just how many nobles Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg has beheaded, furrows brows thicker than the stray dog that wanders Garreg Mach's coat. 

'Uh...yeah, sure?'

The pegasus licks Hubert's cheek and Byleth's head tips to the side, calmly noting:

'I think it likes you.' A thoughtful hum, 'I think you would make a good Pegasus Knight, Hubert.'

Hubert's scowl...thins. And maybe it's a trick of the eye--maybe the trees above them filter out the sunlight until it blinks--but she swears, just for a moment, she might see the hint of a smile.

Or, at the very least, Hubert no longer threatens to cook the pegasus for the remainder of the ride to town.

And thus thanks to word of mouth, the uprisings caused by nobles have been easily dealt with, and few nobles could find villagers to bolster their claims of outrage, these days.

Edelgard was fighting  for them, not against them, and they were starting to understand that. 

The uprisings regarding religion were...trickier, and Edelgard’s interference usually led to  worse outcomes than if she hadn’t shown, at all, something she’d been reluctant to admit, but nodded after their last quelling of an insurrection led to every member of a church being toted away in chains.

Even now, Byleth is aware that had it been Rhea, the insurrectionists in the church likely would have been dead, instead of sitting in a jail, but the indignation of being locked up for ‘believing’ was gaining far too much traction to not be taken a serious threat.

‘It’s my job to lead--we’ve spilled enough blood, perhaps someone else might have a solution.’

‘I agree.’ Mercedes looks hesitant in the corner, but hardly meek. They all agree there’s been too much blood spilled. But Mercedes ultimately looks away before Byleth steps forward, eyes set on a girl she knows well.

‘...I think there’s a solution.’

All eyes expectantly look up save for Mercedes, who nervously watches Edelgard.

At Byleth's quiet insistence, these uprisings have been dealt with with the head of the New Church, Mercedes von Martritz, who has ended many  of them before they started, establishing several Churches underneath Edelgard's  cooperation  , not banner. An organization subsisting  within  the Empire--alongside, not  over.

So far, the most radical uprisings where Mercedes has not been successful in quieting them, Jeritza has settled them shortly after. 

They’re thankfully far less prominent. 

'I might hate this false Goddess and 'religion', but people still have a   right    to it, Byleth. Why would they think I would--everything I have done has been to protect them!' A rare frustration is as clear as a scowl upon lips, highlighted by the flickering candles that fortify the long spindles burning within a restored Cathedral. It paints Edelgard’s features in a soft, passionate glow, but also showcases the dark circles beneath sunken eyes. ‘They’re only prolonging their own suffering.’

'Maybe,' A shrug, gently stepping up behind tight shoulders to gently curl fingers around them. 'People are...protective over things that matter to them.' 

‘That   is  true, isn’t it?’ Edelgard murmurs, shoulders tensing before they relax beneath scarred palms. ‘I  suppose I am protective, as well. I am protective of everyone here--I’m protective of   all    of them. No one else has to die, if they would just--’ 

Byleth’s fingers skim along a cheek that clenches and eases just as shoulders had--dip down a neck that swallows and bobs--before wrapping around Edelgard's waist, guiding those sharp muscles and edges the rest of the way against Byleth's chest. A welcome embrace.

Edelgard sags against her like a sack of flour that’s been cut open, all the air in her lungs puffing upwards into the sky. 

Because here, it seems, just like her muscles, she can hold on only so tightly before letting go. It's a feeling Byleth...can understand, now.

‘All you can do is...lead people, El. You can’t make their choices for them.’ 

Fingers hesitate for only a breath before they smooth along Byleth’s wrists along hips, pulling the taller of them closer so that arms wrap fully around her, twisting to raise her own arms around a craning neck before El's own head falls to rest there. 

El fits so nicely here, like the proudest token nestled safely inside a box.

‘Then I’m glad I have you by my side. What are you protective over, I wonder--’ 

Edelgard’s chin tips backwards and Byleth holds her until a messenger comes shortly after with an updated report on Ferdinand’s slim hold in the Northwest.

It hasn’t gotten better, the two months since.

The war room is full of a tense silence after the news is shared, all eyes in the room focused upon the map of Garreg Mach, and the pins of their strongholds littering its aged surface. To the southwest, a few weeks’ journey away, lay a new pin.

A plague has started to take root in Hyrm, on the outskirts of Ordelia, much to Lysithea’s worry, similar to what had overtaken Remire but far worse. The stronghold borders what used to be the Leicester Alliance and the Empire’s hills--a key position against the annoyed nobles rebelling in the East looking to ride towards Enbarr.

The plagues’ spread is showcased by black pins trending a noted path upwards, adorned by the clean parchment quill of Ingrid’s handwriting.

Names.

“It’s spreading to the  nobles with crests who sided with the Empire.” Ingrid concludes, face pulled downward as if a string had tied to her chin. 

Sided with the Empire’s successful  insurrection , as many people in Leicester would still claim. 

“How could a plague attack someone with crests?” Caspar frowns, eyes flicking up towards the few empty chairs of their usual Black Eagle Squadron. Two notable absences with crests missing: Ferdinand, who has been dispatched to the Northwest of what used to be House Kleiman, whose strategic tactical position near the coast of the continent will be  invaluable if Byleth’s hypothesis of the Slithers’ outreach stretching to their neighboring continents held true. Leonie rides with him, crestless. And the other was Petra, who had returned to Brigid to mend relations between the Empire and her country while assuming rule. 

Dorothea, of course, was with her, but bore no crest, as well, and Byleth’s chin tips downward in thought, fingers tucking beneath a working jaw. 

“Technically a plague  infects, it doesn’t attack. But I suppose those who bear crests  do have unique blood.” Hanneman offers thoughtfully, carefully cleaning a monocle with a handkerchief he tucks back inside his pocket. “It is likely attacking the unique signature of the blood that makes crests so extraordinary.” 

“And if it’s attacking the  blood  , the options we currently have to treat it are, oh...  nonexistent  .” Manuela  pouts in the corner, clearly disturbed, knuckles resting beneath her own chin as she takes in the map. 

“Hmm...yes,” Linhardt perks upwards, either clearly deep in thought...or clearly deep in sleep, “Fascinating, really. It would have taken a good bit of experimentation on live blood samples of someone bearing a crest to create a strand of plague that could infect crest-bearers.” 

Byleth’s eyes skim over Lysithea’s pale features before settling to her left on Edelgard’s stoic ones. 

“Indeed.” Edelgard agrees, darker than any of them know. “Which can serve as a reminder of how dangerous they are--and always will be--until they’re wiped from existence. They’ve ruled by fear and oppression for so long that they don’t seem to know how to fight a war with any other tool. I fear this was likely their contingency plan from the start.” The discontent waters of violet flick up towards Byleth before once more settling on the board.

“So...if they’re going to worst case scenarios--” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, scowling. 

“It means we’ve got ‘em on the ropes!” Caspar pumps his fist and Linhardt sighs at the mere insinuation of probably how much effort it all sounds like but it’s Ingrid who steps closer. 

“I think we should be cautious.” Ingrid sports furrowed brows and tense lines about lips but she’s grown so much since Byleth first met her.

They all have, judging by Bernadetta in the corner, quiet but present. 

“Agreed.” Hubert nods, “They’re cunning beasts who have not yet revealed themselves to Fódlan for a reason. I would advise against underestimating them.” 

“I concur, as well.” The Emperor herself agrees before leaning up from the board. “I believe you all know your roles. This changes nothing from our current effort to solidify our defenses in key strongholds. Cementing our hold over the continent and against opposing forces by sea is a high priority not for just putting out lingering opposition from the war, but from  defending all of Fódlan. We need to keep an eye on our future as well as our present, my friends. The True War is still upon us. Be that as it may, Hubert, I’ll need you to notify Petra and Ferdinand of this immediately. We do not need to cause panic, but they need to be aware of the situation at hand in case it escalates. I do not want to send anyone to Hyrm until we’re positive the plague cannot be contracted by someone without a crest.”

“As you wish, your Majesty,” Hubert, with his ever-deep bow, departs shortly after. 

“Manuela, Hanneman, Linhardt--”

“Fine, fine,” Linhardt  yawns  , “I suppose looking into this will at least be  interesting  . Let’s go ahead and  solve it so that I can go back to bed.” 

“Not everything has to be about a  bed with you two,” Hanneman huffs and Manuela scowls, hands settling on hips. Indignant.

“ Excuse me--”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant and you  know it, Manuela. I simply meant you were late to this meeting because you were--”

“Alllllright. Let’s stop shoving our feet in our mouth squabbling and go kick some butt!” Caspar, surprisingly, is the one to shoo them out, much to everyone else’s relief.

The meeting that lasts after is another few hours before the light that had graced the garden has fallen and started to rise, once more, faraway on the horizon but close enough somebody might be able to touch the ephemeral warmth of it if they became one with the shadows on the edge of its reach. 

Soon enough, it’s just Edelgard and Byleth left in the thick of those shadows, candelight flickering above the edge of a map that’s slowly been stained red by blood and determination and time. White gloves had been replaced by a lightly-armored counterpart given the generals and commanders sifting in and out of the room and Byleth walks behind her, now, watching the way the light touches the dips of them and disappears in the red bend of knuckles above the map before calmly shifting. 

Knowing fingers slowly undo the left gauntlet, its ply metal creaking loud enough to cover Edelgard’s surprised gasp for any ear but her Tactician's, who’s close enough to feel it warm the air. Fingers run over the scarred ridges of fingertips--and knuckles--and a wrist--before she does the same with the right, fingertips tracing a map she wishes she were far more familiar with than the one of Fódlan and the Empire below them. 

Edelgard’s nose dips down, head hanging as shoulders barely shake and with a rattling, heavy breath. She leans back into Byleth’s arms, sagging just enough for those undressing hands to skim up fingertips to hips to arms to the other woman’s heart, nose brushing along the high rise of an Emperor's cheek. 

She can feel an Emperor sift like that sand of time into a woman left behind in the steady beats of her heart, strong and certain below Byleth's palm. Rhythmic. Soothing. Like a war drum. Like the bob of a fishing line against water. Like the sound of footsteps walking alongside her in the hall.

Edelgard unwinds a little faster against her, these days.

And Byleth quietly kisses the ring on Edelgard’s finger and wishes it was Edelgard, herself.

“I realized what it was, looking at the bird.” Byleth quietly offers in her ear, knowing Edelgard has never been content with mysteries and secrets unless they’re woven by her own hand. “During the counsel.”

“And what was that?” Barely a murmur, the tension still pulling that smooth voice as taut as the string on Bernadetta’s bow, thin and  sharp  and deadly. But shoulders ease a little more as one of Byleth’s arms wrap around her stomach, gently twisting in a slow dance to press Edelgard’s hips against the table and hold her up within the certain strength of her own arms. 

Byleth isn’t Hubert--she has no intention of taking Edelgard’s burdens solely upon her own shoulders so that she won’t feel them. Assuming her future wife is not capable of bearing the weight of her own life seems... undermining , somehow, after all Edelgard has accomplished and faced. No, Byleth is well aware of the Emperor’s strength.

Which is why she lets them stand together, instead, hand on a heart raising up to cup a cheek, instead. 

“Protective.” Byleth offers, thoughtful and quiet. “I had seen a cat out in the garden--I’ve been feeding it, so it followed me. I’d forgotten about it, because I stayed with the bird for...an hour, before you came, and it didn’t feel like it mattered. But it did.” 

It’s funny, that way. The strangest things cause emotions.

“Oh,” Edelgard’s features soften and it’s now that she seems to hesitate before she gently tucks her head in the crook of Byleth’s cheek, resting on her shoulder fully, once more. “You’ve always been far more compassionate than anyone knows. You have a habit of protecting little birds, don’t you? Animals--children-- students --”

“I know the bird can fly on its own, and it’ll see the cat coming.” Byleth wraps her arms a little tighter around Edelgard, then, whose hands smooth up the front of her shoulders, but this time they sneak boldly underneath the black of a cloak, flattening over biceps until the fabric puddles around scarred wrists. “But I couldn’t help but…” Brows knit as she tastes the word that follows, “...worry . I guess even though I had fed the cat, and I  like the cat, and the cat is just...hunting. I understand the cat’s motivations--” Byleth closes eyes and feels Edelgard settle in her arms and--

And it’s...warm.

It spreads through her and settles and eases the tension she hadn’t known existed in her spine. 

“You’ll fight for the bird, even against the cat. That’s...not the first time you’ve felt that way, is it? It’s a little bit of a heavy-handed metaphor, my love.” Edelgard murmurs, pulling away enough to look at her. 

Byleth's read about protection: it's the desire to safe-keep something from harm; it's the emotion that wraps around shoulders like a hug, fierce. Loyal. It's a knight, like Jeralt used to be, if a person could be an emotion.

What emotion would Edelgard be?

“I know you can fight your own battles.” Byleth nods, determination settling in, “But I’d rather fight them with you.” 

“As would I, Byleth.” El’s voice is quiet and her eyelashes flutter against Byleth’s palm, leaning...closer. 

Until her scent once more fills Byleth's lungs and her warmth spreads through fingertips and palms and a clenching stomach and suddenly all she can feel is Edelgard.

“What’s...this emotion?” A breath, leaning down to rest their foreheads together, brows knitting as Edelgard’s fingers hesitantly raise to brush over her cheek--her neck--push up through her hair, as if she’s careful of it. 

It’s the first time someone’s ever been careful of touching Byleth, outside of Rhea. 

(Byleth has a feeling Edelgard wouldn’t appreciate the comparison). 

“Hmm…” A thoughtful note sounds in the back of her throat as Edelgard leans closer in the earliest hours of the rising sun, light starting to creep up their bare hands and scarred necks and El’s soft, loving smile. “Anticipation,” Teeth tuck lips, “I would think.”

“Anticipation.” Byleth tastes with a smile and feels the thud of Edelgard’s heart in her throat and the shifting air between them and the feeling of fingertips growing a little bolder in their curl about her own craning neck, before leaning down and kissing her.

Love--

El’s gasp parts locked gates against lips and Byleth’s heart and the beating bird within as her fingers tangle in her hair and mutter  ‘finally’ against her before they inelegantly clatter against the table and knock half of the scrolls off the top of it, the map tearing a little at one of the pins, both of them giggling and chuckling and--

Embarrassed and Happy and Giddy and Light--

--as they clean up the mess before Edelgard’s teeth tuck her lips and she blushes as she brings Byleth closer, once more. This time guiding her far away from the long table into the corner, sheltered from the kalleidoscope light of the stained glass windows in this shell of a building full of  used to be’s  and slowly heralding  will becomes. 

Neither one of them have had much practice at this, but love is something they can learn together, as well.

“Let’s try again.” 

--Love--

Byleth hums as she kisses El again and again and again underneath the warmth of the sun until both of them part with flushed cheeks and knowing smiles and fingers that link until they’re forced to go their separate ways, a little more disheveled than they had been an hour before. 

Love through tense weeks and months and half a year of a slowly spreading plague and continued fights. Love through stolen moments and kissed rings and emotions offered up into the air and caught by Edelgard’s lips.

“ Love ”--Edelgard vocalizes and offers, herself, as they lay in the grass by the gardens months and months later, tucked away in a corner where no one would think to look save for  Hubert (because anyone who  would look isn’t nearly as bold). Her finger gently, fondly tracing down the line of Byleth’s cheek like a painting, eyes bright and bashful as she leans above her.

“Is that what you feel?” Byleth asks, leaning into that fond finger and wrapping arms around her waist. It’s the first time Edelgard’s offered an emotion of her own instead of being asked--or implying it with an answer of Byleth’s. 

They’re parting ways in a few hours--Edelgard to Enbarr and Byleth to the outskirts of Kleiman to help Ferdinand secure the territory after a surprising uprising in the Southeast of the fortress, near the coast. 

A little  too  close to the coast, and a little  too close to the spread of the plague that they’ve been monitoring since word of it rose. It’s convenient in the worst of ways that they’ve both come to expect, and it’s the wisest decision to send a tactician over the Emperor, however Edelgard desires to be on the front lines.

It was smart to send Byleth, they all agreed.

It’s funny, how time can move so  quickly . She finds it hard to believe Ferdinand has been gone so long.

‘Let me go fishing’ , Byleth had murmured against the curve of Edelgard’s neck above mussed sheets and biting lips before everyone had arrived a week prior, hand curving over her hip and Edelgard’s fingers falling down to her chin and her neck and her heart as she hovered above her, hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight. It was the decision that made the most sense.

‘I hate this --’

‘...I'm sorry.’

‘I   hate    this, Byleth--’

A blink, coming back to the present. Do emotions always do this? Are they always so...heavily tied with memories and moments and the flutter of violet eyes like a blue bird’s wings?

“Yes.” Edelgard looks away--unusual, given she’s the type to tackle problems head-on--and Byleth shifts upwards on her elbows.

Byleth’s read thousands of books and nearly half of them mention love. People were  fascinated  with love and...Byleth was too, in a way. She’d never felt it, and never understood it, and could never quite grasp its importance. On a battlefield she had watched people kill for it and die for it and  live for it--

It’s something so complex to capture that it doesn’t have such a simple definition like the other emotions might--it’s like a...box. A wooden, rickety box tenderly made and nailed, full of emotions that are so cluttered and many that they all have to be contained so that they aren't spilled and lost and forgotten.

A box. Maybe this...cluttered thing made out of the wood of her chest filled with a dozen--a hundred--a  thousand  other emotions inside of it, carefully latched and closed and carried about in a rucksack from campsite to campsite, safely stowed. Hidden.

Yes, a box. This brittle wooden thing with  love  written on the outside of it.  Love...written in an elegant pen by a white-gloved hand. Signed like a letter--like a name--because Byleth would know that hand anywhere it pressed, branding wood and ink and life beneath its touch. A thousand keepsakes of  happiness  and  hope  and  anger and a million other things Byleth knows the definition to but has only recently fully understood tidied within its cramped confines. Love. Some people throw the word around so carelessly--

Manuela, who loves another person every week

--or have never quite found what was nearby them--

Dorothea, whose letters to her professor list Petra more than anything else

--or have never found its purpose--

Felix, who loves training, he claims, but loathes the taste of battle before sniping that Sylvain will waste away if he doesn’t join him

--and Byleth watches the way Edelgard says it as her chin dips. Certain and careful--like the word means more than she might know how to explain, herself, and Byleth thinks of the poems and the operas and the novels she’s read and imagines each of them on El’s lips before she leans up a little further, safely tucking the other woman against her chest. 

She watches the sun dance along her cheek as Edelgard looks up at her through long lashes, blush and nerves tucking up a thin smile.

When Byleth was as tall as his knees, her father crafted her a box, and she thinks Love might be like that.

“El…” Byleth reaches down to curling hand and untucks a glove where a ring has settled for nearly a year, now, hidden away safely out of sight like so many things are. “I asked you to spend your life with me.” She reminds, lips brushing over it in a quiet ceremony. “We’re engaged. You don’t need to be nervous.” 

The blush deepens and when Edelgard tries to turn away, Byleth catches her chin. 

"I--"

“Is it...so hard for you to imagine I love you, too?”

Edelgard is unusually silent for a long moment before her hand raises up to Byleth’s chest, resting over her heart. And she smiles. This broken, hopeful thing that reminds Byleth of the night she had returned from half a decade of sleeping, or something close to it, something she doesn't quite understand yet buried deep in those eyes.

“If you do, then it won’t be difficult for you to promise me you’ll do everything in your power to come back to Garreg Mach. Promptly. In a  month’s  time, not five years. No more  sleeping .”

“It’s not difficult for me to promise that.” Byleth immediately offers, voice calm, watching the way Edelgard’s features twist and contort beneath their own calm veneer like a fish beneath the pond's surface. “As long as you promise to keep up with your training in Enbarr. I would hate to have to come sooner to whip you into shape. No fighting is no reason for your axe work to get sloppy, Edelgard."

“ Professor  ,” Edelgard gripes, though there’s a hint of a smile in her eyes, “I’m being  serious  . You honestly joke at the  worst momen--”

Byleth kisses her, feeling tense shoulders ease beneath her touch as Edelgard’s fingers wind in her hair, pressing them both down into the red quilt they’d stolen from a student’s bed, its hue vibrant and harsh above the green grass that resembles a Goddess's eyes. 

“...I love you, too.” Byleth whispers when they pull away and sees Edelgard’s conflicting shock and contentment in equal measure--her happiness and  nerves-- but her smile seems to make the whole world feel...unimportant, just for a second. A moment. 

An instant and five years, all in one.

"Then I expect you to return to me...my Empress." Quiet so only Byleth might hear, Edelgard's knuckles skim down Byleth's cheek and the empress lets out a rattling, soft sigh.

All of those books had made love seem so  complicated, but it tasted right the moment Edelgard had offered it.

But Byleth doesn't have to ask what  this feeling is. They're both far too familiar with war.

An afternoon later, Edelgard’s fingers lingers in her own amongst the troops as their hands clasp to part--their eyes meeting and staying before they can't, anymore--and the Emperor sees her advisor off towards Kleiman, her own convoy heading the opposite way to Enbarr, a box tucked in her bag and a dagger on Byleth's hip. She leads the charge on a horse at the helm, never one to shy away from the front lines, Hubert’s look knowing and calm next to her. 

"Until we meet again, Professor." Hubert offers before turning about his own horse, both of them disappearing into the light cast off of the mountains as Byleth turns towards the darkness behind her, the beast she rides neighing appreciatively as she dips into the quiet shadows left by cascading trees into the sky.

“You look happier, Professor.” Ferdinand casually mentions offhand, the sound of their horses hooves sinking into mud accompanying them during the daylight. He had met her halfway towards Kleiman, their intent to set up another outpost on the outskirts hopefully not heard by anyone else in the Monastery.

There were shadows in every corner, after all. Or at least that's what Hubert liked to enigmatically drawl knowingly every time they talked about the Slithers having spies. 

“Do I?” Her head tilts to the side, remembering her father once saying the same, long ago. She hadn’t realized emotions could ease the knots of muscles until something softer could be seen underneath. Not until Jeralt had mentioned it. She’s getting a little more used to the idea. “And  your  hair is getting even longer. It suits you.” It's pointed out in kind and Ferdinand preens at the observation, offering a dazzling smile as he sits straighter on his horse. 

“Ah, yes. I had initially thought it was unbecoming of a noble to keep it unmaintained, but I find I like it far more.” His chin tips upwards towards the sun--command looks good on him, as well, their battalion following behind. Well-led and proud. “Edelgard, though my judgement would have been sound without her commentary, did  also  state that it complimented my eyes, a few years ago, and made me seem more approachable to commoners.” Byleth doubts those were Edelgard’s exact words, “It spoke great volumes that we both were of the same thought. There’s many things I never would have assumed I would have enjoyed outside of the nobility. Who knew hair could provide such a cautiously freeing sense of enjoyment? So I've let it grow longer.” 

“I’ll help you brush it once it reaches your hips.” Byleth helpfully offers and Ferdinand laughs, surprised and shaking it over shoulders. 

“That will not be necessary, Professor.”

“It can be very difficult to maintain.” Byleth seriously continues, pointing towards it off-handedly, “In a battle the last thing you need is a handle for someone to grapple you to the floor with, especially from your horse.” 

Ferdinand scratches at his chin in thought, humming.

“Ah, I had not seen that angle, Professor. Perhaps freedom does come with its costs.” He seems plagued by this for a moment before Byleth nods.

“Dorothea arrives next week, we’ll have her cut it for you. She’s cut mine, before.” After pouting that Byleth had let it turn into a mess, anyways. Which is strange because Byleth’s hair has  always been this way.

Was it messy?

‘Edie can’t run her fingers through a raven’s nest, Professor.’

‘I have no idea what that even means, Dorothea.’  

‘ Oh, hopefully you two aren’t too thick-headed to find out.’ Dorothea’s sigh could push mountains to the edge of Fódlan. 'No wonder why she never gives me any of the good stuff in her letters.'

'What?'

'Nothing~~'

"She can keep it long but still manageable. Then you have both freedom and functionality."

Ferdinand perks upwards. “She  does  seem to have a great amount of experience needing to cut her own hair and not having someone to do it for her.”

Byleth sighs. 

He’s making  progress , perhaps that’s the best they can ask of him.

Fondness --she can hear Edelgard murmur in her ear, a phantom’s touch as her smile might skirt along her cheek.

A smile, soft and quiet, graces Byleth's lips, in kind.

“It suits you, as well.” Ferdinand offers and Byleth tilts her head to the side to regard him, a little distracted in her thoughts as they continue on. “Happiness.”

Ferdinand just smiles and Byleth nods after a long moment, realization donning. 

She’s read about Happiness: it’s the thing people lose in war; the emotion that sparks up the edges of their lips into a smile, or fills them with contentment when faced with something they’ve done that’s  good ; it’s the emotion that everyone fights for and searches for as desperately as love, just as elusive and fickle, or so it seems in books and operas and plays.

Happiness is the word she thinks her father would have liked the most to hear she learned.

Happiness. It’s a word Byleth knew the definition to, but never quite understood. 

Not until Edelgard gave it to her.

Love suits me, El  --she can imagine humming along her shoulder, because for now the only emotion she can imagine settling in that sanded, shaped box labelled ‘love’ is the rattling, large one named  happiness.

#edeleth #edeleth fanfic #fe3h fanfic #fic #mine #catch me coming back to tumblr just in time to make cruddy graphics for questionable fics :') #well #coming back to my personal tumblr #>.> #this fic was longer than ever expected #but they always are #I know the fandom isn't dead on ao3 now #I hope it's not dead on here because woo boi I'mma bout to follow a lot o blogs about it #no ragerts

[turningtummyrubs]

b+r (1)

Brandon isn’t sure what it is he ate, but he does know his belly’s been cramping away for the past hour and he feels so nauseated he can barely see straight. The strobing disco lights and music so pounding and loud you can’t hear your own thoughts isn’t helping either.

He and Remy had arrived at the school dance an hour and a half ago at 9:00, and only thirty minutes in, some point after Remy had snuck off to go hang out with his book club friends, his stomach had begun to rebel against itself, violently aching. Brandon, of course, hadn’t let any of the sharp pain he was feeling show on his face, instead continuing to do normal party things. Which meant dancing despite the fact it made his tummy churn furiously and drinking fizzy fruit punch which made his belly burble and burn, inflating with tightness. The heap of candies he’d been forced to consume haven’t helped either, sickly in his gut.

Mandy comes up, breath reeking of cheap beer, and throws her arms around his neck, giggling. “Heyyy, Brandonnnn!”

Brandon grunts as her weight slams against his sick stomach, the alcohol smell intensifying the hot nausea roiling in his belly. “Hey, Mandy,” he says, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

She leans further into him, evidently very intoxicated, and her pointy elbow jabs right into his upset tummy. Brandon gasps with the pain and practically collapses backward into the wall, gently pushing her away into someone else. His hand comes to rest underneath his shirt, rubbing helplessly at the tight skin. 

The churning begins to settle as he stays still but when, the moment he moves, a horrifying rush of intense nausea fills his hoarse throat, Brandon realizes he desperately needs Remy. 

He worms his way through the thick crowds of people, hoping they can’t see the blatant misery on his face in the dark when, halfway through the cafeteria, something tight seizes in his lower belly and cramps.

When the first searingly painful hiccup comes, he’s forced to duck into a dark, empty classroom and collapse into one of the chairs, head falling against the cool wood of the table as the agony in his tummy works its way up to a blinding peak and stays there. He gulps in heavy, nauseous breaths, whimpering as a sharp hiccup burns his throat and jolts violently throughout his entire seething stomach. Before he even realizes, Brandon feels hot tears slipping down his cheeks, completely helpless against the unrelenting pain.

He unlocks his phone with shaking hands and texts Remy: meet me in Ms. Lack’s classroom pls?

Remy arrives in two minutes, brow furrowed in concern the moment he spots Brandon hunched over a desk, cradling his aching belly. When Brandon gasps, something pinching tight after another painful hiccup, Remy rushes to his side, placing a gentle hand on his back.

“Brandon? What’s wrong?”

Brandon takes a shaky breath and, in a strained voice, says, “My stomach… hic—ow… it’s—” A sudden rush of nausea rises up his throat and he inhales a desperate, gulping breath as he violently forces it down, feeling the hot vomit slosh back into his contorting tummy and twist.

“Oh, Donny,” Remy murmurs, so softly another round of tears fill Brandon’s stinging eyes. He can hardly see now, everything a too vibrant blur in his periphery—backseat to the pain consuming every nerve and sense. The roiling contents of his belly roll and undulate like a gurgling stream and he’s forced to fight back another harsh wave of nausea. The fizzy, sugar water he’d drunk earlier that night begins to take its course, inflating his belly with hot, tight air and a painfully tense swell.

“My house is empty but we’re going to have to walk back,” Remy murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down Brandon’s back, though he can barely feel it past the war being waged deep in his stomach. “Do you think you can do that?”

Brandon braces his hands against the desk and pushes up and has to bite back a literal scream once he’s vertical. His belly feels like it’s on fire, and it’s so tight it feels as if someone’s wrapped a heavy rope around it and squeezed. He gasps and chokes on his breath.

Remy immediately helps him back down to the seat and kneels by his side. “Okay, Brandon, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to do as much as I can here until you can walk and then I’ll help you feel better once we’re back home, okay?”

Brandon nods once, breaths short and gasping. Remy locks the classroom door and turns on one of the lights so they’re provided with a bit of light before unbuttoning Brandon’s tight dress shirt so that he’s left in only a T-shirt. Brandon feels a bit of relief as his belly’s able to breathe again. Now that it’s no longer being suppressed by his shirt, there’s a faint swell to it—a curve as tense and hard as a rock. He still feels as if someone’s wrapping a rope around his bloated stomach and tightening it further by the second.

Remy pushes up his shirt so that it’s resting at the aching crest of the swell and places both warm palms on each side of the distended bloat. Brandon whimpers and presses into the touch, desperate for any and all comfort Remy might be able to provide. Remy strokes up and down the tight sides over and over again before cradling the base of the gorge and pressing his thumbs firmly into it. He keeps them there for a few seconds, just pressing, and Brandon’s head tips to the side as he groans. Remy then presses them further up, deeper into the hard surface. Every muscle in Brandon’s body tenses and constricts as the forceful pressure stiffens his entire being. A few seconds after that, Remy presses them in even further so that he must be at least a painful inch in before all the tightness breaks like a cracking shell and his belly softens all at once. Brandon gasps, breathing heavily as his muscles unwind abruptly.

Remy massages gently at his soft, swollen belly, stroking firmly up the throbbing muscles and quelling their painful trembling with methodic pressing and squeezing at the sore sinew. The firm strokes are comforting and help relieve some of the cramps, but all that tightness let up to a heavy, growing pool of churning nausea and Brandon would much rather have that nausea escape in what’s basically his second home than their high school. 

“Ready?” Remy asks, removing his oh-so-comforting hands from Brandon’s distressed stomach.

Brandon sighs, takes a deep breath, and nods. Remy helps him up as he gingerly rises from the seat, a hand cradling the curve of his soft tummy, and he says, “We’re gonna—hic—ow… have to go—hic—slow, okay?”

Remy nods and wraps an arm around his tense lower back as they amble out the room and down an empty hall into the cold, night air. Brandon breathes tight and heavily the whole way there, stopping every few minutes to gasp and clutch his belly as sickness swirls deep inside like a nauseous whirlpool. He’s never felt this horrible before.

Remy quickly unlocks the front door after the painful trek up the stairs and Brandon immediately collapses into the nearest armchair, face sweaty and swollen belly bloated further from exertion. Some of that tightness Remy had managed to dispel back in the classroom has returned, but none of the nausea has waned.

Remy moves into the kitchen to make tea while Brandon slumps heavily into the chair and uselessly smooths his unhelpful palm over the throbbing swell. The hiccups return in full force and he whimpers as they rack his body, muscles in his sore abdomen clenching and twisting around each other, squeezing nausea up his throat. Some vomit trickles into his mouth and he forcefully swallows it down as a painful hiccup aches in his chest.

Remy rummages through the cabinets as the water in the kettle heats, smiling in triumph when he finds the two tall bottles of scented oils specifically for hurting bellies he’d picked up after one too many lactose intolerance incidents with Brandon. Once the water boils, he pours it into a mug with a sweet lemon tea bag and some honey and returns to the living room.

He brushes his fingers through Brandon’s hair and quietly says, “We’re going to have to get you upstairs, okay?”

“Hic—okay…” Brandon murmurs. They hobble up the steep stairs to Remy’s room and bathroom slowly and Brandon leans heavily against the rail as his belly begins to make loud gurgling noises. Remy can hear the fizzy sloshing as the liquid burbles against the tense surface of the swell. That’s what must’ve caused all that bloating. When Brandon hiccups, his entire belly ripples and when Remy places a broad hand against the side of the jutting curve, he can feel the muscles clench tight beneath his palm. He keeps his hand there, rubbing gently at the seizing muscles, all the way up.

As Brandon lowers himself onto the bed, Remy’s probing hand rubs at his burning intestines before sliding up the length to press at the tight crest of the curve. Brandon begins to drink the hot tea and Remy massages the heavy swell. It inflates and bloats further the more he drinks, growing tight beneath Remy’s palms. 

Remy’s hand dips down beneath the hard curve into the soft underside of the bloating and the side of his hand sinks up and into the squishy, feverish area. Brandon gasps and vomit rises in his throat and fills his mouth. Remy immediately grabs a trash can and Brandon turns over the side of the bed as it spills out, choking and gasping for air as the hiccups intensify—both in pain and number.

“Bathroom,” Brandon pants. “I need—” His sentence cuts off as more hot vomit fills and leaves his mouth.

Remy helps him up and they quickly move towards the bathroom, where Brandon drops onto the tile and spews into the toilet over and over and over again. Remy sits behind him and slicks his hair out of the way, rubbing his back as he chokes and heaves.

When he finally thinks he’s done, Remy presses once hard into his belly and immediately another rush surges out of his mouth like a tidal wave. He flushes the toilet once he’s done and sags back against Remy, groaning with sick pain and heavy exhaustion he can’t succumb to because of the cramping in his stomach.

The vomiting has softened his belly further, though the bloated squishy area far beneath the swollen curve is still softest. Remy works his palm into the tender area and works up a queasy, wet burp.

He removes his hand from Brandon’s belly when it seems to be doing more harm than good and gently massages his tense shoulder as he says, “Let’s get you back into bed, okay?”

Brandon lists to the side slightly, hand coming to cup the soft swell, before nodding. Remy helps him up off the floor and they make their way back to the bed. Brandon lowers himself gingerly onto the cool sheets and lies flat on his back, the swell of his belly up, after rinsing his mouth out.

Remy places both palms at the base of the roundness, not the sensitive squishy area but a bit above that, and slides them slowly up the large swell, rubbing them back and forth once they’ve dipped back down over the tight crest. His fingers knead persistently at the painfully tense area where the top of his belly meets his ribs, smoothing over it until the tension breaks up.

The vomiting seems to have bloated his belly further, and the large curve juts noticeably out of his hips, round and noisy as a gurgling stream. Every so often, Brandon will hiccup and it will visibly undulate, starting at the base and travelling up over the length of the swell.

Once Brandon’s stomach has settled to something almost manageable, Remy takes the first bottle of oil—rosemary-scented and made to quell nausea—and rubs some into his palms before smoothing the slick liquid all over Brandon’s gurgling tummy. He starts with both his hands next to each other at the base and they fan out as he drags them up, smoothing outwards and around the curved swell. Brandon exhales wetly and relishes in the soothing pressing and dulling of the queasiness gurgling in his gut.

Remy works his hands all over his soft belly, massaging in the calming oil with his whole hand. Brandon’s eyes slide shut and he groans croakily at the comfort. 

Once the rosemary oil’s all rubbed in, soothing the churning, Remy switches it out for peppermint-scented oil instead. This one’s designed to ease cramping. Brandon’s belly is particularly sensitive towards those, so Remy pours some into his hand and squeezes some directly onto Brandon’s outstretched stomach. Brandon shifts uncomfortably as the cool liquid hits his belly, but arches into Remy’s touch as he smooths it around in broad circles.

His palm dips down, pressing into the soft inflation, every few seconds to get the contents of his tummy digesting properly. Once it’s all rubbed in, Remy cradles Brandon’s tender underbelly, just letting the sensitive area get used to the feel of his warm hands before slowly pressing into the soft, pained area.

“Uurrrpppp,” Brandon belches, loud and sickly. He groans and shifts, tender belly aching with renewed distress.

Remy continues to persistently work at the brunt of the bloating. The area is softer and squishier than the rest of his belly, so Remy’s palm can press far into it, swirling slow, firm circles deep into his tummy. Gas bubbles gurgle against Remy’s hands and he firmly massages them until they let up to wet, sickly belches.

Remy presses his other hand far into the soft area until they’re both lodged deep in Brandon’s distressed insides before pulling them firmly up. Brandon’s belly ripples in the areas his hands leave, achingly tender but also heavily comforted by the solid pressure. When Remy’s hands reach the top of his stomach, Brandon coughs once nauseously and a burp loaded with hot gas rumbles like thunder out of him.

Once all that gas is out, Brandon sags into the sheets, lazily rubbing his knuckles up the side of the curve. Remy continues to massage his gurgling insides until he falls asleep.

———

This is some (slightly?) newer writing. I’m trying to work on making more variation when I write but it’s way harder than I thought it would be haha

#belly kink #upset tummy #bellyache #stomach ache #belly rubs #bellyrub #bellykink #oc #brandonandremy #belly noises #emeto #nausea #my writing

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Medusa’s Child (part one)

eyyyy, here’s the first part of Medusa being a mom!! sorry if it’s not very accurate to the myths, i am trying my best. feedback and comments are greatly appreciated! i hope you all enjoy!

---------------------------------

She was first alerted of a presence by an uneven splashing against the nearby shore.

It was the early evening, and the sun was at its best point in the sky, raining down on Sarpedon in just the right way to make her scales light with painless flames. She stretched out on her branch, pressing her bare belly up to the warm rays. Her tail flicked lazily while her mane of snakes hissed and tugged in the direction of the noises. She swatted a clawed hand at them.

  “Let him come,” Medusa murmured in a husky, languid voice, not bothering to open her eyes. “You know he won’t stand a chance anyway.” She ran her black talons down her exposed breasts and stomach, chuckling deeply. “He may as well die with the image of a beautiful woman in his mind. We can give him that, at least.”

There were mixed reactions from her snakes, some spats of disapproval, some hisses of agreement, but they all coiled back down into quietness. Or, as quiet as a head full of serpents could be.

Compared to other creatures across the land, Medusa had a remarkably good childhood if she did say so herself. Her parents were the ferocious Ceto and Phorcys, ancient sea gods that kept the ocean seething with their monstrous children. 

Phorcys was a grey-haired, fish-tailed mountain of a man, with rough red, spiky crustacean skin and huge crab claws that were strong enough to snap off the head of any mortal man that approached his territory. He was faster than any sea creature and stronger than any current in the existing waters. He could create a tsunami big enough to drown Greece with one splash of his mighty tail.

Ceto was quite possibly more terrifying than her father, however. She was a fair maiden with shiny, unblemished skin she never covered up and long, wavy black hair that floated like Kraken tentacles in the water around her. Her eyes were green and sharp enough to cut through obsidian, and her voice was booming enough to crack the earth and drain the entire ocean. She was as venomous as her animal creations, but she taught Medusa discipline and respect at a very young age.

Together, the two of them brought forth a myriad of devilish children. Ekhidna, a dangerous she-dragon with the head and breasts of a beautiful woman and the body of a coiling serpent; Scylla, a giant crab that ate sailors; Ladon, a dragon with one hundred head; the Graiai, three grey hags that shared one tooth and one eye; and the Gorgons, a trio of sisters with the bodies of serpents and hair made of living, venomous snakes.

Medusa was a part of the final group. 

Medusa and her two sisters were born on a dark day, where the sky seethed with storm and the sea seemed to wrath against its gods. Through crashing waves and spitting sea foam, Ceto dragged her soaked, swollen body from the hissing water and into a cave where it was dry. The tide tried to catch her, nipping at her heels like desperate piranhas, but could not chase her all the way up the sand.

Within the cave, the pelting rain and howling gales were muffled by thick stone. Droplets of water dripped from stalactites that hung from the ceiling like dozens of monster fangs. Small tidepools were laid across the ground like traps, seemingly existing to trip Ceto and make her crash down onto her thick belly. But she managed to avoid them, hissing strings of curses to the starfish and crabs and tiny fish that thrived within the wet sinkholes before collapsing to the ground, powerful cramps rippling through her body.

There, Ceto gave birth in the eye of a raging hurricane, her monstrous children writhing out of her womb, clawing and scratching for the world outside of her body.

Stheno was first, born thrashing and hissing and brimming with rage the moment she came out. She was a thin little thing, but her blood red tail whipped around with enough power to crumble mountains. Her red mane of snakes sprung to life instantly, fangs flashing, hissing so loud they challenged the whirlwind outside the cave. The scales upon her head and face made it look like she was permanently stained in mortal blood, and the boar tusks curling out from her mouth looked wickedly sharp. Mere moments after being born, she had lunged at a tidepool and ripped apart a small crab with bronze claws, devouring it in just a few snaps of her powerful jaws.

Euryale came next, sliding out in a slick of fluids and screaming so loud she threatened to bring the whole cave down on top of them. Her white and yellow tail lashed as she cried, sending clumps of wet sand flinging through the air. The mane of snakes upon her skull, which had red snouts that looked like they had been dipped in blood, wailed with her, strange, raspy sounds that vibrated through the air like static electricity. There were small horn nubs protruding from her forehead, which had explained the pain when she was coming out. Stheno tackled her, whacking their tails together, and began wrestling with her.

Finally, out came Medusa, green scales shiny and new-looking. The first thing she remembered was seeing her eldest sister chewing on her second eldest sister’s tail. She had blinked her golden yellow eyes at them, flicking her own emerald green tail like she was expecting something to be attached to it. And then, she was lifted up and saw a beautiful woman gazing down at her. Her mane of snakes snapped at the long black hair cascading down onto her belly.

  “What peculiar little beast you all are,” She remembered her mother rumbling. Ceto scooped up Stheno and Euryale and held all three sisters in front of her. “And what slayers you will all be, indeed.”

And she was right.

Medusa’s childhood passed by in a blur of mortal blood and seawater. Her mother taught her how to strike fear into mortal men. Her father taught her how to swim and fly when all of their wings eventually grew in. And her sisters taught her to hide her prey or else it would get stolen.

She was raised in the darkest reaches of the ocean depths, where granite tunnels formed interlocking caves and caverns below the rolling waves. While most children grew up raising family goats and playing with dolls made of straw, Medusa and her sisters grew up taming sea monsters and playing hide-and-seek venomous lionfish. They created crags of coral along the seafloor with their eyes alone and swept through the ocean currents on scaled wings. When they would go up to the surface, they watched the mortals in their wooden vessels, laughing at the way they attempted to overpower the waves that rocked them mercilessly.

That was when they discovered their deadly eye power.

Medusa was a monstrous teenager, floating along the ocean’s surface, when Stheno presented the idea to her.

  “Swim into their nets and pretend to be dead,” Her older sister had said. Sunlight glinted off her blood red scales. When she smiled, her teeth were like a shark’s. “When they pull you up, give them a scare.”

Medusa gave a laugh. The only thing better than observing a mortal’s stupidity was causing the mortal’s stupidity by interacting with them. Of course, she agreed.

She swam into one of the large nets drifting beneath the boat, startling off a cloud of slippery grey-blue fish. She let herself get tangled up in its loops, tugging on the ropes enough to alert the sailors. After a few moments, the net began to rise, and she faintly heard the giggling of her sister’s vibrating through the water.

Cool sea air hit her bare skin; a series of gasps exploded throughout the vessel. The rough feeling of wood chafed against the scales on her exposed back as the net was dropped into the boat. She struggled to keep in the giggles and play dead as loud murmurs whisked around her. 

The men were wondering what she was, asking themselves how they managed to wrangle up a thing. One of them poked her tail with something pointy and she almost flinched, but managed to tighten her muscles and stay still.

And then, there was a hand grabbing her breast.

The man above her purred out something about her being beautiful and warm and the others should “give it a try.” 

Her eyes snapped open wide. She ogled the man above her in shock and fear and disgust; he was a scruffy and flabby creature with hungry eyes and crooked yellow teeth. His hand remained on her breast as they locked gazes, and then his face did something strange.

It twitched. And his eyes went weirdly blank. And he sucked in a harsh breath.

The man’s entire body jerked like his soul was trying to claw its way out of his back. His brown eyes bulge and roll wildly in their skull, and Medusa could see grey spreading rapidly over the eye balls.

Stone began to march across the man’s flesh like a swarm of fire ants. He tried to scratch it off, but his nails bounced right off. His movements quickly began to stiffen as whatever came over him took hold.

His chest froze solid first, then his hands and feet, his ears, his arms and legs, all the way to his throat. His eyes were no longer brown, rather blank grey. His greasy blonde hair did not sway in the cool breeze. His mouth was open, teeth blunted by rock, and twisted in an agonized expression. One hand was extended outward to his crewmates in a final gesture of desperation.

The man had been turned to stone.

The other mortals on the boat began to frenzy. Some ran away in fear, others brandished their weapons, but they, too, met the same ill fate of their crewmate. One stare and they hardened into a statue against their will.

Stheno and Euryale had been alerted by the noise and they flew up to the ship. Both of them looked shocked at what was going on.

  “What is happening?” Euryale asked. 

  “I-- I don’t know.” Medusa replied, slowly sitting up. She was absurdly confused at what was going on. “I turned them to stone.”

  “How?” Stheno demanded.

  “I looked at them.”

  “Hm.” Stheno lashed out at a fleeing young man and flared her giant red wings open, essentially trapping him. Medusa heard a short scream, and then silence. When her sister pulled back, the man was frozen in an encasing of stone.

The discovery of their power sparked great fear across the land, but amazement inside Medusa and her sisters. Stheno used it the most, killing more men than both Medusa and Euryale combined. She kept her favorite statues in her lair as trophies, adorning them with her jewels and other treasures. 

Euryale rarely ever killed, not because she didn’t like it, but because she never went out of her way to go around mortals. She rather watch them from afar, observing their strange hive mind mentality. 

Medusa was a mix between the two. Sometimes she would simply stay away, other times she liked to see how dumb mortal men were when she came across them.

When they eventually came of age, the three sisters ventured off from the darkness of their homeland sea. Medusa went to an island called Sarpedon, claiming it as her own domain. Mortal men saw it as an arena, however, and often sailed to her home to challenge her. It wasn’t long before her island was filled with the statues of foolish men, decorating her gardens with the trophies of her success.

And another was about to be added to the collection.

There were crashes through her jungle; the stupid man was romping through her home and disturbing her nap!

Sighing, Medusa uncoiled her elegantly long body from the tree branch and carefully climbed down the trunk. Her emerald green scales shimmered in the sunlight filtering down from the canopy of leaves up above, dewdrops from the condensation of her garden sliding like melted diamonds down her tail. She slithered through the weeds, passing by ruined pillars and petrified statues, all of which were swathed with moss and vines. She admired them as she went by, as she always did, as she always would. It was quite lonely on her island, but she rather be alone than have the company of a man.

Emerging from the lush underbrush, Medusa set her eyes on a fleeting boat in the crystal clear water. Strange, she thought. There was still a living person on the vessel. Did they think against their decision to challenge her? No, there were footsteps in the sand… Someone was here.

Medusa flicked her pointy ears and slithered out onto the beach. A bright red crab saw her coming and darted into the splashing waves to hide. A mere crustacean was the least of her concern right now, though. She could eat later.

There was blood in the sand. Small, red droplets clumping the white grains together. A trail led across the bay in spatters that looked like the man had been in a hurry, disappearing into the thriving overgrowth of Sarpedon.

Medusa turned and followed the trail. The man seemed rather smart; there were many hiding spots in the jungle, but she knew this island like the back of her hand. He would not stand a chance.

A spray of bright yellow birds exploded from the trees when she came slithering by. Long-limbed creatures of fur leapt from branch-to-branch, poised and waiting to flee while they watched her. The monkeys always liked to test her. Perhaps that was what made them so delicious. The looks on their faces when she managed to snatch one and scarf them down was priceless.

There was rustling to her left. Medusa pricked one of her pointed ears while her mane of venomous snakes hissed in alertness. She smacked the nose of one of them to quiet them down and then went after her prey.

  “Hello?” She called out in a purr. “Come out, come out wherever you are…”

There was no reply, though there had been before. That particular man had really thought he could swoon her. How could anyone fall for the grating voice of a male?

The rustling sounded again. Medusa whipped around, smacking a tree with her tail and sending a macaw flying off with an alarmed screech. 

  “You are a quick little rabbit, aren’t you?” She chuckled. Fine then. She’ll play with her prey before killing him.

Fleeting footsteps squelched through moist jungle mud. He was quick, but she was quicker. Legs were so hindering, while her tail could get her around with graceful ease. It also made a perfect entrapment tool. Nothing was better than constricting her victim and getting to look at them face-to-face while their life drained away from them.

A squeal caught Medusa’s attention. A smirk came to her lips, fangs flashing in the sun. Finally.

Peering through the leaves, Medusa could partially see the body of the man on the ground, sprawled between two trees. His right ankle was caught in some gnarled roots, trapping him.

It was perfect.

Medusa sprang out of underbrush, claws raised and brandished, fangs bared, wings flared out to their full size. Her snakes swelled up and hissed loudly, mouths loaded with potent venom. Her bright yellow eyes were flashing, ready to strike this man into stone, and--

And she froze.

This wasn’t a man.

It was a child.

#medusa’s child #my writing #greek myth #greek mythology #greek myth retellings #greek #greek gods #medusa #gorgon #gorgon sisters #theodora the vengeful

[lordsireno]

RvB - Skeletons in the closet still have flesh

Pairing: Implied developing Tuckington, mentioned DocNut

Warnings: Blood, Injuries, Illness, slow burn, No ending

Summary: Tucker comes home to find an injured and wanted man hiding in his cupboard, and finds himself unable to turn him in to the authorities. He now has to support the criminal and his half-alien son on his shitty night job, as well as deal with all his acquaintances sticking their noses in. 

((Welcome to my 5000ish word notfic that inspired my almost-human Junior design.  night-inscriber this was a long time coming. Sorry to anyone who doesn’t have a working read more oof ))

He’s running. His entire body is burning, and his mind is screaming at him for running up into an apartment building of all places. Adrenalin is helping him ignore the blood soaking his shirt, or the unusual bend in his leg, or how his left arm dangles at his side. At the next exit the stairs give way to a long hallway, dirty and unsuspecting. He moves down it, stopping when at the end a mirrored set of stairs open up. He takes a moment for a deep breath, and immediately regrets it as the likely several broken ribs halt his lungs. He doubles back, only to see a door numbered ‘609’ wide open, and small child standing in the hallway, pointedly staring at the drops of blood he’d left behind. The kid looks up and grins at him, and he barely has time to do a double take at the amount of sharp, pointed teeth they have before he hears movement in the stairwell.

He ducks into the apartment, finding himself in the living room, one door into a likely bedroom to his left and a kitchen to his right. The child follows him in and closes the door behind them as the thunderous footsteps got louder. There are two doors in the kitchen, so he picks the closest and throws himself inside, landing in a cupboard full of clothes and spare household items. Its spacious enough that he could probably just lay down, and sitting hunkered in the corner his head only just brushes a shelf. The child steps up to the door, so he puts up a finger in a ‘shush’ motion, to which they gleefully return before closing the door.

In the darkness he stifles his breath, trying to disappear. The walls are thin, so he clearly hears a group break off at the stairs and march down the hall. Their armour adds to the weight of their steps, but they’re not loud enough to cover the sound of safeties being switched. The steps de-sync as some stop and some still move. There’s a resounding crack that echoes in the apartment as the front door is kicked open, and the click of a gun being put at the ready.

“Anything Private?”

“Uhh, just some freaky kid eating jam sir!”

There’s further grumbling, before the collection of voices goes quiet. A few more cracks sound out as other doors are kicked, the stomping gets further and further away. What feels like minutes pass as he waits for the sound of their return, but there’s only the creak of the probably broken front door closing, and the soft padding of bare feet back to the cupboard door. When it opens, the blinding light turns the kid into a silhouette, so he squints to focus. The bright aqua eyes become clear first, slit pupils darting about as they look him over. His dark skin and short brown hair contrast against the bright greens he’s dressed in, but he can’t take in more details as the child darts away.

His injuries weight on him, the aches holding him down. He has to keep moving, but giving it a few minutes to let the hunting group move on begins to sound like a nice plan. He didn’t even realise his eyes had closed until the light in the cupboard changed again, and he forces them open. The child holds something out, a handful of gauze.

“…hu, thanks?”

“Blar-h!”

The grin returns, exposing the lines of the child’s lower mandibles and countless pointy teeth. The closest thing he could match it to was the face of a sangheili, but he didn’t care to dwell on why a child looked like that. He pressed the gauze to the holes in his chest, and reasoned for just a few minutes rest before he’d move on.

..........

After a long day at work, the last thing Tucker had wanted to see was a fully armed SWAT team hanging out in front of his apartment building.

Sure, out on the edge of space this shitty colony, built on an equally shitty rock was exactly the palace that attracted the dangerous kind of person. And those dangerous people would get up to the kind of trouble that would require particular force, but why did it have to be by his house.

They don’t try to stop him entering, just giving him a look over as he ignores every other antsy resident and goes directly to his front door. Which, to his gut-wrenching horror, is slightly ajar and barely on its hinges.

“Junior?”

Everything is quiet. He can’t help but reach for the knife on the back of his belt.

“Junior, kiddo?”

The door shifts awkwardly as he pushes in, and the first thing his eyes fall on are the red drops on the carpet-

“Junior?! Answer me buddy.”

“Grah!”

He relaxes as he spots his son, charging him arms outstretched, jam still in hand and all over his face.

“Geesus don’t scare me like that. What happened to the door? And what’s all this mess?”

He grabs Junior around the waist before the boy’s sticky fingers could get to him.

“Really? What have I said about eating from the jar?”

With a sigh he carried Junior into the kitchen, sitting him down by the skin and prying the jar out of his hands. Dampening a cloth, he begins rubbing away the mess from the small, four fingered hands. Then he feels metal against his neck.

“Don’t move.” A hand fumbles for the knife on his belt, freeing it after a few seconds. “Is this the only weapon on you?”

“And people call me out for being too handsy.”

The knife pressed harder.

“I’ve bled through the bandages your kid gave me. Where do you keep more?”

“Bathroom.” Tucker jerked his head back towards the closest door, thankful to pull away from the blade at the same time, “That door behind us.”

The person behind him is close. Close enough he can hear laboured breaths, the warmth blowing past the top of his head. For the longest moment, no one moves.

“Uh, you want me to grab it?”

“No. Just, don’t move.”

The knife and body behind him pull away. Tucker can’t help but glance over his shoulder at the stranger in his house. The man was clearly a head taller than himself, even as he hobbled towards the bathroom. Blond and grey hair was cropped military style, and his skin was littered in scars which made channels for the blood to travel as it dripped from his wounds. Despite the amount of blood which he’d clearly lost, the look in the man’s eyes was still one that showed he was ready to fight. He stepped carefully into the bathroom, still eyeing Tucker cautiously the entire time.  

With a small sigh, Tucker returned to cleaning the jam from Junior, having accepted that so long as the mas wasn’t trying to kill either of them, he could live with some criminal stealing his first-aid. Junior himself seem whole unfazed by the situation, humming softly as he looked around the room.

“You’re a lil trouble magnet, aren’t ya?”

“Grh?” The boy tilted his head.

“Cute eyes won’t save you. Don’t take in strangers, it’s a bad habit to pick up.”

As he moved to wash his own hands, the bloodied man re-emerged from the bathroom, bandaids and bandages covering any open wounds.

...............

-Tucker quickly finishes cleaning Junior. When Wash exits the bathroom, he’s clearly having trouble breathing and asks for a moment, falling to his hands and knees (junior licks a cut on his head, Tucker berates him licking strange blood), eventually he managed to drag himself away. Tucker laments about having to clean the blood.

-Tucker hears the SWAT return from his window, and against his better judgement, he goes and finds the man slumped in the stairwell. He drags him back to the cupboard.

-The SWAT come to his apartment, questioning. He’s cleaned most of the blood, and they thankfully don’t go hunting through all of the rooms. They show him a picture of the suspect, and hand a phone number to report to. He does his best to show no recognition of the picture even if the version he’d seen was covered in blood and bruises.

-Once he regains consciousness, Tucker asks the man what he did, seeing how he was in no shape to fight, but Wash just says he knows things they don’t want him leaking. He wanted to get to a trusted source so the info could get to the correct authorities. Seeing the amount of blood loss, Tucker guesses the man won’t last the night. He moves away, and Junior gets in close, licking the larger chest wound. The man is kinda terrified of the half alien, but suddenly sees the wound clot. Tucker returns and offers aspirin or alcohol for the pain, then berates Junior for licking the stranger again. He leaves the two items with the man and moves off.

-He goes downstairs only to find the building in lock down as they hunt the suspect. He complains about what he’ll feed his kid, and they throw him two rations.

-He returns and watches the man from the corner of his eye, seeing as he’s teetering on the edge of consciousness. He ends up sharing the last of his food with the man after Junior tries poking some at him.

-The lock down lasts for most of the day, so he has to call into work just in case he can’t leave. He checks on the man every few hours, and is honesty surprised he isn’t dead from blood loss. He sits and tries to get a bit more information from him, but all he says is that his ribs are probably broken and he’s struggling to breath. Tucker knows there’s no way to get him to doctor, and he doesn’t have the money for a home visit.

-Tucker leaves for work in the evening once lock down is over. He leaves a glass of water and reluctantly puts Junior in charge of watching the house, to which the child trills.

-At work he meets Donut, who says that the lock down was because of a crazy ex-military guy on the run. When Tucker questions the crazy part, apparently the guy escaped from a mental institution on the far side of town. Dread sets in at the information, only soothed by how immobile the guy was. Then he asks about Donuts boyfriend, who was nicknamed Doc. Donut doesn’t know exactly how much medical training he finished but he knows some things. Tucker says he’s got a case who can’t leave the apartment. Donut says he’ll bring him over, and even bake something for him and Junior, questioning what the kid eats.

-When Tucker gets home, Junior is asleep outside the cupboard, a defence line of toys set up. Tucker puts him to bed. Then he checks on the man.

….

“He was adamant he had to guard me.”

“Is that so? When did you learn the growl language?” The man’s face twisted with some amusement. Tucker lent on the door frame, staring down at the man. “Listen, an acquaintance knows a guy who might have some medical know how, but before he gets here, I need to ask you something.”

“Mmh?”

“They’re saying you escaped from the loonybin.”

“Oh, so they choose to disclose that.”

“So it’s true?”

His face distorted, either from the conversation or how he tried to readjust himself.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well I’m not going anywhere, and you’re certainly not going anywhere.”

His chest shuddered as he tried to take a full breath.

“Well?”

“I’m not going to fly off the rails and attack you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s part of it…”

The conversation didn’t continue, and the man’s face warped in further discomfort, his breaths rapid and shallow. With a sigh. Tucker closed the door, wedged a chair in front of it, and went to bed for a few hours rest.

 .............

-Tucker wakes up to an eager Junior and a text from Dount saying they’d be around soon. He makes breakfast and ignore the jammed door. When Dount arrives he scoops up Junior, and Doc from over his shoulder makes a curious remark about the alien hybrid. Tucker ushers them inside and Dount brings out the banana bread.

-When Doc questions about the patient, Tucker makes them swear not to overreact or freak out, all while moving the chair to block the front door. He opens the cupboard and the two look in, Doc being mortified at the sight. Dount guesses that it’s the guy the authorities have been hunting, and Tucker admits to that.

“Why haven’t you turned him in?”

“I’ve been avoiding asking myself that.”

-He forces Doc to check him over, else he’ll lock him in there too. Tucker and Dount chat in the meanwhile.

-Eventually Doc moves away, looking quite shaken, and says he’s got a prognosis. Broken ribs, extreme blood loss, bruising and swelling (and possibly breaks/fractures) to the right forearm, left knee, collar bone and face. Even if he gets his strength back, nothing will heal right without a trip to the hospital. Which Tucker reiterates he can’t afford, nor would bringing in a criminal do any good. Doc asks why he hasn’t turned him over to the authorities. He looks to the phone number, then back to the broken man in the cupboard, who squints out at him from a black eye that’s gotten darker.

“Again, what can we do for him? No hospitals.”

Doc sighed, “Uh, well we can splint the possible breaks, use ice to bring the swelling down, and make sure he eats and drinks. Rest will be best cure and the way to keep his pain down.”

“We’ll do that then. I’ll go find something for splints.”

Tucker moved away. Donut just gave a small shrug and turned to Junior, looking to entertain the child away from the possible criminal. Doc frowned, reluctantly moving back to the closet.

“Now before I give you anything, I need to ask if you’re allergic -”

Suddenly there’s a knife near his neck, and despite being held in the swollen hand it was barely shaking.

“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to cut me open and get this shrapnel out of me.”

“I’m what?!”

Doc froze, terror surging through him. He didn’t doubt the injured man could kill him on the spot, and the fact he was asking him to perform surgery, in a cupboard, was not and more reassuring.

“I doubt the other three want to see harm to you, or that you want to watch me hurt the others.”

“I really don’t, but what you’re asking-“

The knife pressed harder.

“Alright alright uh…”

Doc moved his large first aid kit closer, twisting to look through it once the knife was removed. This was beyond anything he’d ever tried, but with a threat against himself, Donut, Junior and the idiot who was sheltering the criminal, he felt he only had one choice.

“I’d suggest biting down on this. And please try not to stab me while I’m working.”

He passed him a roll of bandage, which he took and placed in his mouth, before bracing himself. Doc slipped on the latex gloves and fished out the long tweezers and scissors, eyeing the sharpness of the latter. Scalpels were not a staple of kits, but he wasn’t too sure scissors would do the same job. He eye’d the knife still in the man’s hand.

“…You don’t happen to have a clean one of those?”

He got a look back of ‘Seriously?’, but after a moment he did pull out another from beside himself, perfectly clean with a bright aqua handle. Doc nervously took the knife but masked the shaking of his hand by moving swiftly to the wound. The shirt he’d been wearing was damaged, so he cut it away to expose his whole chest. There were a few clear entry wounds, and a few spots that were too covered in blood to clearly tell. Doc took a deep breath and got to work.

...............

-Donut notices the pained noises from the closet and leans in to help, a bit freaked out and confused, but understanding. As he plucks the twisted metal out the man passes out. Donut has to thread the needle as Doc is shaking, more blood leaking out again.

Tucker is mortified at the sight, then pissed that the man threatened Doc, and then worried about all that blood again. They splint what that can and leave him be. Donut says he really needs to think about what he’s doing with the criminal. He and Doc leave, and Tucker spends the rest of the day wondering.

Two nights later the man manages to drag himself out to the bathroom and changes his bandages.

Finding the man properly awake the next day, Tucker asks for recompense. He’s quiet for a moment, before saying that once he can move, he can play guard dog, protecting him and his son, as well as looking after the house. Once he’s able to leave and find his contact he says he can offer monetary repayment. Tucker stares at him, knowing he could get that from the bounty. But something stops him so he nods.

Things don’t improve as the man’s condition suddenly goes downhill. He shows symptoms of phenomena, and Tucker is now digging further into him life savings to try get him some antibiotics. During the haze of this time Tucker learns some more about the man, mostly through delirious muttering and trying to stop him for screaming. He hears the man call himself Washington, but then catches the name David as well. Other people are mentioned, and some are screamed for, but out of it all Tucker is more confused about the whole situation.

Miraculously Wash takes a turn for the better, and even starts breathing better.

Time continues, until Tucker is approached at work.

“Hey, your place is on the north side, right?”

He laments how ex-military types seem to drift towards each other in this colony, but it is a good place to just disappear. He thinks how even ignoring the man’s size, he doesn’t know how Grif lasted even one day in the military. Turns out he’s asking because there’s some work out north, but he wanted a place to crash that was closer.

“And let you anywhere near my fridge? Yeah right.”

“Oh ha ha.”

He actually offers to pay to stay, since the job should pay well. Tucker is torn since money is tight while feeding an extra mouth and buying bandages and painkillers.

“How long?”

“A few days a week, but it’d just be to sleep. I’ll be outa your hair any other time.”

He agrees. The first night he shows up its fine, he tells him to keep quiet not to wake Junior, shows him the bathroom, and tells him not to go in the cupboard else he be buried in trash. Grif says he can relate.

The second night is fine too, and Grif is out like a light and leaves as soon as his alarm goes off. The third night comes around, but Grif is restless. Tucker is on night shift and Junior is growling in his sleep. He gets up and cheekily checks the fridge, feeling rather sorry at the small selection. As he resigns himself to just lie, he spies light from the closed bathroom. He holds as still as he can, listening. It’s all quiet, and he wonders if he just left it on. He holds for a few more seconds, before the bedroom door opens and Junior emerges. He trudges into the kitchen and makes a demanding grunt. After a lot of grumbling Grif correctly fetches a cup for water with a straw, the they both return to bed. The next day Tucker notices the Wash use the bathroom during the day. And he suggests a lock on the fridge. “I fucking knew that fat-ass would go looking.” Tuckers secret guest stays hidden for the time being.

-While on shift, Grif realises his wallet is gone, which contains his ID and legal papers. Unable to skimp on work again, he asks Simmons to go fetch it, because it’s still probably under the couch pillow at Tuckers. Having managed to drag himself to said couch, Wash entertains Junior while Tucker is out. He hears someone approaching, their steps uneven as there’s more weight to one side. Going on alert he puts himself next to the door with Junior. The person stops, knocks and calls out, and then just opens the door whispering ‘wallet’. Wash puts a knife to his neck the moment he steps in and Simmons freezes, arms raised.

“Ohshitohgeezpleasedonthurtme!”

The knife is a steady weight, but shifts slightly.

“It’s quite rude to just burst into someone’s home. What are you doing here?”

“G-Grif sent me. H-he left his wallet.” A finger cautiously points to the couch.

“Grif. Figures.”

“You know- OW.”

Momentarily forgetting the knife, Simmons looked down to find the strange child who kicked him in the shin.

“That’s was uncalled for you little bastard.”

“Thanks for the support Junior. Now are we going to have a problem here?”

Simmons turned his head fully, catching a look at the man.

“Who are you?”

“That’s on a need to know basis. And you really don’t need to know.”

“Wait, you’re not that crazy ex-merc that the military is after, are you? Dount said something about him being around here.”

“Junior, remind me to kill the guy in pink next time I see him.”

“Blarg!”

“Kill?!”

“I’m in every mind just to kill you as well. Though I don’t want to cause Tucker any more problems…”

“I won’t say anything I swear! Nothing at all! I came in, got the wallet, and left!”

Wash stares him down, then narrows his eyes, putting the knife up to the left side of Simmons face, almost in his eye.

“Who stores your optical data?”

“You can tell?”

“Who?”

“Th-The UNSC provided the hardware, but my boss Sarge handles the software and upgrades. All his own development, stored locally and wiped daily.”

(AFTER HERE WE ENTER IDEA LAND. NOT ENDING WE SUFFER LIKE REAL FIC WRITERS.)

Wash notices Tucker is injured, and skipping meals and how Junior hardly gets time with his dad, and the guilt sets in. He didn’t ask to be sheltered and cared for, but he had been imposing for quite some weeks.

The next time Donut visits he says he’s going to turn himself in, but he wants someone to claim the bounty and give it to Tucker. Donut berates him, asking why he thinks Tucker didn’t turn him in in the first place. Wash can’t answer, so Donut says hes caused the trouble so he needs to pay for it. Find a way to pay him back.

.......

(Plot thread A - The Church AI)

Wash is in the Bathroom when he hears two sets of heavy and fast footsteps, and as always he goes on high alert, until the door slams open and someone shouts “Hey looser!” to which Tucker shouts back “Oh for fucks sake, it’s headache 1 and headache 2. Can’t I just have one relaxing day to myself?”.

The strangers must be 'friends’ as someone starts talking about 'stupid tucker’ and saying how he looked like shit. Wash peered out to get a look, only to freeze at the hauntingly familiar face of one of the intruders. He loses his footing, the thump startling the guests. When they ask what that was, Tucker says it’s a guest who’s been renting his couch, and that he better check on them. Inside he finds Wash pale and wide eyed. He asks what’s wrong, and Wash asks back how he knows those people. “What, Church and Caboose? We were in the same squad for a while. Why, you know them?”

He knows Church, Leonard Church. Technically, he knows several Church’s, but he’s uncomfortable at the sight of this one. Against better judgement he exits the bathroom and marches right up to Church, staring him down. Church comments on the type of weirdos Tucker is letting in his house. Wash stares hard and realises the man in front of him is synthetic, fake in the same way Simmons left side was. And when he doesn’t show to recognise him, he asks;

“Which one are you?”

“Which what? Tucker who the hell is this cryptic bastard?”

Tucker tries to pull him away.

“Does the word Alpha mean anything to you?”

“Uh, I was stations at Blood Gulch outpost Alpha when I met these two idiots.”

….....

(Plot thread B - The military’s interest in Junior)

-Tucker gets a letter in the mail, and immediately sours at the sight of the UNSC stamp. Wash asks if it’s another bill, and Tucker jokes he’d rather it be. It is a reminder of Juniors 6 monthly check up, to monitor the growth of the unique hybrid. Junior growls at the mention.

“Yeah, I know you hate it too.”

Wash is wary that the UNSC is keeping tabs on Tucker, but when he tries to press the why it’s clear he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about it. The trip and testing take a whole day, and near the end Junior has fallen asleep in Tuckers arms. The doctor comes along and says the blood results have come in, and the higher office wants to try some hormone injections to try even out Juniors growth. Experimental of course and done over several days. Tucker refuses, saying they’re both tired and if Junior isn’t in immediate danger then he doesn’t want to do more harm. The doctor stares him down, but eventually relents. It’s late when he returns, so he puts Junior to bed and goes hunting for food.

“How’d it go?”

He has a small laugh at Wash being in the closet again.

“What, it’s comforting.” Tucker makes him scoot and they both sit together.

-Then it’s finally Wash’s turn to ask why Tucker never turned him in, Tucker admits it’s not quite clear. However, what he does know is that when he first saw him, he related to him. Scared for his life, up against the military, but still fighting to live on. It was how he felt when the military started treating him and Junior as experiments. He says he was offered a job as an ambassador, the cliche 'sire of a hybrid to bridge peace and understanding’. He ran from it in fear they’d both just be used as puppets in military and political affairs. But now he wonders if it would have been better, to live in comfort and shelter, a proper education for Junior and connection to his alien heritage.

(That was a cute end point, but never enough self indulgence)

-Wash’s paranoid nature is a God send at times. He starts noticing regular and unusual foot steps, often before or after Tucker leaves, until one day they are way too close for comfort. One set stops at what are the stairs down, and the other lighter set comes right up to the door. Wash hides Junior in the cupboard and puts himself behind the couch. The mystery person knocks, waits, and then enters. Peering out the man doesn’t look at big of a threat, save for the gun, knives and arrogance in his stance. He mumbles something about a 'brat’, so it’s clear he’s after Junior. Wash watches him as he surveys the room, then checks the bedroom. He’s in two minds of trying to fight the man, who likely has backup outside, or to run. The main window is in the kitchen and is thankfully on a fire escape, but is locked and would have to be broken. He justifies Juniors protection over the window cost. While the man rifles through the bedroom, grumbling, he moves as stealthy as possible to fetch Junior, quietly opening the door, kneeling and lifting his slinged arm up, Junior getting the idea to climb up onto his chest. The man exits the bedroom just as he adjust Junior, so Wash pivots, throws a chair and dives out the window. He jumps to the external ladder and aims to get out as fast as possible. The intruder swears and shouts for his partner. His leg is still stiff from disuse, and with only one arm he teeters one to many times for Juniors comfort. When he hits the ground, he spares a moment to look up, and sees the intruder following down, before a sniper shot gets much to close for comfort.

(Plot thread C - Wash tries to get his information out)

-Finally able to move, Wash goes hunting for a contact. He knows most probably went underground while he was being hunted but goes to find one locally now the heat is off. Unfortunately he finds Maine, and while Wash thinks it’s great to see an old friend, he doesn’t know the man is back under the projects thumb.

-At a similar time, Tucker overhears two guys at the bar mention Wash. When it seems to be friendly in nature, he pokes his nose in. York and North are over the moons to hear about their old friend.

(You thought the whump was over? Think again me!)

Wash is sorely outmatched by Maine, who knocks him unconscious and takes him back to the project. Tucker can’t wait to tell him that he found his old contacts but Wash never returns home. He calls up York and North in concern, and the two say they’ll look into it.

After more silence, they come back with bad news. This is something serious, so just forget about it (And why are you so worked up? What was he to you?)

(WHAM BAM HIT ME WITH THAT TIME LONGING TIME)

A few years later, when news of a mystery hunter stalking old Freelancer ties, things get busy on the little old planet again.

-Tucker convinces the Reds to rig him a ship so he can go out hunting.

-After those years Junior isn’t with him anymore? Either due to medical reasons or Tucker falling for the ‘better life options’

(Or pussy out and give them a happy ending before the time leap) (BUT NOT WITHOUT MORE DRAMA)

Where Tucker goes and saves Wash himself but gets help from everyone along the way. The mercenaries come back and get a hold of Junior, but Junior gives them the slip when they come up against Maine. Junior latches onto Maine, who doesn’t really know what to do, so he brings him back. The Councillor is suitably confused at the new addition. So guess who the little half-human finds partly brain-washed?

#red vs blue #rvb fanfic #lavernius tucker #agent washington #tuckington #Junior rvb #skeletons in the cupboard still have flesh #long post #monkeywrites #skeletons in the closet still have flesh

[muffindaddystyles]

(CLANDESTINE CHAPTER TWO)

ᗩᑭᑭOIᑎTᗰᗴᑎT, ᖇᗴᗪ ᐯᗴᒪᐯᗴT ᗩᑎᗪ ᗰᑌᖴᖴIᑎՏ

𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚

Rhythmically mellifluous waves of notes echoes after bouncing back from anile theatre's walls, the trill getting softer the more I firmly place my chin over the tail piece.

Eye lids slip shutting at the flurries of heart chasing the last cadences, pinky shivering as the middle and ring finger pushes the string down while the bow touches through the strings simultaneously producing the last chords.

Feels like a voyage over a baby leaf that's leading me through a pallid wind.

My chest heaving vigorously and lifting my jaw from the violin my head snapped in the direction of loud claps flowing. After a hectic performance the seats went empty and instead of going backstage I tried to play a melody for myself.

I was so lost finding my way through strings that didn't even noticed when Azi came. He's the owner of this old hideously beautiful theatre, his love for arts has this place still running without compliance knowing else it would have left baren just like the other popular theatres they shut years ago.

"Well done Harry, people seemed to love your performance last night and today." A smile quenching from my inners causing the bottom lip to tuck in between my teeth.

A feeling like no other spiralling around my ribcages, this's all I ever wanted.

"They were properly soused into your magic and we know what that means, shit loads of money." I remained quite putting my violin and bow aside while he spoke with a tobacco cigar rolled in between his lips.

I never wanted to play for money but nor do I've problem if we're getting it because half of the people in theater needs it. They deserve it.

It's not their fault they've to die in return of loving the devotedness that's gifted naturally.

Their talent and adroitness is the only thing keeping them in this world even though they've to remain veiled from the ordinary people.

Azi drags the stash of money on the table in my direction causing me to shake my head in refusal, "you know that I don't need this money. Save it for the renovation of theatre before we all get buried deep under it." He laughs lungs rumbling from his old age.

For God's sake the ceilings are about to cripple and chandelier might bonk my head one day.

"Or' maybe double pay our ballerina she was prepossesing last night." The twitch of his wrinkles at the corners of eyes smoothed down sadly and he sighed loudly piercing a hole in my stomach.

Anticipation wrapped around my head shoving me into the sea of worry where I'm finding it difficult to process, "what happened-" my words choking in my windpipes when he cuts me off revealing the horror information.

"She was abducted last night, her body was found shot near the suburb of where she lives." Everything's feeling claustrophobic around me and I keep on gawking him in astonished dread.

She was one hell of the great dancers, the only ballerina of our theatre. She didn't not deserved this; fuck it nobody does. I refuse to believe.

Fuck this government. Fuck this stupid world.

Gripping my hair from roots I looked him straight in the eyes, "Tell me if her family needs any help." Then the realization dawned upon me like a heavy dust she never had a family. This theatre, her skills were her only family.

"Harry my boy listen I know you'll take it as a hard toll but believe me we can't do anything for what has happened, go home have a rest you've a performance in the coming month." I was taken aback when he hugged me assuring me like a father would do, not utterly sure how to respond to interactions like these I raised my hands several times only to let them fall back.

Memories of her on tips dancing beautifully on the stage displaying infront of me as I stored my violin into case putting it aside.

We weren't close. But the few times we had exchange of words in the middle of lunch breaks and her full concentration on my foolish jokes was worth than any friendships I ever had; which I unfortunately never had.

Without even noticing the whispers let out of my chest, "I'll miss ya." Never thought you could yearn to have a single glimpse of people last time even though they were barely in your life.

I didn't changed into comfortable clothes letting the flashy suit stick to my skin, so the weigh of it will keep on making me realize that the world has no place for us.

A sacrifice for living praise.

The alley outside's pitch dark with the sun roguishly trying to dawn from the horizon.

Azi Theatre's situated at the most lifeless spot in the city possible, you've to walk through several hidden allies to reach there.

While, walking past the streets and avoiding to ruin my trousers by splashing my boots into puddle my brain havoced with unnecessary thoughts.

Thousand of faces with erastz beauty passing in mili seconds on these vast fulgurant billboards their mocks appearing like arrows to my already wounded guts; though it's all in my head it's still crawling under my skin.

A peek of cognisance from the day she made me ate her red velvet muffins dizzied around in my mind painting sorrow over me.

Even though I protested with my nonsical excuses she won ending up handing me one of her perfectly shaped muffin on my palm with a huge grin.

Just like that alot of people's smiles in my life petered out in the lost pocket of my mind.

In the littlest remembrance of her I made route to the small bakery situated two blocks away from the building I live in. The city's sleeping the only thing's shop's boards blinking and hazy bakeries showing through the thick fog.

It's open twenty four hours seven. The sky tweeked with ribbons of brume and the digital clock showed 5:00 sharp in the early dawn the large glass windows fogy from weather. The counter lady's wrapped into a comfy blanket trying not to fall asleep.

The bell chimed startling the cute old lady when I stepped inside passing by the wooden counter, "uhh..hi sorry to disturb. I'll look in myself." She nodded slumping back into her seat soon about to knock off.

Strolling in between the squeezy aisles my eyes roamed over empty refrigerators ceasing to the one at the far corner.

There in the transparent domed box are four cherry-red muffins attracting every dull view of bakery towards themselves. They're perfectly shaped and snow-flaked into red coconut shudders but failed to water my mouth.

I've no appetite to eat them. Her's used to be baked into undescribeable funny shapes but atleast I had a company while chomping them in one bite.

A reel of same memory binging and before it could permanently imprint in my brain I cleared my throat raising my pointy finger as a habit, "I'll have these!"

We said in a unison. Hold on. We? Am I that exhausted that I've started to hallucinate.

My head snapshoting towards the person from whom the feminine voice billowed in the dense warm air.

Resplendent. Florid and kaleidoscopic were the first words that striked my confused mind when my vision raked from the faux suede ankle boots richer in pigment than the red velvet muffins resting inside the refrigerator; then straight towards to meet their eyes.

Her gaze projecting warmth in this wimtertide and out of curiosity I met her eyes to recognize their colour.

Golden syrup. They're like the glassed honey pool that has squeezed the bee in the syrup lake as if it's greed for honey became it's trap, hazel speckles caged inside the rim of irises flickering with her slightest of eye movement.

We both keeps on looking at eachother the morning peace surrounding us too unsure how to break the spell.

She's wearing a cerise peach long trench wool coat a sweet rose enamel pin attached to where her heart is. Her nose and ears pink from the cold outside, but her lips plump from under the translucent violaceous bubble gum coloured gloss.

Burnette tresses of hair loose till her covered shoulders, the peach tealed beanie intact on her head.

The women standing infront of me is in abstract contrast to the pastels of the bakery and the luster of gray buildings out of these bakery walls.

The pastelish hues still prominent in her and crimson peaked up my neck at the fact that she caught me intriguing her by my peer.

Boldly her eyes remained fixated at my suit that's very exotic for strolling into a bakery. She might think so I'm a bellend idiot.

The cashier lady came to us yawning placing her hands on her hips done with two strangers just looking at eachother but she doesn't know that both of them are inquisitive of what the other is wearing this early where anybody's barely awake.

"We've the only box, decide it quick kiddos that who'll get it." The lady yawned for fiftieth time taking the box of muffins out of refrigerator.

"I came here first and I was the first one to ask." I frowned for an obvious reason and the lady was about to give me the box when a honeyed voice again melted in my ears.

Now I really wanna hear her talk for a long time, "but I pointed at it first!" She whines softly jutting her lower lip.

"But vocalisation matters the most." I quipped arching my brow at her and she glared me but her beatific personality radiating naturally from her is breaking the bitter demeanour she's trying to pull towards me.

"Kay. We can leave it upto the rock, paper and siscorss." She smirks mishveously raising her brows several times in a challenge.

Her tongue poking out from her glossy lips with her one leg straight and other bended perpendicular she placed her on foot over another balancing with only one leg like a flamingo.

The cute small lady groaned, "are you really gonna do this?" Our eyes widening and chuckles spiraling when we once again we said 'yep.' In unison.

She was ready to launch her hand in a paper and mine was stone so I quickly interrupted looking down at her legs, "why are you standin' like a swan?" Her eyes slitting into a squint and lips shrinking into a pout.

Tilting her chin towards me and standing in the same position as before just the difference now's that her hands are on her hips to convey the offend.

She ruched her lower lip inside her mouth to stop from giving a smile, so she's a buoyant person...

"Because maybe I am?" And she doesn't have simple answers to straight questions. Our fists still raised into air and the cashier lady hissed this time ready to throw hands.

"You kids are worse than my grandchildren!" She gasped comically at the words of short lady.

"That's very mean of you..." I'm clearly surprised that she isn't one bit influenced by lady's sharpness instead she's further engaging in a conversation that will result in the loss of time for all of us. "...and your daughter wouldn't be very happy to know."

"Kay. Back to where we left." She quickly turned her head towards me her complete concentration struck over me making my stomach go fluttery and funny.

"Uhm..yes- rock, paper, siscorss!" I never thought I'd play a game with some stranger who's looking so cozy and comfy in the early dew, for some muffins in the middle of empty bakery when I scarcely interact with people.

"Yes! I won." I punched the air when my siscorss cut her paper and her jaw went slack for a moment.

What the fuck you're doing Styles!?

Out of shyness and awkwardness I abruptly combed back my curls rubbing my hand down the nape of my neck not meeting her eyes.

The lady handed me the box with a boring expression while Hers stayed ticked to it, "anyway I don't even like red-velvet muffins." Yeah. Grapes are sour when fox can't get it.

She was about to walk away near to step out of shop. I want to call her but don't know her name; so out of sheer rampage I blurted out the only word that the department of my brain could manage at the time.

"Swan!" She halted in her tracks torso turning and with her chin atop of her shoulder she looked back at me smiling coyly.

"Yes. Sparkly?" She's probably calling me that because of my glittery black suit and I'm sure my ribcages did something at the name. Getting made fun of doesn't sound very good; but it is at the time.

Today's an odd day.

"Um..we can share if you want to?" Her grin etching to the corner of her lips and she jumped excitedly clasping her hands together,"Really!?"

A timid smile crawling over my features watching her get delighted at the littlest of fact. "Yes. There are two pair of muffins we both can have one pair if you like to?" I told her and she bobs her head while going towards the cash counter, patting the counter with a huge grin indicating me to put the box down.

"Your total's $8.25." We both payed half of the total price and I shoved my hands into my trouser's pockets scrutinizing my surrounding while the annoyed cashier lady packed two muffins separately for one of us.

And she rummaged through her wallet which has alot of ebullient key-chains hanging from it, who's this girl?

Why I've never seen her here before? and I've never seen a person this cheerful in the crowd of prosaic people of city.

The lady handed us our respective delights with a roll of eyes and I was the first one to take mine and quickly sprinted out of there, because I didn't know what else to do.

A whiff of pungent vanilla, mulberry pomegranate sprouting with cocoa made it's way in my nostrils when I passed beside her. Her fragrance's divergent.

You know a scent that addictively clouds your senses but it's so rare you never get to smell it again; but if out of nowhere you get to it brings back nostalgia for no reason, she smelled like that.

When I glanced back the two women were still watching my weirdness in amusement through the glass windows of bakery.

It appeared like her rose enamel pin winked at me from far.

Mick was tangled up into cassette tapes when I stepped inside my flat, the tiny bugger he is jumped atop me straddling me to the floor.

"You're lookin' like a disco ball. No need to be so proud." Instead he gave a long slicky lick to my cheek woofing at me.

He's being too cheeky but it wouldn't last long when I'll take him for a checkup. He fucking envy his doc. I'm already sensing sympathy seeking whining from him, happens every year.

Shaking my head I grunted skiding from underneath him but he's fast and climbed up in my lap while I struggled to open the box.

The minute red hilly muffins were infront of me it reminded me of honey the ooze of golden, treacle eyes. Her eyes.

Shit. It's getting hard to get rid of her delicate image that's playing like an aesthetic reel in the back of my mind.

I was jerked into reality when Mick lurched greedily eating the delcious muffin from my hand in one bite, leaving his slickness at the tip of my fingers. Before he could attack my muffin too I quickly grabbed it.

"Mick you wouldn't believe what happened today!?" I spoke in an animated voice scratching his sweet spot under his ear my mouth full of red coconut and he looked up at me with his sick puppy eyes.

"We wouldn't have been able to eat these if I wouldn't have won from...." I stuttered pondering over the fact that the nameless peachy coat girl's too stubborn and wouldn't leave my fuzzy thoughts alone, "...from swan."

Mick just barked at me going to his sleeping pillow and I practically rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms to bring myself to some consciousness from that bloody bakery fantasy.

_

When the proper morning hit I made myself breakfast and the longer I stared it the more it impeded my appetite.

With one hand offering Mick treats to deceive him into the idea that I'll take him to the park for a walk which instead will end up in a clinic's room and other hand diligent in searching word puzzles over the newspaper my jaw worked to chew the sandwich.

Throwing a sweater over my head and slipping into white washed jeans quickly I got ready to take Mick with me.

I had to scoop Mick up in my arms when he sprawled onto footpath of veterinary clinic the second he realized what was about to happen.

The kid leaning against the wall giggled loudly watching me practically drag my dog across the floor because he's too socially akward, fucking wow.

The waiting area's already full of pupils alongside their pets, someone stood up from the last bench and taking the advantage of opportunity I strided towards it sitting at it's edge.

Fifteen minutes passed since I've been caressing and comforting my scared bud, tucking his crown under my chin to make him at rest.

There's loud raucous noise when the elevator doors to the floor we're at opened wide gaining everyone's attention and when the person in tizzy strided inside the corridor I had to look at her twice.

What the fuck she's doing here? She never owned a pet and the one for whom she'll get this worried about.

Lyida's exactly same, her eyes bright as always and she has become more striking from when she was with me.

But she's not mine now, she never was.

She lurched over the receptionist with the box in her hand and distress of having to meet her eyes creeped inside me. The girl beside me threw daggers at me when I stood up hastily causing the whole bench to shake. I apologised for the disturbance.

My hands fumbled with the knob of nearest door right beside me and I had to shush Mick sternly when he kept on whining.

Heavy puff of breaths escaping my lungs when I stumbled inside some empty doctor's room shutting the door behind me, back meeting against the wooden plank of door, cold sweat breaking under the nape of my neck and I blinked several times taking in my surrounding.

I'm a weak son of a bitch.

It's fuckin' gruelling to be in her presence. It's hellish to meet her sympathetic gaze for me and I'm a bastard who's pathetic as hell.

I have to be away, I've to go right now. Trotting towards the large window panes I uncliped them stepping outside the shared balcony of room.

There's a drain pipe so I can climb it down to the ground and get the hell away from here.

Maybe, Mick was right it was a bad day and idea to come here.

Adjusting Mick inside my armpit I threw my one leg over the rail and then the second, my breath wavering as I gripped the rail tighter taking baby steps towards the plastic pipe.

The smack of air stinging my eyes while the cars are being parked infront of me at the parking lot.

A delucet voice clamoured from inside startling me to death and Mick barked lowly in reaction, "Whoops! Sorry to interrupt your suicidal mission." I turned my head steadily to see who's it even though I can comprehend the sherbet similarity.

Her voice has melted like a hot maroon stamp into my ears since the dawn hour and with the corner of my eyes I watched her leaning against the stretcher.

"But let me tell you Sparkly this height would cause you nothing but two broken ribs, one fractured thigh and you might loose your brain memory. No more than that." I gawked her appalled while she remained peacific arms folded infront of her chest, into different cardinal clothes now.

Again a replete splitness to what every other person's wearing outside.

Even though my intentions are nothing like that but saying this to someone who's about to take their life doesn't seem very pleasing.

I was about to speak something into my defence that she misinterpreted things but she cut me off popping her chewing gum and capturing the ropes of sticked bubble around her lips with her teeth.

Fuck.

.

A/n; Please lovies. Reblog it and gimme feedback alot of kisses!

[snail-care]

Snail 101: How to set up a snail enclosure

So, you're considering getting a pet snail? Great! Before you acquire your snail, you should prepare a home. Here are the basics:

TANK:

Reptile tanks are ideal for snails, they allow plenty of air in, while many are designed to hold humidity that reptiles need. These can be on the pricier side, but luckily snails don't really need huge amounts of space. The linked calculator below shows how much room you'll need for a certain amount of snails, as well as how many snails you can fit happily into a tank you may already have.

Fish tanks are also super great for snails. Betta fish starter kits, while awful for actual Betta fish are perfect for a few snails to live in quite happily. Goldfish starter tanks and such are perfect too. Make sure it has a secure lid!!! Snails can lift several times their own weight so a clip on lid or a heavy one is best. You may want to DIY a lid with mosquito mesh to let air in if the lid that came with the tank is solid glass.

Critter keepers are also good for snails, just don't get the teeny ones. Snails can move surprisingly long distances in just a day, and need room to wander and explore. Again, make sure the lid is very secure.

Please don't:

Use cardboard boxes. They don't hold humidity, they get soggy and snails can eat right through them and even get impacted (blocked digestive tracts) Wood is not great for the same reason.

Use tanks that are super tall. Snails are pretty good at holding on while climbing, but they do sometimes fall off. More on this in a bit though.

Use tanks that are too tiny. You will just have sad snails.

~~~~

So, you have your tank. What next?

To start, you'll want to get a suitable substrate. There are plenty of good options, as well as several you should avoid. Substrate is super important as it provides a place for snails to burrow, lay eggs, and a lot of snails also eat their substrate, likely to help them digest. Substrate also provides a soft place to land if they fall off of something.

Coco peat/coir. My absolute favourite snail substrate! Coir is made of the husks of coconuts, but is a lovely soft texture. It holds water really well, which is good for humidity, without getting bogged and swampy. Snails will happily crawl over, dig in and eat coir. It's eco friendly, takes a very long time to break down, can be reused and it's also really cheap. You can get coir in pretty much any nursery or hardware store, and it comes in these sweet dehydrated and compressed blocks so it's pretty much guaranteed to not come with any pests. The only bad thing I can think of is that once it's rehydrated and set up, pests quite like to live in it.

Peat. I'm not a fan of using peat in anything, not just snail terrariums. My main reason is that peat is taken from peat bogs, and is not renewable. The peat bogs are running out :( The good things about peat are that it holds moisture well, and is also easily reused. It tends to come dry in bags, so it's unlikely to have pests already there. Like coir, it can also harbour pests once it's set up. If you want to use peat, I'd recommend researching the company to see where they harvest it, as there are some peat farms out there that don't take from habitats. It can be a little expensive.

Loam. I've never used loam, so I can't attest to it, but from what I've read it seems good! It's often used for acid hating plants, as it has high ph which is good for snails (acidic substrate can damage their shells) Make sure if you use loam it has low sand content, as sand is b a d. I can't find the pricing of loam, but it's good points are that it drains well, but holds moisture, so it won't get swampy.

Potting soil. This can be a hard one, but if done right can be good. if you use potting soil, please please make sure it's organic, with no added fertilizers, and a high ph. As soil often comes moist, it will likely need to be baked to sterilize and kill any pests in it. It can also be pretty dirty to work with compared to other options.

Sphagnum moss. Sphagnum moss is rad, some people use it as a full substrate in its own, but I'd just add a layer on top of others. Holds moisture and is great for humidity, but isn't great for snails to burrow in. can be kind of pricey.

Substrates to avoid

Sand. Grains of sand can get stuck in snail's shells and really irritate them

Normal potting soil. Potting soil often comes with fertilizers and pesticides already in it, which is bad times.

Random dirt from outside. Dirt outside usually will have pesticides, chemicals from pollution, just all kinds of weird shit you don't want your snails on.

Make sure the substrate is damp before adding snails!

Decorations and Enrichment

Snails love exploring their home!! Decorations provide things to climb on, hiding spots and just visual aesthetics. In my tank, I have a flowerpot, a stick to climb on, plenty of leaf litter and a little ladybug ornament from the dollar store! This does not have to be expensive whatsoever! you can literally just get things from outside, but if you do, make sure you bake 'em in the oven for a bit to kill germs and pests. You can even put little plants in there if you want, just make sure they're not toxic and have no pesticides. Some ideas are fake plants, a plastic flowerpot, a kids plastic cup, various little ornaments from dollar stores, sticks and leaves, etc. Try to avoid large, pointy and hard objects like sharp rocks and such, to avoid shell damage.

Food and Water Bowls

I definitely recommend using bowls or plates for food. Food placed directly on the substrate will spoil and go mouldy quicker because of the moisture. The bowl I use is made for reptiles, and is designed to look like a natural rock but it's made from resin, which is a great material because it's very unlikely to damage their shells, but very strong and easy to clean. You can use the same bowls for water, I use the lid of a jar lol.

This seems complex, but I promise it's honestly the most complex part of keeping snails and it's a lot easier than you think. I hope it was helpful! I'm going to make another post on bioactive vivariums too!

#snail #snail hours #snailcore #snails #snailblr #snail.txt #snail care #pet snails #not actually entomology i know but tags #bugs #bugblr #insects #pets #pet care #substrate #enrichment #odd pets

[thgfanficinspo]

Fear of the Water - Chapter 12

(FINNICK)

Millet and Cash have encountered each other on one of the endless cement boulevards. The pavement is uneven and cracked, and there are a handful of those muddy sinkholes strewn about. Great place for a showdown.

Millet runs from Cash at first. She’s slim and slightly muscular and fast as the wind; she could probably outrun him. She doesn’t have much in the way of weapons: a small knife with a blade as long as my thumb (which is all but useless) and a spear. She broke the head off of it and uses as a knife; she uses the shaft of the spear as a long-range weapon.

Cash chucks a spear in her direction; it misses by only an inch or two.

He starts to give chase. When he’s close enough, Millet suddenly whips around to face him and strikes him in the head with her staff. He stumbles; Millet whacks him again in the back of the knee, knocking him to the ground.

But Cash still has his wits about him. He uses the knife in his hand to stab her in the calf. She falls as he stands. He thrusts his knee forward and hits her in the face, breaking her nose. She coughs out a mouthful of blood and a tooth on the ground. All seems lost for her – until she punches Cash right in the groin. He stumbles backwards.

Millet forces herself to her feet and uses her staff to beat him back toward one of the sinkholes until he stumbles in. He fails to pull himself out the way Annie did and dies of suffocation a few minutes later. Millet gets double the sponsors she had already, and Teff, one of the victors from her district, showers her with gifts of food and clothing. People start chanting Millet’s name both on the rooftop where the party is and in the streets below.

Seven tributes left.

Millet was already a favorite when she entered the arena, but Seegred and that boy were long shots at best. And Cash and Euphemia were top contenders. With more than half their allies gone, the surviving Careers are becoming less and less likely to win. Seegred and Millet are nearly tied in the betting pool of who will win.

No one’s quite sure about Annie. She’s partially sheltered thanks to the mat she wove. She finds enough food to keep herself from starving. She defeated Gad, another favorite more than twice her size, without any weapons, but she’s “cracking a bit,” as Caesar puts it, which lowers her odds. She never stops singing that song.

Tributes crack every so often. The most recent to do so was Titus of District 6 in Johanna’s Games, who started eating his fellow tributes out of some mixture of hunger and insanity. Insanity. They threw that word around the moment Titus bit into a dead boy’s leg, but nobody’s said it about Annie yet. Tributes go into shock all the time and yes, she appears to have it worse than the others usually do, but there’s a good chance she’ll snap out of it.

The party goes ahead anyway, though it’s only for the seven tributes now. Millet’s sponsors and mentors are over the moon, as one might expect. Seegred’s sponsors are cheery, too, since she just killed someone a day ago. Things are looking good for these two young women. In fact, they’re vying for the top spot in the polls.

No one really seems to care that Cash is dead since Shine is still in the running. She’ll inherit all of her partner’s funds. And Cash was boring, anyway.

This is shaping up to be one of those years where a Career doesn’t win. It’s not unheard of – a non-Career usually wins every two or three years – but the change of pace is still exciting.

Of the non-career districts, 11 has the best odds on paper. A lifetime of labor and repression makes them physically and mentally strong, and angry and determined. They don’t win that often, though.

Most of the other districts are equally screwed: their industries have no application in the arena, and the tributes are usually poor and downtrodden children without much of a real chance. It’s generally agreed that no one under sixteen will ever win, so younger tributes’ odds are automatically lowered. I was the only victor under sixteen to win, and like everybody says, I’m the exception, not the rule.

(ANNIE)

I wake up to funny noise. I think it’s thunder at first, since it’s always raining here, but it’s growling. From an animal. Many animals. The sound gets closer.

Maybe I’ll run? No. I’ll stay here. I’m too tired to run. Too tired to do anything.

Let the animals come. I’ll stay here. I’ll stay here.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

The animal is a lot of animals. Dogs. Mutts that look like dogs. Black coats and bright orange eyes. Big sharp teeth that are so big and sharp that they can’t possibly fit in a dog’s mouth. Bodies built all square and muscular like the fighting dogs back home but bigger and scarier.

They are chasing a boy. A boy with black hair and baby fat still on his cheeks. He has a pack. Looks pretty full. Maybe from District 6? District 10? Doesn’t matter. Not sure who’s left anymore. No one is left anymore.

The boy is bleeding from just about everywhere. A big chunk of flesh dangles from his upper arm like one of the dogs tried to tear it off but couldn’t finish the job. I think I see his bone.

He stumbles and falls as he runs, only to get up and stumble again and again until the mutts are on top of him. I watch from my perch as they tear his flesh. It makes a funny noise as it rips.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

It’s not a nice thing to see but I can’ tear my eyes away. I’ve never seen somebody’s insides. He’s just a hunk of meat. So am I.

I heard in school that there’s a limit to how much pain the human body can feel. It’s not endless, which I think is nice. And sometimes if it really hurts too much, you just pass out because you can’t process it.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

A cannon goes off, and soon the mutts tire of their meal and move on. I climb down and run over as fast as I can to loot the body. I start taking everything I can reach, things I urgently need. Boots, socks, knife, pack.

I can feel the hovercraft somewhere behind me, waiting to take the body, and I return to my nest to go through the bag. I still take a long time to lay it out because everything has to be in order before I can eat or drink because everything has to be in order before I eat or drink because everything has to be in order before I can eat or drink and everything has to be in order. The sun goes down and the rain starts up.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

Bandages, a pack of raisins, a salve, a half-empty canteen of water, a knife.

I drink the water as fast as I can and set it out to collect rain. I’m happy because starvation is better than dehydration and now I won’t be dehydrated. I wasn’t really dehydrated before because of all but I really don’t want to die like that, and now I’ll have two water bottles to drink from during the day when the sun is out.

The boots don’t fit me right but the socks are dry and ill-fitting boots are better than no boots.

I make another mark on the wall by the other marks for the other people that are dead. Seventeen. Is that right? I guess it doesn’t matter.

I smile and wiggle my toes inside the dry socks inside the dry boots and I think how happy I am to have two boots again because I lost one in the sinkholes so I only had one so I was uneven and both sides have to match and I almost took off my second boot because both sides have to match but I made myself keep it on even though both sides have to match because one boot is better than no boots but now I have two so I don’t have to worry.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

There are sixteen raisins, which is good because sixteen is a square number like four. So I eat four raisins and I have twelve yet and I can eat three more times because I have to eat them in fours because it has to all be square and both sides have to match.

(FINNICK)

Annie keeps a tally on the wall beside her. Anytime a cannon goes off, she uses a pointy rock to scratch a tally mark into the stone wall.  

She repeats her song over and over all day long until her throat is dry and she has to drink all of the water she’s gathered. She spends the rest of the day lying very still. Then she sets her bottles out again and lets the rain collect overnight.

She sometimes goes into these sort of frenzies and will spend an hour scrubbing her hands and arms raw. Luckily, these have only happened at night so far, so she can wash herself down as many times as she likes without worrying about dehydration or heat stroke, which have become major concerns for some of the tributes.

Things seemed to be speeding up when the boys from 1 and 6 died in two days, but they grind to a painful halt once Axle’s body is carried away. Nothing interesting happens for three days.

The surviving Careers are forced to leave the Cornucopia every day because the blistering sunlight heats the metal and essentially makes it an oven. Around sundown one day, there’s a torrential downpour that results in a flash flood that washes away the remaining food and supplies. But the flood isn’t enough because no one died or fought.

It’s no surprise when the Gamemakers decide that a feast is in order. Something to get things going again.

We’re at the endgame now. That’s almost comforting. I don’t want Annie to die, but I do want this to be over.  I want to stop hearing that  damn song  playing over and over in my head. I keep all the windows open at night  so I can hear the noise from below. It’s usually enough to drown out the song.

I open the windows in the bedroom when see my patron after the party. I don’t have to explain why I need background noise; he’s all for it because he thinks I’m an exhibitionist.  I’m not an exhibitionist, but I am whatever the client wants me to be. So for a few minutes I’m an exhibitionist.

He passes out as soon as he’s finished like most men do,  so I don’t expect to get my customary payment of a secret. He wakes up every hour to pee though – something to do with his prostate that I really don’t want to know about – and strikes up a flirtatious conversation.

“I hear you’re something of a collector,” he says as he fixes himself a drink.

“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow. “And what do you ‘hear’ that I collect?”

“Information. Secrets.” He hands me a glass tumbler identical to the one he holds, right down to the murky grey liquid inside. “A funny thing for a victor to collect.”

“You forget my first and favorite collection,” I say. “Conquests. Rich, handsome, important people like you.”

He chuckles. I think he’s actually convinced himself that I don’t mind being whored out, that maybe I even like it. Fine. At least he’s not weeping with guilt like some patrons do when we’re finished. I can’t stand that. Why buy me in the first place if it’s such a strain on the fabric of your morality? I’ll never make sense of these ultra-rich people.

“What sort of secrets do you like?”

“The juicer the better,” I say.

He takes a sip from his glass and frowns in thought. “Did you know I’m a perfumer?”

“I did. Don’t tell me your secret ingredient, though, that’s much too precious to share.”

He chuckles again. “I worked with the president’s gardener for a time.” I wonder if this is the same gardener that my other patron told me about, the one that fucks his identical twin. “And a few botanists. This was decades ago, long before you were born. We were engineering the roses in the president’s garden to have a stronger smell. Too strong, if you ask me. I prefer subtler stuff.”

“Sure.”

“But it’s what the president wanted. These are the same roses he pins on his lapels, mind you,” he says. “They reek. And I couldn’t understand why until I met him myself. He’s got something wrong with his mouth. Open sores that never heal.”

Gross.

“So he uses the flowers to cover the blood smell,” I say. “That’s not as exciting as I’d hoped.”

His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s not the secret,” my patron says. “The secret is how Snow developed those sores in the first place.”

#finnick odair #finnick x annie #Annie Cresta #Sam Claflin #angst #romance #fluff #The Hunger Games #catching fire #mockingjay #katniss everdeen #peeta #haymitch #president snow #Coriolanus Snow #lucy gray baird #ballad of Songbirds and Snakes #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #story #imagine #ao3 #archive of our own #70th hunger games #seventieth hunger games #Caesar Flickerman #johanna mason #beetee #wiress

[crazycat-88]

Male Orc Raum x Female Reader Part 2 (NSFW) Complete

The continuation of my orc story that I did in part for the Ok:Cryptid Collab by @thetravelerwrites 

Part 1 - Here

I’m not particularly happy with this one, but I think it’s as good as its going to get. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

This story also introduces you to West Oaks, a small town that has been mentioned in a previous story. I will be writing more stories that feature this town. NSFW at the very end,  for those who don’t like it but still want to read the story.

Wordcount:2,257

The following Friday you find yourself on your doorstep with a packed bag, waiting on Raum to pick you up. Pulling up in his car, you get in only to be accosted by Buster, the dobermann that’s meant to be in the back seat. Laughing, you give him some attention before telling him to lie down.

‘‘Hey, got everything you need?’’ Raum asks, grinning at you.

You nod, before giving him a kiss in greeting. Pulling back, you ask, ‘‘How long will it take for us to get there?’’

‘‘About four hours.’’ he smiles. ‘‘Feel free to put the music on.’’

Fiddling with the music player, you eventually find something you like. Looking back at Buster, you see he has already settled down to sleep, and smile. ‘‘So… tell me what your hometown is like and who I’m all going to meet.’’

‘‘Well… the travel guides will tell you it’s an idyllic little coastal town, with picturesque views, sandy beaches, a forest further inland… A lake, quaint little houses and a market every Wednesday and Sunday with stalls, where the townsfolk sell a variety of things.’’

‘‘And what would you tell me?’’ you ask.

‘‘The same,’’ he laughs. ‘‘No seriously, it is all that and more. It’s the perfect location for non-humans and always has been. Three hundred years ago all that was there was an orc compound and monster folk hiding in the forest. Eventually more people came, starting with humans who had mated with monsters and it built from there. Now it’s the most monster populated town there is I believe.’’

‘‘Certainly sounds idyllic,’’ you smile.

‘‘It is for the most part. I mean it’s not perfect, no town is… it has problems like everywhere else. Old prejudices between the different species and such, but for the most part it’s good. It’s home.’’ he says, with a fond smile.

‘‘What about your family? Who am I going to meet?’’

‘‘Well there’s my mother Eivor, she’ll love you, my dad John, my older brother Dane and his wife Naria and their two children. My younger brothers, Sigmar and Halden, Halden’s the birthday boy,’’ he says, looking over to you briefly. ‘‘Then there's cousins, aunts, uncles and family friends,’’ he laughs.

‘‘That’s a lot of people,’’ you say, nervously frowning.

‘‘They’ll all love you, don’t worry so much,’’ he smiles giving your knee a squeeze.

You spend the rest of the journey, talking about his family, and he lets you know what you can expect from certain folk. You learn that his dad John, a human, is technically his step-father but he’s been a dad to Raum since he was five and he thinks of him as his real dad.

You make one stop on the journey, to grab lunch and let Buster out to run. Soon enough you're seeing the signs pointing to West Oaks, looking around you notice the surrounding area is mostly countryside and woodland. As you enter the outskirts of the town itself, you see exactly what Raum meant when he said the town was picturesque. With rolling hills, lush greenery, a few scattered white houses and the coastline in the distance with crystal clear blue water. It’s beautiful you think gazing around in awe.

‘‘It’s so beautiful here,’’ you say, turning to look at Raum, before gazing back out of the window.

‘‘Nothing like the city eh?’’ he says, chuckling.

Not at all, you think, shaking your head. Seeing you’re now entering the central part of town, you can see the townsfolk strolling the streets and loads of little shops and housing, some of which are painted in bright colours, making you smile. Along the coastline there are little cottages and you can just about spot a lighthouse in the distance. What a place to call home you think to yourself.

‘‘I booked us a beach house for our stay here, do you want to go there first or shall we go let my folks know we’re here?’’ Raum says, looking at you before looking back at the road.

‘‘We aren’t staying at your parents house?’’ you ask, slightly confused. You had just assumed you would be and are a bit surprised he’s booked a place to stay.

‘‘No, my folks house will be packed as it is and while I know my mother would fit us in, I didn’t want to overwhelm you…’’ he says. ‘‘I also thought for our first… vacation together, we might like some privacy.’’

You see him throwing you looks, looking a little nervous, waiting on your reaction. You smile and squeeze his thigh, ‘‘Thank you,’’ you say. ‘‘Let's go see them first then, so when we get to the beach house we can just relax for the evening.’’

Nodding, he gives you a smile. You continue to gaze out the car window while he drives to his folks house. As soon as you have parked, you see an orc rush out the house and throw herself into Raums’ arms. She’s clearly an older orc but still very beautiful. As she finishes fussing over Raum, she looks over at you and gathers you up in her arms in a hug.

‘‘Look at you! Aren’t you a pretty one…’’ she says looking at you.

‘‘Um… thank you…’’ you say chuckling, feeling flustered.

‘I’m Eivor, but feel free to call me Mum.’’ she says, as she leads you into the house. ‘‘Come meet my John, and the rest of my brood.’’

Looking back, you see that Raum is shaking his head in despair, obviously embarrassed but wearing a small smile. He lets Buster out the back of the car and the dog runs straight into the house, taking over all of you. As you get inside, you see the Buster has jumped up on another orc, who’s clearly one of Raum’s brothers.

Spending the afternoon with Raum’s family is a lot more fun than you ever thought it could be. All of them are so friendly and welcoming that your nerves soon settle. You end up spending the whole time laughing flustered as you watch Raum’s brothers tease and badger him over how he managed to find a catch like you. When Raum tells his folks, it's time for the two of you to leave, you actually feel reluctant to go so soon.

Knowing you’ll be returning tomorrow, you say your goodbyes and Raum drives you both to the rented beach house. The house is beautiful, you think, as you wander around exploring it. With three bedrooms, living room, kitchen and a porch out back that gives you a stunning view of the beach and water, you think you could happily stay there forever.

Deciding to take Buster for a walk along the beach, you and Raum casually stroll down the beach holding hands. He points out some of the different shops and where some of his favourite places are. At one point you think you see orca breaching the surface but soon realise it's actually a mer-orca and smile delighted.

You and Raum end up at one of the beach front restaurants, named The Shark Tank, for dinner, sitting outside as you have taken Buster along too. Your served by a pretty blonde girl who looks human at first glance but you see as she serves you that she has webbing in between her fingers and very pointy sharp teeth. Raum informs you that she is one of the rare mer-sharks that can take human form.

‘‘Does she own this place?’’ you ask Raum questionly.

‘‘Yes, her and her brother do, most of the staff that work here are mer-folk too,’’ he replies.

After your dinner your feeling very full and very tired, heading back to the beach house, Raum asks if you want to share a bedroom or use one of the others. You think about it briefly, quickly deciding to share, you tell Raum and he smiles widely and pulls you into his side with his arm around you. As both of you are really tired, you go straight to bed, and cuddling in to each other, share soft slow kisses before eventually falling asleep.

In the morning, you and Raum take Buster for a walk along the beach again. He takes you to a little cove, which is empty of other people, and you play fetch with Buster, running about and falling in the sand. Laughingly Raum takes you in arms and thoroughly kisses you, wandering hands explore each other and just before things escalate, Buster starts barking.

Looking up, you see a couple of mermaids have joined you in the cove and they’re leaning up on the rocks watching you both grinning. When they spot they’ve been seen, they slip back into the water, waving goodbye as they go. Laughing, you and Raum get up to leave the beach.

You spend the afternoon in the town, Raum takes you round all the shops, telling you the stories about some of the buildings there. You fall in love with one shop in particular, that sells little figurines of all types of creatures, all hand painted and beautiful. You wish you had the money to buy them all, but settle for one of an orc, who you tease looks just like Raum.

Wanting to get Halden a birthday present, you pick up a figurine of a small tortoiseshell cat that Raum assures you that he will love. That done, you head back to the beach house, with a few hours to spare before the party.

‘‘What do you want to now?’’ Raum asks, sitting beside you on the couch.

‘‘Take a nap?’’ you laugh, feeling tired from all the walking.

‘‘Hmm… in bed?’’ he asks.

When you nod, he picks you up and carries you into the bedroom and puts you in bed. Getting in beside you, he strokes your cheek and leans forward to kiss you. Swiping his tongue along your lips, you allow him entrance, sucking on his tongue. As his hands start exploring your breasts over your top, he bucks against you and you can feel he’s already hard.

Groaning he asks, ‘‘Do you want to…’’ before cutting off with a whimper as your hands trace his erection through his trousers.

‘‘Yes,’’ you say, moving away to remove your clothing. You watch as he rushes to get his own clothes off. Watching as he strips, you see his body as just as you expected, lean and fit, with fine hair on his chest. His cock is a good length and decent girth, with a mushroom head, not to big but bigger than you’d ever taken before.

Taking you back in your arms, he leans over you kissing you again, before moving down your body. Kissing and sucking your breasts, he fondles one with one hand, feeling it’s weight before playing with your nipple. His other hand trails down to your slit, finding you wet, he spreads your juices along your folds before entering one of his fingers inside you. Working it in and out of you, he slowly adds another. With two fingers inside of you, you beg for him asking for his cock.

‘‘You’re not ready for that yet…’’ he groans, moving his fingers faster.

Moaning and writhing on the bed, you cry out as he adds a third finger and uses his thumb to circle your clit. ‘‘Please… please,’’ you moan.

‘‘Come for me,’’ he says, before nipping at your breasts. As he crooks a finger, just in the right spot, you come hard, squealing his name. You watch moaning as he raises his hand, covered in your cum, and sucks his fingers.

‘‘God… you taste good,’’ he says. Rising up on to his knees, you see his cock is already weeping, and taking it in his hand, he spreads your cum over it with a groan. Lining himself up, he pauses to look at you, ‘‘Tell me if I hurt you,’’ he asks.

Nodding, you groan as he slowly enters you, to slowly for your liking. Grabbing at his waist, you tilt your hips up, taking him in to you completely. He groans and swears, as you wince, it’s not painful but your filled so full it’s slightly uncomfortable. Wrapping your legs around him, you hook your ankles around his waist, holding him still.

‘‘Oh god…I feel so full,’’ you say, catching your breath, ‘‘Move... please Raum,’’ you plead.

Raum slowly pulls out and pushes back in, thrusting gently. ‘‘Fuck! Your tight,’’ he gasps.

Starting to move faster, he grunts as you tighten around him, moving his hand down he starts stroking at your clit, pleading for you to come.  Inhaling sharply, clutching at his shoulders, you come with a cry, scratching your nails down his back.

He comes inside you with a grunt, back arching, and hands tightening where he holds you. Collapsing to the side of you, you both pant harshly, trying to catch your breath.

‘‘Wow,’’ he starts breathlessly. ‘‘That was… I’m not sure I’m going to be able to walk anytime soon.’’

‘‘Me either,’’ you laugh breathlessly, turning to face him, throwing an arm around him. ‘‘How long until the party starts?’’

Groaning he sits up slightly to check the clock, ‘‘We’ve got an hour and a half before we have to be there,’’ he says collapsing back onto the bed. ‘‘Time for a quick nap,’’ he laughs, pulling you to lie half on top of him.

Nuzzling into his chest, you agree and soon fall asleep with a smile on your face, listening to his heartbeat.

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Tread Lightly

Centaur!Wonho

(Please credit me if you use the moodboard!)

Warnings: Some violence, NSFW for some smut - and I feel obliged to say this but NO bestiality y’all.  

@raibebe OTL I’ve been writing for days. It was supposed to be a short, sweet thing, but it had a life of its own, so now it’s at 3,700+ words aaahhh T_T 

*********************************************** 

You had been running for days now. As an accomplished but destitute thief whose money never lasted long, you were still generally good at picking your victims. However, the increased number of guards in the village had made things difficult in the past few months. This was why in a moment of desperation, you had decided to pickpocket a raggedy-looking man’s money pouch. Unfortunately for you, he had turned out to be the lord of the village in disguise. 

In paying attention to the obvious danger of his men chasing you out of the village, you hadn’t thought of the more insidious one - you didn’t know where you were going. So now here you were, deep in the bowels of the rapidly darkening forest, lost.

For the two nights that had passed since you had unwittingly pushed further into the emerald realm, you hadn’t dared to eat any of the enticing berries and fruits for fear of not knowing if they were poisonous due to your lack of knowledge, and the little ponds of water had been few and far in between. Sleep had been a foreign concept as you had lain on the rough earth, exhaustion weighing on you but the eerie sounds of scuttling insects and distant howls and cries and wild beasts keeping you awake. Tonight looked to be no different, except that you weren’t sure that you would live to see the morning.

You grit your teeth as yet another sharp twig scraped your bare feet - your flimsy slippers hadn’t even made it through the first day.

The sudden thundering of approaching hooves had adrenaline overtaking the tiredness in your body as you instinctively broke out into a run. Even getting lost in this forest would be better than getting captured, tortured, maimed, and hung in the town square, in that exact order.

You heard a shout, but the voice was unlike anything you’d heard before, both harsh like rocks grating on one another and yet accompanied by the soft rush of a flowing stream. You briefly glanced back over your shoulder to identify who was chasing you, but a twisting creeper you’d missed caught your foot, bringing you to crash onto the ground.

You turned around, apprehension a solid ice freezing your veins, and gasped. There was no way this was real. There stood two tall and muscled brutes that would’ve far surpassed the biggest of wrestlers from your village, but they stood on not two legs, but four.

Their darkly bearded faces with ferocious yellow eyes and sharp teeth were accompanied by bare, scar-littered torsos. It was these male torsos that led to similarly haired horses’ bodies.

Centaurs.

A frivolous myth - or so you’d thought.

‘I saw it first.’ One of them spoke, his rumbling voice from before sending a shiver through you. As his statement registered, you looked around, expecting to see some animal that they head been chasing, but you found nothing.

Your movement drew their attention, and they immediately focused their gaze on your person. That was when it dawned that they were talking about you.

And you had been relegated to an it. 

They may have been fantastical creatures, but they leered at you the way the dirty, perverted men in the village did, their predatory intent clear in those glowing eyes.

You scrambled up and away, needing to escape again, but just as quick, an arm snagged around your waist and you were yanked up high - you’d surmised earlier that these two measured in at about seven feet - before being hauled over a shoulder effortlessly like you were a rabbit pelt rather than a grown woman.

'You can have it after I’m done with with it.’ The one holding you said, and the horror of your impending fate had you trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

A heavy blow landed on your ass so hard that tears tracked down your face. This only made you renew your feverish struggles, which was a worse decision because a hand wrapped around your right ankle and twisted.

A loud, pained scream burst from your lips as agony burned through your leg. You hung there limply, praying for the horrible pain to ebb.

'What’s going on here?’ A new voice spoke, more flowing and melodious than the other two, but still with that rumbling undertone nonetheless. The creature restraining you stiffened.

What was it that had him being cautious?

You soon found out when you were lifted off his shoulder as he imprisoned your wrists in one hand and turned you around so that you were suspended a few feet above the ground.

Your vision was blurry from your tears, but you blinked them away to assess the newcomer. He was about as tall and naked as the other two, and boasted his own set of broad shoulders, firm pectorals and defined abdominal muscles. 

However, while they were clearly built for intimidation, his proportions along with his almost incongruently pale, nearly translucent skin afforded him a male beauty that was simply breathtaking. You tore your eyes from his barely- scarred body - yet another difference from the others - to his face and you inhaled sharply. Straight strands of dark, messy hair fell over his forehead and pointy elven ears, and his eyebrows arched in curiosity as his deep blue-green eyes studied you. Your gaze fell to his perfect, soft pink lips, and he must have noticed because they curved into a smirk.

He reached for you then, and all your interest was quickly quashed in favor of survival. You instinctively lashed out, kicking him in the stomach. The two other creatures bristled with anger and snarls dropped from between their teeth. He didn’t seem to feel any pain, but his beautiful eyes narrowed in reproach, as if he hadn’t thought of you to be capable of such a thing.

You could hardly think about it though, because the next moment, the centaur holding you had flung you through the air, no doubt punishment for your mistake.

Terror took over your system, and your back hit a wide tree trunk, the rough bark abrading your skin harshly as you had the breath knocked out of you. You crumpled to the floor, the hunger, exhaustion, and slicing pain catching up to you all at once as black dots danced before your eyes.

A roar of rage was a dull thrum in your mind as you succumbed to the darkness.

************************************************

You awoke in a soft pallet of sheets on the ground, and you were surrounded by nearly translucent navy blue curtains made of a light material. Beyond them, you could see that you were in what appeared to be a very large tent with carpets and candles strewn about.

A throat cleared next to you and you turned sharply to see the handsome man from before.

Wait. How was he able to lie with you like … Oh. Where the half of his horse body had been were now two human legs, encased in a faded brown fabric that stretched around his thick thighs.

'I thought my full form might be uncomfortable, so you’ll have to cope with the lack of hooves.’

You gaped at him, his mischievous grin a little too familiar for your liking.

'Where am I?’ You managed to croak, and gratefully accepted the bowl of water that he gave to you

'Heart of the forest.’ He replied as you drank greedily.

You caught sight of a circlet of intricately intertwined vines, leaves, and petals sitting atop his head. That definitely hadn’t been there before.

‘Who are you?’

‘Wonho.’

'And the ruler of this place?’

'Of the centaurs, and other creatures, yes. The forest doesn’t like to be ruled.’

That made sense to you. Now for the more pressing question.

'What do you want with me?’

His eyes darkened, the aquamarine blue shifting to an emerald that matched the canopy of the trees outside.

'A lot many things.’ he said, his voice silky as he scooted closer to you, his naked chest just about pressing into your side. The mellifluous quality of his syllables was even more pronounced as he walked the fingers of one hand up your thigh where your bedraggled white dress had ridden up, 'What will you let me have?’

Your eyes widened, but the fear that had started to creep through you didn’t have a chance to take hold as he threw his head back and laughed.

Unthinkingly, you smacked his shoulder in annoyance, but he only took your hand to press a kiss to the back of your knuckles.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. You’re safe here.’

A trickle of warmth meandered into your heart. 

‘So you won’t give me to those two from before?’

His jaw hardened. 

‘Absolutely not.’ 

He could see the questions in your gaze and he sighed.

‘Centaurs … we’re not used to being denied.’

‘What?’

What kind of dictatorial bullshit was this?

‘I mean that the other creatures who do wander into our kind’s stronghold do so willingly. It’s been that way for centuries. We’re lustful creatures more in tune with our wild sides and baser instincts, so our reputation is well-known. Those two were young enough to have never even heard a refusal from a potential conquest, let alone face actual resistance. They thought you were a nymph.’

‘A nymph?’

‘Nymphs are woodland fae that like to play games sometimes, they like to be chased, make their partners work for the thrill.’

You swallowed as you were taken aback by the mental image of him being the one to chase you down for fun. You were even more taken aback by how much you liked it.

Right.

‘Why would they think I was a nymph though?’

‘They’ve never seen a human before. One of your kind hasn’t ventured this deep for a very long time. In any case, their treatment of you will not be tolerated, it’s not our way.’

‘Oh.’

You shifted slightly to get comfortable and winced as your various injuries reminded you of their existence. 

‘Let me see.’ 

‘Wonho, I - ‘

‘I can heal it, I promise.’

The throbbing in your ankle was only getting worse, but you hardly knew what he meant by healing, so you hesitated. 

‘C’mon, little human. I don’t bite unless you want me to.’ he winked.

‘What makes you think I’d want you to?’ you challenged, feeling brave in the face of his cockiness.

He moved towards you then, one hand finding the ground on the other side of your waist to balance himself as he hovered over you. His green eyes were entrancing with their dialated black pupils, and his mist and earth scent was intoxicating. 

Your breaths stuttered as his head dipped below your collarbone, his soft lips skimming the skin of your left breast as he pulled your dress out of the way. Your half-hearted protest died as his mouth wrapped around the stiff peak and sucked.

Your head fell back with your gasp. His hot tongue came out to play, laving the tight bud and swirling around it in short, precise circles that had you writhing under him as your nails dug into his thick biceps.

‘Still don’t want me to bite?’

‘I - ah!’

You felt him smirk sinfully as his teeth lightly grazed the sensitive tip before tugging sharply. Your back arched as you moaned, the pleasure so acute. He gave you another loud suck and then pulled away, looking altogether too pleased with himself.

You lay there, letting your breathing return to normal and hastily covering yourself back up as he returned with another bowl. This one held some kind of dull pink paste, and a wonderful sweet smell emanated from it.

He set it down and held his hand out for you to take so that he could pull you up into a sitting position. He took a seat in front of you, gently pulling your ankle into his lap and dipping his fingers into the bowl.

‘What is that?’

‘A lotion of crushed wildflowers.’

‘And that’s going to heal me?’ You were no doctor, but you knew that it was entirely too optimistic to rely on flowers and pastes to cure you.

‘No, I am.’

‘How?’

He smiled, as if your curiosity amused him.

‘Magic,’ he said simply, ‘But for my powers to manifest, they need a channel, a physical connector.’

As he spoke, his hands glowed a light sheen of cerulean blue, and you were hit by how other he was. The moonlight fell through an opening at the top of the tent and sifted through the translucent curtains to bathe him in a lustrous light. With his skin bare and luminous of its own, his glimmering aqua eyes, and his dark hair that seemed to have life despite the lack of wind, he was every bit an otherworldly mythical creature, even in this human form that he adorned.

His hands pressed lightly into your ankle as he rubbed the lotion into the skin, but instead of the pain, you felt a calming warmth. As you watched, the swelling subsided, and when he stopped after a few moments, you were indeed healed. 

You stared at him in awe and wonder.

‘Come.’ he said, and you crawled closer to him, letting him turn you around so that you were seated with your back facing him and he sat on his knees behind you.

And then he yanked your dress over your head in a casual manner.

You sucked in a breath, your hands clenching in the mussed sheets of the pallet, more sure now than ever that centaurs were not shy creatures at all.

His lotion-dipped fingers caressed your bruised back, smoothly stroking the injured skin, and the combination of his healing warmth and cool night air made you shiver.

‘You smell even sweeter than the flowers.’ he said against the crook of your neck as he inhaled you. His husky voice had your nipples hardening and liquid heat pooling in your stomach.

‘What is that?’ he questioned suddenly, and you winced as he touched the top of your ass, no doubt inquiring about the red handprint that should have bloomed over your skin by now as a result of the harsh hit that you had endured earlier.

You braved a glance at him to find that his eyes were so dark with fury that the green had almost bled into black.

‘He will pay for this. I vow to you.’

You nodded, risking a pat to his knee to soothe his anger.

He pulled you up so that you were kneeling, your weight no match for his supernatural strength. 

You felt the coolness of the paste as he slowly cupped your ass. Your breaths came in shallow and he groaned, marveling at how perfectly you fit in his hand as he massaged you.

Your body sang from the feel of his touch, all the hurt and pain washed away to be replaced with a delicate arousal that hummed over your skin. 

You let out a startled gasp as he snaked an arm around your waist, hauling you into his lap until his toned chest was pressed against your back and you could feel him hard and ready against the base of your spine.

‘Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me as much as I want you.’ he said huskily.

‘Yes.’ you breathed, heart pounding in anticipation. 

The word had barely left your mouth when his hands came up to cup your breasts, squeezing and molding the pliant flesh. His fingers plucked and teased the erect peaks with such expertise that it had you moaning as you grinded against him. 

‘So responsive to me.’ he groaned, his fingers more insistent in their ministrations until you were mewling, your head tossed back on his shoulder as he dipped his head so that his hot, wet lips could paint the prettiest of bruises on the delicate skin of your neck.

He slid one hand to your aching, dripping wetness, caressing the skin of your ribs and stomach on the way there while the other continued to deliciously torment your right nipple, almost as if making up for not having given it the attention that its twin had enjoyed earlier. 

With the first confident brush of his thumb againt your sensitive clit, an eager cry fell from your lips, and as he circled it while slipping two fingers into your heat, your pulse thundered in your veins.

‘So drenched for me,’ he whispered, ‘I can’t wait to have you.’

‘So have me.’ you replied, sure that you would go insane with need if he denied you any longer.

He released your breast to grab your thigh and splay you wide so that insides of your thighs were pressed against the outsides of his, leaving you spread open for him. 

His arm wrapped around your waist again, and he lifted you slightly so that he could enter you, filling you up with a fullness that was beyond compare to anything you’d felt with anyone else.

That’s when you realized that there was more of him.

‘It’s too much.’ you gasped.

He gave a brief respite to your almost oversensitive clit to cup your cheek, a finger against your parted mouth as he turned your face to press a soft kiss to your other cheek.

‘You can take me, lovely. Ease up for me.’

You met his gaze, his dark eyes so mesmerizing, and you gripped the hand holding your face to slip his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself and swirling your tongue around them.

He let out a moan of appreciation, brows furrowing in pleasure as he moved in slow, shallow strokes, coaxing you to accept all of him until you were stretched around him so tight.

His hand slipped free of your mouth to find your clit again as he pushed into you, every stroke hitting you so good that you could barely breathe, your pleasured cries echoing in the night.

Soon enough, his name was a desperate moan on your lips and his strong arms held you steady, your nails digging into his thick thighs as you crested over the blessed high that you’d been chasing, spiralling into an abyss of vivid color and electric feeling. He groaned beneath you, kissing your neck and joining you in your euphoria as he spilled into you, with his chest heaving and his breaths  harsh pants. 

It was a few moments before he moved, gently sliding from you as you moaned, your body thrumming with overstimulation. 

‘So beautiful.’ he whispered, a smile on his lips and eyes shining as he cradled you, laying you down on the pallet.

‘Rest.’ he said, brushing your hair away from your forehead before caressing your face, and you didn’t need telling twice as you let sleep take you.

The last thing you remembered was being held in his warm embrace.

************************************************

You stood at the outer edges of the forest. Or more accurately, Wonho stood in the fully glory of his centaur form as he carried you, your arms around his neck, your body pressed against his chest, and your legs wrapped around his lean waist. After he’d woken you up to wash your face in a nearby stream and stubbornly hand-fed you a large bowl of fruits for breakfast, you had set out to return to your village. He’d offered to just carry you outright, but you’d wanted to make things easier on him. 

You had also thought that it would have been much easier to ride him, but given that he hadn’t mentioned it, you didn’t want to risk offending him by asking. 

You heard something in the bushes, and Wonho snapped a nearby branch off a tree, his glowing hands quickly transforming it into a large claymore sword. With his intense gazed focused on any signs of danger, he looked every bit the wild, kingly warrior he was.

He stepped back so the two of you were hidden by foliage, and he used his free hand to tuck your face into his shoulder before returning it to your waist. 

The passing creature turned out to be one of the usual patrolling guards of the city - one that you would have no problem getting past. It would seem that the lord’s men had given up their search on you in the days past. 

‘I can find my way from here.’ you murmured once the man had passed. 

Wonho carefully lowered you to the ground and transformed so that he was in his human state again, although he was still at least a head taller than you. 

‘Thank you for everything.’ you said sincerely.

‘I should be the one saying that.’ he smiled mischievously, gaze lingering on the love bites on your neck as his fingers delicately grazed your cheek and you blushed fiercely at his words. 

You knew that you shouldn’t linger for long lest another guard come by, but his vivid aquamarine eyes reflected a tiny sliver of sadness and a you felt a pang in your heart at the thought of parting from him, even though you had only known him for so short a while. Instead of stepping away from him like you should have, you stepped closer, fingers tangling in the dark locks at the back of his head to pull him down for a kiss. 

Each brush of his soft lips against yours had your heart beating faster, and his arms circled your waist as he deepened the kiss, his tongue melting against yours. You found yourself pinned to a tree with your arms curled around his neck as he kissed you passionately. 

‘The things you do to me, lovely little human.’ he sighed as you broke apart to breathe, and he used the pause to pull you to his chest, gently smoothing your hair. 

With a heavy heart, you let go of him and turned towards your village.

‘I’ll see you again.’ you said softly.

‘Call my name,’ Wonho smiled, ‘the wind will carry it to me.’

You knew you’d be back.

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