#Look their wings might be metallic but at least they have them & he can actually recognize their body language | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stareaterau · 1 year ago

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Chapter 1 episode 3

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Let's see if these two have murdered each other yet

CW: injury, blood, violence

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"You're that bird person from the alleyway."

In front of Scar, the familiar stranger stands motionless and quiet, framed by the striated walls of the ravine. Despite having placed their weapon back in its sheath, they still look as if they’re on edge. Their body is tightly wound, their wings held out slightly, in a subtle effort to make their form larger, combating Scar's height. At their side, their taloned hands hang, fidgeting restlessly.

Scar shuffles awkwardly under his piercing gaze, growing more uncomfortable by the second. His reflection stares back at him from the deep, black voids of their eyes. At first, Scar had thought that they were utterly black, but, looking now, he can see the slight edge of brown circling his wide pupils, the bright sun casting an almost purple sheen across their surface. They’re quite pretty, he muses, as he waits for the other's response. He rocks on his heels, grimacing slightly at the deep ache setting into his legs and the soles of his feet.

Growing impatient at the silence, Scar reaches out, tempting fate by waving his hand in front of the bird's face. Nothing. The stranger continues to stare at Scar, unblinking. The only sign of recognition he can decipher is the slightest flicker of his feathers as they bristle at the proximity. Scar huffs, disappointed at his failure to evoke a reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have big, creepy eyes?”

That manages to break him out of his stoic stare. He splutters awkwardly, gawking, an incredulous look crossing his face. He looks away, embarrassed.

“Ah hah! You looked away, I won the staring contest!” Scar grins triumphantly.

“I wasn't- what? I was just processing-” The stranger doesn’t return the disarming gesture, their mouth a thin line. Their arms clank softly against each other as he crosses them. Scar hadn’t gotten a good look at them before. He’d thought that they had just been wearing a long, black undershirt at first, but there’s no mistaking the dark metallic casing and wiring of the robotic prosthetics.

“Imagine the chances we’d ever meet again, huh?” Scar grins wildly, stepping forward with as open a demeanour as he can muster, pretending he’s meeting an old friend. He almost is, in a messed up way.

The stranger doesn’t return this warm gesture either. Instead, he frowns at Scar, a multitude of emotions unsuccessfully masked as they cross his face. His gaze flickers up to meet Scar’s eyes before something scared or sorrowful flashes in him, directing the strangers' eyes to their feet instead. Their expression now hides behind their tangled hair as it falls across his face. He searches for the right words, but they die on his tongue. Shaking his head, he resets his expression, carefully masking any unwanted emotion. Finally, he looks back at Scar with a soft yet concerned smile.

“I- I couldn't- I sorta thought I killed you that night.”

“Oh… OH! I'm like a ghost to you!” Scar raises his hands in a mock scary gesture, making a low ‘ooo’ sound to do his best imitation of one. It would put everyone else’s attempts to shame at the yearly Vindicators' spaceween party, he thinks smugly. He’s sure his attempts to lessen the tension between his evidently awkward company and himself is working. It always works… or it works sometimes at least… Actually, this might be the first time he’s been able to get this far.

Unamused, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “Well not so much anymore- you'd be a pretty bad ghost if I could’ve tackled you that easily.”

“Ah- that's no fair. You have wings… and I don’t have the ability to turn incorporeal, yet.”

“Mm-hm.” The stranger hums, shifting as they drag their taloned feet through the sand, etching grooves in the grainy surface. Scar pauses, racking his brain for a response, desperately not wanting to lose the traction on the conversation he had just gained. If he lets the stranger shut himself off now, he’ll have to do all the work to get him to open up again. Scar doesn’t want the only sounds in this empty desert to be himself and the whistle of wind through sandstone tunnels.

“My name is Scar, by the way.”

The stranger turns his attention back to Scar. Pausing, as if they’re expecting there to be more to that statement. They frown, not looking convinced.

“Is that a nickname, or just an unfortunate coincidence?” They ask, tentatively, like they’re trying to avoid saying something to offend Scar.

“Hah! Wouldn't you like to know!”

That, out of everything, gets a laugh. However, the stranger quickly tries to disguise it behind a fake cough, burying his face in his arm. Scar smirks, satisfied by the other's reaction, ignoring a twinge of pain from the knife wound in his shoulder.

They look back to Scar, a more playful expression creeping its way onto their face. “…Yes, that is the nature of a question.”

Their wings slowly lower back into a more natural position, the muscles relaxing— not muscles, his wings look robotic, too. They’re covered in feathers, but they’re held up and moved by a metal armature where the bone should be. For a second, Scar wonders how much of their body remains untouched by metalwork.

Regardless, Scar just beams at him, revelling in his ability to make them laugh. Happy with his ability to lessen their agitation, he makes no indication of wanting to answer the question.

The stranger chuckles awkwardly at the silence and shrugs.

“Heh… well, my name's Grian.”

“Oh! That name really suits you.”

“Thanks?”

Scar watches as they pick up their helmet off the ground, shaking it gently to knock out the sand. They clip the helmet to their belt and turn away from Scar, walking off in the direction Scar had been headed earlier.

“Where are you going?” He calls out at him.

“I- We-” Scar catches the way Grian corrects himself, hoping that means his new friend has decided not to try attacking him again, “-should get moving to somewhere with more cover. It's getting darker.”

“Wh- how could you even tell that? It feels like the whole sky is just the sun.”

To emphasise his point, Scar stands up straighter, turning his gaze to the sky to try and pinpoint the sun within the harsh light. After a moment, he shields his eyes from the glare with his hand. Another moment later, unsuccessful, Scar lowers his gaze. He blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes, trying to lose the blurry afterimage that stays behind and plagues his vision. Grian looks away from Scar, an unreadable, mostly uncomfortable expression on his face. He flexes his wings, shaking his feathers out, then strides away.

Scar realises he’s falling behind. He catches up hastily, coughing up an air of responsibility to match Grian’s. They are a ‘we’ after all.

Scar is honestly glad for Grian's company. He provides a familiar face, even if he is a familiar face he met only briefly… and a familiar face that promptly tried to kill him upon reuniting. At least Scar doesn’t feel like he has to pretend to be serious around him— Grian has that handled for the both of them. Although, Scar is certainly going to do his best to break through the birds' cold facade. “So, are we heading in any particular direction?”

Grian shakes his head, before realizing he should elaborate.

“I can fly up and scout out a direction later, but not now. Right now, I'd like to find a spot to rest.”

He stretches his wings out fully, the feathers bristling as the hinges make a soft rattling whine. Scar marvels at the impressive wingspan. He’s never seen wings quite this big before.

“You were flying a lot?” Scar watches them, intrigued. They don’t look like elytra, despite their metal parts, and Grian has far more control over them than even an experienced user. Elytra also don’t tend to come feathered like his— his look jarringly realistic. Maybe he’s an avian?

Scar’s never actually seen an avian before, though that’s not out of the ordinary. Most people haven’t. Could robotic enhancements be commonplace amongst them? Scar is somewhat familiar with enhancements, they’d even been offered to him once, but he’d declined, opting for the less invasive options. Mechanically enhancing what were once organic wings is the only option Scar can think of that matches Grian’s capabilities. That must be what he is, Scar concludes. Though, he pictured avians being taller.

“Yes,” Grian replies bluntly, his tone changing noticeably at the subject.

“Do you have an enderchest?” Scar inquires instead, searching for topics that aren’t sore spots.

Grian whips his head up to look at Scar, a bewildered expression spreading across his face.

“...What? No.”

“Dang it.” Scar sighs.

“Why would you want an enderchest?” He asks, growing curious after the initial surprise.

“I lost mine. It has some pretty important things in it that I need.” Scar hums, looking down at his scratched leg braces. They’re starting to creak under the strain of walking for so long. If Grian had one, he could use it to access his stuff. He really could do with his cane, or anything that can ease the stress on his braces. Grian follows Scar’s gaze, a particularly strained expression returning to his face. Scar frowns at how he almost looks guilty.

“I know you’re a Vindicator and everything,” Grian makes an effort to maintain the current topic and hide the distaste in his tone as he eyes Scar’s neat, albeit dusty, uniform. Scar isn’t surprised by Grian’s opinion on Vindicators. Grian was wanted by them when they had first met, but he at least has the decency to swap his tone out for a more apologetic one towards the end. “Enderchests aren't as common as you think. It might be a while till you can get to one.”

“...Really?”

“Yup.”

“Do you know where we are, then?” Scar quizzes, taking note of Grian's phrasing.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don't know where we are, or how I got here. You're the first person I've seen.”

Grian looks away, pausing to calculate his answer. His hard-won casual demeanour bleeds back into his previous defensive apathy. “We're in the same boat, I have no idea.”

Scar watches him, sure that Grian is holding something back. There’s something he doesn’t want Scar to know. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Pressing him on it would probably just push the avian further away. The last thing Scar wants to do is push away the only person he’s seen for miles, especially when that person seems to know more than what they let on. He chooses to stay quiet. He’s anxious to avoid agitating the bird further. He still has a weapon, and Scar is rather fond of the idea of not finding himself on the other end of it again.

Silence falls over the two, the only sound coming from their steady footfalls meeting the sandy ground, and the whistle of wind through the caverns. Eventually, his worry about Grian shutting him out completely resurfaces, but he isn’t sure what to say.

“So… got a favourite animal?”

“You have an awful way of being chummy with your would-be murderer.” Grian titters.

“I wouldn't call you that.”

“Still.” he shrugs, unconvinced.

“I don't think you were trying to kill me. At least not the first time.”

Abruptly, Grian stills, his feathers bristling.

“And about today- I'm not dead, and you’re not in the process of killing me, see?” Scar carries on. Grian turns away sharply, but Scar is undeterred.

“You're a pretty unsuccessful murderer, if you are one. I've put myself in more danger on purpose than you’ve put me in on accident.” Scar barks out a laugh, but receives no response. Grian's face hides behind his cheek feathers and hair.

“You don't know me,” Grian replies flatly.

“But I'd like to.”

Scar tilts his head, stepping in front of the bird, trying to get a read on his face. They lock eyes only briefly. Grian’s eyes are wide, his brow furrowed, and his face contorted by a frown.

“Anddd- we have time-” Scar adds more gently, “You said you wanted to rest.”

“What if my kind of rest doesn't involve talking?” Grian retorts, tone still flat, but the slight lilt of amusement is unmistakable.

“Oh, well-”

Scar doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. A shrill, distorted cry fills the sky above them.

Grian and Scar both turn on the spot, their heads snapping in the direction of the sound. Soaring above them is a colony of three familiar creatures. Bright green eyes lock onto them both.

“Are those-”

“Phantoms.” Grian finishes, his feathers standing on end, fluffing up reflexively.

“What are phantoms doing here?” Scar asks, searching Grian for any indication that he knows what’s going on, but the avian looks just as clueless. Phantoms shouldn’t be here. They are artificially manufactured creatures, used as surveillance drones and protection in big cities, or anywhere where the landowners are wealthy enough to afford them. Scar encountered many during his patrols in the capital of Vindicator territory. They definitely aren’t something you would find in the wilderness, let alone a desolate desert like this one. They don’t even count as wildlife, as they’re more robotic than organic. The last of the desert sun reflects off the metallic plating lining their backs as they twist and glide through the air. The bright lights of their eyes shine, harsh and cold, illuminating Scar and Grian with a green glow in the ever-darkening wasteland.

Grian grabs Scar's elbow and drags him towards the walls of the ravine.

“We need to hide!” He hisses. Scar, not arguing, follows him through the tighter passages of the caverns. Unfortunately, they don’t provide as much cover as they had hoped, the walls still far enough apart for the bat-like creatures to give chase. They dash into a covered tunnel, but they have already been spotted, the phantoms fly lower, circling.

As one of the creatures dives towards the entrance, Grian pushes Scar behind him and backs them both closer to the wall. Scar, taken aback by the sudden protectiveness, can only go along with it in a dumbfounded daze.

“Do you have a weapon on you?” Grian asks, quickly scanning him up and down.

Scar falters. “Uh- no.”

“What kind of Vindicator are you?” Grian raises his voice, pulling an expression somewhere between angry and amused.

“Hey! I didn't decide I wanted to be stranded without weapons- they've been taken.” Scar counters, a comically sad look on his face.

“What?” Genuine surprise plasters across Grian’s features. Another piercing shriek fills the air, interrupting him, as another phantom separates from the group and dives towards them.

Quickly, Grian turns back to face the danger. Spreading his wings out as far as they can go, he presses Scar into the sandy, stone wall. Scar splutters, feathers catching in his mouth. As delighted as he is that Grian is now deciding to protect him, Scar can’t help feeling defenceless as Grian takes their lives into his own hands.

“We are so screwed with one sword between us.” Scar complains hopelessly, pushing the feathers out of his face. The phantom barely misses them, metal slamming into soft rock with a clang, causing sand and debris to rain down over them. The creature flies back to regroup with the other two, hopefully with wounded pride. That is, assuming it’s even capable of feeling pride.

“It's also a gun,” Grian adds.

“It's also a gun!?!” Scar gasps, a plan formulating in his mind. “How!? Show me! A gun is way more useful!”

Utilising the advantage of being held so close to the avian, Scar reaches forward and grabs the sword out of its holster, unnoticed.

“No, that's a bad idea!” Grian cries as Scar ducks, slipping under Grian’s wing and sprinting ahead to the mouth of the cave.

As he raises the blue blade, Grian lets out a shrill yell. He lunges for Scar as the Vindicator inspects the weapon, prodding at the grooves for a button and thumping the hilt against his palm.

Scar clicks a button that looks like a trigger. The knife folds in on itself, clipping in place, and the blue blade shrinks as a portion of its energy is diverted to fill a small bar. That must signify the ammo, Scar hums to himself, pleased at this discovery.

"Don't shoot it!" Grian yells with surprising ferocity, but Scar can’t see an alternative. Grian reaches him, grabbing onto Scar’s injured shoulder. He bites down on his tongue, hard, to avoid flinching. Making use of his military training, he forces himself to push through the throbbing pain.

Grian quickly releases him, hissing in pain himself. Scar doesn’t take the time to find out what hurt the avian, instead scanning the phantoms as they twist in the air, preparing to dive again, excited that their prey has moved into the open. He aims, and fires.

The shot makes contact with a phantom just as it dives towards them, long metal claws spread wide and teeth bared as it shrieks. The bullet burrows into the soft, fleshy material on its lower jaw, embedding itself deep in the phantom's head. The creature's cry dies in its throat, its eyes flickering out. It tumbles to the ground, kicking up dust in front of Grian and Scar. Smoke billows out of the mouth of the creature, the bullet wound smouldering.

Scar hears a quiet “woah” from behind him.

“Ahah! Did you see that??” Scan grins, amazed that he actually hit it on his first try. Scar spins on the spot to face Grian, who blinks at him, mouth agape. Scar twirls the gun in his hand, the remaining blade shrinking as more power is diverted to refill the used ammo.

Grian huffs, regaining his composure, and scowls. “Well, I was looking straight at it, so yeah- and give me that!” He snatches his weapon back from Scar with a grunt.

The other two phantoms dive into the ravine. They move faster and more daringly, learning from the mistake of their fallen friend.

“Oh … oh no.” Scar whispers.

Grian unfolds the weapon, its blade noticeably smaller than its original size, and places it back into its holster. “See, I told you the gun is a bad idea! Ask before you waste someone's bullets!”

This time he makes a point of keeping his hand on its hilt, both to prevent Scar from trying to take it again, and to be ready to fend off the approaching phantoms if they get too close.

“There's only two now- I could just hit them again!” Scar argues, casting a panicked glance at the approaching creatures.

“That was pure luck- without bullets, I don’t have a blade, and without a blade, I'm without a weapon!” A dark tone infects Grian's words as he glares at Scar, who sighs defeatedly.

“Well, what else can we use? There's no other projectiles.” The phantoms scratch at the exit, waiting for either of them to get too close.

“I don't know, be creative with it!” Grian huffs hopelessly, his face taut with frustration.

“I could throw you.” Scar teases, eyeing up the shorter man to emphasize his joke. Grian just stares back at him with a deadpan expression, and Scar giggles to himself. Scar takes a small step towards the exit. Not too far, but it's enough that one of the phantoms spots them separate and focuses on him with a screech.

Grian shoves past Scar, who continues to giggle to himself, and reaches for the only other thing he has on him. Holding his helmet in his hand, he takes a full-bodied swing at the phantom clawing towards him, close enough to scrape against Grian’s arm. Metal cracks against metal as he hits the phantom, hard, and it’s flung back by the force. The creature rolls helplessly through the sand, metal plating creaking under the strain of the new dent. Grian inhales shakily, thankfully unharmed.

Scar lets out an alarmed cry, and Grian looks up in time to see the phantom regain its bearings. It shakes, sand flying off in every direction, and launches itself back into the air with a powerful flap of its wings. It circles a few times before swooping back down towards them, faster this time, its eyes blazing and its jaw wide and unhinged.

Grian panics. He makes an involuntary squawk and launches his helmet right at the injured phantom. The helmet collides with the phantom's head with a sickening crunch, and the phantom falls limply out of the air.

“Aha! I got it!” Grian shouts triumphantly. Scar cheers behind him, just as surprised that it worked.

Their celebrations are horribly timed. The final phantom wails and plummets towards them. They both throw themselves out of the way, only to watch it grab the helmet in its claws and retreat over the ravine walls, out of sight.

“Noooo!” Grian cries out, running hopelessly back into the ravine. He stretches his wing out, readying himself to take off after the phantom, but he hesitates. He decides against it, holding his head in his hands, groaning over the loss of his helmet.

“…. Well …at least it's gone now,” Scar says, walking up beside Grian, hoping to cheer him up a little. Grian just laughs, dejected.

Sighing, he looks up at the sky. The sun has almost entirely disappeared from view now, revealing a dark red sky. Grian yawns, stretching his arms over his head. He flinches as his wounded shoulder is pulled by the movement, and Scar yelps quietly to himself, his hand reaching for his own injured shoulder.

Grian turns to Scar, a tired look on his face. He eyes Scar’s jacket as he rubs at it absent-mindedly, the fabric stained from where Grian had stabbed him. Grian frowns, contemplating his next move.

He walks past Scar, his steps heavy on the sandy ground. Re-entering the cavern, he all but collapses onto the sandy ground. Exhaustion and pain catch up to him as the adrenaline from the fight wears off. Sand billows around him as Grian’s tail drags across the floor, curling around himself. He looks up at Scar, who hasn’t moved, hesitating over what to do while Grian makes himself comfortable.

“...Come here.” Grian instructs him, his expression softening.

“Okay?” Scar replies, and sits himself down next to the bird. Slumping against the wall, he lets out a sigh of relief, glad to finally be off his feet.

Looking at Grian, he expects him to move away, but the avian shuffles closer to him.

“Alright then, take off your jacket.” Grian taps Scar’s arm, directing him.

Scar complies, pulling his shirt over his head at the same time.

“Just your jacket!” Grian squawks, “You don't need-” he fumbles at Scar’s teasing grin.

“It's hot! Besides, it’s a perfect opportunity to show off my awesome pecs.” Scar flexes for added flare. The softness is gone from Grian’s face.

“I just need to get to your shoulder.”

“Oh- what are you doing?”

“Wound dressing, or it's gonna get infected.”

“You have healing supplies?” Scar raises an eyebrow.

Grian fixes Scar with a weird look. Of course he has healing supplies. He always has healing supplies. He was just hoping to save them for himself… Scar doesn’t need to know that, though.

“...Yea… I just- forgot.”

Digging into one of his trouser pockets, Grian pulls out a small box. He pulls open the latch, revealing a small collection of items inside. It’s nothing like the regeneration potions that the Vindicators are equipped with, but Scar recognises some small healing wipes and rolls of dressings.

Grian raises the wipes to clean up the now-dried blood. He inspects the wound— Scar’s lucky his blade didn’t go too deep or hit a bone. It just falls shy of being too wide to go without being stitched up. It still looks nasty though. Grian winces, looking up at Scar with an apologetic look. As gently as he can, he starts to clean the wound.

“Sorry about this… by the way.”

“It's alright.”

Grian carefully cleans and bandages Scar’s wound, while Scar sits and tries to think of jokes and bizarre questions to ask the avian. They never make it past his lips, though— he isn’t sure it’s a good idea when Grian is looking more and more guilty as he works, Grian’s gaze occasionally drifting to the scars covering the right side of his companion’s body. It isn’t hard for him to guess why they’re there. Scar doesn’t want to push Grian too hard on the subject in case he closes off from him again, and it’s awkward enough as it is.

Instead, Scar settles on a different, more genuine approach.

“You know, I forgive you.”

Grian's discomfort is immediate. Scar is close enough to watch as his feathers pin back against his head. The avian avoids Scar’s gaze, instead focusing solely on his wound. He knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“You shouldn't. That's not fair, I barely know you.” He frowns, his hands pausing over Scar’s shoulder.

“I know that! But, well, you looked a lot worse back then,” Scar explains, admiring the brightly coloured feathers covering Grian’s face and ears. He remembers how dull and grimy they looked two and a half years ago.

There’s a waiver in Grian's voice, a lump growing in his throat. “And I left you looking dead-”

“But it was an accident!” Scar corrects.

Grian takes in a sharp breath. Scar watches his tail flicking at his feet.

“What can I do to make you stop bringing it up?” Grian asks quietly, pushing unnecessarily hard against the dressing of Scar’s wound. Scar hisses, and Grian removes his hand immediately as if he had burnt himself.

With a muttered apology, Grian sighs, resigned, finally looking back up at Scar.

“...Okay. If we're gonna be travelling together, I'll make a deal with you.”

Scar sits up straighter, intrigued.

“For almost killing you… twice,” Grian elaborates, “I'll be indebted to you and will protect you until we escape this game.”

“Game?” Scar repeats, confused. Is this a game?

“Urh- trap-” Grian stutters, trying to cover up his choice of words. “I’ll help you get home, off this planet. It mostly- depends on-” he waffles on.

“You won't kill me?” Scar clarifies, briefly dropping the cheerful disposition he had so carefully applied.

“I mean… third time’s the charm-” Grian grins foolishly. He coughs out a laugh when Scar doesn't return the sentiment, instead pulling a concerned expression. “...No, I won't kill you, that was a joke.”

Scar mulls the idea over. He gasps at a realization. “So you’ll be my sidekick?”

“...No.”

“Driver? Sofa?” Scar asks, trying to think of the word.

“Chauffeur, and no.” Grian sits back. “As I was saying- you not bringing up that night again is also part of the deal.” His tone is serious, expression hardened with no hint of amusement. He stares right at Scar, his void-like eyes boring into him. Scar feels like he might get cursed by looking into his eyes for too long.

So naturally, he tests that.

“And you'll let me use your gun?”

“Nope.” Grian replies without hesitation.

“Oh, I mean gun sword.”

“You're pushing it.” Grian acknowledges, glaring at him.

“Okay. okay, deal.”

“Good.”

They shake on it. Long, metal talons meeting worn, gloved hands.

“Can I say one thing about that day?” Scar asks, pulling his hand back.

Grian stares at Scar.

“It's just a little thing.” Scar holds his fingers millimetres apart to emphasize his point.

Grian maintains his steady glare at him. Scar attempts to pull a sad puppy-dog face, earning himself a snort from the avian.

“Fine.” Grian groans, rolling his eyes.

“If it’s any help, I'm glad you look better than you did back then. Cooler, even. Not all beat up and soggy.” Scar says sweetly.

“That doesn't really help at all- for any reason-”

“No, I mean, like- your wings, they look all- fuller? Fluffy.” Scar adds, for lack of a better word. He watches as Grian’s face turns bright red. He doesn’t normally get described as ‘fluffy’.

“I- They're not pin feathers anymore- you mean.” He stammers, completely flustered.

“Oh- pin feathers?” Scar asks, curiously. He’s not too familiar with avian biology.

“It's like a waxy sheath that covers new feathers when they grow-” He cuts himself off, waving his hand as he stops the tangent.

“Anyway! We agreed not to bring it up!" He pouts, annoyed at how quickly he forgot his own rule.

Grian hastily finishes folding all the unused bandages back into their box, leaving a small pile of bloody gauze behind in the sand.

Scar stares at them, blinking slowly as he fends off his own adrenaline crash. Grian looks back at the Vindicator sympathetically.

“So, rest.” He offers.

“Rest.” Scar confirms absently.

“I'll be first watch.”

“You sure?” Scar looks over him. It had been Grian who first brought up the idea of resting, hours ago.

Grian just shrugs in response, turning away. “Yeah, I got this. You're the injured one.”

Not wanting to argue, Scar complies, shuffling down until he's lying across the sand. Grian quietly settles into a more comfortable position too, pulling his wings out in front of him. He runs his talons through the feathers, quickly preening the particularly dishevelled spots.

After a while, Grian peers back over at Scar, who is quietly snoring. He fell asleep remarkably quickly. His jacket is rolled up as a pillow— it doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but it’s not like they have any alternatives. Grian watches and waits, double-checking that Scar is fully asleep, slowly making noise with his feathered tail to test him.

Once he’s confident he won’t wake Scar, he turns his back to him and pulls back out his healing supplies.

Cautiously, he slips his sleeve over his shoulder, unbuckling his armour slightly. He gets as good of a look at his shoulder as he can. Blood clots the thick fabric, but thankfully, it must have helped to temporarily bandage the wound, preventing most of it from bleeding through. Not that it would have been easy to spot on the red fabric if it had. Grian winces as he tugs on the dried blood slightly. The wound looks exactly like Scar’s, albeit with more congealed blood. It was a good idea to get a closer look at Scar's injury, he thinks. This confirms his suspicions.

He sighs, reaching for the wipes and dressing, tending to his own hidden wounds until he can clip his armour back in place, the bandages hidden underneath. He frequently checks Scar’s status, who lies completely still, fast asleep.

He leans back against the walls of the cavern, wrapping his wings around himself for comfort. It’s not freezing temperatures, but the air has definitely cooled significantly since the sun dipped below the horizon. Even now the sky refuses to turn fully black, a soft orange glow shining from where the sun had disappeared, basking the world in a reddish hue.

His gaze falls on the sad, broken remains of the phantoms from earlier. He’s got a feeling they’re not going to be the only challenge put in place for them here. He’ll wake Scar up in an hour or so, so he can get his own opportunity to sleep through the rest of this short night.

For now, he sits, and watches.

#stareater au #life series au #grian #gtwscar #desertduo #cw violence #cw injury #cw blood #trafficblr

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tales-of-wocdes · 22 days ago

Note

How would the caretakers react if the silver protectors are talking about how they keep losing coin and other shiny objects? When they do get around to finding MC they see that they've made a secret room holding a variety of shiny object like the coins, rocks, kitchen utensils and daggers the MC thought were really pretty.

Let's assume dragon heritage for shiny collection :D Just for fun, let's add in the "you can't see me, I can't see you" wing thing.

I assume caretakers mean Lexia and Havard, so I will change it a little bit since I don't think MC could pull off a mass thievery spree without someone noticing :D Not yet at least.

We can consider this a sort of prelude to the end of this ask.

For some reason, this got long :D Let's call it a thank you for 2500+ likes and 100+ re-blogs!

----------------------------------------------------

Guard duty was boring.

"Lots of stuff been going missing lately." Hybert said.

"Really? Is that why I can't find my helmet? We don't usually wear them inside the orphanage, so... Do we have a thief problem?" Kathil asked.

The two of them were guarding the Orphanage main courtyard gate. The one that lead outside. A rather important place... yet boring.

"It would seem so... though the orphanage is very secure." Hybert pondered. "If there are thieves about, does't that mean we failed?"

Before Kathil can answer, a sound like metal clinking against the floor made both Protectors turn.

A small form dashed along the side of the courtyard and to a corridor, covered loosely by their wings. Every once in a while, another clink sounded along the corridor.

There is a trail of coins and other knickknacks trailing after the small figure. A trail clearly leading towards one of the empty rooms.

"It might be a bit simpler than thieves..." Kathil said, "And we probably haven't failed..."

A lot of coin has been going missing, as well as a great many shiny things. Things that are very much like the stuff in that trail.

"Best get the Head Custodian." Hybert said, watching MC keep sneaking not either seeing, or ignoring, the two Protectors.

"Don't be hasty, I wanna see what MC is doing first. And Lexia's face when she finds out." Kathil said.

-----------

"What do you mean MC keeps sneaking off?" Havard asked.

"I mean MC wraps their wings around themselves and then pretends to not see anyone, or that anyone can see them. It is rather adorable." Lexia said with a grin.

Havard rubbed his forehead. "And what does this have to do with the recent thefts?"

"MC keeps taking shiny things, and then "sneaks" though the hallways to an empty room to build a nest full of pretty things. It is rather impressive really, how one tiny kid can gather so many things." Lexia said. "Coins, pieces of armor, half the spoons, forks and knives, some shiny stones, a set of new frying pans." Lexia counted with her fingers.

Havard rubbed his forehead harder. "And how did MC have the time to do all that?" He lifted his gaze to Lexia. "You are watching them, right?"

"Well sure, but I let them sneak away from me every once in a while, since they seem to enjoy doing it... I do follow them but..." Lexia squirmed a bit. "A bit in independence is a big deal for that kid and it is safe inside the orphanage... It's not like there are actual thieves about...." She keeps squirming.

Havard had an idea why. She looked guilty. Which meant...

"You knew." Havard said.

"Well... I...." Lexia took one look at Havard. "OK I knew. It was hilarious. You have no idea the audacity of that kid. Or maybe it's just a lack of common sense? Still, no shiny thing is safe."

"Lexia..." Havard sighed. "It's still theft. You should not allow it."

"I know, I know.. it's just so cute." She sighs. "MC made a nest you know.. or maybe a hoard?"

Havard's eye twitched. A bit. He was curious.... also worried. Lexia had said it included forks and knives? That was not safe.

Havard sighed. "Fine. Show me."

--------------------------------------------------

It was impressive, just as Lexia had said. A hoard.... How did MC get all of it in here?

A hoard of coins, and pieces of armor. A pile. Multiple piles actually, the kitchen utensils had their own. There atop the pile of coins was a small form with wings. MC was watching their piles of treasure. At least MC had left the forks and knives in a separate pile.

How much coin could one child get? True everyone was well paid but still... Thoughts for later.

Bandaged hands clumsily kept arranging a helmet so it shone in the sunlight. MC seemed content.

That was the part that made Havard stop. A content little face as MC admired their treasures. Not afraid or panicked. Not having an episode. Content. Having a good time with something they found pretty.

MC was content... and having fun. MC did probably not even know there was something wrong about taking people's stuff...

He sighed again. Then waved a hand at Lexia to stay. She nodded and smiled. She already guessed what was about to happen.

Havard entered the "hoard room" and walked over to MC. The child spun to look at him...

"Nice hoard." Havard said and smiled. "We need to talk about a few things though."

Havard sat down on the pile of coin.

"You see, there is this concept called stealing....."

---------------------------------------------------

"Heard the Head Custodian talked to our little thief." Kathil said.

"Yeah." Hybert said. "I saw Lexia very amused about something."

"Apparently the kitchen utensils and other important stuff has been returned to their owners. The coin however..."

Hybert turned to look at her. "What about the coin?"

"The kitchen is making and giving out "hoard cookies". If you want your coin back, you need to bring MC cookies in exchange."

"So... we have basically have a cookie based extortion ring, enforced by the Head Custodian?.... Because MC is cute."

"Pretty much yeah."

#tales of wocdes #the silver protector #interactive fiction #wip #twine game #twine wip #fantasy #interactive novel #twine story #MCbrain #snippet

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randomfandomlov3 · 1 year ago

Text

Heat Thief

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Health concerns, let me know if I missed any.

WC~1995

A/N - Tried to keep reader description to a minimum. Not edited much. This was just a cute thought that popped into my head. Thank you for reading <3

All Bucky could think about was getting home to his girl, his doll. The mission hadn’t taken very long, but he was absolutely exhausted. As he walked through the halls of the tower, he was confused because he normally heard her singing, or talking excitedly to someone about his return. They had decided that spending her whole day waiting for him in the jet bay to meet him when he got back, only caused them both distress. As he entered the elevator to get to their floor, Steve joined him. “Hey Punk, anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Bucky joked, knowing that the odds were low since he was only gone 3 days.

“Actually Buck, something has been happening, but I don’t know whether you would call it interesting, or if instead concerning might be a better word. Your girl, I think she might be unwell.” Steve said trying to break the news to his best friend as gently as he could.

Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest out of fear for his doll. What was wrong with her, was she going to be okay? Are we talking a cold, or something more serious?

Steve exhaled, and Bucky realized that he had said that out loud. “I don’t know exactly; her main symptom is that she hasn’t been able to get warm. She has been freezing for almost the entire time that you have been gone. She thinks it’s just the chills, but she doesn’t have a fever, in fact her body temperature is dropping. I have tried to get her to go see Helen, but she won’t. She said that she didn’t think this was a big deal, and she was nervous to go without you.” Steve finished just as the doors opened into the living room.

There she was, or at least that is what Bucky assumed, seeing the large mass of blankets gathered on the couch. “Doll, are you okay?” Bucky sweetly called out as he approached the shivering bundle. He knelt down in front of her to be face to face.

“Baby, your home! Yeah, I-I’m okay. I’ve ju-just got the ch-chills.” She gave him a big smile and tried to stop shivering. He put his lips to her forehead to check if she felt warm, but she didn’t.

“Doll, your lips are turning blue, let’s get you to Helen so we can make sure nothing serious is wrong.” Bucky reached into the bundle of blankets and picked his girl up. She was wearing his warmest clothes, which weren’t nearly as warm as she needed, because he always ran hot. As he carried her down to the medical wing, she curled deeper into his chest seeking his warmth.

Bucky explained the situation to Dr. Cho as he paced the small space.

“Hmm. Your body temperature is very low, almost in the range of hypothermia. Have you been partaking in any cold activities, that could have caused this?” She just shook her head in response to Helen’s question. “Okay, well, I am going to run some bloodwork, to see if we can figure out what is going on.” She took the blood that she needed and left the room.

Bucky clenched his metal fist out of worry. “Don’t worry, Doll, we’ll figure this out together what ever it is.” His girl shivered again, while nodding. He figured there could be no harm in trying to warm her a little bit. Bucky wrapped her up in his arms trying to give her as much of his heat as he could.

A few minutes later Dr. Cho returned to the room with a smile on her face. Bucky was confused as to why she looked happy, when his girl was close to experiencing hypothermia. “I have some good news and some less good news. But I am going to start with the good news, because the other news won’t make sense otherwise.” The smile on her face got bigger as she sat across from them. “You’re pregnant, my dear.” She paused to let the news sink in.

Bucky turned to his girl, excitement bubbling over. “We’re going to be parents, Doll.”

She nodded with happy tears in her eyes. “Now what’s the less go-good news?” There was a hint of fear behind her shiver.

Helen smile softened as she looked at her notes again. “So we also found trace amounts of the super soldier serum in your blood, which, of course, means that your baby received the serum from their father. And as we see in Barnes, the serum causes an elevated body temperature. For the average pregnancy, the fetus maintains a body temperature roughly 0.9®F higher than the mother, however, your baby’s body temperature is trying to get to that of a super soldier which is putting more stain on your body to produce heat for the baby to properly develop. Much like, if you would prefer this analogy, there is always a perfect temperature to hatch an egg, but for yours it requires much higher than what is typically produced.” She tried to simplify it given the looks upon their faces.

“So what can we do, Helen?” Bucky asked concerned for both his girl and his baby. He looked over at his doll, who had moved her hands down to her abdomen and had a soft look on her face.

“Heat, in a way that can get into her on a deeper level. Heating pads or bags, Warm not too hot showers or baths, warmed blankets, or probably the most effective way would be skin to skin contact with a certain super soldier who runs hot.” She gives a wink to Bucky.

“Okay thank you Helen, I’m gl-ad that we now know what’s going on.” Y/N shivered once again as Bucky scooped her into his arms.

“Before you go, I should let you know, that we are going to have to monitor you often throughout this pregnancy, because we don’t exactly know how the serum is going to effect things.” Dr. Cho handed Bucky a list of concerns to look out for.

“Thank you, Helen, I appreciate this very much,” Bucky said as he carried his doll out of the room and back to their floor.

He got her back to their room and decided that they should take a warm shower before getting into bed. He told her to get started and that he would join her in a minute. He heated up their towels and got the bed set up like a nest of warmth, with the warmest and fluffiest blankets he could find. Bucky then went back into the bathroom and joined his girl. He wrapped his arms around her resting his hands on her lower abdomen. “I can’t believe that we are going to be parents, Doll.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and he heard her sigh and lean into him.

“I can’t wait to have a little version of us running around, but I swear if they have your stamina, you are tiring them out.” She laughed imagining their little one running around the tower.

“Oh, come on, Doll, you know you love my stamina.” He teased, his breath brushing against her ear, causing her to shiver for a different reason.

“I do, but if I have to put up with the energy that is bound to come while they are in the womb, you have to deal with it outside.” She looked at the man holding her with his head on her shoulder.

“I love you, Doll.” He pressed his lips to hers conveying all the love that he had in his body.

“I love you too, Baby.” They finished up in the shower and Bucky wrapped her up in the towel before carrying her to the bed. Her body shivered at the cool air. They both got under the blankets and although it felt like a sauna under there to Bucky, his girl finally started to warm up as she curled into his chest. His heartbeat and soft words lulled her into the first warm peaceful sleep she has had since he left for his mission.

“Night, Doll.” He pressed one more kiss to the top of her head, before falling asleep with a big smile on his face.

______________________________________________________________

She is now four months along, Baby is developing well, more than average, but still healthy, and still stealing heat. The team is excited to eventually meet their little nibbling and spoil them.

Bucky has been debating when to start his temporary leave from missions because the last thing he wants is for his doll to go into labour while he is not there for her and their baby. So while he was out on missions heating pads became her best friend.

Today Bucky was doing his workout for the day with a spectator, his girl didn’t feel like being alone right now and just wanted to be in his company. For some reason, She felt colder than most days today, so she figured she would use her heating pad, so she didn’t interrupt Bucky’s workout. She placed it on her bump and when she turned it on, she felt a strong kick right where it was sitting. She had felt the baby flutter before that but no kicks that aggressive. She turned the heating pad off as she rubbed her belly to ease the discomfort. Baby super soldiers kick hard.

“Doll? Is everything alright?” Bucky asked rushing over and kneeling in front of his girl. He placed his hand on her bump, and the baby started to flutter, although Bucky couldn’t feel it.

“Yeah, the baby just kicked for the first time, and wow is our baby going to be strong.” She giggled rubbing her belly. “Do you want to feel?”

He nodded enthusiastically, “Absolutely, I would love to.” He kept his hand on her bump as she turned the heating pad back on. Sure enough, the baby aggressively kicked at it.

“I think our little one can tell the difference between artificial heat, and heat that comes from their daddy. And have decided to make their opinion about it very well known to me.” She turned off the heating pad and took it off, giggling. All of a sudden, a shiver overcomes her. Well, it’s not that sudden since if she didn’t have some form of heat on her she would start shivering for the past months. Thankfully, Tony had figured out a way to make some heating for Bucky’s her clothes. That was best for when she had to run errands, or anything really that required walking for longish periods.

Bucky sat down beside her, pulling her in to give her heat. “It’s been decided, I am stepping back from missions until our little one is here and settled.”

She must have heard him wrong, right? “Baby, you don’t have to do that. I promise we’ll be fine.” She knew how important missions were to him. “You love going on missions, they are an important part of your life.”

He shook his head. “You and this baby are the most important parts of my life. And if our little one likes my warmth, I will be there for both of you. I can’t stand the thought of you two being uncomfortable while I am away.” Bucky’s right hand started to caress her bump, causing their little one to little tap their daddy’s hand.

“Our little one already loves you so much. Just like their Mama. I love you, Baby.” Her heart swelled at the bond already forming between the baby and their daddy.

“I love you too, Doll. I love you both so much. I cannot wait to meet our little one.” He held her as tight as he could.

Bucky knew he had to go talk to the team about taking off active missions for a while, but that could wait until later, right now his world needed him.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #pregnancy fic

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sentientgolfball · 6 months ago

Text

Same Old, Same Old

if you couldn't tell I've been possessed by these two recently

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Zephrit

Word Count: 3730

Tags: pup as a nickname, Zeph is kinda(?) mean...a little?, so much nipple

Summary: Ifrit takes a trip down memory lane by playing dress up with his old uniform. Zephyr catches him and makes the most out of it.

A bored ghoul never meant anything good. Ifrit had been sitting in his room all day, bored out of his mind. No chores to help with, no Siblings looking for him, no call to action. He laid in bed for an unreasonable amount of time, alternating between texting Zephyr and scrolling on his phone. Another hour passed before he huffed and tossed it on the bed next to him. There were only so many cat videos he could take.

He heaved a sigh before standing, stretching with a pop in his shoulders. He figured a walk will do him some good, anything to get his blood pumping. Fire was an element of energy and Ifrit could not stand the thought of staying still any longer. Maybe he would even find something to do while he was out and about. Even if he did not, at least he would not be laying around anymore.

He thinks about where he will go as he changes out of his pajamas. His phone buzzes, another text from Zephyr. From what Ifrit could tell, they have been having a day. They have been helping a new Sibling tasked with sorting through the older books in the library which is not a problem on its own, it is a certain Sister. Sister Gracie. She has been the problem in all of Zephyr’s workday stories recently. She checks out hoards of books and keeps them well past their due date. On multiple occasions, Zephyr has had to go directly to her and ask for them back. They were at their wit's end for today though. Apparently, she actually returned the stack she checked out on time, but when Zephyr went to collect them from the bin they had been damaged. All of them were either soaked or had some mystery stain on the pages. So all day it has been running between helping the new Sibling, talking with Imperator and Sister Gracie, and trying to salvage the books.

Another ping from Ifrit’s phone.

If I see her in here ever again after this I will be more than tempted to break that stupid human rule they can send me back to Hell it’ll be worth it to claw her eyes out

He stares at the message and quickly decides he will make the library his destination for his walk. It was on the opposite end of the Ministry from the ghoul den, so surely it will be enough to get some energy out. Plus seeing Zeph right about now sounds nice, for both their sakes. He sends them a quick text telling them he is stopping by before lacing up his boots and leaving the den.

The halls aren’t as filled as they usually are, he passes a few pockets of Siblings and ghouls filtering about but that’s it. He greets them all with enthusiasm, a bright fang filled smile. It seems to be a lazy day for the entire Ministry, though the heat from the late spring sun might have something to do with that.

He decides to take the longest way possible to the library, taking every twist and turn he can. He can feel his fire crackling just under his skin. Now that he’s finally moving around he feels ready to burst. When he passes the doors to the practice room he pauses though. He stares at the metal doors, out of place against the stone architecture of the ancient building. It’s been a long time since he’s gone inside, since he’s been on this wing of the Ministry. He hasn’t needed to, when Dew changed guitars Ifrit took the fantomen to keep in his room. When he gets that itch to play all he has to do is take it off the wall.

He opens the door just to peek inside. When he sees the room is empty he figures a quick trip down memory lane won’t take too much of his time. He steps in, lights and air conditioning coming to life when the sensors pick up movement. He takes a deep breath, it smells of artificial cold and polish. Underneath all that though, the dull scents of various ghouls filter through. Quintessence and fire smell the strongest. Ifrit briefly wonders which combination decided to lock themselves in here for a few hours. Omega and Alpha? Dew and Aether? Phantom and Dew? Or maybe it was Swiss? The multi ghoul’s scent was always hard to pinpoint unless it was fresh.

Ifrit shrugs, not too concerned with the details. He bounces around the mini rehearsal stage; eyes closed to let muscle memory take over. He bends backwards, throwing a hand into the air to show off to a ghostly crowd. If he’s quiet he can almost hear the cheering. He misses the energy of performing, misses the pleasant ache in his body after a ritual. Even so, he would not go back. Nothing would stop him from being where Zephyr is. Nobody had asked him to leave, but when Zephyr said they couldn’t handle it anymore it wasn’t even a question. Reliving the memories is enough as long as Zephyr is with him.

Oh shit Zephyr!

He pulls himself back to the present with a shake of his head. He already took too much time by stopping, Zephyr is probably waiting for him outside the library doors. He jumps off the mini stage, bounding towards the exit when a light catches his eye. One of the soundproof practice rooms has a light on. He thought he was alone. He can’t help it when he turns, heading down the short hallway. He peers into the window when he’s close enough only to find it empty. Well not empty, all of the spare practice rooms were being used as storage while the band wasn’t actively preparing for a tour, but there was no one inside.

He goes to open the door, but it hadn’t been closed all the way. He pushes it open and steps inside, surveying the space for any signs of who the mystery ghoul may have been. Whoever they are, they left in a hurry. Uniform bags are open, a mask box sitting on one of the few chairs in the room. Ifrit moves to clean up the small mess, but seeing the glint of the mask has him stopping. It’s not one of the helmets like he was expecting. Its silver, no opening for a mouth, curling horns, and sculpted hair. Empty eyes stare up at him. His eyes. His mask.

He doesn’t think as he takes it out of the box, bringing it up to his face to look into the eye holes. It’s surreal to hold it again. The only one who stills wears this version is Omega; feeling the cool metal feels wrong but almost right in a strange way. This was his face for his first few months Topside and now it just sits in a box.

An idea crosses his mind. One that would surely get him in trouble if he was caught. Whoever was in here before him clearly thought the same thing, only Ifrit didn’t stop. He put the mask back into the box, closing the lid and picking it up before his conscious could catch up to him. His eyes quickly scan over the rack of costume bags until he finds the right size. If he was going to steal pieces of Ministry history he needed to do it quickly before someone else wandered in.

He shuts off all the lights in the practice room before slinking out of the metal doors. He figures if he goes the short way back to the den he’ll make it to his room before running into trouble. The library is all but forgetting as he scurries back with his contraband. He won’t have it for long, just the evening. He’ll return it first thing in the morning before anyone notices it’s missing. It’s been a long time since he’s seen this uniform, he just wants to taste it again.

He makes it back to his room in the den with no trouble, suddenly very thankful for the slow, lazy day. He has the uniform out of the bag; still on the hanger but laid across his bed. He stares at it.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He runs a hand through his hair.

Despite his conscious finally catching up to him, he shrugs his leather jacket off before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. He discards his pants next, adding to the pile of clothes next to the bed. He stares at this old uniform in nothing but his underwear for a moment long before grabbing it. He puts the pants on first. It’s a little tighter than he remembers, meeting a bit of resistance as he pulls them over his thighs. After a bit of tugging he gets them all the way up to sit around his hips. The waistband slightly digs into his skin. The top comes next. He unbuttons it with practiced ease before sliding it onto his shoulders.

“Oh shit,” he says with a mix of surprise and panic.

It’s already tight around his shoulders and he hasn’t even rebuttoned it yet. He turns to look at the floor length mirror that sits in the corner of the room. The fabric is pulled taut and he briefly worries about the seams bursting if he moves too fast. He didn’t risk stealing this for nothing though. He begins to close the buttons one by one. It becomes a struggle once he’s halfway up his abdomen. He has to suck in deep breaths of air just to be able to pull the edges close enough to slip the button in. It’s a fight once he gets over his chest. No matter how he moves he can’t close it. He breathes, he relaxes his shoulders, he hunches forward, yet nothing gets him closer to his goal. Did he really get that much bigger since his summoning?

He stares at his reflection, the uniform so close to being all the way on. If he could just get the buttons over his chest closed. He ponders any possible solution, so lost in thought he doesn’t hear the door open.

“So, this is what you did instead of coming to see me?” Zephyr leans against the doorframe with their arms crossed.

Ifrit whips around, a slight flush to his cheeks as he tries to stammer out an explanation, “Zeph! No you see I was coming to see you, swear on the Lords, but I…well you see it’s funny really—“

“Save it,” Zephyr holds up a hand “I can see you’re having lots of fun playing dress up. Please, don’t let me stop you.”

They watch him, waiting for him to continue. Yellow eyes look him up and down expectantly. Ifrit almost flinches under the intensity.

“I can’t.” He bows his head, looking at his feet.

“What? Too shy now that you’ve got an audience? Come now Ifrit, I thought you loved the spotlight.”

He shakes his head. “No that’s not…I can’t Zeph.”

He tries to pull the buttons over his chest once more, showing Zephyr what he means. They watch him struggle for just a moment before it clicks. Their eyes scan over his figure again, only this time they notice how tight the uniform is on him. It's clinging to him, no wrinkles or extra space in sight. The way his chest bulges out of the unbuttoned front. They can see the outline of his nipple piercings. They can see everything. When the silence stretches on for too long, Ifrit lifts his head to look at them, guilt and shame written all over his face with how deep that blush has gotten. Suddenly Zephyr couldn’t care less about having to walk back to the den all by themselves.

“Poor little pup can’t fit into his old uniform?” Zephyr pushes off the doorframe, stepping into the room and closing the door behind them.

Ifrit’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the tone of their voice. Zephyr stalks over to him, running their hand over his shoulder and down his arm. They can feel the muscle ripple under the featherlight touch. They can’t help but squeeze his bicep, feeling the solidness through the fabric. Ifrit shudders, watching a small grin appear on their face. They meet each other's eye for a moment before Zephyr slips one of their hands into the opening of the uniform to grab at one of his pecs.

“Why bother trying to button this thing? Leave it open so everyone can see your perfect tits.”

Ifrit chokes on air when Zephyr pinches one of his pierced nipples harder than what could be considered pleasurable.

“This is certainly an improvement. Could never touch you like this backstage.” They fondle his chest, squeezing as much of him as they can with one hand.

Ifrit allows himself to be pushed until his back hits the dresser, hand shooting out behind him to keep his balance. Zephyr presses themselves tight against him, standing in between his legs to cage him in. He stares down at them as they start to mouth over his chest. The whiplash of Zephyr catching him to having that cool tongue gliding over heated skin makes his head spin. He isn’t sure if he should stop them, telling them to wait so he can take it off lest he rips it, or let them continue to grope his sensitive tits.

When he feels them bite close to his nipple his brain shuts off, hand flying up to stop the whimper that catches in his throat. Zephyr does it again. And again, and again, and again until his chest is covered in purple. His hips grind forward against them when their other hand tweaks his nipple at the same time they suck the other into their mouth. They squeeze their tail around his waist to stop the movement of his hips.

“Not yet pup, I want to take my time with you while you’re like this. Don’t want it to end too early.”

“Zeph, Birdie. Come on, we…you’re going to rip it,” he struggles to form a coherent thought with the way they’re rolling that sensitive bud between their teeth.

Zephyr pulls off of him slowly. They stand from their hunched position to stare at him, hands still roaming over his chest. “Are you telling me no?”

“‘No!” He says in a hurry “, that’s not what—“

“Then shut your mouth. You’re the one who wanted to play dress up, so let’s play.”

Zephyr steps away from him before reaching up to wrap their hand around one of his horns. They drag him to the bed, tugging and pulling at him to get him to lay flat on his back. Ifrit’s helpless to it, he allows them to move him however they want with nothing but the grip on his horn. When he’s down, Zephyr straddles his hips. Ifrit stares up at them with wide eyes, waiting for them to make a move so he can figure out how to not burst every seam on the uniform while they use him.

They tilt their head smiling at him; something sweet and simple before spitting directly onto his tits. Everything moves quickly after that; they unzip their pants just enough to pull their cock out, jacking themselves a few times before sliding up farther on Ifrit’s abdomen. They reach into the uniform to squeeze his chest together, moving their hands in quick circles to smear the salvia around before letting up on the tension just enough to shove their cock between them.

They squish his tits together until they’re hissing with satisfaction before slowly rocking their hips. He itches to replace their hands with his, do something other than stare slack jawed up at Zephyr, but every thought dies when he sees the tip of their dick peek out from his cleavage. His hips twitch up searching for friction when he watches a bead of pre drip so close to his chin he could lick it up if he craned his neck just a bit more.

Zephyr laughs at the hazy look in his eyes, at the way he’s just staring at the way their tip glides closer and closer to his face with each roll of their hips. The laugh is cut off when his brain finally catches up and he flicks his tongue out to swipe over the slit, drinking down the pre pearling at the tip. Zephyr shudders with a groan, hips bucking forward to get closer to the heat of his mouth.

“Not as dumb as I thought you were.” They huff, resuming a more rhythmic grind albeit it faster than before.

Ifrit is craning his neck to keep his tongue out, licking over their cock as they fuck his tits. He can feel the drool running down the side of his mouth, dripping onto his collarbones only to slide down and pool in his cleavage.

“Making a mess of yourself pup,” Zephyr groans.

Ifrit doesn’t respond, doesn’t have the brain power to. His senses are flooded with the taste of them, with the sight of their flushed cock, with the breathy little sighs that fall from their lips each time Ifrit flicks his tongue. He wants to get them in his mouth, properly suck them off until they cum down his throat. He moves without thinking, trying to grab their hands and surge forward to flip their positions. He doesn’t get that far. The moment he lifts his shoulders a deafening pop accompanies the sound of skin gliding on skin. Ifrit is slammed back into his body when the tension around his shoulders suddenly feels lighter, less constricted.

“Birdie shit wait. Stop, I think it ripped.” He panics, squeezing Zephyr’s wrists.

“How is that my problem? You stole it now you’ll live with the consequences.” They huff, doubling down. They squeeze his chest tighter, rocking their hips faster.

Ifrit could easily throw them off, truly ask them to stop, but he can’t find it in himself to move. He’s paralyzed by the realization he damaged the uniform, but also by the ache between his legs and the weight of Zephyr on his chest. Caught between his want to stop and his need to continue.

His mind is made up for him when a particularly hard thrust from Zephyr pushes the tip of their cock against his lips. His hands fly to their hips, urging them to do it again. They oblige, pressing closer to his face. Ifrit shifts just enough to be able to wrap his lips around the head, sucking and licking over it. Zephyr’s head falls forward, cursing under their breath. Their thrusts turn into quick little grinds, shoving more of their cock into that hot, wet mouth.

Ifrit lets the weight of it rest on his tongue as drool runs down his chin. The awkward angle makes it difficult to take more than an inch of them, but he doesn’t care. He’s content to run his tongue over them, licking at their slit and the sensitive spot on the underside. Ifrit sucks, working his lips around them and Zephyr is unable to stop their talons from digging into the meat of his chest. Ifrit moans, eyes fluttering and hips bucking into the air from the prick of pain.

Ifrit does it again. Instead of talons tearing tendering flesh he feels Zephyr go rigid. They cum without warning, coating the inside of his mouth. He instinctively swallows around them and they shudder as another glob squirts over his tongue. Ifrit suckles on his dick until it’s too much and they’re pulling away from him in overstimulation. They’re both panting, staring at each other with flushed cheeks while they catch their breath. When Ifrit runs a hand through the mess on the chest Zephyr groans.

“Get out of that thing before I ruin it.” Zephyr slides off of him, knees cracking when they stand.

Ifrit sits up to sit on the edge of the bed, turned to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He runs his hands over the deep marks littering his chest. His brain supplies him with memories from backstage closets and hotel rooms as his eyes rake over the disheveled uniform. That is, before he remembers where he’s at. Why he has the costume to begin with. His head snaps to Zephyr who’s just smiling at him.

“Don’t worry I’ll fix it before someone has your horns.”

Ifrit sighs a breath of relief. “Thank you birdie.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time and I certainly hope it isn’t the last,” they press a kiss to his temple ,” now strip.”

He stands, taking off the top as carefully as possible to not make the tear worse. The seam on his right shoulder is ripped down to the armpit. He cringes at the sight, handing it over to Zephyr before shucking the pants. Zephyr nearly doubles over at the sizable wet patch on the front of his boxers. The fabric clings to him, outline the shape of his now soft cock. They palm at him, squeezing him through his underwear and smearing the mess around. Ifrit shudders at the feeling.

“Filthy,” Zephyr muses.

“You’re one to talk,” Ifrit huffs a laugh.

They shrug, gathering the discarded uniform and folding it neatly before putting it on the desk to work on later.

“You’re the one who put it on. I’m not to blame for my actions.”

“Hm,” he thinks for a moment, “maybe next time I’ll wear the mask.”

“Oh so suddenly you have no reservations about stealing Ministry relics?” They eye him with a grin, something dangerous glinting in their eyes.

He grins back, “Not when it makes you like this, birdie.”

They hum, pressing kisses along his jawline “Good.”

There’s a moment of silence before Ifrit feels their hand wrap around his throat, “But if you ever leave me waiting like that again I’ll make sure you suffocate, understood?”

Ifrit swallows and nods. He shifts the weight on his feet, feeling his cock try to kick back to life. Zephyr grins at him. With the uniform gone he had no protection from their talons. He almost hopes they’re still upset with him.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #zephyr ghoul #ifrit ghoul #zephrit #18+ mdni #golfball writes

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whiteheartlight · 4 months ago

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hey I wrote a fic while my internet was down about the world's grumpiest Toa while he and the others were traveling back to Mata Nui with the Matoran. please let me know if you enjoy. Onewa is such a bastard. but a bastard with nuance?? I've always thought he and Vakama should get to talk after the Visorak arc

It would actually be pretty cool, Onewa thinks, if Nuju didn't manage to concuss himself so bad while he did it.

He was up there where he needed to be, that's the thing. And Onewa's not afraid of heights like Whenua is, but when that bird smashed through the window of their airship and tried its damnedest to get Vakama by the waist, Onewa did think to himself, for a moment: I'm a Toa of Stone. Maybe the others should handle this.

Nuju might have intuited that thought, or maybe he had just been itching for some action after being stuck on a ship with the rest of them for weeks on end, but one way or another, he pulled out those ice spikes and practically leapt out the window to go after that over-sized set of knives on wings.

“Can't we just let the poor thing go?” Whenua had called, clinging queasily to a nearby support pole as the wind rocked over him. “It was probably hungry!”

“So it gets to eat Vakama?” Matau replied. “Or do you think it needs two of us?”

“If we let it go it could go after the Matoran spheres,” Vakama called over the wind. “We need to at least knock it out of the sky!”

“I'll handle the draft it's riding!” Matau shouted, leaping out the window and spreading his wings. He dipped hard before he caught the wind and came back up towards the bird, one hand curving through the air as he redirected the draft.

Unfortunately, he didn't redirect himself to avoid it. The bird panicked at the sudden change, flapping hard to try and course-correct, and Onewa heard Matau go “oh, whoops” before a metal wing was slicing towards his own. Matau disengaged his wings to avoid the blow, and he instantly started to plummet.

Onewa grabbed him neatly by the back of the armor from the side of the ship.

“Can you watch it, Matau?” he snarled at him. “What a stupid fucking stupid way to die that would have been.”

“Aw, were you worried?” asked Matau, making a fake pout.

“There would have been a whole village of Matoran with no one around because you weren't paying attention. Do you even care about that?”

“Spirits, Onewa, I would have quick-caught myself. Don't be a stuck crab about everything.”

“You two both focus!” Vakama called sharply, and Onewa swore before hauling Matau back in to safety. The bird swooped past them again, enormous talons reaching for either one of them before it darted back out again. He probably did need to focus, but honestly, in that moment, he felt so angry he could scream.

Look, it's not just been this, okay? Ever since Vakama got back from his stupid fucking solo trip that he still won't even tell them about, the others have been wearing on his nerves like they're getting paid good widgets to do so. He doesn't even really know why. They're just all... the same. They're all the same beings they always were. Weren't they supposed to change over time? Not just Vakama putting his shadows to rest, or Matau toning down the sarcasm, or whatever you want to call what any of them have been through. Wasn't there supposed to be a moment where he looked around and realized that they were all – you know – professionals?

Aren't they supposed to feel like real Toa?

Instead they're here, on a busted old airship, trying to caravan a pack of comatose Matoran across unexplored waters because they couldn't save their real homeland. It seemed to strike him in the chest for a second, as the shadow of the bird's wings passed over him. No matter how many times he thinks it, it always punches him. He always thinks to himself Lhikan expected more from us.

He was thinking it again when Nuju distracted him by finding his footing along the side of the ship. Onewa couldn't even see what support beam or structuring he was standing on, but, with his ice spikes in the side of the ship's metal to steady him, Nuju got up.

“Oh, wow, he's up there,” said Whenua, and then promptly covered his eyes with his hands. “Be careful!”

“Matau, be ready to catch him if he falls,” Vakama ordered, and Matau bounded back into the sky. Nokama had a selection of clouds pouring down a fence of rain, bringing the predator bird towards Nuju, there on his feet, and he pulled an arm free, striking it through the air like he was giving a command. Onewa saw the light catch brilliantly on the heavy ice that formed along the creature's wings, sending it swerving, shrieking, and then falling. It came close to Nuju, who leapt away gracefully, back towards the entrance of the ship –

And, in one unfortunate push from the bird's spiraling wing, cracked his head hard against the edge of the open window.

“Oh!” groaned both Whenua and Nokama at the same time, everyone shifting towards Nuju in a collective alarm. Vakama grabbed Nuju's shoulders from the front while Matau swooped back inside to grab him from behind. He was only limp for a second or two, a white hand staggering up to grab at his head, but they had all heard that metal clunk of his cerebral casing connecting solidly with the harsh edge.

“Is it cracked?” asked Onewa tersely, coming to stand at Vakama's shoulder, hand out-stretched with nothing to do. Vakama was looking at Nuju's casing with a forger's eye, searching for any fractures.

“I don't think so. It'll be the inside we should worry about. Nuju, you need to sit down.”

Nuju was trying to get onto his feet without needing support, but not having much luck at it.

“I'm fine,” he snapped, voice shaky. “I handled it.”

The attitude is what's really getting Onewa mad, now that they're all here, crowded around Nuju. Onewa scoffs, shaking his head at him. “Seriously? You could have fallen too. We couldn't have just handled that from inside the ship? A couple ice darts wouldn't have taken it down the same? Oh, you were just aching for a fight.”

“Onewa,” warns Nokama, trying to get Nuju to at least lean back on them. “Not now.”

“Don't worry, sister, I think the odds of him remembering any part of today are pretty slim after our resident genius's latest idea.”

“Nuju, sit down,” Vakama insists, pulling his shoulders. Nuju's being such a pain. Is this how Toa act?

“I don't want you all touching me!”

“We're trying to stop you from falling. Let us get you checked over and then we will all back off, I promise.”

Nuju grabs at his mask again, groaning, but he doesn't let them lower him. He grips at the wall and then shoves Matau's arm off him. “Brother, just one second,” Nokama's telling him gently. “You're okay, we've got you.”

“I'm fine, get off!”

“Oh, by the spirits, Nuju,” Onewa hisses, something molten rising up in him. “Just sit down and shut up.”

Nuju's legs give out from under him so fast he nearly smacks his head a second time, but Matau scoops him up with a yelp. Pale blue eyes pierce Onewa with a fury that needs no words, but as his mouth fails to glow, Onewa realizes he can't talk.

Something races down his spine. He didn't mean to command him like that. Or maybe he did – the intention was there, it has to be, for his mask to work, but he didn't mean –

Nokama grabs Nuju's wrist before his hand can come up to strike back with ice. He grabs her wrist in return, mask contorting, but then something goes blank in his eyes and he sways, just trying to breathe. He hit his head hard.

“Onewa, go cool off,” Vakama orders shortly.

Oh, yeah, of course the Fire Toa's going to handle this. Their fearless leader.

Onewa scoffs and turns his back on his siblings, feeling four sets of eyes on him as he goes.

He shouldn't have done that. But this is it. This is... this is destiny, he supposes.

It doesn't feel right in his chest. Nothing has for weeks.

“You come to kill me, ice-weaver?”

Onewa's adjusting the shape of his whetstone carefully in his hand, its form shifting like water beneath his fingers, when he hears the steps approaching him.

Honestly, he's impressed Nuju knows about his little hiding spot. At the back of the landing bay, on the bottom of the ship, the tow cord stretches out towards the airships connected to their own. The windows around it are meant to allow Matoran to check that the cord is intact and undamaged, but it also makes a nice viewpoint. The other ships bob along through the air behind them, and at this time of evening, the sun comes through everything like its trying to cram the light inside. He likes the white noise of the nearest blade spinning through the air too – whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, low and heavy.

“Nokama's trying to talk him down,” comes a voice that isn't Nuju's. “He was more sullen than angry. I think he's embarrassed. It wasn't very kind of you.”

Onewa turns to level Vakama with a look, taking in the sight of him crouching to meet Onewa's gaze, still outside the bubble of the tow cord area, which is not tall enough for a Toa to stand in. Onewa shakes his head and pulls out his proto pitons, setting them on his lap.

“There's no difference between embarrassed and angry for a Ko-Matoran. He'll have his revenge, and I'll take it. End of story.”

“You lost your temper with him.”

“My real punishment is right now. Nokama really knew who to send to give me the most grief, didn't she?”

“She didn't send me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Come on, you know she's focused on Nuju right now.”

Onewa snorts. Okay, that's fair. She takes care of all of them in a lot of ways – probably more than she should – but she does pick favorites sometimes. He doesn't care, though. He doesn't want her coddling and he loves his sister no matter who she's standing up for.

“Look, Onewa,” Vakama says, taking in a deep breath. “I understand entirely that you have extra doubts about everything since what I did with the Visorak, but – ”

“Can it,” Onewa cuts him off, curving his whetstone along the underside blade of his piton. He loves that slide of protodermis on stone. “If you could get out of your head for more than five seconds you'd remember that I'm not treating you any differently than I always have. Honestly, that whole drunk-on-power shtick might be the most interesting thing you ever did in your life. No more big sad eyes. Just bright red rage.”

Vakama scowls at him. “It was monstrous.”

“I can't tell you how little I care about your pity party. Seriously, if I tried to find the words – ”

“Alright, alright,” Vakama sighs, sitting down beside him. “Well, you're certainly treating the others differently.”

Onewa examines his piton in the light. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure,” Vakama answers flatly. “Onewa, one way or another, couldn't we try getting off on a better foot? All of us?”

Onewa finds that pretty funny. “A tiny bit late to be asking, don't you think?”

“Now's the time. We're going somewhere new. Leaving old enemies behind. Old shadows. Speaking for myself, I can acknowledge I'm in a much better headspace to be...”

“Less aggravating?”

Vakama pins him with a look. “Whatever you need me to be.”

“How noble.”

“Onewa. You controlled Nuju today. He's going to have your head. You can't be treating the others like that. I don't know why you'd choose Nuju of all people to pick on, but whatever I need to do to help you – ”

“Did you ever meet Toa Rooka?” Onewa asks.

Vakama stops short, evidently turning this change of topic over in his head. “No,” he replies. “Saw him from afar, you know how it would go. Rooka, of course, was – ”

“Larger than life?”

“In a number of ways,” Vakama agrees. When Onewa doesn't answer, he presses on. “You knew Rooka?”

“I saw Rooka die,” Onewa says.

Vakama goes quiet. “I didn't know that.”

Onewa nods at nothing, frowning out the window.

“How did it happen?” Vakama prompts him.

Yeah, he still remembers that answer in vivid detail, no matter how the years pass. Onewa presses his thumb hard into his wrist, below his vambrace. “Dark Hunters. Long before Nidhiki started crawling around or anything, just... the war, or its remnants. I was out in the fields where the fighting had happened, part of a search and rescue thing that the Mangai were leading. All the Hunters were supposed to have cleared out, but... I wandered onto them. Had my carver's tool in my hand. I remember coming over this crest and seeing him there, more gold than brown in the sun like he was. They put an axe through most of his throat, and the ichor sprayed like crazy. He didn't make any noise or anything. I think I said his name, so I'm lucky they didn't hear me. Or maybe I said 'Toa.' I think I just said 'Toa.'”

Onewa shifts in place and shrugs. “Anyway, some of the others must have been patrolling with him, because Naho and Lhikan were already looking for him before he was gone. I didn't go fetch them or anything, but they saw me sitting on top of the rocks, watching. Naho started cleaning up Rooks, and Lhikan came and got me. He picked me up – and you can imagine how much I would tolerate that normally, but I let him that day – and he took me home. Checked on me, afterwards, and then, he just never stopped checking on me.”

He can see the second Vakama becomes tempted to cut in with some anecdote about how Lhikan was always so caring like that, wasn't he, and Onewa cuts him off sharply.

“So I'm saying you aren't the only one who lost him, Vakama.”

“I never said I was,” Vakama shoots back, with a little of that Fire Toa heat.

“Yeah? You act like it sometimes. Now you know. And whatever, okay, you were stuck in your head, that's fine. But if you could stop acting like this is the fire-spitter show for two minutes, it would help me out, thanks very much.”

“It's always something I'm doing wrong, isn't it?”

“And here we go, right on schedule.” They glare at each other for a second before Vakama reels himself in, puffing out this hot, annoyed breath and crossing his arms over chest.

“So, what? You're saying you're just grieving, then, and that has you tearing into Nuju for no reason?”

“First of all, the reason was that he's insufferable. But no, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying – it's been on my mind – I just thought you should know that I miss him too.”

“Oh.”

Onewa twists his vambrace around unhappily. “Yeah, fucking 'oh.' And I know that I've been an ass too. And now there's a lot to adjust to, and I don't know, Vakama. I only ever started following you to whatever degree I did – or sticking with any of the five of you – because I thought it's what he would want. But now look at us. Are we really getting anywhere? I'm supposed to believe we can lead a whole society of Matoran now? I don't understand why he picked us. Any of us, sometimes. But I loved him too.”

Vakama sighs and spreads his hands in an open gesture. “I know you did, Onewa. I know you're not actually... I don't know. Unkind.”

Onewa scoffs, shaking his head. “Really? How would you know that?”

Vakama frowns. “Well, I know you're not.”

“And you're so sure?”

“Yes,” says Vakama simply.

Onewa drops his hands into his lap, frowning back at him.

“Onewa,” says Vakama. “I would rather be your brother than your enemy. We all would.”

“So you're asking me to start being nicer and then we're good?”

“I'm asking you to follow me,” Vakama replies, which is pretty fucking bold, considering what they were just talking about.

“Why should it be you?” Onewa asks. “What have you ever done to deserve my loyalty? Two weeks ago you ran off on your own back to Metru Nui! Why would it ever be you?”

“Are you so opposed to it?”

He's not, Onewa realizes, turning irritably back to his other piton. No. He thinks Vakama could do it, actually. He saw him there at the end of the Visorak, coming back to them as himself, somebody upright and certain, if worn. He saw a leader.

“Maybe you're just not used to following, to being part of a team,” says Vakama, softer. “Which is fine. But here we are, Onewa. You're looking at your future and realizing we're all going to need to be leaders, together. We're going to need to be united. And not just to save our own tails when trouble comes, but because...”

His hand moves towards the other ship in the sky behind them, and Onewa stares out at it. He knows. There are hundreds of Matoran there who will need all six of them. United. There are Matoran who might need someone to carry them somewhere safe, and then to look after them. And that's him, somehow, him and these others. Because Toa Rooka and Toa Lhikan and the others are all gone, and Onewa and these five beings here with him – they're what's left. No other options, not anymore. Onewa and his brothers and sister.

“Deep down, I think that starts your heartlight flashing in a way you're not used to,” Vakama continues. “So maybe instead of telling us you're nervous, or scared – ”

“Watch it, fire-spitter.”

“ – you lash out. But Onewa, the reason that it should be me – just so we're all on the same tablet – is because that's the leader the others chose. And I have not done anything to deserve that. In fact, I've done plenty to be banished from your sights forever. But here we are. Call it destiny, or Lhikan's hope for us, or even say it's only because this is the fire-spitter show, I don't care. Here we are. I never want to be five minutes late to helping you because you didn't call for me, Onewa. I want to be your brother. I'm asking that you fall in line at my side – and all of our sides – and start accepting what we are now stepping into.”

“Well.” Onewa looks down at his pitons again, touching the cold metal for a second. “Maybe I don't know how to do that.”

Vakama hums at him. “I think you do.”

Say what you want about Vakama, but truthfully, this is that Fire Toa bravery they always talk about coming out to play, because in that moment, he has the nerves to put his stupid fucking hand on Onewa's shoulder.

“By the way,” Vakama adds, as he claps his armor and then starts to rise. “You're more gold than brown in the sun, too. Think I know where you got that from. I can't be Lhikan, but I'd be happy to check on you instead. Whatever happens, you won't be alone. We all want to be in this with you, no matter what comes next. Believe it or not, brother, but... we have your back.”

Onewa covers his mask for a second, sucking in a deep breath.

“This is real, huh? This... I'm really stuck with all five of you forever. Lhikan's really dead. It's the five of us. Mata Nui. You lot are stuck with me!”

He can grasp that Vakama's trying to be a cool and collected leader who came to give him words of wisdom, but really, when he breaks and start cracking up... Onewa thinks it's a good sound. Been a long fucking time since he heard Vakama laugh like that, bent over himself and covering his mouth. Or maybe never. Maybe he never knew Vakama when he was full of laughter. He shakes his head and turns away from his brother.

“I have your back too,” Onewa says. “At the end of the day, at least.”

“Yes,” Vakama says, smiling at him. “I know that. I'll see you later, Onewa.”

Then he's gone. Self-righteous forger.

Onewa looks back at the other ship again, the spheres that hold his people gleaming just a few bio away, and he's no tower-loving Ko-Matoran with a penchant for star-gazing of any kind, but in that moment, well... when he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine, he thinks he sees the future.

Yeah, Nuju's going to kick his ass. But there will be good things too. And bad things. And mistakes. And triumphs. The six of them will navigate it together.

He knows what Vakama means to do before he does it.

Maybe Onewa always knew it would be the price. He doesn't know how any part of him was ready for this, but somehow, he is. He sees Vakama reaching out his hand, and he doesn't feel scared. He isn't surprised. He's ready.

Vakama touches the Matoran sphere. A light begins to change him. When it's done, he's not Toa Vakama anymore, and Onewa feels the others staring at him and the spheres in silence. Onewa steps up beside him. He puts his hand on the next sphere over.

thanks for reading <3

#bionicle #onewa #vakama #white light writes #oh yeah and i ignored Nuju's clicking because the retcon is DUMB there i said it

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citrus-soju · 9 months ago

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I already talked about it in this post, but I want to share all of my thoughts properly.

The Metal Masked Assassin (I'll refer to him as MMA) was an incredibly unlucky person when you think about it. His mother passed away right after he was born. It's assumed she either died of blood loss due to birth complications, or she might have even been murdered, due to her baby being born with albinism.

We don't know anything about his father's whereabouts, if he's alive or dead, if he would take his children in if he knew. Either way, he's not in the picture. But unluckily, MMA was "left a brother".

Logically, we can put together that MMA's brother was older than him. We don't know for sure how many years the two siblings were apart, though. Judging by the picture of them as teens, their age difference doesn't appear to be too great. Of course, MMA might simply be tall, even as a teenager, and looking older than he really is.

There's also a possibility that, while both of them are depicted as teenagers in this picture, Agent 216 was actually already an adult while MMA was still young. It would make more sense for authorities to leave an infant in the care of a relative who's over at least 16 years old than leaving two young children completely on their own.

We can only speculate about their childhood years, honestly, since there is not much known at all. They could have been adopted by a distant relative, placed in a foster family, given up for adoption... But one thing is for sure, just from looking at these pictures - Even as teenagers, they were already prone to violence, and already hiding their faces.

Perhaps they got by thanks to armed robberies, perhaps they were already training to be assassins at this age. Personally, I'm voting for the first option, just because their clothes appear to be in a bad condition, holes and all, which is not the case in the image depicting them as adults. Their weapon of choice is also quite different; the bat and axe being more commonly used for self protection or work, and the machete/knife looking much more professional.

But now to the part I've been wanting to talk about.

Let's start with what we know about Agent 216. According to General Crozier, he is a "trained killer". That means, someone, or some kind of organization, must have taken him under their wing and taught him the art of being an assassin at some point. At least as a teenager. It's never specified where the two assassins got their education from. But however and wherever they spent their youth; Agent 216 was most likely the more skilled assassin, considering he's the one the General confides in and claims to be "perfect".

Ah yes, General Crozier. At least as an adult, Agent 216 must have some sort of connection to the US Military, or at least General Crozier directly, since it's him who personally hires him, and then informs MMA about his death later. No other tribunal members are present, nor are they aware that he was hired to kill, not just to spy.

What I find really interesting is that Agent 216 has a tattoo of the FalconBack Project logo on his left arm. Whatever that means. It makes me wonder if he and Crozier have some kind of connection outside of the deal, and if the assassination attempt on Dethklok was more of a personal favor to the General instead of a one time deal. Whatever connection they have was apparently meaningful enough for Agent 216 to get involved in a top secret project led by Salacia himself - but not his younger brother.

This raises a whole bunch of questions, but that's for another day and another post.

So where is MMA in all this? Where was he in all this?

While MMA is a violent person and seemingly has a passion for murder, what stood out to me is that he is never actually seen involved in any assassination related jobs that don't directly involve avenging his dead brother in a way - besides that one time where he's introduced. The people he fixates on besides Dethklok themselves are Klokateers and Charles Ofdensen, in particular. Perhaps that can simply be blamed on MMA's lack of screen time, but I would leave it up to Brendon Small to consider any small detail.

MMA appears to be as goal driven and determined as he is violent, with only a single goal in mind throughout the entire series - avenging Agent 216, regardless of what it may cost. He's willing to dispose of anyone who gets in his way, including his allies (Magnus).

What I'm thinking is... what if he wasn't even a blade for hire before the death of his brother? What if the only reason why Crozier was able to "hire" him was because of his promise for revenge? What if Agent 216 was the "actual" assassin among them, while MMA was more or less a sick and dependent child who simply got caught up in the situation?

This sounds farfetched but hear me out.

Regardless of how they grew up, regardless of what led up to this point; MMA's older brother was clearly very dear to him. So dear, in fact, that avenging him consumed every bit of space on his mind. While MMA willingly recruited people to assist him in his cause, for the most part, he used people who felt wronged by Dethklok for his own gain. Instead of viewing them as likeminded individuals, he saw them as underlings. Even Magnus, who did most of the "negotiating" during DSR, treated Toki's wounds and fed him, was just a puppet to MMA in the end. Once Magnus didn't cooperate with him anymore (claiming that the death of Ishnifus "wasn't part of his plan"), MMA didn't hesitate to show who's the REAL mastermind behind it all ("this was never your plan").

Throughout the series, we definitely saw that MMA has a tendency to use people for his benefit, and discard them once they're no longer useful to him, without any consideration for their feelings, or even their lives. We also learn that he's not much of a "talker" and much rather a "do-er". He leaves all the talking to Magnus, who dramatically goes off to Toki and Abigail about his reasoning, while MMA is in the background only thinking about revenge and his brother.

He seems to do very poorly with things not going his way. He doesn't listen to instructions from Crozier. He refuses to let Magnus berate him. Like a child, he no longer wants to play the game if it's not by his rules.

This is acquired behavior. Which means, somebody taught him that this is the way to go through live. Most likely - his older brother.

While he clearly holds a lot of admiration for Agent 216, it makes me wonder. The contrast between how much he looks up to his brother and how much he looks down on other human beings is stark. It's almost like he looks up to his brother like he's some kind of God leading him on his path, even displaying his body during the torture of Toki and Abigail. He MIGHT just be a crazy dude with a lust for blood who saw an excuse to kill and torture. He MIGHT just be very obsessed with the only person he has a real connection with.

Or perhaps, his brother isn't the good person he views him as.

I believe Agent 216 might have always made MMA feel inferior to him, knowingly or not. Being labeled the "perfect" assassin, the older brother who was kind enough to raise an abandoned baby, the one fending for them. Plus, with MMA having some visible physical deformities, he most likely was the "better looking" one, too.

Perhaps the reason why MMA isn't seen assassinating anyone for other reasons than revenge is that his brother simply took the spotlight. In the best case, Agent 216 merely wanted to protect MMA from this kind of lifestyle, both because he's his little brother who he cared for, as well as considering Albinism comes with a long list of potential health issues, depending on the exact diagnosis. Examples are vision problems, ranging from nystagmus (rapid uncontrollable eye movements) to legal blindness, sensitivity to (sun)light in both eyes and skin, a weaker immune system, a higher risk of infections, premature aging, etc.

Or perhaps all these things were a lot of excuses for Agent 216 to treat his little brother harshly and cast him into the shadows.

Tidbits that made me put this together in my mind would be, for example, the fact that MMA is covered in scars, while Agent 216 is not. Strange, considering that his targets are mostly seen tied up, hanging from hooks or otherwise immobilized. And somehow, all these scars look the same. They all look as if they were inflicted by... a machete perhaps.

In early concept art, MMA is shown with what appears to be burn marks. They almost look as if they were deliberately inflicted on him. The spotting doesn't exactly appear like he got caught in a fire, much rather that they came from separate instances.

And one more thing, which might just be an observation I made that you might disagree with. But as someone who worked with both abused and disabled children in the past... I recognize some of his patterns and behaviors.

Looking up to the one person caring for him without even a second thought. Enduring great pain for their sake. HAPPILY doing so. Not being great at dealing with instructions. Not handling it well when someone disagrees with him or even scolds him. Letting the "adult Magnus" do the talking for him in difficult situations. Struggling to relate to people, perhaps even due to low emotional intelligence, or simply not understanding that people have feelings. Not CARING if they have feelings, possibly. Using people for his benefit, then discarding them like dolls he's done playing with once they're not useful anymore.

All acquired behaviors somebody taught him in his life.

Considering his condition, harsh upbringing and visible deformities, it wouldn't surprise me if he was a younger age mentally. His behavior is almost childlike in ways. The way he phrases things, too. Revengencers, instead of Revengers. The fact that he has these scars, yet his brother didn't have a single one on him.

This might be a reach. A big reach. But what if Agent 216 had him completely wrapped around his finger. All like "I had to endure so much for your sake, so I have a right to take my anger out on you", and perhaps followed up by an "I do this because I love you and because that's the only way you learn". I can see him making MMA feel inferior, for his appearance, for needing food, medication, comfort. Guilty for "killing" their mother. For being a burden. How dare he want love. Isn't it enough that he puts his life on the line for him every day? What is love? Baby don't hurt me

To me, he's a lost, disabled person stuck in a trauma bond with his brother until the end.

#metalocalypse #mtl #metal masked assassin #mma #agent 216 #general crozier #headcanons #analysis #character analysis #media analysis #magnus hammersmith

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angelsanarchy · 1 year ago

Text

One Long Weekend: - Clyde/YN One-Shot Series CH 02

"Fuck does this mean you get to taser me?" "100 Percent."

FRIDAY 10:30PM

Y/n stood at the foot of the stage taking photos of the metal band currently occupying the stage. Luckily they brought a crowd of headbangers rather than full violent moshing or else the photo quality would suffer. Baby had promised a few hundred bucks for some promotional photos for the local venues and after the rent hike, she could use the extra cash.

Tonight had been different than most. Usually she was strictly business, bouncing from one venue to the next getting the photos taken and crawling into bed at 2AM just to have Baby blowing up her phone for the images before she's even had a chance to get real sleep. Tonight she finally got a chance to meet the shaggy haired, stoner who seemed to travel with one of the local bands. She had thought maybe he was blind at one point with how he stared blankly at her but one of the bartenders assured her that he was pretty harmless, if not a pain in the ass.

"Hey Y/N, you staying for the next couple of bands? We've got some new guys coming in." The bartender knew Baby and had kind of taken me under their wing while I was working these jobs. Bartenders and bouncers seemed to really enjoy her company.

"I might stay for a few. I don't have anymore pressing items on my agenda so I might as well." Y/n packed up her camera and sat on a stool for at least two more performers before bidding farewell to the bartender and heading towards whatever commotion that was trapped at the front door. The owner of the venue had been arguing with someone, cussing loudly at him and telling him that he was banned.

"Oh don't be such a soft dick! I promise not to jump off the tables...much." The voice is what caught her attention.

"Tony! Hey Tony!" Y/n yelled trying to get the attention of the bouncer.

"STAY THE FUCK OUT!" The club owner shoved Clyde out the door and throwing his hands up as he told off the band he traveled with. Johnny tried to plead his case while she squeezed past and saw Clyde on his hands and knees.

"I deserved that." Clyde was trying to peel himself off the pavement. He looked up and met her gaze with a stupid grin.

"That's my girlfriend." Clyde stumbled forward putting his hands on her shoulders.

"In your dreams kid." Tony scoffed.

"Where have you fucking been?" Clyde whispered.

"I didn't get the bat signal that I would need to be peeling you off the sidewalk. That's clearly my fault." Y/n put rested her hand on Clyde's.

"Oh come on Y/n! You aren't really with these guys are you?" Tony whined as the rest of the band shuffled out. They all looked a little dejected.

"Unfortunately Tony, I do. I'm going to need to cash in on that favor. Can you talk to Pete for me? See if you can get them back in to play a set? Even if it's just tomorrow?" Johnny looked at Clyde who's mouth hung open.

"I can give it a try but this is your only favor. No more freebies." Tony shook his head before shaking Johnny's hand.

"Wow um I love Clyde's stalkee. Thank you!" Johnny reached out and pulled y/n into a hug.

"No problem. Crowd is better on Saturday anyway. Just try and keep this one from getting me put on the banned list." Clyde put his hand on his heart.

"Johnny, I told you she wants to have my little deaf babies." Johnny laughed.

"You better make sure she isn't trying to make babies with anyone with both functioning ears first bud." The van pulled up and the band started loaded it up with their gear.

"You gonna be okay to get home?" Y/n asked seeing Clyde stumbling over to her again.

"What answer would get you to come with us?" Clyde tested.

"I mean I know your boyfriend...or girlfriend or they-friend is probably waiting up-" She cut Clyde off.

"I'm not seeing anyone actually but I should probably get home. This is the first night I'll make it to the motor-rail before it closes for the night." Clyde seemed amused.

"What? No! You can't take the train. Come hang out for a bit and then I can drive you home. It's the least I can do for helping the guys out." Clyde tossed his thumb back towards the van as they finished loading it up.

"Honestly I don't know that I trust you to drive me anywhere right now. You're a little loose on your feet." Clyde swayed a bit as he stood in front of her.

"Even more of a reason to come with. I will let you drive. I'm already deaf, do you really want me to be cripple too?" Clyde showed y/n the hearing aid fitted to his ear. She could smell the weed on him when he swayed towards her. She didn't have anywhere to be for the rest of the night and its not like anyone was waiting at home.

"Fuck it. Who am I to let you crash and burn on a perfectly good long weekend." Y/n held her hand out for the keys and Clyde bounced on his feet, handing the keys over.

"Every weekend is a long weekend if you try hard enough." Clyde hopped into the passenger seat.

"Some of us have weekday jobs, sweetheart." Y/n slammed the driver door shut and looked back at the band.

"Guys, this is my new wife Y/n. Y/n these are the guys. They're all stupid fuckers but they play killer music." Clyde introduced her to the band and they threw empty bottles and trash at his introduction.

"It's a pleasure. If one of you can give me a coherent address, I will get you all there in one piece." Y/h promised firing up the van.

"310 W. Utah. It's the really shitty brick apartments on the corner of Tracy Park and Violet Ridge." Clyde said sitting back in the seat. She knew where that was. It was actually about 45 minutes from her apartment if there wasn't any traffic.

Y/n started to pull away from the curb and immediately the horn started blaring.

"Did you fuckers rig my steering wheel again?" Clyde whined returning the trash that was thrown at him.

"Just try not to use the turn signals. These idiots think it's funny when they mess with the only guy who has a van big enough to transport their shit for free." Clyde gave them the finger before reaching across y/n and flipping the signal off.

"No turning signals. Got it. I'm sure the Vegas residence are accustom to it by now." Clyde laughed at the joke as she drove.

"Does your deafness have a great story worth teasing you over or were you born with it?" Y/n asked. Clyde seemed surprised she bothered asking.

"No it's not too recent but I definitely wasn't born with it. You'll have to dig a little deeper for that story though." Clyde smirked. Y/n rolled her eyes with a snort.

"Always a give and take with you." She remarked.

"Hey I can always tell you and waste your payback for saving my ass but then how would you get home?" Clyde teased.

"Oh I won't need a ride home but I already have plans for that payback so by all means, please keep that story in the cards." Y/n kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel as Clyde sighed.

"Fuck, you're gonna taser me aren't you?" Clyde turned his body towards her and she nodded.

"Oh 100%." Y/n's response made Clyde run his hands down his face.

The guys in the back of the van started laughing and ribbing Clyde about being tasered and he swatted at them.

"How are you going to tase a deaf guy? Isn't that like kicking a kid in a wheelchair?" Clyde offered.

"Absolutely not. One is a dick move and the other is for amusement. Besides I wear a night guard when I sleep but you don't see me using it as a crutch." Y/n said confidently.

"Having straight teeth and being down an entire ear are hardly a fair comparison." Clyde was drawn to her sassy nature and quick to joke sense of humor. Even if she had plans to taser him.

"We've all got our baggage. You'll live." She looked over at Clyde and he caught her wink. Fuck was he in trouble.

#electrick children #Clyde x y/n #y/n series #One shot series #Rory Culkin #Honestly did NOT expect the positive reviews of this #Thank you :)#I want to try and post these every other day #if you want me to add you to a tags for these posts let me know #One Long Weekend Series #2/18

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beardisable · 6 months ago

Text

The Ring

ok im very suprised i havent seen a post about the ring yet(maybe i didnt look far enough idk) but here's some Thoughts i had right away hurm, its long oops

my first thought seeing this was the caduceus symbol as ive seen at least some ppl mention

which i thought was VERY interesting, considering 1 the hermes connection and 2 the connection i recalled to doctors/medicine

according to wikipedia at least this symbol IS for hermes, with some great connotations for both the rogue's identity and for the doctor who has the ring now

Hermes himself... protector of humans, travelers, thieves(rogues...?), messenger of the gods... can move anywhere quickly with the aid of something, mercury which is the beautiful volatile liquid metal... the divine trickster(are you the court jester lmao), god of cunning, language, wit...

the wand itself, to send people to a gentle death or even resurrect them? role of the soul guide.

much to think about...

ANWYAYS the use of the caduceus for medical organizations is actually kind of a misuse

the Rod of Asclepius is actually the correct symbol, with no wings and one snake

i went on kind of a Dive and the rod's name is related to a god that was seen as a patron for medical practicioners, and invoked in taking the hippocratic oath

Now how is this relevant ??

WELL it might not be. maybe i got the symbol wrong, as i honestly feel i did, bc it looks a bit like a sword if i look at it differently

BUT. if i were to indulge myself i think this has many interesting implications.

So like. first thoughts: oh its the caduceus symbol? i think it has some kind of relation to doctors? AHHHH see very much fits for the doctor! and its a symbol for hermes as well who is a traveller god, jack of all trades... fits !

which might just be the correct reading, a cool significant choice

But im also now thinking about the Layers that i pointed out earlier... how its NOT actually the symbol of doctors/is mistakenly used as it... implies some kind of "not what it seems" that has been constant over this season, implies lying, a front, a mask... possibly incompetence? misunderstanding?

The oath taken invokes the god of the correct symbol, and it just made me think about The Doctor title... about all the conflict over it and if it fits the doctor after all, how it's a self imposed title instead of something given, does it really fit with their actions all the time? do they follow the oath? first do no harm? they surely try

and yes it did make me think about the rogue is master theories and hints, i am not completely convinced on it, but if it were true? Very Master to give the Doctor a ring with a false symbol for his identity...

OTHER read on this is of course. what if the symbol is about the Rogue instead? He does also seem to fit many of the allusions. especcially being a thief/rogue... hummmmm

i dont really have a Big Point, this is mostly rambling lmao, i wanted to get these thoughts out

also most of my knowledge is from wikipedia and percy jackson so if anyone actually educated in this mythology or the history of medicine wants to weigh in, i absolutely welcome you :D

#dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #dw #doctor who #doctor who meta #meta #fifteenth doctor #rogue #the doctor #is this meta? im not sure actually #also the number four is associated with hermes #idk #idk if there were any actually intended layers with this design besides oh it looks like a medicine related thing #but its interesting #and also i dont know how much has been said about the doctor being a hermes figure before but i def want to look for more of it #bc it feels blatant now that i thought about it #which is very cool #bear.txt

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sniigura-archive · 6 months ago

Note

Jumping for joy at your approval rn ANYWAYSSS HERE IT IS (WARNING, IT'S LONG AS FUCK)

- doesn't get enough sleep for the life of him

- wingspan is approx. 19 ft

- his wings are pretty big and heavy compared to other angels, which is why he doesn't hold them up behind himself and instead just tucks them to his sides (he is literally a bird.)

- calls himself the king of rock

- thinks it's hilarious to use "go to hell" as an insult

- always sneezes twice when there's bright light, can't control it

- impulsive and often makes stupid ass decisions that he later regrets

- despite this, he's smarter than people take him for

- insists on having spikes on every single one of his outfits, even when Sera thinks it's unprofessional

- if he had Twitter he'd get canceled so fast for saying dumb shit 💀💀

- insecure about his jawline, thinks his face doesn't look slim enough

- HEAVILY female leaning bisexual

- the horns on his mask are unscrewable

- always making jokes about his dick

- has offensive humor + annoyance humor (thinks it's funny to annoy people)

- he might act all cocky and above everyone but he's actually really, really lonely

- actually kinda good at drawing, he doodles on his paperwork frequently

- I'm not sure if drinking is really a thing in heaven or not but if it is he definitely drinks canned beer

- has a crippling case

of the "fuck authority"

mindset that gets him

into trouble with the higher-ups all the time

- his least favorite feeling ever is being embarrassed. Hates it.

- prefers rock and metal over heavy metal

- not really an Adam headcanon but angel blood tastes sweet like sugar

- loves alt girls (of any subculture)

- hates meatloaf

- skilled in a lot of different hobbies, I mean.. he's literally been chilling since beginning of mankind, he's had all the time in the world to do stuff

- when punk culture became a thing he fell in love with it

-biggest yapper ever. Once you get him talking he won't shut up

- has a genuine emotional attachment to his guitar and named it Susan

- he kisses Susan good night

- loves karaoke

- hates it when people say "b-b-but I can't dance 🥺🥺🥺". Thinks it's a total mood killer

- cringey pickup lines

- has a guitar collection and a bunch of abnormally shaped guitars

- big meat eater (steak, bacon etc)

- sometimes uses his wings/feathers to flip people off

- favorite soda is root beer

- good with kids

- good with animals too

- heavy sleeper

- has angel kisses all over his body (little brown dots)

- his favorite pony is princess celestia OR rainbow dash

- takes short showers

- wears guyliner

- favorite candy is red licorice

- if he was a man in modern day society he would be Russian or American

- tits over ass

- burps and blows it at people

- loves to smell good, probably has a collection of fragrances

- witty but also stupid

- really really enjoys spending time in nature but you'll never hear him admit it

--->> NSFW HCS

- loves to hold his partner's face and make them look him dead in the eye when he finishes

- definitely has a breeding kink

- not a whimper-y guy, more of a gasp, groan, and swearer

- very grabby, he'll hold onto any part of his partner he can

- He never fucked Lilith, Eve was his first

- has a kink for shit talking Lucifer during sex

- ABSOLUTELY 100% HAS A GOD/WORSHIPPING KINK. HE LOVES TO BE TREATED AS IF HE WERE A DEITY

- absolute pussy drunk bastard when he's being ridden. He genuinely can't think straight when he's getting sloppy toppy and he'll be all drooling and shit

everything’s canon if you put your mind to it

#adam is my oc at this point

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dacialogansuperfan · 5 months ago

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megawarp fic under the cut

rated m

also edited and posted on ao3!

it’s hard to tell, but he thinks megatron might be obsessed with his wings. his thinking face is identical to his glaring face, which is also pretty much his default expression.

but he keeps staring. at skywarp, sometimes, but mostly just at his wings. his optics snag on every movement and linger, over the insignia in their center, the tiny twitches they make under his continued gaze.

and okay, it could just be that skywarp’s wings are particularly expressive, especially around megatron, but he’s never seen him stare so hard at anyone else. he spends practically every waking moment with starscream, but his optics never stray too far from his face, and even then it’s only to dart down and check his servos for any active weaponry or experimental poisons.

none of the other fliers have said anything, so at the very least skywarp is the only one who’s noticed. except maybe soundwave, who’s taken up staring at skywarp’s wings during mission briefings as well, possibly trying to figure out what all the fuss is about.

skywarp is fairly sure megatron doesn’t speak wing, but soundwave on the other hand…

information is his thing, but so is discretion, and skywarp hopes that if soundwave does know what all their fluttering in the war room actually means, he hasn’t told megatron about it. because it’s embarrassing, mostly, but also because he doesn’t want it to affect his assignments. he doesn’t want to be pulled from active duty, from the small pool of mechs megatron trusts to carry out the more sensitive operations, because of a stupid crush. despite what everyone thinks, he’s good at his job, and he wants to keep doing it. wants to keep helping the cause - and megatron - in any way he can.

still, he can’t stop the tremors that run through his wings when megatron looks at him - at them - like that.

his whole, formidable attention on skywarp’s wings, optics like the hottest part of a flame, at the very center, on every minute change.

once, he’d even lost his train of thought, trailing off in his explanation of their latest raid as skywarp’s wings flared out, puffing up under his undivided attention.

the longer he stared, the more restless they became. fluttering, for primus’ sake, arching up and away from him before spreading out, the ailerons twitching out, then pulling back towards the body of the wing in a lascivious wink.

megatron has no way of knowing that, of course, but his optics track the movement either way, the soft derma of his lips worried between sharp denta.

it’s a tense, charged minute before he speaks again, optics finally leaving skywarp’s wings to study the map before them. his distraction is noticeable, but nobody comments on it. megatron’s optics remain fixed on the blueprints in front of him for the rest of the meeting.

skywarp tries not to feel disappointed.

the best thing about skywarp’s outlier ability is, arguably, being able to just disappear from places and situations he’d rather not be in. thundercracker has to physically walk out of the hab if he wants to escape starscream’s latest attempt at bullying one or both members of his trine into acting as test subjects for his newest experiment, but all his attempts so far have been met with starscream ruthlessly grabbing a wing and yanking him back into the room.

with a mock salute in thundercracker’s direction, skywarp warps himself to the safest location he can think of - all the way across the ship.

- and promptly collides with something large and solid enough to be a wall, if walls could grunt. there’s warm metal at his back, the gentle vibrations of an idle engine sending little tremors through the surface of his wings. oil and gunpowder in the air, a scent that sends his tank tumbling down into his pedes.

megatron. he’s just crashed into megatron. the hands carefully settled on either side of his waist to steady him belong to his supreme commander, and if skywarp could travel through time as well as space and just take starscream’s stupid, untested concoction, ushering him peacefully into the allspark, that would be great.

processor currently and entirely occupied panicking, it takes him a while to realize megatron still hasn’t let go. well, a while by his standards, anyway - the processing power required to shift his entire mass instantaneously through space is considerable, and despite certain trine-leader’s frequent - and unfounded - complaints, skywarp is usually quite quick on the uptake. too quick, sometimes. it isn’t his reaction time that’s the problem, it’s the thinking things through part, which usually happens sometime after The Consequences.

like accidentally warping straight into your commander’s arms, because you forgot to check whether or not the hallway you intended to escape to was currently occupied.

still, it can’t be more than a few earth seconds before skywarp comes back to himself enough to realize he should probably move. seconds where megatron’s hands remain pressed to his plating, holding him up with barely more effort than it would take skywarp to pick up a cube of energon. one of the small ones, even, the kind for personal consumption rather than the outsized ones they use for mining resources. he’s seen megatron sling those around like they weighed nothing, too, which is a thought he should really stop having while he can still feel those powerful arms bracketing his frame, the soft brush of air from megatron’s ex-vents against his wings.

“uh, boss?” stupid, skywarp. if there was a ranking for terrible times to address your commanding officer informally, mid-accidental bear hug would definitely make the top five, possibly even top three. before he can correct his mistake, though, megatron answers in the form of a noncommittal hum. skywarp can feel it vibrate all the way down his back strut.

“are you alright?” his usual gruff, curt tone softened to a murmur, megatron sounds distracted. which is better than furious, but with the threat of retaliation for his mistake gone, skywarp wishes suddenly he could see his face.

he starts to step away, out of the loose circle of megatron’s arms to face him, saying “yeah, um, totally fine! all good here, sorry about…” he trails off when megatron’s hands tighten around his waist. not painfully, just enough to keep him in place. still with his back to megatron, wings pressed close against a broad chest.

he hasn’t really been paying attention to what they’re doing, too busy being mortified and terrified and then just… confused, but he’s horrified all over again to find that the damn things won’t stay still. skywarp’s processor might have decided it was time to pull away, but his traitorous wings have decided to protest that idea, loudly, by jolting suddenly and forcefully outward. megatron has to pull skywarp closer to himself, trapping them against his chest to avoid getting cold-cocked in the optic.

skywarp starts to apologize, but the words die in his throat when he feels a hand leave his waist and carefully, touch so light as to be almost nonexistent, trace the bottom edge of a wing. it goes ridged under his hand, along with the rest of skywarp’s frame as his vents stutter to a stop.

fingers find seams and trace them, softly, the rough calluses on megatron’s digits leaving tiny sparks in their wake. skywarp’s held vents come out in a small, hiccuping sigh, and slowly, scared of shattering whatever fragile moment he’s literally fallen into, leans a little more of his weight onto megatron.

for a brief, spark stopping moment megatron stills, palm flat on the surface of skywarp’s wing, the fingers of his other hand curling reflexively on skywarp’s waist. then he shifts, wraps the arm supporting him more securely around skywarp’s middle, fingers just brushing the edge of his cockpit. like this, crushed to megatron’s chest and trapped under the weight of his arm, he can feel the way megatron’s fans have kicked up, not yet audible but running fast enough to shake his frame lightly.

not really sure what to do with his hands, or just what to do in general - he’s so far outside predictable events his decision matrices are just throwing up errors, and one lone suggestion to warp both himself and megatron somewhere private (and more horizontal) that he ruthlessly dismisses before he has time to think about it, and give his frame the chance to embarrass him farther - skywarp brings one up to rest against megatron’s forearm guard. the metal is hot under his palm, and he follows it’s slope down to megatron’s scarred knuckles without thinking about it.

this seems to be the signal megatron was waiting for, because his other hand starts moving over his wing again. it follows the edge, fingers catching on bolts and swirling around them in a way that is definitely, and highly suggestive, ruining all of skywarp’s attempts at dismissing increasingly urgent demands from his hud to online his cooling fans. the sound of them spinning furiously is amplified by the nemesis’ curved hull, but with his helm so close to skywarp’s audial, he doesn’t miss the small, pleased noise megatron makes when they click on. or the tightening of his arm around skywarp’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer to megatron’s front.

he really, really shouldn’t say anything. the careful exploration of his wing feels good, really good, and in his millennia of experience skywarp saying something is usually the precursor to things going horribly, catastrophically wrong.

of course, knowing that hasn’t actually stopped him in the past.

“so, is this like, a wing thing?” this time, when megatron pauses, skywarp is there to thread his fingers through the larger ones cupping his cockpit, gentle encouragement to continue and also possibly ignore everything he just said, because it was stupid.

but, after a few seconds mulling it over, all the while his fingers are doing absolutely devious things to the hinges nestled in the center of skywarp’s back, megatron answers. “is that…” skywarp is more than a little gratified to hear the huskiness in his voice, gravel over a road that was already hewn from stone. gratified, and a lot turned on, “what you think this is?”

it takes him a second to answer through the shaking, tremors rocking his frame back, into the long strokes megatron is making over the tops of his wings, thumb tucked into the front and applying just the right amount of pressure, and forward, into the hand teasing over his pelvic plating.

“um, kinda?” a breathless laugh tumbles out of his mouth, along with a rush of words he’s far to distracted to stop. “you’re not exactly proving me wrong here, boss, but…” thankfully, megatron stops him before he can say something really stupid, catching a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of his wing. unfortunately, he stops talking to gasp, and then moan when megatron doesn’t let up on that spot, which is arguably worse.

“but?” megatron asks, and then he does stop, when skywarp doesn’t answer. which almost prompts the most humiliating noise of skywarp’s life by far to leave his vocalizer. he only just manages to turn it off in time, which has the added bonus of giving him time to think about how he’s going to un-dig the hole he’s made for himself.

by the time his vocalizer clicks back on, he’s decided on frag it, might as well go all in. if it backfires, he can blame half his processor being so far down his interface protocols it’s become functionally useless.

“but, i was thinking…” he’s become so accustomed to it, he’s actually surprised when this isn’t immediately met with a derisive snort, “it’s not just a wing thing?” it comes out like a question, which it is.

skywarp takes a cautious step forward, out of megatron’s arms because he thinks he should probably see his face for this. seeing how it’s become, disgustingly, a feelings thing now. maybe. skywarp, at least, is starting to have an uncomfortable amount of them.

this time, megatron lets him go, but his hands are back on skywarp’s hips the moment he turns around fully. it’s reassuring, as is the look on megatron’s face. softer than he’s used to seeing, optics over-bright with charge. it’s a good look on him, and skywarp is overcome with the desire to kiss him.

it would have been a ridiculous idea, before, but the only reason skywarp doesn’t, before he loses his chance, is because he’s fairly certain he won’t.

“it’s a me thing, too?” he still sounds hesitant, unsure, but megatron nods, optics darting to skywarp’s lips like he’s having the same thoughts.

skywarp grins, relived the talking part is over. although megatron didn’t technically talk, and he looks almost surprised, optics cycling wide when skywarp leans up to actually, finally kiss him. the supreme leader of the decepticons is surprisingly cute when he’s confused, but skywarp recognizes the slack shoulders of relief before he’s lifted the rest of the way up to the press of megatron's lips.

seconds, minutes, or hours later, skywarp has to warp them both out of the hallway before the entire constructicon gestalt finds them with their panels half open, doing things with their mouths that are far superior to talking.

#megawarp #heavily suggestive canoodling #i've been struggling to write and this is the only thing i've managed to finish...#my stuff #fics: megatron #fics: skywarp #fics: megawarp

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littlelesbinonny · 10 months ago

Text

The Devil's Den

Chapter 42: In Which The Daylight Is Dawning Pt. 3

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

::!TW!:: Depiction of self harm, but not in an unaliving way.

The concrete was still wet but it was setting quickly.

Without thinking twice you rushed past everyone in your way and dug your fingers into the mixture, prying and pulling and digging with all your might, but it was so thick and cold it was freezing your fingers. The bite of that icy cold was rendering your efforts to stall.

A large hand grabbed your forearm gently and pulled you back.

"It's ok, just relax," Karl assured you, a crooked smile meeting your visage full of panic, "I brought my favorite toys!" He exclaimed, dropping the huge bag off his shoulder, "explosives! Never know when you need 'em, right hot shot?"

Somehow his lack of, or refusal to show worry and concern helped calm your nerves for the most bizarre unknown reason. He seemed so sure of himself and it was comforting. At least someone was.

You were about to respond to Karl but Angie came flying down the stairs like a bat out of hell, which shocked you because you don't remember her disappearing at all.

"We gotta blow the fuckin' door NOW!!" She yelled, nearly slamming into Donna to stop herself, "I just came from the control room - " she paused and flashed her hands covered in blood, "mutants - the sun is already entering the silo! They have 10 minutes tops!"

Everything around you became unintelligible as they all began to speak at once. You sank into yourself as something else grabbed control of the wheel. A sudden flood of warmth ensnared you and your eyes shot up.

"The setup takes time and care! These bombs aren't ready-made - this isn't fuckin' McDonalds!!" Karl shouted, "If I blow this willy nilly the whole motherfuckin' tower might collapse!

"Are the tops of the silos accessible above ground?" you inserted quickly, "I can try to block out the sun from up there, buy us all some time."

There was really only a split second everyone was silently looking at you, then Karl sprung a giant grin on his face.

"She's a fuckin' genius, I know why Alcina likes her - c'mon fairy wings, let's go!"

Karl shoved everything he was holding in Dmitri's arms and patted him roughly on the shoulder, "you 'member the schematics, right? Lefty-loosey, righty-tighty, all that jazz, just don't push the splodey button until the amp light goes blue!"

You had no idea what the fuck he was talking about but you sure hoped Dmitri did, because Karl offered no more explanation or clarification and was grabbing your arm and hauling you through more of the underworld maze before you could blink.

Everything was in utter disarray as the two of you scrambled through the tunnels and corridors and passageways galore. There was plenty of carnage along the way too; dead bodies (mainly mutants to your relief) were splayed about here and there, the evident battle a chilling reminder that you were a very mortal being in a very deadly environment. Still, your mind was occupied with Alcina more than anything. The haste to squeeze every last drop out of every second to make them count giving you unwavering focus now.

Would there be anything to actually cover the silo opening?

Would you be too late?

The thoughts had to come to a screeching halt as a very rickety metal ladder now faced you and Karl to the top of the particular part of this run down old building.

"Up ya go, sugar. That door to the left of the platform takes us right to the roof of the building."

You didn't need to be told twice.

Without further delay you took to the ladder and climbed, not bothering to wait for Karl, though he was right behind you. You ran down the even wobblier metal mesh platform and shoved your way through the almost rusted shut door, falling out into the bright sunlight. It was blinding and you covered your eyes as you eagerly searched for the silo top, finding it not too far off to the right of where you'd entered.

Karl was already on his way there and you followed, finding there to be a thick metal grate welded to the top of the wide silo opening. While this would make it easier to place things on to seal out the sun from below, you needed to find something to put there.

Your eyes couldn't help to gaze down the long dark tunnel below. You so wanted to be able to take time to see if you could see Alcina but this was the last time and place to doddle.

Karl was already running about on the roof, looking for anything that he might be able to use for a shield against the sun, but there was barely anything worth having.

Displaced 2x4's, scrap metal not larger than a few feet wide or long, and the flooring to the roof was too secure to rip up either.

The sun was progressing. You were not.

As you were about to splay yourself over the grate, which really was far too large for just your body to make a difference, you heard and felt a familiarity come swooping in.

Your crows came cawing and flapping, landing next to you on the broad edge of the silo.

You almost cried.

Ebony was the first to hop to you and eye you curiously as if waiting for instruction.

"C-can you - can you all cover this and stop the sunlight from getting through down below?"

Without so much as a pause, Ebony and the other five crows hopped onto a piece of rebar that made up the grate, spread their wings meticulously and created the most perfect make-shift wing umbrella you'd ever seen, completely blocking out all sunlight from below.

Several tears of relief went strolling down your freezing cheeks and you smiled, "thank you, thank you!" you whimpered, reaching out without thinking to stroke each of their heads with love and appreciation. In turn, to your surprise, you received tiny coos and purrs.

"I'll yell up to you from below when you can leave - thank you! I owe you all the croissants!"

A clatter pushed you back to the present and you looked behind you. Karl was standing there with the most 'what the literal fuck is happening' look on his face. The clattering seemed to be the large bit of scrap metal he had found somewhere along the line falling to the roof from his grasp. He just stood there, cock-eyed and slack-jawed.

There was little time for gawking. You rushed back over to him, wrapping your arms over your chest as the awareness of how damn cold it was up there smacked you across the face.

"The fuck was that?!" he blurted as the silent agreement to head back to the underground was put to action.

"Uh, well, they're my friends?"

Yeah it sounded weird but you were literally talking to a lycan so, this was the farthest from the strangest thing that's ever happened in your life.

Karl chuckled loudly as he slammed the door behind him and the scaling of the ladder began once more. He grabbed the comm at his hip and radioed Dmitri, "you're clear to blow the son of a bitch, we, er fae-bae here got the top covered!"

"Copy. Charge still setting."

"I'm gunna really look forward to getting to know you, bird-whispering fairy child - you are interesting as fuck," Karl mused as he led you back through the labyrinth of the underground.

You couldn't help but give him a look as he gave you a glance of his own, "fae-bae?" you inquired with a raised eyebrow.

He cackled, "get used to it; nicknames are my specialty. You outta hear some of the ones I have for your woman."

Your woman.

Yes, she was your woman and you were hers. Even in this dire circumstance that gave you a blanketing warmth. And so many flooding emotions came from this and the enveloping of it was giving you more strength to carry on. This tidal wave of memories and feelings weaved through you and sewed you together for whatever lie ahead; you were ready; you were ready.

"Somehow I'm sure she has plenty for you as well; I may or may not have heard a few," you tested playfully.

"Oh yeah?" he asked just as the two of you were turning down another corridor, unfortunately being met with a rogue mutant far from the herd.

Karl's reflexes kicked in immediately and he shoved you out of the way into the neighboring wall, drew his gun as he kicked the mutant in the chest and began to blast. But it didn't go down as fast as the others had. It rose and charged Karl again. This time it was met by Karl's large fist to the face, the butt of the gun to the top of its head, and as soon as he put more distance between them, shot at it again and again. It only snarled and shrieked with rage and lunged once more.

You took this moment to test your magick, just to be sure you had the grip on it like you felt you did.

While Karl was almost getting bested in this fight, you hunkered down on the floor against the wall and held out your palms, focusing on the mutant with the need to protect, like you had with Malka. And you'll be damned if it didn't start to slow down, sputter, and stall as the sensation of prickly stinging numbness flowed through you.

As Karl went to make his final blow with a gun barrel between the eyes, you saw the blood swelling in the mutant's eyelids before the bang went off.

It dropped like a bag of rocks and you smirked wickedly.

Yes, you were very much in control. Good. Because you wholeheartedly planned on killing Mother Miranda as soon as you had the chance.

You were slowly uncrouching from your spot when you realized Karl was yet again looking at you like you had become a tiny green alien in the last five seconds.

"Wh - what - the fuck? D-did you help me, did you do that??? Is that what you did to Mother Miranda? Do you just like - fry bodily circuitry or some shit?!"

You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious, "I'm not entirely sure? I don't know what my magick does exactly. My friend calls it 'mind EMP'."

Karl burst out laughing and holstered his gun, offering his arm to you as you both stepped over the dead body, "Hoooly heyseuss kreestoose! We need a couple hundred of you to keep around; you're useful in a fight. Keep your bag of tricks handy, just don't mind EMP any of my bombs or electronics, ok?"

Your surroundings were becoming more familiar as the disjunct conversation was becoming quieter, and as the two of you made it down the same set of stairs you came in, you heard Dmitri's voice holler; "Charge is hot - cover!".

A loud pop echoed followed by a sharp bang that stung your ears, followed by a reverberating miniature shock wave that knocked you into the wall.

The view was a relief to your whole system.

Through the small puff of rising smoke and settling dust, the archway that had been sealed up was open and the entry inside was dark.

Donna was the first to climb over and through the rubble to get inside, Dmitri second, Angie remained outside the debris grinning like a mad-woman as she saw the two of you approach. You were set to head in as well but Karl grabbed you and held you steady.

"Hold on, let them bring her out."

He said as if he could read your damn mind.

From inside the hollow dark silo you could hear muffled, raspy female voices barely conversing with Donna. Several clangs and what seemed to be chains dropping to the stone floor echoed through, and then shuffling as Alcina's three girls were brought out first.

You'd heard Alcina talk about them at length, and even as defeated and worn as they looked, they were even more beautiful still than Alcina had described to you. Several bickering emotions decided to show their faces, but being overtaken by fear, uncertainty, and like the weird boyfriend mom brings home after divorcing dad and trying to make nice with the kids was not something you could deal with. This was not your place at all.

They were too tired to notice you anyway, and Donna had immediately dug through her bag and handed each of them what you deduced to be bags of blood to drink.

Everyone's attention now lie at the mouth of the silo once more, bated breaths waiting for Alcina's arrival.

Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest and through you whole body you felt like you were actually pulsing. Time felt so stupidly slow as you waited, as everyone waited, until Dmitri emerged with a limp, bloodied, grey-skinned Alcina in his arms.

Your feet molded to the ground. You couldn't force your muscles to move. She looked in a way you never ever wanted to see; dead.

Her once cream colored blouse was shredded and stained with crimson. Her skin slashed and gouged from each whip lashing. Dried blood covered her upper body, down her arms, splattered haphazardly around her neck, and some of her very sunken face.

Everything fell to the pit of your stomach. You couldn't breathe, you couldn't think. The shock of what you were looking at immobilized you.

Dmitri carefully laid her down on the ground. You realized then how quiet it was as every little sound of the shuffling of fabric against skin and stone was almost violently loud in your ears.

The state of Alcina's shirt gave her barely a hint of modesty in its tatters, the very stark contrast of her black bra glaring against the cream, grey and red. And you could see then a very deep, ugly wound just below her sternum. A stab wound. One that gave you an ill remembrance of a story she once told you, and a scar you can recall all too vividly on her side. You don't know how you knew, but you knew.

Donna was immediately retrieving another bag of blood, hooking a tube to the opening at the top, hunkering down at Alcina's side and carefully placing the article to her dry, thin parted lips. She began to squeeze the liquid from the bag as her daughters gathered around their mother as the blood was administered.

Cassandra and Daniela held tightly to Alcina's hands as Bela propped her head and upper body up to help the blood flow down her throat.

You were frozen in your place. Still barely breathing. Making deals with unknown deities for your lover's recovery.

Karl sensed your disconcerted demeanor and carefully wrapped his arm around your mid back and pushed you forward so you could see.

Still, you could hardly move or force a reaction as the painful suspense dug its claws into your heart.

If she died, or was already gone, you could not fathom what the future would even look like.

You could not fathom a world... your world... without her in it.

Through the deep concentration of draining bag after bag of blood into their Matriarch, Donna thoroughly checked Alcina's forehead, throat, cheeks, and chest for something you couldn't understand. Warmth, maybe? Any sign of life? And the more this went on the worse the lines became in Donna's lovely face.

"It's not... it's not changing her state," she blurted, quite upset, tossing another empty bag with contempt across the hall, "her blood loss is too great, I don't have enough reserves with us to help her the way she needs - we need to get her to a medical bay immediately."

"The city is far too overrun and we have no idea where Mother Miranda is, the risk is not in our favor."

"She will die if we don't!" Donna barked at Dmitri's warning, "our options are none as it stands right now; it is either the risk or her death - what's it going to be?"

Donna, Dmitri, the three girls and Karl had a duel of exchanged silent looks until you couldn't stand the feeling of uncomfortable electricity sparking in your nervous system.

"Does anybody have a knife?" you asked, splitting the quiet, gaining everyone's attention, "My blood might help."

Donna blinked rapidly, "I've already given her six packs - she needs intravenous blood administration - "

"That blood isn't my blood. I'm not human, remember?"

Before another word could be exchanged, the sound of a switchblade flinging open could be heard and Angie stepped closer to the group, brandishing a sharp, shiny blade.

"Hi! Middle name's shiv, or shank," she grinned wildly, "er, should be anyway."

"Everybody move back," Cassandra chimed in, nodding at you briskly, "please, try."

The tension could not have been any tighter as you stepped forward and grabbed the knife from Angie, swiftly and precisely kneeling down next to Alcina as you rolled your sleeve up as far as it would go over your elbow. The sight of her this close made her condition all the more dire and you quickly placed the blade to the vein in the crook of your elbow and punctured it. Bela propped Alcina as close to you as she could; you placed the spilling blood to her lips, and grasped her freezing cold shoulder for more support; Donna held to the other side of your arm to alleviate stress to the blood flow, and you all knelt there in great anticipation as the seconds ticked on. You so wanted to wrap her up in your arms and care for her like you would in your apartment, but you didn't dare in front of everyone, especially her daughters. You had to put on a strong, distant front.

Your arm began to ache as you were starting to feel a coolness set in, but you closed your eyes and held fast. You could smell the thick metallic of her dried blood all over her and it made you wince, thinking about the pain she must have endured, and how badly you wanted to make them all pay for this. It was consuming how violent you felt inside.

After at least a minute, which felt more like fifteen, you felt a warmth engulf the crook of your elbow; Alcina's tongue.

Looking over almost dizzyingly quick, you could see her eyelids fluttering and a smile burst across your face. You let go of your breath and held even tighter to Alcina as you felt her begin to drink voluntarily, her shoulder was no longer freezing cold and something even warmer than her tongue sprung loose inside you.

"It's working." You said softly, hearing the rest of the collective sighs of relief echo through the area.

Where Alcina had been in the dark, bleak confines of her mind before she felt life tingling inside her again was a place she didn't wish to return to. While everything was still in slow motion, she could comprehend the beautiful sensation of the hot, rich, satisfying blood that was coursing through her mouth and down her throat as yours. What a way to come back from the brink of nothingness. Her strength was slowly waxing and her senses began to creep up, but the wounds she had endured were becoming more and more fitful in the fight to heal. Your blood was vigorous and relentless and Alcina knew when the dam burst, the pain and brutal retaking of her body would be unpleasant at best.

And that moment was now.

Like an army breaking through battle lines, Alcina's body, at the mercy and aid of your blood, began to heal and reanimate itself with ferocity. Yanking her head back from wherever she had been feeding off you, Alcina cried out as the excruciating sensation of being reborn pummeled every sense in her body. It burned. It itched. It spasmed. It cracked and broke and then spilled out and over into a soothing warmth and numbness as some normalcy seeped back in.

With fluttering lids, she opened her eyes to see every face that was near and dear to her heart.

You. Her daughters. Donna. Dmitri. Angie. And, yes, even Heisenberg.

Bela, with the help of her sisters, scooted Alcina back towards the wall and sat her upright there. The three of them fawned over her through quiet whimpering relief as they clung to her with secure embraces.

"Shhh, Sunt aici. Sunt aici," she cooed, "iubitele mele, suntem cu toții aici."

(Shhh... I'm here. I'm here - my loves, we are all here.)

As you were being aided by Donna quickly wrapping your arm with a tight bandage, Alcina's slate colored eyes found yours and she offered you the most endearing smile you think you had ever seen in your life. It was a knowing smile. A proud smile. A smile that wordlessly said thank you in a way no language on the planet could express.

"Looong live The Real HBIC!" Angie shouted, accompanied by a short celebratory dance, "Woooooo yeah! That's what I'm talkin' 'bout! Now when the fuck can we go kick the rest of the smelly ass down here?!"

Well, the tender moment was short lived.

"Ang, please," Donna huffed, trying her best to stifle her smile, "Alcina still needs more nourishment and we need the rest of a plan."

"I'm with Angie," Karl butted in, giving Alcina a tip of his hat, "we got hot shot mind melter and our Matriarch back, let's go whoop some ass."

It wasn't so much bickering as it was very energetic clashing of ideas, but as they all spoke above you animatedly, you and Alcina once more stole calm, loving glances at the other through Donna shoving more blood bags in her face to drink and her daughters clinging to her for dear life, until a clobbering sound from the other stairwell shot everything into a halt.

Unceremoniously came a plump, sheepishly hunched figure from the shadows.

Salvatore Moreau slowly slipped into the light and the sound that followed had everyone rattled to the bone.

The throaty, shrill shriek had come from none other than Donna herself.

The tiny brunette had sprung from the floor and charged the vampire in question, pinning him to the wall as she bore her teeth in utter fury; "TRAITOR!" She screamed, her hand around his throat with nails threatening to pierce his flesh, "YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS WITH YOUR LIFE! I KNOW YOU AIDED MIRANDA - I KNOW YOUR FILTHY LITTLE HANDS HAVE BEEN ALL OVER THIS TREACHERY AND I PROMISE TO MAKE YOU PAY FOR EVERY DISCRETION UNDER THE SUN!"

During Donna's rage, Angie had donned perhaps the most psychotic look of glee any of them had ever seen. Even Karl was a little unnerved as he watched the whole thing unfold. Alcina had risen from the floor, and she too had now a look of murder on her stoic face. Dmitri had joined her side and you were watching quite unsure what to do with yourself next to the wall.

"Please!" He squeaked, holding up his hands shakily, "Please, just wait! I have information! Information about Miranda! The mutants! I come in truce!! I have information you need if you want to win this war!"

Donna snarled even louder as she sunk her claws into his neck, "Why should I believe you?!"

"Because! Because! I - I realize - I realize I made a huge mistake! I chose the wrong side! PLEASE you must trust me!"

Karl carefully and hesitantly nudged the deranged looking Angie, "you uh... wanna do something about your sister?"

Angie's big eyes glanced at Karl momentarily, "oh... oh yeah!"

And she was off like a bolt, knife in hand accompanied by a cackle.

"No, n-not like that!" he huffed, dropping his head to rub at at exasperatedly, "I meant to stooop her from killing him, not help - oh Jesus fucking Christ what's the use." he muttered to himself.

Now Salvatore was at the mercy of two very deadly Beneviento sisters. His face showed every ounce of his dread as his big beady eyes shot from one sister's face to the next, knees quivering as he swallowed with struggle.

"P-please, please, listen... I want to help," he swallowed once more through Donna's claws and Angie's knife pressed to his jugular.

Donna was still seething but paused, taking time to calculate and reason with her own rage before clicking her tongue loudly, "Alcina? Your call."

You blinked hastily as you watched with eagerness, noticing the very elegant and nonchalant movements of Alcina as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Bring him to me."

She commanded with a dominance that made you weak in the knees.

He was yanked from the wall, drug to Alcina and thrown at her feet. He showed no signs of struggle or the urge to flee for his life, which in your humble opinion, would have been a smart move.

Alcina glowered down at him and pursed her lips, looking more and more like herself as the minutes passed.

She placed her hands on her hips swiftly which made him jerk in fear, but she remained unmoved, "it's a little late in the game to be switching sides, don't you think?" she snapped.

"My Lady," he quivered, bowing his head sharply, "please, My Lady, I am a coward and I will not deny it. Mother Miranda offered me falsity. Her lies I thought were truths became apparent the moment she made her move. It is never too late to redeem oneself from the side of tyranny. Please, let me tell you what I know, you will not defeat her otherwise."

"You seem awfully sure of this," Alcina bit.

"That is because, as Donna has said, I have been part of this from the beginning."

Silence permeated the area once more as all focus went to Alcina. Her eyes never left the sniveling man at her feet.

"Then speak."

The next several minutes was a verbal vomit of information that had everyone pretty fucking shocked.

Mother Miranda, in her psychotic search for perfection, had begun breeding and mutating parasites nearly ten years ago to infect fledglings to whatever end to make them into the mindless, deadly, stealth machines that had invaded their city. Salvatore explained her brutal trial and errors and the horrific mutations that had gone wrong and how simply she discarded vampire after vampire like a broken toy. How that when she had perfected the mutation to her liking as it stood now, she infected herself with the queen parasite DNA that gave her the complete control over the hive-mind of the vampires she controlled. When she is at her peak strength and ability, they are the deadliest creatures known to any vampire or lycan imaginable. But therein lies the Achilles heel to this creation.

"I had hypothesized it well enough in my own mind, but it wasn't until I realized you," he stated, nodding to you in the midst of everyone else, "had escaped and in the attempt wounded Mother Miranda, that the so-called hive mind did in fact falter. If Mother Miranda is vanquished, they become unarmed. They will have had their tie to their very reason for existence severed, hence, they will have no direction and they will quite literally be living statues. So, in order to win this fight, you must keep Miranda's strength at a bare minimum. You must keep her down. Otherwise, at full strength, there will be none left alive in the underground."

Once more, Salvatore's eyes returned to you, "whatever you have done to her, she is still recovering. In all my many years of serving Mother, I have never seen any foe deal such damage the way you have," his focus went back to Alcina, "but she is recovering, that is the part that is the most important. If you want to win this you need to act quickly and hastily. Your lycans and vampires have done much damage to many mutants, but at their best, ten of your men cannot best even one of them."

Not even fifteen seconds had passed before Karl was clapping and rubbing his hands together eagerly, "Aight, so, lessss go?" he gestured shamelessly towards the staircase.

"Not without more of a plan," Dmitri growled, "if Miranda is getting stronger we can't run out there guns blazing the way you like it, we'll start losing too many too fast."

Alcina sucked the last drop of blood from the last pack and threw it aside with a sharp sigh, "We haven't the time for planning. I need to find Miranda and bring her down."

"You can't do that alone," Donna added, "please let Angie and I help you."

"No, I need you both in the field - Angie I need your stealthy expertise to be the eyes and ears for the troops, can you do that?"

Angie nodded, "fuck yeah."

"Heisenberg, I need you, your men, and your explosives rigged in the best and most efficient way possible when that bitch begins to falter. Can you do that?"

"Roger!"

"Dmitri, I need you and your men ready to back up the lycans in their wave of attacks and whatever tricks lie in that brilliant military brain of yours, can I count on you?"

"Always, My Lady."

Alcina's eyes skimmed over you with a wink and settled on Donna and her girls, "and you three... I want Ethan and Mia captured. Alive. Make that happen."

Her daughters beamed with a wicked glint in their eyes, "yes mother," they all replied.

"Karl, arm them to the teeth."

Grabbing his chest in the most dramatic way possible, Karl staggered back and looked up at Alcina with a silent gasp, "y-you called me Karl! Oh my god, did y'all hear that? She called me Karl. See that? Near death experiences change a person. It's like she likes me or something."

Alcina narrowed her eyes, "keep it up and I won't like you again."

Karl beamed and straightened his hat.

Donna was still less than sold.

"I don't want you facing her by yourself."

"You'll be doing something much more important for me," Alcina smiled warmly, "you'll be protecting her," she motioned over to you.

You almost did a double take, "uh, sorry, not to be disrespectful but no, I'm coming with you."

"Like hell you are," Alcina retorted furrowing her brows, "this vampire in question is hellaciously unpredictable and deadly -"

"And off her rocker - yeah I know," you interrupted, "we've met personally and I escaped her."

Her face dropped cold, "you what?"

"Yeah, you haven't been brought up to speed!" Karl waltzed over, shouldering you playfully, "your fae-bae here escaped Miranda's sticky lil fingers after mind blasting her ass - pretty impressive if I do say so myself. I got first hand experience with her magick when she helped me fight off a mutant before we came and saved you. I uh, I'd reconsider taking the nuclear bombshell with ya," he winked at you, "two hell cats are better than one, baby! AND she's got a legion of crows at her command or some shit, that's how we blacked out the silo."

"Oh shit!" you exclaimed, remembering you'd not released your crows from their post, "and technically, they're called a murder."

Smirking at Karl you jutted to your right, hopped your way over the rubble of the blown blockade and peered up into the silo. It was still completely dark and you smiled, "you all did wonderful!" you shouted up to them, your voice carrying loud and clear, "thank you Ebony, Ash, Onyx, Noir, Sidda, and Shade! Please get home safely and be warm!"

Their caws echoed down to you and one by one they took to the sky, leaving a remaining brightness from the clear sky now that the sun had passed.

When you returned to the hall, Karl was shaking his head with his arms folded over his chest.

"Named every one of 'em, did ya?"

You returned his grin, "and?"

Alcina's eyes went from Karl to you, back to him and then you again before she was able to really collect herself. There was a lot to digest right at this moment. She had to choose wisely as to what she was ready to take a bite of. The crow issue was last on her list, you and your powers were at the top of it, screaming.

The two of you had only briefly spoken about the changes you were going through before Donna showed up and everything promptly fell apart. She didn't want to believe you had grown so much and she'd missed it all, but she more less wanted to believe you weren't strong enough to go with her, risking your safety if it wasn't necessary.

"Draga..." she stated softly, "this is... this is not a danger I want you anywhere near ever again."

You watched as her hands carefully rested on your shoulders, eying you in that beautifully desperate way.

"Uhm... Mother?"

Came a voice you'd not heard before.

"Poate nu ar trebui să te îndoiești de ea. Cum ai încredere în noi acum, poate că ar trebui să-i dai la fel." Cassandra stated with a knowing smile.

(Maybe you should not doubt her. As you trust us now, perhaps you should give her the same.)

Man, you needed to learn Romanian.

Whatever her daughter had said gave Alcina great pause. The smile she gave Cassandra made you smile by proxy, it was so genuine and soft.

Taking one last look at you, Alcina dropped her hands and turned to gather everyone's attention.

"I have faith in all of you. Go, quickly. Make this a battle that will be painted in remembrance for whatever outcome lies ahead of us. Let our valiance and spite be known. Violently."

She turned back to Donna and took a deep breath, "I would like you to make use of Moreau. If he makes one move you don't like, kill him. But if he is truly set to redeem himself, use whatever knowledge he has and exploit it to our every advantage."

Donna nodded somberly, "and... you are off to find Miranda?"

"Yes," Alcina smiled, "and I won't be going alone."

Two sets of beautiful eyes from two beautiful women now rested on you.

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu/female reader #alcina dimitrescu/original female character #alcina dimitrescu/reader #lesbian #f/f #fanfic #wlw #fic #donna beneviento #karl heisenberg #salvatore moreau #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #tw self harm

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mxnster-soul · 3 months ago

Text

TMC OC DUMP TIME BABEYYYY

This is technically just them post-reincarnation (reawakening). They have memory loss lol. (They're originally from a TMC AU thing but can be seen as a standalone)

Nicknames: Don/Dawn

[MORE INFO/A LOT OF RAMBLING UNDER CUT. ALSO TW: one ref hardly has clothes on but it's just because there's scars. Sorta 17+ zone]

Heavily inspired off of Stanzi's 'heaven and hell' comedy series (also the case of sona turned to just an OC)

Abaddon (or in this case, reinarnated Abaddon) is an absolute goofball. A bit snarky at times,

Lore stuff:

Pre-'reincarnation', They worked part-time shifts.

Part-time as a guard at heaven's gates, part-time in hell as clean up (usually just purging whenever it's starting to get overcrowded) not meant to be a hazbin reference

While at the gates, Gabriel also worked the same shift as Abaddon.

(TMC AU related. Abaddon had no clue that Gabe was plotting)

The two are just work friends, dynamic being 'The strong silent type that's usually hard for others to read, and the one that's good at talking and somehow just knows what the silent one is saying'./'Don's a gentle giant when it comes to co-workers' (also can't understand jokes/comedy)

Don uses to ALWAYS wear full armour, to the point noone could recall what they look like.

The two were actually friends, buuut as the plans for overruling were finished. Don was seen as 'in the way'.

So when they least suspected it, they were slain with one of their own swords. (Backstabbed through the heart, in a literal sense) I HC that higher rank angels can be killed only with their own weapons

They died confused since they had no time to see who betrayed them.

REINCARNATION (sorta. They kinda just come back from the dead since seraphim probably don't stay dead for eternity)

Don woke up sore as heck in some lake on the mortal realm, still in armor but stuck like they one of those underwater statues which are actually just metal things that rusted/the covered by plants over time.

Their wings decayed a bit cuz it's been thousands of years of being dormant. (And they were able to get the sword out cuz the angelic power that was in it down).

They're a bit more physical (so certain mortal things can now harm them)

Their memory is gone, so they ends up just observing the humans around them and adapting as the years pass by.

Ends up being a very chatty/rowdy dork that likes social media and thinks punk/alt fashion/etc is cool.

TLDR: very serious worker got betrayed, died, and can't remember it when they came back to life so they embrace modernity and probably go to spencers and hottopic/thrifting for clothes.

Also their new fave weapon is a street stopsign

More info:

-7 to 8ft tall (either works)

-Agender/Enby (They/He/She/it) <they really don't care

-Loves overdressing

-Has no clue wtf alternates are but probably annoys them if they happen to meet.

-'ooh, those are alternates? Damn, they look like they've been hit by a truck'

-listens to hyperpop/phonk/loud stuff

-usually guised as a human (bascially just wingless/halo-less cuz it makes it hard to use doors)

-Has no clue that Gabriel is alive

-deadass would not remember a thing, even if reminded.

Current outfit ^^^^

Alt wing color^^^^

OLD/V1 outfit (can be used)

FACE CLOSEUP^^^

Might redo the ref at some point cuz i'm not happy with the post

V1 ref^^^^

HEY, WARNING BELOW INCOMING

[TW: LACK OF CLOTHING REF]

(my anatomy sucks but i tried)

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maccreadysbaby · 2 years ago

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male fo4 companions +arcade & butch (bc I see them on your master list) rank them on being able to take care of a severely injured sole/lone/six?

Okay! this goes from best to worst, I really hope arcade and butch aren’t ooc! I try to do my research on them :)

Ranking Male Companions Taking Care of an Injured Sole/Lone/Six

Arcade is the best for very obvious reasons. It’s his job. As soon as Six is down, he knows what he’s doing and he executes flawlessly. Definitely griping at them while he works, but nonetheless, he gets everything done nice and tidy. Very capable of separating emotions and work, so he won’t have shaky hands or be panicking like some of the others. Will shamelessly call them dumb if they got hurt doing something dumb. He’s glad they’re okay, really, but also don’t be stupid and you won’t get hurt. Will withhold the stupid comments if it was a very serious injury, like they were shot or something.

10/10 - The best male companion to have on hand for Couriers that can’t stop getting hurt. (And his grumbling is entertaining.)

Nick may be a synth, and doesn’t require real first aid, but c’mon, he used to be a policeman! He still remembers most of that aid and is extremely knowledgeable and good at helping. He’s always a little hesitant about things like using his metal hand, but that won’t stop him from helping Sole. Tries to talk to them — distract them, even — and never fails to make them crack at least one smile. Unmatchably gentle, even more so than Preston. Will take them to a real doctor after but they probably won’t need much attention because Nick already covered it all. Can help with things from little scrapes to punctured lungs and does so with deadly accuracy, seems to somehow materialize medical supplies out of nowhere.

10/10 - Probably the most comforting companion to have by Sole’s side when they’re hurt.

Preston may not be a doctor, but he has the heart of a medic buried somewhere deep inside of him from his time with the Minutemen. Also very capable of keeping himself together while helping Sole. Unlike Arcade, when he works, he’s constantly asking Sole if they’re okay, how they’re feeling, what hurts, what else they need from him, etc. Sees them, momentarily, as just another one of his men because he works most efficiently like that. His face stays blank (but at least he doesn’t look angry.) Moves slow and treats them like they’re fragile. He knows surprisingly more first aid than anyone would think, but definitely wants to get them stable and to a real doctor.

10/10 - Good at what he does and unmistakably gentle, with words and first aid, while he does it.

Danse is no stranger to combat aid, though he isn’t the best with less casual, more complex aid. Will definitely be a little more nervous than the others while tending to Sole. Dead silent when he’s working because he’s trying so hard. Gritted teeth and set jaw, rarely muttering things quietly that Sole can’t really make out. Looks kind of angry the whole time just because he’s focusing so hard. But he will do a good job nonetheless, and is incredibly efficient at getting Sole to a real, trustworthy doctor afterwards. They always tell him he did a good job and it never fails to make a little smile quirk up on his little dork face. He’s actually just glad they’re okay.

9/10 - Sole will think he’s mad the whole time but he’s actually just trying really hard.

Deacon is cool as a cucumber on the outside, but internally, he freaks out. Constant rambling and so many jokes. Pretends like he knows what he’s doing but he’s always kinda winging it. He knows general first aid, but nothing major, and he’s really anxious about doing a good job. Probably tries too hard and screws up because he’s trying so hard. Pretends he didn’t screw up. His hands might shake just a little if the injury is particularly bad, but he’ll play it off cool. He ends up covered in blood and looking like he’s the one that was hurt. Looks worse than Sole. Isn’t bad at first aid, but isn’t good at it either?

Drops to a solid 7/10 — At least he pretends to know. Good at easing Sole’s nerves.

MacCready will start crying before he does anything. Can not panic internally. His hands hover, unsure of actually what to do, and shakes like a freaking arthritis patient. He is pretty good at first aid but the shaking and crying gets in the way. Always uses way too much medicine and might make Sole high. Hugely overcompensates, usually not in a good way, trying so hard to help them that he isn’t actually doing much good. He’s just panicking because they’re injured and he couldn’t save Lucy and what if he can’t save them, either? Will forget how to breathe, Sole will have to remind him not to hold his breath if they can. Will probably get dizzy and nauseous if he thinks of losing them. Can and will get it together (eventually) and provide little first aid.

6/10 - The fact that their caretaker is sobbing profusely and looks like he’s gonna pass out is never helpful for the nerves.

Hancock simply isn’t very good at first aid. He’s a ghoul, and his body is different than theirs, responds differently. Is internally crying, screaming, and throwing up. Will offer chems and then backpedal because they don’t need chems they need help. Shaky hands, shaky breaths, will need a hit of something because he can’t stop shaking. His first aid is messy and quick. He jabs them with so many needles they can’t even count them all, and he mumbles to himself under his breath the entire time like some kind of narrator. The thing he’s perhaps best at is locating and getting them to the nearest doctor in record time. Dude goes pedal to the freaking metal. Will stay annoyingly close and ask the doctor questions until they blow a gasket. He just wants his sunshine, the first friend he’s had that wasn’t just casual, to be okay.

5/10 - Sole’s probably incredibly high at the end of it but at least they’re alive, right?

Gage knows first aid, but the moment the overboss is injured, it all flies out the window. He drags them by their hair to someone more equipped for this crap. Probably grumbled at them about getting hurt in the first place. If he absolutely has to help, he is rough and just wants to get it over with and them to someone else. Will mutter under his breath the entire time with that dumb little accent. Incredibly violent with the first aid stuff. Tells them never to do this again because it’s annoying. Probably gets angry at the first aid supplies and throws them across the room or something to that degree, only to go grab them again because he actually needs them. Rolls his eyes a lot. He cares deep down, but he’s gonna give Sole a lot of crap about it for a while.

3/10 - Being reprimanded when you’re bleeding out usually isn’t great for the morale.

Butch has no earthly idea how to perform any more first aid than bandaging up knuckles and icing bruises, let’s be honest. He will definitely be panicking. The second most likely companion to start crying. Not from the past, like MacCready, but because Lone is injured and he doesn’t know what to do, he’s more useless in this situation than an actual bag of bricks and he feels so worthless and why do they even travel with him if he can’t help? Lone, being a doctors child, will probably have to talk him through the first aid step by step like the wikihow. Will get some of it wrong even if they tell him how to do it four or five times. Can’t really see because he’s freaking bawling but will try his best anyway. It’s probably in Lone (and his) best interests if they just go to a doctor.

2/10 - Honestly, not comforting or helpful in the slightest for him to be self-destructing while Lone’s trying to talk him into stitching them up before their organs fall out.

X6-88 immediately relays into the Institute. If it’s gone, immediately relays somewhere else. Very rarely does he do the actual first aid. Coursers don’t need standard first aid because they aren’t human, and they don’t get hurt as easily. Plus, when X6 gets hurt, he doesn’t deal with it himself, he just relays in. Knows what to do in the back of his mind but absolutely botches it if he tries. Is focusing so hard his tongue sticks out the side of his mouth but more focus makes it worse. He doesn’t actually know what he’s doing because he never does this crap. Will take them to someone qualified in human first aid and probably give them a lecture about tact and the fact that they need to not get hurt because he doesn’t have it.

1/10 - At least he doesn’t let Sole die without a lecture.

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