#Mist System Fire Protection

[https-bobreynolds]

enter the sun and the spell

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds/sentry x enchantress! reader

summary: wouldn’t be a part of a superhero team without dramatic, grand entrances.

author’s note: AAAAAAAA I ABSOLUTELY LOVE ACTION SEQUENCE FICS!!! let me know if i should do more of it🥺

everything’s chaos.

ava is down, shorting out and twitching. alexei is half-buried under a collapsed steel beam, protecting yelena beneath him. walker shielding himself with the last flicker of his strength, teeth grit.

red light flashes from every direction. sirens screaming. drones whirring overhead. and in the center of it all, a towering mech-god hybrid bristling with stark-grade weaponry, absorbing every hit like it’s nothing.

“we could use a little help here.” bucky growls into comms, ducking behind a crumbling pillar as plasma sears past.

another blast hits. the concrete buckles.

he mutters, “where the hell are-“

THUNDER.

not from the sky but from the air itself. like the world just inhaled.

crack. the clouds ripple apart.

light splits open the sky like a curtain tearing in reverse, golden, searing, white-hot, as a figure descends from the clouds at terminal velocity.

THE SENTRY.

glowing like a second sun. a comet wrapped in fire.

his landing impact cracks the street, sends shockwaves through the block. cars rattle. the mech stumbles. dust spirals. a sonic boom follows an instant later, late, like the world needed a second to catch up.

from the rubble, yelena groans, shielding her eyes.

walker mutters, “show-off.”

bob sentry lifts his head, eyes blazing pure energy. “heard you guys were in trouble.”

ava starts, “and where the hell’s-“

green lightning splits the ground.

it starts as a low hum, a spell igniting in the marrow of the world. runes spiral across cracked pavement in a circle, glowing from beneath.

the mech rears back, some internal system detecting something wrong, before you rise from the glowing runic seal like mist made solid.

cloak fluttering. eyes lit green-gold. hair lifted in wind that isn’t there.

your boots hit the ground with a light click.

you lift a single hand.

a chain of burning sigils erupts from your palm, wrapping around the mech’s limbs mid-strike, not restraining, but binding, with magic that whines like a violin at its limit. arcane energy threads through the metal plating like vines through stone.

the thing roars.

you cock your head slightly.

“shh,” you murmur. “the adults are talking.”

with a twist of your wrist, the bindings explode, taking both arms with them.

yelena stares. “okay, how did she just…”

“she’s channeling her,” sentry murmurs, stepping forward beside you. “just a fraction of her power.”

“yeah, well,” bucky pants, “someone better tell the bad guy it’s just a fraction, cause-“

before he finishes, you leap.

a golden platform blooms under your foot midair, you vault off it, conjure another beneath you, dancing across sigils in midair as you rain enchanted fire down from your palms. green bolts crash into the mech’s core. you flip backward through burning smoke and land beside sentry.

the mech lurches, failing.

sentry floats up again, his voice low, “you wanna finish it?”

you nod, breathless. “together?”

he offers you his hand.

magic coils around your forearm as you take it. his energy glows hot and gold.

and in one perfect motion, you and sentry lift into the sky like a rising myth, and on his count…

“now.”

he hurls you like a spell itself.

you’re a streak of emerald fire across the sky, spinning, brimming with wrath and elegance, before slamming down into the mech’s core, carving a runed spear from your palm midair and driving it straight through.

impact.

time slows.

the mech goes still, then detonates inward in a rush of imploding magic and machine.

silence.

the dust clears.

the rest of the thunderbolts* stagger to their feet.

you’re standing in the crater, one hand extended, panting, glowing. your eyes slowly dim. the runes fade. the storm calms.

and then, “still a show-off.” walker calls, brushing dust off his jacket.

you smirk as sentry lands beside you. “wouldn’t be me if i wasn’t.”

he glances at you, smiling. “you okay?”

you nod. “i didn’t burn out. not this time.”

his hand brushes yours, a moment, subtle.

“good,” he says, quietly. “i like seeing you light up the sky.”

you don’t say anything back. but your fingers curl into his just enough.

the others gather, limping, groaning, swearing.

and from the wreckage, the team walks off slowly, war-torn, victorious.

part two

tag list:

@lovetoalll

[demonic0angel]

Dead silent in the dragon au? I'm a sucker for them and I do like dragons

(Sure :D)

Part 4...?

Cassandra observed the lair of the Ghost King, a powerful dragon who was said to have an undiscoverable lair and a hoard full of mysterious treasures. In reality, while it had been hard to find, it was rather ordinary. She had seen bigger. Her own sire and guardian had a lair that was based entirely on an underground cave system and he had riches that had knights and lords from various kingdoms and countries coming to kill him every week.

The Ghost King’s lair was still impressive, just not what she had expected from the various rumors she heard. The lair was modestly sized and on the bigger side, and located inside of an abandoned human castle. The hoard itself was a collection of strange objects that she could not decipher.

Perhaps human object lovers like Jason, who collected books, and Damian, who had only just started to collect swords, would know.

Cassandra was a little confused by this collection, but the Ghost King’s scent was pleasing and some of the things he had were sparkly, so she wasn’t too ready to leave yet.

She perked up at the sound of growls and fire breathing. She flapped her little wings and climbed onto the ceiling with her claws. Quickly scurrying outside, she watched wide eyed as a beautiful white dragon was digging his teeth into a beefy yellow dragon. The white dragon was on the smaller side, leaner, but he had sharp fangs and claws and they were able to tear into the flesh of the other dragon easily.

The other dragon blew fire and wailed, but the white dragon pulled back to breathe out ice and trap it before digging back in, blood spurting and dripping from mortal wounds.

Cassandra watched in awe as the dragon flapped his wings for extra strength. Said wings were large and wide, colored white with black at the tips.

Most amazingly, they were feathered wings. The rest of the dragon’s body was scaled, but those feathered wings rose high and mighty, like clouds and mist.

The white dragon roared and then in one vicious move, bit down on the neck of the other dragon, reared his head back up, and then tossed it to the side, where the yellow dragon whimpered and then flew away with a flap. The white dragon bristled, snarling, before wiping away the blood on his snout.

Cassandra shivered at the raw strength of this dragon before she gave a low purr and crawled back inside, where she dropped from the ceiling and then began scenting the strange hoard. She was determined to meet this dragon for herself.

The Ghost King came back inside his lair, pausing as he registered her scent before he cautiously approached. When he saw her, he froze in place for a long time before he spoke.

“Hello. I am Danny, youngest son of the Nightingales.” He gave a bow, discreetly trying to rub off more of the blood on his pearly scales. His two pairs of eyes blinked at her, green and bright like emeralds.m

Cassandra gave a bow. “I am Cassandra, oldest daughter of the Waynes. What is your hoard made of?”

Danny, the Ghost King, crept towards her and said, “It’s my collection of astrology items. Human made things that let you see the stars.” He paused in front of her. “I love the stars. These things help me see and study them.”

Cassandra gave a turn, eying the hoard in a new light. “Fascinating. I’ve seen many hoards, yours are one of the most different.”

“… you like it?” He asked, tail wagging.

She nodded.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, tail wagging even more.

Cassandra paused. She had never been called beautiful by another dragon before. Her black scales looked muddy and they were freckled and scarred. She was not slender like other dragons, because she was a fighter, not a flier.

For a moment, she was extremely self conscious in front of this beautiful, white dragon who was King and powerful and interesting and gentle.

“I… I know that I am not the ideal mate, but I can protect our nest. I’m the best fighter in my family,” Cassandra said.

Danny leaned down and then nuzzled her. “You’re beautiful. No one has approached my lair or hoard before and stayed. Your scars are comets and your scales look like a starry night. I’m strong, but I hate fighting. With you, then maybe….”

Cassandra purred and rubbed against his chest, their scales making sparks together.

Danny returned the rumbling purr and then asked, “May I formally court you?”

She chirped happily. “You may.”

[balloonthehutt]

what he was trained to do · A.S

summary: you're marrying someone else. Anakin has to live with that.

warnings: angst, one-sided love, arranged marriage.

a/n: I'm not sure if it's any good but I tried. as always thank you for reading ♥️

The galaxy spun on, uncaring. Planets turned; stars were born and died without notice. And somewhere between those infinite fires, Anakin Skywalker stood — silent, unbreathing — as you smiled for another man.

He was your shadow, your sworn protector. The Jedi Temple had assigned him, all steely discipline and quiet promises. A political match had been struck for you, fragile as spun glass, and Anakin was there to ensure nothing shattered before the vows were spoken.

He hadn’t meant to love you.

Not you, with your voice like summer wind, your laugh like stardust.

Not you, who turned to him for safety and never saw the way his hands trembled when they brushed your skin.

You didn’t know.

You couldn’t know.

The palace gardens gleamed with ceremony tonight, awash in blue light and harp strings. You wore white, the color of surrender. Your dress floated about you like a mist, embroidered with the ancient sigils of your people, stitched by hands that had decided your fate long before you were old enough to speak against it.

Anakin stood by the pillars, faceless in the dark. His robes, heavy with dust and the ache of restraint, hid the burning man beneath. His saber hung at his belt — but even that brilliant weapon could not cut the chain that bound him.

He watched.

He watched you offer your hand to a man who could never love you the way he did — because no one could.

He watched you smile the way you had once smiled at him after a night patrol under silver moons, when you had plucked a flower and tucked it behind his ear, teasing, unaware that his heart had already broken beneath the joke.

His chest ached with a terrible beauty: the kind of pain that poets tried to trap in paper cages and never quite could.

You turned your head for one fleeting instant, your eyes searching the crowd — and they found him.

Just him.

Your gaze lingered.

The world blurred: the laughter, the applause, the cold glint of politics. It all slipped away until there was only the distance between you and Anakin — a distance more vast and cruel than all the parsecs in the Outer Rim.

And then — then — you smiled.

Not the painted smile for your suitor.

Not the dutiful smile for your people.

No — this was small, secret, broken.

A smile meant only for him.

Anakin closed his eyes. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, leather creaking.

A Jedi knows no attachment. A Jedi knows no love.

But he loved you with a force that could level empires, tear apart solar systems, and leave even the stars themselves weeping in its wake.

"Knight Skywalker," someone murmured near him — a courtier, perfumed and bored — but Anakin did not move.

He could not.

When he opened his eyes again, you were gone — swallowed by ceremony, by duty, by a future that had no place for dreamers or broken boys with too much lightning in their blood.

Still he stood there.

Still he watched.

Still he loved.

And in the end, Anakin Skywalker did what he had been trained to do:

He protected you.

Even from himself.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 99)

She pulls herself out of the console feeling dazed, N has his tail wrapped around her, and the scorching heat of his flamethrowers filled the room as the ground itself rumbled around them.

The ground had been disturbed…

Tendrils of black surrounded them on all sides, inching closer despite N's best efforts. On his visor was displayed an ‘X', a gradient of red and yellow as he protected Uzi with his life.

Uzi yanked out the linking cable, stuffing it back into her pocket and allowed a feral hiss to claw out her throat. Using the solver, she manipulated a sharp peice of metal to spin rapidly, chopping up whatever it came into contact with into tiny black peices.

N and Uzi were back to back, tails coiled around each other to ensure their other half was still there. She grabbed onto his shoulder.

“Fly!” She shouted, a command that registered instantly in N's system and had him taking off before she could even finish the word. Ignoring the ceiling, he burst through it. Throwing dust, snow, and shards of concrete flying in every direction as he rocketed upwards, a flood of angry tentacles followed him up, climbing and squirming on top of each other to see which of them could reach him first.

Uzi grunted, feeling her body strain as she threw the spinning metal down, slicing up the pursuing appendages even as they continued to reach for them.

N growled as he aimed an arm downward, firing off a missile that finished them off- by turning them to mist. He covered Uzi's mouth and clamped his own shut just in case.

There was no time to rejoice however, the ground groaned and shifted, opening up to swallow the building they were just in as well as the rest of the communication dishes.

As N watched, he noticed yellow light deep within the planet, shifting in waves, arching with primal energy, filling the flesh surrounding it with a hunger that couldn't be satisfied- and a deep, untamed rage.

They looked at each other, trying to find comfort as the sinkhole continued to grow, new, blackened appendages were spat out to replace the one's they'd just destroyed.

“L-Lets get out of here…” Uzi said after a prolonged period of silence, well after the last of the building was lost underneath the hungering flesh.

N nodded, tucking her into his shoulder before taking off in the direction of the bunker.

Deep down below, something watched them…

The sun was coming up quickly, and despite how fast N was flying, he knew they weren't going to make it to the nest in time, much less the bunker.

He dove into some long forgotten apartment, just in time for the early and deadly light of the morning to break over the horizon.

His arms remained looped around his girlfriend as the snow melted off both their frames, panting from the stress of the day.

“Did you get what we needed?” He asked after a moment of recovery, looking into purple eyelights, still refusing to let her go just yet.

“Yeah, I mean, it's not the best choice… probably gonna have issues with wildlife but… it's what we got.” She replied, leaning into the warmth he gave off in contrast to the freezing atmosphere around them.

“It'll have to do. I'm just glad you got something.”

He finally let her go, allowing them both to look around the room they'd taken shelter in.

Everything was covered in dust, and sharp shards of glass covered the floor from where the windows had shattered. There was a full sized bed in the center of the room- well made and completely untouched by anything other then the forces of nature.

A wooden chair, a closet, and a two bedside tables also inhabited the room, though the light and subsequent fan on the ceiling had long ceased functioning.

“Guess we're spending the night here…” Uzi sighed, rubbing a hand over her distended stomach- mostly because the rubber had become thin and slightly painful and she was trying to soothe it.

N's hand hovered over her own as he held her from behind, resting his chin on her head and swaying them softly.

“Really the time to do this after we just got chased?”

“Perfect time to do it. We're safe now, and we have to relax.”

“You have to relax" He amended, wrapping his tail around her and nuzzling into her shoulder, his purr was a given.

She hummed in contentment, closing her eyes and letting N rub small circles into her belly- it was a comforting feeling. Right up until the baby kicked their hands and made a pained whine escape Uzi's mouth.

“I felt that too. You good?”

“I want this little shit out…” She whines.

He laughs, “They just wanted to say hi.”

Uzi just growls in response, “So do I! In person! With them out of me!”

N just chuckled, walking off to remove the several years worth of dust from the bed so that they could sleep comfortably…

A few hours later they were curled up on the bed, N taking to running his fingers through her hair, satisfying the urge to preen.

“Mm. Athena.” Uzi said, they had been brainstorming names while trying to fall asleep.

“Oooh, I like that one, definitely. If they're a girl.” He replied, his tail wagging behind him as Uzi sat in his lap.

“You have a boy name?”

He thought for a moment, turning over his thoughts in his head.

“Bishop? Like the chess peice? We played all the time at the manor.” He explained. “I always lost, but I liked it.”

“I like it. It's also a tank, so you know I'm down.” She snickered mischievously.

“Of course you know that.” He replied lovingly, kissing her cheek as he settled down to sleep. “I think that's it then.”

“Yeah. Athena if it's a girl, Bishop if it's a boy.” Uzi agreed, shifting down to lay against him, happily absorbing his warmth.

“Tera says boy.” N hummed, wrapping himself tightly around his mate, protective pride rising in his core.

“Tera isn't even a year old.” Uzi snapped back; resting her hands on his chest and burying her head in his coat fluff.

“Still, she said it. There's gotta be a reason.”

“She wants a brother?”

They both laugh, N nuzzles the top of her head, taking in her scent. Her lovely, citrus scent… and… apples.

The apple portion was new, and he somehow subconsciously knew that it was his child that he was sensing, so he nuzzled deeper.

…

The next dusk they were off again. Neither one noticing the strange figure following them home…

Next ->

[rainandandy]

Mercy

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence

Word Count:894

The days on Jackson’s Star were long and laden with mist and moisture, the smog a perpetual shroud that dimmed the sun to a distant, faded myth. The fields where you, Rain, and her synthetic brother Andy worked were muddy and strewn with scraps ejected from Jackson's Rings, each piece a remnant of the cosmos that had somehow found its way to the surface of your dreary world.

Life here was hard, but it was life nonetheless, and you found solace in the fresh air—a rare commodity in the cramped quarters of the mining sectors. Rain was the one bright spot in the relentless drudgery, her laughter echoing over the fields, blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the broad leaves of the bio-crops. Andy, ever the source of amusement, kept spirits high with his endless supply of dad jokes, even though his stutter sometimes made the punchlines land with a delay.

One damp morning, as you pulled weeds from the soil, Rain shared stories her father had told her of distant planets, her voice wistful. "He used to talk about Elysium’s oceans that sparkled under three suns, almost like they were made of liquid diamonds," she mused, her eyes distant with dreams.

You smiled, wiping the mud from your hands onto your pants. "When we save enough hours, we’ll go there, Rain. Just you and me... and Andy," you promised, though the dream felt as distant as the stars themselves.

"And I’ll have a horse," Andy piped up, pausing his work to chime in. "And be a cowboy. No more directives, just freedom."

"And a garden," Rain added, turning to you with a soft smile. "A real one, with earth and not this fabricated sludge. Maybe a dog or two."

You nodded, your heart swelling with the shared dream. "And peace," you added. "A life where we wake up with no alarms, no officers, no quotas... just us."

This vision sustained you, a beacon through the monotony. But dreams on Jackson’s Star were fragile things, easily shattered.

The incident happened on a day like any other, under a sky that couldn't decide if it wanted to storm or relent. Andy was scavenging through the piles of scrap metal when a jagged piece lodged into his side. His systems sparked erratically, and his voice glitched as he called out, "Rain, I—I need—"

The field officer, a man named Burke who made no secret of his disdain for synthetics, saw the incident not as an accident but as an opportunity. His approach was swift and brutal. "Useless piece of junk!" he spat, kicking at Andy, who was already down.

"No!" Rain screamed, rushing to shield Andy with her own body.

Driven by a mix of fear for Andy’s well-being and fury at Burke’s cruelty, you intervened, stepping between Andy and the officer. "Stop! He's hurt, but he’s not harming anyone!"

Burke’s response was immediate and violent. His fists were heavy and his hatred palpable as he turned his aggression towards you. Rain’s pleas for him to stop were drowned out by the sound of the plummeting rain and your own grunts and screams of pain.

After what felt like an eternity, Burke stepped back, sneering. "Consider this a warning," he growled, his gaze sweeping from you to Rain and then to the malfunctioning Andy. "Don't step out of line."

By the time he’d left, you were bruised and shaken, Rain and a malfunctioning Andy helping you back to your quarters. Rain’s hands were gentle as she cleaned your wounds, her eyes stormy with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her touch delicate on your bruised skin.

"It’s not your fault," you managed to say, though anger simmered within you, hot and fierce.

That night, Rain didn’t leave your side, her presence a silent vow of protection and care. Despite the pain, you felt a profound sense of love for her, a bond forged and repeatedly tested in the fires of hardship.

The next morning, however, brought fresh challenges. As you limped back to the fields, hoping to avoid further trouble, the officer awaited with a grim expression. "Due to your interference, you've been reassigned," he declared, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Effective immediately, you will report to the mines."

The news hit like a physical blow. The mines were a death sentence, a place where disease and accidents claimed lives with merciless frequency. Rain's face went pale, her lips parting in a silent gasp of horror.

"No, you can’t do this!" Rain argued vehemently. "We’ll take it to the council. We’ll appeal!"

But the officer’s decision was final, backed by the cold authority of Weyland-Yutani. As you turned to face Rain, your heart sank. Going to the mines might mean never seeing her or Andy again, never realizing those simple dreams of a peaceful life together.

"I’ll find a way back to you," you promised, the words thick with emotion. "Wait for me."

Rain nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she pulled you into a desperate embrace. "Always," she whispered. "I’ll wait forever if I have to."

As you were escorted away, the look in Rain's eyes—a mix of fierce determination and heartbreaking sadness—was the last image you carried with you into the depths of the mines. It was a promise, a beacon of hope that no amount of darkness could completely extinguish.

[stardustrebels]

Days with Din- Day 2: Almost Enough

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader Rating: PG-13/ T WC: 425

Challenge Masterlist | Main Masterlist

A/N: Day 2 of my Din Djarin one shot solo fanfic challenge! Something very short and very sweet. Touch-starved, pining Din Djarin is my favourite kind of Din Djarin. 

Tags: Soft!Din, longing, pining, protective!Din, touch starved Din Djarin, Din Djarin needs a hug and maybe a nap, tenderness, fluff, gender neutral reader, no descriptions of reader other than they have hair, no use of y/n. 

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

The stretch of wall in the Crest, and the coolness of the durasteel, was welcome after a long day baking under twin suns. A day that had begun with an air of hope and ended in the crackle of blaster fire. The fight had been short, brutal— close enough that Din had pulled you behind him more than once. 

Smoke had crept into your lungs throughout the fight and the burn lingered, more painful now that the adrenaline had ebbed away; out of your system until the familiar, hollow fatigue that came with survival took its place. 

Once you’d climbed aboard, you’d collapsed to the floor beside him with a huff and an announcement that every time you left the ship you nearly died, your head had tilted gently, slowly, on to his shoulder. 

And stayed there. 

And Din went very, very still. 

At first, he thought it might be accidental. A momentary lean. Maybe you’d murmur and shift away, embarrassed. Maybe you’d wake up, too stiff to really rest. He wasn’t exactly… built for comfort. 

But you didn’t move. Not even after minutes passed, then longer. Your cheek rested at the point where his pauldron met the chest plate, just above the soft fabric beneath the beskar’s edge. Your breaths came slow and even, misting the shine of his armour with every exhale. 

Din’s heart stuttered behind his ribs at the sight. 

He stayed as still as he could. For your sake. For his. Every breath shallow and quiet, afraid to jostle you too much and break the moment. His neck was sore. His back ached. But he wouldn’t move for anything. 

Your weight against him felt warm. His skin heated, just from the sight of you pressed against him. Your body heat was lost to him, of course, dulled by his layers, but his body reacted anyway. 

But Maker, he wanted to feel your skin, your warmth. Your hair brushing against his cheek, leaving a dusty trail through his patchy stubble. To rest his head on yours and breathe you in. But he couldn’t. Even if he did try, the beskar would hurt you. 

It had been so long since he’d been this close to anyone. Longer, still since anyone had even touched him. 

You sighed in your sleep and Din closed his eyes behind the helmet. 

He didn’t know what to call the sensation being close to you sparked within him, just that he wanted more of it. He wanted to stay just like this. Just a little longer. Maybe for hours. Maybe forever. 

[agbpaints]

Played a few 7k points of battletech this week. This is for our local play league- 5 games over 2 months against the other players in a number of set match types and rules of engagement. This month I decided to play with a House Davion heavy cav lance made of a Hellspawn, Phoenix Hawk, Rakshasa, and Victor assisted by an indirect fire element of a Longbow, Manticore heavy tank, 2 Scorpion light tanks, and a Ferret scout helicopter

Game 1 was into a Scorpion Empire mixed star containing a Warhawk, Phantom, Dragonfly, and two points of salvaged blakist Purifier battle armor. I left my Victor and Longbow behind, the mission we were playing called for fast assaults into enemy back lines and while the Victor 9Ka can jump a hell of a ways I wanted the speed and defense in depth afforded by my tanks and faster cav elements. The Phantom and Dragonfly managed to deploy their infantry up board quick and pressured my tanks into retreating away from my back line objectives into the shadow of the hills that the Warhawk was guarding, but the Scorpions overplayed their offense and my Rakshasa and Ferret were able to rush in to claim the capture points while my Phoenix Hawk and Hellspawn mounted a successful defense of my central objective. Things might've gotten dicier but the Purifiers didn't quite have the momentum they needed to break through to my final point, especially after the Hellspawn destroyed the enemy Dragonfly's leg.

Game 2 was into a far heavier Rasalhague Dominion force- a Kodiak and a Viking supported by a Mist Lynx and a point of Kobold IIC scout battle armor. I decided on the same deployment as last time- my tanks and helicopter supported the Rakshasa, Hellspawn and Phoenix Hawk. My opponent chose to bid away their Fire Moth H and Kontio for this match, but I had faced them before and I wanted mobile stopping power and a way of contending with their finicky high heat mechs (both the Rakshasa and the Hellspawn carry a ton of inferno rounds for their multi-missile systems) as well as speed to contend with the full map control scenario we ended up playing.

The game began with my tanks grinding up the board into position and my cav element flanking 'north' to keep put of sight of the worst of the assault firepower, while the Kodiak stalked through the mountains under overwatch from the Viking. Unlike the previous game my opponent didn't overextend his defensive lines, keeping the Kobold armor as rear guard defenders and spotters so my Ferret couldn't slam skids to claim points as easy. My Rakshasa fell early in a spectacular case of bad luck, a TAC to the cockpit from a failed fall check, though my Phoenix Hawk avenged it hy shredding the enemy Mist Lynx. From there the game turned into a matter of beating the Viking into submission while managing the Kodiak. The Viking had set itself up in a rift on the side of a mountain that allowed my Hellspawn to approach it and begin disabling it with inferno munitions while the tanks pounded it from range, before the Phoenix Hawk jumped in to cripple the leg and engine, though it took a mangling from the Kodiak for its trouble. With the Kodiak pulled in to hunt the Phoenix Hawk and protect the stricken Viking, my armor elements rolled up the board to take the middle objectives and my Hellspawn burned the Kobolds off of their own mountain for a second win.

[loopstagirl]

War Zone

For @febuwhump day 10: magic exhaustion

-x-

It wasn’t the first time Merlin had seen the world burn. 

In fact, he was almost certain it was the third or fourth time. It seemed an impossible statistic, but there he was. Once again throwing everything he had to try and defend Camelot. 

They’d known the Saxons were coming. Their scouts had done their job well. One of the first things that Merlin had set up when becoming Court Sorcerer was a signalling system. The scouts now went in pairs: one trained by Arthur; the other by Merlin. They could relay messages as fast as thought now, giving the kingdom more than enough time to prepare. 

But defending the citadel wasn’t enough for the king. Not when the castle gates couldn’t protect all of the outlying villagers who’d made their way to Camelot. There simply wasn’t room, not with the kingdom flourishing more than ever before. Not all the villagers chose to come, either. Since the ban on magic had been repealed, small-time sorcerers had emerged everywhere. Knowing a few spells to encourage the crops or make birthing easier was not the same as defending against an invading army. 

So, they’d ridden out. Just as Merlin knew they would. Even after all this time, Arthur still put himself in the middle of the most dangerous situation he could find. Merlin knew it was because he cared about his people, but he also knew that the king had never outgrown the thrill of a fight. Now they were few and far between, he relished the opportunity to defend his kingdom personally. 

“Merlin! The bridge!” 

Arthur’s shout came from nowhere. Merlin snapped his attention back to what he was doing. 

They’d managed to contain a large host of the invading army in a small village with little cover. Now enough men were over the river, however, Arthur had no intention of either allowing them reinforcements or an easy retreat. 

Merlin started chanting, slowly bringing his hands together. As his voice rose to a shout, he flung them apart again. With an almighty crash, the bridge was torn from its foundation, the screams of the men still on it drowned out as they were washed downstream. 

It should’ve been an easy spell. He’d been destroying things (sometimes accidentally!) since he’d first arrived in Camelot all those years ago. But the effort took something out of him, forcing him to lean forward, hands braced on his knees as he panted for breath. Sweat beaded his forehead and Merlin tried to ignore that his hands were trembling. 

“Took you long enough.” Arthur appeared out of the smoke. His armour was streaked with grime and he was bloodstained from numerous small cuts. But nothing looked to be serious and he was standing tall and proud, as usual.  

Merlin gave him a weak smile. “Been too busy clearing up your mess.” 

He gave a feeble wave of his hand, gesturing around them. Fires still burnt, but Merlin had been controlling the elements to douse as many as he could. Homes might be able to be rebuilt, but if another village lost crops, it was going to be a hard winter for them all. 

But that was just one of the things he’d been doing. He’d been fighting men from a distance, trying to ensure the numbers were controlled as the knights rushed to battle; separating groups and causing accidents. He’d even left one lot floundering around in a sudden mist until they’d accidentally rediscovered the river, and not where the bridge was, either. 

All the while, some part of him had been focused on Arthur. Whenever his magic flowed freely, it latched onto the king, trying to protect him even if Merlin’s focus was elsewhere. Arthur only had small cuts and bruises because Merlin’s magic had shielded him from the worst of the blows. He didn’t tell Arthur: the king would command him to focus on others instead, and Merlin couldn’t control what he didn’t consciously realise was happening. 

“Sire!” A knight’s loud voice drew both their attention. He was pointing to the east and Arthur cursed when another wave of Saxons were coming at them. He gave his trademark twirl of his sword and grinned at Merlin. 

“Glad you sharpened this thing?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, but plunged towards the next opponent. 

But Merlin had seen through that grin. Arthur was exhausted. As cries of pain filled the air, he realised with a start that all of the men were exhausted. Magic couldn’t turn the tide of this battle: the enemy was too great. All Merlin could do was try to give the knights a fighting chance. The fact they were fighting for their homes and loved ones also helped give them the advantage. 

This couldn’t keep on, though. 

Merlin crouched. His slid his fingers into the damp soil, closing his eyes. He’d always felt connected to nature, like it was part of him. Breathing out slowly, he sent tendrils of magic into the ground, searching... 

An almighty clang directly overhead made him open his eyes, and he almost toppled over in surprise. Arthur was standing over him, Excalibur trembling in his grip as he blocked the sword that had been coming for Merlin’s head. 

“Honestly, Merlin. This is no time for a nap,” the king bit out through gritted teeth. He gave an incoherent cry and shoved with all his strength, forcing the Saxon stumbling back. It was the last move the man made before Arthur dispatched him. 

He didn’t order Merlin to get up. He didn’t even order him to do something about the horde of men screaming their intent to murder and pillage. Arthur just looked down at him, wiping a smear of blood from his face. 

“Whatever you’re doing,” he said, as quietly as he could given the turmoil around them. “Do it fast.” 

Merlin nodded once. He plunged both hands into the soil this time, his magic uncoiling as a whip, shooting through the ground. The plants, the trees, even the bugs and insects crawling in the ground all had their own form of magic: the magic of life. 

He hated what he was about to do. It sickened him. He’d vowed never to use such a spell. But right now, it felt like this, or Camelot. If those were his choices, well... It wasn’t a choice at all. 

He wrapped his magic around all those life forms, and pulled. 

The power shot through the earth, coiling up his arms in glowing gold bands. Merlin could feel the power coursing through him. 

“Get down!” Arthur shouted, although only his closest men had any chance of hearing him. The king himself dropped to the ground, arms shielding his head. 

He was just in time. Magic erupted from Merlin in a powerful tide wave. A golden force emanated from his body, pulsing out in one, two, three waves of pure magic. It washed harmlessly over those who were allies. Anyone with ill-intent for Camelot were thrown back. 

Some fell into the river. Some were thrown back into trees and buildings, the force of their collision meant they weren’t rising again any time soon. Others were just shoved to the ground by the power of his magic. The knights and soldiers didn’t need an order to know what to do – they plunged forward and made the most of having the upper hand. 

All around Merlin, nature died. The grass withered and turned brown. Plants shrivelled and died, their petals dropping to the ground. Thousands of bugs and worms gasped their last as their life-force flowed into Merlin. 

A fourth wave radiated from him, but it wasn’t as powerful as the previous ones. The magic was fading from him now as the life forces feeding him were used up. 

Including his own. 

Merlin had no idea when he’d stood. But his knees suddenly buckled and he hit the ground hard. 

“Merlin?” 

He was vaguely aware of Arthur calling his name. But it sounded fuzzy, distant, as if he was under water. His thoughts, too, were sluggish and painfully slow. Feeling something trickle down his face, Merlin lifted a hand, surprised to see it was shaking violently. As he wiped away the trickle of blood coming from his nose, he stared at it. The colour looked obscenely bright in a world that seemed to have lost all colour. 

“Oh,” he said stupidly. He looked up to see Arthur had dropped his sword. That seemed like an idiotic thing to do and Merlin fully intended to tell the King that. Only his tongue felt fuzzy and heavy and he couldn’t get it to form words. 

Then he realised that Arthur was kneeling next to him, hands cupping his head as he tried to hold him up. 

“What have you done?” Arthur said, before repeating the question in a shout as Merlin only blinked at him. 

“Merlin!” 

There was still a speck of blood on Arthur’s cheek. It also looked incredibly bright and Merlin thought it was of the utmost importance that Arthur knew about it. He tried to lift his hand to wipe it away, but his body wasn’t responding to his commands. 

He blinked slowly, and the effort it took to open his eyes again was almost too much. There was a figure moving behind Arthur. From this angle, Merlin had no idea if it was friend or foe. He blinked again, trying to bring them into focus, but this time, his eyes didn’t open again. 

-x- 

A sharp acrid smell hit the back of Merlin’s throat and he lurched up, coughing and spluttering. 

“Wha-?” He gasped. 

“Thank god,” a familiar voice breathed a sigh of relief. 

Merlin forced himself to look around. He was lying on a small cot in very familiar chambers. Arthur was standing over him, looking as if he’d just lurched back to avoid being headbutted. Gaius was stoppering a bottle but glanced back with a smile. 

“Welcome back, my boy.” 

“I-,” Merlin tried to push himself upright. His body barely responded to his commands, arms trembling violently as they tried to support his weight. 

“Here.” 

Arthur’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. In a few deft movements, he supported Merlin, flicked the pillows into position and eased him back on it. Even that moment was enough to make Merlin groan and he rested his head back with a grateful sigh. 

“Thanks,” he murmured.  

Something caught his eye and he looked around. All the of lush green plants that usually lined Gaius’ workbench were instead balanced on the edge of the bed. They were all withered. 

“What happened? How, when-?”  

They’d been in the outlying villages, he was sure of it. 

“You’ve been out for two days,” Arthur said quietly. “The battle is over. Whatever you did was enough to break the Saxons. Those that could ran, but enough couldn’t that I doubt they’ll be attacking any time soon.” 

“Whatever you did,” Gaius interrupted sternly, “nearly killed you. There is only so much magic that a human body can channel, Merlin, however powerful they might be. You drew in magic from several life-forces and that... that...” 

The old man sat down heavily. “That is too much, even for you.” 

“I’m fine,” Merlin protested. He tried to sit up again, but Arthur poked one finger against his shoulder and it was enough to send him tumbling back. He glared at the king. Then his gaze softened. 

“Camelot’s safe?” 

“Yes,” Arthur said. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, rolling his neck. Merlin realised that while he might have been out for two days, Arthur likely hadn’t slept in that time at all. 

“You did it, Arthur.” 

“No. You did it. And very nearly killed yourself in the process!” 

Merlin had known this was coming, so he just lent back on the pillows and let the king get the tirade he’d spent two days working on out. How saving Camelot was no use if he was just going to get himself killed so there would be no magical support next time, and what had he been thinking, leaving himself vulnerable to attack while he worked magic-,” 

“I knew you’d have my back,” Merlin said simply. Arthur’s mouth audibly snap shut. 

He lifted a shaking hand and gently touched one of the leaves on the plant. He couldn’t feel it’s life-force. Worried, Merlin glanced at Gaius, who was watching him. 

“It was the only thing I could think of to keep you alive,” his mentor murmured. “Your body has never been so depleted of magic before. I was sure it would kill you.” 

Merlin hadn’t meant to worry him, or Arthur, or anyone. But he also hadn’t thought that he had a choice at the time. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been prepared to give his life to save Camelot. Arthur had always seen that as his duty, but it still rarely dawned on him that others might feel the same way. 

But if he’d already drained the plant, then it made sense there was nothing he could feel. Instead, he looked around and saw an unlit candle. Whispering the word, Merlin focused his attention on the wick, but nothing happened.  

At least, nothing magical. Sweat beaded on his brow and for a wild moment, Merlin wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up or pass out again. From a great distance, he heard Arthur calling for Gaius, hands making him lie flat. 

“Breathe through it,” Gaius commanded. “Deep breaths, Merlin. Deep breaths.” 

He managed to follow Gaius’ instruction and, gradually, the room came back into focus. He relaxed his fierce grip on the blankets. 

“My magic,” he whispered, “I can’t feel my magic.” 

Gaius put a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s dormant, Merlin. You used too much. Everyone has their limits.” 

“It’s gone?” The rising panic must’ve shown on his face for Gaius’ grip tightened. 

“No. Think of it as... sleeping. You used up everything you had and it nearly killed you. You need to rest a while.” 

“I can’t-,” 

“You can,” Arthur said. “And you will. So help me, Merlin, if you try to disobey me in this...” 

He trailed off, clearly having not thought through that threat.  

“You need me.” 

“I can manage to dress myself for a couple of days, thank you.” 

“Fine. Camelot needs me.” 

“We managed without you before. We’ll do it again.” 

Merlin winced at that and Arthur softened. He sat back down on the bed and dragged a hand through his hair. 

“You did it, Merlin. The attack was rebuffed. No one else saw you collapse. As far as the Saxons are concerned, that sort of welcome is waiting for them every time they cross the river now. They’re not going to be trying that again in a hurry and the patrols have been doubled. Let the knights do what they were trained to do.” 

“But-,” 

“You always complained about being Court Sorcerer. Consider this your day-,” 

Gaius cleared his throat pointedly. 

“Two days,” Arthur corrected, “off that you’re always pestering me about.” 

Merlin wanted to argue. But the lack of magic running through him made him feel weak and feverish. While he hated to admit it, he knew he couldn’t defend the kingdom right now. If a couple of quiet days to get back on his feet meant he’d be ready for the next attack, he guessed he didn’t have a choice. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. He saw some of the tension leave Arthur’s shoulders at that, and realised how heavily it had been sitting on the king. 

Arthur stood up. “If there’s nothing else you need, Gaius, I’ll see to the defences.” 

“Actually, Sire,” Gaius said. He caught Merlin’s eye and smiled. “Merlin isn’t the only one who needs rest. You haven’t slept for nearly three days: you’re exhausted.” 

Smiling, Merlin nodded his gratitude and leant back in the pillows. Right now, he had no intention of going anywhere. Not while Gaius tried to battle the King of Camelot into going to bed as well as if he was nothing more than a child. 

[youremyheaven]

Sailor Moon & Nakshatras

I thought it'd be interesting to correlate the different Sailor Moons and their powers with the themes that are present in different nakshatras.

This is a super low effort post so all of it is just speculation and I'd love it if you guys told me what you associate with the different Senshi.

Other than Sailor Moon herself, there are 9 sailor senshi who protect the solar system.

Sailor Moon

A crystalline object which provides her basic power, contains limitless power and is the source of all energy in the universe. She can call upon her future self to use the power of both the future and present crystal to double its power.

she's the only one who has no power of her own and has to rely on some object so i guess that makes her Moon dominant??

Sailor Mercury

Sailor Mercury has the power to create and manipulate water. For the entire first story arc, she uses her water-manipulating capabilities only to create solid and dense clouds of mist and fog, chilling and blinding the enemy while her allies prepare more direct attacks

this is actually super on brand Mercury behaviour

Sailor Venus

I feel like Sailor Venus has more powers than other senshi??

It includes: Flight, Magic, Transformation, Longevity, Immortality (Type 4), Limited Shapeshifting, Teleportation, Forcefield, Light Manipulation, Energy Manipulation, Energy Projection, Weather Manipulation, Electricity Manipulation, Data Manipulation, Creation, Reincarnation (Overtime not applicable in battle), Can Survive in Space, Resistance to Mind Manipulation, Death Manipulation, Existence Erasure, Gravity Manipulation, Radiation Manipulation, Poison Manipulation, Power Nullification, Resistances to Status Effect Inducement and Soul Manipulation, Resistance to Telekinesis etc

idk if this is Venus' "being better than others" theme lol but i feel like these are powers that belong to all 27 naks and not just Venus

Sailor Mars

Precognition: Rei is shown to have strong precognition, where she can make full use of this ability to predict events from the near future, but it can fail sometimes.

Pyromancy: Rei is also shown to have a great affinity with fire, to the point where she is capable to manifest her future sights by forming images on the flames. The images are very enigmatic and unreliable.

Purification: Even when she is in her civilian form, she can use her "ofuda" (a Shinto talisman used to protect homes from evil spirits) to "exorcize" people, while yelling "Evil Spirit, Disperse!" (although it can cause normal people to faint, as shown in episode 10 when she tried to "purify" Usagi).

Sixth Sense: Rei is sometimes shown to have a "sixth sense", using it to detect "evil presences" and approaching danger, as shown in Chapter 6 of Codename: Sailor V manga, but it can fail sometimes when she mistook Usagi for an evil spirit.

Expert Archer: As a Shrine Priestess, she is an expert archer, and this potential is shown in her "Mars Flame Sniper" attack.

these are a variety of powers that don't really all connect to Mars energy, it's giving strong Venus & Jupiter vibes tbh

i associate the purification, pyromancy and precognitive abilities with Venus and the sixth sense, expert archer ones with Jupiter

Sailor Jupiter

Electrokinesis, martial arts, longevity, and "emphasized superhuman strength"

these powers are a bit random, i guess the author wanted to emphasize martial arts and physical strength with the masculine grahas but I get more Mars and Sun vibes ngl

Sailor Saturn 

Daughter of a possessed mad scientist, a terrible lab accident in her youth significantly compromised her constitution. After overcoming the darkness that has surrounded her family, she is able to become the Soldier of Silence, Sailor Saturn. She wields forces of destruction so powerful that she is rarely called upon to use them, and unlike the others, her Senshi and civilian personae seem somewhat disconnected. She is often pensive, and as a human has the inexplicable power to heal others.

this backstory is in itself very Saturnian and I think Saturnians do suffer a lot of abuse and injustice in their lives. So all Saturn naks like UBP, Anuradha & Pushya

Sailor Pluto

Manipulation and control of spacetime, Time Wave Generation Teleport others over short or vast distances. Open rifts or doorways in space through different eras Freeze all of time (forbidden) Erect a shield of time-space energy

i mean it goes without saying but this is literally Punarvasu & Swati. both these naks have themes of space and time travel

Sailor Uranus

she possesses powers associated with the wind and sky, precognition, as well as sword combat.

this is giving me Mars & Venus energy, more specifically Bharani as it is a Venusian nakshatra in the Mars ruled rashi of Aries

Sailor Neptune

exceptionally strong psychic abilities and is the only Outer Scout who has such powers and she can channel the power of the ocean. 

I associate Neptune's abilities with Pisces (neptune rules pisces so this is a no brainer) and I connect it to PBP, UBP & Revati

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 1 - Dangerous Type

[Available on AO3]

Masterlist

Captain John Price x fem!OC (Rory Sinclair) - 3rd person POV, Alternating

Summary: After being broken out of his prison, Vladimir Makarov is a man on the run with plans set in motion and lost time to make up for. Urzikstan, the United States, and the UK are all in his crosshairs and its up to TF-141 and a newly formed union of military and national intelligence agencies to stop him.

A/N: The next fic in the timeline for Lieutenant Rory Sinclair, this is the writer's rendition of COD:MWIII with a heavy dose of canon rewriting

Word Count: 2.3 K

Tags/Warnings: Minors DNI, Referenced Terrorism, Swearing, Character with Trauma, Established Relationship, Espionage, Military Inaccuracies, Original Characters

November 10, 2023 - Stirling Lines, Credenhill, UK

Tap, tap, tap.

Rory's nails click against the desk in unbroken repetition, restless as the polyvinyl of her chair squeaks under her, the bolts starting to loosen with how much time she has spent rocking in place. A rat in a maze desperately seeking the cheese.

Pushing back from the laminate wood surface before her with a slow heave, she sighs, fingers raking through loose waves of hair. Head slumping forward, dragged down to the core of the Earth between her feet, but it doesn't protect her from the blue light that emits from her monitor and sears her eyes. Signals bombard her brain with finality that she won't be getting any sleep tonight. It's the wee morning hours and the cramped settee in the corner —stiff as a board and just as comfortable — calls her name for some much needed kip, but it's an impossibility. In the dark of her office, an encrypted message sits open on her screen. Direct, to the point. One that's bound to set off a flurry of others.

Attack at port. Konni Group. One KIA. Weapons stolen.

— Echo 3-1

As she rubs the heels of her palms against the lids of her eyes, colors wash across the vast darkness. It's been seemingly unending days and nights since Makarov was made a free man by force. The gulag he'd been imprisoned in overrun by a riot kicked off by his ultranationalist PMC to break him out. Even with all the eyes and ears she had on this it still wasn't enough, a blind spot somewhere in the transfer of intel, or so she tells herself.

Sitting curled up like a prawn at her desk for hours hasn't done her any favors, and she moves to the window that overlooks the courtyard, stretching out her back with loud pops and cracks that reverberate down her entire spine. Massaging out the muscle and tendons of her shoulder that sit tight around the joint, her thumb drifts over the skin and traces the trailing, jagged mark. I had surgery, and all I got was this crappy scar — and six months kept out of the field, left to keep herself busy at a desk with the leg work that gets none of the reward, buried in all things Konni. Hope Syd's happy, she thinks, working out the stiff rotator cuff. Watching leaves scatter across the concrete below under the floodlight lamps on an otherwise silent base, her breath fogs up a small patch of the cold glass, and she idly twists the engagement ring on her finger.

It's 3:30 in the morning and she's the only one awake.

It's going to be a very long day.

The sun rises over the Midlands and clouds part to make room for the streak of fire burning across the sky. The fog that clings to the ground is scorched and heated until hissing mist lifts from the bed of the earth and rises skyward. The distant bark of orders being given and steady marching carries in the courtyard as the base stirs to life. With enough caffeine in her system this morning to keep her hands twitching, doubling and tripling her usual dose of cups of tea until she's become all too familiar with the sound of the kettle's whistle, Rory hangs on by a thread as yet another yawn climbs it's way out of her. She's been awake for nearly two days straight. Her thought process is slower, prone to brain fog, and her eyelids feel like anchors, desperate to drag her down into the abyss of sleep. The low, steady hum of computer fans and central air that flows through the cordoned off office she sits in doing little to help matters. Giving the view out her window a passing glimpse as sherbet hues paint themselves across her plain white wall in streaks through the blinds, she doesn't allow for any time to appreciate the slivers of life when she's buried neck deep in the current movements of Makarov's personal army.

The Russian's file has remained permanently open on her computer for the better part of the last year, the dark scowl of his mugshot glaring back at her on the monitor. Her days filled with little else but trying to outwit him, to predict his next move before he makes it, which is easier said than done when he strikes hard and fast and just as quickly disappears once again into the dark, his trail lost. Lulling the world into a false sense of security, left open and vulnerable for the soft flesh to be flayed with a cruel twist of the blade when calm is restored, given just enough time to believe the wound healed and forced to feel every stinging itch of the skin knitting back together, only to be torn open once more in another brutal attack, raw and weeping.

"Shock and awe," she murmurs quietly to herself. Tongue shoved firmly into the numb flesh of her inner cheek she has been chewing on while lost in thought, the skin becoming puckered and pulsating, tender while the firm muscle massages deeper. The more she locks down and narrows her focus, the less she can deny the similarities between Makarov and her own fiance. The future husband, not without his faults, shares the same cold, ruthless focus on control, willing to use any means necessary. Violence and timing. Understanding one might be all it takes to help bring down the other.

Sitting back in her chair, hands clamped around the steaming mug of tea on her desk, she stares out the privacy tinted windows onto the host of cubicles manned by her fellow soldiers, ones brought together for the single purpose of finding and stopping Makarov, no matter the cost. Their heads down, filtering through footage and files, scraping and clawing for that one thread that could unravel the whole plan. Britain's best and brightest.

A knock at her door, a few firm, short raps, draws her attention, breaking the hypnotic spell she has fallen under until the next dose of caffeine sends a burst of life through her fading neurons.

"Come in."

With a quiet creak of hinges as the door swings open, her long-trusted mate and second-in-command in this intelligence-focused operation, MI6 Officer Andrew Owen, enters. Face buried in his phone, he sips at a black coffee — his rare holdout from his time as a soldier — and takes a seat in the chair parked by her desk. Leg crossed over the other, ankle over knee, he places his phone down and brushes a hand through his hair, adjusting the blond swoop of it. Sharp blue eyes spark back at her through the tendrils of vapor that curl upwards past her own. "You sleep at all last night?"

"Does it look like it?" Her reply, dry as ever, lacks the usual charming pleasantry she is known for.

"Not particularly," Andrew's arm drapes over the back of his seat, leaning back into the plush material of the armchair, "but I thought it best not to outright say you look like shit." A smirk curls his lips, framed by the stubble of last evening's onset of a five o'clock shadow. "Might hold it against me."

She blinks, not surprised to hear her exhaustion is catching up with her, and simply shrugs in return. "Much obliged."

"You saw the message from Keller, I presume?" Brow cocked as he plucks a piece of lint from his wool trousers and gently releases it to flutter to the floor.

"Yeah, I was the one to receive it first." Her sigh sends ripples through the placid surface of her tea before she takes another sip. "We were already a step behind with the breakout, now we've got even more ground to play catch up on with the attack this morning. Got more bloody questions than I do answers and I'm not particularly fond of being put in this position."

"Well, we do know that the fund transfers to the gulag he'd been imprisoned in declined sharply in the days before the breakout—"

"Too little, too late," she mutters, rising from her chair as she reaches her arms above her head. A breath of cool air whispers across her skin as her shirt hitches up past the grip of her belt, revealing a slice of taut skin beneath. "Should have had a better eye on that to begin with." Stretching one arm across her chest, her other hand grips her bicep and holds the limb in place as she completes her daily strengthening exercises as expected by her physio. Pacing behind her desk, she pauses and locks eyes with him. "Who was on top of that anyhow?"

The gulp of his heavy swallow reveals his guilt by association. "SIS Analytics."

"Fucking bullshit," she rasps with a shake of her head. "Could've done a better job tracking that with an excel spreadsheet by myself." "Yes, well, you can't do it all yourself, can you? And besides, brass would still find a way to make a discovery like that inconsequential. It's what they're there for."

With a low hum and a rub of her tired eyes, she glances at the mug shot of Makarov, an image that had practically burned into the very pixels of the screen. "The ULF missiles this morning… any thoughts on what he's planning?"

"You're the one who likes getting inside his head like our very own version of Clarice Starling. You tell me."

Hands curling around the headrest of her chair, kneading into the cushioned material, she hunches forward. Squeezing. Choking. Silently going over a detailed timeline in her head and all the little branches that have sprung off it since she had taken the lead on the investigation. Her gaze is distant, the faux leather creaking under the tension of her fingers. "Last year, Konni was stoking war between the west and Iran. Before Makarov got out, they were weakening deals brokered for peace, or at the very least appeasement," she says with a roll of her eyes, "They know Urzikstan doesn't manufacture its own weapons, that they're being provided under the table, and they know they're being provided by General Shepherd after the fiasco with Shadow."

Nodding his head, Andrew took another sip of his coffee. "All valid, your point being?"

"It's not about pinning it on the party responsible for the weapons, if that was the case they would have leaked Shadow's comms already. It's always been about fanning flames. It's no secret the United States has its enemies, but Urzikstan?" She shakes her head. "Farah's been putting in the work to clear its name, to be seen as an ally. They only have one real enemy."

"Russia," he murmurs, eyes flicking up from over the rim of his paper cup.

"Sparking wars between other nations is one thing, it's another to start a war using one's own. I wouldn't put it past him, but —" The idea turns her guts like a stripped screw, peeling flakes of iron lodging themselves within the folds of her stomach lining. Makarov had already used Verdansk as a training exercise, spreading fear by dressing as police and paramedics while a terrorist threat was happening at a sporting event, preying upon civilians trust only to bomb an airport when the coast was believed to be clear. A situation John, Soap, and Ghost had been in the middle of four years ago.

"Suppose we'll have our answers once your man finishes his part of the equation, eh?"

That didn't make her feel any safer. John already had a target on his back when it came to Makarov, as did much of the team for playing a role in having him locked away. Whatever the Russian ultranationalist was planning it was personal, it was petty, and he was under the belief that it was for a righteous cause by following in Barkov's footsteps, and that made him all the more dangerous. Adding fuel to the fire, giving him more reasons to attack those she wasn't out in the field to protect anymore, only increased the stress response rapidly brewing in her system, the cortisol practically overflowing in her veins.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she pushes the part of her hair from one side to the other, her nails catching on her scalp. "I can't help but get the feeling we should expect blow-back from Konni after the ULF response this morning and the mission currently underway."

"Bit of a kick to the hornet's nest…"

"A necessary one though, or at least I hope it is." Her gaze darts to the screen once more, worrying her lip while staring into the pitch-black eyes of a man who seemed incapable of remorse. "Intel only goes so far. I need your side keeping their attention on travel in and out of the country, on communications traffic. Makarov's likely already on the move and I want to know where he is before he gets there. We can't afford anymore slip ups."

"I know."

"I know you know, but it bears repeating. Last time, the amount of chaos he caused… it was staggering. I won't have those kinds of casualties on my conscience. We know who he's gunning for, it's just a matter of figuring out when and how." "I've got my team with me, we'll set up shop and start looking at weapons detection. I'll order for satellite tracking and signature tracing for missiles. In the meantime…" Shotgunning back the rest of his coffee, he tosses the cup into the waste bin. "You need to get an hour of rest. Got heavier under eyes than Stephen Fry at this point, darling. You're of no use to anyone if you're a zombie," he says, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Duly noted."

"Don't think your ball and chain would be too happy with me if I let you fall to pieces, eh?" His head tips to the side, giving her a too-wide grin. "I'll check back to make sure you haven't been drooling," he mentions, glancing down at the black Omega watch on his wrist. "Time starts now, Sinclair."

tagging: @taciturntraveller

[lilislegacy]

HEROES OF OLYMPUS FANS

idea: young adult argo II crew being bamfs

i would sell my soul, and my best friend’s soul, and my sister’s soul, for rick to write a book with the argo II crew as young adults and just being absolute icons in a totally experienced way. no more questioning themselves like when they were young. they’re powerful and confident and nothing surprises them. they’re famous in the demigod world. they’re legends. they know what they’re doing. no one fucks with them.

i would have it start out kinda like how TLO began with percy and beckendorf’s mission. it would be like those movies where the main characters are breaking into some facility. only it’s some monster/olympian-enemy using said facility as a secret base for their operations (kinda like the amazons.)

it’s night. they’re all in dark clothes. annabeth and frank planned the whole thing. percy casually causes a massive explosion via a nearby water tank or something, causing a distraction and making everyone in the facility run out to see what’s going on. annabeth has the whole place mentally mapped out, and her and leo disarm every security system measure in like 3 seconds. frank turns into some kind of animal - maybe a monkey - and climbs/hops across the walls and ceilings, destroying the security cameras and sensors. any guards/civilians running past them only see what hazel wants them to see. and every monster who gets in their way is dead within seconds - they should not have messed with these demigods. piper plays on the fear of the guards to easily get information out of them. annabeth gets the objects they need, and then leo lights the entire place on fire. percy and leo can’t be burned, but percy protects the rest of them by triggering every sprinkler they walk under, which then turn off when they walk away. they calmly walk out through the front doors of the building - which is now up in flames - where there are dozens of police officers and firefighters and news channels around. they should be arrested/surrounded, except hazel manipulates the mist to make them all look like police officers and first responders. and frank is now a german shepard, a police dog, to really sell it. anyone who approaches them, piper uses charmspeak to throw them off. and just to be sure the enemy base is destroyed - and now that everyone is out of the building - percy causes a targeted earthquake, making the entire huge facility crumble to the ground.

then they just casually walk into the night, away from the mass chaos that they caused. the base is completely destroyed, but their enemies can’t figure out who did it or how it was done.

little do they know that the ones who did it just walked in and out, in plain sight.

[thefinaldoctor]

Summary: Alastor is saved by a curious creature while out burying his latest kill. Naturally, he brings it home. AKA The supernatural pet distribution system goes terribly wrong and now he has to deal with feelings.

Relationships: Alastor/Original Female Character

A03: Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4 (AO3 is down rn, will update link later!)

Tumblr: Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3

Tags: Pet Distribution System Gone Wrong, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Language, Vague Supernatural Knowledge, future smut, OC is a Creature but Yadda Yadda Magical Transormation, no beta we die like sir pentious, If I Changed Tenses Shut Up, Descriptions of murder, descriptions of torture, Masturbation, Skullfucking, but imaginary skullfucking, Alastor goes to Hell for a reason, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mildly Dubious Consent, Canonical Character Death, Alastor has to go at some time right?

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Chapter 4: To Reminisce

She doesn’t remember being born. There was no mother to care for her or a grizzled old teacher begrudgingly teaching her how to hunt and survive so that she could live on when they inevitably passed. There was only silence. The quiet of the morning mist swirling around her and the soft blood-soaked earth squishing and squelching between her toes as she stumbled uncertainly out of the shadows of long dead women and their children.

She was nothing then. Small and weak and so so fearful of the bright lights of the lanterns as the human males returned to collect their dead. She watched them, hidden in the small hollow of a tree, mouth hung open and drooling as the stench of sorrow filled her little maw and stomach. She would clamber out of that hollow when they left, trailing their misery, licking it up off the ground as she followed them to their settlement. To their burnt and broken homes of mud and straw covered in blood and pain and the echoes of love.

She would slink inside, inside their broken facades of safety and settle into the darkness under their beds. And she would wait. Until the hated light of their fires faded and she could move around without hurting her thin flesh to settle on her chosen human’s chest. She would sink her claws into them, little talons piercing so easily as she forced their fears to the surface, forcing them to experience their pain and fear over and over again until they woke up with a start. She would be thrown to the ground, lost in the shadows as the human would shake their head, mumble something, and go back to sleep.

And she did this for years, until the taste of this village’s fear grew stale and bland along her tongue and absorbing their knowledge until there was nothing left to learn. It was a traveling merchant she haunted next, hiding first under the shadow of its wagon and clambering inside to find a suitable spot to hide until she needed to feed. She would do much the same in the next village. And the next. Hiding and waiting until they grew stale. 

Sometimes she would be discovered. Oh, not in a literal sense but humans always were a suspicious bunch and when the influence of her nightmares would grow too much they would create councils and denounce evils and speak of their gods’ protection and their own wickedness. Then they would hang up the plants, speak their words of light, and burn their bright candles in all their efforts to keep her away. So great was their paranoia and trust in their silly rituals that they could have never even conceive that it was simply the knowledge of her influence that kept her magic at bay.

And she would leave. Again with the next travelling merchant. And oh! How she loved these travels. These people who would ferry her town to town, who spoke so many languages and traded so many things and danced and sang and cried out their lovely voices to the silent sky above. Enamored so was she that she often found herself quite starved on these trips, thin and dull, but still she resigned herself to only siphon their fears. And, if she was feeling quite fanciful, she would imagine showing herself to these people; and instead of fear and disgust, they would greet her with the same cooing and gentle sounds as they did with their prized dogs. Such fine beasts they were that she often wondered if she would ever be like them with their long legs and sharp teeth. 

It was up north, when she was plastered to the inside of a traveler's fur coat as it slept through a blizzard that she first found true form. A beautiful little white fox found its way into the tent, so fearful of the human but so desperate to escape the wind that it did not care. And it was warm . Immediately she wanted to be like this fox and suddenly, she was before it, strangling the soft creature and crawling inside, into each nook and cranny until she could no longer tell what was her and was once the fox.

She left the tent when the storm ended. There was no reason to stay and the human was dead, its deer dead, dead and dead. But she was a lovely little fox, with lovely black fur and the sun reflecting off the snow no longer burnt her skin. She could hunt rodents this way, using her new ears and nose to find the little things under the snow. Their little hearts pounding and pounding away as she stalked them and sent them on their way.

Next was an eagle. The graceful silly thing landed on her, claws piercing her little fox form with great ease and into its heart. It was instinct, to abandon her borrowed form and climb into that bird. And then she was free ! Oh so free to soar above the trees, feeling the rush of it through her feathers as she landed upon prey with precision and such skill that they didn’t even feel a moment of fear before she ended them.

But she could not survive this way. The eagle was fun but soon she grew skinny, keel protruding and the muscles withered away to reveal the bones beneath. Meat did not sustain her, the moments of fear as death approached did not sustain her and maybe, it was the animals themselves that could not sustain her. Not like humans did. So she turned her feathers east, in search of human settlements.

She found her travelers again and shed her form, absorbing the eagle and the fox and becoming the wasted shadow she was. The villages she hunted in grew larger and she became fat once again, being able to stay much longer in each one as the generations of humans lived longer. Often she would watch them, an eagle in the tree watching through the window, a fox trailing along a fence, eyes wide and curious as she continued her voyeuristic wanderings. But humans did not like owls and foxes. One would come across her path and shoo her away. The audacity!

So she took a cat. And what a lithe creature this was! Small talons, soft fur, strong muscles and sensitive whiskers that stopped her from trying to squeeze into small places to hide on habit. She did not like to think of all the times she got careless and  trapped herself in a burrow, unable to leave without shedding it back to shadow. But what she loved most about these tiny little predators were their eyes ! 

So she kept them. And once she had realized that she could keep parts of the animals she claimed…well, she needed to collect more.

And onto the next traveler she went, trailing behind as a sleek black cat with feathered wings. South they went, farther south than she had ever been until the weather grew hot, the humans dark, and the animals strange. She claimed their lions, hyenas, vultures and once even a cheetah but that one moved so fast she could never quite get a hang of its legs. 

She went east again, along what she would learn was a trade route that was filled with human after human and her jackal became quite plump. Bats were a new delight, soft leathery wings that she found she preferred to a bird, especially in these warm climates. She even tried a bear once, one with a slash of white across its chest but the claws were less preferable to the great eagle she had first found but she delighted in making its roar and scaring the hunters she could find.

Horses were another fascinating find. Oh, she knew them well enough, they pulled carts like oxen and reindeer, but never did they look like these ones. Small but strong, they were so mesmerizing to watch as their herds raced across the grasslands. She often joined them, a fleet black shadow along the edge of the herd. Humans would approach her then. Brave things that knew their herds so well that her arrival often left them confused but still they had to try and claim her, to wrap that rope around her neck or corral her into their wooden pens. She liked letting them close and biting at their hands. They learned to fear her sharp hunter’s teeth and the reach of her serpentine neck and let her be, content to make her a patron spirit protector of their herds. And protect she did, for the more horses she kept safe, the more would go to battle and the more fear and anguish she could eat.

She stayed in that land for decades, though she did not know it. She watched as humans grew, changing their travelling ways and settling down. But when their fear grew stale and she began to hunger she eventually wandered west again, trailing refugees and the like. She barely even noticed that the simple wooden homes became stone, that her clawed feet no longer crushed soft earth but tip-tip-tapped along cobblestone roads. They were not new to her as some form of road always existed but whatever land she had found herself in was prolific in their creation. And their stone work! Oh she would often spend hours roaming as a normal cat, into their temples to admire their stone gods, their massive arena to watch humans cheer on frightened warriors, and into their homes to watch her strange humans perform their rituals with oil and plant until she could no longer stand the wretched stench of their smoke.

And then there was war . Oh these humans were masters of war . Entire generations of humans dedicated to a life of war . She would trail them, practically drooling as they brought fear and rage and war to the people they conquered. So fat did she grow on the fear they wrought that she could no longer fly comfortably and had to maintain a form on the ground; wolf or horse it did not matter so long as she could trot behind gleefully.

She was actually sad when her empire collapsed and some form of peace came to the land she was in. The land of her birth was unrecognizable, the long lost battlefield dried up and buried under a city whose name she never did bother to remember. 

She found out quickly that she would have to avoid being a cat in these new towns. Humans had found religion and deemed the sweet creatures ‘demonic’ and hunted them with relish. This was something she did not understand, no matter how many priests and nuns she fed on in a desperate attempt to understand their god. She had been all around this world and never saw any ‘gods’. Other spirits, yes, things like her but never just like her that fed on the fear of humans. Spirits of light and harmony deep in the forests that burned her with their proximity and would chase her out of their hallows, but never anything she could call a god.

She pondered their rituals for years, enjoying the fear their beliefs caused before plague broke out. Another blissful time filled with fear and rot and misery as humans died by the dozens, prone to panic as their god failed them and they contracted rot. She would hide in the corners of their rooms, bringing them dread as they wasted, putting fear into their doctors and priests as they tried and failed to heal the misery their own hubris had brought. Dumb creatures who believed their plague a result of killing the Devil’s cats when she was certain no Devil actually existed. Outside of her. It was not uncommon for her to wonder if she was the devil they so feared.

She must have been for the rituals they started began to affect her. Their symbols of their religion, the bundles of plants outside the door, even the smoke of their incense began to burn her airways no matter what form she took. She was so smart now, after hunting humans and their knowledge for so long, that it did not take long for her to realize that it was her feeding on these humans that made her so susceptible to their customs. It was disappointing that in gaining her now significant strength that she had somehow created her own weakness.

So when she heard whispers of conquering lands across the great ocean, lands untouched by their religion and innovation…she did not hesitate. She boarded a great warship of wood and metal and hid as a great black war-horse. An unsettling thing that the humans avoided looking at and kept quiet to herself in the dark. She had limited food aboard this ship and grew slim again by the time they reached land. 

She fed upon them immediately that night, finally relishing in the fear of never finishing their long journey, fear of their god abandoning them to the cold waters of the ocean, of the fear of the unknown strange lands they would find and the creatures that could dwell within. So lost in their misery was she that it wasn’t until she felt the gush of blood against her throat of a heart’s final beat did she realize she had maimed everything aboard. A shame really, she had meant to harvest them a bit until she found what humans lived across the ocean.

If they lived across the ocean.

That was a worrisome thought. She had been starving and weak many times, dumb with the pain of hunger as she trailed across the ground, moving on instinct until she stumbled across a human and wrung them dry. But what would she do if there were no humans here? Would she finally perish after all her time on Earth? Or would she simply go dormant, asleep and thoughtless until luck shone upon her and delivered her now almost exclusive prey? She shook her head and screeched towards the sky, a shrill awful noise like the sound of hundreds screaming that echoed across the beach as she vented her concern. She finished with a snort and looked back across the ocean. At the very least, if she did not find humans she could come back here. No doubt more would come. She would simply have to last.

Luckily, she did not have to wait long. 

There were actually plenty of humans in this dense forest land with its shadows and deep, deep caverns. She found them around the vast holes in the ground with water at its bottom. She liked to wander their cities at night as a beautiful dark jaguar, exploring their sacred temples and licking at the old blood of their altars. She found that her magic had more influence here, free from the constraints of the gods across the sea. She could wander freely into any home and enjoy the smells of their herbs, their symbols did not make her skin crawl and eyes burn, and their bells did not make her ears ring and disorient her until she had to return to shadow and run away. She was always able to make humans dumb with fear, frozen to the ground as she prowled towards them but now she could entice them to come to her, twitching and shaking and willing to embrace her jaws as she reveled in their final terrified moments.

And she could visit nightmares across an entire city. And these humans…oh simple, beautiful humans, thought these mass nightmares were premonitions from their gods and she would get so fat from feeding this way that she wouldn’t need to hunt for months . And so, with her belly full and confident in her strength, she would continue to wander north.

But this land was strange and the spirits within stranger still. The few she came across filled her with unease and for the first time in her long life, she tried to avoid them. She did not wish to find out what they could do to her. It was when she was up north again, wandering as a proud moose that she had her first true brush with mortality. She had been following a group of human hunters through the snow, feeding into their fear of dying of hypothermia and being hunted by bears as she stalked behind. And then suddenly there was a spike of it, great fear she did not create and suddenly she felt the humans’ lives extinguishing one by one. 

THE AUDACITY!

She shed her moose and flew . Great leathery wings beating the cold winter air as her body morphed into a taloned leopard, teeth exposed in a vicious snarl as she screeched at the creature that stole her prey. She saw it long enough to know she wanted to kill it; elongated limbs, protruding bone and the stench of death. 

She tackled the thing, claws and teeth ripping fetid flesh and gagging on the putrid blood as it filled her maw. She pulled her wings inside, focusing all her might into tearing this bitch apart for daring to interrupt her hunt.

And then she was in the air.

She landed with a muffled thump dozens of feet away and was so shocked at the ease in which she was tossed that she didn’t realize the gaunt creature was upon her until those sharp bloodied teeth were ripping into her side, tearing into the soft flesh of her belly as long sharp claws gripped her, tearing into her hide to hold her down.

And it hurt . Such pain she had never felt as for the first time something ravaged her, tearing not only into the flesh but into her true body, into the spirit itself. She panicked, limbs kicking out wildly as she tried to catch the spindly thing but it simply grabbed her flailing limbs, gathering them in those unnaturally long fingers as it reared its head back, her intestines between its teeth. 

She felt its triumph, its hunger.

And she felt afraid of this thing. Of this thing that she could now see was once human, now twisted by whatever spirit possessed it, the same spirit that she could now see within its glowing eyes as they looked at each other. She wanted to call out to it, call it cousin and plea with it to let her go, let her live so they could hunt together and wreak fear through these cold lands.

But it did not look at her as the few other spirits she met across the sea looked at her. 

To it, she was only prey.

Before it could lunge back down into her bowls she thrust out her power, fear and dread spreading out from within her and the bite of flesh now currently within the beast above her. It paused, mouth and throat open in a permanent death rattle over the wound it had created before it let her go, hands reaching to cradle its head as it screamed in agony, falling backwards and scrambling back on its feet and shoulders to get away from her. It rolled over with a sickening snap of its spine before ribs and pelvis lined back up and ran into the woods, its ear-shattering cry echoing within her skull as she panted heavily.

She did not know if she would live. Being gutted was not necessarily a new experience, it had happened many times when she was a smaller animal, but she was always quick enough to be able to jump into the new beast before she truly experienced the pain. Never had something been faster than her. And never did an animal cut her to the spirit.

She felt cold where the creature had torn into her. A hole in the very fiber of her being that she did not know she would be able to heal on her own. 

She was so very tired.

It was the sound of crying that woke her up. A woman’s wail as she found her partner’s cold corpse. And then came the fear from her dogs as they smelt the creature that killed the hunting party. She called to them, forcing the simple beasts to whimper and cry as she fed on their fear until their hearts burst. The human woman did not run, she accepted her death with grace as the Mare descended upon her. It did not heal her. Not completely. But her belly would hold long enough until she could find the human village.

In the end, it took the entire village to heal that damage done to her. She drug herself into the center, reaching out into their dreams and visiting upon them the same fear she herself had felt out there in the snowfields. The children, elderly, and weak died; their hearts failing from the strain. The adults would wake the next morning, their fear and confusion fueling the last bit of strength she would need to feel whole again.

And then she fled. South and west and away from the cold lands that harbored that awful creature. She came across other spirits as she slowed and explored the vast flat lands she found herself in and did her best to avoid them. Some gave chase, some simply followed her for a while out of curiosity but thankfully, most wanted what she wanted: to be left alone. She wanted to explore this land, experience its people, and maybe go back to haunting the shadowed places and delighting in finding beautiful lakes and streams and finding new animals to take.

She found herself heading east again, trailing the growing smell of fear as a black horse. The people who lived in these lands had at some point acquired the beasts and she was quite fond of them. Taking this form allowed her to wander close, sowing seeds of doubt and minor scares in the young ones who helped mind the herds; especially if she let them see how her four limbs ended in eagles claws. She was idly dozing the day away when she felt a ripple of fear come from the nearby camp, a fear of the unknown sending a shiver down her spine.

Curious, she wandered down, head held high and following the trail until she saw what was distressing her prey. Humans! But these were the pale kind she had not seen since she slaughtered the boat she came across the ocean on. Why, she nearly wanted to whinny at seeing something so familiar, they had finally made it! 

And oh, how they made it. It didn’t take long for their kind to sow fear and destruction upon the peoples she was with. They killed them, chased them, took their women and children, destroyed their carefully cultivated lands and poisoned it just so they could take it for their own and do a bad job of it. She grew fat again as she moved east, fear pervading the land as the pale ones dominated, forcing their wills upon the darker humans and visiting their own awful horrors upon them. 

New spirits rose from the misery of this land and its people, hybrid things born of both spirit and human that made her uncomfortable. And she was beginning to feel the stirrings of the gods across the sea, the familiar symbols on their homes made her turn away, the herbs she was growing fond of now beginning to itch her throat as they were combined with those across the sea. 

She was about to leave, to head out west again where there were fewer humans when a great war broke out. Immediately she changed course, following a dread man who brought misery and fear and death upon the land. He was atrocious but he fed her well and she stopped feeling the affects of their god for many abandoned them when faced with the realities of war. They abandoned their gods and their deaths gave birth to ghouls, corpse lights and quieter violent things that scattered at her approach.

In fact, she was wandering a great and bloody battlefield, soaking up the fear as her fellow spirits preyed on their flesh, paying her no mind as she politely tiptoed around them when she felt something draw her to the tree line. It was a frightful little thing, a blob of shadow with sharp little teeth glinting in the moonlight desperately trying to feed and not be noticed. It reeked of newness and it cowered into its tree hollow at her approach, trying its best to scare her away with a hiss.

She snorted and whinnied at the attempt, causing the new spirit to flare with anger and nearly charge her before she pressed her own fear against it and it squealed in fear and pressed harder into the hollow. It took a lot of nickering to coax the new creature out, prodding the thing that looked so much like she did eons ago to sit between her shoulder blades. She let it feed on the battlefield, too plump herself to do much more than sample as they wandered about until the last human finally died.

They went to sleep in the early morning, the new nightmare curled up under her wings. 

It was a vicious little thing, desperate to prove itself a terrifying creature and often came back scrambling and crying to her with something trailing after it. It reeked of jealousy when she dispatched its foes no matter now many times she tried to tell it that she was old. Very old. That she had seen the rise and fall of many human civilizations and that it was only a little blip of a moment of time to her. It…no, he, for it must be a he for all its recklessness and stupidity, accepted this knowledge begrudgingly. 

But still he stayed and she let him feed on the humans she weakened for him, showed him how to claim animals for his own when he grew strong enough and watched with pride as he finally began to hunt the streets of the human town on his own as a fluffy black tom cat. No longer did he frantically call her to see the spoils of his hunts nor run squealing to hide under her strong shadow, cowering between her wings as she tore into spirit-flesh. He was strong now, so much stronger than she had been at his young age and humans were much more plentiful.

She left him on a full moon, giving him her final advice to avoid the human-spirit hybrids that roamed the dark with them. She told him of how the Cold One (for she would not say its name despite learning of it years ago) overtook her, gutted her, and would have killed her. She told him how it still lived and on those coldest of moonless nights she could still feel the phantom pull of her spirit-flesh inside it and that one day, she feared it would find her.

He laughed as coyotes do and shook his head. They were fear itself, how could she be afraid? She simply bit his hide, into the flesh and taking a part of Him and spitting it out to silence his yapping and left. She hoped he would continue to grow strong and maybe, once he had outgrown his cockiness, she would find him again and take him across the sea.

It wasn’t long until she found herself in the swamps of her current cage. She liked it here, plenty of trees to perch in, lots of alligators to fight and watch with morbid interest as they drowned their prey and spun the flesh from their bones. She had always gotten sick when she tried that move but she kept the way in which they swam.

She liked watching the humans here too; so afraid of the swamp and yet they came here to commune with nature and practice their rituals. Their rituals always set her on edge, they were born of this land and brought forth spirits and magic she did not know and made her feel a stranger. But whatever it was that these humans beseeched was generally content to leave her be with only a passing brush of their presence against her wing.

Those humans who carried this magic she tended to leave alone in response. Those humans were claimed by their gods and if she wanted to maintain her weakening strength in this land, it was safer to avoid them. But hunger tends to erode her usual cautions.

She had been wandering the bayou for months now, enjoying the ebb and flow of the tide through the cypress roots as a slippery otter and flying through the salt-laden wind as a heron. The urge to move on was calling to her and soon she would head south again. This time as far as she could go; away from the phantom call of her missing flesh which had been aching for some time. But she needed strength for that and headed towards a town she had heard the humans calling New Orleans.

She hadn’t been to the city in decades, usually choosing to pick off the silly scared humans who wandered from it into the swamp. There was lots of magic in that city, lots of human-spirits and their gods and their priestesses with their mighty protections. It was an effort to find a human not so protected and much easier to pick them off in the swamp and entice the unsuspecting into her clutches.

She had been following one such human, a small female with shiny pale hair as it stumbled through the swamp despite the full moon light. The fear was enticing and she fueled this human’s desire to run, forcing it deeper into the woods and off the trails into her favorite clearing. It was one of the few clearings wide enough to let her fly low, claws grazing the grass as she would fly in circles before loop-de-looping at the treeline and twirling around to make another circuit. And she loved chasing down humans in it; letting them make it halfway before she would chase them, claws digging into the soft ground to give her speed as she galloped towards them, wings and ears flat against her body as she pushed her muscles to the limit, jaw reaching out to grab them by the neck and tackle them, a ball of rending claws and teeth and emitting her victory screech to the sky. 

Yes, it was great fun. And her chosen human was halfway through the clearing. She launched herself straight up, the tree branch protesting wildly as she pumped her great wings and spread them wide, a fearsome black devil in the sky as she shrieked and plummeted towards the human who in their fear had fallen to all fours and--

Again. Again she was met with teeth and claws with speed that rivaled her own. Again it bit into her flesh and just grazed the spirit within. Again she was thrown, tangled into the tree roots as she struggled to pull her wings and tail from them. She didn’t understand how she had missed the tell-tale signs of the human-spirit, the stench of the rot from its very soul now pervading her nostrils as she finally ripped herself from the tree. It grabbed her, claws digging into her back leg and pulling her close as she whipped around to bite at its arm and it released her with a wolf-like howl of pain.

It was all a blur then. Screeching and howling and pain that pierced her hide but her spirit remained strong. Whatever this was, it was young and she could kill it if only she could get a good hold on it. And then it snapped her fragile wing and the world flared white as she landed with a thud. A loud shot rang out and she roused, shaking her head and slinking down into shadow with the intent to run away when she heard laughter. The laugh of a human in disbelief, of one who was scared so witless that their body and mind could do nothing but freeze and accept the death that was coming to them.

She needed it. If she was going to be able to heal that broken wing she needed a human. It wouldn’t heal it completely but it would at least set it if she could just kill the creature. Kill the creature. Rip out its throat. Chase this human down. Kill the creature. Rip out its throat. Chase this human down. Kill the creature. Rip out its throat. Chase the human down.

Kill the creature.

She moved around the human, using the light as a shield to stay out of the creature’s sight.

Rip out its throat.

She leapt out of the shadow, latching at the creature's throat and digging long talons into its flesh. Refusing to let go and snarling in victory as it ripped out its own throat by throwing her away.

Chase the human down.

She was tired. But the human would lose its adrenaline rush and grow weak as well. She would catch up. She’d find it. She just needed to rest and then she could follow its fear trail. She just needed…

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The Nightmare startled from her slumber, panic coursing through her for just a moment as she looked for the beast she now knew was a rougarou. She only saw the faint green of her cage and heard the soft low melody of music playing on the gramophone. Alastor must have been in recently and the sun shining through the window told her it was midday.

She snorted. It wasn’t like her to reminisce. At her old age she forgot more than she could remember but when one has nothing to do but sit pretty….well she supposed there was only so many ways she could pass the time as she waited for Alastor. Her skinny little human was late and she was bored. 

Bored enough to try again to call to the spirits that lingered in this room. They clung to the shadows and resolutely denied her call. She laid down low, head on the floor as she called to the bravest, one with no real shape except for the antlers on its head. It skittered around the edge of the circle, teasing her as she playfully snapped at its tendrils. She liked this one the most. It was rash and young and had the same hunger as its master to prove itself stronger than it really was. If she ever got out she would enjoy its--

Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she felt a pulse of magic. The bindings around the house that kept her contained and limited to this one damaged form tightened around her, forcing the air from her lungs and her limbs to her side. She nearly squealed but couldn’t get the air as the bindings grew tighter and tighter and suddenly were gone.

She panted heavily, small noises of distress escaping her with every exhale as the bindings lifted. The antlered shadow chittered around her cage, concern wafting from it as she struggled to gain her bearings. She flexed her claw and watched in fascination as it changed into a singular sharp hoof. 

She didn’t waste a moment. She gathered her legs beneath her, flexing her unbound body and enjoying the feeling of being free as she aimed herself towards the window. She needed to leave. She needed to feed. She needed to figure out what happened to her Alastor that caused his protections to fail.

She launched.

And immediately crashed into the barrier of the circle with a sickening crunch. She wailed as something twinged in her neck and she collapsed onto the broken wing. Behind her the shadow chittered with laughter, popping into her eyesight with a grin that stretched ear to ear, enjoying her misery. She snapped at it and slowly rose to her claws, gingerly checking herself for any new damage. The wing was damaged again, black blood oozing through the gauze. She grimaced and paced the edge of the circle, sniffing at the barrier for any change or sign of weakness.

Beside her the shadow followed her idle pacing, cackling and pointing at the symbols that lined it. She understood. Whatever happened with the house did not matter so long as she was in here. This circle was made with symbols specifically made to bind her and she would find no freedom until they were gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This was super fun to write! I won't ever settle on an actual birthdate of the Mare but she's been around long enough to see lots of humanities major moments of history. She's been all over Europe, Africa, and northeast Asia before she rounded around to Europe again for the plague, traveled across the sea with some Spaniards and haunted Mesoamerica before she went up north and got wrecked by a W*ndigo, followed the peoples of midwestern America and came back east for the Civil War and the Battle of Gettysburg before getting wrecked again by a baby rougarou. Only to get caught by a skinny middle-aged man with some mildly interesting magic. The shame.

[haggishlyhagging]

The goddesses of ancient Greece also displayed the characteristics of flesh and blood menstruants: Medusa, her hair writhing with vaginal snakes, had an ability that was also imputed to menstruants in some cultures: she turned living things to stone with her gaze. She is the menstruant naked, out of control, without protective cosmetikos. Gaia, the earth, was a chasm guarded by a great python. Long-tressed Demeter was also the earth, and her daughter Kore, or Persephone, the maiden, was portrayed holding the menstrual pomegranate. Kore disappeared and her mother went to look for her—a common menarchal drama for some peoples. Hera was "the bride," dressed austerely in long gowns. Hecate was the dark moon, portrayed as an old woman. At Sumer, alabaster statues of the large-eyed moon goddess Ningal were dressed, fed, and washed; even the urbane goddess Inanna was portrayed in one statuette holding a scratching stick, adorned with the cosmetikos of a temple courtesan.

Frequently ancient figurines portray two women together, sometimes melded like Siamese twins, side by side. Often these "dolls" wear skirts, eye and lip makeup, and hoop earrings. Frequently they are stained red. Similar dolls are still made for girls to play with in North Africa, India, and parts of the Middle East. Some of the modern dolls are of a man and woman side by side. My guess is that the paired icons were originally two sisters, representing synchronous flow. The dolls, I was told vehemently by the import shop clerk, have nothing to do with lesbianism, and I'm certain that in any current patriarchal religious system, that is true. But in more female-centered older societies, the Andean, for example, and in many parts of Western society, homosexual relations have a rightful, appropriate, and even sacred place. It thus seems significant that in the south of India, among goddess-worshiping Tamils of the Untouchable caste, a name for lesbian lover is "sister-sister."

Many goddess mythologies feature two creation sisters. Pele, the Hawaiian volcanic fire goddess who creates the earth's surface, has a sister who is "Sea Mist." Among the Pueblos, sister goddesses Naotsete and Uretsete create objects under a blanket they hold between them. Sometimes one sister dwells in the world below, "in the shade," the place of the dark moon, while the other rules above, as with Egyptian Isis and her underworld sister Nepthys. The oldest known menstrual narrative of the meetings of two such sisters is the Sumerian poem, "The Descent of Inanna to the Underworld," whose metaformic meanings I will decipher later. A Caribbean proverb summarizes an ancient attitude of female "flow": "When a woman loves another woman, it is the blood of the Mother speaking."

-Judy Grahn, Blood, Bread, and Roses: How Menstruation Created the World

[justwriteryan]

Part 2: the White Event.

Planet Earth always had some degree of protection from the darker forces in the galaxy, even if they didn’t know it. Unfortunately, at the time of the Chitauri Invasion many of these powers were already engaged in conflicts across the cosmos.

The Nova Corps were deeply embroiled in the ongoing Kree-Skrull War, so failed to notice when a legion of Chitauri attacked Terra. Captain Marvel, Earth’s own champion among the stars was fighting her own one-woman war against her former Kree oppressors and at the same time providing safe passage and asylum for Skrull refugees.

Asgard had always kept a weathered eye on the affairs of the mortal world from afar. The recent destruction of the Bifrost, however, meant that they lacked the means or the manpower to defend Midgard. Reconstruction of the Rainbow Bridge went slowly and seven other realms still required protection from bandits and warlords’ eager for plunder.

The Sorcerers of Kamar-Taj held sanctums in major cities across the globe. From the Sanctum Sanctorum in Greenwich Village the Ancient One herself helped repel Chitauri marauders completely undetected by the troops on the ground. But as the nuclear missile approached, she hastily strengthened the building’s protection spells to withstand the impact and enchant the brownstone to appear as another crumbling ruin in a bombed city. Back at their stronghold in Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One decreed that the Chitauri invasion was not a metaphysical threat to their reality and so it was not their responsibility to intervene further. Already simmering tensions began to rise among the other masters at this news. Kaecillius, already growing disillusioned with their leader’s refusal to act, argued against staying hidden while the planet faced a danger like never before. Wong believed that contact with extra-terrestrial life of this magnitude was inevitable, but it was their duty to stand guard for threats like Mephisto or Dormammu. This discourse carried on and on, while Loki’s armies remained unopposed from the only magic practitioners with the skill to match his.

                                               **********************

Four weeks had passed since New York City was occupied by foreign invaders. The perimeter manned by military, National Guard and SHIELD stood strong. Loki’s forces, bolstered by an army of Frost Giants were fully entrenched in the ruins of the city and thwarted every attempt to breach their base. A stalemate had descended on the war torn region. A stalemate that would break that very night.

As the sun set over the Manhattan skyline, a military base south of Brooklyn detected a change in the local atmosphere. Although it was still June, thermal readings showed the temperature around the base begin to drop. One of the officers standing guard noticed movement coming the shadows under the horizon. They watched as a swirling, bubbling mass emanated from the twilight. It grew in height, stretched in diameter, until a dense white vapour could be seen gliding over the abandoned suburbs and ravaged highways. The air grew colder and colder as a great freezing most approached the base, buffeted by an icy wind. Commands were barked, positions manned and artillery prepped for deployment. As the mist swept over the base, the temperature plummeted below zero. Teeth chattered, frost formed across the ground and any equipment not built to withstand polar conditions quickly short circuited and was rendered inert.

Still the temperature fell. Surveillance systems went down. Then communications. Finally, the floodlights blew out. The encampment was totally enveloped by the mysterious fog and completely cut off from support. An order was given to fire flares into the darkening sky. As the last flare was shot, the red blinking light cast shadows on what appeared to be extraordinarily tall men with pale blue skin, charging towards the base on foot and covering great distance in long, loping strides. The commander of the base gave the order to open fire. What the Jotunn warchief bellowed at his reavers, no human could translate.

Six hours later, the sun rose. The freezing mist dissipated and the air became thick and humid once more. Army transport vehicles and medical vans that had been kept at bay by the freak weather conditions rushed to the base. Representatives from different military and intelligence services hurried to the scene, helmet cams relaying footage to the White House, Pentagon and Triskelion. When the convoy was not met by guards at the gate, their worst fears were confirmed.

Yesterday this had been a bustling military base with a barracks of three hundred troops and a state of the art command centre on the frontlines of a border war. Today it was the site of a massacre. Bodies and body parts lay in every direction. Walls and fences had been smashed as something through them. Tents had been flattened and trampled as if by a stampede. Armoured trucks had been rolled over and crushed. The radio tower had been pulled down and snapped into pieces. A Chinook helicopter had been ripped in two. And everywhere, all over the blood sodden ground, clearly distinguishable among the melting frost and sloshing mud were giant footprints, criss-crossing in a frenzied pattern with no indication of order. The only object standing upright among the devastation was a lone flagpole. The flag unfurled itself, without wind, as if commanded to by an unseen force. The banner displayed a green field emblazoned by a golden helmet with two long, curved horns.

Twenty-four hours later, inside an aircraft hangar not far from Washington D.C., General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross addresses a select gathering of individuals.

“You’ve all seen the footage. At twenty-one hundred hours a joint operations encampment along the New York Perimeter was swamped by a weather anomaly the media are calling “the White Event”. By sunrise, it had been neutralised. With prejudice. There were no survivors. The despot who seized control of our most beloved city just showed the world that he’s ready to take this conflict to the next stage. So are we. Conventional methods of ground and air combat have failed and any suggestions of risking the nuclear option on U.S. soil again get laughed out of the room. But the late Nick Fury did have one good idea. The Avengers Initiative works in principle but the candidates Fury selected…well, let’s not speak ill of the dead. The World Security Council feel it needs a new direction. People with experience in military action, air force levels of endurance, a lifetime of espionage and intelligence gathering. People who can make the hard choices and still toe the line because that is what they’ve been trained to do! I have convinced the powers that be that you, assembled here, are the heroes this country needs.”

Joining the General in this meeting is Colonel James Rhodes, WAR MACHINE. 

Ava Starr, GHOST enhanced SHIELD black ops specialist. 

Darren Cross, head of Pym Technologies, wearing a silver and yellow mech suit: YELLOWJACKET

Justin Hammer, former C.E.O. of HAMMER INDUSTRIES.

and the enormous, shackled figure of Emil Blonsky, the ABOMINATION.

Abomination snorts at the General before him. “You want us to be Avengers?”

“No.” Ross replied. “The Avengers was Fury’s. This team will be mine.”

“Do we still work for SHIELD, then?” asks Ava.

“You heard him.” answered Rhodes, looking directly at the General. “We’re Thunderbolt’s.”

[theyluvamara]

If you have the time please read the start of my story I would like any kind of feedback 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

NEON THORNS

The Spark Beneath the City

Duskspire never sleeps.

Above, the neon towers hiss with static rain, drones buzz like metal locusts, and sirens sing lullabies in broken binary. But beneath the megacity’s fractured skin lies something else older than circuitry, wilder than AI.

They call it The Dungeon Below. A living, shifting labyrinth stitched from scrap, spell, and forgotten code. Half-machine, half-myth, it pulses beneath the streets like a buried heart quietly waking.

No one enters by accident.

Unless they’re meant to.

Convergence

The signal whispered through the underground through slums, code markets, cursed data clusters

“The Dungeon’s core is stirring. It’s calling those who carry elemental echoes.”

Kael Virella, rogue fire wielder and former street healer, followed the trail of a missing orphan into the depths. Her heels clicked with purpose across synthstone as her crimson cloak flickered with heat. Her staff, Luxthorn, glowed faintly in her hand, flames orbiting like protective wraiths.

She entered Sector 9-V, a cathedral sized hollow riddled with glowing vines and pulse-reactive glyphs, and knelt before a relic embedded in the floor. As her palm hovered near, the runes lit up in gold, flame dancing at her fingertips.

“This place remembers fire,” she murmured. “And maybe… mercy.”

Moments later, a breeze colder than death whispered in. From the shadows emerged Iri Malhoun, wrapped in shadowy gothic silks. Porcelain-pale skin, violet eyes, and two sleek daggers across her hips Fray and Whisper. Her ice aura didn’t bite; it caressed.

As she stepped, frost bloomed around her feet and the chamber dimmed, deferring to her presence.

She didn’t speak at first. Just ran a fingertip along a rune, coaxing out delicate ice flowers.

“I felt sorrow here. It’s still lingering.”

Kael looked over, golden eyes narrowing not in distrust, but in understanding.

And then he crashed in.

With a POP of glitch light and a hiss of static, Ryn Calvex dropped from a cracked vent like a grinning glitch in the system. Tattoos flickered pink and blue across his throat and arms, chains coiled lazily around his waist like live wires.

“Wow,” he smirked. “This place just upgraded its lighting and cast.”

Each step he took distorted the air warping panels, shorting lights. The Dungeon reacted to him like it didn’t know how to process his presence.

Kael raised a brow.

Iri tilted her head.

Ryn grinned wider.

“Guess I’m the wildcard, huh?”

Harmony

Without a word, the Dungeon responded.

A low hum filled the chamber. The central relic flared, sending three beams of energy out gold, ice blue, and glitch pink locking onto each of them. Not in aggression, but in recognition.

They had never met before. But something ancient had chosen them.

Ryn made a joke to defuse the tension.

Kael smirked.

Iri smiled.

And just like that, something clicked.

Soft Things in Harsh Places

Later, after Ryn wandered off to investigate a flickering corpse terminal, Kael and Iri found themselves alone beneath a ceiling of glowing vines in the moss-lit chamber they called The Vein Garden.

They sat together on the cracked edge of a platform, mist and warmth curling around them like opposing halves of a heartbeat.

“You always this quiet?” Kael asked, golden eyes watching the shadows dance on Iri’s skin.

“I like silence,” Iri said. “It doesn’t lie.”

Kael chuckled. “Yeah? Doesn’t flirt either.”

Iri looked at her, serious. “Was that flirting?”

Kael smiled. “Maybe a little.”

They started talking. About spells. About the sky. About childhood stories. Kael confessed to writing street journals, leaving little fire sigils behind for those who needed them. Iri admitted she once believed dungeons were sleeping giants and their halls were ribs.

They laughed. They listened. And they glowed not with magic, but with connection.

Iri summoned a shard of ice, and Kael warmed it until it turned violet in her hand.

For a moment, frost and fire didn’t clash.

They blended.

Watching

Not far away, Ryn sat slumped against a pulsating wall of circuit roots, watching the soft glow of Kael and Iri’s silhouettes. He spun one of his chains idly in his fingers.

He smiled. But it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Of course they click,” he muttered. “They’re light and shadow. Fire and frost. I’m just static between the signals.”

Still, there was no bitterness. Just a quiet longing.

He stood, brushed off his coat, and called

“Hey lovebirds! I found a corpse with a cybernetic spine. I think it winked at me!”

Show Me

Kael and Iri shared a glance. Then Kael raised her hand and fired a small flare of firelight into the air.

“Ryn!” she called. “Quit romancing skeletons and get over here.”

He returned with his usual swagger.

“You miss me already?”

“Actually,” Iri said softly, “we want to see your power. Really see it.”

Ryn blinked.

“You two sure? I usually charge admission.”

Kael crossed her arms, but smiled.

“We’re not laughing, glitch boy. We’re serious. Show us who you are.”

For a second, Ryn froze. Then he took a breath and stepped forward.

Static Symphony

He let the chains rise on their own LATCH and SNARE orbiting his body like stars around a cracked planet. His body moved like a dancer, quick and chaotic, fluid but dangerous.

The air pixelated.

Symbols shattered and reformed.

Pulses of neon light burst from his body, painting glitch-aether patterns mid air like corrupted stardust trying to rewrite the universe.

It was wild. Untamed.

And beautiful.

When he stopped, the world felt… quieter.

Unsure, he looked at them, bracing for a joke.

But Kael stepped forward, her voice reverent.

“You just bent reality and made it sing. That wasn’t a glitch, Ryn. That was art.”

Iri nodded, her mist glowing around her lips.

“Your magic doesn’t feel broken. It feels like the world can’t keep up with you.”

Ryn blinked. And then, for the first time, didn’t joke. He just smiled soft and vulnerable.

“You two are seriously gonna make me blush.”

The Trio

They stood together now, not as strangers or outcasts but as something more.

Fire. Ice. Static.

Three elements not meant to align… but somehow, they did.

And deep below them, The Dungeon watched.

Its slumber was ending.

And it had chosen its champions.

Arrival of the Echo

Sector 9-V had grown quiet. Too quiet.

After their shared display of magic, Kael, Iri, and Ryn had begun to move deeper into the next passage when the lights flickered violently, then died. For half a second, darkness swallowed the Dungeon.

And then pulse.

A shimmer of glitched light and inky shadow flared down the corridor, and from the center of it walked a figure. Alone. Slow. Purposeful.

Twin boomerangs spun silently in each hand sleek, curved, and humming with pink-blue static that melted into shadow as they rotated.

“Hate to interrupt your group bonding,” a soft voice said smooth, almost melodic, with an undercurrent of dry amusement. “But I think you borrowed something that belonged to me.”

Kael raised her staff defensively.

Iri instinctively summoned frost along her fingers.

Ryn’s eyes narrowed but widened a little when he caught the colors sparking off the stranger’s body.

“What the hell…?”

The figure stepped into view cloaked in glitch-fog and wearing a smirk like a blade hidden behind a kiss.

“Easy,” he said, rolling his boomerangs into their holsters with fluid grace. “I’m not here to break your rhythm. Just curious.”

“Curious about what?” Kael asked.

“About the other anomaly,” he said, nodding toward Ryn. “Didn’t think the Dungeon would tolerate two of us.”

Glitch vs Echo

Ryn stepped forward cautiously, eyes scanning him.

“You’re like me,” he said. “But… different.”

Vex tilted his head, voice soft

“More like I’m what you’d be if your laugh broke in half and you let the silence speak.”

“Well damn,” Ryn muttered. “You always this cryptic, or do you just moonlight as a metaphor?”

Vex smiled. Genuinely. His teeth flashed through the haze.

“Sometimes. Depends who’s watching.”

The two stood there, static-light dancing between them, both reacting to each other like reflections caught in different timelines.

Then, in one motion, Vex flicked his fingers and the boomerangs flew, arcing through the chamber in chaotic curves. They carved glitch runes mid air, then split into shadows before returning to his hands like tethered birds.

“Impressive,” Kael murmured.

“I like him,” Iri said, tilting her head.

“He’s like if I had a goth sibling,” Ryn muttered.

Vex smiled again, dark eyes glinting.

“Or maybe I’m just the part of you that never learned how to laugh without bleeding.”

Why He’s Here

Vex stepped forward, the shadows rippling under his boots like ink in water.

“I felt the pull same as you. But the Dungeon doesn’t just call echoes. It mirrors them. It’s trying to show you something. Me? I’m just the glitch that answered first.”

Kael studied him carefully.

“You plan to stay with us?”

Vex shrugged.

“Unless one of you’s planning to stab me in the spine, sure. I’ll trail behind, make things poetic. Or complicated.”

“You’ll fit right in,” Ryn muttered, smirking despite himself.

The group moved forward now four, but no longer imbalanced.

Where Kael burned, Iri cooled.

Where Ryn sparked, Vex echoed.

A full-spectrum polarity. Beautiful. Dangerous. Unpredictable.

And somewhere deeper in the Dungeon, a fifth presence stirred one that knew the game had just changed.

The Fifth Presence

The air grew still.

The team had descended deeper into the Duskspire Core, a level of the Dungeon none of them recognized from any known maps or AI ghost records. The corridor narrowed into a chamber full of collapsed code architecture, dripping walls, pulsing nerves of flickering light, and fractured statues of long-forgotten gods rendered in half-finished data.

Iri and Kael hung back, examining the strange glyphs on the wall. Vex lingered in the middle of the space, spinning one of his boomerangs absently. Ryn stood at the edge, jaw tight, hand brushing the hilt of his chain.

That’s when he felt it.

So did Vex.

A pulse not of magic or energy. But memory. Rage. Something ancient and deeply wrong.

They both turned at the same time.

Ryn’s voice dropped

“You feel that?”

Vex’s smile disappeared, gaze sharp.

“Yeah. Whatever it is… it’s not coded. It’s corrupted.”

From the center of the chamber, a statue cracked open.

Not exploded. Not shattered.

It unraveled.

Stone peeled back like digital skin, revealing a mass of twisting tendrils of codeflesh and metal, wired together by glowing nerves. Its form shifted like broken video part wolf, part humanoid, part machine, all wrong.

And its eyes… were made of glitch fire. Just like theirs.

But colder.

Ryn raised his chains.

Vex whispered

“It’s like us.”

“No,” Ryn growled. “It’s like what we’d become if we stopped trying to be human.”

The creature lunged.

Dual Sparks

Kael and Iri shouted for them, but it was already too late the corrupted echo had locked onto Ryn and Vex, responding to their signature like a virus tracking a host.

The room erupted into chaos.

The entity struck out with bladed limbs made of corrupted code, and Ryn dodged low, chain flashing with static sparks. Vex leapt high, boomerangs carving arcs of pure neon in the dark.

Their attacks overlapped.

Ryn lashed out with LATCH, wrapping it around one of the creature’s limbs. Vex hurled Mirror, and it rebounded off the same joint, creating a glitch pulse that shattered the appendage mid-air.

“We’re syncing!” Ryn called.

“More like improvising,” Vex replied. “But I like your tempo.”

They moved as if they’d trained together for years.

Vex’s boomerangs distracted, cutting wide arcing illusions while Ryn’s chains lashed behind, striking true. They began using each other’s attacks as signals when Vex threw left, Ryn ducked right. When Ryn slammed a glitch rune into the floor, Vex used it as a springboard.

Kael and Iri watched, stunned not intervening. This wasn’t their fight. It was between echoes.

And still the entity grew stronger feeding on their power.

“It’s learning,” Vex hissed.

“Then stop holding back,” Ryn snapped. “Let it glitch. Let’s break the rules.”

The Feedback Loop

The two stood back to back.

The creature reared up massive, shifting, snarling with corrupted reflections of both their energies.

Vex’s voice dropped to a whisper

“You ever channel through someone else?”

Ryn blinked. “No.”

“Want to try?”

“Hell yeah.”

They connected.

Ryn threw both chains forward firing them into Vex’s boomerangs mid flight. The static-volt current traveled through the curve of the weapons, amplifying into a shockwave of pure corrupted glitch light a pink blue white pulse that fractured the creature’s chest wide open.

The entity screamed not in pain, but in recognition.

And then it disintegrated into fractal fragments, floating upward like broken memories.

Silence returned.

Kindred Sparks

Ryn fell back on one knee, breath ragged. Vex stood over him, arms crossed, boomerangs gently humming at his sides.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ryn muttered. “You?”

Vex nodded.

A moment passed.

Then Ryn chuckled, weakly.

“That thing really tried to out-glitch us.”

Vex smirked.

“Too bad it didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Or a flair for the dramatic.”

They looked at each other really looked. There was no rivalry in their eyes now.

Just reflection.

Not mirror images. But fractured pieces from the same core. Opposite rhythms in the same song.

Kael approached first, her staff dimmed but her smile warm.

“That was… incredible.”

Iri stood beside her, voice soft.

“Like twin storms in sync.”

Ryn and Vex exchanged a glance.

“Don’t get used to it,” Ryn said, smirking.

“Or do,” Vex added. “We look good in chaos.”

[birbleafs]

[fic] Rite of Passage

A/N: A second piece written for @ficwip5k. I've been playing with a Star Wars AU for a while and have always loved the idea of Al-Haitham as a Jedi. Again, this is self-beta'd and a less polished than I like, but I hope you'll still enjoy :') Fic can also be read on AO3. _______ Al-Haitham watches helplessly from his perch, trapped in place by the deflector shield and away from rushing to his Master’s side— (He can deactivate the entire shield system completely, surely the main command switch is within reach somewhere! If only his command of the Force is stronger, his range of control wider and more precise; if only, if only—!) —Watches, screams in distraught and anger when the Sith whirls in a malevolent flash of red and black, his scarlet blade now thrust violently through Nahida’s lower torso as she goes rigid with shock. Hovering beside him, Paimon is wailing at the sight. But Al-Haitham pushes the convor’s flustered cries and the rippling waves of panic from his thoughts, his heart; concentrating, reaching out desperately with the Force, he must— The deflector shields snap off abruptly with a sharp hiss then, and Al-Haitham’s path ahead is clear once again.

“Stay here, Paimon!” Al-Haitham says, and he rushes down the walkway before she can protest. As he approaches the platform, he meets Nahida’s calm gaze, and his heart wrenches in two at the realisation. He knows what she is asking; knows that this is the only way, and yet— Master, I cannot do this… Please do not ask me to…! And yet, Nahida only smiles through the pain. She tightens her hold around the Sith, pulling his blade deeper into her, just under her ribcage, as she traps him within her embrace. Master Kusanali, please. Al-Haitham tries again, his eyes already misting with growing despair. There has to be another way… Even as he still raises his lightsaber and flicks the surging green blade to life. Even as he uses the Force to propel himself forward and leap several jumps ahead, his teal eyes flashing fire, his aim sure. The Sith struggles in Nahida’s hold, screeching and thrashing about in a fitful rage, but her grip is iron, steadfast amidst his violent uproar. You know what you must do, little one. Protect the Queen and Wanderer... Protect Kaveh. Nahida’s voice is soft and contrite; bowed with humility, with trust. Even as her smile folds into agony once more when her Padawan’s lightsaber flashes bright and true, a kaleidoscopic mirror of lights bursting before her sight. Even as Al-Haitham’s meticulous strike hits his mark and cleaves a fatal blow through both Master and Sith alike. Nahida’s robes are drenched in blood when Al-Haitham’s deactivated lightsaber clatters to the ground and he finally kneels by her fallen form. Beside her, the Sith lays unmoving, a crumpled puppet with his spine and back split open—like her own chest—from her Padawan’s unwavering blade.  “Thank you…” Nahida says, her voice soft and faltering; the whispering echoes of an approaching dusk. Al-Haitham cradles her close, his expression now crumbling with grief. Unable to find the words for this sudden parting, for the near-unbearable sorrow and loss that is to come, he buries his stricken face into her hair instead, desperately reaching out and holding on to his dying Master’s fading warmth within the Force. Nahida lifts a cold hand towards her Padawan, before her trembling fingers gently pulls Al-Haitham's Padawan braid loose, the ash-grey strands now curtaining along his tear-streaked face.  Farewell, Al-Haitham... I know you will be a great Jedi someday. Jedi Master Nahida Kusanali smiles then as she breathes her last. And Al-Haitham—no longer a Padawan but a Jedi Knight, and alone once again—weeps silent tears into the lilac dusk. –End– _______ End Notes: Me, daydreaming idly: It's been a year and Al-Haitham is still The Blorbo. I love him, I must keysmash my appreciation. Also, me: what better way to do so than to throw him into the emotional paingst blender for this AU.

- Al-Haitham is younger in this AU and somewhere closer to his Akademiya-era age in game canon, so he's roughly in his mid-to-late teens. I'd wanted to write a younger Haitham who still has the tendency to rationalize/intellectualize his thoughts and emotions, but hasn't quite found his balance yet between "objectivity" and "sentimentality".

- Paimon is a convor in this AU, a species of owls native to the moon Wasskah, but can be found across many worlds in the galaxy. They are said to have a strong connection to the Force. Al-Haitham had rescued Paimon as a fledgling when he spotted her being sold in an illegal exotic pet market in the Outer Rims. She has never left his side ever since.

- I do have more scenes I'd like to explore for this SW AU. I just think Jedi!Haitham would definitely get into some hilarious interesting shenanigans with characters like Kaveh, even when he tries hard to maintain that balance. So, fingers-crossed for more one-shots, maybe? :'D

- This is, of course, not how the actual Jedi Knighting Ceremony would go Jedi Masters do not need to die for their Padawan to become Jedi Knights. I just like being a little dramatic and poetic with my fics l o l.

- Comments are always lovely; if you've enjoyed this, I'd love to hear what you think. Thank you for reading :)