#Scourge of the Seven Skies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blindmagdalena · 1 year ago

Text

All That Glitters

18+ 15.7k words. Dragon!Homelander x F!Reader fantasy au, messy world building, referenced cannibalism, handfeeding, super dubious consent, sexual coercion, monster anatomy, size difference, cunnilingus, breeding kink, dirty talk, marathon sex, mating bond/bite, knotting, tongue baths, virgins, scent kink, overstimulation, body betrayal, fairy tale schmoop. AO3 Link!

Summary: In a world where the only currencies that matter are gold and blood, the gods are lavished with both. Your regions god is a fearsome beast said to reign hellfire from the skies should his appetite not be satiated. When the demand for human sacrifices increases, you make the choice to volunteer yourself, determined to bring an end to the bloodshed, and ascend into the jaws that await you in the old stone tower deep in the woods.

illustration by the ever incredible @anon-nee, who was instrumental to the writing of this fic. see the full piece here! originally written for Monsterlander Mania, but obviously spiraled wildly out of control.

For as long as you can remember, there have always been sacrifices.

Such a thing is not unique to your village. Gods–and the creatures worshiped as such–throughout the world demand all manner of recompense for protecting the lands of those who idolize them. If the slaughter of a single lamb ensures green pastures in which the herd may thrive, few ever think twice before they lift the blade.

Not all townships worship for benevolence, however. Yours has always worshiped for mercy.

For generations, stories of hellfire raining from the sky have been passed by your people. A great, terrible beast with wings as wide as ten men were tall once patrolled the skies above you, wielding power so devastating that not even ballistae firing bolts the size of tree trunks could fell it.

It had a hundred names, each more terrible than the last. Scourge of the Skies, the Red Death, Flame’s Maw, and perhaps most unfortunately, the Devourer. Named as such for the countless lives it began to claim when treasures were deemed an insufficient tribute. Sacrifices were initially sparse, required only every dozen or so seasons. As time went on, the Devourer grew greedier and greedier, with the timespan between sacrifices shortening.

By the time you offer yourself to the council, there has been a sacrifice every month for over a year.

The wagon hardly jostles on this well-trodden road. You imagine it used to be a rougher ride, but with the increase in frequency of travel, it has smoothed. The thought worsens the feeling of icy weight in your stomach. One might think the exquisite fabrics you’re dressed in would bring some measure of comfort–softer than anything you’ve worn before–but the extravagance of them only serves to further alienate you from yourself.

You have become a thing. A finely adorned offering, and the fabric makes your skin crawl for it.

The tree cover breaks, revealing a monolithic stone tower that stands so tall, it splits the sky in two.

The Tower of the Seven. It’s been generations since anyone knew exactly what it was named for, but legend speaks of mythic creatures that were once held in such reverence, this tower was built in their honor. It served as both a temple and home to these venerated beings.

The years have not been kind to it. The stone pillars have become wild with overgrowth, and the air about this place reeks of stale, old death.

It stands now as a graveyard.

Even the horses refuse to venture much further than the threshold of the treeline, forcing you and your attendants out of the wagon to tread the remainder of the trek on foot. The men who walk with you carry short swords, but they serve no practical purpose, their edges having long since dulled. They are not here to protect you, they are as much a part of the ceremony as your fine clothes.

You shield your eyes as you look up at the staggering height of the tower, but swiftly drop your gaze. Best not to think of what awaits you.

On paper, sacrifice seems a simple thing. Slitting one’s throat upon an altar, floating a burning pyre across the river, or feeding the tribute a concoction of sleeping death and burying them into eternal slumber. Murder can be a righteous thing in the hands of a believer, or so they say.

For you, and those who have come before you, martyrdom is not as effortless as lying down and dying for the cause. The tower presents a trial to you. You must willingly climb the hundreds upon hundreds of large stone steps in order to prove yourself a worthy tribute.

Why you must prove your flesh worthy of consumption is beyond you. You’ve never heard of a farmer who sends his cattle to run laps before the slaughter. It seems a petty thing to demand. Perhaps the Devourer has grown indolent and slovenly in its feasting.

It’s easy to dream up nightmarish images of such an awful creature. A legless winged wyrm with a ribbed body, fat and slimy like an oversized earthworm. It would have an enormous maw with hundreds upon hundreds of jagged teeth, its breath reeking of charred flesh and sulfur. Such a wicked beast would stink like the layers of hell.

Somehow, tormenting yourself like this is an oddly calming distraction. The more nightmarish it becomes in your mind, the less real all of this feels. It’s just a bad dream.

No one speaks as you reach the base of the tower. There’s nothing left to say. You’re one of a dozen in the last year alone these men have ferried to their death. It almost seems cruel to expect eye contact, let alone sympathy. For that reason, it catches you off guard when one of the older of the three, a man named Hector with a thick set of troubled brows furrowed above kind but bloodshot, watery eyes puts his hand on your shoulder, offering a light squeeze.

The last sacrifice had been his own daughter.

In his gaze you find grief and gratitude in equal measure. Neither brings comfort. You return a small nod and move your eyes back to the ordeal that awaits you.

The tower is like an optical illusion: the proportions make it seem a reasonable size at a distance, but the closer you walk to it, the more mythical a thing it becomes. The archways curve high above your head, sized for creatures of legend, and the head of the building disappears completely into the sky.

In the center of it, a spiraling stone staircase beckons you. The masonry is exquisitely smooth despite the age of it, carved in an era when magic was a hundred times more prolific than it is now. It’s wide and open, the steps so large that you’ll be taking them one at a time. Worse than that, however, is the complete absence of any kind of protective railing.

If you sway, you very well may fall to your death.

At the center of the spiral stands a pile of debris. As you approach, a rustling catches your attention and you freeze, eying the pile warily. The head of a creature suddenly pops up, startling your heart into a thunder, but after a beat you recognize it for what it is: a small fox, its muzzle dirty. The two of you stare at one another for a long moment before one of the men behind you calls out, “Shoo, shoo now.”

Everyone keeps hushed, as if terrified of disturbing what is yet unseen.

Moving closer, you anticipate you might see a dead rabbit, or perhaps a chicken. Anything would have been a more welcome sight than the gnarled half-eaten body of a woman dressed just like you piled amongst the debris. You gasp, both hands flying over your mouth as you stumble a few steps backwards.

For a horrifying moment, you swear you see your own face in the rotten remnants staring back at you with black, empty eye sockets. It’s the hair that gives away the delusion, however, and with a chill down your spine you recognize the sacrifice who came before you; Hector’s daughter.

“Nadja,” the man groans morosely, the weight of grief in his voice palpable. You move away, towards the stairs, and watch with a morbid sort of fascination as the man weeps over the corpse of his daughter, touching her hair and her clothes, the only parts of her not twisted and rotted with death, the body left for maggots and scavengers. It’s sick, nothing like the beautiful and noble gesture sacrifice is always said to be. You look up at the dizzying height of the spiral staircase, following the line of it until the stone disappears into darkness. Did she fall, or was she cast away, having somehow proven herself unworthy?

In a strange sense, watching the men wrap her body in cloth to be carried home feels very much like playing the part of voyeur to your own demise. You stand at a distance, hand braced upon the stone, unable to shake the dread that you’re witnessing a vision of the future. Your future.

No. You will not be left for the insects and carrion-feeders. You turn your back to the sound of Hector’s weeping and, without another world, determinedly begin your ascent one large stone step at a time. Although you feel the men’s eyes heavily upon you, they remain silent, as if already grieving you.

Do not, you think brazenly, skin flushed with unexpected fires that bring your blood to a boil. Do not dare mourn what isn’t dead.

Those flames burn hot enough to carry you easily up the first several floors, indignantly stomping your way. You’ve heard stories of this tower all your life, but nothing could have prepared you for the true scale of it. Most of it is in a terrible state of decay, full of overgrowth and rot that, centuries ago, may have been wood and cloth.

You stop for a breath beneath the remains of what looks to have once been a vibrant mural. You can see trace evidence of beautiful paints, but whatever it depicts has been brutally clawed from the stonework. You lift a hand up high to trace one of the deep gouges in the stone; the marks are spread too far apart for your fingers to reach, but you can make out five distinct patterns nonetheless, like drag marks from a hand three or four times the size of your own.

Beyond the ruined mural, there are statues, too. You pass a grand monument of a woman who stands over seven heads tall wielding a sword of equal might, the statue adorned with steel bracers. You think she might have been beautiful in the same way a frightening storm is, but the head of the statue is long since gone.

On the next floor, you see upon the ground the ruins of a statue of a mermaid–at least, you thought it was. Upon further inspection, however, you see that the statue depicts a man. He has the lower body of a fish and strange indentations along his ribs, just beneath his bare carved chest. He, too, is headless, torso split horizontally, stone strewn across the floor.

This temple must have belonged to these lost figures, their monuments as desecrated as the rest of the tower. Whoever the Seven was, the world has since forgotten.

You wonder if the Devourer did this, defiled this temple to erase whatever history of heroes came before its tyranny.

Ultimately, you only find six statues. None of them have managed to keep their heads, and some are in worse shape than others. You imagine the seventh might have been destroyed entirely. It’s easier to imagine how or why these things might be than it is to focus on how badly your body aches, how you started this venture with the morning sun barely upon you, and yet you barely feel any closer to your destination as the darkness of night encroaches.

Every limb screams for rest. You stop occasionally, but you feel you must not sleep. Was poor Nadja pitched to her death for sleeping through her trial? You’d rather not find out. You’re not even sure if you would wake with the same angry conviction that drives you forward now, climbing step after unforgiving step. It’s gotten colder the higher you’ve gone, too. There’s a chance if you slept amidst the stone, you would turn to it yourself.

“Grant me strength,” you whisper to whomever may be listening. Be they fae or devil, benevolent or malevolent, it would be a boon to know there was some manner of being on your side.

You lean on the wall far from the edge as you ascend the spiral, too nervous of a fall to look over the edge and gauge your progress. A brisk wind chill has begun howling through the tower, whipping your clothing about and biting at your skin. You hug one arm tightly across your chest, bracing against the cold. At this rate, you’ll make for a crunchy meal not just for your bones, but for the frost you arrive covered in.

Your foot slides on something on the step that shifts and clatters. You nearly fall, heart hammering in your chest as you manage to catch yourself. Looking down, you’re shocked to see a pile of shining gold coins spilling down the steps amongst the debris. There is enough wealth discarded on these steps to see a dozen families fed for years and years to come.

You must be getting close. Carefully, despite the tremble running through your body, you shuffle your way through the mess, kicking it aside when you need to clear more of a path. The sound of rubble and gold and the like falling off the edge of the steps makes you flinch, the prolonged clattering of it serving as a reminder of just how agonizingly high you’ve managed to climb.

The familiar flicker of fire light draws a gasp of relief from you, tears gathered in your eyes from the sheer pain of moving your body forward. You can see shadows dancing across the walls, beckoning you from the cold with the barest hint of a warm draft. You’re practically crawling up the steps now, every part of you aching horribly. The tremble in your body is so severe, you worry you would fall to your death if you continued trying to walk through the hoard of treasures that have spilled down the steps.

You practically sob with relief when you reach the final step, limbs quaking beneath you as you haul yourself up onto the top floor and away from the awful railless edge of the spiraling stairs. You bury your face in the fold of your arms. The mixture of relief and exhaustion is so intense, the rest of the world falls away briefly, and the only thing that matters is catching your breath while you all but dry heave on the floor.

“I’ll be damned. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” purrs a resonant, honied voice, snapping you immediately back to reality. You shoot into an upright position so suddenly your head spins, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision.

Before you rests an enormous circular hall lit with dozens upon dozens of torches. The walls are lined with beautiful arched windows, and the interior is piled nearly to the vaulted ceiling with obscene amounts of coin, weapons, artifacts and similar treasure. Your gaze drifts towards the center of it all, where the source of the voice awaits you.

As it turns out, The Devourer is no oversized earthworm.

Reclined upon a magnificently carved marble throne, you behold a creature made of equal parts man and beast. Even sitting, his stature easily brings him heads taller than you. He is adorned exquisitely in gold embellishments–jewelry and piercings alike–and rich navy slacks, serving as a fine centerpiece to the lavish, untidy wealth that surrounds him. He wears a crown fit for a king, the jewel of it a radiant blue that matches his sharp predatory gaze. His lips spread into a wolfish grin. You’re utterly bewitched by the flash of his fangs.

“Rise,” he orders you, gesturing with a clawed hand that’s easily the size of your head. His rings shine beautifully in the firelight. “And speak.”

Shakily, you fight to climb to your feet. Worm or not, this man–this creature has been preying upon your people for generations. You remind yourself of the countless lives lost, of the mourning families, of Nadja’s desecrated corpse and the sound of her father weeping over the rotten remains of her. You steel yourself.

“You who the people know as Scourge of the Skies, Red Death,” you begin, blinking rapidly. Your head began swimming the second you stood. You’ve never been so worn out in your life, and though there are flames here that offer a slight degree of warmth, the cold has sunk deep into your bones. As you speak, your vision gradually begins to tunnel. “Flame’s… Maw… and the Devourer,” you address, fighting desperately to stay focused even as he fades in and out of clarity. “I’ve come to pay my village tribute, and to… to…”

The darkness at the edges of your vision thickens. Your words feel heavy and slurred on your tongue. You sway, feeling your own head slosh like a bucket of water, and before you know it, you’re pitching forward, and the world goes black.

That was anticlimactic.

There was a time he would have been met with awe. Reverence. He didn’t expect you to simply black out.

Scourge, Red Death, Flame’s Maw… Maw. He’s always despised that word in particular, and the ugly imagery it evokes. Just a handful out of hundreds of names he’s been called over the years–if you can call them that. Many border on insults, if not are so outright. The most tolerable name he can remember is Homelander.

They called him that in celebration, he recalls. Those were the last of the days he had any care left for them.

He blows a smoky little raspberry as he stands, hands clasping behind his back beneath his wings. His tail sways idly as he approaches, tentatively intrigued by your splayed form. It’s rare that a sacrifice makes it all the way to the top at all, let alone in a single day. The last one only made it halfway before she decided falling to her death was a kinder fate than him.

Truth be told, he should have reigned hell upon their little village for her insolence. Fortunately for them, her display filled him with far more apathy than it did fury. He crouches down near enough to touch, though he hesitates, hand ghosting just over your body. He tilts his head to the side. Your breaths are shallow in your sleep, a slight wheeze to each one. Your body is clearly overexerted.

Delicately, he slips his hand under your cheek to turn your face to him, examining your features. You’re prettier like this, the tension drained from your expression and replaced with peace. Certainly not the worst tribute he’s been offered. You were at least determined to reach him.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

He won’t kill you. Not yet.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, supporting your comparatively slight form with ease. You feel as frail as any mortal might, but the weight of you in his arms strikes him with a peculiar sense of melancholy. He takes pause, more closely observing the shape of you cradled in his arms, head lolled against his chest. You fit there nicely, small as you are. He can almost pretend you’ve simply fallen asleep in the crook of his arm; somewhere you’ve always belonged.

It’s an intriguing little fantasy. He hasn’t felt the need to indulge in one of those in a long while. He keeps his eyes on you as he walks you to the collection of pelts gathered on the far side of the room, where he lays you down atop them.

What had you been intending to say before you passed out? Your departing words spin round and round in his mind while he looks you over, lowering himself until he’s on his hands and knees above you. Tributes used to come richly adorned in jewelry and glittering things, but such pageantry has long since vanished. He’s surrounded by enough of it that the absence doesn’t bother him anymore.

The glitter of gold hardly catches his eye these days. He doesn’t call for sacrifices to add to his wealth. He only seeks to quell his boredom. Perhaps you will prove useful for this, at least for a time.

Pressing his clawed thumb lightly to your chin, he tilts your head away and leans in, nosing up the line of your throat, lips barely ghosting your soft flesh. He inhales the salt-sweet smell of you, a mixture of sweat, the dusty stone steps you’ve scaled, and the sweet herbal oil bath your kind always receives before you’re sent to him. The blend is strangely intoxicating on you.

It makes him wonder if you taste as good as you smell. Parting his lips, his split tongue spills past them and drags a slow serpentine pattern from your neck to your jaw. Mmm, fuck. You taste better than you smell, the rich oil you were bathed in still clinging to your skin beneath the salty tang of your sweat.

It would be too easy to devour you. He groans quietly at the thought, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s known few things more intimate than sinking his sharp teeth into warm, pliant flesh. The feel of a pulse slowing against his tongue. The metallic rush of blood down the back of his throat. He hasn’t craved human flesh the way he does right now in years, yet something in the scent of you has ignited that primal aspect of him. Salivating already, he swallows it away and draws back.

Not yet. He still wants to hear what you were going to say.

It makes him smile to see the goosebumps that have erupted on every inch of your exposed skin. He cocks his head to the side and trails his index claw down the center of your chest, dragging down the pretty white fabric of your sacrificial dress, stopping just shy of the swell of your breasts. More goosebumps there, too.

None of it compares to the sound that you make. In your sleep, your brows furrow, and you exhale a noise somewhere between pain and sheer exhaustion, your small hand brushing his as you adjust against the pile of plush fur pelts. His gaze drops sharply, hand lifting tentatively. After a beat, he sets it down lightly atop yours. Captivated, he watches your whole body respond to his touch, turning and curling in towards him like a flora bending to the light of the sun.

Fascinated by your innate reactivity to him, Homelander lowers himself onto his side next to you. After a beat of hesitation, he encircles your wrist with his thumb and index finger and brings your palm flat to the warmth of his bare chest. A tantalizing shiver rolls through your unconscious form. Just as he had anticipated–hoped?–you follow the feel of him, moving completely onto your side and into him, breathing out a shuddering little exhale while the fire that runs through his veins warms you.

It isn’t enough to stop you shivering, though. Shifting, he spreads out his wing and curls that over you, blocking the draft that spills in from the surrounding windows. Only then does the tension in your body begin to ease, warmth chasing out the chill from your bones.

Homelander smirks, feeling inexplicably accomplished over this mundane little feat. He’s never particularly cared for the comfort of his tributes before; they’ve never served as anything more than playthings and meals. You should be no different. He knows you would be a delectable thing on his tongue, warm and wet down his throat, yet the thought of you in pieces–cold and unmoving–instantly vanishes his appetite.

He wants you in a new way entirely. Against him, with him. He wants to taste more of you, drag his tongue along the plains of your body and see how else you’ll react to him. He wants to find the places that quicken your breath. Would you sing your pleasure for him? He’s barely heard your voice, but already he can imagine it vividly.

You would. You will.

He’s begun to pant at the thought alone, smoke wafting from his mouth, his eyes softly aglow with crimson light. The smell of you has filled his senses so thoroughly he feels intoxicated by it, and between his thighs, his cock has begun to throb. He leans closer and nestles into your hair, inhaling deeply, a rumble leaving him on a warm exhale.

His entire body has taken on the heavy pulse of his heart, alight with the most visceral feeling he’s had in centuries. This is more than hunger, more than carnality–you mean something. Never before has he felt compelled to find pleasure in the frail body of a human, yet his blood sings it voicelessly in the back of his mind, his every instinct screaming one word again and again and again.

Mate.

Homelander had given up on the concept of a mate a long time ago, given that he’s… abnormal. Sterile. As an unnatural creature, there could not be a natural match for him. Someone who would call to his very blood and set it aflame. Yet here you are, seeking him as desperately as he once sought you. Is that why you were able to accomplish what so few before you had, pushing your body so clearly beyond your limits?

A low, possessive rumble leaves him. Reckless.

He pets your hair, testing the texture with his fingers awhile before letting his hand roam down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, up over your hip, down your leg. You’re no longer cool to the touch or shivering. He flattens his palm to your back and closes his eyes briefly. He’s never heard of a dragon bonding to a human before. He wonders if you’ll feel it too, recognize it for what it is, or if your mortality will make you oblivious to the depths of it.

It takes every ounce of his restraint not to shake you awake to find out.

Instead, he patiently learns the cadence of your heart. He commits your scent to memory, weeding out the natural musk of your skin beneath the herbs and oils you’ve been lathered in. Soon enough he’ll be able to pick you out of a crowd by the thump of your pulse alone, track you down from miles away with nothing but the barest whiff of you.

Not that he’d ever let you get so far from him now that he has you.

All you’re missing now is his scent. Leaning down, he licks a line adjacent to the one he had prior, and then another, mindful of his horns. The sweet taste of you makes him moan. He spends hours with you tucked in against him, idling away the time by learning your body as well as teaching you his. He nuzzles his cheek lightly against yours just so that he can turn and taste that same spot, something deep and primal in him appeased by tasting himself on your skin.

“My mate,” he half sighs, half growls.

He can’t wait to meet you.

Consciousness comes back to you in a gradual slew of sensation. Your fingers twitch, flexing in what feels like a lush, thick pelt of fur beneath you. Your whole body is pleasantly warm, as if you’ve fallen asleep in front of a crackling hearth, the cold of those awful stone stairs a distant memory.

The stairs…

Your eyes snap wide open, your spine going stiff. You’re laying on your back. Something wet and hot is dragging along the exposed skin of your shoulder–your dress pulled askew–in repetitive swipes. Looking down, all you can see is a mess of flaxen colored hair and one long, angular horn, the tip of it adorned in gold. The press of what you can only imagine to be a tongue is unnaturally smooth, as hot as settled coal against your skin. The beast gives a growl, and sharp teeth graze your skin. Your throat feels tight, the scream that bubbles up locked behind the tension of your jaw.

Oh gods, you think, beginning to shake. He’s eating me!

“Good morning,” purrs a familiar voice, the words vibrating against your skin. He lifts his head from your shoulder, though he doesn’t go far. You half expect to see his maw bloodied with your entrails from all the horror stories you’ve been told, but his grin is as clean as it was the first moment you beheld him. Up close, he’s even larger than you had initially realized. His face is well defined, with strong cheekbones decorated with smooth red scales that ascend into his hairline, where a golden crown sits neatly behind his horns. “Mmm, someone got their beauty sleep,” he says, the words a low, pleased rumble. You’re speechless, watching in bewilderment as he cups your face, hand so large it covers most of your neck, too. “You were out for hours.”

Your eyes dart to your shoulder, where your dress has been tugged down, but your skin appears unmarred. Around you, one of his enormous wings is curved over, shielding you both from the light and the cold beyond. You can’t move your legs, and with a glance, you understand why: his enormous tail is draped across both of them, pinning you in place. You look back at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion. You wonder if he’s been with you like this through the entire night. “You’re… You’re not eating me?”

The broad smile he flashes makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes, though sharp and a shade of blue you’ve only ever seen in the sky, are disarmingly human. Beautiful, even. They crinkle at the corners with what almost looks like fondness.

“No.”

“Why not?” You ask instantly, adrenaline making your voice sharp. “Not that I wish for you to eat me,” you say just as quickly. “But do you not–were you not–” He cuts you off with a noise that you belatedly realize is a laugh, the resonance in his chest so unearthly it gives every sound he makes an inhuman quality. “No, I was not eating you,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking. “Tasting you, yes. And you do taste divine,” he says, leaning in again. You push your head back into the furs as much as you can, but he moves to the side, bringing his lips to your ear. “I knew my mate would.” Mate?!

Your hands fly up to his chest–gods, he’s as warm as hearth stones–as if to push him back, but you may as well attempt to push an oak tree aside. “What?”

He draws back, glancing down at your hands pressed to the bare skin of his chest before his gaze returns to yours, eyes narrowed in distinct pleasure. “Mate,” he says again, deliberately drawing the word out. “Dragons bond only once in a lifetime. Usually to another dragon. Clearly exceptions can be made, and you, precious little thing that you are… appear to be mine.”

His eyes fall shut, he leans in, and with a lurch of your stomach you realize he means to kiss you, his lips pursed and rapidly approaching. Your own lips part and a noise wholly outside of your control escapes you; a scream so shrill and sudden that it knocks even him back in surprise.

Blinking several times, he gives you a quick once over, visibly expecting to see you wounded and bloody somewhere. He looks back to your face when he finds nothing amiss. “What?”

“I can’t–I don’t know you,” you blurt out, equal parts flustered and alarmed. You can feel yourself burning up, and it isn’t just from the heat of him against you.

“So?” He dismisses, smiling with an array of sharp pearly teeth. “I’m your mate.”

“Humans don’t have those,” you counter, squirming under the weight of his tail. It’s like he’s draped several sacks of grain across your legs. “My lord Devourer, I–”

He scoffs, tail lifting as he shifts, bringing himself up onto his hands and knees over you, his wing unfurling and allowing the sun to spill in, washing you both in its light. “Homelander. If you must use one of those silly names, use Homelander. I’d prefer beloved, though,” he says with a sly lilt to his mouth.

A shiver rolls down your spine. Along with light, brisk morning air has slipped in between your bodies.

“Homelander,” you repeat, a name you’ve never heard before. It’s a great deal less menacing than the others, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has been eating your townsman for as long as anyone can remember. “I–”

He takes hold of your jaw with just his index finger and thumb, the rest of his fingers curling lightly over your throat. “You talk too much,” he tells you, eyes hooded and hungry. “Are you going to scream every time I try to kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you choke out, fists clenched tightly in the furs beneath you. He leans closer, tilting his head, his nose barely brushing the tip of yours. “I’ve never been kissed by a dragon before. Like I said, we don’t have m-mmm!”

It happens so swiftly you don’t have time to gather the air to scream. He presses his lips firmly to yours, making a noise so close to a moan that, despite the relative chasteness of the kiss itself, you flush with the indecency of it. It feels… hot. The heat of him is nearly too much to handle, like touching your lips to a hot mug of tea, but there is something intoxicating about it. He uses that heat to mold you to him, pulling you closer, his body sinking down against yours.

You’re too dumbstruck by the whole of the situation to struggle–not that it would accomplish much–which leaves you to simply experience it. His lips are tentative against yours, not harsh or demanding. He coaxes yours with his as if to dance, luring you into something that almost feels good.

Your heart hammers in your chest, his warmth pooling in your belly and spreading slowly through the rest of your body like boiled water poured into a lukewarm tub. He’s immovable, inescapable, and to your dismay, not entirely awful.

“I want to claim you,” he all but growls against your lips, his other hand clawing slowly down your side, tugging at your dress.

Your heart leaps painfully against your ribs. “Homelander,” you say, though he’s hardly paying you any mind, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, carving a wicked trail with his lips while his hand dips lower and lower, seeking the bottom hem of your dress. Heart racing, you breathlessly cry, “Beloved!”

That gives him pause. He rears back to look down at you, head slightly cocked, eyes bright and attentive. Your breaths are shallow, pulse pounding in your throat. You swallow dryly. “I’m thirsty,” you tell him, which is no lie. Your throat is so dry it almost hurts to speak. “Horribly. And hungry, I’ve not eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. You mean for me to survive, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, expression twisting like he finds offense in your words. “You’ll want for nothing.”

“Then please. Water?” You push, praying that he is more man than beast.

He regards you quietly, eyes subtly darting back and forth. There’s a petulant kind of impatience to his gaze that catches you off-guard, like a boy who’s been told he has to wait before he gets to play with his new favorite toy. “Water,” he echoes eventually. You nod. He startles you when he exhales a little plume of smoke from his nose, reluctantly lifting himself off of you. The chill of his absence is immediate. “Don’t move,” he says, suddenly looking displaced. You’ve caught him by surprise. Perhaps you’ll survive this yet.

You watch him rise to his full height, standing easily eight feet tall. You sit up, pulling the furs over your legs to combat the cold seeping in. The muscles of his back give a mesmerizing flex as he stretches his wings out, the span of them just as jaw-dropping as his height. He wears furs over his shoulders held in place with thick leather straps that cross over his back and chest, emphasizing his musculature as well as the crimson plating that covers his body. Spines run down the length of his back, transitioning down into a tail that’s even longer than he is tall. It moves along the ground in zigzags, almost like a serpent. You don’t realize how intensely you’re staring until you look back up and realize he’s looking at you over his shoulder, those piercing blue eyes keenly set on yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. Something about his expression makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty. You drop your gaze. “Back in a jiffy,” he says. You look up just in time to see him step off the ledge, those brilliant red wings fanning out behind him. He disappears so suddenly that you can’t help but gasp, sitting up on your knees. You hear the beat of wings against the air, and then a second later see him lift back up into the skyline, twisting in the air before gliding back down out of sight.

You sit in stunned silence, listening to the fading thrum of his wings. It doesn’t feel real. You don’t know if this is some kind of twisted game he pulls with every sacrifice, or if you’re truly somehow different. You weren’t entirely expecting him to listen to you, but he did. He’s gone, presumably to fetch you food and water. You don’t know how, but you just commanded the Devourer to not only let you go, but bring you a meal.

In hindsight, you’re a little concerned that it was never specified what kind of meal. As far as you’re aware, he primarily eats people.

Adjusting your gown, you haul yourself up to your feet, crossing your arms in a vain attempt to protect the heat of his body lingering on your skin. When that doesn’t work, you pick up one of the several fur pelts strewn on the floor and drape it over your shoulders, sighing in relief. The pelt still holds some residual warmth; a boon over the lovely but ineffective fabric of your ceremonial gown.

In the light of day, you can make out a great deal more detail throughout the lair. The floor to ceiling archways deter you from venturing too far beyond the center, but still there is plenty to investigate. For example, the throne catches your eye immediately. The size of it makes you feel like a child again, navigating a world not built for you. The masonry of it is exceptionally smooth beneath your fingers, save for a handful of deep, jagged gouges that marr the arm rest. Tilting your head, you realize that you recognize these marks: they match those that you’d seen on the ruined murals.

You trace them with your fingers, connecting them now to the draconic claws that, just moments ago, had so delicately followed the curve of your body. He could so easily tear you apart, and yet in that moment you had never known a gentler touch. You pull your hand back beneath the pelt, feeling a shiver roll through you that has little to do with the morning chill.

Mate. That word sticks in your brain like a wad of gummy tree sap.

Circling the throne, you carefully step around the glimmering mess of gold, silver and jewels that litter the stone floor. There’s so much of it that it doesn’t even look real, stacked over itself like forgotten hay bales left to rot. There is more wealth here than you’ve seen in your life. A single satchel of it would keep you comfortable for the rest of your life, and yet here it serves as little more than clutter. As far as you can tell, it means nothing here.

The Devourer stopped seeking material treasure generations ago.

As you explore, part of you expects to find the corpses of all those who have come before you. Dozens upon dozens of bodies stacked up in varying states of consumption or decay, or maybe a monument built of their bones. You find no such construct, though. In fact, nothing about this place seems put together. You can’t imagine the madness that living like this for a week would induce in you, let alone decades.

To the east, movement catches your attention, startling your heart into your throat. It looks like a silhouetted figure at first, but your brain catches up quickly, and you approach the gently billowing fabric. It’s draped over a statue, giving it the illusion of a person, and your curiosity gets the best of you as you tug the drape down off of it.

You suck in a sharp breath. Once again, you find yourself faced with a legend given form– a painstakingly and intricately carved statue in the Devourer’s perfect likeness. It comes as no surprise that this is the only in-tact statue you’ve seen, but what you don’t understand is why it’s even here. If the Devourer was a usurper, some vicious interloper, why would there be a monument to him in the same vein as all the others?

The plaque beneath it reads: Homelander. Son of the Skies, Protector of the Earth.

Devourer, Scourge, Flame’s Maw–these names are all you have ever known, and yet this is the name carved in stone. He was once worshiped not out of fear, but reverence that you can see in every gentle curve of stone.

What happened?

Shuffling closer to the statue, the discarded fabric gathers at your feet. It’s not quite to scale, but it’s a handsome likeness nonetheless. It’s certainly been cared for more than anything else in this place. You wonder if it’s just vanity or if it’s something less obvious. You trace the smooth stonework, letting yourself get a better look at this version of him that’s less likely to eat you.

Objectively speaking, it’s a handsome visage. The resemblance is uncanny, clearly the work of an intensely skilled mason. His jaw is strong, eyes set forward in unerring determination. Tentatively, you touch the lips of the statue. He’d been so certain that he wanted to kiss you. Just the thought of his closeness and heat makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies.

Mate.

“I thought I told you not to move.”

You barely hear the full sentence, your own scream ringing loudly in your ears. You move to spin around, but your foot catches on the pile of fabric you had dropped to the ground and suddenly your whole body is pitching backwards, the back of your skull destined for the smooth, unyielding stone behind you. Fortunately for your brain matter, your descent is halted just shy of contact, one familiar clawed hand cupping the back of your neck while the other lands at your back, steadying you.

Homelander stands over you, a curious quirk to his brow. With his hand at the small of your back, his claws press lightly through the fabric, effortlessly upholding your weight. He holds you as if you’ve been caught mid dip in a dance.

“Gods, you scared me,” you say, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you.” You had been so certain you would hear his return based on the sound of his wings when he’d left, but his approach had been terrifyingly silent.

“Yes, I know. It makes me a very effective hunter,” he says, dipping down to nuzzle at your neck, taking advantage of how the pelt has slipped off of your shoulder. He inhales the smell of you, prickling goosebumps all over your body. “I missed you.”

“You’ve barely been gone,” you reply impulsively, awkwardly trying to adjust yourself out of this arch he has you in. No use. His size makes him impossible to maneuver around, and your foot is still tangled up in the fabric that he’s currently standing on.

He gives another one of those rumbling sighs, drawing back to look at you. “You’re supposed to say that you missed me, too,” he chastises you, and though his tone seems light, you’re sure you see a flicker of impatience or irritation in his gaze. Maybe both. Despite how fearsome the sum total of his features make him, you’re once again caught off guard by his eyes. Though the color of them is icy, there’s a distinctly human warmth to them that grounds you in his gaze.

Still, the last thing you want to do is make him angry.

“Oh,” you croak quietly, realizing he’s actually waiting for you to say it, staring down expectantly while he holds you. “I… missed you, too,” you return stiltedly, unsure your hesitant delivery will be satisfactory. Shockingly, his expression lightens, lips curving into a smile. He lifts you off of your feet, untangling you from the mess beneath you and turning around to set you back down on relatively clear flooring.

“Good,” he purrs, stroking his hand down the back of your head like he’s petting an animal. He seems determined to touch you, but entirely unaware of how to. He cups the base of your skull and tightens the gap between your bodies, enticing you with his warmth as much as he terrifies you with the hunger in his eyes.

You put your hands to his chest, soaking up the heat of him as you vainly try to maintain an ounce of personal space. “Ah, the–the statue, it’s beautiful. Why do you cover it up?” You ask, the words leaving you in a flustered tumble.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, looking at the statue like he’s only just remembered it exists. “Oh, that. Mmm. Don’t always like what he has to say,” he replies, fitting his hand over top of yours, pressing it to his chest. You blink. What in the world does that mean? “You humans chill so quickly. I’ll have to light the hearth next time I leave you,” he says, earning a yelp from you as he abruptly lifts you up into his arms, tail slithering audibly along the floor as he carries you back to what you suppose for all intents and purposes is his nest. His touch instantly warms you to your core, making the fur you wrapped yourself in seem like a thin sheet in comparison. Despite your apprehension, you can’t help the way the tension in your body naturally eases with his warmth. Upon returning to the collection of pelts, you see the fruits of his labor.

Literal fruits, in fact.

Homelander has returned with a small bounty consisting of apples, two melons, and even a handful of peaches, all of it held in a beautiful–albeit aged–woven basket. You don’t get the chance to eat those often; the trees they fall from grow high on the surrounding mountains, and the farmers in your village are content enough with the established agriculture that no one bothers to grow them.

In addition, a tall golden pitcher stands filled to the brim with water. You’re once again hyper aware of just how incredibly thirsty you are, lips dry, throat parched. It’s the only thing you care about, clambering towards it the second Homelander sets you back on your feet.

The pitcher is heavy. It appears made of solid gold and it’s three times the size of any you’ve ever seen before. You don’t lift it so much as you just tip it back slightly, sighing loudly as you drink back the crisp, clear water. You sputter as the flow abruptly increases, water spilling from the corners of your mouth. Homelander has lifted the pitcher to help you drink, holding it one handed as if it’s no more than a drinking cup, his other hand settled upon your waist. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded, lips gently curved upwards. Once you’ve drunk your fill, you push against his hold and he relents quickly, unnerving you with just how attentive he really is. He sets the pitcher back down and watches you wipe your chin dry.

“Thank the gods,” you sigh habitually, finally not feeling as though there’s grit in your throat with every word.

“I’d prefer you thanked me,” he says coyly, his gaze drifting down to where the water has wet your gown. The fabric clings to your skin, sheer where liquid has touched it.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Homelander,” you correct. It’s taking every ounce of your fortitude to speak in full sentences with the way he’s staring at you, let alone the idle way his thumb is stroking your hip. No one has ever touched you with this mixture of ease and clear intent, the weight of his hand practically thrumming against you. The magnitude of him is a difficult thing to parse both in terms of his sheer size and the legend he represents. You don’t know how to reconcile him with the monster you grew up dreading.

No one warned you that monsters could be warm and handle you gently.

“Time to eat,” he says, setting the pitcher back down. He takes hold of both of your hips and pulls you down with him as he sits cross-legged on the pelts, the circle of his legs large enough that you fit perfectly inside it, your own legs hanging out over his crossed calves. His tail loops around as well, encircling him and draping over your legs. The underside of his tail is not unlike the belly of a snake, with large overlapping scales that layer down the length of it. It’s just as warm as the rest of him, and feels like an unnaturally soft stone that’s been baking in the sun.

Reaching over, Homelander plucks one of the peaches from the assortment. It looked perfectly average in the basket, but between his fingers it looks almost comically small. With a deftness that you wouldn’t expect from a creature of his size, he begins to slice through the peach with his blackened claws, delicately cutting out a wedge that he does not hand you, but he instead brings it directly to your lips.

You stare for a moment, struck by the rich red center of the fruit, how the juice of it drips onto his hand in sweet smelling rivulets. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he quirks a brow, nodding towards the slice of fruit. You decide that of all the potential battles you have in front of you, this one in particular isn’t worth fighting, and you part your lips, watching him as you do.

His own lips mimic yours, falling apart in quiet entrancement. He slides the wedge between your teeth and watches with rapt fascination as you bite down on it, holding his gaze in an exchange that feels so unexpectedly raw and intimate, your pulse ticks up a notch. You swear he notices it by the way his head tilts ever so slightly, almost as if he’s listening.

“Good?” He asks, voice little more than a rumble.

Gods above and below, it is good. Despite the preternatural heat of his hand, the succulent flesh of the peach retains the morning chill, sweet and cool on your tongue. It’s perfectly ripe, yielding easily to the cut of your teeth and flooding richly across your tongue as you chew. He feeds it to you until it disappears, pressing the last of it in with his thumb, which then follows the line of your bottom lip, smearing the sweet juice on it. You nod and lick your lips, tongue narrowly missing his thumb, and what that does to his expression makes your stomach flip.

He’s quick to cut another slice to offer you. You repeat this process in silence, the air thick with tension that feels so palpable you’re sure you could swim through it. The sounds of the world have narrowed entirely to the sound of his claw cutting through the delicate flesh of the fruit and the tip lightly scraping the pit inside it. His hands have a sticky shine to them by the time he’s tossing the pit back into the basket, stripped as clean as a bone.

You chew your final bite, jaw slowing as you watch him take his fingers into his own mouth. He’s unabashed in the way he slurps the nectar off his digits, tongue slipping between them. That’s when you realize that his tongue splits down the middle, dexterously sliding over his fingers to lap up every drop of juice. Not only that, but you spot a flash of gold; the same kind of piercing he has on his ears. Watching him stirs something hot in you, a radiating heat that lights a flickering pulse between your thighs. You audibly gulp the last of your bite, tensing subtly when Homelander looks at you.

Slowly, his lips curl into a devious smile. “See something you like?”

You flush, fighting the urge to look away. Don’t play into it. Change the subject. “What happened to your last mate?”

His expression shifts to something slightly more incredulous. “There wasn’t one. You’re my first, my last, my only. Dragons only bond once,” he says, that split tongue rolling along his sharp teeth, that gold tongue piercing clicking against them. You wonder where else he’s decorated himself with gold.

Wait, what did he say? Your gaze snaps back up from his mouth to his eyes, which are once more set into that self-satisfied slant. He’s closer to you now, and nearing by the second.

My first, my last, my only.

“But I am no dragon,” you say, leaning away subtly, though there isn’t far to go. He’s got you trapped nicely in place, like a butterfly beneath pins. “How could such a bond form?”

“I’m as mystified as you are,” he says, his hand sliding up the small of your back. “I didn’t think a bond was even possible for me. Apparently there’s something different about you,” he says, and you notice a brief twitch of his lip, a flicker that looks just a touch like disdain. It disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “Something special,” he murmurs, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek.

Your heart races, your capacity for thought slowly disappearing the closer to you he gets. New subject, new subject! You think, frazzled by the warm spiced smell of him. His hand flexes on your hip, claws prickling your skin through your dress. “Aren’t you hungry?” You ask, eyes darting to the basket full of fruit just to his side.

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice so low you feel it reverberate. His nose brushes your cheek, trailing down from your jaw to your neck. You shiver, and the pulse between your thighs grows into a steady throb. He inhales deeply. “I’m famished.”

The world around you spins and the next thing you know, you’re on your back staring up at the aged banners draped along the stone ceiling, the fur pelts warm and plush beneath you. Homelander pins your arms down at your sides, once more poised on his hands and knees over you. His tongue draws a wet molten line from the collar of your dress to your throat, and you let out a soft, nervous cry as his teeth graze your skin.

Perhaps he’s going to devour you after all.

Oh gods! Gods, gods, gods, please no!

“Wait, wait! Don’t–please don’t eat me,” you plead in a panic, pushing up against his hands with all of your might. He doesn’t yield at all. You may as well be pushing against the stone walls of the tower itself.

He does laugh, however. It’s that same rumble of amusement that travels through your skin and into the core of you. “For the last time, I’m not eating you. I can smell your arousal, though. Practically taste it in the fucking air,” he says, trailing lower down your chest with every word, brazenly nuzzling the space between your breasts before continuing down. A wave of humiliation rolls through you at his words, and you look away. He releases your arms in favor of sliding his hands up your bare legs, pushing your dress up with them. “I’m just going to have a little lick.”

Frantically, you try to grab at him as soon as your hands are free. “Hold on, stop–”

“Enough!” He snarls suddenly, startling you quiet. You swear for just a moment that his eyes flash crimson. You clutch your hands to your chest. “You’ll not be harmed. Understand? Just… let me,” he says tersely, gaze hard before gradually softening as you silence yourself, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. Satisfied, he lowers back down.

His sharp claws kiss harmless welts all the way up your legs, up to your hips, where he catches the band of your undergarments. He hooks his fingers over the waistband and drags them down, seeming to enjoy the way you pant and writhe under him, your heart racing.

“Have mercy,” you slip in quietly, squirming beneath the hot press of his hands, though you’re no longer struggling against him. “I’ve never–no one’s ever–I’m inexperienced,” you desperately explain, your mind running wild with what his size will mean for you if he decides he wants more than to taste you–to claim you, as he’d said before.

“Good,” he replies simply, pushing your knees up into a bend on either side of his head. “As you should be. As am I,” he says, turning his head to drag his split tongue in swirling patterns on your inner thigh, moaning at the taste of you.

You grip the pelts beneath you, brows furrowing. You stare down at the top of his head in confusion. “You are?”

“I told you. I’ve never had a mate. I’ve never felt the need to put my cock into what I intended to eat,” he says against your skin, erupting goosebumps all over your thighs. That should horrify you, but you’re instantly distracted by the sheer burning heat of his breath wafting over your wet cunt, a gasp slipping from your lips when he eagerly presses his tongue to it.

His tongue feels as smooth as glass, like liquid in the way it contours to your every curve. The split of it rubs on either side of your clit, massaging it between the two sides in a way that makes your knees shake. “Ffffuck,” he groans, immediately pushing his tongue into you, licking up the wetness of you twice as eagerly as he had that ripe peach.

You buck against him, a moan escaping you. The sound only encourages him to plunge his tongue deeper, that golden stud on his tongue brushing hotly against your inner walls. He drags it up and pushes it flush, half inside you and half grinding against your clit before pushing back in deep. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever known, so much better than your own curious, clumsy fingers. He laves attention on you like he’s starved for it, drinking just as thirstily as you had from the pitcher.

There’s no rhythm to the way he moves, no sense of consistency. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs you forward with ease, lifting you to push his thick split tongue even further inside you, plunging it in and out, growing greedier with every dive. He growls low in the back of his throat, tail thudding repeatedly against the floor. Instead of the little lick he claimed he was after, he’s working himself into an obvious frenzy feasting on you.

“H-Homelander, please,” you keen, his relentlessness rapidly building an unfamiliar pressure within you. He’s as sloppy as he is voracious, the wet sound of him obscene and loud in the enormous lair. His claws bite into your ass where he holds it firmly to his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. If he does, he’s taking it only as encouragement.

His tongue touches something inside you that makes your whole body jolt. You grab hold of both of his horns, your back arching as you desperately cling to them. You’re certain you meant to shove him back, to struggle. Instead, your body is ablaze as you yank hard on his horns, hitching your leg over his shoulder and riding his tongue with a shaking gasp.

The pressure bursts, and the wave of euphoria that crashes down on you is unlike anything you’ve ever known. You convulse against his mouth, walls tightening around the intrusion. You don’t recognize your own voice in the sounds you make as he continues to ruthlessly fuck you soaked and open with his tongue, his breaths so hot they nearly burn. The waves of your climax feel like they’ll never end, spurred on by every deep, wet thrust.

“Homelander! It’s too much, Homelander, too much, please, please–beloved, please, I can’t, I can’t,” you beg, desperate to get his attention. You’re on the verge of sobs when he finally withdraws his long molten tongue from you. You suck in a shuddering breath, releasing his horns and collapsing back against the pelts, sweat prickling along your hairline.

However, your shallow breaths are nothing compared to the sound of Homelander’s ragged panting. He looks entirely wild, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, his cheeks flushed a dark red, the lower half of his face shiny with a mixture of your slick and his own drool. He takes his hands from under you and yanks the sash around his waist loose, dropping it to the side. Reaching behind him, he unfastens his pants.

Your mind is still a haze, but even through the delirium, you’re shocked by what you see when that rich navy fabric falls from his waist: his cock is as large as the rest of him, thick and dripping. The underside of it is strangely ribbed, a feature you’re certain is to be attributed to his draconic nature. Not only that, but he’s adorned in gold here, too, with a ring pierced into the head of his cock and studs between each ridge. Your eyes widen.

It’ll never fit.

Nevertheless, he looks entirely undeterred. Homelander adjusts himself between your legs, eyes thoroughly glazed over with lust, and presses his nearly scalding palms to your inner thighs, pushing them into a wide spread and down to the ground. Arousal and fear lance through you like a twin bolt of lightning.

“H-hold on,” you stutter, lifting a trembling hand. “I–” Bending over you, he silences you with a firm kiss. You press your hands to his chest and feel it thrumming beneath your palms, the heat of him more intense than ever. You can’t help but moan softly into it, overtaken by the smell of sex and something akin to burning incense. His tongue slips as deftly into your mouth as it did your cunt. Even after having felt it inside you, it’s thicker in your mouth than you’re prepared for, sliding in deeper, like he means to fuck you with it here, too.

It wholly distracts you until you feel a heavy, blunt press to your wet cunt. You make a half-hearted noise of protest, but his only answer is a low rumbling growl, claws biting into the meat of your thighs as he holds you still, effectively gagging you on his tongue.

His cock is as hot as the rest of him, but a great deal more solid than his malleable tongue. The thickness of it slowly spreads you wide, an aching pressure. You’re not sure if the burn of it is from the stretch or the heat, but either way it’s driving you insane. It’s hot and painful and good, frictionless with how thoroughly he soaked you, and despite your nerves, your cunt is loose with orgasm. It’s as if your body, independent of your mind, is eager to welcome him in.

You make a keening noise, the sound of it muffled in this devouring kiss. You grab hold of the leather straps across his chest and yank on them, twisting at them, but nothing takes your mind from how intense it feels to be split apart on the fat head of his cock.

The sounds Homelander makes in response are downright bestial, low and rumbling from his chest. Your only relief is when the widest swell of his cockhead finally breaches you, just the tip of it settling perfectly inside you. You cry out when he gives an exploratory backwards pull, and then shivers as he begins to rock gently, breathing heavily from his nose as he fucks you with nothing more than the head of his cock.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded, pitchy little noises leaving you with every exhale. Homelander sharpens his pace, breaking the kiss with a loud, carnal moan as he tips his head back. He’s barely even inside you and yet the girth of him is overwhelming, the ridges of his cock stimulating you in ways you didn’t know possible, the fat curved head rubbing against that same spot inside you that his tongue had previously made you see stars with.

Thoroughly overwhelmed by the incomprehensible assault of sensations, tears gather in your eyes. That pressure is building back up in you once more, starting at the base of your spine and slowly crawling up it. Desperate to tether yourself, to feel connected, you move your hand from the strap at his chest and touch his face. To your surprise, that instantly snaps his attention down to you, his beautiful blue eyes lost in a crimson glow.

Homelander meets your gaze, some level of cognizance returning to him, and whimpers, something hidden and vulnerable escaping in that exchange. He bends down, his nose brushing yours, and rests his forehead against yours while his thrusts grow more and more erratic, but never deeper. He fucks you in shallow, jagged snaps until finally that mounting pressure overwhelms you and you come again, simultaneously squeezing him into his own sudden release.

The flood of him inside you is burning hot, spilling into your core even from here, and he practically roars with it, burying that loud primal cry into the crook of your neck while his body stills, releasing pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed into you.

His breath billows hotly across your neck, the burning scent of him thick in the air. Your mind is so addled by your own euphoria that it takes you time to realize he’s speaking, fervent murmurings against your skin. “M’sorry, still, be still, I’m–don’t move,” he rasps, fractured little noises leaving him in between his words. You choke on your own breath when he sinks in, working you open slowly, shivers pitching up and down your spine. Gods above, he isn’t done.

Surely he doesn’t mean for you to take all of it… Does he?

You moan weakly, pushing your hand up into his hair and grabbing hold, which elicits a rumbling sigh from him in return. It’s silkier than you expected it to be. “Too big, it’s too much, it’s not–it’s not going to fit,” you pant out, screwing your eyes shut tight. While his release had initially softened him some, you can already feel his cock filling back out. Every bit he slips in further, you feel the mess of his release being forced out of you, come dripping down your thighs, slicking the way for the rest of him.

“It will,” he says at your ear, kissing the spot just below your earlobe, then your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sweat there before he kisses that same spot. He’s set upon you like an animal, lost to the drive of instinct, determined to fulfill his promise to claim what is his. “It will because it must. Because it’s yours. Because you’re mine.”

Homelander releases a breathy whine, sounding just as overstimulated as you are, nuzzling at your throat while he slowly works his way deeper, practically vibrating with restraint. He sounds as overwhelmed as you feel, but he refuses to stop, to lose. He holds you in place, growling whenever you squirm or struggle against him. The feel of it is dizzying, unbelievably hot and heavy, like fire given form, filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible. You’re feeling it again, the slow rise of that carnal pleasure building to an inevitable climax, and your whole body trembles with it.

You make a desperate keening noise, and Homelander hushes you, kissing your shoulder. “Sshhh, good, you’re doing so well for me. Don’t move yet, it’s almost over. You were made for this, for me. You feel it, don’t you? How easily your cunt opens to me. Nnngh, hah… Fuck, you fit me. You fit me. You do, and you always will,” he pants, voice hitching.

He slides his hands from your thighs to your waist, the press of his claws just shy of painful. With one final move, he lets out a quaking moan as he pulls you down onto the last of it, finally burying himself completely in your snug, come-soaked cunt.

The fullness of it breaks you–snapping the last tether that was holding you in place–and you come again, your velvety walls seizing up around him impossibly tight before spasming your pleasure around every vein, ridge and piercing he has. You can feel the shape of him so viscerally that you’re sure your body will remember it, carved out in the shape of his cock forevermore.

He cries out with your release, a reverberating sound that you feel all the way down to the marrow of your bones. You don’t know if he’s more in pleasure or pain, but he makes no move to retreat. Instead, he brings you that tiny bit closer, pressing every inch of your body to his. He rides out your pleasure, panting a wet spot into the crook of your neck.

Tears roll from your eyes to your temple, disappearing into your hairline as you breathe roughly. You’re overwhelmingly hot, oversensitized and raw, but as the aftershocks of your orgasm fade, your body steadily loses that quiver. You feel as if you’re melting down into the furs, struggling to even keep your eyes open as a gentle ecstasy sweeps over you.

Once he recovers enough, he lifts himself up onto his hands, and then sits back onto his legs, his hands on your hips to lift you partially into his lap to keep himself buried deep, hitching your legs around his waist. His eyes are completely glazed over, lips parted around heavy, hungry breaths. He doesn’t look at all sated. If anything, the look of his desire has only intensified, despite his obvious sensitivity. Sliding his hands up your body, he pushes your pretty white dress all the way up over your head, tossing it to the side so that he may finally see all of you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice utterly frayed. He stares at you as though you’re a vision sent from the gods, a nymph plucked from the heavens and nestled snugly upon his cock. His hand sweeps down your stomach, settling low on it, where he lightly presses down. You both moan with the pressure, with how keenly you both feel it. “Told you it would fit,” he says, but his voice is not smug. There’s a breathless wonder to it, like he’s awestruck by the look of your body against his.

His tongue rolls out to sweep along his lips. He opens his mouth, and you can see threads of saliva snapping between his sharp teeth, his mouth wet with hunger. He continues to reverently stroke your stomach, his large splayed hand easily covering the expanse of it. “You’ll make a beautiful mother,” he says, a concept you don’t even know how to begin to unravel, but the way he says it makes you feel worshiped. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me,” he says, a shudder in his voice. His crimson wings spread and curve in on either side of you, the hooked tips of them bracing on the stone floor.

“Mother?” You slur belatedly. You feel dizzy, your body as warm as burning coals and tingling all over. He lifts your legs one at a time, bringing each one up parallel to his chest. They hook over his shoulders as he leans forward, wasting no before time kissing you. His wings support his weight while he grips your thighs, squeezing possessively.

“Mother,” he confirms between kisses, bending you practically in half as he begins to rut against you. He’s not thrusting so much as he’s grinding into you, wringing a low moan from you. “You want that, don’t you? I’ll keep you safe. Feed you. Fuck you. I’ll take care of you, be yours, and you’ll be mine, won’t you? Sweet little thing, fucked happy and heavy with my children. Tell me. Tell me you want that.”

“Yes,” you moan, kneading the furs on either side of you. He paints a beautiful picture in your mind of fresh fruit, crisp water, and this dreamlike pleasure for the rest of your days. Beneath him, any thoughts of the world outside this moment melt away. There’s only the two of you, resplendently warm and living amongst the clouds. “I want it. I want–I want you,” you say, touching either side of his face. He leans heavily into your touch, his eyes falling shut. A soft noise that sounds like relief escapes him as you kiss him, coaxing that long, clever tongue out to meet yours.

The eagerness with which he reciprocates nearly chokes you, his tongue slipping over yours and halfway down your throat before pulling back, practically devouring you in this kiss. In your fever, this consuming passion feels so much like love it makes your head spin, makes you forget where, when and who you are. He breaks the kiss to moan unabashedly, shifting to put his lips to your throat, mouthing at your skin like he’s trying desperately not to sink his teeth in. The thought thrills you. You almost want him to.

“Again,” he pants, grip tightening on your thighs. “Say it again, please.”

“I want you,” you say again, more certain now. The desperation in him is disarming, and despite the animalism of him, you can clearly see the man in him now, hear it in the way he pleads for you to indulge him. That and the euphoric spill of pleasure electrifying your every nerve imbues you with some kind of sense of power, and however misplaced it may be, you immediately feel drunk on it. You can feel your body beginning to build back towards that ultimate swell of euphoria again. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”

He groans, dipping lower to suck a mark at the junction between your neck and shoulder. This time, when you feel the brush of his teeth, you don’t shy away. You cup the back of his head and drag your nails down his scalp. Homelander thrusts his hips jaggedly, wringing a throaty gasp out of you. “Keep talking,” he demands, but you hear the plea for what it is.

“You feel good. Y-you fit,” you say, echoing his own words, though it’s getting harder to speak with the way he’s starting to fuck you in earnest, just barely withdrawing before he drives back in, as if he can’t bare to be more than an inch outside of you. You moan for him, chasing the bliss swelling rapidly between your legs.

Wait… Something really is swelling.

“What is that?” You ask, voice reedy. You whimper. Somehow, it feels as though he’s getting bigger. “What’s h-nnngh, what’s happening?” Your words are starting to slur together again, your mind split down the middle between your mounting orgasm, and the surreal feeling of the base of his cock growing inside you.

“Knot,” he explains between swipes of his tongue. “Keeps every drop of me inside you,” he says, giving a shuddering moan as that swell catches on the rim of your cunt when he tries to draw back. Just when you thought you had adjusted, that swell makes you ache, has you whimpering and squirming under him.

He could have told you it would get bigger!

“Oh gods, it–mmm, I’m–it feels–” You stop and start again and again, writhing, but he keeps you firmly in place, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in your ears as he fucks you harder and faster, spurred on by the quiver of your cunt as your own climax nears.

“Come for me again. Show me that you want it. I want to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze my cock for my come,” he urges, voice reduced to a rough growl in your ear. He sounds like he’s barely holding himself together, every word more strained than the last. “Give it to me. Give yourself to me.”

The tug of his swollen knot bouncing off of your rim and the feel of his thick ridged cock massaging your walls completely overwhelms you. “Y-yes, okay, I’m–oh gods, gods, I’m–I’m coming, Homelander, Homelander!” You call, lips falling open on a silent scream as your throat locks up, a third orgasm crashing down on you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs.

Homelander muffles his own cry into the crook of your neck, stilling halfway through your orgasm with one final slam. This time, the rush of his release is pressed tightly against your cervix, pooling inside you with nowhere to go, his knot doing precisely what he said it would. The heat of it fills you in hot, rushing spurts, his cock jerking against your spasming walls with every load he empties into you.

A sudden stinging pain makes you gasp, confusion seeping into the euphoria that has thoroughly addled your brain. Fuck, you realize he’s biting you. His teeth sink in as smoothly as a knife through fresh butter, the sting giving way to the sheer heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue, and the inexplicable way it intensifies your orgasm.

The room falls deafeningly quiet save for the pound of your own heart in your ears and the heavy way you’re each catching your respective breath. Your arms fall bonelessly to your sides as you pant, your vision slightly blurry. Homelander begins lapping at your shoulder, soothing the spot he’d bitten. Your whole body feels heavy, stuffed fuller than you ever could have conceived possible. All you can do is whine as he adjusts you, gingerly bringing your legs down to settle on either side of him.

You’re not sure how you’ll ever get off of his cock now that you’re on it. His knot feels like a permanent part of you, fitted so snugly that, just as promised, you don’t feel a single drop spill.

Homelander doesn’t stop at your neck. He drags his tongue down to the dip of your clavicle, where it splits apart slightly anywhere it moves over bone. It feels surreal, but somehow different from the first time you woke to him licking you. For starters, you’re not terrified he’s going to eat you. That has an entirely new connotation now.

He moves down further, slinking down into the valley between your breasts, sighing as he pushes them together to lave his tongue between. He’s languid, practically purring with each breath as he savors the feel and the taste of you. You don’t have it in you to feel much more than exhausted, your limbs as heavy as stone, but it does feel good. Your breath catches when he opens his lips around one of your nipples, sucking almost half of your breast into his preternaturally hot mouth. His pierced tongue swirls over your nipple while his teeth flex precariously against the tender flesh. You lurch, letting out a breathy noise.

“Careful, please,,” you exhale, earning a glance up from him. His eyes are completely glazed over, soft and dark in a way that takes your breath away. He hums quietly in some weak acknowledgement before his eyes flutter closed, his throat bobbing with every swallow as he sucks your breast with unexpected gentility.

Watching him stirs a wash of strange feelings in you. With what little strength you have, you bring your hand up to touch his horn, contemplating the texture of it beneath your fingers. You follow the line of it down to his skull, tracing his hairline just beneath the crown that adorns his head, slipping behind his sharply pointed ear. He’s truly incredible to behold up close like this, beautiful without the lens of terror you had been viewing him through.

On some level, you know you should still be afraid, but it’s a difficult feeling to muster when he’s warm and lax on your chest with his cock buried inside you, suckling on your breast as you’re still riding the high of three consecutive climaxes.

You push your fingers into his flaxen hair. You’ve never seen hair this color before except in very young children. In your experience, age always darkens it away to a sandy color, but his is as bright and warm as sunshine. There doesn’t seem to be any part of him that isn’t golden. He exhales a deep sigh as you run your nails along his scalp, nuzzling sweetly against you. You smile despite yourself.

Who would have thought that a dragon might be so very much like an overgrown house cat?

When Homelander lifts his head, his tongue is the last to leave, returning to his mouth with a wet slide across his lips. He’s left your skin shiny with saliva, but he isn’t finished. He immediately lowers himself to your other breast, taking it into his mouth in precisely the same way. You bring your other hand up into his hair and continue to massage his scalp, earning yourself an appreciative little moan from low in his throat, his tail sliding audibly back and forth on the stone floor.

The two of you lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. You drift in and out of consciousness, worn thin and soothed by the heat of his body seeping into your muscles, fairly certain you’ll never be able to sit up on your own again. Homelander eventually releases your breast with a soft pop and settles his head on your sternum, narrowly avoiding taking one of your eyes out with his horn. You continue to stroke through his hair as your strength gradually returns.

The swell of his knot, too, lessens, but even soft his cock fits snugly inside you. It isn’t until Homelander gingerly lifts himself off of you that it slides out, coming free with a significant gush that soaks your thighs and puddles beneath you. You flush, making a strained little noise. You feel carved out and left hollow by the sheer size of him. His wings withdraw and tuck in behind him while he sits back on his legs to admire the splay of you beneath him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. You’ve never felt as exposed as you do in this moment, laid bare under his gaze. Even now, visibly drunk on pleasure and thoroughly satiated, there is an undeniable lingering famine in his stare. He sinks down and slowly spreads your legs apart, leaning in to run his tongue up the crease of your inner thigh. He laps languidly at your skin, earning hitched little breaths and sounds from you as his tongue deftly cleans the mess he’s made of you. He’s much more tame now than he had been, focusing not on overstimulating you, but simply washing you. It’s a strange and animalistic thing to do, but it’s intimate, too. Sweet, even.

Gods, he’s really done a number on your psyche.

Once he’s satisfied with the state of you, he climbs back up and settles on his side, looking at you with his hand poised over you, hovering like he isn’t sure what to do with it. His expression starts to shift, concern seeping into it. “You’re quiet. Did I hurt you?”

You huff a little breath. You’re quiet because you’ve just been fucked within an inch of your life by a dragon’s cock, but aside from that, of course he had. “You bit me, for starters.”

He turns somewhat sheepish at that. “Instinct. I wanted to mark you.”

“You succeeded,” you say, touching your shoulder tentatively.The skin is still raw, but it isn’t bleeding. It doesn’t even feel like it’s going to scab.

You must wear your confusion plainly, because Homelander is quick to explain: “I sealed the wound. It should be fully healed by sundown.”

“How did you seal it?” You ask, bolder now with how you touch it. It feels like simple indentations, a perfect mold of his teeth.

“My saliva has particular properties. There was a method to my debauchery,” he says, pointedly licking his lips.

You suppose that’s far from the most miraculous thing about him. “That’s convenient,” you say, to which he smiles. It’s bizarre how easily this comes now. You’ve heard of breaking the tension before, but this is certainly the most intense way you’ve ever broken through that initial barrier to more casual conversation.

Seeing that his hand is still hovering over you, you make a choice and take it, pulling it down to settle on your hip. Relief and excitement flash in his eyes in equal measure, and he takes that as permission to tuck you the rest of the way against him, settling on his side. He rests his head in his palm, propped up on his elbow. You curiously explore the plains of his chest with your fingertips, testing where flesh meets scales. They feel almost like bone, crimson colored protrusions that catch the light as prettily as rubies. They’re smattered along his body in the same way a human might have moles or birthmarks, incidental and seemingly without rhyme or reason.

His ribs are guarded by stiff plates that aren’t as solid as the scales, but look to serve as hardy protection. You let your fingers swoop down the ridges of them, comparing the textures along different parts of his body. It’s fascinating.

“I’ve never seen anything like–” you begin to pull your hand away as you speak, but Homelander takes hold of your wrist, bringing it back to his chest.

“Don’t stop.” You look up at him. His expression catches you off guard. He looks wounded, those fiercely blue and ever human eyes of his intensely focused on you. Swallowing, you nod. He lets go, and you begin to traipse your fingers along his chest again, following the line of the leather straps that cross over it. He lets out a heavy breath. “No one’s ever touched me like this,” he tells you after a long few beats of silence. “Not that I can remember.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring down at your small hand tracing patterns on his chest. “What happened to this place?” You ask, because that seems politer than asking what happened to him.

“Guess it’s been too long for anyone else to remember. They’re all dead,” he says, the mood of his words difficult to discern. He inhales a contemplative breath, clicking his tongue at the end of it. “Time happened. I used to be something else to my people. I was… war. I brought fire down on their enemies, and they loved me for it. I won them their home. Homelander. There were others like me, but I was the best of them,” he says with conviction, though you sense bitterness in his voice, too. “When all the wars were won, they built this tower. They built monuments to their gods, and they placed us here with them as though we ourselves were relics.”

The end of his tail has begun to slap lightly against the ground. You can feel a slight uptick in the heat of him beneath your palm.

“They placated me with gold. Adorned me in it. At times they would summon me to festivals. Use my strength to build their stone cities, but they didn’t celebrate me. They had forgotten their love. They treated me as you would any other tool. Something to be taken off the shelf for work and put away when the task is done.”

The seething resentment is more clear in his voice than ever. While you didn’t ask it, it seems he understood what you really wanted to know. You’ve never heard this story before; The Devourer had only ever been a tyrant upon the people. No one ever spoke of a Homelander. No one ever spoke of a hero.

“When treasure failed to keep me impotent and obedient, they tried meat instead. They sent me livestock, as if the simple act of killing a cow would satiate me,” he snarls through his teeth, smoke wafting between them. He sucks it back, tipping his head up slightly in a bit to regain his composure. “They thought they could control me indefinitely. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked for too long, but only because I allowed it. Because I thought things would change. They never did. So I took their gold and their cattle and their crops and demanded more still. I demanded until they couldn’t ignore me any longer. When they failed to provide, I reigned fire down on them as I did their enemies two hundred years ago, and I gave them no choice but to look at the monster they made.”

His tail cracks like a whip against the stone floor. His anger is so visceral it makes your heart race, but there is more in his gaze than just fury. You feel as though you’re watching him rip apart the stitching over a wound that has been festering for far too long. “After that, they sent people. Simpering peasants who had no fucking idea who or what I really am. They bathed them in oils like slaughtered lambs basted for roast,” he growls, the blue of his eyes fading into an eerie crimson glow. “So I did. I devoured them, and I spat their own blood in their faces. If they wouldn’t have me as a man, they would have a beast instead.”

The Devourer.

You sit in stunned silence, watching as the glow of his eyes gradually fades, though his temperature remains the same. He looks at you, his expression braced, as if he anticipates a specific reaction. Rejection, you suppose. It seems to be the only thing he’s known for centuries. Within his gaze, you recognize a profound need to connect, to feel you, to hear that there might be a single soul in this gods damned world that wants him.

What does one say to such a story? The anger in his voice strikes such a wounded chord, you can practically smell the blood. The rawness of it alone makes your eyes prickle with tears, a lump gathering in your throat. How warped he has become not for the absence of love, but the deprivation of it. It’s clear in the way he speaks of them how desperately he wanted them to still love him.

“I’m sorry,” you say so quietly it’s a wonder he hears you. His expression flips completely, morphing into bewildered surprise.

“What?” His voice sounds small.

“I’m sorry that they abandoned you.”

If his own words are a knife in the wound, yours twist it deeper. He flinches like he’s been struck, staring at you with such bruised incomprehension. He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s as though he doesn’t even believe what you’re saying enough to formulate a response. He kisses you instead, holding your jaw in his claws. “I was good once,” he says against your lips, voice hushed as if he’s confessing a far graver sin. “I’ll be good for you. Let me be good for you.”

The desperation in his voice sets loose your tears. You nod, kissing him just as fervently. Centuries of bloodshed on the back of willful neglect is difficult to stomach, but you believe him. You believe the love that went into this tower–this beautiful prison–that they made for him, and you believe the love that you saw in his face carved in stone. You have no doubt that the wonder of him once inspired all those who beheld them, and that they were fickle enough to grow weary of him. Desensitized and disinterested.

When he rejected their apathy, they rejected his humanity.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, sitting up, kissing you properly with a hand cupping the back of your head, his arm around your middle. His wings curve in around you, and he kisses you until your lips turn sore and you have to protest, your words melting into muffled laughter. He draws back with a brilliant grin. It’s different from the others you’ve seen; it’s the kind of smile that brings deep warmth to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. He lingers close to you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I stopped believing a long time ago that you could be real,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself from stealing another quick kiss, his nose purposefully brushing yours. He’s thoroughly starved for every little touch.

“I am. So are you. Not the Devourer, the Scourge, nor the Red Death,” you say, tucking back the stray locks of hair that have fallen over his crown. This, too, had been carved for him. He had been loved once, and as he said, he had been good. There is love in you enough to help him find that goodness again. There’s no reason you cannot live for the being you intended to die for. “Just you. Just Homelander.”

He kisses you, and suddenly you feel as if you’re free falling. From this point on, your life is something new. Something inexplicable and unpredictable. It’s yours, but it’s also his.

All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes the monster in the dark is just your reflection.

phew. thank you SO much for reading. this fic took me almost a full month to write, and it often felt like it was never going to end. that said, i'm already kind of chomping at the bit to write more in this universe. i feel like these two have a ton of potential, and there's just so much more that i want to do with them now that we have the groundwork done. once again, a huge shoutout to the amazing artist @anon-nee, who not only illustrated our dragon boy himself, but these awesome environment sketches as well. please be sure to go give them some love! The Tower of the Seven

The Dragon's Lair

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #monster romance #terato #monster x human #dragon x reader #monster x reader #homelander fanfiction #i'm gonna need so much aftercare from y'all on this one i've been writing it for the last 23 days lmao #and i'm posting it all at once because I LOVE U #my writing #monsterlander mania

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autisticsupervillain · 1 month ago

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Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Stats Equalized!

This Month's Fighters...

Charlie Morningstar vs Feferi Piexes!

Conditions:

No Other Restrictions. Dubiously canon materials such as Epilogues and Pesterquest are ignored.

Scenario:

When the Alternian Empire launches an invasion of Hell, Feferi and Charlie try to broker a peace deal behind the scenes between the two sides. Learning of this: The Condescension murders Vaggie and frames Feferi for it to vandalize the efforts, successfully manipulating them into fighting to the death.

Analysis: Charlie Morningstar

At what point is a soul beyond redemption?

For a lot of people, that point would be hell. The chance to be a good person was the life you had before. Your punishment is this. The seven deadly layers of eternal punishment deep in hell.

Charlie Morningstar, Princess of Hell, daughter of Lucifer himself, rejects that premise. Though she was abandoned by her mother and her dream discouraged by her father, Charlie wanted the best for her people. Hell was overcrowded, its population only kept in check by the annual exterminations sent by the angels above. Her people deserved better, even if they were the worst of the worst. So, she founded the Happy Hotel to redeem sinners of all shapes and sizes! Later mockingly renamed the Hazbin Hotel by Alastor.

Charlie is effectively the Disney Princess of Hell and she's just as powerful as that title implies. She sits right near the top of Hell's hierarchy of power, above Overlords like Alastor and royalty like Stolas. She can go blow for blow with the First Man Adam, the leader of Heaven's armies and one of the oldest beings in all creation. Her magical abilities are so inherently powerful, her musical numbers seem almost reality warping in scope, creating pianos with a finger snap, warping clouds into existence, and creating a candyland during various musical numbers. But, in a more combat oriented scenario, she can just snap her fingers and blow you the fuck up with fireworks! That works too! Or fly through the skies on her steads Razzle and Dazzle.

See, Charlie is a sinner demon on her Mom's side and an angel on her dad's, so she has the advantages of both physiologies. As an angel, nothing short of angelic weaponry can harm her due to her unreleting power, where as a demon, her body will always be rebuilt from her soul every time she dies (as stated in an interview by Viziepop herself. Sinners will simply regenerate from their souls unless killed with a holy weapon). Hell, given Lucifer was on the verge of killing Adam in their fight, it's entirely possible that her fists count as holy weapons and that she could kill an angel or demon by herself if she wanted. This makes her a nigh unstoppable force in combat... when she actually wants to fight.

See, Charlie's status in Hell leaves her fairly.... disconnected with the realities of her situation. Her compassion towards her subjects can sometimes come as condescending and she has very limited idea on how to actually help someone whose been beaten down into a place like Hell, occasionally even making their situations worse. She's well meaning, just privileged.

As such, she often hesitates to fight at all or even let herself get upset at times. So despite being easily centuries old, she has little actual combat experience.

But despite all sides working against, Charlie did indeed prove it was possible for a damned soul to get into Heaven. When she saw the best in Sir Pentious, she genuinely managed to change him as a person, inspiring him to perform a heroic sacrifice that got his soul into Heaven.

Perhaps Charlie's dream is a genuine possibility. Only time will tell. But despite everything, Charlie will always work to save her people, even the worst of them. With enough will and a little luck, she might just bring some Heaven to Hell.

Analysis: Feferi Piexes

The Alternian Empire. The scourge of the galaxy. A hellish, caste driven regime that has terrorized and subjugated all life it could find for generations, ruled over by the brutal warrior race known as the trolls.

Could such an empire ever be redeemed? It may be a naive question to ask. A hopeless endeavor to introduce kindness to a people who had only ever known fear. But, regardless, Feferi Piexes thought it was her duty to try.

Feferi was born into royalty at the top of Alternia's eugenicist caste system. With Fuschia blood pumping through her vains, Feferi is a queen amongst the sea fairing royal caste and the heiress next in line for the throne. She wishes to redefine "culling" as caring for the unfit and infirm as opposed to... well... exterminating them. To this end, she must challenge the Condescension herself to combat and earn her place on the throne.

Unfortunately, this plan gets a bit derailed when armageddon comes knocking on her door, which immediately changes her priorities to surviving the trials of a deadly reality warping video game and ensuring the continuation of her race into the next universe.

Luckily, Feferi is every bit as badass as her seat on the throne would imply, despite her kind and excitable nature. One doesn't make big plans for the seat of Alternia without the drive to back it up. Feferi and her team of friends would battle against the forces of Derse, a kingdom of destruction that has warred against its equal and opposite since its inception centuries ago, and do extraordinarily well. Even the King of Derse, fully upgraded with the powers of Feferi's eldritch mother Gl'bgolyb, stood little chance against the combined teamwork of all of them put together.

That would likely have to do with Feferi's complete immunity to telepathic attacks, such that even the psychic cry of Gl'bgolyb, which wipes out every other troll in the universe by melting their brains, can't kill her. Thanks to a lot of genetic tampering and civilization guidance from behind the scenes manipulators, Fuschia bloods are the toughest trolls around, supremely strong and resilient, capable of breathing underwater, and nigh unkillable to anything short of a god killing weapon. Or, failing that, a supremely powerful magic wand. Most highbloods can live for hundreds of thousands of years and Fuschia bloods seem to be unable to die from old age completely.

This is amplified by the versatility provided by Homestuck's... mechanics, for lack of a better term. In Homestuck, video game logic dictates reality. So, Feferi has a video game style inventory system, with her trusty trident in her weapon slot, or strife specibus. Basically, anything she picks up will be stored in hammerspace on her person, without her having to physically carry it, just like in a video game. And, just like in a video game, Feferi can get stronger and stonger by leveling up with every fight.

But, despite this warrior heritage, Feferi is still a princess. She's royalty, separated from most of her subjects and a bit naive to their actual needs. On Beforus, in the timeline where she actually becomes Empress, Feferi winds up robbing the poor and disabled of all their anatomy and free will in an attempt to provide for all their needs, making Beforus nearly as much of a dystopia as Alternia was. Sadly, her attempts to help everyone would prove to be the death of her in this timeline, as it would culminate in her murder at the hands of her vengeful, genocidal ex Eridan.

Despite that, Feferi's dream would live on. In death, Feferi would convince her mother Gl'bgolyb and the rest of her eldritch kind to create an afterlife for all of her friends. In the dreambubbles, the souls of all who died while playing the game would live on in. In a way, Feferi really did achieve her dream of helping everyone from beyond her grave.

Throwdown Breakdown:

This is a fairly simple one, I'd say.

Interestingly enough, Charlie is the fighter with a means of actually killing her opponent here that Feferi lacks. Even if you don't think Charlie can destroy souls with her bare hands like her father is implied to be able to (Lucifer would be completely incapable of beating Adam to death without that ability given how holy weapons and angels are stated to work), Feferi doesn't have any special immortalities like a demon from hell does. She just can't die of old age. Hitting her hard enough to kill her is just really hard.

That said, this isn't a Death Battle and Feferi still has ways to win. Immortal she may be, but Charlie can still get knocked unconscious or choked out with enough damage and Feferi should be fully capable of this. The skill gap between them is ginormous.

Charlie being able to box evenly with Adam is impressive... to a point. In-universe, it was only discovered that holy weapons could hurt angels the previous day. When Adam goes down to slaugher Hell, he's massacring people who cannot fight back. This is even explicitly brought up as a plot point in the show. It's discovered that Vaggie is a fallen angel when the person she's fighting notes she leaves herself too open in combat, because angels couldn't be killed by anything other than their own weapons. And when a demon finally does kill an angel, it's such a big deal that Adam vows to wipe them out to the last. Adam's basically a more sexist Homelander.

Feferi meanwhile, fought against an entire kingdom that had been at war with an equal for its entire existence and did pretty damn well. By that metric, she should be outperforming Charlie very substantially here.

While Charlie does have more powers than Feferi, her arsenal is limited outside of musical numbers and most of what she brings beyond that is nothing Feferi hasn't already seen and dealt with. Even taking soul destruction as a given, Charlie would need to land a killing blow first, and that's not something Feferi's gonna allow before pinning her between her trident's prongs.

Probably the best case scenario, frankly. Neither girl is gonna have to kill a friend over a misunderstanding. Everyone wins on that front.

This Throwdown's Winner is...

Feferi Piexes!

#fictional throwdown fridays #stats equalized #hazbin hotel #homestuck #charlie morningstar #feferi peixes #power scaling #death battle

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elvain · 7 months ago

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Performance of the Dead

… I wonder more and more, should not all humans be like him? The boy, Thomas, is. Though they are not each other’s blood, their bond runs deeper than I had expected of such beings. – excerpt from the private journals of Prince Namor of Atlantis, the Avenging Son, and the Scourge of the Seven Seas

That night, the rain came down with a vengeance. Thunder rumbled across the skies and upon the horizon, bolts of lightning flashed again and again. The wind howled, pressing against the closed windows and doors of the city, seeking a way inside in vain. The clouds gathered, ominous and ruthless, dispelling all source of light from the sky.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Namor asked quietly.

Jim reached into his coat and held out a folded piece of paper. Namor took it, opening it within the folds of his own coat to protect the paper from the downpour. He scanned the address written upon the paper before he looked back at Jim.

Jim’s face was tight with tension, drawn into a deep frown. He hadn’t met Namor’s gaze in a long time.

read the rest on AO3. day 5 of @namorweek is for friends and allies (although i may have stretched it into some family... maybe). thanks excelsiorfics for the tracked tag!

taglist below. +/- open

@brw @makeminemarvel @greerbaiting @sovaharbor @hawkzeyes @cherlawa-panna

#excelsiorfics #writermk

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softquietsteadylove · 2 years ago

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Instinct

(@healingagoddess suggested the idea of Ajak watching Gilgamesh and Thena fall in love over the course of seven of their missions, and also: happy birthday!)

Ajak surveyed her team. It was nicely put together, well structured, had a good balance of Fighters and Thinkers. She had her mission, understood her directive. She was intrigued by the Eternals selected for her.

Kallax Prime: A planet largely made up of towering stone structures with the occasional pool of water falling upwards into the 'sky'. Its vegetation had a long way to go, which the Elemental Eternal would be good for specifically.

Ajak liked Sersi. She was sweet, she was kind. She thrived around other life forms, which had yet to be seen if it would be an asset or not. Technically their mission was to terraform the planet only to a point. Integration into the population was not necessarily a requirement.

Although it was possible it was an inevitability, watching Sersi chase around a few young Kallaxons, all four of their arms waving in glee. Ikaris was hovering not too close, but not too far. He was the most directive driven of the team, clearly a pre-ordained second for Ajak to use as she needed.

Even the cantankerous young looking Sprite was enjoying the cooling mist of a lower located geyser. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the time spent not fighting the wretched scourge of Deviants.

Thena was folded in on herself, attempting to make use of the shade of a singular pillar.

The Warrior Eternal was a curious one. Ajak could see so much under the smooth, pearly surface she presented. But the Fighter was not one for people, preferring her solitude. Ajak had to wonder if that would change at all or if she was going to be stuck with half a team's worth of sullen party-poopers.

"Thena?"

Ajak smiled; perhaps not. It was only a notion so early in the mission, but she couldn't help but feel that there was hope yet for the Warrior's frosty demeanour.

"Go back to the others," the Warrior advised her companion. He was the only one with whom she had traded words at all on the way over to the planet. Even since settling, he was the only one who considered her even remotely approachable.

Gilgamesh did not, in fact, heed her instructions. He crossed his arms, leaning against the pillar offering her shelter and looking over her. "Are you trying to avoid the sun?"

The Warrior Eternal was not quick to reply. Her words were carefully chosen, and even more selectively given. Even Ajak found that getting more than a single word from Thena was like pulling teeth.

"It is ceaseless."

That was true. The planet had no cycle of time, the skies a constant green with no time more or less bright than another. The only darkness was forged, found in homes carved into the mountains behind intricately designed doors.

"Yeah, I guess it gets kind of old," Gilgamesh commented, holding his hand over his eyes to look at the grassy green atmosphere above them. He looked at Thena again, "I'm surprised you didn't go hide in the Domo."

"Ajak has locked it."

Gilgamesh had a laugh that could wake a Celestial. Ajak occasionally wondered if he would someday cause a landslide from his voice rattling the air.

Thena at least turned her head as Gilgamesh braced himself against the rock again, his arm up over his head as he leaned his shoulder in. His other hand landed on his hip, assuming a truly relaxed seeming stance.

His shadow melded with that of the pillar, offering just that little bit extra space of shadow. He tilted his head, peeking at the reclusive Eternal. "How's that?"

Ajak could count the amount of times she had seen Thena smile: it was one. The Warrior Eternal was not one for outward expressions. Of all of them, she was the most unreadable.

But Thena offered Gilgamesh a smile that was even whiter and sparklier than her armour. Gilgamesh was quite the opposite of his fighting partner in that regard; it was easy to see on him how pleased he was by her happiness.

Ajak made a mental note to keep an eye on them in the future.

Incarsia: practically made for the Soaring Eternal. That was an exaggeration of course, but only slightly. The minuscule planet had so little gravity that practically everyone could fly for at least the briefest of stretches. Even the children could jump and soar for a sustained 10-15 minutes at a time.

And the Eternals, with their enhanced strengths, could all jump and pounce and soar. They had almost immediately rubbed it in Ikaris' face, too. Ajak had called them children for it, but most of them were only encouraged by her saying so. And the Soldier Eternal responded in relatively good humour (to most of them). Perhaps a family-like structure was good for his narrow driven temperament.

"Heads up!"

The Deviants could also all fly.

Kingo shot down the length of the one they were fighting currently. He slid with no signs of stopping until Ikaris caught him by the leg. Makkari was also having trouble stopping with the velocity of which she was capable.

Thena leapt into the air, able to spin out and dig her blades into the back of it. It would still be able to leap incredible feats, but she could at least saw the wings off of it.

The beast thrashed as she hacked away at its exoskeleton. It had six appendages, and none of them could reach her back there. It bucked and flailed, but she wasn't thrown.

"Thena, the tail!" Gilgamesh unclenched his fists as the tail - twice as long as the body - swung around and whipped into her. She was thrown, and hurtling towards the Strongest Eternal like a meteor. He held his arms out.

Thena collided with him, both of them skidding back on the ground an incredible distance. Gilgamesh summoned his energy into his feet, digging into the ground quite literally before they could be pushed back further.

He was holding her. Not just in reaction to the collision, but he was truly holding Thena in his arms, borderline cradling her protectively. Ajak waited for the reaction of the viciously independent Warrior.

"Gil, get me back up there!" Thena commanded, and her partner obliged, grasping her by the slim waist of her armour and throwing her up into the air without a second thought.

Apparently they were comfortable enough to let something like that slide.

Pyroxis V: too hot. Ajak generally didn't have any complaints about their stations. They were, after all, at the command of the Celestials. But Pyroxis was just...too much. Much of it was an arid desert, many of the mountains were actively volcanic, and all the life forms had cold blood and scales evolutionarily.

Thena seemed to be doing the best of the Eternals on this particular planet. It wasn't entirely explainable, at least in Ajak's eyes. But the Warrior Eternal didn't mind the heat, perhaps resting easier here than she had on any other planet before. She didn't mind the dry air, or the lack of rain, or the scaly, scurrying animals that existed in every nook and cranny of the rocky terrain.

Gilgamesh stretched himself out, relaxing slightly after his shift of watch, and now that evening was upon them. The few degrees cooler could really make a difference. "Man, it was hot up there."

Thena, beside him, was letting some kind of creature scurry around in her palms. "Do you require hydration?"

Even at her most talkative, it still couldn't be said that Thena was a conversationalist.

"No, I'm okay," he responded easily, more than accustomed to her manner of speech and its formalities, "thanks."

Thena let her scaled/spined friend slither off before looking at him. They had taken to wearing local garb when not actively fighting--the climate demanded it of them. She adjusted the white fabric draped around her as she moved closer to him

Gilgamesh let out a sigh as a massive leaf waved a pleasant gust over him. He had no hope of suppressing his grin. "What a nice breeze."

His eyes were still closed, but the smile on Thena's face...Ajak had never seen anything like it.

"You have to make sure you don't overheat." It was a very factual statement, but somehow it sounded so sweet when she said it to him.

Gilgamesh did open his eyes now, looking up at her as she continued to lazily fan a massive frond above him. It did not deter her, which only encouraged him. "That's why I have you, isn't it?"

Thena allowed him to shimmy closer to her. It almost looked like he was resting his head on her knees, but that seemed...highly unlikely. But Thena just kept smiling at him. "Kingo does say I'm rather cold blooded."

Gil made a face, continuing to recline against the comfort offered by the deadliest warrior in the universe. "Yeah, but I mean because you're so nice and cool."

Ajak had to wonder when she had blinked and missed these two becoming so friendly with each other--so close.

Galdion-Sigma III: the most advanced planet they had ever touched down on. So advanced that they were a little resistant when the Eternals arrived. They had identities to prove, testimonies to offer, trials to stand.

It had been somewhat of a long road, but they were at least able to integrate themselves into their world to a degree. Since their whole mission was to curb the Deviant population, that was what they were allowed to do. They were almost immediately given a very specific permit for the Domo, and its crew, sent out to their various outposts where the Deviants had been contained, to a degree.

It was more that the population had contained itself.

Life inside the pod colonies was beautiful, thriving and vivacious. The skies the domes projected were stunning. Outside the pods, was what one would expect from a planet which had made almost no progress in stifling the Deviant threat: nothing. It was a wasteland, desolate and empty and ravaged by predators with no prey.

The Eternals had never been under such scrutiny before. But it was Ajak's idea not to bring their powers up as a means of deifying themselves. She wanted to see what progress could be made if they were thought to be simple worker ants.

"At least it's quiet out here."

Gilgamesh turned with a small smile. Thena settled herself next to him along the rail of the outpost they were guarding. It was flat wasteland as far as the eye could see. At least they could spot Deviant attacks from laughably far away.

She turned from the black, distant sky above them and to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he shrugged off at first, but it didn't fool Ajak. And it wasn't even close to fooling Thena either. The Warrior Eternal raised her brows at him. "I guess."

Thena looked into the distance at one of the many pods dotted along the planet's surface. "Are you...lonely?"

"What?"

Thena raised her head a fraction of a degree, her way of nodding in the direction of the planet's population. "You are...charismatic. You do well when others are around to appreciate it."

He smiled a little wider at her, "you think I'm charming?"

The Warrior Eternal bumped her shoulder against his in an undeniably affectionate fashion. Another moment of silence unfolded between them before she looked at him again, "Gil."

Gil--not Gilgamesh. Gil.

He said nothing. He was of somewhat of a more sensitive nature, Ajak had come to learn. He was a little like Sersi in that regard; they were gentle souls, sensitive to the feelings of those around them. Gilgamesh was lighthearted and able to get along with most anyone. Being deliberately alienated and isolated had not been the most nurturing environment for him and the Elemental Eternal, this time around.

Thena let him wrap an arm around her, supporting him the best way she knew how.

He gave her his most genuine smile--fragile, a little weak at the edges. But real. "How could I be lonely when I have you?"

There was no other sound, just their voices against the vacuum of space. There was an undeniable softness, to their words, to the way they said them, to the way they stood just close enough to each other.

Ajak, in a moment of fondness (weakness), determined that they could take their watch duties together for the rest of this particular mission.

Orexion-9: too loud. Ajak supposed it was a pretty lesser evil, given some of their other planets of station. It was gorgeous, covered in red fauna, with glittering blue waters, and a pink and purple painted sky at all times.

It wasn't quite as unyieldingly bright as Kallax Prime, but it was so, so loud. Much of the planet's surface was actually concave, made up largely of wide, deep craters in which the peoples had created close knit communities. Above the craters, vegetation was lush and large, creating a unique soundchamber of sometimes deafening volume for the hyperalert Eternals.

Even in the nights, the native species found on the planet were never quiet either.

They adapted, as they always did, but it took time. Makkari laughed at them at every possible opportunity, but she often went to Druig to numb away the constant vibrations stimulating her every second.

Thena was doing poorly. The Warrior Eternal's nature was built to be responsive--reactive. She was made to be alert at the slightest disturbance. It was almost impossible for her to find rest on the abysmal jungle planet.

Ikaris was doing similarly unwell, but he had found a certain solace in Sersi, who seemed to emit a gentle aura around her. Even the animals on the planet would calm in her proximity. If she sat still for long enough, she would become a perch for winged creatures.

Thena slept exclusively on the Domo, as far away from the planet's chatter as possible. Of course, as the mission continued and they used the ship less and less, that option was ripped away from her.

Ajak was walking the halls after another talk with Arishem. She was fond of this planet, and its population. Of course, she wasn't supposed to be. She was also getting a little too fond of her team, Arishem reminded her. But her kids were an entirely different matter.

Something wiggled in the back of her mind--an instinct to check on her children.

She nearly rounded the corner to call out to her most restless child when she stopped. Another instinct; she kept quiet, peeking out instead.

"Hey."

Gilgamesh moved to the Warrior Eternal's side, deft and confident in his choice. He wrapped one arm around the width of both of her shoulders. She fit against him snugly.

Thena said nothing, but wasted no time in leaning into him.

"Sh," he whispered into her hair, as if soothing a child, or a spooked animal. His hand ran over her mane of blonde.

Ajak had to look closely, even squinting her eyes. But Thena was shaking faintly. She had to admit, she was surprised; she didn't think she was that ignorant to their suffering.

Thena burrowed deeper against the Strongest Eternal, seeking refuge from the constant deluge of noise around them.

"C'mere," he whispered, guiding Thena from the corner of the room and back to her bed. He sat first, holding her. With no resistance from the naturally resistant - to anything and everything - Eternal, he laid down.

Ajak would never have believed it if she weren't witnessing it personally, but Thena snuggled up to Gilgamesh. The Warrior Eternal sighed, curling up and nuzzling against her fighting partner in the bed previously serving as an echo chamber for her.

But perhaps his heartbeat was loud enough to drown out the jungle around them, because Thena did manage to find some peace with her head pressed against his chest. Her shaking ceased, her breathing slowed, her hands unbunched from around fistfuls of his shirt.

Gilgamesh was unbothered either way, but was still all the more comfortable with Thena by his side. "That's my girl."

This new planet would be different, Ajak decided. They were on their way to it, now, newly awakened (again). She stood back, as always, watching her children meet each other for the first time (again).

There were certain traits that they had, in a sense, passed down to themselves. It was endearing--a reminder of a few of the lives they would never remember. Sersi had slowly become more and more confident with each planet, more assured of herself and her powers.

Ikaris had grown more and more in love with Sersi, earlier and earlier. Unfortunately, that love also became more and more volatile with each incarnation it faced. But this would be different, Ajak was sure.

Ikaris drifted towards Sersi almost immediately, drawn to the Alchemist Eternal, who was drawn to the window, promising life and all its forms for their new lives. He was busy looking at her.

Sprite was busy looking at Ikaris from just behind, unseen by both of them.

Makkari was already teaching Druig how to sign, encouraged by his immediate picking up of her name. Kingo was taking them all in, only having grown more and more observant of his team, now family.

Thena was folded in on herself, almost as if to hide herself in an empty room. She watched the others carefully. She had become even harder to read and even more mistrustful, and Ajak knew why. She knew that she was the reason for it.

Only one approached the silent predator.

He smiled, walking closer until she unfolded, signalling he was close enough. And he respected it, immediately and without question. "Gilgamesh."

She looked at him, something in her eyes burning. Ajak had to admit that she admired the colour of them. They had yet to find a planet with that colour naturally occurring.

"Thena."

He smiled as soon as she said it, as if just the sound of her voice brought joy to his heart. He looked as if he had missed it. As if that were at all possible.

This new planet would be different. Things would go differently. Ajak was sure of it. They would address the flaws from last time, plan better, learn more. She would find a way to help life flourish on this new planet: Centauri VI.

Earth.

Oh, beautiful Earth. Like nothing any of them had seen before. From the second they laid eyes on it. Sersi was immediately in love with it--more in love with it than she ever would be with Ikaris, looking at her longingly from just a step behind.

Earth was a planet bursting with love. Humans were bursting with love. Everything they did, from how they raised their young to how they cultivated food and built cities--it all was driven by love. The love for the young, to create a better, safer world for them. Love for the old, to create comfort for them after protecting them throughout their lives.

Humans were expert protectors. They had an instinct for it built into them, in a way that Ajak had never encountered before in quite the same way. She felt as if she could relate to the humans, in a way. They didn't always make the best - or the 'right' - decisions, but the decisions they did make were certainly attempts to do so. They made their mistakes, they did their best to recover and learn from them. She admired that.

She loved the humans. She loved protecting the humans, as did the rest of the team--the rest of her family.

Kingo adored humans, found them so funny and interesting, with their laughter and stories. He had never been so accepted by a species. No other species had been so indulgent in letting him talk and talk and talk, let alone about himself.

Phastos had mixed feelings about the humans, but inarguably he had his loyalties to the funny little fleshbags. Even Sprite had her fondness for them and their wonderment at her illusions, excitedly trying to make their own replications of them.

Even Thena, who maybe went so far as to dislike humans and their company, loved them. She loved protecting them, and she protected them because she loved them. She made sacrifices for them.

Never was a planet so diverse, its surface so bursting with life. Ajak had finally found a planet with a sea the colour of her sweet Thena's eyes. There were arctic tundras and bottomless seas and even sprawling deserts. The planet had something for everyone.

But Arishem just would not listen.

Ajak visited all of her children when the snap happened. They were immune to it, not technically living beings at all--not that her children knew that was what kept them from being victimised. She saw each of them (who would see her, that was to say). She checked on them, made sure they were doing okay. She recommended Sprite go to Sersi, who was also lonely (recovering from Ikaris' abandonment).

The Prime Eternal made her way to a little house, way out in an arid desert. It was a sweet little home, made for two. She couldn't be sure how welcome she would be, but that wasn't why she was here. She was here to see her children.

"Ajak," Gilgamesh blinked, utterly surprised to see her. He moved automatically to hug her, in a very human way. But he clung to the door, standing protectively in the threshold.

"I wanted to make sure you were both okay," she stated for his sake. She wasn't here for the woman inside--not to take her away, at least. "Is she?--okay, I mean?"

Gil looked back into the house before looking at Ajak again. Gilgamesh had never thrived so much as he had on Earth. Finally, his natural protectiveness had a place to call home. He nodded her inside with him.

Ajak took in the house, with all its small little affects. It smelled like a home, it had a table with a few crumbs on it, a kitchen with a drippy tap and an apron thrown haphazardly over the edge of the sink.

"Hey," Gilgamesh whispered, kneeling down to a figure lying on an old sofa. He ran a hand over it, "she's here."

Ajak's heart clenched in her chest as Gilgamesh leaned down, pressing a kiss to Thena's forehead. This was all she could have hoped for, for them. For two of her favourite children. Not that she had favourites...

"C'mere," he whispered before gathering her into his arms for the simple act of helping her sit up. He turned his head in to hers, letting his lips drag along her cheek.

They were beyond the need for words, clearly. They were still speaking silently when Ajak rounded the arm of the couch to lay eyes on her beautiful daughter. "Thena."

Thena had no words for her, but mustered a smile. Ajak accepted it graciously, leaning down and kissing the top of Thena's hair. Her hands glowed gently, just feeling around the energy still within the Warrior Eternal.

Gilgamesh hovered.

Ajak ran a hand over Thena's hair. "You felt it?"

Thena nodded.

"Before it even happened, I think," Gilgamesh supplied, moving closer at the soonest opportunity. He sat next to Thena, taking her hand in his without a second thought. "Just said 'something's coming' and then...went dark."

Thena was now sensitive to more than even the average Eternal was capable. She knew too much, quite literally.

Thena sighed, leaning against Gilgamesh again. "Stay."

He chuckled, rubbing her shoulder, "I should start dinner."

Ajak stepped back, hands in her pockets, "I should leave you t-"

Gilgamesh smiled at her, though. He hadn't done that since they'd left Tenochtitlan. "She meant you. Stay--at least for dinner."

Ajak paused. She hadn't expected the invitation, regardless of the last time they were able to speak or not. She looked at Thena, "a-are you sure?"

Thena nodded, though, smiling at Ajak with her eyes closed and her head against Gil's chest, "you--stay."

Ajak let out a breath, smiling back tears in her doe-brown eyes. "O-Okay, then."

This time would be different. She would make Arishem listen. She would convince Ikaris. She would make them both see how beautiful Earth was, and how worth saving it was--everyone was. She wouldn't let this one happen, not this time.

It would work this time, she just knew it--mother's instinct.

#Eternals #Ajak #Thena #Gilgamesh #Thenamesh #the whole fam is here #an examination of Ajak #who really did want to do right by so many #who really was just as capable of evolution as Sersi #as they all were #because they made a home among humans #the champions of adaptation #this took me a little longer than expected #but I do hope you like it!#happy birthday!!

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crisp-sweet-pink-lady · 7 years ago

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The Gemina Writing System in Episodes 7 and 8

Episode 7: Scourge of the Seven Skies

We’ve seen the phone face in previous episodes, but this is the first time we’ve gotten a straight-on look at it, revealing the numbers. Which is good, because there are a lot of them in this episode, mostly in the log entries Piper steals.

Random sign in the Undercity

This shows up in the background of the fight between Kymraw and the Mysticons quite a bit.

The log entries! The numbers in the middle are as follows:

* 1458 * 3864 * 0345 *07450 * 6326 * entri

I’m not sure what that symbol next to the 7 means, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t a number.

Episode 8: Lost and Found

Piper’s dream/flashback provides some more Undercity signs:

Okay, so the letters on the train in episode 3 were supposed to be DTC. Drake (City) Transit Center?

This sign, however, is in Zarya’s room.

The letter:

Hey, look! Actual punctuation! Not sure why it shows up here when there’s literally never been any punctuation anywhere else.

The lines that didn’t show up in the first image read “Huges and kisses and all that.

- Zarya”

For some reason, they made Arkayna hold it upside down and then mirrored the text. I guess it’s to make it look like Zarya’s signature is the greeting.

There’s that symbol again.... Also, more punctuation.

And that’s it for these two. Get ready for the next post, because episode 9 has the most text we’ve seen in one episode so far.

#mysticons #gemina writing system #scourge of the seven skies #lost and found

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mysticonstriker · 7 years ago

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My little brother spoiled the ending of Ep 7 today because it was on after we finished watching the new Pokemon dub ep so I don’t know abt this episode mostly BUT (MAJOR SPOILERS)

Kind of figured Dreadbane would bring back Necrafa because she has official art on Teletoon, but didn’t expect it to be THIS early.

I should’ve learned from SU but I didn’t. A little sad that Kitty turned out to be antagonistic, but maybe one day she’ll be redeemed/help them sometimes but hurt them others.

Also something about Malvaron happened, and Zarya was called a DISGRACE. Goddamn!!!

#mysticons #mysticons spoilers #scourge of the seven skies

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rockinmusician · 2 years ago

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“So, I definitely need to give you a name.”

“Brawk?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to two options. Gutwrencher the Inquenchable, scourge of the seven skies...”

“Or Max.”

“Bok bok bok bok bok...”

“You crack me up, little buddy!”

#Ibuki Mioda #Max the Cucco

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xmyshya · 3 years ago

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Oh cap'n, my cap'n

“Cap’n Terushima. Scourge of the seven skies, infamous liberator of priceless artifacts, and purveyor of necklaces, flowers, and other fine things.”

Fanart inspired by a wonderful story by my beautiful Duckling! Her work is not available anymore, sadly.

#haikyuu fanart #terushima fanart #terushima yuuji fanart #terushima yuuji #terushima x reader #mysh.nebula.[hq]

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comatosestory · 3 years ago

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Chapter 2: Echoes

Tessere, 3046

It had been a week since Viktoria had suddenly awoken on Tessere, the steamy, dark, dreary world before her. It had been a world formerly of valleys, rivers, towering cities and prosperity. She had learned through Unit 312 however that this all came to a crashing end around a month ago. She was no longer in the year 2026, rather the year 3046. Humanity had long transcended from its cradle on Earth, soaring through the stars, forming a single, galaxy wide nation. The human population was estimated to be approaching one trillion individuals spread across the Milky Way and the Large Magellanic Cloud, climbing rapidly each day. Old Earth languages had long since faded away into memory, spoken only by a few stubborn rural areas of the most isolated colonies in the galaxy. However, 10 years ago, Humanity had awoken something, a race commonly referred to as Demons. Despite the vastness of the galaxy, this was humanities first encounter with intelligent life beyond that of their own making. A far-off world in the Large Magellanic Cloud, known to many as Golgotha, a barren red desert with small patches of lifeforms scattered across the wasteland. Ruined cities, hundreds of thousands of years old were scattered across the world. When the first Human colony ships had landed, the skies quickly blackened and red tinted skies overtook the region. As the settlers wizened to the seemingly cursed world and tried to escape, their ships were sent hurtling into the mountains, seemingly possessed by paranormal forces. The last survivors sent a transmission warning never to return to the world, documenting what had happened. Before the transmission ended, loud screams, emanating from a creature, a demon, bellowed, as the last of the colonists were quickly slaughtered.

Humanity had heeded this warning, prepping to lay waste to the world as a precaution. Before they could however, hundreds of nearby colonies in the region went dark; the first of thousands of worlds to succumb to the ruthless, genocidal scourge they faced. Humanity prepared for war, sending every available force to take back what was lost. What they faced was annihilation. While weapons were capable of killing demons, nothing short of nuclear weapons was effective in cleansing local demon forces.

Unit 312 took great care to teach Viktoria as much as it knew of the demons. "Danglers are essentially cannon fodder for the demons, however are significantly more terrifying than such comparison suggests. up to seven feet tall, bearing two large, thorny tentacles used to clutch victims before crushing them to death, or sometimes consuming them whole."

"Stalkers are tall, lanky demon forms found in late stages of an invasion. They scan the environment for any survivors, and hunt them down, often impaling prey with their sharp forearms." While other forms were known to exist, none had been encountered, or at least no one had survived one to report it.

Viktoria had spent the last week learning of all these details, aided by Unit 312. Uni, her nickname for Unit 312, had been learning to speak Albanian more fluently, picking up on Viktoria's mannerisms and structure. The distant castle she saw beyond the canyon had been stocked with food, and as she discovered, was the centerpiece of a decimated theme park. A small military base located a block away had supplies of armor and rifles, untouched from the invaders. Veronika had learned of Uni's past, constructed about 5 years ago to interact and help Tesserians in the event of a demon invasion. The invasion came, but it was far too massive for Uni and her fellow AI's to contain. Millions of people were killed in the onslaught, many thrown into pits such as the one Veronika had the misfortune of encountering. Veronika told Uni her upbringing, speaking wonders of her past, life in her home country, her 4 siblings and family. She wanted to see them again so badly, but she knew she couldn't. Not yet. Her life as a bartender was boring, but it paid the bills, so she did what she had to.

For the time being, everything had been calm. No demons had been encountered yet, and Veronika had been able to scavenge for various tools, even donning a rudimentary suit of armor she found. Steadily, she had been building endurance to run faster, farther, hit harder. She was preparing to fight for her life in an environment that no human had survived. The demons were capable of killing billions of people, but Veronika was determined not to be among them.

From nowhere, the sounds of crying echoed from overhead. Deafeningly loud distant weeping, almost as though the skies were the source of the despair. Her rifle made sparks as it dragged along the stone, Veronika pulled the rifle into her arms with near perfect form. She had to give Uni credit, for a machine it knew how to train a fighter in short time. Stepping outside the ruined hut she and Uni had lived in the past week, she began to recognize the sounds. Uni began speaking, but she ignored it. Her sister. Those tears were those of her sisters.

She began to speak, "Veronika, if you can hear me, just know that we love you, we love you so much. Just wake up. Please..." Another voice, this time an unfamiliar one. "Given we don't know what had happened, we can't be sure of when she will wake up. Besides being unable to wake up, we believe she is perfectly healthy. Analyzing her mental activities shown she's been under a great deal of stress, especially the first few days, but..." the voices faded.

"No, Lara? LARA! I CAN HEAR YOU! Please! Please..." Veronika screamed to the looming clouds overhead. More tears ran down her face. She had lost all emotions since the first night, and the pressing reminder than her family needed her left her shattered even more than she already was. She fell to her knees, dropping the rifle to the ground.

"Veronika, what is it? You must remain silent, they may hear you!" Uni spoke from behind her. Veronika stopped, staring at the skies waiting for a response to her cries, but none came.

"My... My sister, I heard her... I think, I'm in a coma?" She furiously began pinching herself, only to find that she felt every grasp at her own skin. If she wasn't dreaming, then what was that?

"Uni, what is happening to me?" She asked, staring into Uni's single eye.

"I cannot say for sure. From what I have learned from you, you aren't from this time, as your primary language has been extinct for centuries. Logically, you shouldn't even exist in this time period."

Uni's words did not bring Veronika comfort, because no amount of logic could explain her being where she is. And even if it could, there's no reason she should hear her family weeping over her comatose body back in Albania, a thousand years in the past. Her mind tore itself apart for answers, but none came to her.

She pulled herself together, just as a distant roar echoed from the forest.

"What the hell was that?" Veronika hesitantly asked.

"They know we're here, we have to go now!"

Viktoria had her rifle in hand now, readying herself for a potential firefight. Her blood ran cold with fear, but she didn't let it stop her from escaping what would be certain death. Scrambling to her feet, Viktoria and Uni sprinted, or floated in Uni's case, away from the campsite they had built. Either way, this was troublesome, as the Demons would know that someone was here and alive. The world, as Viktoria would come to know, was terraformed in a matter of weeks to better suite the presence of Demons. Humans by this point had all but been wiped away from the world.

"We need to find a place to hide, we are in no shape to fight any demon!" Uni said, her robotic voice filled with urgency. Viktoria silently nodded, and the pair began to make their way towards a former neighborhood. They were probably 20 kilometers from where Viktoria had woken up by this point, having traveled the vast majority of it within the past few days. They could see the former capital city of the world, which was surprisingly lucky for Viktoria given the circumstances, as it meant the chances of finding more resources. They sprinted into a house, finding the door broken in and the furniture torn to shreds. Glass shards scattered across the floor, the tiles in the floor either cracked or torn out by the Demons. Despite occurring mere weeks ago, the house looked as though it had been abandoned for years.

Descending into a wine cellar in the house, they found three bodies lie torn to shreds, dried blood splattered across the room. In that moment, this is not what surprised them. One of the bodies was that of a Demon.

"It's dead." Uni said, analyzing the Demon. Viktoria covered her mouth, choking down the urge to vomit once more. She examined the dead being, finding it vaguely human. It's skin was a burgundy color, bumpy, and covered in small horns across the skin. The being had no eyes, instead being reliant on its keen sense of smell and hearing by the looks of it. A glowing necklace hung from the being, barely scraping the surface of the floor. Viktoria cautiously approached the being, carefully removing the pendant from the monster. As she grabbed the jewel, a surge of energy flowed through her, she felt a surge of power flow through her. Her eyes flashed with energy, seeming to glow, she swore she could see the world around her as though she were a deity. She felt the urge to throw the necklace around her head, and in pulling the small chain around her hair, she felt the energy weaken slightly, but remain. Her eyes cleared up, and she glanced at Uni, who stared back at Viktoria. Or were they speaking?

"Viktoria! You're alright, good. You must be more careful! You can't just wear any piece of jewelry you find, especially not one you found on a Demon!"

"I... I think it did something to me Uni. I feel less tense, I feel some surge of energy. Can you check and make sure nothing bad is happening, because I think this might have been what allows for Demons to be so unusually powerful. I almost feel like this may be the source of their strength" Viktoria calmly said.

"You're fine, I can sense that power you mentioned. I can't make sense of where it comes from, however. Try a few things, see what you can do with it." Uni said, looking as relieved as a machine with a single glass eye can be.

"Alright, here goes nothing... FIRE!" She shouts, pointing her palm at the wall. Nothing happens. "Alright, not magic it seems" she thinks to herself. She closed her eyes and focused, focusing on the power flowing throughout her body. It seemed to intensify, growing stronger each moment she sat idle. Snapping her eyes open, she found herself falling to the floor.

"Ow? What the hell?" Viktoria, patting her side loudly said.

"You were floating! I can't believe it, you were floating Viktoria!" Uni excitedly shouted.

Viktoria concentrated, trying the move again. This time, she felt herself rise from the floor, she cautiously opened her eyes, trying her best to maintain focus. She was about half a meter above the floor, her feet hanging idly from her ascended body.

"Fire." She said, once again pointing her palms towards the wall. A ball of fire appeared in front of her palm, and flew at the wall, flames quickly spreading then quickly flickering out. She carefully let herself float down, gently settling back on her feet. Grinning at Uni, Viktoria felt something she hadn't felt in weeks- Hope.

"Let's go. We have a world to save."

#Fiction #SciFi #Horror #comatose

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 4 years ago

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Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening"

Devotions for September 23

MORNING

"And there followed him a great company of people, and of women, which also bewailed and lamented him." - Luke 23:27

Amid the rabble rout which hounded the Redeemer to his doom, there were some gracious souls whose bitter anguish sought vent in wailing and lamentations-fit music to accompany that march of woe. When my soul can, in imagination, see the Saviour bearing his cross to Calvary, she joins the godly women and weeps with them; for, indeed, there is true cause for grief-cause lying deeper than those mourning women thought. They bewailed innocence maltreated, goodness persecuted, love bleeding, meekness about to die; but my heart has a deeper and more bitter cause to mourn. My sins were the scourges which lacerated those blessed shoulders, and crowned with thorn those bleeding brows: my sins cried "Crucify him! crucify him!" and laid the cross upon his gracious shoulders. His being led forth to die is sorrow enough for one eternity: but my having been his murderer, is more, infinitely more, grief than one poor fountain of tears can express.

Why those women loved and wept it were not hard to guess: but they could not have had greater reasons for love and grief than my heart has. Nain's widow saw her son restored-but I myself have been raised to newness of life. Peter's wife's mother was cured of the fever-but I of the greater plague of sin. Out of Magdalene seven devils were cast-but a whole legion out of me. Mary and Martha were favoured with visits-but he dwells with me. His mother bare his body-but he is formed in me the hope of glory. In nothing behind the holy women in debt, let me not be behind them in gratitude or sorrow.

"Love and grief my heart dividing, With my tears his feet I'll lave- Constant still in heart abiding, Weep for him who died to save."

EVENING

"thy gentleness hath made me great." - Psalm 18:35

The words are capable of being translated, "thy goodness hath made me great." David gratefully ascribed all his greatness not to his own goodness, but the goodness of God. "Thy providence," is another reading; and providence is nothing more than goodness in action. Goodness is the bud of which providence is the flower, or goodness is the seed of which providence is the harvest. Some render it, "thy help," which is but another word for providence; providence being the firm ally of the saints, aiding them in the service of their Lord. Or again, "thy humility hath made me great." "Thy condescension" may, perhaps, serve as a comprehensive reading, combining the ideas mentioned, including that of humility. It is God's making himself little which is the cause of our being made great. We are so little, that if God should manifest his greatness without condescension, we should be trampled under his feet; but God, who must stoop to view the skies, and bow to see what angels do, turns his eye yet lower, and looks to the lowly and contrite, and makes them great. There are yet other readings, as for instance, the Septuagint, which reads, "thy discipline"-thy fatherly correction-"hath made me great;" while the Chaldee paraphrase reads, "thy word hath increased me." Still the idea is the same. David ascribes all his own greatness to the condescending goodness of his Father in heaven. May this sentiment be echoed in our hearts this evening while we cast our crowns at Jesus' feet, and cry, "thy gentleness hath made me great. " How marvellous has been our experience of God's gentleness! How gentle have been his corrections! How gentle his forbearance! How gentle his teachings! How gentle his drawings! Meditate upon this theme, O believer. Let gratitude be awakened; let humility be deepened; let love be quickened ere thou fallest asleep to-night.

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mysticonsheadcanons · 11 months ago

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Thoughts on Episodes 1-10

Note: I will be going through all the episodes, but since that may be a long post, I decided to split it up.

SISTERS IN ARMS: This is a pretty good pilot. I like how they introduced the fantasy setting so easily (instead of the show stopping to say "hey, Piper's an elf" they had Zarya have a quick throwaway line to mention it).

HOW TO TRAIN A MYSTICON: I love how Tazma was revealed as a villain, though it seemed like Arkayna got a lot of focus, which considering this is more of a part two to "Sisters In Arms" I wish she was on equal footing with the other Mysticons, and waited her turn for a character episode.

THE CORONATION: Gawayne is annoying, and this episode seemed to drag on fairly long. Still, it showed that despite how Arkayna acts like a strong leader, she is still a teenage girl prone to immaturity, which I like. Kinda wish we had more of Arkayna thinking of her parents.

THE MYSTICON KID: I like how they showed Piper being more intelligent than she seems, but still has issues with staying calm and not blurting things out. I also think this episode helped the others trust Piper's judgment more, as they realize that while she doesn't say things the most mature and calm way, she has good ideas.

AN EYE FOR AN EYE: Not much to say about this. Fairly good Zarya episode, as it shows her rebellious side, and it shows the Mysticons bonding.

HEART OF GOLD: Cute episode, and I like seeing Em have to struggle with what she wants vs what her dad wants, as I find many people struggled with that at least once.

SCOURGE OF THE SEVEN SKIES; An interesting way to introduce major supporting characters, and cause tension in the team.

LOST AND FOUND: The concept is good, but doesn't match well with the previous episode (for example, no one acknowledges Arkayna calling Zarya a disgrace to the Mysticons.

THE ASTROMANCER JOB: A fun episode, and is when we start doing interesting things with the Astromancers disliking the Mysticons.

A WALK IN THE PARK: I like the curse idea, but the Lovesbreath pollen was silly and blocked a potential heartwarming moment between Arkayna and Piper. Also, I don't think Em's hesitation was the problem, as she already used it during the fight, so I'm not sure if she could have used it against Tazma shortly after.

#Mysticons #Opinion #Sisters in arms #How to Train a Mysticon #The Coronation #The Mysticon Kid #An Eye For An Eye #Heart of Gold #Scourge of the Seven Skies #Lost and Found #The Astromancer Job #A Walk in the Park

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momo-de-avis · 5 years ago

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Wordtober Day 15: Legend

It’s PIRATES my dudes!

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The first mate gulped down his seventh swig of ale when Largo smacked his spyglass shut and turned with a swivel to nod at the poor sod.

Night had settled entirely and the seas fared calm and placid, no winds against them, nor so much to their favour, but no dangers lingered either, and the ship was anchored anyway, awaiting the captain’s orders. Only the old blunderbuss of a man slouched in his chair inside his lodgings, deep into his wine, waiting for time to pass.

Any other would have taken the title of El Borracho as an insult, but Captain Torres truly had transformed his ability for being top-heavy from dusk till dawn into a talent rarely witnessed. The Empire quivered everywhere before the sound of pirates’ dreadful names, but Captain Miguel “The Beard-Splitter” Torres accepted neither intimidation nor grandeur. He simply ravelled in his most cherished pleasure of life: the bosoms of women and the bottom of an empty nipperkin.

Though merit had to be given where merit was due, Largo recognized. After all, the true vocation for ale-binging of Captain Torres wasn’t so much what marvelled his crew, but how much more terrifying he seemed to become under the influence of his heavenly juice. The man could drown in a keg, deep into the filthiest part of Nassau, for he would still stand with a loud belch, take his pistols out and shoot straight into the eyes of some jackanapes looking to brawl. Largo had even seen it happen—more than once. No matter how much he drank, Captain Torres neither lost his balance nor his sight; he indulged in drinking merely for pleasure, and the worst to come about was the foul smell of ale and vomit from his cabin.

His passions for the flesh, however, were something entirely different, and most of the time, Largo found himself thinking he’d rather see the man indulge in heavy drinking every night than having him find yet another bob tail with frilly skirts somewhere in New Providence. However his penchant for drinking was truly something of otherworldly nature, his passion for any waddling gilflurt was in itself enough a vice that he’d manage to have his spyglass, compass and some money stolen by a few conniving too many in the past.

Largo knocked on the captain’s cabin’s door, heard him move about inside, feet dragging and a loud spit, and the captain pushed the door open. He didn’t even bear the fearsome appearance of a pirate one would expect, reason why Largo had chosen to take up the position of quartermaster with none other than Miguel Torres. Even the redcoats who came upon the semblance of El Borracho often thought him to be a mere gentleman of the Spanish Empire, never anticipating the blade of a cutlass and dutifully missing on the barrels of his pistols. What he was, was a great deceiver.

“Night’s settled,” Largo announced.

The captain coughed, yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Ready the crew,” he announced. “We’re heading shore. Now, let’s see about this treasure.”

Largo wiggled his eyebrows once the captain’s back turned to him and walked back outside to the main deck. He found Mulligrubs there, staring wilfully into the distant shore, of black rock upon black rock only—not a soul or hint of life in sight, just a giant blob of blackness hovering above the calmly undulating seas. Somewhere deep into that dark mass, a cove awaited their entrance.

“Captain’s ready to go ashore,” Largo informed.

Mulligrubs, paying homage to his name, growled like a dog and banged his fists on the wood with a semblance cast into the same boredom and impatience that had earned him quite the unsympathetic nickname. His slouching lips flapped in a manner that, to Largo’s eyes, somehow had none of the ease of a human, and he knew he was about to howl into the night, loud enough he’d wake up the sirens in the southern seas.

“Ready the cockboats!” His scream resonated about, bouncing across the vastness of empty nothing that was the salty air around the silent ocean, and glimmering eyes flickered in anticipation back at the first mate. “We’re going ashore, ye lobcocks! At last, let us see what lies in Lover’s Cove!”

A unison of cheers rose in the usual barks and grumbles of drunkards everywhere, and fists were lifted into the air as they began to grab the ropes and release the barges. Largo watched with hesitation still as the Captain walked out of his quarters, hat in place, adjusting the belt of his trousers with every step, and breathing in the air surrounding him. He had washed his face, his skin now tawny again, softly kissed by the redness of the sun reflected upon the crystalline mantle of the high seas, his eyes flashing black beneath the thick layer of lashes that always gave him the appearance of someone much younger than he truly was—unless he opened his mouth, revealing the line of yellow, putrid teeth that evidenced his drinking and smoking habits.

Captain Torres slapped a heavy hand on Largo’s shoulder and smiled, those yellow bones slipping through his slender lips in a victorious grin. “The first ones to reach Lover’s Cove, Largo,” he sang, as melodious as any a man about to lay in Eve’s privacy. “And a bunch of kencrackers will be the ones to make history, hah!”

Largo glanced away as the barges began to be lowered into the waters, ripples forming at their oscillation upon touching the soft mantle below, and though he snickered, he did not, in fact, find it amusing. From the beginning, Largo had been against entering Lover’s Cove, and though he was about to go ashore with the rest of the crew, he expected to take no part in what was about to happen.

There were many stories to Lover’s Cove, though pirates always preferred one version alone: centuries ago, God knew how long, a pair of lovers had escaped Europe upon their forbidden marriage, and took with them but two chests, their only riches. They found cover in a bare, empty island, made of black volcanic rock and albatrosses flying above, and there they starved—alone, but together. The two chests, however, remained behind, and what was in them was a tale of old: money, of course, many wanted to believe. But there was a different version of it: that the chests were a riddle. In one of them, the legend went, riches did indeed exist, but the other contained a plague. Upon opening the wrong one, disease would befall the intruder, sending him and all those who would touch it into a deep, agonizing death that would last for seven days and seven nights, riddled with scourges, vomiting blood, yellows eyes staring longingly at the skies and even their teeth falling off. So long and so harrowing it would be, the fool would find himself wishing, day and night, for the sweet embrace of death.

At times, Largo thought it unreasonable that he would believe that version of the tale, but it somehow made sense to him. Perhaps because of another tale regarding Lover’s Cove, though that one differed so greatly none came to an agreement about it. The bane of it, however, maintained that it was called Lover’s Cove not because two lovers had died in it, but because it was a place where many a temptation of the flesh was committed—a fate even the scheming Odysseus had met. Given the Captain’s inclinations, it didn’t surprise Largo he’d fear that version far more than any other.

Nobody had ever found Lover’s Cove that they knew, and the supposed location was but a mystery, though this time El Borracho was firm he had located the rock formation out the coast of Tortuga, according to an old map collected from a scheming and tricky swindling business in Nassau. Why it hadn’t been found mostly had to do with the inconsistencies of the legend, but there was another reason: that those who did, didn’t come back to tell the tale.

Though even that version seemed far too grim for Largo.

The cockboats drifted slowly across the seas. Above their heads, nothing but a mantle of stars laid out in full beauty, and ahead of them, under the nightly shadows, the black giant began to draw itself into a monstrous shape. After about fifteen minutes of rowing, an entrance sketched amidst the edges of the volcanic rock, and a passage appeared clearer the closer they got, the undulating fire of every torch casting dancing shadows, stone glimmering under the soft layer of seawater.

The barges were pulled carefully ashore, and Largo stayed behind for a while, minding the oars, as he watched every mate make their way through the opening. Murmurs of victory already spread about as they snickered at the thought, anticipating the large booty inside, though as he lay his feet on the black ground, Largo felt a shudder of unease. Something in the air, shifting about in a fast frequency, told him a warning none seemed to notice—least of all the Captain.

They made their way inside without much effort, no tight spaces nor tricky paths—as if it had been laid out for an easy walk—and found themselves inside a cove that glistened in silver all around. A hole poked through the ceiling, casting moonbeams inside, which fell directly upon two chests—old, rusty, and closed. It smelled of the sea, of mould, of old stone—but of something sweet too. It reminded Largo of the perfumes of wenches back in Nassau.

The Captain let out a laugh, turned back and cast a glimmering gaze of victory upon his men, and the happiness became something contagious. He took off his hat for a moment, performed a bow—his medallions, hung at the neck, clinking together like chimes—and placed it back on his tied-up black hairs. The men laughed in roars, but would not go forth unless the Captain ordered it.

Largo saw Captain Torres whispering something to Mulligrubs, and the cranky old first mate took his pistol out for a quick inspection. The sound of his cocking flintlock brought about the careful attention of the rest, their hands falling quickly to their cutlasses, watching as Captain and first mate alike inspected the mysterious silence of Lover’s Cove.

Largo stayed behind, careful; he stiffened when he thought he saw motion behind one of the rock formations some twenty feet to the left of one of the chests—a slight shape, pearly-white, dancing about. He even thought he heard a giggle, and for a moment doubted his sanity, though Largo couldn’t shake away the sense of unease the place cast upon him.

Suddenly, the Captain stopped, dropping his large hand on the first mate’s shoulder, and nodded at something; Mulligrubs followed, and the two encountered what Largo knew to be what he had seen. From behind the heavy stalagmite, a slender woman appeared. She wore nothing but a flowy white dress, an undergarment at that, that hovered seductively above the perfect shape of her body, and her breasts and waist seen through the flimsy fabric that danced in temptation around her, her long blonde hairs falling in heavy locks around her shoulders. But she wasn’t alone; another appeared: umber skin glowing beautifully under the moonlight, and red gown slipping from her shoulders, shaping her breasts in as much a temptation as the first one; and another, with fiery red hairs tied in complex tresses adorned with golden ringlets; and more, and more—about twenty women.

One for each man inside, Largo noted.

“What d’you reckon these fussocks be doin’ here, captain?” Mulligrubs grunted, pistol raised to the seductresses already.

The Captain removed his hat, and Largo saw his smile drawing itself with as much charm as he had seen it when he chased after other jades in New Providence. “Now, now, Mulligrubs,” he chanted. “I would assume this is their lair, and we must have entered their domain. Therefore, we must kindly ask permission.”

The blonde woman neared the captain, with a warming smile, reddened cheeks and glowing eyes of hunger, and touched his shoulder softly. “Right you are, Captain,” she sang, and her voice fluctuated like the melody of a charmed flute. “You want our treasure, we ask but one thing of you.”

Largo stiffened, watching either of them carefully, certain they had fallen into a trap, and given the tastes of the Captain and his men, about to never recover from it. He pushed the others aside, trying to reach the captain, but the woman was touching both his shoulders now, and the Captain danced in her arms like a regular tosspot, as if this time he could not control the wine in his bloodstream.

“Captain!” Largo yelled, but the man seemed entranced by the woman’s eyes, which glimmered like two torches in the night. All other women neared a man each, dancing around them as they became engulfed in charm by their slender bodies and seducing curves, female giggles emerging like the bewitching song of sirens. “Captain, we should reconsider—”

“Quit being such a pudding-head, Largo,” the Captain sang, with that drunkard’s tone he had known for years, submitted now to the dance of seduction that filled up the inside of the cove with that luscious scent. Sweet berries, a wench’s perfume, the song of any a wagtail Largo knew and stayed apart from. “Not such a hard price to pay for some treasure.”

Even Mulligrubs was smiling, his grunt and choleric self vanished entirely by the simple touch of a woman’s fingers. “Reckon’ we could use a little distraction,” he mused with a laugh. “Too many a day in the high seas surrounded by tallywags.”

One of the women neared Largo, but the beating of his heart told him quite the different song. He felt cold sweat pouring down and that smell made him nauseous; he gave a few steps back without even glancing at the two chests, figuring no booty was worth whatever tragedy was about to unfold at the expense of a man’s lust. But the woman drew closer, floating about like a spectral Jezebel, and her hands laid out in sandy-brown skin sought to touch Largo’s umber cheek with the charm of a witch. He made a gesture he hadn’t done in ages for nothing but the lack of need, and blessed himself.

The woman giggled. “I shan’t hurt you,” she said, and her voice lilted in an acute song that pierced Largo’s brain. Clothes then began to unfold from bodies; he saw men in ravenous fever pulling out their buckles and pants slapping the black ground beneath their feet as the women sat on a rock and spread their knees apart, unashamed, with a laugh; shirts ripped in a frenzy as their tender fingers touched the chests of the famished mates; dresses flowing about as breasts revealed themselves below the silvery pale light of the moon.

The woman made a swift gesture, nearly touching him, but Largo jumped back and evaded her hand—and ran outside. From behind, he heard the sound of rising giggles and laughs, and soon of grotesque moans and grunts, though he tried to block them out by covering his ears with his hands. He ran until the sounds were too distant to be heard, until the smell disappeared entirely, and as he gulped the fresh salty breeze, he realized he was about to throw up.

Time passed, far longer than what seemed normal. Largo sat on a rock and waited, waited until the men had consummated their long-awaited lustful passion at the hands of these land-sirens that brought about something terrible—of that, he was sure. He waited miserably, with a pounding heart, praying to God they had not befallen a treacherous trap, rethinking again the several different tales of Lover’s Cove he’d heard in his twelve years at the seas. Maybe I’ll seek a job with Rackham after all, Largo thought with a desperate pang of unease, reckon he won’t be so stupid.

It was night still when the men stumbled outside, though Largo was sure it was supposed to be morning. In the distance, the ship loomed by like a spectral projection of something unknown, the barges undulating peacefully in the silence Largo began to understand was far too unnatural. He couldn’t hear a single albatross, though he was certain black shapes flied in circles above the volcanic island.

They hobbled their way into the barges, staggering on their legs like drunkards after a night of filthy vices, their eyes glazed with a charm that he was sure wasn’t there before. Buckles clanked as they finished pulling up their pants, shirts ripped and dancing groggy dances of merry joy upon the satisfaction of Eve’s temptation, another night in the bosom of a beautiful jade, though Largo was positive these were cursed ones.

They carried the chests and dropped them inside the barges with cheers of joy and conquest. The Captain appeared at last, slapping his hands and balancing on his feet with difficulty, a sight so unusual Largo was certain something was off about El Borracho. He glanced quickly at Largo, who was stiffened on the stone, watching with dread the inebriated crew who celebrated the successful capture of the treasure of Lover’s Cove, unsuspicious that something tragic loomed above each and every one of them.

They said not a word to Largo, though he heard the spiteful mumbles from men who mocked his celibacy like a priest, this poor little Molly who rejected beautiful jades for the sake of God or some pudding-headed idiocy of the sort. Largo minded not; the trepidation from before was now a dormancy, and as the cockboats glided swiftly across the waters, rocking tenderly to the sweet embrace of the seas, he looked back at Lover’s Cove and saw the blonde woman sitting on a rock and gently blowing a kiss, but was unsure anyone else could see her at all. The sight shot a cold shudder up his spine, and Largo gulped.

They clambered back onto the ship, put the chests down upon the floors of the main deck, and in a circle of excitement, they watched as they gave the Captain the honours of being the first one to open the source of all their riches. It was as the lid of the first chest swung open that the sun began to rise in the horizon; Largo was certain it was rising in the West, and quivered at the thought.

Silence fell. The first chest was bare empty, nothing but rotten wood and a few critters crawling mindlessly inside. Full of rage, the Captain marched to the second chest and opened it. It wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t what he had expected. About twenty bottles of rum, scattered like gifts left there after a fat meal.

The crew was bewildered, yet somehow the sight of the rum calmed their spirits. Captain Torres growled, took his cutlass out to recklessly release blow after blow upon the foremast, yet nobody dared to stop him. Mulligrubs marched in circles, muttering growls of fury and spitting insults at the swindling wagtails that had seduced him into deceit. The others scratched their heads, unsure what to make of it.

With lips pursed in rage, Captain Torres snatched a bottle from the inside of the chest and smacked the lid close; he cast one paralyzing glare at his crew, as if the endless night of lustful tragedy had been their fault, and marched away into his quarters. Even from afar, everyone heard the door smack shut.

Mulligrubs opened the chest, took another bottle. “Might as well,” he screamed, and the bottle whirled nimbly in his hand as he inspected it. “Bloody fussocks.”

And so they drank; until the sun was high in the skies and their skin blistered with its scorching hot kiss and dryness of the wafting air, they drank; until they passed out on the deck floors and sang drunken songs of merriment, they drank; until they gurgled out the rum and vomited out of the ship after clanking bottle against bottle, or tumbler against tumbler, they drank themselves blind. And Largo watched.

Then, it happened.

Gino Bones was the first one to feel it, to wither in pain as he clutched to his stomach for every convulsion, eventually bringing about the violent spitting of blood through his chapped lips. John Balsam was next, screaming in pain as he scratched his skin so furiously thin threads of red began to sketch themselves, wider and wider, blotched in yellow and grey as his eye bulged at every bellow of paralyzing ache. Jackplank dragged himself through the deck as the colour of his skin left his semblance and was replaced by a ghostly pallor that painted the sickly image of a dying man. And one by one, the men began to fall ill.

For seven days, they withered in horrifying pain, as the two chests sat motionless in the middle of the main deck, waiting to be closed, all rum bottles gone, rolling about empty with every rocking motion of the ship, now adrift the same anchored spot of cursed ocean. Largo tended to their sickness to his best abilities, but he knew them to be doomed. When the scourges appeared on their bodies, rotten flesh casting about a putrid smell, a million critters erupting from beneath their loins and worms wiggling in their bloodstream to taste the meat of their prison, he knew there lied no hope to any of them, tainted by the wretchedness of Lover’s Cove after falling prey to its temptations.

Inside the Captain’s cabin, El Borracho withered as well, but refused to be tended to, frozen in sickness as much as in pride. Largo knocked on his door and heard the gurgling sound of something he could not describe nor anticipate, followed by his dragging footsteps across the boards and a deep growl of a devilish spit as he threw up. But he would not leave, would not dare to be seen so miserably, and expelled his quartermaster with many a howl before any attempt of going inside.

On the seventh night, they began to die. Gino Bones first, then John Balsam, and Jackplank—and all others followed. One by one, their rotting corpses, covered in scourges and open wounds, their broken fingernails with bits of flesh underneath after many a scratch, chapped lips and yellowish-grey skin, dull eyes with horror somehow engraved onto them, were thrown overboard. Largo wrapped them all in every cloth he could find, and when nought was left, he tore the sails apart and made shrouds of them to keep the disease contained, terrified he’d contract it.

When none was left, the Captain’s cabin went silent. Largo knocked on its door for a long time before daring to go inside, and found a grim picture he knew he’d never forget. On his bed, El Borracho lay with wide opened eyes, staring in bulging horror at the ceiling above, and on the floor, having slipped from his bony fingers, fell the dagger he’d used to try and mutilate himself free of the disease. His shirt was ripped open, and the sweat still dampened the sheets beneath him; on the grey skin of his chest, the scourges bubbled as if it contained a mass of vermin, in pulsating red, yellow and even faint hues of green, but they were slashed across so gruesomely blood painted near the entirety of his torso, dripping into puddles on the boards below. Largo picked the bloodied dagger from the floor with teary eyes and inspected the open wounds, where little critters danced, as if releasing themselves from an alien flesh prison, and tapped their tiny feet across the dead man.

Alone on a ghost ship, filled with wretched death and a curse, Largo shut the two chests, placed them inside a cockboat and lowered it into the waters. He paddled the barge hurriedly onto the rocky shores of Lover’s Cove, and looked back at the ship only once.

He carried the two chests back inside the cove, and suddenly he realized it was night again, though he was unsure a whole day had passed. Once put onto the ground side by side, Largo gave a step back and waited.

It didn’t take long for them to appear, all sirens who had condemned the men to wretched disease and foul death upon the seas and the treasures they had loved alike. Like temptresses still, a band of Jezebels sauntered in giggles as they waddled their hips—but would not dare touch Largo.

The blonde woman stood before them and jutted her chin in command—not a slight of seduction to her being. “You resisted us, Largo de la Cruz.” He did not think it strange that she would know his name; she glanced back over her shoulder, at the two chests. “And you gave back what is ours. Truly, you stand above the wickedness of the vile men you take for company.”

He thought about defending his mates, dead in scourges and vermin at the bottom of the sea, for it seemed sensible at least; but he asked a question instead: “What is to be of me? What curse will befall me? Will the plague eat my flesh?”

She smiled tenderly, but did not touch him; in fact, she seemed to avoid getting too close. “There is no curse for you, and certainly no plague, but a gift. Of a woman, with whom you will find company, fierceness and many an adventure. Perhaps even a new beginning.”

He frowned dubiously. “Company?”

She snickered. “Not a lover. A companion. You are no man of lovers, Largo de la Cruz.” She floated away with a laughter that rose and deafened him; flinching in pain, that foul sweet smell returning, Largo closed his eyes and covered his ears, and when he snapped them open again, the cove was empty and dark, and from the opening above, a single moonbeam cast light upon the two chests.

When he walked back outside, the ship was on fire.

Largo sailed his tiny barge across the ocean, praying to God the cursing woman was right, and left alone adrift the high seas he feared the wrath of an incoming storm or a tumbling wave. For six days, he lingered, under the scorching sun, blistering skin and chapped lips, starved and parched.

On the seventh day, he was fished out, half-awake. Largo, stuck in a haze, saw the black flag of skull and bone, and knew to be aboard Jack Rackham’s ship. Yet who looked down at him with worry was not the fearsome male pirate, but a woman equally fearsome with red locks, as fiery as the flames that had devoured the ship of Captain Torres.

---

PS: Largo is actually a character from a work of mine, though this is totally unrelated to it, I just thought it would be cool to explain how tf he got to Anne Bonny.

___

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

Wordtober Day 9: Swing

Wordtober Day 10: Pattern

Wordtober Day 11: Snow

(Skipped Day 12)

Wodrtober Day 13: Ash

Wordtober Day 14: Overgrown

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #my wordtober #i know I am late BUT!!!! better late than never!!!!#also PIRATES #i hope yall excuse the 18th century lingo but its just so fucking funny

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firebirdtransam68 · 5 years ago

Text

What I Want To See More On Tumblr

Tumblr is a sharing/social networking blog site that has a variety of content. However, there is content that also needs more recognition, and I see little to none of that content; probably because it is underrated and not very many users talk about or mention it. Of course, there will be plenty of opportunities to add more content, and I still have more information that must be voiced, but it would be nice if others take action and start expanding the site with extra and unlimited content (whether it be pictures, videos, audio, photographs, artwork, fan media, quotes, chats, weblinks, entertainment and media reviews, recaps of different works, memes, tutorials, self-help, GIFs, messages, etc.) as well.

Here are the following content that needs more recognition (it is a long list, so please pace yourselves):

General:

- Skills and techniques with Microsoft PowerPoint (this may include picture making with the shape tool)

- Fictional landscapes created by users

- Synthwave, Vaporwave, and Retrowave (and other retro forms like these)

- OC and fan character bases and illustrations

- Microsoft Windows (1.0, 3.1, 95, NT, 98, ME, 2000, XP, Vista, 7, 8, etc.)

* Desktop images (tiled pictures included)

* Screensavers

* Logos

* Screenshots

* Tutorials

* Video clips

- Extraterrestrial content

* Planets

* Star systems

* Phenomenon (including black holes, quasars, pulsars, supernovae, etc.)

* Plants/flora

* Animals/fauna

* Fungi

* Single-celled organisms

* Landscapes

* Skies

* Terrains

* Montane areas

* Oceans

* Habitats

* Climate phenomenon (rain, snow, wind, sandstorms, thunderstorms, blizzards, sleet, hail, auroras, etc.)

* Moons and natural satellites

* Technologies

* Rocks and minerals

* Intelligent life

* Alien languages

* Science fiction

* Fantasy

* Geography

* Field guides

- Alien/space dragons

- Fictional rocks, minerals, and gemstones

- Real-life landscapes

- Firearms

- Psalms

- Vintage material

- Web-developing/web-designing ideas and blueprints

- Mesozoic Era (including dinosaurs, mammals, early birds, and flora)

- Hybrid/crossbreed animals

- Werebeasts

- Alien skunks

- Alien birds

* Owls

* Peafowl

* Hawks

* Falcons

* Birds of paradise

* Parrots and macaws

* Sparrows

* Corvids

* Shrikes

* Archaeopteryx (dinosaurs are included)

* Crossbreeds

- Kitsunes (including alien kitsunes)

- Alien wolves

- Alien hedgehogs

- Exotic birds

- G1 MLP (we have enough G4/FIM already)

- Retro

- Fighter jets

- Cars from 1967-1988

- Quotes and scenes from movies, TV shows, videogames/computer games, anime, books, comics, music videos, radio, podcasts, direct-to-video movies and series, plays, scripts, and websites

- Any LGBTQ+ content that encourages diversity of thought, creativity, and staying true to yourself regardless of sexual orientation

Original Stories:

- Science fantasy

- Alien fantastical creatures

* Dragons

* Unicorns

* Pegasi (flying horses)

* Hippocampus

* Cerberus

* Roc (giant eagle)

* Griffons

* Hippogriff

* Kitsune

* Minotaurs

* Ent

* Basilisk

* Gorgon

* Harpy

* Merfolk

* Fauns

* Orcs, ogres, goblins, and ghouls

- Action/thrillers

- Influences from sci-fi authors and writers (including Robert Heinlein)

- Female villains and complex characters

- Influences from Atlantis

- Mpreg and fempreg (hermaphrodites, transgender, reverse reproduction, magic, alternate dimension, etc.)

- Allegories (Christian, Jewish, Hindi, Buddhist, Sikh, Taoist, Shinto, Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Sumerian, Mayan, Muslim, Scientologist, Judeo-Christian, Norse, Jainist, Gothic, any other ideology you can think of)

- Alternate dimensions

- Historical fiction

- Time travel

- Giant robots

- Original anime and manga styles

- Dystopian futures/dimensions

- Conflicts regarding the LGBTQ+ community (gay conservatives, march vs. morality, discrimination based on political party, heroes and villains regardless of sexual orientation, asexuality, intersex couples, coexisting with the majority, etc.)

- Space operas

- Travel and vacationing

- Crossovers (even with official media)

- Even memoirs

Statements and opinions:

- 1980's

- 1990′s

- Anti-identity politics

- Individuality

- Anti-misandry, anti-misogyny, and double standards

- Knight Rider (1980's)

- Sonic X (Japanese, English, or both)

- Transformers Micron Legend

- Transformers Superlink

- Transformers Galaxy Force

- Transformers Unicron Trilogy (sub vs. dub, pro or anti, characters, pairings, etc.)

- Voltron: Defender Of The Universe

- Bumblebee (2018)

- Mpreg and fempreg (pro or anti)

- "Hate is a strong word"

- "Original is better"

- Synthwave

- Bayformers (pro or anti)

- Sub vs. dub

- Anti-trolling

- Equal opportunity vs. equal outcomes

- "I'm gay and conservative; I make my own choice on who to vote, and to tell me otherwise makes you more homophobic than the ones you claim to be"

- Pro-individuality

- Variations of certain pairings (like Sonadow and Megascream)

- Anti-Shradow

- Anti-Sondash

- Sonic x Transformers crossover

- "Fandom abuse kills interest" or similar statements

- "You can be a patriot of your country and support another country at the same time"

- "'Not My President!' Then move to some other country where he is not your president"

- "This Blog Is A No Threat Zone"

- Supporting underrated characters

- Supporting underrated pairings

- Supporting rarer material that is not mainstream

- Seiyuu and other foreign voice acting

- "Fanboys and fangirls are both annoying" or similar statements

- "Hate a work? That's your problem" or similar statements

- “Not all Christians are hateful towards gays; not all gays are hateful towards Christians”

- Current news unreported by mainstream media

Sonic The Hedgehog:

- Sonic X (styles and retroactive design is welcome)

* Bilingual Sonic

* Fake screenshots

* Sonic and Shadow

* Maria Robotnik

* Adventure 1 and 2

* Original vs. 4Kids

* Metarex

* Molly

* Scourge The Hedgehog

* Black Arms

* AOSTH characters (including Catty Carlisle, Breezie, and Katella The Huntress)

* Sonic Forces characters (including Infinite The Jackal)

* Fan characters

* Transformers in Sonic X style

- Shadow The Hedgehog (2005)

* Firearms

* Vehicles

* Lyrics to theme songs

* Karma meter

* Japanese version

* Screenshots

- Fan character Eggman badniks

- Chaos Emeralds (more colors besides the SEVEN)

- Seiyuu and English-speaking voice actor comparisons

- Sonic OVA

* Sara (Sera)

* Old Man Owl

* Planet Freedom

* Sonic vs. Metal Sonic

* Sonic X characters in OVA style

* Shadow The Hedgehog

- Green Hill Zone in many variations

- Other zones such as Spring Yard Zone and Lava Reef Zone

- Babylon Rogues

* Jet The Hawk

* Wave The Swallow

* Storm The Albatross

* Sonic X style

- Silver as a Sonadow fan child

- Archie vs. Fleetway vs. IDW

- Controversy memes

- Shadow mpreg (usually in regards to Sonadow or even Mephadow (though I don't ship the latter))

- Fan character creators

- Katella The Huntress

- Female villains and badniks

- Classic style of characters

- Planet Mobius

- Shadow, Silver, and Scourge as werehogs

- Cosmo The Seedrian

Transformers:

- The Transformers: The Movie (1986)

- Super Robot Lifeform Transformers Legends Of The Microns (Transformers: Micron Legend)

- Transformers: Superlink

- Transformers: Galaxy Force

- Transformers G1 Japanese canon

* Transformers Scramble City (1986)

* Transformers Headmasters (1987-1988)

* Transformers Super-God Masterforce (1988-1989)

* Transformers Victory (1989)

* Transformers Zone (1990)

- Armada characters with Micron Legend names

- Energon characters with Superlink names

- Cybertron characters with Galaxy Force names

- Armada Demolishor

- Armada Thrust

- Armada Tidal Wave

- Armada Hot Shot (in new coloration)

- Energon Prime Force

- Energon Wing Saber

- Energon Mirage

- Energon Shockblast (should be Shockwave, because he pays homage to G1 Shockwave)

- Cybertron Soundwave

- Cybertron Thunderblast

- Cybertron Landmine

- Cybertron Thundercracker

- Ironhide

* G1

* Micron Legend/Armada (the only incarnation of Ironhide that is a Decepticon)

* Prime

* Bumblebee (2018)

- Springer

* G1

* Superlink/Energon (although he pays homage to his G1 counterpart, he is not a Triple Changer)

* Live-action versions

- Chromia

* G1

* Galaxy Force/Cybertron (the only incarnation of Chromia that is a Decepticon)

- Laserbeak (G1)

- Armada characters in G1 style

- Armada characters in Bumblebee (2018) style, and vice versa

- G1 show fake screenshots

- Armada fake screenshots

- Stunticons and Menosaur

- Aerialbots and Superion

- Omega Supreme

* G1

* Superlink/Galaxy Force

- Controversy memes

- Fan character creators

- Sam Witwicky and Mikaela Banes

- Alice (ROTF)

- Charlie Watson

- Shatter and Dropkick

- Tina Lark (2018 Bumblebee film)

- Female Decepticons and villains

- Blackout (Transformers 2007 film)

- Barricade (Transformers 2007 film)

- G1 meets Armada

- Blitzwing (G1)

- Predaking (G1)

- Seiyuu and English-speaking voice actor comparisons (especially the Unicron Trilogy)

- More combiner robots

- Crossovers or stand-alone fan media with humongous Mecha piloted by humans

- Talaria (G1 episode: The God Gambit)

- Transformers with Pontiac Firebird Trans Am alt-modes

Mecha Anime:

- Beast King Golion

- Armoured Fleet Dairugger XV

- Lightspeed Electroid Albegas

- Gatchaman

- Raideen

* Yusha Raideen (Raideen The Brave)

* Chouja Raideen (Raideen The Superior)

- Galaxy Express 999

- Space Battleship Yamato

- Star Musketeer Bismarck (Saber Rider And The Star Sheriffs)

- Zoids

- Mighty Orbots

- GaoGaiGar

- Macross/Mospeda

- Space Runaway Ideon

- Queen Millenia (does it count as a Mecha anime?)

- Ergo Proxy (Autoreivs may count as mecha, since they are robots)

- Starship Troopers (OAV)

- Crossovers (including with Transformers)

- Original Mecha artwork as well as stories

Spore:

- Creatures

* Paleozoic Era creatures

* Mesozoic Era creatures

* Cenozoic Era creatures

* Megafauna

* Passenger pigeon

* Echidna

* Skunk

* Peafowl

* Kitsune

* Owl

* Falcon

* Sonic The Hedgehog characters

* Star Trek style characters

* Animal crossbreeds

* Creepy And Cute parts pack

* Underwater creatures

* SporeMaster (extra parts for creatures including extra wings, movable tails, whiskers, and tentacles)

- Flora

* Pine tree

* Plants with black trunks and green or blue leaves

* Berry bush

* Palm tree-like plants

* Cherry blossom

* Eyeball plants

* Succulent plants

* Groundcover

* Fluffy plants

* Water plants

* Fungi

- Planets, moons, and stars

- Cells and microbes

- Early creatures

- Land, Air, and Water vehicles

- UFO's that look like fighter jets

- Realistic-looking wildlife and planets

- Asteroids and meteors

- Robots and Mecha

- Comets

- Galaxies

- Fonts

- Humanoid creatures

- Planetary landscapes

- Screenshots

Ships And Pairings:

- Sonic The Hedgehog

* Sonadow (Sonic seme x Shadow uke)

* Sonourge/Scouronic (Scourge seme x Sonic uke)

* Manamy (Manic x Amy)

* Salamy (Sally Acorn x Amy Rose)

* Wavouge (Wave x Rouge)

* Chriselen (Chris Thorndyke x Helen)

* Metandroid (Metal Sonic x Shadow Android)

* Jetave (Jet x Wave)

* Infiniles/Mephinite (Infinite x Mephiles)

* Geoffershey (Geoffrey x Hershey)

* Scourgiona (Scourge x Fiona)

* Juladette (Jules x Bernadette)

* Soneezie (Sonic x Breezie)

* Eggella (Eggman x Katella)

* Robotara/Eggera (Dr. Robotnik x Sara)

* Knuxikal (Knuckles x Tikal)

- Transformers

* Ironromia (Ironhide x Chromia)

* Infernalert (Inferno x Red Alert)

* Ironratch (Ironhide x Ratchet)

* Optilita-1 (Optimus Prime x Elita-1)

* Hotarcee (Hot Rod x Arcee)

* Springarcee (Springer x Arcee)

* Shocksound (Shockwave x Soundwave)

* Optihide (Optimus Prime x Ironhide)

* Bumblecliff (Bumblebee x Cliffjumper)

* Megabird (Megatron x Nightbird)

* Blitztrain (Blitzwing x Astrotrain)

* Wreckancy (Wreck-Gar x Nancy)

* Cyclonourge (Cyclonus x Scourge)

* Hotolishor (Hot Shot x Demolishor); Ironrod/Hothide (Hot Rod x Ironhide)

* Starclonus (Starscream x Cyclonus); Starsand/Sandscream (Starscream x Sandstorm)

* Starshot (Starscream x Hot Shot); Starrod (Starscream x Hot Rod)

* Hotjack (Hot Shot x Wheeljack); Hotpage (Hot Rod x Rampage)

* Democlonus (Cyclonus x Demolishor); Sandhide (Sandstorm x Ironhide)

* Radexis (Rad x Alexis); Radexa (Rad x Alexa)

* Siderust (Sideways x Thrust); Doublerust (Doubleface x Thrust)

* Blurshot (Blurr x Hot Shot); Silverrod (Silverbolt x Hot Rod)

* Demolihide/Ironmolishor (Demolishor x Ironhide); Ironbuster/Roadhide (Ironhide x Roadbuster)

* Ironwing (Ironhide x Wing Saber); Roadsaber (Roadbuster x Wing Saber)

* Winglock (Wing Dagger x Padlock)

* Galvarage (Galvatron x Mirage); Galvafleet (Galvatron x Shockfleet)

* Tidaldagger/Saberage (Tidal Wave/Mirage x Wing Dagger/Wing Saber); Shockwing (Shockwave/Shockfleet x Wing Dagger/Wing Saber)

* Starwave/Starrage (Starscream x Tidal Wave/Mirage); Starshock (Starscream x Shockwave/Shockfleet)

* Demolisaber (Demolishor x Wing Saber); Ironwing (Ironhide x Wing Saber)

* Bulkclonus (Bulkhead x Cyclonus); Springstorm (Springer x Sandstorm)

* Starblast (Starscream x Thunderblast); Starromia (Starscream x Chromia)

* Charemo/Memarlie (Charlie x Memo)

* Shattopkick (Shatter x Dropkick)

* Wheelarcee (Wheeljack x Arcee)

- Whoever you think need more recognition; there is too many to count.

Crossovers:

- Sonic The Hedgehog x Transformers

* Sonic games x G1

* AOSTH x G1

* SatAM x G1

* Sonic OVA x Headmasters

* Underground x RID (Car Robots)

* Sonic X x G1

* Sonic X x Armada (Micron Legend)

* Sonic X x Energon (Superlink)

* Sonic X x Cybertron (Galaxy Force)

* Sonic games x Unicron Trilogy

* Archie Comics x IDW

* Fleetway x Shattered Glass

* Sonic games x Shattered Glass

* Archie Comics x Animated

* Sonic Boom x Prime

* Sonic Boom x War For Cybertron/Fall Of Cybertron

* Sonic Mania x Bumblebee (2018)

* Sonic Forces x Cyberverse

* Sonic Forces x Bumblebee (2018)

* Team Sonic Racing x RID (2015)

* IDW crossover

* Sonic live-action (2019- ) x Bayformers (2007-2017)

- Transformers x Voltron

* G1 x Voltron: Defender Of The Universe

* Armada x Voltron Force

* Unicron Trilogy x Voltron (1984-1986)

* Headmasters x Voltron (1984-1986)

* Victory x Voltron (1984-1986)

* Cyberverse x Voltron: Legendary Defender

- Alien (1979-2017) x Avatar (2009 film)

- 24 x Transformers (2007)

- Top Gun (1986) x Stealth (2005)

- The Final Countdown (1980) x Top Gun (1986)

- Transformers G1 x Armada

- Transformers G1 x Energon

- Transformers G1 x Bumblebee (2018)

- Transformers IDW x Dreamwave

- Transformers Armada x War For Cybertron

- Sonic OVA x Sonic X

- AOSTH x Sonic X

- AOSTH x SatAM

- AOSTH x Underground

- SatAM x Underground

- SatAM x Sonic X

- Underground x Sonic X

- Sonic Universe crossovers

- Transformers Universe crossovers

Aliens And Extraterrestrial Life:

- Plants

- Fungi

- Bacteria

- Mammals

- Birds

- Reptiles

- Dinosaur-like animals

- Amphibians

- Fish

- Insects

- Arrachnids

- Worms

- Mollusks

- Crustaceans

- Autotrophs (plant animals)

- Humanoids

- Xenomorphs

- Algae

- Hybrids and crossbreeds

- Technology

1980's:

- Advertisements

- Fonts

- Chrome

- Movie posters

- Art

- Stock footage

- Computer graphics (early CGI)

- Music and soundtracks

- Cars

- Aircraft

- MTV

- Merchandises

- J-Pop and J-Rock

- 78 RPM and LP vinyl records

- Walkman

- Hairstyles

- Musical instruments (such as synthesizers and drum machines)

Patterns And Textures:

- Memphis-style

- Terrain

- Ocean and sea

- Flowers

- Space

- Faceted

- Planet texture maps

- Sand

- Snow

- Dirt

- Ice

- Sonic patterns

- Transformers patterns

- Geometric

- Grid

- Feathers

Media Reviews:

- Transformers Unicron Trilogy (both Japanese and English)

- Plane and fighter jet films

- 1980's TV shows

- Bumblebee (2018)

- Sonic X (original Japanese version with English subtitles is preferable)

- Voltron: Defender Of The Universe

- G1 MLP TV specials, movie, and series

- Any anime and manga review

- Software and hardware

- Regarding fan media

- Memes in general

- TV Tropes

- Wikipedia

- Conservapedia and RationalWiki (not just negative reviews for Conservapedia, and not just positive reviews for RationalWiki, either; balance them out, see if they have any good points; what are they both right or wrong on?)

- DeviantArt

- Tumblr (the website you are in)

Movies:

- Top Gun (1986)

- The Final Countdown (1980)

- Avatar (2009)

- Alien vs. Predator media (1979-2017)

- 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

- 2010: The Year We Make Contact (1984)

- Terminator (1984-2019)

- Stealth (2005)

- Legend Of The Guardians: The Owls Of Ga'hoole (2010)

- Cobra (1986)

- Judge Dredd (1995)

- Total Recall (1990)

- Demolition Man (1993)

- Any Garfield TV specials (1982-1991)

- The Land Before Time films (1988-2016)

- Animal Farm (any film or TV show)

- Dragonheart (1996)

- Dirty Dancing (1987)

- Strictly Ballroom (1992)

- Die Hard films (1988-2013)

- Iron Eagle (1986-1994)

- Young Guns (1988-1990)

- The Lost Boys (1987)

- Flatliners (1990, 2017)

- Any direct-to-video film

TV Shows:

- 24 (2001-2010, 2014)

- La Femme Nikita (1997-2001)

- The X Files (1993-2002)

- The Dukes Of Hazard (1979-1985)

- Mr. Ed (1961-1966)

- Any Lucille Ball show

- Stranger Things (2016- )

- The 100 (2014- )

- Knight Rider franchise (1982-2000)

- G.I Joe (1985-1987)

- Hercules: The Legendary Journeys

- Xena: Warrior Princess

- Star Trek franchise

- Star Blazers (1979-1984)

- Voltron (1984-1986)

- Buck Rogers In The 25th Century (1979-1981)

- Battle Of The Planets (1978-1985)

Videogames And Computer Games:

- Halo (1999-2014)

- Sins Of A Solar Empire (2008)

- E.V.O.: Search For Eden (1992)

- Darkspore (2011)

- Unreal (1998-2014)

- Half-Life (1998-2003)

- Age Of Empires (1997- )

- SimCity (2013- )

- Crazy Taxi (1999-2007)

- Nier series (2010-2017)

- Flow (2006)

- Diablo (1996-2017)

- Flicky (1984)

- Ecco The Dolphin (1992)

- Classic Pac-man games (1980-1984)

- Let’s-plays for videogames lesser known in mainstream

- Any fan game

Books And Novels:

- Dragonriders Of Pern

- The Space Trilogy (1938-1945)

- Dune series

- Red Mars Trilogy (Kim Stanley Robinson)

- The Dark Tower (1977)

- The Maze Runner series

- The Chronicles Of Narnia

- Any book and short story by Robert Heinlein

- Bright Lights, Big City

- Space Odyssey (Arthur C. Clarke)

- Guardians Of Ga'hoole

- Watership Down

- The Plague Dogs

- The Rescuers series (Margery Sharp)

- A Brother's Price (Wen Spencer)

- Diary Of A Wimpy Kid

- Any book by Isaac Asimov

Comics:

- Any webcomic you consider underrated

- Older Garfield comic strips before 2006

- Hyperbole And A Half

- Your own comics

Music And Soundtrack:

- Rush

- Kenny Loggins

- Karen Guys

- Laura Brannigan

- Pat Benetar

- Bon Jovi

- A-Ha

- Rick Astley

- Anime songs

- Off Course

- Brian Eno and Roxy Music

- Collective Soul

- Owl City

- Dead Can Dance

- Cheap Trick

- The Cars

- Cyndi Lauper

- Heart

- Hailee Steinfeld

Fandom:

- Any Sonic shipping fandom

- Transformers Armada (Micron Legend)

- Transformers Energon (Superlink)

- Transformers Cybertron (Galaxy Force)

- AI (artificial intelligence and computers)

- Female villain fandoms

- Seiyuu

- Fighter jets and military helicopters

- Classic cars

- Mecha anime

- Any religious fandom (not that I am religious myself)

(Please note that I may also do some of these, myself, but I encourage others to do so, as well; there are plenty of users who are more skilled and knowledgeable than I am.)

When it comes to content, I leave overrated stuff alone, and yearn to increase underrated stuff, even content that may be overrated in many areas, but underrated in others. I also encourage differing opinions of such content; people can like a certain content that others hate, and vice versa; I have no problem with that; just as long as no one harasses, bullies, trolls, denigrates, or threatens others who do not think the same way they do.

I also encourage alternative sites for content, as well as many more websites solely for entertainment purposes.

For everyone else in Tumblr, as well as many others in other websites, be creative, bring up new ideas and opinions, teach people something interesting, make what you like, encourage other people to do the same, and be cordial and respectful to one another. I wish you the best of luck.

This is FirebirdTransAm68 signing out.

#more content #more underrated content #even overrated content has something underrated #even underrated content has something overrated #content in tumblr #needs more recognition #diversity of thought #we can't have like-minded opinions all the time not even in tumblr #yes even what you call fake news is free speech #hate speech or whatever you like to call it is also free speech #fandoms are welcome in tumblr #fandoms welcome #fandom #statements #all political statements are welcome #be cordial to one another #be respectful to one another #be cordial and respectful #any other content you find underrated?#what may be overrated may also be underrated #what may be underrated may also be overrated #underrated #we need more sites like tumblr that are more inclusive and that has a variety of content #alternative sites to tumblr #if I want more websites with more content then I am against net neutrality #more competition in the internet means more opportunities to search for content you like #do not restrict because of different political opinions #disagreements are welcome #agreeing is fine as long as you don't agree all the time #more opportunities

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sladewilsonisanantihero · 6 years ago

Text

1980-2011 (Before the New 52 took place)

Comics that Deathstroke had physically appeared in, but not listed in narrative order due to the stories overlapping each other or not connecting at all. No annuals except one is included. Also no series similar to Teen Titans go!, the newest Teen Titans go!, and Tiny Titans.

Also if you might notice a comic missing in the list, please tell me!

1980: New Teen Titans Vol. 1 #2 (December 1980): "Today... the Terminator"

1981: New Teen Titans Vol. 1 #9 (July 1981): "Like Puppets on a String" New Teen Titans Vol. 1 #10 (August 1981): "Promethium: Unbound"

1982: Uncanny X-men and the New teen Titans #1 (January 1982): ""

1983: New Teen Titans Vol. 1 #34 (August 1983): "Endings... and Beginnings!"

1984: New Teen Titans Vol. 1 #39 (February 1984): "Crossroads" Tales of the Teen Titans #42 (May 1984): "The Judas Contract, Book One: The Eyes of Tara Markov" Tales of the Teen Titans #43 (June 1984): "The Judas Contract, Book Two: Betrayal!" Tales of the Teen Titans #44 (July 1984): "The Judas Contract, Book Three: There Shall Come a Titan" Tales of the Teen Titans Annual #3 (1984): "The Judas Contract, Part 4: The Finale"

1985: Tales of the Teen Titans #53 (May 1985): "Devil on the Wing!" Tales of the Teen Titans #54 (June 1985): "Blind Justice!" Tales of the Teen Titans #55 (July 1985): "Shades of Gray" Crisis on Infinite Earths #5 (August 1985): "Worlds in Limbo" Crisis on Infinite Earths #9 (December 1985): "War Zone"

1986: 1987: 1988: 1989:

1990: New Titans #62 (January 1990): "Titan Plague" New Titans #63 (February 1990): "Into the Darkness" New Titans #64 (March 1990): "Scourge!" New Titans #65 (April 1990): "Dejavu" New Titans #70 (October 1990): "Clay Pigeons" New Titans #71 (November 1990): "Beginnings... Endings... and (We Promise) New Beginnings!"

1991: New Titans #72 (January 1991): "Death of a Hero!" New Titans #73 (February 1991): "Paradise Lost" New Titans #74 (March 1991): "When Pantha Strikes" New Titans #75 (April 1991): "Countdown to Doomsday!" New Titans #76 (June 1991): "Tower of the Damned!" New Titans #77 (July 1991): "Red Star Rising" New Titans #78 (August 1991): "Mind Over Machine" New Titans #79 (September 1991): "Prelude..." New Titans #81 (December 1991): [No Title] Deathstroke, the Terminator #1 (August 1991): "Full Cycle, Chapter One: Assault!" Deathstroke, the Terminator #2 (September 1991): "Full Cycle, Chapter Two: Kidnapped" Deathstroke, the Terminator #3 (October 1991): [No Title] Deathstroke, the Terminator #4 (November 1991): "Full Cycle, Chapter Four: ...Bombs Bursting in Air!" Deathstroke, the Terminator #5 (December 1991): "Revelations and Revolutions" War of the Gods #4 (December 1991): "In the beginning...there was the end"

1992: Wonderwoman Vol. 2 #61 (January 1992): "To avenge an Amazon" Wonderwoman Vol. 2 #63 (June 1992): "operation: cheetah part 2" New Titans #82 (January 1992): "The Jericho Gambit, Part 1: The Saviors!" New Titans #83 (February 1992): "The Jericho Gambit, Part 2: A Thousand Souls!" New Titans #84 (March 1992): "The Jericho Gambit, Part 3: Endings... and Beginnings!" New Titans #85 (April 1992): "Dirge" Superman Vol. 2 #65 (March 1992): [10] "Panic In the Sky! Second Strike: Head Man" Adventures of Superman #488 (March 1992): [11] "Panic In the Sky! Third Strike: Counter Strike!" Action Comics #675 (March 1992): [12] "Panic In the Sky! Fourth Strike: Divide and Conquer" Superman: The Man of Steel #10 (April 1992): [13] "Panic In the Sky! Fifth Strike: Tidal Wave!" Superman Vol. 2 #66 (April 1992): [14] "Panic In the Sky! Final Strike: Our Army At War" Adventures of Superman #489 (April 1992): [15] "Panic In the Sky! Epilogue: Hail the Conquering Heroes" New Titans #86 (May 1992): "If This Be Chaos!" Superman Vol. 2 #68 (June 1992): [22] "Sins of the Father" New Titans #90 (September 1992): "That Which Lurks Within A Star!" Team Titans #1/2 (September 1992): "Childhood's End" Eclipso: the darkness within #2 (October 1992): "" Deathstroke, the Terminator #6 (January 1992): "City of Assassins, Episode One: The Offer" Deathstroke, the Terminator #7 (February 1992): "City of Assassins, Episode Two: The Rival" Deathstroke, the Terminator #8 (March 1992): "City of Assassins, Episode Three: The Allies" Deathstroke, the Terminator #9 (April 1992): "City of Assassins, Episode Four: The Resurrection" Deathstroke, the Terminator #10 (May 1992): "The Loneliest Number, Part One: " Deathstroke, the Terminator #11 (June 1992): "The Loneliest Number, Part Two: Crimes and Commitments!" Deathstroke, the Terminator #12 (July 1992): "Sympathy for the Devil" Deathstroke, the Terminator #13 (August 1992): "Terminator Hunt: The Powers That Be!" Deathstroke, the Terminator #14 (September 1992): "Child's Play" Deathstroke, the Terminator #15 (October 1992): "Escape From New York!" Deathstroke, the Terminator #16 (November 1992): "Terminated: The Death of Slade Wilson (Part Seven of Total Chaos)" Deathstroke, the Terminator #17 (December 1992): "The Nuclear Winter Chapter One: DNA"

1993: Deathstroke, the Terminator #18 (January 1993): "The Nuclear Winter Part Two: A Question of Brotherhood" Deathstroke, the Terminator #19 (February 1993): "The Nuclear Winter Part Three: Invasion" Deathstroke, the Terminator #20 (March 1993): "The Nuclear Winter Part Four: Heatwave" Deathstroke, the Terminator #21 (April 1993): "Love and Death" Deathstroke, the Terminator #22 (early May 1993): "The Quality of Mercy, Part One: Fire and Blood" Deathstroke, the Terminator #23 (late May 1993): "The Quality of Mercy, Part Two: The Cold Game" Deathstroke, the Terminator #24 (early June 1993): "Into the Black Dome" Deathstroke, the Terminator #25 (late June 1993): "Escape From the Black Dome" Deathstroke, the Terminator #26 (July 1993): "Gauntlet" Deathstroke, the Terminator #27 (August 1993): "Deathstroke's World Tour, Chapter One: England" Deathstroke, the Terminator #28 (September 1993): "Deathstroke's World Tour, Chapter Two: Versailles" Deathstroke, the Terminator #29 (October 1993): "Deathstroke's World Tour, Chapter Three: Hong Kong" Deathstroke, the Terminator #30 (November 1993): "Deathstroke's World Tour, Chapter Four: China" Deathstroke, the Terminator #31 (December 1993): "Deathstroke's World Tour, Chapter Five: India" Showcase '93 #6/3 (June 1993): "Village Green Preservation Society" Showcase '93 #7/2 (July 1993): "The Kobra Kronicles, Part 2: Acute Schizophrenia Paranoia Blues" Showcase '93 #8/2 (August 1993): "The Kobra Kronicles, Part 3: Brainwashed" Showcase '93 #9/2 (September 1993): "The Kobra Kronicles, Part 4: Get Back in Line" Showcase '93 #10/2 (October 1993): "The Kobra Kronicles, Part 5: Big Black Smoke" Showcase '93 #11/2 (November 1993): "The Kobra Kronicles, Part 6: I'm On An Island" Bloodbath #1 (December 1993): "" Bloodbath #2 (December 1993): ""

1994: Deathstroke, the Terminator #32 (January 1994): "Deathstroke's World Tour, Chapter Six: Paris" Deathstroke, the Terminator #33 (February 1994): "Deathstroke's World Tour, Chapter Seven: Dallas" Deathstroke, the Terminator #34 (March 1994): "Deathstroke's World Tour, Chapter Eight: Egypt" Deathstroke, the Terminator #35 (April 1994): "To Thine Own Self..." Deathstroke, the Terminator #36 (May 1994): "War Crimes" Deathstroke, the Terminator #37 (June 1994): "Sins of the Father" Deathstroke, the Terminator #38 (July 1994): "Land of Milk and Blood" Deathstroke, the Terminator #39 (August 1994): "The Death Doctor" Deathstroke, the Terminator #40 (September 1994): "Wedding in Red" Deathstroke, the Hunted #0 (October 1994): "The Hunted, Prologue" Deathstroke, the Hunted #41 (November 1994): "Deathstroke, the Hunted: Killers" Deathstroke, the Hunted #42 (December 1994): "Deathstroke, the Hunted, Part 3: Warriors!" Green Arrow #84 (March 1994): "Strange attractions" Green Arrow #85 (April 1994): "Chaos Theory"

1995: Deathstroke, the Hunted #43 (January 1995): "Bird of Prey" Deathstroke, the Hunted #44 (February 1995): "Deathstroke, the Hunted, Part V: Roses are Blodd Red" Deathstroke, the Hunted #45 (March 1995): "Deathstroke, the Hunted, Part VI: The Road to Salvation..." Darkstars #32 (March 1995): "The Night They Burned Ol' Dixie Down" Deathstroke, the Hunted #46 (April 1995): "Connections" Deathstroke, the Hunted #47 (May 1995): "Conversion" Deathstroke #48 (June 1995): "Third Strike" New Titans #122 (June 1995): "" Deathstroke #49 (July 1995): "All the King's Men" Deathstroke #50 (August 1995): "Revelations" Deathstroke #51 (September 1995): "" Deathstroke #52 (October 1995): "" Deathstroke #53 (November 1995): "" Deathstroke #54 (December 1995): ""

1996: Deathstroke #55 (January 1996): "" Deathstroke #56 (February 1996): "" Deathstroke #57 (March 1996): "" Deathstroke #58 (April 1996): "" Deathstroke #59 (May 1996): "" Deathstroke #60 (June 1996): ""

1997: Detective Comics #708 (April 1997): "The Death Lottery, Part One: Heart of Glass" Detective Comics #709 (May 1997): "The Death Lottery, Part II: Heart of Stone" Detective Comics #710 (June 1997): "The Death Lottery, Part Three: Heart of Ice"

1998: Nightwing Vol. 2 #17 (February 1998): "The Stalking Skies" Nightwing Vol. 2 #18 (March 1998): "The Hunting Moon" Teen Titans Vol. 2 #22 (July 1998): "Titans Hunt, Part 2: Shades of Glory" Robin Vol. 4 #55 (July 1998): "Brotherhood of the Fist, Part Three: Monkey Fist" Nightwing Vol. 2 #23 (August 1998): "Brotherhood of the Fist, Part Four: Paper Revelations" Green Arrow Vol. 2 #135 (August 1998): "Brotherhood of the Fist, Part 5" Azrael #45 (September 1998): "Angel and the Beast: Deathstroke!" Azrael #46 (October 1998): "Guardian Angel"

1999: JLA vs Titans #2 (January 1999): "The Generation Gap" Titans #9 (November 1999): "Limbo" Titans #10 (December 1999): "The Immortal Coil, Part One"

2000: Titans #11 (January 2000): "The Immortal Coil, Part Two" Titans #12 (February 2000): "The Immortal Coil, Part Three" Action Comics #767 (July 2000): "Critical Condition, part 4: Death's door" Adventures of superman #580 (July 2000): "Critical condition, Part 2 of 4: green universe" Superman: man of steel #102 (July 2000): "The enemy within! Critical condition, part 3 of 4" JLA 80-Page Giant #3 (October 2000): "The Century War II" Birds of Prey #22 (October 2000): "The Hostage Heart, Part One" Birds of Prey #23 (November 2000): "The Hostage Heart, Part Two" Birds of Prey #24 (December 2000): "The Hostage Heart, Part Three: Conclusion" Titans #21 (November 2000): "The Trial of Cheshire, Part One: The Eva Brown Complex" Titans #22 (December 2000): "The Trial of Cheshire, Part Two: Know When to Quit"

2001: Birds of Prey #25 (January 2001): "Old Habits" Catwoman Vol. 2 #94 (July 2001): "" JSA #28 (November 2001): "Face-Off" Wonderwoman Vol. 2 #174 (November 2001): "The witch & the warrior - part 1" Wonderwoman Vol. 2 #175 (December 2001): "The witch & the warrior - part 2: Girl frenzy"

2002: Birds of Prey #43 (July 2002): "Blind Spot" Birds of Prey #44 (August 2002): "Deadly Convergence" Birds of Prey #45 (September 2002): "The Killing Ground" Birds of Prey #46 (October 2002): "Cretaceous Picnic"

2003: Nightwing Vol. 2 #79 (May 2003): "No Son of Mine" Nightwing Vol. 2 #80 (June 2003): "Venn Diagram, Part 1: Close Encounters" Nightwing Vol. 2 #81 (July 2003): "Venn Diagram, Part 2: Friends under fire" Nightwing Vol. 2 #82 (August 2003): "Venn Diagram, Part 3: That and a buck fifty" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #2 (October 2003): "Child's Play" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #3 (November 2003): "A Kid's Game" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #4 (December 2003): "Breaking the Rules" Avengers/JLA #4 (December 2003): "The Brave and The Bold"

2004: Teen Titans Vol. 3 #1/2 (Janurary 2004): "The Ravager" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #5 (January 2004): "Clash of the Teen Titans!" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #7 (March 2004): "Wednesday" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #8 (April 2004): "Family Lost" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #9 (May 2004): "First Blood" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #10 (June 2004): "Raven Rising" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #11 (July 2004): "Raven Rising" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #12 (August 2004): "Raven Rising" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #17 (December 2004): "Titans Tomorrow (Part I of III) - Big Brothers and Sisters" [Ten year future Deathstroke] Identity Crisis #2 (September 2004): "House of Lies" Identity Crisis #3 (October 2004): "Serial Killer"

2005: Teen Titans Vol. 3 #18 (January 2005): "Titans Tomorrow (Part I of III) - Tales of the Titans" [Ten year future Deathstroke] Identity Crisis #6 (January 2005): "Husbands and Wives" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #22 (May 2005): "Lights Out, Part Two: War and Peace" [Disguised as Batman] Teen Titans Vol. 3 #23 (June 2005): "Lights Out, Part Three: Secrets and Lies" [Disguised as Batman] The Outsiders #21 (April 2005): "Silent Partner" The Outsiders #22 (May 2005): "Deep throat" JSA #70 (April 2005): "JSA/JSA, Chapter III: High Societies" Batgirl Vol. 1 #62 (May 2005): "The Hood (Part III of III)" Batgirl Vol. 1 #63 (June 2005): "Sex, thugs and rock n' roll" Batgirl Vol. 1 #64 (July 2005): "Blade of the Ravager" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #50 (July 2005): "New Business Part All Together Now" Batgirl Vol. 1 #69 (December 2005): "" Countdown to Infinite Crisis #1 (2005): "Countdown to Infinite Crisis" Villains United #1 (July 2005): "Villains United, One: And Empires In Their Purpose" Villains United #3 (September 2005): "Privileged To Spill Her Blood" Batman, Gotham Knights #66 (August 2005): "Job Termination" Batman #646 (December 2005): "Franchise, Part 1: Supply Side Economics" Villains United #5 (November 2005): "Villains United, Part Five: Victims of Aggression" Villains United #6 (December 2005): "Villains United, Part Six: At the End of All Things" Nightwing Vol. 2 #111 (October 2005): "Signed, Sophia" Nightwing Vol. 2 #112 (November 2005): "The Devil you know" Nightwing Vol. 2 #113 (December 2005): "The Scorpion and the frog" Birds of Prey #87 (December 2005): "Perfect Pitch, Part 1" Infinite Crisis #1 (December 2005): "DC Comics Presents Infinite Crisis"

2006: Nightwing Vol. 2 #114 (January 2006): "Cowboys and Indias" Nightwing Vol. 2 #115 (February 2006): "No-fly zone" Nightwing Vol. 2 #116 (March 2006): "Marathon" Nightwing Vol. 2 #117 (April 2006): "Fix you" Batman #647 (January 2006): "Franchise, Part 2: The Away Team" Infinite Crisis #2 (January 2006): "The Survivors" Infinite Crisis #7 (June 2006): "Finale" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #57 (February 2006): "Heading into the light part 4: House warming" Birds of Prey #89 (February 2006): "Perfect Pitch, Part 3" Birds of Prey #90 (March 2006): "Perfect Pitch, Part 5" Adventures of superman (April 2006): "Superman, this is your life, part 3" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #60 (May 2006): "Crawling Through the Wreckage, Part One: New Sheriff in Town!" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #61 (June 2006): "Crawling Through the Wreckage, Part Two: Green Party Agenda" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #62 (July 2006): "Crawling Through the Wreckage, Part Three: An Eye For An Eye" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #63 (August 2006): "Wild, Part One: Busted!" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #64 (September 2006): "Wild, Part Two: Odd Pairings" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #65 (October 2006): "A Kick to the Front, then a Kick to the Back, the a Good Side Kick"

2007: Green Arrow Vol. 3 #69 (February 2007): "Seeing Red, Part One: Out of Town Guests" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #71 (April 2007): "Seeing Red, Part Three: Change Partners" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #74 (July 2007): "Jericho, Part Two: Seems Like Old Times" Green Arrow Vol. 3 #75 (August 2007): "Jericho, Conclusion: And the Walls Came Tumbling Down" The Flash: The fastest man alive #7 (February 2007): "Speedquest, Chapter 1: Angel City" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #43 (March 2007): "Titans Easts (Part I of IV)" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #44 (April 2007): "Titans East (Part II of IV)" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #45 (May 2007): "Titans East (Part III of IV)" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #46 (June 2007): "Titans East (Part IV of IV)" Justice League of America Vol. 2 #12 (October 2007): ""

2008: Justice League of America Vol. 2 #15 (January 2008): "Unlimited, chapter 4: Unleashed" Trinity #14 (September 2008): "So what now?; Let the burning begin" Batgirl Vol. 2 #3 (November 2008): "Redemption road, chapter 3: daughters" Batgirl Vol. 2 #4 (December 2008): "Redemption road, chapter 4: daddy issues"

2009: Trinity #38 (February 2009): "Who are you?; the last stand" Trinity #39 (February 2009): "Metropolis; the power you deserve" Faces of Evil: Deathstroke #1 (March 2009) The Outsiders #15 (April 2009): "The deep, part 1: origins & omens" The Outsiders #17 (June 2009): "The deep, part 3" The Outsiders #18 (July 2009): "The deep, part 4" The Outsiders #19 (August 2009): "the deep, part 5" Final Crisis #2 (June 2009): "" Booster Gold #22 (September 2009): "Day of Death, Part 2 of 4; armor-plated; part 2: silver spoon" Booster Gold #24 (November 2009): "Day of Death, Epilogue; black and blue, part 1 of 2" Booster Gold #25 (December 2009): "Day of Death, Aftermath; Black and blue, part 2 of 2" Final Crisis Aftermath: Ink #6 (December 2009): "Footprints"

2010: Teen Titans Vol. 3 #77 (January 2010): "A family Affair" Teen Titans Vol. 3 #78 (February 2010): "Tortured Souls" Justice League of America Vol. 2 #44 (June 2010): "Devil in the details" Batman and Robin #11 (June 2010): "Batman Vs. Robin, Part 2: Boneyard" Batman and Robin #12 (July 2010): "Batman Vs. Robin, Part 3: Mexican Train" Titans #24 (August 2010): "Rude Awakenings" Titans #25 (September 2010): "Darkness Falls" Titans #26 (October 2010): "Suffer the Children" Titans #27 (November 2010): "Lost and Found" Titans #28 (December 2010): "Family Reunion, Part 1: Past Sins" Action comics #891 (September 2010): "The black ring, part 2" Action comics #892 (October 2010): "The black right, part 3; a look at things to come in...superboy" Secret Six #24 (October 2010): "The Six-Guns Blazing"

2011: Titans #29 (January 2011): "Family Reunions, Part 2: Clear and present danger" Titans #30 (February 2011): "Family Reunions, Part 3: The future's so dark..." Titans #31 (March 2011): "Family Reunions, Part 4: The fate we make" Titans #32 (April 2011): "Family Reunions, Part 5: Inheritance" Titans #33 (May 2011): "Broken Promises, Part 1: An eye for an eye" Titans #34 (June 2011): "Broke Promises, Part 2: Divided we fall" Action Comics #900 (June 2011): "The black ring, final: reigh of doomsday; life support; autobiography; friday night in the 21st century; the incident; only human; the evolution of the man of tomorrow" Titans #35 (July 2011): "Broken Promises, Part 3: Under Siege" Titans #36 (August 2011): "Broken Promises, Part 4: No way out" Titans #37 (September 2011): "The Methuselah Imperative, Part 2 of 3" Titans #38 (October 2011): "The Methuselah Imperative, Part 3 of 3" DC Universe Online Legends #1 (April 2011): "Legendary"

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