#Silver has two swords sticking out the back of his head

[snowflake-hedgehog]

Been watching a bunch of Sonic Runners videos for ESP Silver and the two big quills on Silver’s head really are for slashing things with his spin jumps

[barbieaemond]

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath. 

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells. 

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.”  He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

 “Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King. 

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him. 

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth. 

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”  

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

[ilguna]

☼ lovestruck, lovesick, lovelorn pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick has a hard time keeping up his façade, especially since you know that what he told you was a bunch of bullshit. he's not able to confirm it until weeks later, when you've healed from the capitol abuse.

warnings; swearing, death mention, death, gore for sure, blood, weapon usage, mention of prostitution, needle mention, strangulation, abuse.

wc; 6.5k

part one, part three.

--

“Sponsor gift.” Johanna interrupts the silence.

You look over from where you’re standing the water, finding the silver parachute slowly making its way down to the beach. It seems that Katniss has finally woken up, as well. She’s leaning forward on her crossed legs, rubbing one of her eyes.

Johanna catches the gift in her palms, the parachute falls away to reveal that there’s another pyramid of rolls. It looks identical to the batch you’d received last night, which is confirmed by Finnick after he meticulously counts each one, and tells them that there’s twenty-four of them.

They begin to divide the bread, you turn away, not wanting to be included. You would eat, if it meant that you didn’t have to sit in a group with them. Namely Finnick, who’s kept a close eye on you since last night. Especially since you refused to lay down with the others, choosing to pace the treeline.

You would’ve offered to take Peeta’s spot behind Finnick to take watch, but you’re not really interested in being in close proximity with Finnick. It’s partly the embarrassment, and there’s also the fact that he was lying to you. You saw the look on his face, you heard it in his voice. He fed you bullshit. 

And now he must be waiting for you to make your escape. It’s not going to happen, though. You made a commitment, you have a plan, and you have the full intention to execute it tonight. After all, it’s the third day. All you have to do is make it fourteen more hours, and you’ll be free of this arena.

“(Y/n), do you want your bread?” Johanna asks.

“No, I’m fine.” You tell her without moving.

They spend the next few minutes eating, before Katniss takes Peeta into the water to teach him how to swim. You back away, heading to lurk along the treeline of the jungle again. It’s close to where Johanna and Finnick are, as they try to stay occupied. Johanna’s keeping her eyes on the two in the water to ensure that they’re not getting up to no good, while Finnick begins to weave himself another net.

“You said you had a plan last night.” Johanna says, looking over her shoulder at you. “Are you ever going to let us in on it?”

“The Careers are probably watching our every move, waiting for the right moment to attack.” You tell them, a conclusion they’ve likely already come to, themselves. “They won’t do it until we’ve split up.”

Finnicks hands have paused, waiting for you to suggest that you should go off alone to attack them. 

“They’re outnumbered if we stay together.” Johanna says.

“Right.” You say, “We all know Katniss, though. She’s not going to want to be in this alliance much longer. She’ll probably stay until the Careers are dead, because that just leaves us.”

Johanna’s nodding, following along.

“I say that we kill them tonight, at midnight.” You stab the sword into the grass, leaving it there when it sticks. You move to stand in front of them in the sand, hands on your hips. “And we do it Beetee-style. We can electrocute them on the beach, assuming that they come out here to refresh when we go into the jungle for the night.”

“How?” Finnick asks, you look him over.

“The sun goes down, making it slightly cooler. The wave will hit at ten, making the beach wet. All we’ll have to do is wrap the wire around the lightning tree, and get two people to walk the wire down to the beach to bury the spool before the lightning hits.” You hold up two fingers, “This causes the group to split two to three, and by then, Enobaria and Brutus will be on us like flies to honey. And that’s when I’ll split away to kill them before they can do any real damage.”

“So, really, whoever has the wire will act as bait?” Johanna asks, face twisted. “And what makes you think you can take out two Careers?”

You half-shrug, “Because I’ve done it before. If you got any better ideas, I’m all ears.”

She shakes her head, “I don’t. It sounds like it’ll work out fine.”

When you both turn your attention to Finnick, you find that he’s nodding, eyes on the sand. 

“Well, if we’re in agreement, then we can tell those two,” You jerk your head towards the water, “Later. We can’t do anything until the wave hits, anyway.”

When neither of them say anything else, you go back to where your sword is, pulling it out of the mushy dirt. There’s a deep slice from where you’d stabbed it. As you’re about to wander away, Johanna says something about her going back to sleep in the meantime, since she didn’t get much sleep last night.

Finnick continues weaving his net out of the jungle vines. You watch his progress between glances each time you turn to move the other way. You could probably just stand here, staring into the jungle, but you said so yourself last night—the Careers aren’t going to attack until nightfall, when they’ve got cover.

However, there’s always a chance that you’re wrong, and they decide that they’d rather take the five of you head-on. This is why you refuse to rest. If they get the jump on you, you won’t be able to keep yourself together any longer. You’ll chase after them, and they’ll end up dead before midnight.

“Hey, Finnick, come on in!” Katniss suddenly calls. You pause long enough to see her waving. “We figured out how to make you pretty again!”

Finnick ties off the net, which looks like it’s pretty much done, anyway. He leaves his trident behind, going over to see what they mean. From what you can tell, they’re taking handfuls of wet sand to rub against the scabs that are peeling from their skin. You would need to do the same, if you hadn’t been picking at them all last night.

When they’re done, they come out of the water to apply another round of ointment. Katniss offers the tube to you, which you take gratefully. After a small squeeze on your hand, you rub it along the places where you’ve been affected. For the most part, you were able to say ahead of the fog, even when you were helping Finnick carry Peeta.

“I’ve come up with a plan.” You tell Katniss and Peeta once they’ve settled in the sand. “I already told Finnick and Johanna about it while you were in the water.”

Katniss places the bow in her lap, fingers pinching the string. “And they liked it?”

“Enough.” You say. “There’s only two threats left in the arena, and that’s Enobaria and Brutus. So, we need to take them out. Except, we can’t hunt them down because they could be anywhere, and it’d take all day.”

“Do you think they’ve figured out the clock?” Katniss asks.

“If they haven’t, they will soon.” Finnick says.

“I want to set a trap tonight.” You dig the toes of your left shoe into the sand. “Enobaria and Brutus won’t attack again until it’s dark out and they have cover, that’s a fact. Which means they’re not going to come out here, onto the beach, until they’re sure we’re done.”

“You want to stay in the jungle tonight?” Peeta asks, “That’s dangerous, how will we know what sections we’re in?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” You shake your head. “What I want to do is kill them when they step foot on the beach. And the only way to do that is with this wire.” You point at it.

Katniss’s face twists. 

“The wave hits at ten, making the surrounding beach damp. If we connect this wire to the lightning tree and bring it all the way down to the beach—or even into the water—that first strike will electrocute anything in contact with the sand. It’ll kill them.”

It’s quiet between the four of you, as they mull this over. You can see that Finnick is looking at you, but you keep your eyes on the Twelve tributes. They need to agree to this plan, in order for you to move on and worry about greater things. Like how you’re going to take down Enobaria and Brutus at the same time. Or if you’ll be able to split them up, too.

Peeta’s mouth pops when he opens it to speak. “How do we know that the wire won’t just burn up when the electricity passes through it.”

“It likely will.” You say, “We probably only have one shot at this.”

“So there’s a possibility that we won’t even get them?”

Finnick sighs, “Yeah.”

“But all the seafood will be cooked.” Peeta says.

You nod, “It will, but we found other things in the jungle.”

“Nuts and rats.” Katniss says, you think you’ve got her on board. “And we have sponsors.”

“It’ll be a pain if we fail.” You tell them, “There’s always other options, after this.”

Katniss meets your eyes. “Why not? If it does fail, there’s no harm done. If it works, there’s a decent chance we’ll kill them. And even if we don’t and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source, too.”

“I say we try it.” Peeta agrees.

When you’ve lost the attention of the Twelve tributes, you look at Finnick, giving him a smug look. You told him that you’d figure out a plan, and it’s not half-bad either. You’re sure Beetee would’ve said the exact same thing, just with more technical nonsense. You make a pretty good filler, if you say so yourself.

“What should we do until then?” Peeta asks.

“We could take a hike up to the tree to get a look at it.” You suggest, but you’re thinking about surveying the area on the way up. The better you know the jungle, the more you’ll be able to sneak around in it.

“I’ll get Johanna up.” Finnick says.

You back off, Katniss and Peeta gather their belongings, getting on their feet. Finnick catches Johanna up to speed, telling her that the plan is on, and you want to go take a look at the tree. She sighs, getting up from where she was laying.

You pick the wire out of the sand, throwing it over your shoulder to hold while you walk. You move over a couple sections, and Johanna makes the way into the jungle first. You follow after her, not wanting to have a debate with Finnick on whether or not you’re allowed to be behind them. 

The air is thicker in the jungle than it is on the beach. It must have something to do with the vegetation, or possibly a hidden water source, making it humid. Between the incline and the heat, you’re sweating in a matter of minutes. Even though all you’re wearing is the undershirt and shorts that were provided with the wetsuit that you abandoned yesterday.

You focus on your breathing, and the steps you’re taking to keep from tripping. Not the fact that Finnick is close enough for you to hear his breathing. You wish he would stay a few steps back, so you can pretend that he’s not there entirely. 

As if he’s reading your thoughts, he says, “Can you walk faster?”

“Maybe you should be in front of me if you don’t like my pace.” You snap.

“That’s not happening.”

“Then shut up and deal with it. And stop walking so close, while you’re at it.”

He makes a noise, “There’s three feet between us, that’s plenty.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you think so.” You mutter.

He must hear you, because he doesn’t walk for a couple of seconds, letting the distance grow. You laugh, unbelievable. This is why you don’t believe what he said to you last night. He can deny what you said as much as he wants, but a part of it has to be true.

However, the more he denies it, the more you feel yourself slipping. Why do you like him in the first place?

“Katniss should take the lead, Johanna. She can hear the forcefield.” Finnick calls from behind you.

Johanna pauses, turning around for you to see her. There’s a bead of sweat running down the side of her face. “Hear it?”

“Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed.” Katniss says below.

“Go ahead, then. I’d rather you get electrocuted to death than me.” She motions.

Katniss passes the line, taking the front. When you glance behind you to see who’s taking up the rear, you see that Finnick and Peeta have switched places. Which makes sense, but you still shake your head. 

Katniss brings you to the towering lightning tree, making you wait a few feet back while she gathers nuts to throw ahead to see how far away the forcefield is. She tosses a few of them, and you know when she’s found the field when it sizzles on impact, jumping at her.

“Just stay below the lightning tree.” Katniss tells you.

With it being only nine—almost ten—it’s quickly decided that you’ll stay here for the next hour or so. They divide responsibilities between each other, leaving you out so you can figure out the tree and how the plan will work. Naturally, they stick Finnick with you, while Johanna taps for water, Peeta gathers nuts and Katniss goes hunting for the tree rats.

You go back and forth, looking at the tree, guessing how far around it is, and then looking at the wire, thinking about how much you’ll have to use. There’s easily miles of the wire wrapped around the base, so you’re not worried about running out of it. It’s how thick you need to make it on the tree.

You make a noise, biting the inside of your cheek. This is where Betee would come in handy. You can make a plan, but executing it correctly is a different subject. Either way, you need to make this work.

“You can’t figure it out.” Finnick says, it’s not a question.

“I’m thinking about how much wire I need to use.” You eye him, “It’s figured out.”

And if it isn’t, it will be by tonight, you think.

The ground begins to shake beneath you, as the sound of the wave crashing through trees fills the momentary silence. You have an hour and a half before you need to get back down to the beach in order not to get caught here in a lightning storm.

Katniss comes crunching out of the trees, holding three of the rats in one hand, the bow in the other. She stops next to Peeta, dropping the animals next to him, and then draws a line in the dirt a few feet away from the forcefield.

She cleans the kills, cubing the meat, and roasting them by tossing them at the forcefield. She catches each one in a free basket that was made by Finnick yesterday. Peeta follows her movements with the nuts, dropping it in the same bowl as her.

“Figure it out?” Johanna asks you, setting the water on the ground behind Katniss. She holds the spile out between her fingers in Katniss’s direction.

Katniss reaches up to take it, and secures it on the vine attached to her belt.

“Pretty much.”

By the time Katniss and Peeta are done, the next hour is up. You know this when the clicking in the section over rises. You heard some of it last night, but it wasn’t very loud because you were on the beach. Here, it sounds so close.

“I think it’s an insect.” Katniss says. “Maybe beetles.”

“Something with pincers.” Finnick adds.

The sound swells in reaction to their voices. 

“We should get out of here, anyway.” Johanna says. “There’s less than an hour before the lightning starts.”

At that, the food and water are gathered, as well as weapons. You don’t go very far, only to the rain wedge next door. The food and water is placed on the ground, where you squat around the bowls to pick out what you want. This is when you finally eat, because it looks fairly appetizing. Still, you don’t take much from the pool, only enough to be full.

When you’re done, you make your way back down to the beach until nightfall. The sand is smooth from the water, sinking under your weight, leaving footprints behind. 

Johanna offers to take watch to allow the rest of you to sleep if you want to. They take her up on the offer, but you sit up, fingers laced in front of you. None of them nap for very long, because they’d gotten a fair amount of sleep last night. The only person it would benefit at this point is you, except you haven’t been tired since yesterday afternoon.

Well, that’s what you think until Finnick switches off with her. He lowers himself next to you, back to the water, eyes on the jungle. He’s less than a foot away from you, off to your left. For someone that doesn’t like you, he really sticks close, doesn’t he?

“I’m going to sleep.” You mutter, getting to your feet.

You find a nice place in the sand that’s covered by a tree in the jungle. It’s not easy settling in, you think that you’d rather fight with a rock-hard bed, but you don’t really have a choice. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to take even breaths to relax, feeling the drowsiness creep up on you.

–

The heel of your shoe is kicked, jolting you awake. You grab the knife that you’d placed next to you, rolling over to see who it is. It’s Finnick, he’s holding his trident in one of his hands.

“We’re about to clean the seafood, come join us.”

You squint at him, wondering if you should strangle him for waking you up like this. It wouldn’t be that hard to, and you’d likely get over him quicker. And you would probably do it, too, if it weren’t for your allies a few feet over, talking.

“Sure.” You say, he walks away, going to resume his place in the circle. You sit up, heels of your hands massaging your temples. You should’ve just stayed awake, now all you are is tired and irritated.

You scoot over, finding a place between Johanna and Finnick. You look over all of what they’ve collected, which is fish, shellfish and oysters. You sigh through your nose, reaching forward to grab a fish, as you begin to slice into it with your knife. It takes you about two minutes to successfully clean it, tossing it in the next basket.

Peeta pries open an oyster, laughing slightly. “Hey, look at this!” He exclaims. You look up from your next fish to see that he’s holding up a pearl. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Finnick says. Katniss laughs.

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water, handing it to her. “For you.”

“Thanks.” She says, closing her hand. 

You toss another fish in the basket, Johanna gives you a look. “No wonder why Finnick woke you up, you’re faster than he is.”

Finnick gives Johanna a glare, “That’s not true.”

“I don’t want to make this a competition.” You tell both of them. “I’m not in the mood.”

“I can see that.” Johanna says, “Bad dreams?”

“I just want to get the fuck out of here.” You make a clean cut through the fish, looking at her. 

She sighs, “Don’t we all?”

“The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta asks. “Katniss?”

“It worked.” She says.

“But not the way I wanted.” He says, looking away from her. That’s the last thing you hear from him for the next fifteen minutes.

With your help, they finish preparing the food pretty quickly. They give the seafood a final wash to get rid of any of the sand, and right as you’re about to eat, a parachute comes down from the sky, landing next to Finnick. The first one is a pot of red sauce, the second one being another set of District Three rolls. When counted, the number turns out to be the same as it’s been the last couple of times.

You take a strip of the fish, dipping it into the red sauce, and then dropping it into your mouth. The moment your tongue realizes that it’s tasting more than just raw fish, your mouth begins to water. It’s spicy, and so good. You hum, giving the others an approving nod.

The five of you begin to eat, actually enjoying the meal. While they gorge themselves, you take it slow, not wanting to be too full for when you fight the Careers. It’ll slow you down. When they’re done, there’s still a lot of leftovers, but you’re not able to keep them. They toss the food back into the water, so that when you leave, the Careers won’t be able to have it.

Katniss and Peeta go to sit by the water together, holding hands. You, Finnick and Johanna stay where you are, passing around the water shell. There’s still a couple of hours until the wave, you could probably an hour or so in, but if you try to get any more sleep today, you won’t get up the next time they try to wake you.

The anthem plays, no faces show up in the sky. The sun has officially set, and you can’t sit still any longer. You get to your feet, sword in your hand while you go back to pacing the treeline. 

When Katniss and Finnick agree that it’s about nine, you move on from the beach, taking only what’s necessary. Katniss leads the way this time, Peeta in front of you, with Finnick and Johanna at the very end. This time, Finnick leaves a safe distance between the two of you, learning from his mistake.

When you get to the tree, Finnick is assigned to help you. And before you can object and ask for Johanna, they’re already walking away to find their places to watch the trees. You stick your sword in the ground, and then crouch down to begin unrolling the wire. You set several yards aside, making Finnick wrap some of it around a broken tree branch, which you leave aside.

After that, you and Finnick stand on opposite sides of the lightning tree, passing the spool back and forth. You form an X, watching as it grows thicker, before you begin to wrap it around the middle. This goes on for about an hour, until you hear the wave begin. You wait for a while longer, and decide to stop once it’s thick enough.

When Finnick hands the wire back to you, you clear your throat. “The wire needs to be brought back down to the water.” The three taking watch turn to look at you, waiting. “Katniss and Johanna will do it.”

“I want to go with them as a guard.” Peeta says immediately.

“You don’t move fast enough.” You tell him. “Which is a result of you hitting the forcefield and your prosthetic leg. You’ll stay here with me and Finnick. Katniss can guard, because she’s got her bow.” Peeta’s shaking his head. “We don’t have time to argue, they need to leave, now.”

“It’s okay.” Katniss says after a moment. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.”

“Not here, we’ll meet you two in the next section over.” You remind her.

She cups Peeta’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” She kisses him, you avert your eyes, and land on Finnick, who’s staring. You squint at him. Katniss moves away, “Ready?”

“Why not?” Johanna shrugs, coming over to take the wire from you. “You guard, I’ll unwind. We can trade off later.”

Katniss walks off first, with Johanna following. You keep a careful eye on the sliver of wire that hangs through the air as they go down. If you try to pass through that area, you need to be mindful that it’s there.

You grab your sword out of the ground, while Finnick divides the area into three sections for you to stand in. You’ll give it about fifteen minutes before you take off with some sort of excuse, because there’s not a single doubt in your mind that the Careers are out here right now.

Over the fifteen minute period, you shift your weight from foot to foot, trying to make it seem like you have to use the bathroom, restlessly moving around. You let out a loud sigh, “I’m sorry, I have to pee. I’ll be right back.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Peeta tells you, “Finnick should go with.”

“He’s not standing over me while I pee, and you’re not either. I’ll stay within earshot.” You say, looking at Finnick. You raise your eyebrows, Finnick gives you a slight nod. He better keep Peeta distracted enough to the point where he doesn’t realize how long you’ve been gone. 

You duck under the wire, heading into the trees with your sword. You walk a few feet, occasionally glancing behind you to make sure that neither of them are looking, before you make your escape. The wire is close enough for you to see it, still suspended in the air. 

You move quickly down the slope without having to wait on anyone, searching the area ahead for anyone. Katniss and Johanna have got to be more than halfway down by now, it’s going to take you a minute to catch up with them. But if Enobaria and Brutus are smart, they won’t stick that close, because Katniss is paranoid.

The sound of rocks rolling on one another makes you stop behind the tree you’re passing by. It came from the left, from the other side. You lower yourself to the ground, peering around the trunk and through bush leaves to see if it’s them.

You find Enobaria creeping out of her hiding place, knife in hand, blade glinting in the moonlight. With a swift motion, she cuts the wire, sending both ends in different directions. She chases after the end going down to Katniss and Johanna, and that’s when you can see Brutus, following after her.

He’s limping. This will be easy.

You stalk them, trying to be quiet. The wire is gone, completely out of sight. It’s probably already bunched up at the bottom. Which means that they know that something—someone—has come between them and the lightning tree. And vice versa for the top of the hill, where Peeta and Finnick are going to realize that the girls are in some danger.

You were wrong about how far down Katniss and Johanna were, because you come across the coil of wire a minute later. Katniss is laying on the ground, eyes shut, forearm cut where the tracker should be. 

“She’s as good as dead! Come on, Enobaria!” You hear someone shout.

Your head whips in the direction, forgetting about Katniss. She’ll pick herself up soon, and if she doesn’t, someone will come for her. You pick up the pace to follow after the heavy footsteps. They have to be targeting Johanna, because she’s nowhere to be seen in the area. She’s drawing them away, taking the focus off of the girl who scored a twelve.

You see Brutus moving through the trees, trying to keep up. You switch the sword into your non-dominant hand, grabbing out a knife. You draw your arm back, and with every ounce of strength you have, you send the knife flying at Brutus.

It hits the back of his head, a cannon blasts immediately, his body falling into the greenery. If it wasn’t a frenzy before, it will be now that someone has died. 

Enobaria, who was a few feet ahead of him, stops in her tracks, turning to look at you. You walk toward her, a smile spreading over your face. “Hi.”

“You’ll regret that.” She snarls, throwing a knife at you.

You see this coming, twisting just in time for it to miss you. She charges forward, you switch the sword into your dominant hand, swinging at her. She blocks, blade clashing against yours, the sound of metal sliding on itself fills the air.

“Stupid plan you made.” She says between breaths, baring her teeth.

“You fell for it.�� You grin, sweeping her legs.

She falls, you stab down at her, she rolls out of the way. She doesn’t have time to stand up, you’re swinging at her, getting closer each time.

“(Y/n)!” A voice calls, you halt, just for a second, eyebrows twitching in.

Finnick.

“Playing house?” Enobaria sneers, right before she swings at your hand.

You drop the sword, but still get cut across the back of your hand, up to your wrist. The blood begins to leak out, making your skin slippery. You hiss, reaching for your knife when Enobaria gets to her feet, coming for you.

She gets you several times across your body, you’re off beat by a second. You’re not thinking about the fight anymore. Your mind is on Finnick, who’s supposed to be watching Peeta at the lightning tree, but instead he’s out here, looking for you.

He knew the plan, he knew you’d go after the Careers, that was the whole point of splitting up. The sooner you get rid of them, the better. There won’t be a threat in the arena anymore. You’ll be able to cut out the trackers in your arm freely and wait for the rebels to get you. You could even let Katniss and Peeta in on it, because by then it’ll be too late for the Capitol to intervene.

Enobaria steps too close, snapping you out of your thoughts. You grab her shoulder, holding her in place while you slam the knife upward, into her stomach. You stare at her, watching as her mouth drops open, struggling to take a breath in.

“How the mighty fall.” You murmur.

Her eyes meet yours, “Go fuck yourself.” She wheezes. “You’re next.”

“We’ll see about that.” You tell her, pushing her back.

She stumbles a few steps, you drop low to pick your sword out of the grass. She’s shaking her head, a plea forming on her lips, when she jerks forward, and she falls to her knees.

Johanna stands on the other side, her axe now embedded in the back of Enobaria’s skull. She gives you a little smile, “You killed Brutus?”

“It was easy.” You tell her. “We should get back to the tree. The lightnings going to strike any minute now, the beetles are getting quieter.”

Johanna nods, you begin to lead the way, climbing as fast as you can. It’s difficult with the cuts that Enobaria managed to land. They’re in the most inconvenient places, as if she was doing it on purpose. Maybe she thought you’d run, and this way she’d slow you down.

“Katniss!” You hear a voice call, it sounds like Peeta. He’s not supposed to be out here, Finnick should’ve had him on a leash. “Katniss!”

“Is Chaff still alive?” You pant, “There’s only been two cannons, right?”

“Yeah, he should be.” Johanna says.

You’re just nearing the top, the clicking is practically nonexistent, until it suddenly swells. Your eyes pan down, afraid that you’ve stepped into the wrong territory, but there’s nothing on the ground. That’s when a scream erupts from your left, drawing out for a minute.

And then a cannon goes off, there goes Chaff.

You turn, wanting to make sure that Johanna’s still following. She’s leaned over her knees, breathing deeply. 

“Katniss!” Peeta’s voice is close. You look up, and barely find him through the trees. He must see you, too, because he starts to come down. His eyes are bouncing between you and Johanna. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “Is she at the tree? And where’s Finnick?”

“Johanna?” Peeta insists, ignoring you.

“The Careers split us up.” She lies, “I had to draw them away.”

“Is that who died?” He asks.

“Brutus, Enobaria and Chaff were the cannons.” You tell him. “Let’s get back to the tree to regroup.”

He nods, Johanna stands up. The three of you are beginning up the slope once more, when the dome of the arena bursts into a blue light. You watch as the first fiery explosion breaks it, throwing bits of debris into the air. 

“Shit.” You say, “That’s not good.”

The hike up the jungle is torturous enough in the heat that’s provided by the Gamemakers. It grows worse when the trees surrounding you are suddenly set afire by the bits that land on the ground, causing small earthquakes. Several times, you have to hang on to a tree to keep from falling over, as the dome falls apart.

You keep an eye on the growing hole, and the sky beyond it, waiting. You watch as the hovercraft materializes out of thin air, above the lightning tree. A second later, the claw is being dropped to retrieve those who are by it. You’re hoping it’s Katniss, because that was the whole goal of this plan. Anyone else was just an added bonus.

It secures around someone, and pulls them out of the trees. You’re not that far, you might even be able to make it. The claw drops a second time, for one more person, pulling them up. It’s hard to see the hovercraft through the thick branches and leaves. 

You’ve about five yards from the lightning tree when the hovercraft disappears in the air. Your pace slows, as you let out a breath. When you look at Johanna, you find her shaking her head.

“There goes being saved.”

“What?” Peeta asks, looking between you two.

“I’m sorry, Peeta.” You say, locking your fingers and placing your hands on the top of your head. “The good news is that you got what you wanted.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“She’s safe.” Is all you say.

You don’t bother telling him that the three of you are screwed. While Katniss and presumably Finnick, get to go to District Thirteen, where they’ll be safe. You’re going to be taken by the Capitol, and there’s not a doubt in your mind that they’ll try to tear you apart to get information about the rebels.

This is where the real test of strength begins. 

—

A knock on the window makes you look up from where you’re staring at the IV in your arm. Your eyes land on Finnick, who’s not standing at his full height, playing with a small piece of rope in his hand. There’s a slight frown in his lips, eyes tired. He’s been visiting you these last couple of days, and you’ve been doing your best to avoid him.

Usually, you have a visitor in here, which makes it easy to cast him out, but you’re alone tonight. Johanna’s finally grown tired of bothering you for hours on end, talking your ear off. It’s been a one-sided conversation these past couple of weeks while your throat healed.

Recently, the doctor cleared you.

You stare at Finnick, really not wanting to let him in. He’s no doubt heard the news, too. Which means that he’s looking to actually talk to you. You take a small breath in, chest aching. You rub the area over where the pain is, lifting your other hand to motion Finnick in.

He opens the door slowly, closing it behind him. He doesn’t say anything as he grabs the chair from the corner of the room, dragging it next to your hospital bed. You watch him sit down, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor. 

You thought that since Katniss and Finnick were saved by the rebels, they’d be in better condition than you, Johanna and Peeta are. It seems to be the other way around, though. Despite Snow having you strangled and deprived of oxygen for as long as humanly possible without doing major brain damage, and Johanna being repeatedly electrocuted in water, the two of you are relatively normal. You wish you could say the same for Peeta, but he’s up in the air right now. They won’t even let you see him, although you’re not sure what that would do exactly.

Finnick has been torn apart, like being in District Thirteen is a form of torture, in of itself. The light in his eyes is gone, voice quiet, “Mags told me about the ultimatum that Snow gave you.”

“Huh?” You let out.

Finnick looks up from the tile. “After the jabberjays, you asked me what changed.” He reaches over, placing his hand on top of yours. He’s warm. “It was before that. When Mags told me that you’d agreed…” He trails off, “You’d agreed to be a prostitute if it meant my family lived.”

You try to shake his hand off. “Whatever.”

He grabs on with both hands, squeezing your fingers. “She told me that you would volunteer to take some of my nights in the Capitol, because you saw how tired I was.”

“Get off me.” You murmur.

“My family was in the Capitol and you protected them,” His voice wavers, you get sent back to that night in the jungle. When he denied the fact that he had feelings for you. “Again. You protected them again. You let Snow do this to you.”

“It was the right thing to do.” You shake your head. 

“I heard you talking the day of the reaping.” He breathes. “How you told Mags that you wouldn’t let her volunteer because you know how much she means to me. You said that you’d rather risk your life and go back in the arena than put her in danger.”

“Anyone would’ve done that.” You tell him, impatient.

“Annie couldn’t. Librae wasn’t going to. I was sure you weren’t, either.”

You sigh, “Will you just leave me alone?”

“I was wrong about several things.” Finnick stands from the chair, letting go of your hands to reach for your face. His thumbs running over the skin beneath your eyes. “I do care about you.”

“No, you don’t.” You push his arms.

“Listen to me.” Finnick says, his face is so close to yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath tickling your nose. “I was looking for you during the jabberjays, I was looking for you the night the dome went down, and I haven’t been able to breathe since you were taken.” He closes his eyes. “I care.”

“I know.” You breathe, “I know you do.”

[percki]

on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar. 

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

[powdermelonkeg]

Echoes of Wisdom Trailer Analysis: Part 1

I'll tell you what, a new Zelda game, especially one this year, was NOT what I was expecting. I was hoping for a teaser a la "the sequel to BotW is now in development," but to have a full on main-series game come out? That caught me completely off guard.

But I've got my bearings. And I like what I see. So let's break down what we DID see, shall we?

Our opening shot has Link in some ruins, looking over at what appears to be Soldiers (as in the enemy, a lesser version of Darknuts), which are a staple for Fallen Timeline games.

However, they usually aren't this color, restricted to red, blue, and green. And they usually have swords or tridents, not axes.

The axes are a new development, as are the black armor and white capes. Maybe they've taken on the red -> blue -> green -> black -> silver difficulty pattern that BotW and TotK had?

Moving on.

Link here has a dark blue cape with teal geometric patterns on the back. Tempting as it is to connect this to the Zonai with the recent game-

-I'm going to abstain for now, because Zelda games like their teal geometry.

Looking around, the ruins Link finds himself in are unique.

We have eye patterns on the walls and double helixes framing the door. We haven't seen any pattern like this before, to my knowledge.

Link rushes in, sword drawn. The floor is plain square patterns on cracked tile.

We get our first glimpse of the Hylian Shield

As well as a clear shot of his sword. Oddly enough, it's not the Master Sword, or anything like it—it looks too plain to be something final, like the Four Sword or Phantom Sword:

And yet, it still very distinctly matches Link's current aesthetic, with the teal geometry.

Honestly, it looks more akin to a beginning sword that needs to change, like the Goddess Sword of Skyward Sword:

It's basic, it's easy to look at, but it's distinct and memorable.

Immedaitely after the cinematic run, the camera snaps to an overhead view, in which Link attacks. So there's at least a little gameplay as Link.

We see Princess Zelda in her crystal prison. Nothing unusual so far, but she definitely has a new look to her, even if her dress is distinctly Toon/Oracles/AlttP style remade.

Then we pan down to Ganon. Fallen Timeline's beast Gan, as we're used to seeing him. So far, he seems to look the most like his ALBW iteration, with the spiked cuffs around his wrists.

Link enters the scene. Purple mist is there for ambiance.

The pattern on the ground feels...ornamental. It doesn't stick out much or have enough detail on it to be the usual big-bad-evil-ritual.

Link throws his cape away dramatically.

Again, we get a camera-snapped view in which Link's attacks seem very much in the player's control.

And blocking Link off from escape, we have a magical barrier, though this one is emitting particles.

It's almost like Ganon's torn the ground open for this.

Defeated, ready for phase two, Ganon dissipates into purple sparks, only to reappear and start his tennis volley.

And here's where we get our proper view of him head-on.

ALBW's Ganon is a bit easy to miss in-game, because Yuga takes him over moments after he arrives. But he looks like this:

This is not our Gan's design.

He has the bracers, yes, but his forehead gem isn't spiked, his eyes are red, not white, his armor is gold with red edges and has chest plates that look a lot like really old art of ALttP Gan:

But most interestingly, his necklace is different.

In every version of Ganon that looks like this, he's either had a skull at his neck

Or a gem

But our Gan has something new. Something that, given the eyes in the corridor, feels deliberate:

There's a menace in this branch of Hyrule's history that's known for three things: a horned eye, purple magic, and possession.

And I'm out of images. Part 2 here!

[author-morgan]

Title: Riverside Rating: M Pairing: Harald Finehair x fem!Reader (and Halfdan the Black) Summary: Harald Finehair may be a fool, but at least he has his brother, and at least he has you. ❤️plot bunny that's been collecting dust for two years by @mrsragnarlodbrok ❤️

down by the river by the boats, where everybody goes to be alone

“YOUR BROTHER IS a fool,” you remark, watching Harald Finehair slip away with the princess who once promised to be his queen—the woman whose husband had only just been murdered in the early hours of the morn. Halfdan the Black watches his brother too, lips twitching as he lifts his cup of ale, taking a short quaff of the weak brew. He’ll be glad to leave England—an army of this size meant dwindling supplies, game, and ever-weakening ale and mead.

He picks off another hunk of meat from a roast pheasant. “Is that meant to be news?” Halfdan asks in turn, smiling as he flicks his stringy blond hair aside and out of his eyes—his dark gaze flitting back to you. Harald’s always been a fool when it comes to women and love, and Halfdan doubts time and age will ever change that.

“Halfdan,” you chide. Harald is a fool—a fool for thinking Ellisif would wait for him, a fool for killing Vik so crassly in the heart of the camp. You both know he is, but watching Princess Ellisif slip away with her husband’s killer makes you uneasy. Grief and the thought of vengeance would not have left her mind yet. And such things can drive people to act in unpredictable ways. “You don’t think it’s odd she wishes to seek a private audience with him only a few hours after he killed her husband?”

Halfdan raises his brow—the blue-black ink of the tattoo on his temple and forehead twitches and wrinkles. At the moment, he’s more content with filling his belly and entertaining your company than fretting over his brother, yet you won’t let the subject rest so easily, and deep down, Halfdan knows you are right, as is the feeling of dread in his liver. “Had it been me, the thought of retribution would not yet be gone, nor the fog of dolor.”

You make a convincing case, and with a sighing frown, Halfdan pushes away from the table and you, heading toward Harald’s tent—hand resting on the hilt of his sword, knowing already he will have to serve as his brother’s protector once more. A moment later, Halfdan emerges from his brother’s pavilion. The sword in his hand is coated with blood, bright and red. And it would seem, after all, he knew women far better than his brother—or at least how to listen to you. 

He frees a cloth from his belt and slides it down the blade, cleaning it with a single long swipe as he looks at you, watching and waiting. Halfdan doesn’t have to say anything as he approaches for you to know, but regardless, your lips quirk upward. “Told you,” you declare, and he makes a low sound of agreement from the back of his throat, taking the cup of ale you offer. You knew Ellisif would not have so easily nor quickly forgiven Harald for his transgression, especially after not upholding her promise to wait for marriage. 

Harald’s curses and fit of rage ring out in the brisk air. You know there’s little that can soothe his heart and pride, but if anyone in the Ragnarsson encampment can make an earnest attempt, it is you—Halfdan knows this too. “I’ll see to him,” you breathe, taking one last drink of ale. Halfdan grips your arm before you can go to his brother and leans close, offering a soft, quick kiss over too soon.

THE RIVER FLOWS slowly, given its breadth near the encampment of the Sons of Ragnar—a hundred longships are pushed up against the banks and moored in the water. Together, you and Harald walk along the water’s edge, heading north, where fewer ships and wandering eyes and ears are. The blood on his hands and chest is nigh dry, and it makes his red woolen tunic stick to him and stiffens his silver-tinged beard.

Harald Finehair looks at you but cannot dispel what you must think of him, of these circumstances—your expression is only a cool mix of solicitude and what he thinks is annoyance. Yet again, he finds himself failing to understand the mind and heart of a woman—one he has known since childhood, no less. “My brother is lucky,” Harald admits, feeling a spike of jealousy stab at him as he thinks about you and Halfdan, “to have only ever loved you.” But had he ever truly loved Ellisif beyond his desire for her beauty? Even he is not sure of the answer.

You stop near the prowl of one of Jarl Olavsson’s ships—his shields and sails marked by white and dark green—and stare at Harald, aghast and confused by his insinuation. “Do I no longer have your love?” You ask, reaching for him and the leather ties at the neck of his tunic.

“I had thought–” his voice trails off as he looks at the flock of blackbirds flying overhead, unsure if it is a sign from the gods or just an ill omen. He lets you draw him nearer, but it’s only when the flat of your hand connects with his bloody cheek that his gaze and attention return to you—his stormy blue eyes filled with bewilderment and indignation. He stares at you, nostrils flared. 

“No, Harald!” You’ve finally grown exasperated by his foolishness—you could tolerate his laments about love and marriage, but to nigh let himself be killed by a recreant woman under such circumstances? “You didn’t think!” You tell him, and Harald steps back, hands curling to fists at his sides. He needs to hear this, though, if not from his brother, then from you. “And if you did, it was with the wrong head.” The same head all men think with first when it comes to women.

“You speak to a king,” he reminds you, puffing out his chest—a weak reply, and you both know it.

You shake your head and reach for him, hands settling on either side of his blood-spattered face—thumbs following the blue-black scrollwork of the tattoos on his cheeks. “And I am also speaking to one of my oldest friends,” you remind him. King or no, Harald and his brother are among your oldest and dearest friends—they could be little more than farmers or simple whalers, and you would think no less of them nor love them less. There’s a shift in Harald’s expression then, as though he realizes the error of his ways in disregarding your and Halfdan’s counsel, and hubris fades to humility. “One whom I care for and love very much.” Love, the word catches him off-guard. Then an ephemeral smile returns to grace your lips. “Even if he is pigheaded at times.”

He forces down the growing knot in his throat. “My brother–” Harald starts, but you press your fingertips to his weathered lips, shushing him and chasing away any apprehension or fear of driving a rift between the three of you with what comes next. “Halfdan knows,” you tell Harald with airy unconcern—fingers slipping down to comb through his silver-tinged wiry beard. Your trysts had never been clandestine, even before whatever this unspoken thing with his brother began before the first raid on Paris. “He’s very astute,” you remark, the corner of your lips quirking upward again. “You could stand to learn a thing to two.”

He huffs, then goes to the river, shrugging off his tunic, and kneels at the water’s edge, splashing the cold water on his face and chest—scrubbing the drying blood of the woman he once intended to marry. He stares at his reflection, shoulders falling forward, accepting his ill-fated pursuit of marriage and defeat, alas. “I’ve been a fool,” he grumbles. You crouch next to him, dipping your hand in the river to help wash the blood from his shoulders and the back of his neck, humming your agreement—gladdened to know it is no longer a whispered secret between you and Halfdan. “You’re not supposed to agree with me,” he admonishes, mirth slipping back into his tone.

There’s a scar on his shoulder, and without thought, you lean toward him, placing the gentlest and quickest of kisses on the raised patch of silvery skin. You can recall how he and Halfdan have gotten most of their scars, but the history of this small mark evades you right now. When you meet his eyes, you see him staring at you with a look of raw hunger and desperation you’re entirely unprepared for, and it sends a wave of heat washing over you. But he’s so gentle when he handles you—even in all his lingering anger and hurt.

He holds your chin until his thumb swipes across your flushed cheek—always touching you like you’re some fragile, precious thing and not a shieldmaiden—and then his lips part, and he exhales a shaky breath, waiting for your permission, spoken or otherwise. You give it with a breathy sigh of his name. Harald. His warm breath hits your cheek, followed by the faint tickle of his scraggly beard at your jaw before his lips are fully on yours. “Let me have you.” His plea is soft against your mouth—and you cannot deny him.  

Skirts rucked up around your waist, Harald grips your hips, drawing you closer to him until his wool and linen-clad thigh presses between yours. His touch is fervent—hot palms, calloused from years of battle, scrape over the bare skin they touch. His tongue sweeps across your bottom lip before kissing you—languid and soft. Your hands grasp at his back to pull his chest to your own. And then he fumbles to loosen his belt, but you knock away his hands, and Harald curses and groans when your hand slides into his undone britches, fingers wrapping around his half-hard cock—stroking him.

Your stomach flutters as his fingers caress you briefly, fleetingly—but gone far too soon. Your hips move towards his touch, but now is not the time for drawn-out caresses and teasing. In truth, he's not focused on your pleasure but more on his desire.

Harald pushes forward, rocking his hips slowly until his cock is fully sheathed inside the warmth of your cunt, and his hips meet yours. You gasp, somewhere between a whine and moan, head tipping back, and Harald takes the chance to press his lips to the base of your neck. He’s gentle as he trails a hand down your side and holds your waist—he and Halfdan have always been two sides of the same coin as lovers.

You lay back—letting him do as he pleases. He needs this moment, this release, far more than you do. His thrusts start slow, lazy almost, as though you’ve all the time in the world—like you’re back in Tamdrup on a spring night in a patch of wildflowers or bale of loose straw in a stable, not lying on a muddy English riverbank on the verge of another battle—not knowing if tomorrow will be the day Valhalla beckons you home.

He looks down at you—splayed beneath him and his gut twists with a sickening realization. I’ve been a fool, Harald thinks again, cradling your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb pressed against your parted lips, chasing a woman who could never love me. But you. It did not matter what misfortunes or victories the gods bestowed upon him. You were always there—never faltering from your place at his and Halfdan’s side. He’s only ashamed not to have realized or acted sooner.

Your legs spread wider to welcome him, squeezing at his shoulders to urge him to move faster. Every push and pull of his hips brings him deeper inside you. Harald pants at your ear, his breathing ragged and strained as his pace falters—thrusts growing quicker and rougher as he seeks release. Beneath your palms, the muscles in his back ripple, contracting with each thrust. His lips find yours again, and you pull him down closer until his bare chest presses against the rumpled wool of your dress bodice—nails scraping across his shoulders and the patchwork of tattoos on his shoulder blades.

The look in Harald’s eyes is nigh unsettling—a mix of emotion you do not wish to think about in this moment of lust and carnality—and you squeeze at his biceps, urging him to move faster, and when his trance breaks, he obliges. He breathes hushed praises against your neck and strokes a thumb over the racing pulse in your neck as he rolls his hips up into yours—strokes long and deep. 

You whine and squirm for him, grinding your hips into his. The next time he moves, his cock strikes the place inside you that makes you cry out without thinking, and your toes start to curl—he does it again and again, thrice over. “Harald.” He works himself deeper still, pelvis rubbing against your clit, and he doesn’t miss the shiver that goes through you or the way your muscles tense—cunt squeezing his cock tighter. His breathy, open-mouth kisses grow sloven as you fumble to keep in rhythm, your movements slack—distracted by the fog of ecstasy in your head.

Breath hot against your lips, his eyes drift shut in unison with yours. Behind closed eyes, all that triumphs is the feel of your bodies sinking into each other. He will not last much longer. Harald barely manages a coherent rasp of your name, teeth gnashing, when his entire body shivers and he stills deep, deep inside, cock twitching. 

His livid eyes are dark, like a stormy sea when they open once more, and there’s a crease between his brows that you have a yearning impulse to kiss away—and so you do, and in the wake of your lips, you smooth your fingertips over his brow. “I do love you, Harald,” you tell him—a breathless whisper—and suddenly, the knot in his throat and the offbeat feeling in his heart is back. “Just as I love Halfdan.”

He says nothing, only rests his forehead against your shoulder and shivers when your hand runs along his back, finding his dark braid to run your fingers along. But there’s a new dampness on your flesh—tears for love lost and love found.

HIS TEMPER IS quelled upon returning to the encampment, even if his heart has yet to mend. Halfdan rises from his spot at one of the fires, leaving the waning conversation with Björn Ironside when he sees you and his brother approach. The whispers around the camp of what happened between Harald, Vik, and Ellisif have already faded with new discussions of the army’s next move in Mercia—steadily creeping closer to Wessex and retribution upon King Ecbert for his part in Ragnar’s death. Harald swallows his pride and glimpses you before turning his attention to Halfdan. “Thank you, brother,” he says. “Yet again, I owe you my life.”

“I’ll always watch your back,” Halfdan replies, pressing a cup of ale into Harald’s hand before clasping his shoulder—then his gaze flits to you, and he smiles, a glimmer shining in his dark eyes. “But next time we tell you to kill someone, you should listen, yeah?” Harald shakes his head, looking down into the cup of ale with a dry laugh. You both told him to rid himself of Ellisif before setting sail to England. He should have listened then—knows he was a fool not to have. But once more, it is the three of you, and maybe that is how the gods always intended it to be.

[Harald & Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @kaexiao / @midnightmuze / @moonlightsspirit / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenfinehair / @queenyalo / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Vikings taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[lestkarr0]

A dream?|chapter 3

Even the outside was swarm by people in silver knight armours that glistens in the bright sunlight;the light that was radiating bouncing off from its shiny material,sharp pointed swords tucked to their leather waist belt neatly tucked in.

Reaching to a stop near a horse barn where dozens of horses stood,tied and eating freshly dew grass ,the man got off neatly from the horse opening one of the leather bag that was tied around the horse acting as a belt; rummaging through the bag wina took this as an distraction to get off by herself so she won’t be an embarrassment like earlier.

Maybe what she thought was just a joke and understatement cause after one leg was trying to reach the ground she unintentionally trip as all her weight was on her left side

She shrieked and reach out for something to hold her up,luckily she caught on the mans shoulder who has finished looking through the components inside his leather bags;slinged on his shoulders

The man flinched when she came in contact with him her body toppled upside down the horse dragging half his body weight with her.

“haha my bad i slipped”she laughs akwardly and scoot herself up slowly

Using his shoulders as a support to get off from the horse she forgot to calculated the height from the ground and the horse was high leaving her dangling on the man her arms death gripping his neck as she shrieked

The man immediately hold her waists when her weight pull his neck down with her. With a annoyed voice he spoke up,”calm down.” Bending his knees so her feet could reach the ground

Letting go off of her death grip her face immediately scrunch up in disgusts coming in contact with the wetted ground when she forgotted she was barefooted ,the grass underneath her feet leaved a stranged wet residue mixed with mud stained on the bottom of her sandy feet - a nightmare for sensory issues people

The man set aside the horse closer to the other horses that was left behind by it’s owners. A wide color of horses with different shape and size;their sizes bigger than what a normal horse wina usually see.hooves seemingly looking more like a wide black plate rather than the width of a cup

Wina’s question remains the same how can the horses be bred this huge and well? Well surely there are breeds of horses that can achieve this build but a whole range of horses being the same size? Just doesn’t put two and two together.

“wina” a voice called out,she turned her head to the source and it was the man on the pavement leading to the entrance of the big castle. He beckoned her to come to him with a quick hand movement

She started walking through the muddy ground and onto the pavement,sliding off the mud that stick to her feet on the pavement in a matter of second she arrived just beside the man

The duo arrived infront of the entrance where a bunch of knights and vikings sat and stood but a particular man stood neared the entrance, gaze not leaving them. A chubby redfaced man with ginger hair-his face looks like it’s burning from the sun, clothes sticking onto his sides to the point where it could tear anytime. ‘If he talks to me I’m gonna run away’she thought avoiding his glaring stares

With his persistent gaze he walked slowly to where wina and the man stood.each steps of his felt heavy as she could feel the ground rumbling every step he took,the unsettling look on his face when he reached the duo

Now standing right infront them eyes not leaving wina's cheek who's facing her head to the side to avoid him but before he could talk directly to wina,the man stood infront of her blocking her sight from the ginger man

"Ah the noble knight and advisor of the king and who's this little woman you've brought?"the ginger haired man asked acknowledging the man who stood infront of him, the man nod,"reynald de chattilon"

Giving each other greetings as if they knew each other wina peeked her head out from behind the mans back eyebrows raised and look at the ginger hair guy who's name 'reynald de chattilon'

Reynald attention averted from the man when he noticed her head peeking out and tried to get past the man and went to the woman instead,in a matter of second a sword was threatened on his stomach the tip of the blade touching reynald tunic,"she's my guest,my business and the King's,you wouldn't play with the King's guest do you reynald de chattilon?"the man voiced out his language changing from arabic to a new type of ancient one and reynald stop immediately holding his breath and sucking in his stomach

A little gasp can be heard from wina as she cowered back behind the man in attempt to sheild herself from the ginger haired man and the sword that's threatening him

Reynald backed away from the sword and scoffed at the man’s face looking at his face with a slithering glare and silence before he walked away from the duo in an angry manner

The man tucked his sword away immediately to not catch any other attention from the crusaders surrounding the place who eavesdrop the whole conversation between him and reynald

"Who was that?"wina asked the man moving beside the man when he walked forward in heavy strides like the boots of his was weighted 80 pounds considering his size

"Reynald de chattilon,Lord of oultrejordain"he replied not sparing her an inch of a glance

'alright I'll just act like i knew who this reynald de baboonilon is and oultrejordain?the nfl player?'wina rolled her eyes not giving a thought to even get to know the ginger man who's a creep

Entering the castle was a big overwhelming for wina as eyes was on her each step she took,one look at her in disgusts and another eyed her with pity

'Why are they looking at me like that?it's not my fault my clothes are like this when i was brought here with no consent' she thought hiding her face from the pitiful gaze,unknown to her despite their pityful glares they will bow down and kiss the ground she walks in a matter of time

They reach to the interior of the castle filled with exotic and antiques vases and tables,the lighted candles brightening the dark hallways as the shadows of the knights who guarded the inside blink rapidly from the luminous fire

It was quiet and peaceful although the laughter and voices from the people outside can be heard it still give a calming aura

The silence soon ended when the sound of a stomach growling echoed through the hallway,they both stopped in their tracks and wina's eyes widened giggling nervously "sorry I'm kinda hungry right now"

The man sighed and said,"we'll get food soon and fill our stomachs i still have tasks to do" wina nodded and ask again,"where are we going?we've been walking for minutes and i still don't know who or where we're going to"

That question was ignored by the man as he walked a few steps and turned right to a narrow hallway,wina rolled her eyes at his attitude and walk in fast strides to catch up with the man

As she took another step she could feel her body freeze as a rock like an anvil was placed on her feet the sound of her heartbeat echoing through the hallways and the hair on her arms standing up

Her face scrunch up and the goosebumps made her body shivered as a hiker entering the tallest part of a mountain,taking a deep breath the feeling faded quickly and the weight on her both feet felt lighter now

'That was strange,the weather here is hot and dry but why does it felt cold all of a sudden?'shaking the thoughts in her head when she heard the man called her name out she ran towards him turning right to the narrow hallway

The man stood outside of a big door carved with symbols and decorated with lines it was truly beautiful,the man knock three times on the metal door before a voice called out saying for them to come in

A few seconds pass and the man push the door with his left hand and nodded to wina to enter the room with him

The step into the room made the hair on wina's arm stand up along with the goosebumps shuddering through her body

It was very strange to her that all this strange occurence are happening just before she enter this specifically one room

'What is happening to me right now?whatever it'll just go away in a second'she shrugged off the thoughts and entered the room with the man

Meeting with a whole sight of vibrant and dull colours colouring;not to miss the antique and beautiful carvings of vases and furniture all over the whole room

Wina gasp quietly looking around but her eyes got caught on the figure sitting quietly on a wooden chair it's colours still looking new and polished compared to the antiqued table they're propping their arms on

Fingers working diligently on a piece of light brown coloured paper,the silence in the room was demeaning as the only sound echoing was the blade of the quill squiggling on the paper

The person's face couldn't be seen only covered by a white coloured veil that went to a length until their shoulders,they both could only see the upper body of the person dressed in an all white cloak and white undershirt;bandages fully wrapped on both of the person hands

Wina looked at the man for an answer as to why they we're in this unknown person room but the man just glance at her before averting his gaze to the person before both of them

The man stepped one foot infront and made his way to the person in a slow manner his boots thumping on the well made beautiful carpet catching the attention of the person who held his head up by the sound

A sweet voice ring in wina's ear,"oh? pardon my selfishness i didn't notice your presence coming into my chamber forgive me". Her eyes widened when she realise the person was a man and could feel herself succumbing by how soft spoken the person was

With an appropriate distance between the man and the person,the man shaked his head putting his hand to his chest and bowed his head to the person infront of him before glancing back to wina and beckoned her to come

She obliged and stood beside the man looking at the person infront of him in a closely manner but she still couldn't see his face that was covered by the long veil,she could still see the change in his body language when wina appeared before him and stand next to the man

Wina was too busy staring at the man that she didn't notice the constant tapping of the man finger on her back,feeling annoyed she was getting ready to scold him but she noticed his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowing towards his hand that placed on his chest

She tilted her head questionably at the man before realising what he meant and put her hand to her chest and bow her head slightly,'how far is this medieval roleplay going and why am i inclined to bow in such matters?'

A pregnant silence occured throughout the room seemingly waiting for the next order of the unusual 'pope' person sitting on his chair

"Rise my subjects"

He said with a little stuttered,presumingly that he was one of distracted by the mere presence of someone like wina when he hooked his eyes onto her

With that command both wina and the man raised their heads but wina's eyes was staying on one spot on the ground,her muddy footsteps leaving a trace on the beautifully handcrafted carpet

She sweated coldly and avoided eye contact from both the man and the 'pope',trying to wipe the traces with the tip of her toes but it just got worser,spreading throughout the spaces between the carpet.

"My lord,I'm hereby to give out the report regarding the subjects of saladin"the man spoke up breaking the unspoken tension in the room

The presumingly 'lord' not the pope now scoot his chair back making the floor creaked along with the chair creating a screeching noise that made both wina and the man flinched

He then stood up his movement slowed and elegant moving so slowly towards the man his steps presumed and holding support for the furtnitures nearby

The floor creaked from his steps due to him putting his body weight on one foot instead of both as the lord limped,after a few more steps he was infront of the man looking at him with a focused gaze,his blue eyes piercing through the man as if it's going to unravel everything about him

Wina who was busy trying to wipe the footsteps looked up since she could feel a cold run through her body,sending chills down her partially exposed body

Her breath hitched when she fully saw the brightly dressed figure infront of her,looking at her with a solemn and curious look

The disbelief and jaw dropping reaction filled her once nonchalant face creating a tension to both the lord and wina

Within a few second,she stuttered out a name that she thought she would never use in a real life situation

"King baldwin?"

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 16: Bad Religion

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Tav (Female Reader)

Warnings: 18+. Masturbation. Tav’s patron is being naughty.

Link to Ao3 | Killing Time M.List

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Hours later, you’re in and out of a drunken slumber. You thirst for blood, but you decide you won’t be leaving the library, and you aren’t really hungry anyway: you just want to, thinking it would make you feel better. Unfortunately, basking in the sun with the best wine Toril has to offer must be enough for you for now, because in your waking moments, you cry for Astarion, guilt, and loathing seeping through your body at the thought of him.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!” Your words reverberate through your rather thick-feeling skull. You can’t believe you even said that to him. I'm such a horrible wife.

“Wha’ happened to ‘Tav Ancunín’,” You say aloud, a hiccup interrupting your speech, “The ‘True ‘ero of Baldur’s Gate’?”

You sit up, pretending to be some lord or lady with a stick up their ass – with a pinky up, you down another glass of wine, making the room spin just a bit. “‘Don’t you know? She’s become queen of the rats!’ Or whatever it is he said!”

Angel sits cross-legged at your feet – you don’t know how long he’s been there before you notice him. You see him focused on the silver band that still defaces your right ankle. The two of you make eye contact: you scowl at his pretty face.

“Tell me, ‘ight now, Angel, what he meant by that,” You point at him, poking your nail into his shoulder. “Can’t you see in my mind? Tell me!”

“I don’t know,” Angel answers, clearly not his usual chipper self. He’s distracted, you can tell, but it only makes you angrier. “Your mind isn’t very clear right now, and you don’t remember it that well.”

You don’t like his answer; your drunken playfulness quickly turns malevolent.

“Why the fuck are you even here? This is all your fault, y’know!” You’re angry now and rather wasted. You level with him, finding your way to the floor as you sink off the daybed, sitting back on your knees as you face him.

“I…” Angel looks at a loss. “I knew what was going to happen when I said that aloud, about the spawn army. But I didn’t know it would make me and you feel, like, this bad.”

You shoot him an incredulous look before groaning as your fangs hit the rim of the bottle, abandoning your glass as you take another swig. You messily set the bottle back on the floor. Looking back at Angel, you know he is also quite upset: his lips are in a pout. It looks almost comical, being the giant that he is. His head dropped low, doe-eyes boring into you; his black hair frames his pretty face, cascading down his muscular back, tousling a bit at his shoulders, and he looks so fucking pretty.

“You’re apologizing?” You ask, poking him once again with your nail.

Angel looks very uncertain, as if he’s hearing the word for the first time. It’s not like he hasn’t apologized to you before – you know that he probably just doesn’t want to, or maybe he doesn’t think he should: but you’re in pain, and he’s in pain because of your pain, so if he is sorry, he’s only sorry he got caught in the crosshairs. “I don’t know…I did try to warn you.”

Your face is beyond incredulous at this point. “Warn me? ‘Bout things Astarion did like a thousand years ago?” When you say it like this, it feels silly that you’re even upset – but secrets are secrets, and it still exhibited just how much control Astarion had taken over your life. You knew, but you guess you just didn’t understand to what extent.

Angel offers you a shrug. “Secrets are secrets. And when I heard your plan, I couldn’t let you give the sword over to Lae’zel when Astarion has plenty of spawn to choose from. The letters thing just kinda came out…”

“You just like to provoke him,” You snap. “And me.”

“I don’t know what you mean, beautiful,” Angel flirts, grabbing the ends of your hair in his hand before placing a kiss to its length.

Reaching over, you flick Angel on the tip of his nose. He grabs your wrist, pulling you closer to him. You stumble, and you’re practically in his lap now, his hold on you loose, as if to let you know that you could leave at any time.

“Let me go…” You whine, your words sloshing from your mouth. But part of you doesn’t want him to let you go – you want to be held, to be comforted without having some sort of meltdown. You’d prefer the warm skin of your beautiful pale lover, but Angel isn’t a bad second choice – he’s beautiful, his skin is smooth and soft, and Angel allows you to feel his body warmth.

“I’m going to have to do, for now,” Angel whispers, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tender embrace. The sensation tears you apart in several ways: comfort, desire, fear, loathing. “Feels good to have you close…”

There isn’t anything sexual about the way Angel holds you, and yet, everything he does is sex, and you feel that flame Angel ignites within you right between your legs. And when this happens…

Geldon Moth. He told you that he would make it so you cannot live without him. And here you are, unable to shake him away from your most intimate moments.

“You know he can’t hurt you anymore, right?” Angel whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. It makes you shiver. “His memory can. But that’s it. You killed him yourself, Tav. He’s, like, super dead.”

Angel pulls away from you, his familiar eyes settling into your gaze. His wings have settled behind him. “His memory hurts you.”

You already feel so vulnerable, that you can’t bring yourself to agree with him. But Angel knows – you hiccup when tears begin falling down your cheeks. Angel mutely watches you cry for a few moments before a shadow comes over his eyes.

“I could take it away for you.” Angel’s voice is low, the vibrations nearly rumbling through your body. Or maybe it was just the energy in the room. Whatever he’s offering, you probably don’t want – unless he has some magical solution to your problems with Astarion, you aren’t interested. Especially since Angel’s last boon nearly drove you mad on the battlefield, and even changed your day-to-day perception of reality: seeing auras isn’t something you are easily adjusting to.

Angel looks disheartened at your thoughts and feelings, a melancholy overcoming him. “I just need you to feel better. I can’t feel better until you do.”

Angel looks away from you for a moment before his eyes settle back on you. “Y’know, Geldon had me locked away too. I saw a lot of what he did.”

You can’t help but focus on Angel’s golden eye, nodding at him to continue.

“Fucking is in my nature. I love fucking. It’s how I maintain my body here in the material plane. I love watching people do it, too. But…” Angel takes a deep breath before continuing, “You’re pretty much the only thing I can think about when I fuck, no matter who is it, and sometimes, I remember what I saw Geldon do to you, and it – makes me have to stop, sometimes.”

Angel’s hold on you is gentle, but he pulls you closer, your faces only inches away from each other. You have to take a deep breath. You hadn’t anticipated Angel to have seen some of what Lord Moth had done to you, but it made sense – the moment Lord Moth left his estate, Angel was there, so surely he had been watching.

“I guess, I’m saying I’m sorry that happened to you. I really wish it hadn’t.” He stares at your lips. You become keenly aware of how Angel’s holding you, of how you’re practically sitting in the palm of his large hand. You know if Angel meant to hurt you, he’d probably have done so already – you know he only means to be close to you.

“Can I ask you something?” You say tentatively, your question hanging in the air for just a moment, as Angel seems to have gotten lost in your eyes. He still looks a little sad.

“Duh,” Angel says softly, giving you a small smile.

“When did you have a yellow watermelon?”

Angel's smile grows at your question. “A long time ago. They grow somewhere in Amn. I’ll bring you one – I swear conjured ones don’t taste as good as the real thing.”

Angel’s smile turns sly. “Speaking of the sweetest fruit in the realms…your scent is pretty distracting, y’know?”

If you were alive, your heart would be wildly thumping, and a blush would rise to your cheeks. Perhaps it already is – you have consumed a lot of blood, and your core…Angel’s words are like silk being spun through his plush lips, eyes narrowing devastatingly at you.

You’re about to stutter out something about how he shouldn’t say stuff like that, but Angel continues.“I do know something that would probably fix a lot of your problems, Tav, and it’s an easy solution. I think you need to cum.”

Your eyes go wide, and you think you squeak, because the next thing you know, Angel is laughing at you, having placed you on your back on the daybed. He sits beside you on the floor next to you, placing a kiss on your temple. Suddenly, Angel grabs your wrist, leading your hand right between your legs, his fingers brushing the top of your mound…

When your fingers meet your core, you’re already soaked. Your labia is wet with your sticky juices, and for some reason, this surprises you. Your index and your middle finger slide into your slick hole with ease, but you only allow yourself to go as deep as your first knuckle before you realize what the hells you’re doing. You pull your hand away, looking at the wetness of your arousal; it sticks between two fingers, making you realize just how lusty you truly are. You look over to Angel, who can’t take his eyes off you.

“Y-you should go, now…” You say, thinking about Astarion and how you already went too far even allowing Angel to hold you, nonetheless seeing your wet fingers – you know your husband will be angrier about the latter. Your body, your juices – he is so selfish with you. It explains his actions of the past, why he kept you away from others: those who would defile your relationship with him. You think you understand Astarion – but how could that change your feelings of grief and terror? Your desire for true freedom? You’re close to sober, now, and you still can’t reconcile these things. And now you have a very wet problem. Shit.

You move to wipe off the slick on your hand, but before you can, Angel grabs your wrist again, his lips moving around your two fingers. His tongue laps at your juices and the moment is so lewd, that you almost lose all control – a knot is forming in your lower belly, your core pulsating, your holes contracting with every motion of Angel’s tongue. It stimulates your nipples, your clit, bringing them to attention as you can’t help but imagine his lips on your core. Angel closes his eyes, losing himself to your taste, licking and sucking at you.

“Angel!” You yelp, swiftly pulling your hand away, pushing yourself away from him.

Angel can hardly tear himself from you. His face is pink, the blush apparent on all his features, even the tip of his cock. His lids are heavy, lips parted in a breathless desire – his blown pupils give away just how much he enjoys your taste.“‘Beholden.’ That doesn't sound so bad to me.”

“What?” You ask, truly unsure of what the hells he’s talking about. Is he still thinking about what Lae’zel had said back in the ruins of Baldur’s Gate? “I’m your warlock, Angel. What we have is merely contractual.”

Angel narrows his eyes at you. He doesn’t look upset with your response, merely annoyed that you aren’t taking him seriously. “We’re beyond that. Speaking of the contract, one of us isn’t exactly honoring it, if we’re going to talk about that right now, Tav.”

You cross your arms, hiding the hand that smells strongly of you. You’re desperately trying to change the subject. “It’s not exactly the best-written contract. You know, Astarion could probably write contract circles around you.”

Angel purses his lips. “It was my first one. I did my best.”

“Whatever. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Angel’s mouth is lopsided, in a half-frown. “What, want me to go?”

You have to clear your throat. “Yes.” No. Yes. You really don’t know anymore. You’re honestly just tired of thinking for yourself.

“You’re like, a rebel without a cause, or whatever it is they say,” Angel says with a light tone. “You even fight yourself. When are you gonna admit to yourself what you really want, girl?”

You think Angel can’t know what you want: how could he when you hardly know yourself? Angel looks a bit frustrated as he leaves you, knowing you won’t answer him. When he departs, he disappears into thin air as he always does. You meant to give him more grief about the boon, his disruption of your marriage, and probably a few things you can’t think of right now because Angel has pointed out a very…well, the issue of your slick folds.

You hadn’t had a proper, toe-curling orgasm in months – Astarion had given you several, but all experienced with a flashback of terror and loathing, not able to be fully enjoyed; it crushes you. You know your sex life was something that had always been important to Astarion – and now, here you are, disturbing his freedom and desires and happiness…

No. It’s all far more complicated than that, and yet, all you can do is close your eyes as you draw your hand back down your body, parting your robe as you find your soaked folds, so soft and warm…you think of Astarion, of the way he worships your body, telling you how beautiful you are. You focus on his perfect, pale skin, his shoulders, his nose, his ears; you imagine kissing him on these parts, treating him like your little sweetheart, putting Astarion on his back and taking charge of his cock, riding him all night, edging him, until he’s all but a whimpering mess, drunk on you, your fangs, and your pussy. You dip your fingers into your drenched cunt, reaching up within yourself, trying to touch your most intimate parts; your other hand works your swollen clit, and you continue like this for some time before you realize your efforts are in vain. There's too much that’s uncertain, too much unresolved between you, Astarion, Angel – even the Githyanki people. Your desire quickly becomes a storm in your stomach, twisting and churning in upset.

You go back to your wine.

[catyo90]

Come What May...

(Authors note: This is set during the Fall of Gondolin at the start and yes I know Thranduil's exact age and birth is kinda unknown but I liked the idea.")

-

The city was burning all around you. Flaming rubble fell across your path as you tried to lead the small group of survivors to the mountain passage and hopefully, to their escape. Orcs and other foul creatures swarmed the city, but perhaps your little group could avoid them if you moved swiftly enough. 

Up ahead, you saw a flash of silver. Thranduil was waiting for you at the entrance to the secret passage with another group of refugees, his silver armour glinting in the light of the burning city. Seeing him alone was enough to lighten your heart and urge the others on. You were almost there. 

When you reached him, you clasped his forearm just as he reached for you too. You looked up at him, finding comfort in his eyes as you stood together amidst the wreckage.

"Gondolin has fallen." You hear him say.

"We have to go," you said. "They cannot fight." You glanced back at the small group of terrified citizens, many of them carrying children.

"Take them. I'll be right behind you," you say noticing him breathing heavily trying to maintain his strength.

He knew there was no point in arguing, not when he saw that look in your eyes. He nodded and started waving your small group forward into the passage.

Thranduil appeared at your side again. "Gi Melin," he said softly so only you could hear. Then he dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes for a moment, wanting to savour the gentle action surrounded as you were by so much destruction.

"Be safe," you said, squeezing his hand.

"Always."

And he was gone again heading down the path prepared to fend off any enemies that might ambush them. You thought perhaps you may survive this, that not all would be lost. As long as the people of Gondolin survived, they could rebuild.

A horrible roar sounded from behind you. Just as soon as you'd felt hope, it was snuffed out. A balrog was charging toward you and the others. Suddenly the Balrog raised its arm up crashing the entrance behind you to rubble. There was no way to reach Thranduil. Just as the realization of your situation set in you heard the Balrog shriek in pain as it swung its flaming sword behind it. You could see your master Glorfindel step in front of it, sword raised as he prepared to fight.

"No." The word left you as little more than an exhalation, too horrified for anything else.

You watched as he swung at the balrog, managing to cleave its helm and sever the whip. It bellowed, flames leaping as it did. Glorfindel seemed to be overcoming it but you couldn't help but hold your breath as you felt your legs shaking not in fear but in adrenaline. You watched as Glorfindel had been backed off to the edge of the cliffside. You managed to run in between the balrog's legs striking at its ankles with your blade causing it to roar in pain as you stood next to Glorfindel.

"We can't let him pass..."

You said turning to the monster as it roared once more. He looked to you with a nod and unsheathed his knife with a blade in hand. The flames from the Balrog engulfed the ground around the two of you as the beast raised its blade to you. You managed to block it though the pressure from its mere body weight caused your legs to crumble under the weight. Glorfindel managed to stick at its arms cutting it almost completely off. He stumbled for a moment before thrusting up with a knife and hurling the creature to the side. You jumped up and grabbed onto its shown stabbing it through the neck causing it to haunch forward as Glorfindel saw the beast stumble to the edge of the cliff.

"Glorfindel! We have to end this"

He turned to face you and you gave him a sad smile before you saw the balrog's hand reach up and attempt to snatch you off its back. He simply nodded in agreement as he ran at the balrog's chest ramming into it causing all three of you to fall into the ravine below. Darkness took both of you as the last sight you saw was the survivors escaping knowing Thranduil was safe.

Thranduil POV:

His eyes went wide as he watched you fall with Glorfindel. Tears rolled down his cheeks, carving lines through the ash and dirt covering his skin. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you falling. It was a pain beyond comprehension and now the long years of his life stretched out before him...and now he would have to send them alone. Now you were only a memory.

Centuries passed. And the Thranduil he once was, was nothing more than a shadow. All knew of his pain and saw the hurts he hid away. In truth, he thought he would find peace once the wars ended, that it would help the pain of his broken heart. It did, to a certain degree, but some wounds run too deep to ever fully heal and soon turn to scars.  

He spent much of his time with any distractions during that time, but to an elf, a thousand eyes felt like a year. The pain was still too near. Though he was now King of his own realm. It was nothing but an empty role, one that he never thought he would face without you. His mind brought the memories once more, the first time he saw you in the gardens of Gondolin as children visiting with his father, the sparring matches you two would compete in as you both grew older and wiser, the first kiss he received from you under the endless stars. They were too much. He brought a hand to his head covering his eyes to hide the tears for a moment before pouring a glass of wine. Only the sounds of footsteps made him open them and turn around to see one of the scouts standing in the doorway of his room.

"Speak."

"There is someone who has just arrived at the gate," he said, looking a little nervous.

He only gave a sharp glance to the scout who stumbled with his words.

"Um...It is a she-elf. She claims to be sent from Rivendell at Lord Elronds behest."

He frowned slightly. That didn't clear anything up, but he simply nodded and gestured for him to retrieve this girl.

"I'll go right away." 

-

After a few moments, he walked down along the tree's path toward the throne room. When he arrived, he saw Celeborn, his cousin speaking to the girl, but their back was turned away from him. Celeborn looked across at him and gave him a slight nod in greeting, a knowing smile on his lips. The stranger turned to face his.

He swore he felt his heart stop.

Reader POV:

His hair was much longer than the last you saw him all those centuries ago. His blonde, almost silver, hair fell past his collarbone and he was wearing a deep red cloak over a dark silver-grey tunic instead of the pale green and silver he used to favour, but aside from that, he hadn't changed at all.

"Thranduil," you whispered. There was no question in your voice. 

You had wished for this, begged the Valar in all your prayers to be heard in all of Mandros halls to just be back with him, and now here he was. All your unanswered prayers, all your unending years spent in waiting. Slowly, you stepped closer until you were right in front of him.

His blue eyes were shining with unshed tears but there was a bright smile on his face, as there so often had been all those years ago in Gondolin. You brought your hand to his cheek, His hand embracing yours.

"You're really here," he breathed. He was solid and warm beneath your touch. He blinked and the tears he'd been trying to hold back slipped down his cheeks as he let out a little huff of a laugh. You gently brushed the tears away with your thumb.

"I am." His fingertips brushed your waist as if he wanted to pull you close but you weren't sure if it would be appropriate. It had been so long; perhaps he had moved on.

But you could not stop yourself as you leaned in, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself to him. He responded immediately, his arms twining tightly around your waist. A sob escaped your throat as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck and breathed in. He still smelled exactly the same, warm and comforting.

"Gi melin," you breathed, the words muffled against his skin. You regretted every day and night that you hadn't gotten to say those words before you fell.

"Meleth nin." His voice was little more than a whisper, his own tears had made his voice rough.

The two of you stood in an embrace for what felt like ages but also didn't feel nearly long enough. You never wanted to be parted from him now that you had, beyond all hope, returned to him. You reluctantly released him but instead held tightly to his hands. It comforted you to see that he, too, didn't seem to want to let go. He gently slipped his hand from yours only to wrap his arm around you as he led the both of you away from prying eyes. Leaning into him, you felt lighter than you had since before the sack of the city you'd once called home.

"Is there somewhere we could speak privately? It's been so long…I-" you cut yourself off, looking unsure.

"Of course," he spoke softly as you both walked in the direction of his chamber.

-

Thranduil led you over to the small seating area, settling yourself on the little but elegant sofa and tugging him gently down beside you. Though he was right next to you, it felt too far.

"I'm sorry," you said, so quiet he almost didn't hear. He was staring down at his hands which you still had gripped in yours.

"There is nothing for you to be sorry about...," he said bringing a hand under your chin and bringing your gaze to his.

"When I finally tracked you down, when Celeborn told me how you were after all these years…" you sighed.

"I thought maybe you were trying to move on. And that my coming here would only make it worse for you."

""I don't think I could have ever found peace without you, the nightmares never ceased. Possibly because they're not really nightmares, just memories I can't seem to forget."

You leaned a little closer and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, relaxing into his touch as your head lay on his shoulder. He tipped his head to the side so that his warm cheek was pressed against your head.

"I wish you hadn't had to suffer all those long years. And I wish, too, that you hadn't suffered because of me."

He looked down at you. "None of that matters now," he said softly, skimming the backs of his fingers down your cheek.

"Come what may from here on, I will never let you go."

You stared at him in awe for a moment before sitting up to press your forehead to his. He cupped your jaw, angling your head just so. 

"How I have longed to kiss these lips once more." The words left him in a warm rush against your lips. You gave no sign for him not to as you leaned into his touch.

You nuzzled your nose softly against his before you closed the small space between you and kissed him. It was soft and a little hesitant; it had been over a thousand years since you'd done this. Thranduil kissed you back and you melted into it. His arms came around you and urged you closer and you went gladly, wanting nothing more than to be close to him. You could feel tears sliding silently down your cheeks as the relief of being back with him overwhelmed you once more.

He pulled back and you swayed forward to follow him but he held you back. 

"Please don't cry, meleth nín," he said as he gently swiped the tears from your cheeks as you had done for him earlier.

"These tears are happy," you said, giving him a watery smile. "I have cried for centuries, but these tears are of the joy of having been returned to you."

You leaned toward him again and this time he did not hold you back, but rather caught you as your arms wrapped around him and held you tight. Squeezing closer, you tangled your hand in his hair.

"Though my time in the Halls of Mandos helped me heal physically, my heart reached out to you every moment. For once in a long time, I feel at peace," you said as he held you.

For a long while, you stayed there on the small sofa in contented silence. An almost forgotten smile tugged on his lips as he tilted your chin up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

"It's getting late," he mused. The sun had dipped behind the thick neverending woods as above the stars revealed themselves behind the canopy of golden leaves. The room was growing dim save for a few candles which burned.

"Perhaps we should retire for the night..." you said.

"I've longed to have you by my side every night ever since. It's been so long since I slept peacefully."

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers tracing softly along your cheekbone on the way.

"Then may you have good dreams tonight," you said, kissing his forehead tenderly.

He stood from the sofa and reached out under your body and picked you up with ease as he walked across the room only to lay down on the bed with you atop him. You settled down feeling lighter than you had in centuries. He stroked your hair slowly, the motion soothing for both of you. Tilting your head, you placed a light kiss on his chest, over his heart. Hearing it beat steadily as you placed his hand over your heart, he smiled to himself as you closed your eyes.

"Sleep well" he whispered.

-

Weeks had passed, and you and Thranduil were practically inseparable, not wanting to waste a single moment of the time you had been given. You hid away in the hidden chambers and even the clearing of the great Greenwood. But now It was overlooking the vast and wonderful starlit sky high above the treeline in the most sacred of rooms. Where he took both your hands in his.

"I love you more than anything," he said. "And there is nothing I wouldn't do to be able to spend the rest of my life and beyond by your side...Marry me," he said, his voice soft but serious.

There was no question as to what your answer was as you kissed him to confirm the answer. The smile that spread across his face was radiant and his blue eyes shone with joy. He seemed to glow with it and you found yourself grinning back, a laugh bubbling out of you unexpectedly. You hugged him, loving the feeling of his warmth against you and his strong arms wrapped around your waist as he lifted you off the ground. He spun you around before setting you down and claiming your lips in a more passionate kiss. If he cared if anyone saw, he didn't show it. It was as if all the years apart had never happened.

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Sonic Prime Extended Universe HCs - No Place

so we know that the Shatterverses aren’t “real,” full universes, just  distorted reflections of the Prime that aren’t fully-formed, hence why  there’s only like 6 people and two locations. However fucking around is  fun fun fun so I’m just gonna do a post for each universe dissecting  where the other Sonic Universe characters would be and what they’d be up  to. Please for the love of GOD add your own ideas/hcs in the comments I  want us all to melt into creativity mush.

No Place

sorry this is kinda short im buzzing with excitement about prime dropping tomorrow

go ask @birdsareblooming about her pirate au

As expected, Blaze and Marine’s lives are mainly unchanged. They’ve got more of a pirate aesthetic though so obviously this is a massive W

Silver’s been on more sunken ships than he can count. He’s pretty sure he’s cursed. 

Sally is the Captain of her own ship with the whole SatAM squad as the crew. If there’s no wind Dulcy just ties a harness to herself and flies the ship. And then lands in the water because they won’t let her crash on the deck anymore. Bunnie has a peg leg

Tekno’s ship can fly. dont ask how, she’s very talented.

Mighty and Ray are still very pacifistic but Ray is quite adventurous so they cross paths with quite a lot of dangerous folk in their travels. Mighty is, thankfully, very good at defending himself

The ARK was an actual arc...,.,.,

Mina is a Siren

Cosmo’s species are very landlocked, however most of the world is underwater so their land is definitely fading fast. She’s got Moana Syndrome and wants to see what’s out there!!

Nobody expects Vanilla to be a formidable adversary. They are all very, very wrong. Gemerl may be Cream’s bodyguard but his second job is holding Vanilla back

God how many times do I have to say Sticks is thriving. She really just loves chaos

You know who else is thriving? The Babylon Rogues. Wave and Rouge have a homoerotic rivalry and Jet is sooooo tired of it he sees Dread’s ship coming and starts banging his head against the mast

Hooligans are also fucking THRIVING. Fang’s ship is small but nimble, and can outpace almost any other ship. And, yes, Bean mans the cannons.

If the Zeti aren’t on their hex they have their own ship of insanity. Imagine the chaos. They’re all trapped on the ship together. Zeena has used Zor as sharkbait more than once.

A lot of the SCU humans ended up on one boat. Rachel has tried to throw Captain Tom overboard multiple times. She mutinies twice a day. It’s a tradition now. Jojo was told she wasn’t allowed to have her own sword and so she walked over to the cannons and started firing.

Morain is having the time of her LIFE. she LOVES fighting and killing and maiming and biting. Errol is a little more cautious but he cannot stop her

In LOVE with the idea of the Nocturnus being held in stasis in an undersea shipwreck. If only someone would come wake them up. Hey, Dread, let’s go swimming over here...

Breezie has her own crew and she’s #girlbossing. Bokkun on cannons ofc!

Rough and Tumble are so bad at pirating but god bless them they are trying.

Helen is really really into mermaids and Chris and Frances help her design fancy “tails” for dress-up. Chris’s family is rich so obviously he’s a prime target for pirates and he’s just like. used to it by now? Usually Helen and her mechanized chair come into save him so he’s comfortable just being damselled and hanging out in the brig. He brings his own card games for the prisoners of whoever grabbed him this time. He runs into Princess Elise like every other week and they have a competitive tally of who’s been kidnapped the most.

Tangle also has Moana Syndrome and has been desperate to go pirating since she like. came into being. Jewel is on her boat but she’s uncomfortable with violence so she just hides below deck and does all the paperwork and organization. Lanolin is the Captain because she’s the only one who can organize AND fight at the same time.

Whisper cautiously joins Lanolin’s crew after they help her out of a jam at a pirate bar. It took a while, but she became accustomed to Tangle’s wild ways and would die and kill for her.

Her previous crew was killed in a shipwreck. What killed them?

MIMIC SEA MONSTER MIMIC SEA MONSTER

The Sonic Boom Village are all on a ship together. Zooey is shockingly one of their best fighters and Sails would probably fall in love with her instantly. Perci considers herself the crew’s guardian and is very protective of them and of the ship, which she repairs herself. Dave still can’t cook for shit and Staci somehow still has a cell phone

Starline literally fished up Surge and Kit in a net. Kitsunami is a water spirit and had his water powers naturally in this universe, and he’s bound to Surge b/c life debt or smth.

Eyepatch!Infinite or bust

Clutch runs one of those pirate hideouts, like Port Royal in Pirates of the Caribbean, and he’s got tabs on EVERYONE. He’s got dirt on EVERYONE. Don’t cross him.

Instead of a moon, The End takes the form of a swirling whirlpool.

[bharv]

I saw a tentative request for Dragon Age, so I am here requesting The Sun + Samson? If this doesn't tickle the muse, though, I'd love to send another. 🖤

the sun: joy, friendship, prosperity; “I’m so happy.” possible AUs/settings/ideas: friends to lovers, love realization, coffee shop

He was given shining plate and a fine sword and shield, and two silver a month with an extra silver for valour, if he earned it. He was sworn in on All Soul's Day with a procession through Kirkwall; some of the other recruits had family watching, and he remembered feeling sad to not have anyone weep for him, but perhaps it was for the best.

By All Soul's Day the following year he had pawned his fine sword for one made of a poor metal; a trader in Lowtown made them special for Templars. "I know you need it," she said with a strange sort of kindness, one that he thought of for many years after. "Just make sure you keep it well oiled, it rusts faster than the finery."

The money he got for it was gone within the month. When he pawned his shield and came back to barracks without it, he was docked twice coin than he got for it.

At first he thought he was cursed. That it was something wrong inside him. He thought maybe it was a hex from a mage he'd wronged, but he had always tried to treat them kindly. He thought maybe he'd been born wrong, wasn't keeping his thoughts pure enough. Why did he need more, when the other recruits seemed fine with their allotment? What was it in him that was so greedy, so full of need and want? He checked for signs of a demon daily, for it was surely the only explaination. It was only when Knight-Lieutenant Lledas, a hardy, well tempered man not quite forty, passed in his sleep from the sweating that he started to think that maybe, maybe, it wasn't him at all.

Rutherford arrived on the anniversary of his death, a whimpering, scared boy with rumours that chased him like shades. When he had looked on him, that first day at the docks, what pity he had in him hardened, and he was sorry for it. He thought of how kind Lledas had been, how he had shown him the best way to polish his armour, and how he had slipped him some of his Lyrium two days before he had passed when he heard him wail in the night from the pain of the absence of it.

He wished he could be as good a man.

*

He has been given a cot to sleep in, a bed away from the biting cold of the prison cell. His shirt sticks to his skin now, the red is weeping through his sorry pale hide, but one of the mages from the gardens snuck him a nosegay that takes the worst of the stench from his breath.

In the days he works on the outer walls. This castle, though formidable, still has broken stone to mend, and what life he has left is best used to serve. That's what he was made for, wasn't it? Serve one master, serve another.

Cullen -- Commander of the Inquisition -- looks down upon him with a firm brow. He watches all of them, granted, but he knows why his gaze is set to him before all the others. It is not out of suspicion, or out of some kind of unfortunate nostalgia. No, he can smell the Lyrium on him, in him, and now he does not partake it sings to him.

A woman brings them lunch when they break, and he can see her speak to Cullen from a distance before she approaches. When she stops before him, he tries his best to smile.

"Just don't touch me and you'll be fine."

She blinks. "Pardon?"

"The Lyrium. It won't get you if you keep a bit of distance. Just put it down and I'll get it."

"Right."

She does not move, her thumbs gripping the edges of the parcel in her hands, stroking the muslin as her brow knots.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"Not a problem I. I just don't know what to say."

"Don't have to say nothing. Just drop the food. I know what I am to folks here."

"Do you?"

She drops to her knees as she pushes the parcel to him. He looks to Cullen, whose lips are pursed in a tight anger that he knows from experience will not be tempered.

"Do you remember a girl," she says, unwrapping the cloth with a haste that tells him that she, too, knows the limit of the Commander's patience. "In Kirkwall. A mage. Long black hair, curly. Green eyes. A scar on her lip from her Harrowing. She was called-"

"Lina," he says without even thinking. Lina, of course he remembers. He was there when she split that lip; he held her as she convulsed and spread the poultice with his gloved hand.

"Lina. And you remember."

"I failed her."

Lina did not make it out of Kirkwall. She was caught trying to escape with her lover who left her behind to save herself, she was told she would be made tranquil, and she made the choice many made, in her position.

"You tried. You tried. She wrote to us. She told us that you..."

He had forgotten that part, but it comes to him now. Him thrusting the note in her robe, pretending with the other men that he was taking her away for other things that made them laugh and leave them to privacy. He had told her she should have come to him in the first place, but that she could find a way to appeal, to seek clemency, and she had shaken her head, already defeated.

"Thank you for trying," the woman tells him, a tear forming at the corner of her eye. She wipes it hard, sniffs, and stands.

"Thank you," he says, surprised at how choked his voice sounds. He is not sad, he realises. He is not guilty. She is right. He tried. He tried, and he made mistakes, so many mistakes, but at least he tried. For just a moment his body does not feel heavy, the sweat does not make him shiver. For a moment he feels like he felt the first day that he held his sword.

"Thank you for. For the food."

[carnalapples]

Happy Friday,

For DADWC, how about 'kisses that make them melt' from the '102 Kisses' prompt list.

Happy writing!

Happy Friday! Thank you so much for the prompt. This week for @dadrunkwriting I gave Ashna and Cullen one possible happy ending for their bodyguard AU:

//

“I’m,” he starts, before he realizes he’s not sure what to say. The Order is gone. He’s just himself now. “Cullen,” he decides. The woman nods, sticking her hand out. 

“Cassandra.” After a firm shake, she lets her hand drop to her sword, considering. “You are a Templar?”

He hesitates. “I used to be.” 

She cocks her head. “Templars do not leave the Order often.” She says this gravely, and it inclines Cullen toward her. 

His connection to the Order is so tenuous these days. He was a templar in a Circle that sent him away. He lost his charge and went back and never quite got the same assignments as the rest. So when the Ostwick Circle collapsed in on itself, Cullen didn’t feel much of anything. He spun the silver ring around on his finger, and stood in the entryway, thinking. 

If she had asked, he would have left, he thinks sometimes. But she didn’t ask. She left, instead. 

“No, Commander,” he says. She narrows her eyes, and he swallows. 

“Would you continue to serve the Inquisition as a Templar?”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Cullen admits to his officer, “I don’t know, ma’am.”

After a moment, she nods. 

“All right. Feel free to explore the keep. Report back here at the eighth bell with the other recruits, and we will get you to your rooms. And we will talk more in the morning.” Commander Pentaghast salutes him; he presses a hand to his heart. Before she leaves, she pauses once more. 

“We will find a place for you, Cullen.”

He is left to wander. He should find the man who brought him here, Rylen. He should thank him. He should get his bearings. He has a growing list of things he should do, but instead he wanders, keeping a list of things he would like to tell her about. He sees her everywhere, brilliant flashes of memory. In the clumsy attempts at Orlesian he hears, in the fashions, much changed from their time at the villa, in the furs that drape the main hall, in the healers retreating from the cots. 

In the black-haired healer retreating from the cots. 

He’s not fully in control of himself. It’s the withdrawal. It’s the fall of the circles. It’s the fact that for once, no one who matters is watching him. Cullen doesn’t rightly know, but he starts moving towards the healers, pulled by some unseen force. Hope, maybe. 

He’s oddly reminded of the ball, of her brother. She went as a fox that day. When she saw him, under all the shock and fear, there was a little bit of joy. Or maybe he just wanted to see it there. Standing at the top of the stairs, he can feel his heart in his throat. She turns. 

And it’s Ashna. 

As if she can hear him, she raises a hand to her brow and squints at the sky. Her eyes skate along the battlements, and just when Cullen has resigned himself, she spots him. The change is immediate as she goes still—a shock seems to slacken her body. She takes a step, two, eyes wide. 

And then she trips, crashing toward the dirt and scraping her hands against the ground. He’s running toward her then, as she shakes, her body hunched in on itself. 

He kneels in front of her. She looks up. She’s laughing. He lets his shoulders drop. 

“Maker,” she chokes out. “That was terrible.”

Now, he sees nothing but joy. 

He lifts her hands in his, moving his fingers over the scraped skin, reddened and raw. She flinches, a little flutter of the lashes. He lifts the skin to his mouth and hears her breath hitch. A piece of gravel sticks to his lip. 

Her hands are still cradled in his when she crashes her mouth against his, and the world seems to slow. It’s artless and clumsy and real, the real her kissing the real him. Her breath comes in soft puffs against his skin, and he can feel her lashes move against his cheek, and her nose is so cold in the chill of the air. Cullen feels a dampness on his cheeks as he shudders against her, the two of them slumping into each other and into the ground. How wonderful it is to say hello instead of goodbye. 

When he pulls away, her eyes are glistening, too. 

“It’s you,” he rasps. “It’s really you.”

“I swear,” she says. Her eyes dart around his face, finally coming to rest on the newly-earned scar at his lip. She presses a kiss to it quickly, softly. Affection swells in his chest.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

She blinks away the tears. “Of course you found me. It’s your duty.” He furrows his brow, but before he can say anything, she taps his ring with a coy smile, once, twice. He relaxes. 

“If you’ll let me, I always will.” She smiles wider at that, drawing him into her arms again, pressing her nose into his neck with a soft shudder. 

“You smell different,” she murmurs, a note of cautious optimism in the words. Almost a question.

Cullen will tell the commander in the morning: he has made his decision. 

[zarvasace]

For the wip game how about Blood-Sucker's Guide to the Shining Court/cat Shadow or if you already answered the first then how about in vein

Hehe vampires :3

This is a planned sequel to my current magnum opus, Blood-Sucker's Guide to High School. THAT one is a crossover fanfiction which sticks the Four Swords characters into an approximation of the world and plot of the novel Drink, Slay, Love by Sarah Beth Durst, Shadow main character with a side of Vidow. I follow a lot of her plot points but emphasize some different themes. It does not have a sequel, so anything else I write here will be mostly original, just pulling on similar ideas for the world.

I believe that there are three major plot threads I leave off at the end of it.

(1) The point of the climax! Did they really infect the other vampires with light? Is it enough to give them consciences like Shadow? How fast will it happen? How will things be different now? This is part of the original novel.

(2) In the epilogue chapter, someone mentions that unicorn agents arrived on the scene after prom to help contain the situation—summoned by Vio dropping an anonymous tip into a monitored police line. He also talks a bit about the unicorn ideology. While unicorns exist in the original novel, I've given them a structure and an organization, named the Shining Court.

(3) A minor plot thread in the first fic is about vampires having the potential to gain special powers as a result of the fealty ceremony. Shadow wonders once or twice if he'll get something. This is entirely an original addition.

This sequel began life as a 5+1 series of oneshots dedicated to showing Shadow discovering his own vampiric power (turning into a cat), dealing with it, and also dealing a bit with the fallout of the first fic. I intended to tackle threads in the hierarchy 3 2 1, 3 most important and 1 least important.

Then I kind of wanted to explore some of the themes of the fallout more in-depth. As a result of that, I hammered out a full plot for a sequel, but was dissatisfied with the way that the cat thing fell out of the spotlight in favor of the unicorn thing. (Thread 1 has remained pretty consistent. Zelda is the main representation of that thread and she does a good job of being a background plot.)

And THEN I found out that prom is at the END of a school year, not the beginning. (Hi I didn't go to normal high school.) So a lot of my intended plot points for the original 5+1 wouldn't work anyway, since I based them on autumn holidays.

My current plan is to write a small fic centered around the cat Shadow plot and set it during spring break. That will give me the chance to set up a couple things for the full sequel, which I'll set during summer vacation. Doing that gives me a couple good excuses to move characters around and have them doing things that aren't school during the day.

Anyway that's something in-progress. Here's a snippet from the 28k 5+1 that is now defunct! :)

The little girl looked at Shadow and blinked. “Trick or treat?” She was too young to make her words entirely distinct. Shadow laughed and offered out two of the pink tootsie rolls. “Hey, good job. Treat, definitely.” She held out her pillowcase, and he dropped the candy into it. “I like your wings.” “My mom got them for me, I'm Glinda.” She lifted her silver wand, poked Shadow in the forehead with the star on the end, then ran back to her mom.  “Sorry, thanks!” the mom said before turning away.  “No problem.” Shadow stood back up and touched the spot on his forehead. He glanced at Vio, who watched him with a curious expression. “What? Did I mess up my makeup at all?”  Vio shook his head. “No, it's just fine. I guess I didn't expect you to be good with kids.”  Shadow shrugged. “They're kinda cute. And I'm guessing human kids don't bite as often as my baby cousins.” “I wouldn't be so sure.”

[adventurous-adventures]

10 November 2024

It has been decided that the title of this session is: Autism

We've leveled up to level 6!

Zain makes a powermove, giving Raven 1 level in Barbarian.

"Yep Alex keep slurping it up" - Zain (not a sex joke)

"There was so much cream in there." - Alex (definitely a sex joke)

"Twas not." - Alex. "That's what she said." - Zain

"Silence in the crunch" - Georgie

*points to Zain* "Autism." - Mick

Lara: *puts a rock on the table. Mick: "Sex"

Georgie wore their dice tray as a hat.

After the successful quest at Axholm, Raven and co. Go to Harbin Wester's house for the payment.

Tweed rips open Harbin's door. (Georgie rolls a slutty 20)

The party has earned 250 gold pieces. They go to the Blue Lions' weaponry to retrieve the silvered weapons.

There are still 2 side quests left: the dragon barrow sword and the brainwashed orcs quest. There is also the side quest to go back to the mountain and kill the wererats.

The party head to the stonehill inn to meet Don John.

Lara makes a suggestive hand gesture to Georgie (Georgie was shaking their dice tray full of dice.)

Her mouth was full of water. Zain tells them to swallow. Lara gets banished to the kitchen.

Don John is spotted at a table. Raven approaches him alone. He didn't need much persuasion as Don agrees to help Raven and the party with killing the wererats.

Raven remembers the Dwarves at the mine and suggests to head to the miners' exchange.

Don John meets the ghosts for the first time.

Zain remembers the group talking about the claylight (fleshlight made of clay).

Zain keeps playing meme soundboards.

Zain is probably gonna enjoy the sex jokes when he starts running his campaign.

more meme soundboard sounds.

There is a receptionist.

James Charles jumpscare.

Alex has a schizo moment (he has two NPCs interacting with one another.)

Turns out the Dwarves are out at Stormweadow hills which is past Neverwinter wood. Harmonoia suggests undertaking the quest with the woodland manse and Don John agrees with that decision.

Don John decides to go to Barthens to grab a bottle of wine. Harmonoia goes to get it as Don John is too drunk to get there.

Harmonoia grabs a bottle of Merlot wine and hands it to Tweed.

More sex jokes. Featuring Georgie getting their "dick" out of Alex's mouth.

"Well Kid, I hope you can see." - Raven

Dhampnir don't need to breathe.

"Long story short, Alex has no gag reflex." - Mick

"I never said that!" - Alex

Georgie was gonna put a pen...inis mouth.

When the party reaches the hunting lodge, there is a huge fortress nearby.

Harmonoia rings the bell. An old fella pops his head out. Turns out he is one of Falcon's staff.

The party is invited into the lodge.

When the party enters the sleeping barracks, Raven feels a sense of familiarity.

"I prefer my Orcs alive." - Dewdrop

Falcon appears and is quite attractive according to Harmonoia.

Falcon mentions that the Orcs have stick figure creatures travel with them. Harmonoia is able to remember hearing tales of blights and how they are created.

The spellcasters seem to take residence of the stone manse in the woods.

Raven hears the noise of a dragon's wings...

Raven leads the party outside and he spots Cryovain approaching them.

Cryovain vs the party 2...to be continued.

Other exciting news! Zain is planning on running a sequel campaign to this one.

[nerdgal27]

It is here finally. Bare with me I am in the middle of uploading every chapter on to AO3. Descreption is written on the first chapter please read before conitinuing on. This is darkest and hardest book I've written as of yet.

This book contains: Violence, Gore, Blood, Demons, and Sexual harasment subjects.

As a teaser I will upload the first Chapter here. If you'd like to read more check it out on AO3.

Chapter 1

The blood moon shines a bright red glow in the starless sky. Its original siren white light, long gone and forgotten. Cool gentle breezes whisper through the autumn leaves, carrying its dry decay smell of a dense pine and oak forest. Alive with customary nocturnal animals scurrying and flying about. 

Down by a gurgling stream. Frost and dry grass crunches and chills Leonardo’s knees. His dark reflection stares back at him. His form ripples in the murky water stares back at him. Under dark shadows of Leo’s black hat and black wool coat. His cheeks burn in the chill. In the ruby glow of the blood moon above him, his deep blue eyes chill cold and emotionless. Leo’s never noticed how much his own shade of sapphire eyes have changed. A dull gray hue now fades into the black water. Unsettling solemn. Both in each of his hands, his Katana swords. The blades dripping crimson red. They’ve had their fill of blood for tonight. Not a reaction made, Leo dips his swords into the black stream’s. Fast current trickles and drags the blood down its winding path. Painting the water in red streaks.

Leo’s muscles twinge. His eyelids have never felt so heavy. Every tendon in the blue masked turtle’s shoulders screams for hibernation. How many sleepless nights has it been for him? A question Leonardo will never have the answer to. The last streams of blood slither from his blades. Leave them in their original silver gleam in the water. Leo slides them back into their black sheathes on his shell. The blue clad turtle turns to tonight's income next to him in the tall grass. Only two yellow demon’s fangs and two black claws that attacked him tonight. Who knows how much they’re worth. Leo let out a soundless sigh. His knees creak as he goes up to take the teeth.

Through the blood moon glow in between the trees, a ray of dawn breaks in the low horizon, his pathway found. The hope of dawn crawls from underneath the hills in the distance. Leo begins his journey. Dry dead leaves make barely a sound with each careful step. An icy, stiff wind shivers through the dead leaves. The many things nice about wearing a wool trench coat and hat. All of his senses magnify to the dead silence of the night. A habit grown from experience of monsters lurking in the dark. In the background Leo’s hearing peeled, he can hear the whisper sticks rattling far in the distance. He’d wish they were wooden sticks. A past journey told him the sounds are impaled skeletons. Attached to long sticks out in the open a few yards behind Leo in a meadow in the soft breeze. A warning area of Dracula’s wrath. A place that only Leo has found. There’s no way he’s bringing his family to see such a thing. 

Down the crooked pathway through the thicket. Leonardo hurries the pace to a wide fork in the road. Each deep calming breath Leo makes puffs of slow fog from the cold. By instinct he heads neither and goes to the grass flattened path just outside of the fork. 

It’s been almost a lifetime since Leo and his brothers have appeared in this horrible world. In a world known as Wallacia. Every night its constant hordes of demons fly by for the nearest town. Sworn to kill everything in sight in spite of given orders. 

Gentle wave of wind sways Leonardo’s blue mask tail in the red glow. Hear faint skeleton bones rattle in the soft wind in the distance. Startle's sudden realization skips Leo’s heartbeat. The young turtle checks his wool pockets. His heart skips again. One salt vial left the only thing helping him and his brothers kill these bastards. However, each swipe made by his blades or any of his brother’s weapons. Requires reloading on salt to harm the demons. This is barely enough to load one blade, thank goodness dawn is creeping higher. He can see the warm light cracking in between the trees as it eases the red glow of the moon away into a soft pink. That also means he has to hurry before any human sees him. 

The icy breeze picks up the faint scent of smoke in the distance ahead in the thick forestry. Not too far now. Leo’s sore muscles scream in delight at the familiar scent of the campfire. He just hopes his younger sister is okay, she’s too young to go through this.

In Between trees and brambles, a tiny orange light catches Leo’s vivid blue eyes. He and his heart breathe out a sigh at the sight of Donatello’s wide brim fedora hat peaking above the thick burr bushes. Even more so that nothing has followed him tonight. Through the narrow bramble entrance, there they are. In a wide hollow of a cavern. Around the dancing campfire his brothers, Raph and Mikey, both curled up next to the warm fire asleep. All except for Donnie. The tall turtle sitting next to the fire with his shell leaned against the cave wall. Leo notices his purple masked brother’s heavy brown eyes. As well as his brown wool trench coat all bundled up on Donnie’s chest.

Leo’s light step crackles a leaf. Donnie’s sharp brown eyes narrow into near black slits to the sound. Steals away the brainiac’s curious gaze for a second. His gaze freezes Leo to raise his hand.

 Leo’s voice rasps. “Hey.”

The tall purple masked turtle’s eyes soften into a weak smile. His rasp matches Leo’s,

“Hey Leo, back already?”

Leo scuffs his foot in the cool grass. “Yeah.” 

A few feet away from his brothers. In full view, ice freezes in Leo’s throat, staring at the bundle on Don’s chest, In his lanky arms and in the trench coat is their little sister. All gathered and bundled up in a tight bawl in Donnies lap. Messy brown hair from the little girl’s head peeks out from the trench coat’s collar. Take a few steps closer to Donnie. Leo can see his sister’s hand squeezing Donnie’s plastron. Hear her deep breathing of sleep from three feet away. 

“Another rough night?” Leo asks, nods the brim of his hat to his sister. 

It doesn’t take much for the brainiac turtle to understand. Donnie's eyes sink to their sister, sound asleep. Her little body stirs against his chest. Donnie’s long arms tighten around her and his hand rubs her shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Donnie murmurs. His hand’s slow circles on her shoulder eases her, “worse than last night.”

Leo plops down next to Donnie by the fire and leans his shell against the cave wall. Shoulder to shoulder with his younger brother. Leonardo’s muscles become mush underneath him. The blue masked turtle answers in a yawn. He watches little sister twitch in Donnie’s arm. A small little gasp or yip from her in deep sleep. Even at 7 years old all gathered in Donnie’s arms like this. Her little hand clinging onto the edge of Donnie’s plastron, who didn’t seem to mind. She looks so much younger. So sweet in sleep. Leo’s green fingers find their way, brushing back the wool collar of the coat. Her sweet face, rosy cheek from the cold pressed against her smart brother’s warm plastron. Leo’s heart glows, forgetting the hunt that happened earlier from his little sister’s face. Though, the dried tears on her face show evidence of the nightmare she had an hour ago. 

Leo’s heart pulses in his throat. The little girl’s tiny yelp and her fingers clutch Donnie’s plastron. The strain in the blue terrapin’s muscles disappears. 

His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear. “Which one was it tonight? Last week’s slaughter?”

The fire crackles. Donnie shifts his long legs underneath his sleeping sister. The joints pop tells Leo the brainiac has been sitting with his sister for quite a while. Leo slips his hand away from her hair. Don brings his knees up closer, scooting his sister into a tighter ball. The brown wool collar drew back over the girl’s shoulder. Donatello’s hand covers her exposed ear.

Donnie’s worn out gaze to Leo for a second. He murmurs. “The night he started all of this.” 

Their little sister twitches and yipes in her sleep. Leo’s mind sighs. He should have known. She and Mikey had similar nightmares for a week now. How her voice shrinks small mumbles for her brothers.

Leo looks over at Mikey curled form covered in a deep blue wool coat across the firepit. He can hear the orange masked turtle snore from here. Leonardo asks Don, “Did Mikey have the nightmare?”

Donnie shakes his head before he leans against the cavern wall. His warm hand rubs slow circles on her shoulder again. He rests his cheek delicate on her head, hushing her in soft whispers. How can any of them forget, how will they forget if they ever get out of this hell? That night when they first arrive at this place and all of this started by the murder of Vlad Dracula’s wife. Leo doesn’t need to blink his eyes to remember the horrors to burn his mind.

[ask-half-blood-hill]

Ask the Demigods: Arthur Laguna

Welcome back to another Meet the Demigods, with yours truly, Sephora Chambers! Today, here in Cabin Two, we've got a treat for you! You may know him as the smartest guy in camp. It's none other than the head counselor of Athena's cabin- Arthur Laguna!

Q1: Can you describe how you look to us?

"One of the most defining features of a child of Athena are our eyes. I have grey eyes, my hair is sandy blonde, and I have olive-tinted pale skin. I've only just turned eighteen, and I'm about five foot nine. I tend to dress in what my siblings, and my boyfriend, call 'museum' clothes."

Q2: If you had to choose between a sword, a spear, or a bow, which would you choose?

"Spears can be used in both combat by hand, or by range, so I'll go with the spear."

Q3: What was the first monster you ever fought?

"When I was eleven, I came to camp for the first time. Deacon and Valentine were with me, we all traveled from Washington state together. We had made it pretty far with little to no disruptions, but we were being constantly tracked and hounded by something. We were getting close to camp, when a chimera came out and attacked. That's how Val got those scars on his hips, and how Deacon got that burn on his left leg. We managed to defeat it, but we all ended up passing out and waking up in the Big House."

Q4: If you could live in any other cabin, which cabin would you choose?

"Cabin twelve is actually very well-designed and nice. It allows a lot of light in, it has really fancy architecture, and it's just an overall pleasant smelling place- if you like the smell of grape juice and plants. The twins and I actually have study sessions there during the school year, but since I'll be going to Camp Jupiter this year..."

Q5: What was your first quest?

"Oh, good question! When I turned twelve, I got a quest from my mother to retrieve a bag of gold and silver coins. Apparently they were stolen from a shipwreck, and the goods on board were sacred to her since they were being carried from her altar. I got them back, faced a few two-headed snakes, a griffin, and a few very crazed, and very bloodthirsty nymphs."

Q6: What are your talents?

"I discovered I'm actually pretty skilled with most weapons, but bows are a bit finicky in my hands. It's not that I can't use them, but rather that I don't really find use in ME being the one to have them. I also have a good skill with pottery, and sewing. Isn't that neat?"

Q7: How did you and Valentine end up together?

"Valentine and I have been close friends for a while. We met when he was eight and I was nine, and we both fled to camp two years later. He originally dated Deacon, but that was a whole mess... Eventually, we spent more time together and the rest is history. I think what really sealed the deal was the quest we had last year, when we had to go to Louisville for the Kentucky Derby, because a bunch of flesh-eating horses had escaped and went there for a five-star dinner."

Q8: Any advice for campers before you leave for Camp Jupiter?

"It's alright to do what you need to survive. We half-bloods have it rough, but we aren't weak. Stick together, make friends, and have fun."