#YES he's just burning a forest he is attacking the WORLD ITSELF

[swan2swan]

It always amuses me when people call the Lion-Turtle's appearance "convenient" or something similar.

Yep, it sure is convenient that an omnipotent, all-knowing being would appear to the One Who Is the Mystical Bridge right before he faces his Ultimate Test in the Final Days of the World. Sure is neat that the most ancient and colossal creature on the planet would choose to summon the boy who will stand in the path of the man about to burn the forests*. As ships of steel and smoke drift into the sky so they may rain fire in the blazing wake of a centennial calamity, it's impossible to comprehend why the Last Guardian of Nature Itself would choose to approach the battlefield.

Truly, questioning this plausibility of this chapter proves that you have progressed beyond childish acceptance of cartoon fairytales, and are now capable of seeing where the author's hand provided unearned aid. That's literary comprehension.

[kingofbodyrolls]

End of the World: a Flickering Hope (m) | myg

every nation seems at war with themselves and everyone, but you and Yoongi manage to stay alive. Until the inevitable catches up to you and you desperately seek help. Will you find it before time runs out?

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: post-apocalyptic, dystopian, survival, co-dependency to stay alive + heavy angst, fluff and minor smut with a very small sprinkle of comedy and hope for the future. → Tropes: established relationship → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 4k (it’s a shortie 🤭) → Warnings + triggers: protected sex (it’s very minor and not very detailed like I normally do), nuclear war (bombings), exposure to radiation, cancer (talks about treatment and cures (yes in this story there’s a cure for cancer 🥹)), dystopian world, everything is a wasteland, factions and segregation (the elite/rich vs everyone else),there’s also a bit of social commentary in it, anxiety attacks, hyperventilation, time skips, hope. It’s still angsty and grim, lol, but with a hopeful ending! → Author’s note(1): it got short (compared to what I usually write lol). It serves as a bridge between the first story (end of the world) and the spinoff (whalien52). I hope you enjoy it even though it’s short, and if you enjoy this dystopian world, I recommend reading the spinoff (it’s with Jimin as the male lead though).  → Read on AO3? [link]

[navi]: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue

“It feels like we’re at the end of the world,” you murmur, gazing out at the blue ocean, mesmerized that at least something still looks the same. The rest of the landscape is a stark contrast, a wasteland ravaged by endless bombings.

“Yeah, it kinda does,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, gently nudging your shoulder.

“Do you think this war will ever stop?” you ask, hope mingled with despair. Over half a year has passed since the first bomb fell, and now it seems every nation is at war with itself and each other.

“When there aren’t more people left, maybe,” he replies, his voice rough, the morbid truth hanging heavily between you. The powerful few seem intent on death and destruction, and everyone else is left to suffer and die.

“I don’t get it. The whole world is going to die at this point,” you say, sagging to the ground beside Yoongi.

“True. But we’re not the ones in power. We can’t do anything about it,” Yoongi says, his voice steady and calm.

“They say on the radio that almost all countries are affected and there isn’t much land left like we used to know,” he adds, a frown etched on his face.

“God. I don’t want to listen to the radio anymore. I get so depressed hearing about it all,” you groan, “I almost want to throw the damn thing into the ocean. But it’s our only lifeline to civilization, I guess.”

He chuckles, “I get it. It’s fine if you don’t want to listen to the news. I’ll listen for you and tell you the important information if there’s any.”

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you lean in and kiss him on the cheek.

“Maybe we should move again,” Yoongi suggests. You both rise, packing your things and bags.

As you walk through the desolate land, the forests and bushes burned and charred, the road made bumpy by explosions, the sky alternates between a bright blue on days without bombings and a dark shade of gray whenever there’s more bombs falling.

But just seeing the blue sky on some days gives you a fragile flicker of hope for the future. Maybe things will be alright in the end? Are you delusional for thinking that? For still wanting things to go back to the way they were before the war? Deep down, you know it’s impossible to rewind time, yet you can’t help but yearn for a chance to prevent all this devastation. You’re neither a politician nor a soldier, nor do you want to be, but sometimes you wish you had their power and autonomy.

Rumors swirl about the remnants of your government reaching out to other nations for help, but with the entire world reduced to a wasteland, there’s no aid to be found, no refuge to seek. You glance down at your battered feet and worn shoes, the ash and dirt mingling in a grim testament to your journey. The sight makes you frown. Where should you head to now? The question hangs in the air, as heavy and uncertain as the gray clouds that often blot out the sun.

Honestly, you don’t know where you’re going— to safety? What is safety even in a world where every country is at war?

— 2 years later

You don’t know how, maybe through sheer luck, but you and Yoongi have managed to survive the worst of the war. Over two harrowing years of constant bombings, the omnipresent fear of death, and relentless fighting for your lives. Every minute has been a nightmare, an unending torment.

But now, there’s been an eerie silence. 

The bombings have ceased, and the world seems quieter—too quiet. You suspect there aren’t many people left. Most are probably dead. Only the lucky, the hardened survivalists like you and Yoongi, have made it this far. You’ve heard rumors about the wealthy sequestered in their bomb-proof bunkers. How fortunate for them. A shame you couldn’t afford such luxuries. Yoongi’s house lacked such a feature. It would’ve been nice to have been spared from this massacre, to have been sheltered from the relentless horrors.

You and Yoongi have set up camp in a desolate wasteland. Nature is gone, replaced by a sandy, barren expanse. You’ve made a small bonfire to keep warm—it’s the middle of winter now. Though you have each other to stay warm at night, a fire is always a welcome comfort, even if it risks attracting unwanted attention. But you’re prepared for that. You still have your weapons, and Yoongi has taught you to aim better. You feel a grim satisfaction in being prepared, wishing you’d taken such precautions before the bombings. But it’s never too late to learn, right?

“Have you heard any news about civilization?” you ask Yoongi, warming your hands over the small fire.

“Only that people are trying to gather and rebuild slowly… but they don’t agree on how things should be, now that the regular government has fallen,” he shrugs, his shoulders weighed down by the burdens of survival. Yoongi has been your rock since you met, always listening to the radio for news when it depresses you too much.

“Figures,” you pout, rolling your eyes. “There’s probably going to be a fight for power,” you chuckle bitterly. It wouldn’t surprise you. People are so fucking predictable. You don’t want a part of it, but if it affects you, you’ll do whatever you must to live comfortably.

“I hate what this has done to nature,” Yoongi sulks, kicking sand into the fire in frustration. “I mean, I miss the trees. The green colors. Even grass. That feeling of being barefoot on grass. I miss it so much.”

You nod, agreeing completely. God, you miss that too. Or a nice shower. Damn. You haven’t had one since Yoongi’s house. The thought makes you sad, makes you clench your fists in anger. 

You hate this world and everything it has become.

Sometimes you wonder if it would have been better to die, like your friends. But you quickly banish those thoughts. It’s not fair to your friends or to everyone else who’s dead. You’re alive, and you have to make the best of it, even though everything sucks and nothing will ever be the same again.

“I also miss sleeping in a bed. Like on a nice mattress. Fuck. There are so many things I miss,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick with emotion. Reminiscing about the things he misses brings him great pain.

“Yeah,” you say, placing your hand on top of his. “But at least we still have each other.”

“Yes. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he smiles at you, and you think he looks so handsome and beautiful, his cute nose and jaw—everything about him is amazing. His rough yet soft features. You love him so much. He has done so much for you. You’ll forever be in debt to him.

— 4 years later

“My feet are so sore, Yoon,” you pant, feeling the throbbing pain from days of relentless walking, the swelling making each step a new ordeal.

“Let’s take a break. We’ve been walking for days. Let’s set up camp,” he rasps, his voice rougher and more hoarse with time, a result of exposure to the relentless elements or something else, something you both fear to name.

Dropping your backpacks to the ground, Yoongi sets up the tent while you sit down, finally giving your weary legs a rest. Your gaze drifts to the sky, now filled with white clouds—a stark contrast to the endless gray you’ve grown accustomed to. Four years ago, you never thought you’d see white clouds again, let alone a glimpse of blue sky. It makes your heart clench with a fragile hope, a hope for a future you scarcely dared to dream about, yet desperately cling to. On the rare days when the sun breaks through the perpetual gloom, you savor its warmth and light.

“We’re almost out of food,” Yoongi states, coughing slightly before sitting next to you. You lean into him, seeking comfort in his presence.

“It’s okay. I wish we could forage from nature. We can make it,” you say, your voice tinged with hope as you lace your fingers with his. Both of you are exhausted—tired of walking, tired of running. Ever since the war started four years ago, you’ve been on the move, searching for safety. The world was bombed into oblivion, and those who survived scattered, fighting for their lives. The old people in power have regrouped, forming the New World Order, a ruthless regime bent on controlling what is left of civilization. They keep many secrets, information they don’t want the scattered remnants of humanity to know. The New World Order hunts anyone who opposes them, which is why you stay hidden, moving in the shadows. Various resistance groups have sprung up, each fighting back, but they are fragmented, hard to keep up with.

“Yeah, but for now, we still have some food left. Let’s eat,” he says, hugging you tightly as if afraid he might lose you.

You follow his lead, retrieving rations from your packs. Food is scarce, but you’ve learned to live off minimal portions just to stay alive. Begging for food in a city is a last resort; stealing is even lower on your list, but survival drives you to consider the unthinkable.

Eating is a relief, filling your empty stomachs. After your meal, you and Yoongi head into your tent. It’s battered and full of holes, but it provides a semblance of shelter, a fragile barrier against the harsh world outside.

Inside the tent, Yoongi massages your tired feet, his touch soothing the ache from days of relentless walking. You nestle into each other, your lips finding each other in a desperate dance. Your breaths mingle, turning into soft moans that punctuate the silence of the night.

“I want you, love,” Yoongi pants. The way he calls you ‘love’ now always makes your heart race, your face flush. You’ve been in love with him for a long time, and every time he says it, it reminds you just how deeply.

“I want you too. Please, make love to me. I need you,” you quiver, your desire for him skyrocketing. This need always peaks at night or in the mornings, a burning hunger that drives you into each other’s arms on the daily.

Yoongi undresses you with a feverish urgency, and you help him out of his clothes. Your kisses become needier, as if you’re afraid this might be the last time. His lips trail down your neck, and you moan, feeling like you’re in heaven. He grabs a condom—you’d used up that box of 500 pieces a long time ago, but thankfully Yoongi managed to find some in a city you passed through, because bringing a child into this shattered world is the last thing either of you wants. Fuck the fact that you don’t have money. But you don’t have money for a child either.

He strokes himself, grunting low and lustful, then rolls the condom on. He nudges your slick entrance, always ready for him, always needing him. He guides himself into you, filling you completely, and you both gasp at the sensation. His hands find yours, fingers lacing together, grounding you in the moment.

He starts to thrust, slow and steady, each movement deliberate and sensual. “I don’t ever want to lose you,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. He presses down on you, his forehead resting against yours, eyes closed in a deep breath before he opens them again. “I feel like we don’t have much time.”

You look at him, puzzled by his sudden anxiety. “Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I have,” he says, his lips meeting yours again.

When he pulls away, you try to reassure him. “Everything will be okay. We’ll make it.”

He hums, increasing the speed of his hips, thrusting deeper. “I love you,” he whispers, his hand finding your clit, rubbing circles that send waves of pleasure through your body. Your climax builds quickly, and you release around him, your moans mingling with his name, telling him how much you love him, how lucky you are to have him.

He kisses you deeply, and with a grunt, he finds his own release, filling the condom. You both pant for air, and he rolls to the side, discarding the condom in the corner of the tent. He spoons you, your hearts beating in sync, the warmth of his body a comforting shield against the cold, uncertain world outside.

In the quiet aftermath, you feel a fleeting sense of peace. Despite everything, you have Yoongi, and in this moment, that feels like enough.

The next morning, your feet feel somewhat better, but you know you’ll have to walk again today. You and Yoongi eat a sparse breakfast, trying to ignore your dwindling food supply. At least you still have clean water.

As you pack up, Yoongi looks at you with a serious expression. “I think I’m getting sick,” he says, and your heart drops. This is what you’ve been dreading. It’s his cough, isn’t it?

Forcing optimism in this shattered world, you give him a wry smile. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe we should head to one of the cities near the Capital. There might be a good doctor there who can look at you.” You smile, clinging to hope, because you can’t afford for him to be sick. 

You can’t afford to lose him. 

You don’t want to be alone. 

You need him and you love him.

Relax. Deep breath. Yoongi’s soft eyes meet yours, and you do your best to steady your thoughts and your breathing. An anxiety attack won’t solve anything.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he says with a smile, grabbing your hand and tracing light circles in your palm. “It’s okay. It will be okay.”

You pack up the rest of your things and start the trek towards the Capital. You don’t want to enter the Capital itself, knowing The New World Order’s presence makes survival there impossible. Your best bet is a suburb with a good doctor.

Hand in hand, you walk, one foot after the other. Many breaks for water and pee breaks make progress slow. You have to set up camp again, and the days stretch into weeks. The journey on foot is grueling, and the scenery is a bleak reminder of the war—cracked roads, sand and dirt, burnt patches, and ash-covered areas. You hate it, the stark contrast to the life before the war, but it’s also how you met Yoongi. At least one good thing came out of it.

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking, but at least you have each other, unlike the last time you ventured out for safety. Both of you are immensely tired, feet sore, but then you spot it in the distance: a small city just before the Capital.

The Capital and its surrounding cities have been rebuilt since the war, their new structures futuristic looking; cold and distant. You miss the comforting feel of home.

“You see it too, right? It’s not just my mind playing tricks on me?” you ask in disbelief, eyes fixed on the city ahead.

“It’s there, you’re not crazy, love,” Yoongi chuckles beside you, his hand still in yours as you will your bodies to make it to the city.

It’s small, barely more than a dirt road flanked by a few buildings. Calling it a city or even a town would be a stretch. As you walk through the deserted streets, hope wanes. Suddenly, a tall, muscular man with black hair steps into your path, and you collide with him.

You bump your head against his chest and groan, muttering an apology. When you look up, you see one of the softest faces you’ve ever seen on a man.

“No, it’s okay. It was my fault. I walked out in front of you,” he apologizes, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. You feel Yoongi’s hand freeze in yours, and you turn to see what’s wrong. His expression is one of sheer disbelief, as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Kook?” he utters, eyes wide with unmistakable recognition.

The stranger’s eyes widen, and then he bursts into a broad smile, opening his arms to embrace Yoongi. “Hyung!” he cries, tears streaming down his face as he squeezes Yoongi so tightly you fear he might break a few bones.

“You’re alive?” Yoongi asks, happiness lacing his voice as they step back from each other.

“Yeah!” Jungkook grins, his eyes soft and proud. “I made a survivalist camp. There are a few of us here; you’re welcome to join us.”

“Wow. We looked for you after the bombs. Went to your house, but it was destroyed. I thought the worst. But fuck, I’m so glad to see you again,” Yoongi says, tears in his eyes as he hugs Jungkook again, unwilling to let go now that he’s found him.

“I was fine. I made it out before things got bad,” Jungkook says, turning his gaze towards you.

Yoongi, sensing Jungkook’s curiosity, introduces you. “This is my better half. If we could get married in this time and age, I’d call her my wife.”

You blush at his words, knowing them to be true. Officially getting married is nearly impossible now, with the risk of exposing yourselves by going into the Capital for a license. You don’t need a label to know what you mean to each other.

“Oh, how cute! You survived the apocalypse together?” Jungkook asks, still smiling as he gestures for you to follow him.

“You could say that,” you reply, smiling as Yoongi tugs you along to follow Jungkook.

Jungkook leads you through the sandy street to a larger house in better shape than the others. Out front, a few cars and a motorcycle catch your eye; their sleek, futuristic design makes you wonder if they’re from the Capital. “This way,” Jungkook says, opening the door to the big house. Inside, the air is fresh and clean, the walls a washed white, the wooden floorboards creaking under your feet.

“Welcome to Whalien52,” he announces proudly. You hear rumbling noises and turn to see a group of guys rushing out from a nearby room, stopping in their tracks when they spot you and Yoongi.

Jungkook laughs. “This is the rest of the gang,” he says, pointing to the rowdy group now chuckling among themselves. You give them a small wave.

“Our resistance group is quite small, but each of us has a different skill set that comes in handy when dealing with The New World Order. Let me introduce everyone,” Jungkook says, beaming with pride as he highlights each member.

“This is Namjoon. He handles all our tech stuff,” he says, pointing to a tall man with silver hair who smiles at you.

“Excuse me, you have tech?” you ask in disbelief. It’s been so long since you’ve seen proper technology, let alone held your phone. Speaking of which, you haven’t seen your phone in years, probably left behind when the war started.

“Yeah, we make our own,” Namjoon says with a smile.

“Anyway,” Jungkook clears his throat, “this is Jimin. He’s our stealth and assassination guy.” He points to a man about the same height as Yoongi, with pink hair.

You gulp, realizing how invaluable such a skill would be against The New World Order.

“This is Taehyung. He’s our resident handyman,” Jungkook says, introducing another tall man, this one with blue hair.

“This is Hoseok. He’s the one who plans our missions and does recon,” Jungkook continues, pointing to a man with red hair.

“And lastly,” Jungkook says, pointing to a tall man with broad shoulders and a lab coat, “this is Jin. He’s a doctor.”

The introductions settle in, each name and role adding a layer of hope and security you haven’t felt in ages. Here, amidst the cracked roads and remnants of the old world, is a pocket of resistance, a flicker of defiance against the oppressive new order. You realize this group, this place, could be the sanctuary you and Yoongi have been desperately seeking.

Your eyes almost sparkle at the mention of Jin being a doctor, and relief floods you—maybe you don’t have to keep walking in search of help.

“Nice to meet you all,” Yoongi says, waving weakly and coughing. You notice Jin raising an eyebrow and moving closer to Yoongi.

“That cough doesn’t sound normal. How long have you had it?” Jin inquires, his eyes scrutinizing Yoongi.

“Yeah. But recently it’s gotten worse,” Yoongi admits, his voice hoarse and raspy.

“Come with me. I’ll check you out,” Jin says, gesturing for Yoongi to follow him into what looks like a makeshift clinic room. Yoongi lets go of your hand, and you spot a couch nearby. Sinking into it, you're grateful to be somewhere safe, with a roof over your head. Jungkook sits beside you, explaining how his camp started as a literal campfire gathering for war survivors, evolving into a resistance when they uncovered the government's dark secrets and withheld information.

Time seems to blur as Yoongi is examined. When he finally emerges, his face is pale, eyes hollow. Panic grips you as you rush to him, grabbing his hands. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Apparently... I have cancer,” Yoongi states blankly. Tears spill down your cheeks. This is your worst fear come to life. You cling to him, shaking your head in denial.

Jin steps out, his expression somber and apologetic. “I’m sorry for the bad news. Y/N, I think we should check you too. You’ve also been exposed to radiation,” he explains. You look into Yoongi’s eyes, seeing a mix of sadness, anger, and determination.

Biting your lip, you kiss his cheek, then follow Jin into the patient room. The air feels heavy with despair, but also with a flicker of hope. Here, among these survivors, you might find a way to fight back against the darkness that has consumed your world.

Jin examines you thoroughly, running blood tests and scans with machines you haven’t seen in years—machines you thought had been lost in the war. Perhaps Namjoon built them? You don’t ask. Fear keeps you silent, dread pooling in your stomach. What if you’re sick too? What if Yoongi is going to die?

Jin finishes his tests and leads you back to Yoongi. His face is grave as he begins to speak. “Y/N has breast cancer,” he says, frustration evident in his voice.

“But I don’t feel sick,” you protest, though you know it’s futile.

“It seems to be in the early stages,” Jin assures you. You grab Yoongi’s hand, seeking comfort.

“Yoongi has thyroid cancer, and it’s more advanced,” Jin continues, finally sitting down on a stool.

“What can we do? Is there a treatment or cure?” you ask, your voice trembling. You know cancer treatments exist, but in this world, such things seem out of reach—hoarded by The New World Order.

“There is,” Jimin says, stepping forward. His pink hair contrasts sharply with the bleak surroundings. “The New World Order has a cure for cancer, but they keep it tightly guarded.”

“They only care about themselves,” Hoseok grunts, rolling his eyes in disdain.

“Those people are selfish, hoarding information and research,” Namjoon says, clenching his fists. “Information should be free, not hidden behind a paywall.”

“It’s not even a paywall, Joon,” Jungkook interjects. “It’s exclusive to the elite. They don’t care about the rest of us.”

“Can we get this cure?” you ask, your voice small and uncertain.

“We can try. We don’t agree with their methods, and this cure is crucial. Many people are suffering from cancer due to radiation exposure,” Jungkook says, his hands clenching into fists. You notice the tattoos lining them, symbols of resilience and defiance.

“This is too much to ask,” Yoongi says, shaking his head.

“No, it isn’t, hyung. I want to help you and everyone else. This is our mission, right, Jimin?” Jungkook turns to Jimin, his eyes glinting with determination.

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, his voice light but resolute. “Let’s steal the cure and save humanity.”

In that moment, hope sparks within you. This ragtag group, against all odds, might just have the courage and skill to challenge The New World Order and reclaim the future.

→ The story continues in the spinoff ‘Whalien52’ (pjm x reader)  (it’s not the same reader though and Yoongi and this reader features in it)

→ Author’s note(2): I’m not entirely pleased with this sequel, because I had a hard time figuring out how much I should say, and again, I felt like most would be the same, lol— like what more can happen while the world is ending? Maybe I’m just not creative enough. I’m really in a tough spot with my writing, but I’m really trying, but I feel like everything is crap… Anyway, I think it works perfectly to set up the other part (spinoff) 🤷 Also; a big shoutout and thank you to @manipulatedstars for having the idea to make Jungkook run a survivalist camp 🥳💜

[devil-acid]

You delivered on that war's picture and I loved it! He looks great.

In return Here is some War's angst for you. I hope you like it! :)

It had all been going so well.

Then the portal.

Then the damn Hynox.

Wild’s Hyrule sucked. “Remind me to tell Wild that his home sucks!”

“Oh, don’t worry Wind. I am first in line!” Raising his shield in front of him he blocked an arrow from an archer on one side of the clearing. He and Wind had been separated from the group. The pair of them fighting through a horde of Bokblins from what they can only assume is Wild’s Hyrule.

An approaching Hynox told them this wouldn’t be as easy as they first assumed.

The fight wasn’t pretty. Monsters surrounded the pair from all sides and they tried to keep them back. Swords slashed as monsters screamed. Black blood dripped from their blades as they danced around each other. Warriors noticed the moment the sailor slowed slightly.

He was getting tired, so he had to protect him. He had to keep them off Wind.

“Guys! Anyone! We could use some help over here!!!” He was distracted, the call for help having echoed through the forest.

“War’s lookout!!!!”

Wind’s warning came too late.

The moment the blade slashed across his chest was the moment his breath was stolen from him. Everything stopped.

The world froze as the icy feeling of pain spread across him. Spiraling up and across as his body lost contact with the ground. As he flew. His Sword flew from his grasp as he landed several feet away from where he was standing. Landing with a sickening crunch on his side.

Oh yes, something was broken.

“Wars!!”

That was wind. Wind was moving towards him. The Hynox was too.

No don’t do that. Either of them.

“War’s I’m coming!” The sailor's small voice sounded through the clearing as he pulled a boomerang from his belt. Throwing it towards a bokoblin as he began to run. Watching it impale itself into the monster's eye he grabbed at it on his way past. Yanking it with all his strength as he continued to move.

“Get away from my brother!” He stood tall in an opening in the monster's, phantom sword in one hand and boomerang in the other. As he tried to find a way through.

“Wind…. Don’t” He struggled through shallow breaths.

Man, his chest hurt.

Remember what they taught you, don’t move. Don’t move. Deep breaths and apply pressure.

Trying to move his arm was the worst idea. As pain shot through him anew. Burning hot and bright as he stopped that movement and rolled onto his back.

So his arm was broken. Wonderful.

“Wars! I’m coming! Just hold on!” The sound of struggle had him attempting to turn his head, Pain shot through his head. “Just gotta get past these guys!”

A howl through the trees indicated that aid was close at hand.

Good. Wind would be safe.

He would live…

Huh.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” The flash of yellow across the sky and a yell from the Hynox told him that the sailor's boomerang had hit home.

“Wind!” Sky’s voice sounded across the clearing first.

“ITS WARS!” The sailor yelled as he charged the monster, phantom sword raised. “HE’S THERE YOU HAVE TO HELP HIM!!!!” Sliding under a swing from the beast he continued his attack. Jumping up and moving backwards. His eyes looked rapidly at the group that arrived.

Legend, Sky and Twilight.

“PLEASE HELP HIM! PLEASE!” Wind yelled, as he caught the boomerang again and threw it once more, swinging his body around with his throw it flew up into the Sky and hit home right in the Hynox’s eye. The monster recoiled as it gripped its face. Falling to the ground.

“Legend!” Sky’s voice. “Can you see him?!”

“Yep!” The veteran's quick response spurred them into action.

“I’ll take the Hynox with Wind! You and Twilight get the captain out of here!” Sky’s voice sounded his eyes burning with determination as he sprinted off to help the sailor.

“You got it!” He ran as fast as he could, quickly arriving at the captain's side. “Hey, Captain! Pretty boy! Can you hear me?” Legend slid to the ground as hands immediately shot to the wound across his chest. The pressure forced a sound out of his chest. As the pain shot anew. Twilight appeared not long after, the familiar shift of magic sending a chill up his spine.

He tried to respond. But the world was spinning so fast. He felt so dizzy. The shroud of pain was so intense across his body. That he couldn’t form words.

The sound of pain would have to do.

“Captain I need you to stay with me as long as you can!” Legend leant against his hands across the wound. His hands instantly became drenched in blood. “Twilight. Get my bag, the spare clothes we need to pack this wound to stop the bleeding as soon as we can!”

Something was broken.

“His arms broken.”  Twilight said as he dug through the bag. Grabbing a bottle with a red potion inside. His eyes looked to the ground.

There’s so much blood…

“Come on Link you can't Die on me now I’ve not had my fill of sarcastic quips from you.” Legend said, as Twilight wrapped up the clothes into small bundles that he could lean against.

The yell of a Hynox told them that Sky and Wind had been successful.

Good. They would be safe.

“Wars? Wars?!” Wind's worried voice sounded over the fog in his mind. “Is he okay? Is he going to be okay?!”

“That was quick.” Twilight mused as he continued to fish around in legends bag for the clothes. Throwing items out with muttered apologies, saying that he’d put all the items in the bag again after.

“Later. I’ve got potions.” Sky said firmly. As he sat, his eye clanking to twilight quickly before pulling out his own bag. “What are you after.”

“Something to pack the wound, slow the bleeding until we can get Hyrule.” Twilight said straight. Finally pulling out a plane white shirt.

“I’ve got something we can use.” Sky fished around and quickly pulled out his spare undershirt. Moving it quickly towards legend.

“So do I!” Wind started to move too. But sky stopped him with his hand. “What?”

“Potions. We need potions.” The skyloftians voice was firm, he looked to wind with a neutral expression as the sailor tried to stifle the moment of panic from his heart.

“O…okay.”

“I don’t know if he’ll keep them down.” For some reason, to the captain, that voice sounded like it was moving away

“We have to…” That voice was a little further… Why did he move away that was stupid.

“Wars?” A voice. So far away.

Who said that anyway? The world was fading at the edges.

“War’s stay with me! Stay here!” He felt something on his face but couldn’t see it. It soon faded. Too, leaving him.

“Wars!” Desperation. That sounded like…

Who was that?

The voices were getting muffled. Feeling lost. Feeling… Feeling….

Silence.

Feeling nothing. He felt like he was floating. Floating in a vast sea. His tunic was damp, It had to be water.

Was there… someone he needed to protect?

Maybe this was the Great Sea Wind always spoke about? How peaceful.

They’d be okay.

The others. Would make it.

He could…. He could….

Rest.

WHA.... I...

WHAT

HOLY SHIT THIS IS SOO GOOOOD, wind trying to protect his big brother uggggghh, they both make me so ;;;;;;

warriors in so much pain ouchouch poor boy (<-- said innocently like he doesnt enjoy watching him suffering)

I LOVE IT SO MUCH THANKS YOUUUU

goodbye warriors I will miss you

[auxiliarydetective]

Kassandra Hargreeves' Scenes, S01E08: I Heard A Rumor

Kassandra joins her siblings in their efforts to save Allison. However, she struggles heavily on the way there as everything becomes too much for her. This features descriptions of a panic attack, so be weary of that

There they were, all back together again, even if for the worst circumstances. Klaus, Five, Diego, Luther and Kassandra, all in their father’s car, driving to save Allison within fewer and fewer hours to the end of the world. When Kassandra had wished for them all to be together again, this was not what she had wanted at all. In fact, this might as well be hell. It wasn’t enough that she was worried sick about Allison, no, it was more than that.

“Five, can you go any faster?” Luther asked tensely.

Five just held the steering wheel firmly in hand. “Ask me again and I’ll burn you with the cigarette lighter”, he threatened without even looking back.

Everyone else was silent. It was a tense, smothering silence. Kassandra felt like she was inside a gas bottle, physically and mentally. Physically, she had only very little space to move, if any at all, squished in the middle of the backseat. But mentally, mentally this was a lot worse. The tenseness in this metal casing of a car was pressure against her skull, giving her a migraine. It was like every thought around her was being yelled out. Luther’s especially were made of pure despair. This whole concoction could explode with the tiniest spark.

“Kassandra”, Luther said hoarsely, “keep your telepathy out for Allison. If you sense anything-”

“I’ll tell you”, Kassandra completed the sentence, her voice barely audible.

It took too much effort to keep her breathing calm. All she wanted to do right now was jump out of the car and run. But she had to stay here. For her brothers. For Allison. For Vanya, if she was out there.

Kassandra wanted to honor Luther’s request, she really did, but she could only focus on her telepathy for so long before it made her go insane. The minutes crept by like hours, with nothing at the side of the road to distract her, no break from the suffocating screams of thoughts in the car. From a bland road with nothing around it, they came into a forest. Trees, nothing but trees everywhere.

Suddenly, in one of her moments of focus, Kassandra sensed something. Her blood went cold as ice, shivers running down her spine.

“I- I think I sense her”, she stammered.

“Allison?!” Luther blurted out.

“Yes.”

It was awful. It was horrible. Pain and despair swept over to Kassandra even across the distance she knew there still had to be. It was like Allison was yelling for her.

“Well, spit it out!” Luther almost shouted. “Is she okay?”

“No. She- she needs help. Medical attention. Fast.”

“Go faster, Five.”

This time, he listened.

The car came to a slippery stop next to a cabin. Immediately, Luther jumped out. The worry and despair gave him wings. He stormed into the cabin, followed by Klaus and Diego. Kassandra, meanwhile, stumbled out of the car and against the railing of the porch. Her heartbeat jumped out of her chest and her breathing had gotten quick and shallow.

“Hey, Kass!” Five called.

She tried to find something to say but couldn’t. What was going on with her head, with her body? Why couldn’t she move? She knew exactly what was going on. This was all too familiar. It was why she had left. But she would not leave this time.

“Kass, are you okay?”

Kassandra managed a jerky nod. A new, stronger wave of emotions had rolled over her. It came from inside the cabin. The others had just found Allison. Her image burned itself into her head. Blood everywhere. Eyes shot open. A deep cut across the neck. Kassandra could feel herself start to get dizzy. She clung on to the porch a little harder, with as much force as her body still gave. Five’s voice barely got through to her anymore. Then, everything went black and she fell into the sea of voices storming her, becoming one, like a dreadful melody of fear, sadness and despair.

[lu-twilights-pup]

Idk if this has been asked yet but I’ve had it on my mind, Twilight (I’m a simp) protecting his crush(or s/o I’m def not picky) during battle and hearing a faint “oh I’m in love-“ (ngl I get so excited seein you write his accent, cause I too have the accent)

Yes yes!

DISCLAIMERS:

Blood, injuries, violence (brief)

The portals seemed to be working against them in the last few days. They had been on the move none stop, never being in one world for more than a day or two before the ground beneath their feet swallowed them into a new one.

But this time, it was some how more cruel than just robbing them of rest and stability. This portal had caught them in Time’s hyrule. Such forests was rather quiet, though everyone was on edge, waiting to be swept away once more, and they need not wait long before the were dropped into and open Hyrule field no one recognized. Even better a field no one recognized—smack dab in the middle of a monster camp, thus the battle ensued.

You had not been an adventurer prior to being sucked into this whole thing. You were simply a traveler, you often avoided monsters and the like as it was an unnecessary fight for your life you had not wanted to deal with. But now it felt you were more of a fighter than a traveler anymore.

Standing back to back with a someone, most likely Hyrule as he was the closest to you when you all landed, you were swarmed with bokoblins. The sounds of metal on metal and metal on wood filled the chilled air. An occasional shout for back up and a ‘heads up’ followed by an abrupt explosion in the distance felt almost normal as you ripped your sword out of a bokoblins side. A shiver shot through you as the wind picked up.

Hyrule had long left your back side, rushing to Four who had taken a nasty hit, and attempting to shield the other till he could collect himself a bit more. This left you constantly turning left and right as to not leave yourself with a blind spot for too long, the enemies growing smarter with each attack as you practically flailed about, the onslaught seemingly never ending. You’re strength was dwindling by the minute and you stamina was shrinking just as quickly. The sword in your hand, once a comfortable weighted reminder of your own prowess, now an anchor that had settled itself in your hand through blood and sweat, your grip wavering after each blow. The urge to sink to your knees took a hold on your spine and pooled like ice cold guilt in your stomach. You fought on.

What had seemed like the last monster had been sent flying away from you with a bomb arrow, curtsy of the resident cook. However this arrow was a bit to close to be safe, the heat of it brushing your cheek as it passed by. The explosion itself knocked you to the ground, chest burning from the impact. The flags had blinded your vision momentarily and left a thick ringing in your ear. You nearly dropped your sword as you rushed to cover your ears, though that did nothing as the sound seemed to be coming from inside your head.

The shouts around you were hardly decipherable through the ringing, it felt almost as if you were underwater. Your limbs felt like lead as you tried to pick yourself up, only able to roll onto your back and sit up on your elbows and one knee. You didn't see the moblin lumbering up to your blind side as you took a knee for a moment. The explosion left you deaf to its thundering footsteps, deaf to the scrapping sound of it raising its weapon over you. But you saw its shadow, cast over you like a blanket at the last moment. Turning your head, you made eye contact with the monster before you.

A yell seemed to break out over the ringing, a blurred mass had been sent careening into the moblin, the monster vanishing from your sight, reeling back in pain from some kind of wound and falling to the ground. The blurred mass placed a hand next to your head to steady itself from toppling on you. The sound of heavy breathing broken through the post explosive haze between your ears. Your vision was filled with greens and greys—and furr.

You knew him well enough to know that Twilight was pissed. A focused look plastered his face, his mouth pulled back into a threatening snarls, lips quivered as he rumbled. The pin pricks of his pupils were almost invisible, completely over taken but the pale blue of his iris, had you not been inches from his face, you wouldn’t have seen him. You also wouldn’t have seen his breath puffing out in from of him as he panted raggedly. Each exhale puncuated by a deep thundering growl. His bangs hung loosely around his face, some sticking to hi forehead and framing it in a deeper light than normal. The marking along his face almost seemed to glow in the low light of the space between the two of you. He took no time to rush to you the moment you were down and even remotely in danger. His anger was not towards you and your injury, but towards the thing that threatened you. Oh yeah-

It was almost as if your life threatening situation had left your mind. All you could focus on was the man hovering over you protectively. The sun peaking over his shoulder behind him gave him an ethereal radiance, it was almost painfully unfair how your heart fluttered. If it wasnt a burn, it was the unrestrained blush that brought hue to your face. Silence fell over the battle field as he scanned the area around the two of you for any more monsters, But it looked like everyone else had finished off their respective fights and cleared the area. Just as Twilight began to relax slightly, he head a small voice below him.

“Oh, I’m in love.” You both froze, locking eyes while you stared at him. Both of your mouths fell open. His face grew painfully red, your some how grew redder than it already was. You had said that out loud. Oh goddess you had said that out loud, how could you have sai-

“Yer- uh… yer still sayin’ it out loud.” Twilight chuckled a bit, smiling down at you. Oh god he was trying to kill you. You inhaled sharply and scurried from under him as he sat up to let you out. Panic wasn’t quite right. Embarrassment was close. Humiliation was probably as close as you would get to how you felt right now.

“I am so sorry!” You rushed out, “I didn’t- you weren’t- that wasn’t appropriate for me to say, I meant to say thank you- uh yeah, thank you is what i meant, thanks for that.” You rambled out, all while not looking at him. He sat back on his haunches, smiling slyly at you.

“Ye don’ have t’ thank me-“

“Yes I do you saved my ass.” you pressed, but he shrugged, smile never leaving his face as he stood up and offered you his hand to stand with him. You took it hesitantly, face still red, no hands most likely sweating and shaking.

“Don’ need a thank you, (Name).” He reassured as he looked over your shoulder at the others as they all collected at the center for a recap of the fight. He nodded his head towards them, implying to get a move on over to get your injuries looked at “But,” As he passed you he leaned into your space and whispered.

“I’ll except yer thanks with an ‘I love ye too.” He smiled and sped up his pace over to the others and Hyrule rushed over with a potion.

He saved you just to be the death of you himself didnt he?

[tunafishprincess]

Darkening Seas

A DFO Secret Santa gift for Moon_Lantern

——————————

Izuku feared many things in his short sixteen years of existence.

As a child he feared the wails of ocean storms, huddled in bed with his mother as rain and wind pounded their small home, a common monster for the children of his small village. She would whisper spells of protection as he clung to her form, as if the storm itself were trying to get inside.

It wasn’t until he didn’t receive his mark that he learned that there were greater fears, the kinds that haunted him to this day. Fears of losing friends, for one. For another, fear of the village’s suspicions whenever something bad happened. The Markless weren’t a common bunch and in his childhood home, he was the only one in several generations not to be blessed by a god.

In spite of all the fears he had, however, there was always hope. His mother, even on her deathbed, always promised him a better tomorrow. Even if today was bad, there was always a chance that the next day would bring a better outcome. She was right in a way. It was hope that brought him to All Might, a hero beyond compare that bestowed his own Mark onto the boy, a power that still hummed beneath his skin.

His muddy fingers rose subconsciously, patting at the tattoo on his shoulder. Traveling with All Might had been a dream beyond comparison.

Sadly, all dreams must come to an end.

As a teen, he learned to fear more than village discrimination. At fifteen, he discovered that not all gods bestowed gifts.

All Might taught him to respect the old gods, but not to bow to their whims. When the sea attacked the land, Izuku followed his mentor to the battle, ready to die a hero. Instead, his mentor had been swallowed by the sea and Izuku---

Well, death would have been preferable at this point.

Another itch broke out near his neck. He scratched at the spot but the move did little to soothe the real problem: he needed a bath.

Begrudgingly, he stomped out the rest of his fire, gathering his things to make the small trek to the lagoon he’d been eyeing days before. There wasn’t much to pack, though he wasn’t sure whether he should be thankful or not about that. His food rations had dwindled considerably these past few weeks, his fear of exposure outweighing his need to resupply. He still had aways to go before he got back to the great city of Musutafu. Even if his ailment could not be cured he at least had friends who would care for him there.

His throat bobbed. Well, he hoped he still did.

He arrived at the lagoon within a few hours time, the area as empty as the first time he’d spotted it. It set him on edge.

As beautiful and blue as the seawater seemed, the Kamino sea lay just beyond the exposed shoal.

He licked at his cracked lips nervously. His skin ached to be cleaned and he knew he probably smelled horrendous from so many weeks on the road without washing. Peeling off his dirty clothes, he set them aside from his bag, hiding both in-between the rocks high above the waters.

Goosebumps ran up his arms as he approached the waters. The sun was still high enough in the sky, though a few clouds did beckon across the skyline, the promise of rain both a blessing and a curse with his current predicament.

Hopping onto a large rock, he observed the depths before finally taking the plunge.

Fire traveled through his veins as the curse took hold. He closed his eyes to avoid it, but he felt the changes, bones cracking and reshaping to the curse’s preference. Where once were two average feet now had melted together like butter, soon followed by his calves and thighs until it was all one limb. His nails transformed into claws as he clenched his fists. Tiny pinpricks of pain erupted across what were once two legs, the formation of scales and webbing overwhelming to his enhanced senses. By the end, he was a shaking pitiful mess, his now alien tongue running along the rows and rows of teeth inside his mouth as he took in his first breath of seawater.

He hated how much he had craved this.

His ears flipped back and lowered as far as they could go, a subconscious response to his predicament.

Old Gods be damned, he inwardly cursed, lowering himself down to the sand. He brushed his body with the coarse material, ridding himself of the dead skin and grim he’d accumulated. Moments later he rolled over on his back, repeating the process for several minutes until he was clean.

The first transformation he had cried, mourning the loss of his mentor and fearing the loss of his humanity. Now, on his fifth time, he just wanted to get it over and done with, hating all the strange sensations he had now as one of the very creatures his mentor fought back into the sea only a few months prior.

He blinked, second eyelids a half-second slower than his first, observing the underwater world around him with interest. He didn’t have much time to enjoy his surroundings, however.

The scent of food captured his stomach’s attention. Before he even had time to think his body began to move, less the awkward teen he was and more of the predator he had become.

On a normal day, he would not have been so adventurous, but Izuku had finished his last meager rations two days ago and hadn’t had meat in an even longer time. It would be fine, he reasoned, he was still in the lagoon and the sun would be up for several more hours.

The pristine sand landscape slowly transformed into a dense rocky forest of dead coral. It was a beautiful but haunting reminder of how cruel the sea could be, giving and taking away life like the gods who ruled them.

The water tickled his hair as he swam down the slope of the lagoon, the scent growing stronger as the light began to fade.

He hoped it was something edible, perhaps a glow whale like the one meal All Might introduced him to so many months ago after his first battle. His lips pulled upwards at the memory. Even the tough skin of an Armored Squid or a greasy Floor-Feeder Fish would taste like heaven at this point. His stomach gurgled, instincts driving him further and further away from shore.

Strangely, the slope seems to be reversing the further he swims, ascending until he spots a familiar group of rocks he had come across but only a few days before. The problem was, he thought with a nervous gulp, they had been part of the shoal that protected the lagoon.

He shook his head. No, no that couldn’t be right. That would mean the waters had risen by several meters and Izuku would have felt that.

But what about the high tide, the logical part of him pointed out, sending his mind into a frenzy.

His gaze flickered to the sky, noting the sun’s position with alarm. Had it truly been more than an hour? He returned his attention to the rocks. It could be his mind playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Paranoia had been a constant companion since he lost his mentor. The small fading hope that All Might was still alive had battled with the fear of the old gods wrecking further vengeance upon the teen for stepping into their domain.

His stomach ached. This was no longer a want, but a need. His hand glided over the Mark on his shoulder. The warmth pulsed beneath his palm. He would get the food and get back to shore as soon as possible. His tail swished impatiently as he drew out the energy of One for All. Veins of light traveled down his scales. With one kick he was zooming past the white rocks, deeper and deeper into the watery expanse.

The first change he noted was the life in this part of the waters. Tiny fish (not edible, he thought grimly) danced between colorful seaweed, the warm waters giving way to a refreshing coolness as he followed the scent.

The scent ended as he approached a dense forest of red coral, jutting out like tall trees from the seagrass. At the center of the grove, the corpse of a small glow whale lay between two rocks. His teeth sharpened, the needle structures in his mouth extending as he approached. Still, he held back from digging in.

It was a fresh kill. Strangely, however, there was only one cut on the creature’s body, a thin slice between its thick blubber. He scanned the area. It had been out here for as long as he’d been in the water at least and not one scavenger?

His stomach gurgled, overriding his thoughts. Flexing his claws, he cut off a piece from the broken skin, taking a small bite.

He almost groaned. So delicious. He took another bite, then another.

He ate as if on autopilot, human manners forgotten as the creature’s hunger took hold. He was almost halfway through his meal when he noticed it.

The hairs on his neck prickled. A shadow danced across the sands. He froze. The Mark on his shoulder burned, blisteringly so.

He looked above.

The mers he and his master fought were minuscule in comparison to this one. The creature’s tail is the first thing Izuku noticed, four meters in length and the same color as the coral surrounding them. How...how long had it been here? As it drew closer the teen took in its human features. The mer was male, he thought, judging its large upper body that was covered in scars. Most of them were old, but they all told Izuku everything he needed to know: this creature was dangerous.

He drew away from the meal, hands waving frantically as he apologized for taking its food. He hadn’t known it was his. His Mark sent pulses of pain down his arm, urging him to continue his retreat.

“Once again, my apologies,” he said, hoping his words were understandable underneath the water. “You are welcome to have the rest. I’ll just leave you to it.”

He doesn’t get very far. The creature blocked him with his tail, tilting his head as he asked in an oddly deep voice, “Where are you going?”

The sound echoed through the waters, sending a shiver down the teen’s spine. He never should have swam out this far, food or not.

Izuku lied, “My master is waiting for me.”

A dark, foreboding smile played across the creature’s lips. He caught a glimpse of several sharp teeth as he spoke, “Your master?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, pulling away as fast as he could. The more distance he put between them the better. “I have to be going now.”

“Do you now?” The mer inched closer, never allowing the teen more than a meter of distance. “Why not stay? Come. Eat.”

“I can’t. I’m really sorry. I don’t want to worry him,” Izuku replied hurriedly. His Mark sent a burst of adrenaline through his blood. Hopefully, it would give him enough energy to get back to shore.

“He won’t be worried,” the mer said, drawing uncomfortably close as he continued to circle Izuku.

“No, he really will be,” he insisted.

“He can’t be,” the creature stated into his ear. “The drowned do not feel.”

Ice filled Izuku’s veins. Without a second thought he swished his tail into the sand, drawing it up to blind the now familiar monster.

He didn’t stick around, the roar of anger more than enough to drive the teen back through the way he came.

One for All bleed through his being, the lines of light providing him distance. Unfortunately, in his panic he had lost sight of his original path, now swimming blind as the light above was fading. How long had he been eating? His breathing grew labored.

That was All for One. It had to be. He remembered those eyes, back on the day his master was swallowed by the sea, staring him down from inside the waves. He had been a lot bigger then, an unseen force of nature that belaid a constantly changing shadow of otherworldly horror.

Of course an old god could take the form of one of its creatures. Izuku would have hit himself if he weren’t swimming for dear life.

His mind worked through realization after realization at breakneck speed. So long as he held the Mark of One for All, All for One would come for him. That was why he’d cursed Izuku in this form. It had been to get him back to his domain.

Black tendrils shot up from the sand. He avoided them by twisting into a narrow group of rocks. He eyed the surface. His energy would only last so long. He needed a direction back to land.

Inwardly, he grasped onto the power All Might bestowed upon him, mumbling a prayer to god. Like an arrow he shot up from the rocky formation, too fast for All for One’s tendrils.

He gasped as he broke through the surface. The sun had been overtaken by the earlier clouds. Faintly, he could smell an incoming storm. Turning about, he frantically searched for land.

Desperation gripped his soul. Nothing but dark gray seas surrounded him. No, he couldn’t have gone out that far. The distance he’d covered was short, unless…

Unless someone intentionally made it so.

His heart rate skyrocketed. The lagoon must have been submerged into the Kamino Sea when he was under the waves. The shoal had been the first clue. How long had All for One been planning this?

The water shifted beneath him. Izuku’s eyes widened as a dark shadow spread out beneath him, steadily growing and rising from the depths. In one last ditch effort he poured the rest of his energy into escaping. He doesn’t get very far.

A tendril grasps his arm, jerking him back. Another joins on his opposite arm. Izuku frantically shifted about to shake off the tentacles. Fear gripped his soul as a hand from the depths shot upwards to grab his right fin, tight and unyielding.

Izuku struggled to escape the old god’s grasp, yet the hold on his tail dragged him deeper and deeper into the depths. Another sharp tug brought him into the monster’s arms. Izuku clawed and bit at the offending limbs. To his dismay, the skin was too tough for him to break. A low vibration from All for One’s chest began to slow his movements, muscles no longer working for him but rather against him, falling limp to the soft hum. Was the old god laughing?

“This has been fun. I haven’t had a good chase in quite a while,” the elder god chuckled.

Izuku growled. Despite how terrified he was, he refused to yield. “Let me go.”

“Now, why would I do that?” The arms tightened around the teen.

“You can’t have One for All,” he ground out.

“Oh? But he’s right here, isn’t he?”

Large fingers grasp his shoulder. His body bucked as the burning from the Mark exploded. Flashes of color invaded his vision. One moment the monster had on a younger face, unblemished by scars and cruelty. The next moment the face returned, though it had been tempered with a layer of curiosity.

“Does it hurt?”

Izuku gasped as the aches continued through his body. “Yes.”

A cruel smile danced across the old god’s face. “How interesting. Even now my little brother continues to resist me.”

They sank deeper, much to Izuku’s horror. In the distance, he heard an unnatural roar, followed by more and more, until the sound nearly overwhelmed him. The teen tried to cover his ears but the elder god pulled them down, refusing to give him relief.

The depths took on an uncomfortable chill. He shivered.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked between breaths.

All for One buried his mouth in the teen’s hair. The needle-like fangs were unnervingly close to his scalp. “We’re going home, my little guppy. Where you always belonged.”

Izuku blinked, energy leaving his body as he thought over the monster’s words.

“My home is on land,” he mumbled.

“Yes, it was. Once,” he whispered as the rest of the light faded from view. “But not anymore.”

The low hum returned. Izuku’s body loosened and relaxed, even as his mind and Mark screamed at him to move. All for One seemed to sense this, pressing him closer to his body so as to block any attempt at escape.

Amidst the blackness, he made out a great shape, a mockery of the castle he and his master once visited. The miasma surrounding it made the teen’s stomach roll with disgust.

“Welcome home, Izuku.”

[ignisaeri]

~

At that time, all Alatus could hear was the howling of the wind, and the screams of the Yakshas as they waged war against their karmic debts.

A blaze of crimson flame splits the night sky as the Pyro Yaksha shrieks, clawing desperately at scarlet locks of hair with bloodied fingernails, trying to rid herself of demons only she can see. Her eyes flash with the light of a thousand stars as she throws her head back, pleading with the darkness in ragged gasps to leave her, to go somewhere where they could not haunt her. She’s still begging as she dies.

~

The Geo Yaksha rests his foot against the Hydro Yaksha’s abdomen, using her still body as leverage to draw his sharpened blade out from between her ribs. His eyes stare into the distance, unseeing, pupils clouded over with an inky black, fingers twitching as they hold the weapon that had killed one of his oldest friends. The Hydro Yaksha only lays quietly, death caressing her form with its bony fingers, the pool of water beneath them tinged pink from blood.

~

The Electro Yaksha falls to his knees, gaze finding Alatus’ one last time, seemingly apologizing for leaving the Anemo Yaksha alone for eternity. His slender hands float over the blade embedded in his chest, then collapses onto his side as his last breaths leave him, currents of violet electricity flickering out into nothing. He dies silhouetted against the blackness of The Chasm, as silent as the sun creeping over the horizon, even as the battle rages endlessly around them.

~

Rex Lapis gazes at Alatus with such pity, such sadness, before smiling hesitantly, gold eyes meeting the Yaksha’s.

‘Sit, Ever Vigilant Yaksha. The archon war is over. Let us share a cup of osmanthus wine.”

“Alatus, I free you from your duty as a Yaksha. In the fables of another world, the name Xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. He endured much suffering, as you have. Use this name from now on.”

“Yes, Morax.”

~

The God of Freedom seeks him out one evening, when he’s resting quietly near the edge of a cliff, feet dangling restlessly off the side, imagining the faces of the lost Yakshas floating through the clouds. Barabatos’ braids glow a gentle forest green, and he inclines his head slightly towards Xiao as he nears.

“Alatus, correct?”

“Xiao,” the adeptus corrects him.

“Xiao,” Barbatos says, “Rex Lapis told me of you.”

~

“It was you with the flute, was it not?” Xiao tells Barbatos as they watch the workers construct a massive statue in Liyue’s center, honoring the late Tianquan. Ningguang’s placid face smiles down at them as the workers dust the marble, freeing it from dust and grime.

Venti bobs his head, gaze never straying from where Rex Lapis (now Zhongli) stands with arms folded, gaze dark. With Ningguang gone, the last of the Liyue Qixing has perished.

“Yes,” Venti says. “I saved you that day.”

~

Tonight, they drink, in honor of the dead. Zhongli gingerly holds a glass of osmanthus wine, a glaze lily tucked into his hair. “To Guizhong,” he says. “Havria, Ningguang, and Tartaglia.”

Venti hiccups, face the color of an overripe tomato, the glass of dandelion wine tipping dangerously in his grip. “To the children of Mond,” he choruses. “To the Ragvindr brothers, to Jean, to Lisa, to Noelle. To Klee!”

Baal is here tonight too, and she leans forward restlessly. “To Kujou Sara,” she adds. “To Kitsune, Chiyo, and to Sasayuri.”

Tonight should be solemn, Xiao thinks, as they list the names of their dead companions. Yet, nearly five hundred years after the last of them passed, he feels nothing but contentment.

Xiao raises his own glass. “To the traveler and his sister,” he says. “And to the Yakshas”.

~

Xiao watches as Venti’s fingers dance, weaving an enticing melody through the hollow sounds of his flute. He’s sitting against a rock, the cool water of the stream lapping at his ankles, washing against the outcropping where Venti stands, a face full of bliss as he plays.

The song is one that Xiao wished to hear, one that he had first heard from the cart of a passing merchant shortly after the end of the Archon War.

The notes seem to float away into the air as he listens, chasing away the darkness in his soul, and he closes his eyes, reveling in this small moment of peace.

~

Sometimes, when Xiao sleeps, he dreams. He dreams of a woman wreathed in fire, eyes burning tears down her cheeks. He dreams of a not-truly-there man, standing with his blade buried in the chest of a woman floating limp in blood-tinged water. He dreams of purple lightning dying as a man takes his last breaths deep within The Chasm.

~

He knows, of course, that he cannot run forever. One day, he will become engulfed by his karmic debt, like the Pyro Yaksha, or go mad and disappear, like the Geo Yaksha.

That day comes sooner than he thinks.

~

Liyue is burning. The city is just as Xiao remembers, a perfect place of beauty. If he concentrates, he can still barely remember the night of the Lantern Rite, thousands of years ago. He closes his eyes and wishes to see the light of a hundred lanterns, instead of the light of fire the buildings shudder and succumb to the roaring flame.

Zhongli stands in front of him, something akin to pain in his gaze, one arm thrown to the side to keep Venti from rushing forwards. The Anemo Archon’s eyes are wide and wild, hat askew and bow grasped in shaking hands. Baal stands straight, weapon drawn, sorrow dotting her gaze.

Fontaine’s archon, the God of Justice, flits around the backdrop of burning flame, hurriedly trying to save as much of Liyue as she can. Her hands wave, spilling waves of water over the temples and buildings, undoing the damage that Xiao caused. The Dendro and Pyro Archons are busy, pulling screaming mortals from the wreckage and destruction.

Three torches and three exploding barrels, compiled with Xiao’s anemo attacks, had set all of Liyue aflame.

There is distant screaming in Xiao’s ears, sounds he knows only he can hear. Deliriously, he recalls the Pyro Yaksha howling at non-existent demons millennia ago and wonders absently if the same will afflict him.

The karmic debt has finally taken over, and it seems to favor the path the Geo Yaksha had taken. Xiao almost laughs as he realizes this, feeling trapped within his skin as he wields his polearm, pointed unwaveringly at the archons.

“I am sorry,” he rasps. There is darkness at the edge of his sight, and the screams only intensify. He can hear individual voices now, hissing and howling and wailing, crying for mercy and death and blood.

“Do not apologize,” Zhongli says. “It is not your fault.”

“What is this?” Venti gasps, the sound echoing in Xiao’s ears. “Xiao, what is happening?”

Baal answers for him. “It is the fate of a Yaksha.” Electricity begins to crackle around her shoulders, eyes darkening to violet as she calls the power of the storm.

Xiao wants to weep at how much she reminds him of the Electro Yaksha.

Maybe, he muses, he will see his fellow Yakshas again. Maybe he’ll meet Aether and Lumine too, in the place that lies after death. He may finally meet those who used to belong to Mond, the ones that Venti talks of so adoringly.

Zhongli finally draws his polearm, an earthen pillar appearing before him, casting protective gold around the archons. Xiao knows why.

He can feel the wind gusting around him, responding to calls he does not remember sending out. Leaves swirl in the gale, and trees rip their way out of the ground. The pain in his head intensifies as the number of screaming voices triple.

Xiao meets Zhongli’s gaze. Sometime, somehow, over the years, the archons had become his closest confidants. Yet, Zhongli was always his oldest companion, so now, Xiao asks Zhongli to do the impossible.

“Morax,” he croaks, using a name that hasn’t been spoken for ages. “You must.”

Zhongli’s gaze is pained, yet resolute, and that is how Xiao knows that Morax will kill him to save the world. Baal seems to sense this too, and lightning strikes the ground not too far away, anxiously awaiting her command.

It is only Venti who has not yet seemed to grasp the situation. He frowns at both archons. “What must you do, Zhongli?”

Zhongli only shakes his head, and Xiao knows it pains him to be the one who will have to kill the last Yaksha. So he answers Venti, limbs shaking as he desperately tries to contain the whirlwind threatening to tear from his chest.

“He must kill me. If he does not, I fear I will destroy Teyvat. I have lost control over my body, Venti.”

Barbatos’ eyes flash green, and Xiao is yet again reminded of the power of the archons. “No,” he says simply. “You cannot die. To live for thousands of years, to drink with us, all this time? You cannot die like this.”

Xiao loses concentration, just a tiny sliver, yet the gust of wind that tears from him shears the top off of a nearby mountain. He groans, harnessing the gale yet again, even as the action forces him to his knees.

“Morax,” he says again. “Please.”

Zhongli looks at him, and the archon’s eyes are glistening in the light of the dancing flames, as wind whips his hair into his face.

“Alatus,” he says, and his voice is full of hurt and resignation. “It has been an honor.”

Yes, Xiao wants to answer back, but he cannot force his mouth to move. He just nods, shaking his head as if he can jar the wailing into silence.

Venti starts towards Zhongli, power thrumming at the edges of his fingers, seemingly ready to resort to battle in order to prevent Xiao’s death, and that is when Baal moves. She slams into Venti, pushing him into the ground, even as wind starts to whirl around them - Venti’s magic, not Xiao’s. Her element locking curse comes a second later, binding itself around Venti, even as he hisses at her in protest.

“Xiao,” Venti cries, twisting as if he can escape the curse. His hat is lost, blown away in the wind, and his hair has come loose from its braids, flying around his face.

“Barbatos,” Xiao whispers. “I never thanked you, for saving me that day.”

Venti pauses, for a second, stunned into silence.

“Thank you,” Xiao says, over the voices in his head. “Thank you.”

Baal only looks at him solemnly, and Xiao stares back at her. They exchange no words, but Baal just nods, once, the simple gesture conveying everything he needs to know.

Xiao holds her gaze for a few more seconds, turning back to find the point of Zhongli’s spear resting above his heart.

Zhongli's face is twisted in grief, yet his blade still hits true, sliding into the hollow space between Xiao's third and fourth ribs.

Xiao chokes, the whirl of wind around him finally dying out. His legs buckle and he falls ungraciously, feeling gentle hands grasping at his clothes as he does.

Somewhere, Venti is screaming his name.

The wailing inside his skull is dissipating, and near the edges of his sight, Xiao can make out swirls of color. At first, he thinks they are the archons, and his failing body cannot see the details of their faces. Then, he recognizes a blue that does not belong to those in the present.

“Rest,” Zhongli whispers, as Xiao fades. “Rest, Alatus.”

And Xiao does, letting himself fall into the embrace of the Yaksha's, who are only becoming clearer, even as Xiao dies.

~

637 years later, a scholar strolls through the bookshelves of Sumeru's most famous academy, searching for a piece of information that could support her thesis.

She turns into a lane labelled Mondstadt: The City of Freedom, and begins to scan the titles, careful to replace everything exactly where she finds it.

There are two other travelers within the small space between the bookshelves, and they're talking to each other, quite loudly.

The scholar frowns. No matter how foreign these travelers are, the rule of silence in a library should be universal.

The first traveler, a tall man with golden eyes and umber hair that falls to his lower back flips another page in his book, completely ignoring his companion. A jade spear is strapped across his back, and the scholar thinks idly that the weapon looks more like a piece of art, with great wings of green jade shattering outwards from the main spike.

The tall man's companion is quite short, with yellow cat like eyes and evergreen tufts of hair, a pink pearl necklace slung loosely around his throat. His boyish grin seems quite misplaced.

It only takes the scholar a few moments to figure out why.

A few months ago, the scholar had studied ancient folklore of Liyue. Among them was a tale of several Yakshas, the last of whom had supposedly been buried beneath a statue of himself, on the highest peak in Liyue.

The man standing before her looks exactly the same as the grainy photo in the text. However, in the scroll of lore, the last Yaksha had worn a fierce scowl across his features, nothing like the one that stands before her now.

"Come, Zhongli," the should-be-dead Yaksha says, tugging on his friend's sleeve. "Baal is waiting for us."

"Baal can wait a while longer," the taller man says, turning the page of his book a while longer, which the scholar now sees is a copy of The Ruling System of Mondstadt: Grandmasters and Cavalry Captains.

"You said you wanted me to learn more about Mond, didn't you?" the taller man continues. "Besides, I am quite intrigued as to exactly who this 'Kaeya' is, the one you keep referencing."

The yaksha frowns. "Kaeya," he says. "Diluc's brother."

At his companion's blank stare, the yaksha says. "I'll remind you later," he chides. "We really must be going, Zhongli."

The scholar startles, embarrassed that she eavesdropped for so long. However, she still hears what the tall man says back.

"Fine. Let us go, Venti."

[ithinkthiswasabadidea]

An Act of Healing

When Essek gets seriously injured during a battle in the ruins of Aeor, he thinks his end might be closer than he imagined.

The Nein help him heal and prove him wrong, and show just how much they care about him.

.

When Essek gets hit in battle for the first time, it comes as somewhat of a shock to him.

He had been briefed about the capabilities of the Tombtakers, of their arcane abilities, and so he expected his first injuries to be arcane in nature. What he didn’t expect was the fight just to get to the place in Aeor’s ruins that the Nein said they needed to get to, lest the world end.

He was on his guard. Of course he was. But horrors unseen for centuries would be enough to startle anyone.

So yes, he was shocked when the beast took a swipe at him and he was less nimble than he thought himself. It hit him right in the ribs, tearing like butter through his cloak and the warm, layered fabrics underneath. Talons raking horribly through soft flesh as he feels a cold, burning sensation at the same time as there is a hot screaming pain bleeding from his side. An unexpected nausea bubbles inside him as he reels from the attack, forced to his knees from the weight of it. He huddles next to a frozen boulder, deep, deep below and far from the sanctuary of his chambers where he could rest and recover.

His mind scrambles to make sense of what just happened and he tears his eyes away from the beast to steal a glance at his ruined body.

He never expected to die a clean death.

No matter if he was caught by the Empire or the Dynasty, they’d get his information one way or another, he’d be trialed, sentenced to death, or worse, life imprisonment.

He silently laughs a moment at his change of fate. The Mighty Nein. Of course. They would even change the fate of his death – bleeding out, fighting a huge Aeorian beast. Poetic, he supposes, that he should die helping his… friends.

An opening for him comes up to attack the beast in retaliation, he raises a hand towards it but it shakes, distracting him from the spell he would have used. So he stays kneeling, one hand pressed to his side, the other shuddering in effort from the lingering coldness and pain of his wound.

A moment later, he feels movement beside him, a figure skips up to him – Jester. No, not quite Jester. From his years honing his arcane arts, Essek can recognise the faint tessellation of her body indicating a duplicate. What he doesn’t recognise is the hand reaching from the duplicate to touch his shoulder briefly, a wave of purple and green sparkles emanating from the point that touches him.

Immediately, the horrible freezing sensation in his body fades, like Jester herself had wrapped him in one of her beautiful big hugs, the hugs he covets so dearly, and appreciates so deeply, yet would never ask for.

His side is still bleeding, but the residual cold that was sapping his strength by the second has dissipated. He shoots a wry smile at the Jester duplicate, hoping maybe the real Jester can feel his intention.

Slowly, over the course of a few seconds, he makes his way back up on to his feet, leaning heavily on the rock beside him for support as duplicate Jester skips away again.

One hand still clutching his side, slick with dark blood, he chances another spell. He spies Beauregard, nearly climbed on top of the thing, beating at it with her clenched fists. He remembers his success of Hasting Yasha earlier, and sends the same effect towards beau, her grim expression turning elated as she feels the extra adrenaline course through her body.

Soon after, he feels another body thump against his rock haven, Caduceus having been pushed there with a huge tail swipe from the creature. Caduceus wheezes a little, the breath knocked out of him before he surveys the room and situation, spotting Essek right next to him.

Essek quirks an eyebrow, rasping out, “This thing is no joke, eh?” Not expecting a response from the tall, quiet man, just looking to release some of his own tension and anxiety.

“That looks pretty bad. Stay with us, we need you,” Caduceus replies to Essek’s surprise, and a soft furred hand reaches over towards him.

Essek is about to protest as he sees Caduceus about to touch his injured side, seeing no point in wasting time on his wound, until he remembers ‘Caduceus is a cleric, this is his job’.

The hand on his side, darkened with blood now, pulses with a soft gold and pink light from Cure Wounds. There is an uncomfortable sensation as the air he breathes is suddenly warm and moist, like a forest after rain, rather than dry and cold, and the sharp pain that he’s been clutching onto fades. He chances a look at his side, nausea rising up again as his skin under the Firbolgs hand knits itself back together, closing the talon marks that raked through it.

Essek barely has time to choke out an incredulous thank you before Caduceus is moving again, away and back into battle.

While he mentally prepares himself for another bout at the beast, two figures move into his sight, both carrying fearsome, glowing swords more than half his height.

Yasha.

Fjord.

The two of them form almost a wall between him and the creature, taking its attacks like nothing. Shielding him from the rage of the beast.

There is a new feeling in his stomach, not quite nausea, yet it makes him feel uncomfortable, strange. He feels… protected. And worthy of protection. His friends… are helping him, because he has helped them. In the back of his mind, Essek quashes down his feelings of guilt and remorse, and allows himself just a moment of unburdened appreciation.

With new eyes he views the battle before him, the formidable force that is the Mighty Nein, and he realises and remembers just how good it is to watch them do what they do best.

In the end it’s Fjord who gets the killing blow, driving his sword through the chest of the beast as its death wails ring out in the chamber.

Essek feels drunk, or exhausted, or both, as the adrenaline begins to leave his body, making his movements slow and the room swims. There is still an ache in his side that is yet to leave.

A small voice calls his name, Veth, who hops down off a nearby rock and beckons him over.

“Yes?”

“Come on, we’re sitting down now, Caduceus is doing a Prayer of Healing,” she nods over to the space Caduceus has set out with a small candle and scented incense as the rest of the Nein form a loose circle sitting or slumped around him.

“Oh. I don’t want to intrude on his…”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re hurt, and he always does this for us.”

Essek shuffles over, towards the edge of the circle and sits himself gingerly on the cold ground.

“Essek, if you need healing, you gotta get a little closer,” the low voice of Caduceus rumbles.

“Oh, I… I need it less than everyone else.”

Before Caduceus can reply, a warm and steady hand is placed on his back and pushes him forwards, the weight of it heavy and familiar.

“Nonsense, friend, you need it.” Caleb says, gently but firmly pushing at his back until he is within Caduceus’ spell range.

Caleb plops down next to him, knee touching knee, and whispers lowly near his ear, “You fought, you were hurt, do not think that you do not deserve to be healed, Essek.”

Essek shoots an almost pained look at Caleb, conveying more than he could possibly say out loud.

“You are a far cry from the man we met in Rosohna, Essek. Your help, of what we are doing here? We could not do this without you.”

“You underestimate yourselves.”

“Don’t we all,” Caleb looks knowingly at Essek. “We grow from our trials and tribulations. So shall you. That is the nature of forgiveness, and friendship.”

There is a warmth blooming again in Essek’s chest. He’s unsure if its from the healing prayer that Caduceus is mumbling under his breath, or from the words of comfort and encouragement from Caleb, but Essek feels warmer than he has in months.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Antinomy

Part 1; establishing grounds. VIBE

"Do you know the spiritual meaning of 11? What about in numerology? You'll find it quite intriguing, funny even... until it starts making sense." You've witnessed and harnessed the way and days he had grown to be; this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers.

Pairing -> Childe x Harbinger!Fem!Reader

Word Count -> 3277

Themes -> Friends to admirers, slow burn, mentor, fluffy, suddenly ANGST

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event) Part 2

Warning -> Blood and injury, decent? amount

The biblical meaning of number 11 comes from one's understanding that it is associated with things that would be considered imperfect, a disorganization of systems, and the disorder or chaos of things. The 11 carries a vibrational frequency of balance. It represents male and female equality. It contains both sun energy and moon energy simultaneously yet holding them both in perspective separate-ness. Perfect balance.

act i. first sighting

The first you've heard and the first you've seen the likes of him was long before you were anyone important in the organizational structure of the Fatui. You were a simple agent making rounds around Snezhnaya's city borders, nothing more, nothing less.

During these parts by the winter forest of Morepesok where time seems slowed down as the snowflakes flutter without urgency, it reminds you of what home feels like, and you felt more free to delve into a sense of relaxation away from other chatters from your co-workers.

You were ready to lean on a tree and just dissociate from the world of stress you had put yourself into— and then you heard a distant cry, accompanied by the pants and howls of wolves. Your body immediately lunged forward, finding your ankles sinking deep into snow as you trudged through the terrain as fast as you can. A child, a literal child somewhere in the forest getting chased by wolves.

When you've arrived by the scene, you registered a tuff of orange hair almost topple you over as they smack into your body, a startled cry eliciting from them as you throw him behind you in quick succession, your polearm manifesting to throw off the wolves that had locked in on the sight of him, "Go! Get out of here!" You urged at the sound of his silence as you carefully swung the first hit on the lunging wolf, being a tad too late to hit it with the edge's blade only for it to be knocked to the side by the shaft. At the sight of the battle you finally relieved a sigh when you heard him and hope that he knows his way back. But your work was not cut yet, you thought as you realized how the pack of four now encircles you with hungry gazes and drooling jaws.

The moments after that was filled with song and dance as you fought hard to overcome the might of four ferocious beasts, the polearm swiftly twirling in your arms to counter attacks from all sides. You twist your arm behind, lodging the tip of your spear in the throat of the wolf before delivering a kick to the head of another one lunging from the front. You made quick work to disengage your spear from the dead wolf, but the two idle wolves had noticed this as they lunged in coordination.

Now bloodied and bruised, exhausted from fatigue and frostbite, your final wolf to slaughter was inches away from your face. Its jaw had locked around your weapon in muffled growls and you can only keep him there with your arms losing its strength. Your blood sprayed around the battlefield of once white snow as the third wolf's sharp canines had lodged itself around your leg before you killed it through a stab.

You humored yourself with a wry laugh at the thought that it would leave a pretty nasty scar. The amount of blood you lost is already taking its toll at your consciousness and the last thing you saw before you finally succumbed to oncoming death was the wolf's awaiting maw, and a prickle of ice.

You only wish then that the kid you saved, only a few years younger than you, had left the forest in safety.

act ii. second assignment

Zapolyarny Palace was a magnificent architecture that towered all other manmade structures in the nation of the Cryo Archon. Now you, the most recent addition to the Harbingers roams these hallways regularly with agents following your trail. Lady Columbina, the 10th Fatui Harbinger, wields a peculiar job within the ranks of the organization.

It was years after the incident in Morepesok on which you came out with a nasty scar on your leg, but a proud Cryo Vision stuck to the side of your torso. When you donned it after the Tsaritsa had called for your presence (she must have sensed the bestowal of the elements) and reported your rounds during that mission, the Cryo Archon's piercing gaze had softened in intensities that washed over your whole soul with the warmth you would not expect of her element. Ever since then she had regarded you with attention to spare, your potential and line of work exposed, and had you easily rising up the ranks at the guidance of the 9th. Despite the gruesome and painful trials you had to go through before you can proudly walk on your own.

The informant by your side had handed you a thick folder earlier and you had been pacing around the hallways the whole time you had been investigating the contents. Said agent feebly and awkwardly following you as if expecting you'd walk away or disregard him for his absence. It was stupid from a bystander's perspective, but you were too focused on work to worry about it.

Well, focused, because you were interrupted by the sounds of clashing and sparring by the quadrangle within the Palace. You stopped your pacing and look up to see a batch of agents training with a few skirmishers in routine. A majority of them easily getting body slammed to the dirt floor in martial combat, and some are working on weaponry. But at the very middle is where your eyes linger with a flash of familiarity—

A tussle of orange hair unhidden by the Fatui hood clashes with a giant of a man, weapons and Vision drawn at the sparring. The agent moves with quick succession, and you can see Pulcinella getting overpowered pretty quickly. As expected of his form, of course, but he still bit back with his delusion now equipped. Cheater, you scoffed to yourself, as the orange-head agent still managed his footing to strike consecutively at the bigger man.

You watched on for a little while longer as the orchestration of the match continued. Your observant eyes clearly noticing how the Harbinger could barely leave the area he had been standing on as he was barraged by blades from every direction, fully defensive. The match ended indefinitely when the Harbinger had noticed you, and quickly ended the match as an escape to his obvious downfall. "Halt," his voice reverberated from the sheer authority it brought and the agent stopped only a few centimeters from slicing the gloved hand in front of him, "We have a guest."

"Hardly," you scoffed at the end of your temporary entertainment as you sauntered over to the edge of the veranda, waving your hand dismissively at the training agents that had kneeled to greet you. With this they all went back to their training away from your side to give the privacy of a talk, except for one person. You can feel his intense stare even if it was hidden behind the standard protocol Fatui mask. You wondered if he had recognized you, "Pulcinella." You nodded.

"Columbina, it has been a while," he made a move to swipe the sweat at his forehead and you murmured an affirmation at his statement. It HAS been a while since you had lingered in the Palace, much less the country. As the head of the information brokers department of the Fatui, you're frequently found in missions beyond the headquarters where you soldier your subordinates in field missions. At this thought, you felt conscious at the fact that you still had your dancer outfit on.

To avert your embarrassment you shifted your attention to the agent with a tilt of your head. You swore you saw him gulp as subtly as he can. "This is Ajax," at the mention of his name, he had bowed his head, hand across his chest in greeting. "He has the potential."

Your mouth formed into an 'o' at the mention of the special word, eyes slightly widening at the intonation as you continued to look at Ajax. When he raised his head to meet yours once again, you found yourself averting in newfound fluster. "You mean to tell me..."

"Yes," the way you gingerly placed a hand to quietly hide the redness of your cheek had Ajax amused, the edge of his mask hiding the slight quirk of his lips. "The Assembly ceremony would be called upon soon."

act iii. 3 pm assembly

The 3 PM Assembly comes before the Dusk Convention which is not the current point of the information. You've only been in it once and it was in a different circumstance, yet your nerves still stayed the same, if not more perfectly hidden than the first occasion.

Ajax, now dubbed Tartaglia alias Childe, stood kneeling by the steps of Your Majesty's throne at the information of his ascension to the ranks of the Harbingers. He was the final piece to the puzzle, and his addition to the ranks meant multiple things. The start of the war against the divine, the Tsaritsa worded after Childe has received his Delusion from Pedrelino.

He almost seemed starstrucked- dazed after the chance meeting of finally seeing the great Tsaritsa face to face. You gulped as the words of the first continues upon mention of his new arc of training in honing his skills and exposure to the ways of the Harbingers. Next to you, in silent and slight comfort, Innamorata simply touched elbows with yours without sparing a glance as she stared straight on. You smiled at the gesture.

"During the phase of your training, you shall be commandered by the Harbinger that had come before you. And she will be your last test to show that you had earned your ascension," Childe followed the trail of Pedrelino's sight as he spun to watch the end of the line up of the Harbingers.

A figure layered with multiple chiffon and flowy cloths and yet seemingly underdressed in the winter nation steps on the red carpet of the throne room, a spear polearm manifesting as she twirls her hand to catch it mid-integration, the action suddenly producing a blast of icy wind enough to reach him and make him stumble.

Childe felt the tingle of excitement twitch his fingers at the apparent power difference. When they both finally made eye contact, masks off and irises laid bare, a petrifying glint of amusement lies within them both. The female offers a toothy grin as she lodges the spear's point into the ground, the metal clanging through the room in piercing reverbs.

"Meet Columbina, the 11th Harbinger, your last mentor."

act iv. counting crows

It had been a while, a very long while, since you had gone stationary in a nation. Much less Snezhnaya. While it is home the removal of your olden routine to put yourself in the shoes of a mentor had really been maddening you, more so with the inclusion of your line of work still in operation and a certain someone as your trainee until who knows how long.

Your brows furrowed as you watch the annoying caws of the crows overhead, four of the black birds making symphony as if to rejoice over your repeated victory. Underneath your thin shoe laid a gasping Childe who was just as irked at the piercing interaction.

You had just finished a 'spar' or what you could call an opportunity of ascension. When you explained to the newest addition as to how his true ascension works (which involves beating your mentor in a fair fight) he had been nothing but a thorn on your side with his repeated requests to spar. He was really, really adamant for a fight, something you had come to realize a day after he ascended to your care.

"Shoot them down," you ordered as the man finally got his grips enough to stand once again, his outfit filled with marks of dirt and obvious footprints from your numerous kicks to make him stay back. At the order he shoots you an amused grin, as if to say 'really?' but succumbed when you continued eye contact.

"Master Columbina," Childe started as his bow and arrow materialized. You knew full well just how inefficient he is when it comes to bows compared to other weapons, and you tasked him such challenge to use it more under your supervision, topping his oath to master it already. "Do you know what four crows mean? I'm not really adept with crowology but I'm pretty sure they have significance in numbers."

The first shot fires and kills one. The action had startled the other birds and they scrambled to flap away, but Childe was already materializing three new arrows to fire at once, this quirked your eyebrows in amusement. Something he noticed and smirked at, eyes still focused as he fires his shots- one missed. "Four crows may mean many things," you watched as he desperately chased the crow with a barrage of arrows and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his failed attempts, "It could mean birth of a male newborn, highly unlikely. Aaand, wealth and prosperity, and finally..."

His arrow finally pierced the poor vertebrate, an emphasized sigh of relief escaping his lips as he whips his head to look at you for affirmation that you had seen his victory. You gave an amused yet soft smile, his eyes twinkled in double-layered delight, "New beginnings."

act v. his siblings

Childe had a mentor once, who fuelled the flame of his reckless spirit through countless beatings and repeated dangerous encounters. When he was given an opportunity of once again being under an official mentor, with his newfound lust for battle, he was extremely ecstatic over the idea. But unfortunately, as he walks around with you through the familiar streets of Snezhnaya, it was not all fun and games as he'd expected it to be.

"You look so disappointed for someone who just received one million mora under their name." Appropriate to the occasion, you don now a traditional Snezhnayan winter attire yet with details that alerts everyone of the price of the genuine fur that's stitched on the edges of the lining. It was over the top since you had developed an immunity.

"I didn't expect being mentored to be a killing machine requires knowing about taxation and interest rates," was his childish grumble. Which received a frosty laugh from you. You had reiterated again and again just how powerful money is to a nation just as information, which Pedrelino and you operate in order. Thankfully Childe was ever so smart to pick things up easily (if it was viewed as a challenge) despite his early recruitment into the Fatui that surely would have hindered his education.

You opened your mouth to reiterate over the fact that perhaps his main concern would be in the issue of debt collection when a scream had resounded through the crowd, one of which belongs to someone Childe would recognize, you thought as you observed how he had perked up and looked around. When his eyes settled on a direction, you suddenly realized a crowd of five coming your way, you immediately took a step away as three younger figures latched onto him and started chatting him up like there's no tomorrow.

You hummed to yourself as you watched with hands intertwined behind your back. From what you can hear and gather, they were his siblings, all five crowds with one probably missing. One seemingly older to the 11th yet not donning the same striking orange hair spots you and offers a sorry smile at the inconvenience, observant, you thought as you flashed a polite smile too. He's probably Andrei, the one who's the same age as you, if you remembered his oversharing correctly.

"Big brother, please join us! We haven't seen you for so long, we're preparing a huge feast for mother and father's anniversary, it would be really good if you can attend!" Wow, these children are really good at bargaining. You can already see Childe's resolve crumbling the more they fluttered their eyelashes with such doe eyes.

Whether a plea for help or look for approval, his ocean orbs had found his way to you, begging that you be at least a considerate Harbinger to offer him this once in a lifetime break. You were about to open your mouth (to let him be, of course, you're not the heartless Harbinger everyone had generalized the ranks to be) when suddenly all six pair of eyes had fallen on you. It wasn't the same tantalizing or spine-wracking gaze the Tsaritsa holds, but the attention made you gulp either way.

"Hi," your voice reached a sudden meekness neither you nor Childe expected nor heard before.

And suddenly you found yourself around a table with plentiful dishes scattered all over it, your crowd of five (seven if you count you two) had turned to a staggering, solid 10 as the whole family had forced invited you into their abode to share the meal. Thanks to the nature of your work and training, your social skills commandered any suspicions or questions off easily, and you behaved just like a girlfriend meeting her boyfriend's family for the first time.

Childe watched as you clenched your jaw and offered a hooded, tilted glare when you met eyes. He gulped. That look looked very much like Scaramouche.

act vi. sixth nation

Childe barely knew the world beyond the frosted wasteland, past the outskirts of Snezhnaya. Yet from the stories his father had adopted to him ever since he was able to remember, he views the world outside with a sense of familiarity, longing and relieving satisfaction. It was such a pure look you felt like barfing from the intensity of the innocent aura it held in comparison to your line of work.

His eyes would then land on you where you once again don your master dancer outfit, yet unlike your homeland, this setting matched it better. The sun at Fontaine hits the golden sequins at a certain angle to make it glitter, and the thin white veil that hovers over the back of your hair flutters gently in the soft breeze that comes by. You'd look angelic if you wore more white, he bites back the words when you met his eyes.

His first look at your line of work and his first visitation outside of the nation. And into the land of entertainment. This was your main land of operation and the way you dwelled with the citizens brings about a sense of replicated home at the nostalgia. Many recognized you as a simple entertainer and many of the citizens look upon Childe with intrigue and wonder.

"Based on my network, this would be his last stop," you adjusted the bangles that holds on to the thin cloth that runs over your arm, "Again, we are here to observe and get information, not look for a fight."

"Yes, master." He grumbled flatly but his eyes were wide and wandering the marble walls and statues that littered the nation. He's distracted, just like a true child. "What's the name of that rogue vigilante again? The one that keeps busting down the doors of the Fatui headquarters everywhere."

You hum, hand wrapped around his wrist as you guide his distracted self through the crowd.

"Diluc Ragnvindr, and try to remember it this time please."

To be continued.

Accidentally posted so now it's a freakin two parter.

@zelos-simp @legionqueensav @moaa @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

[phthalology]

There is Singing in the prison.

Jesh Thule does not doubt his own abilities. He is a Titan, and he has held many battle lines. But Ikora warned him he might be tempted to talk to the prisoner, to the Warlock whose name has begun to be circulated with the same mix of respect and disgust as Osiris’ was. Or was it that he might be tempted to listen?

She never said anything about singing.

Guard duty makes him restless. There are rumors of terrors worse than the Fallen now, and heroes willing to sell their souls to them. Some people are sympathetic to the Fallen, but that sympathy does not find itself greeted with eager deception. The Fallen raid and attack and do not speak a language that can be understood outside their ranks. The possibility of peace is locked behind walls of grammar and vocabulary, so-far impassible but mundane barriers. The Hive speak directly into the mind, some say, and extend incomprehensible ideas in plain, clawed hands. And this fallen Guardian Jesh is taking a shift to watch wants to turn one reaching Hive into a forest of hands that could grasp the whole Last City. Toland the Shattered did something, told the Hive something, drew them some map, and for that he was brought in while the Vanguard make a final decision what to do with him.

Jesh is bored by his duty but does understand the seriousness of this, and so he turns and looks at the door behind him.

His first surprise: the thready song is not the only tactic Toland is using. The room behind the door of the makeshift cell is on fire. Jesh feels the familiar Solar burn of a Warlock Super on his legs and the bottom of his feet.

There aren’t usually cells in the Tower at all, not like this. Not ones with locks on the outside, not for people. But the Vanguard are meeting to decide this Warlock’s fate, and he’s doing something weird. Something Jesh Thule should do his duty to stop.

So he crosses the narrow hall to the locked door. Fire licks out from beneath it. Warlocks’ Crucible fire Jesh knows, but he thinks he never understood before why it was called Sunsinging. The voice is cracked, not with any discernible youth or age but like trying to speak out of a cut throat. Nevertheless, singing: resonant, humid not like fire at all but like breath too close.

Jesh knocks on the door. “Hey, quiet down. You can sing if you want, but don’t do any … magic stuff. Do you need anything? Snack?”

There is not a window in the cell. It used to be ammunition storage, maybe. Walls thick enough to take an explosion. Jesh almost wishes he could see Toland’s face instead of just imagining the connection between that slippery voice and the fire still blackening the bottom of the door.

“This will be the sound and the fire of our destruction,” Toland says. “Or half of it. Or twice it. Whatever way the life song and the death are tangled together … I still must know. I still have time.” The voice becomes wheedling, regretful.

Jesh becomes bored. “I said stop doing it. Vanguard will be back any minute.”

He turns away.

Toland keeps talking. Jesh suspects this is one of his primary traits, and tunes the words out.

And yet they go on, and there is something of the fire in them; something bright and twisting. You’ve seen the green needles in the skin of the Earth. The seed ships, which are also life and death at once. Tombs filled with nurseries. Leaves sprouting from bone… to discern life from death like notes on a scale, to notate eons of crumbling survival or a day of rotting youth, to take hold of time …

Jesh turns back toward the door. Shakes his head to clear it. “I know what you’re doing. It won’t work. You can’t sing me into a lull, or whatever it is you do. I’m too smart for it.”

Warlocks, he knows, don’t have a monopoly on that. He can feel the temptation to engage with the words, to even bother to follow them, and resists. There are more important things to concern himself with right now. The Hive are on humanity’s doorstep, and they are more numerous and strange than even an Awoken Guardian, awash in magic after magic, can comprehend. But they won’t defeat the Guardians. Jesh is going to live a long life and keep getting pastries at the same bakery until the sun runs out.

Or will he?

Toland mutters: … All questions fade away in response to the last question, that which is also the final shape … do we lose? Are we erased?

The words float up to Jesh as if out of a dream. Sensations flash through him: the Hive are coming here. They are attacking en masse now. They …

Toland is speaking out loud instead of singing or beaming directly into Jesh’s head now, the Titan thinks but is not sure. “The Hive already outlasted us. Their species is older than ours. Were we to align the beginning of humanity to their beginning, we would have a glorious future ahead of us.”

Jesh Thule’s mind is being rearranged. Maybe this is worth talking about. “They aren’t right just because they’ve won,” he manages. “Won some measure of numbers, I mean. They haven’t won the war.”

“They still drop seed ships. They still sing to us from the moon. Look up at our scarred satellite. Can’t you see them?”

He almost can. The idea of them, the song of them, winds around Jesh’s ear. A backing chorus rises up behind it, a thousand screaming voices (or three, maybe, three voices that he strains to hear because despite their grating and alien tone they are somehow like him …) and their echoes bouncing off the rippled walls of a cave.

Ikora’s footfalls rang on the floor.

Jesh blinks. He is standing much closer to the door than he had thought, his helmeted face tilted up toward where he imagined the Moon might be. Turning around, he sees Ikora as if she suddenly appeared in color when his world had been black and white before.

She inclines her chin at the door. A few tendrils of flame smolder beneath it again. “Don’t talk to him. It’s dangerous.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That the Hive are still sending advance forces onto Earth, despite the Lunar Interdict.”

“The interdict holds, as well as it ever did,” Ikora says.

Toland laughs behind the door. Now he does just sound old, as if his voice is finally growing tired. It gives Jesh energy to try to get back some of his lost dignity.

“No more,” Jesh says. “You’ve lied to us —“

“Is it a lie if it rhymes?” says Toland.

“Stop with that Warlock crap,” says Ikora Rey, and steps toward the door. Jesh realizes with shock that he had begun to imagine an invisible line on the ground in front of the door, right at the edge of the tip of the longest flame, and that if he stepped over it the smallest bit he would be burned to ash in one long second, a melody in his ear all the while. He had been trying to cross that line, and could not.

Ikora steps over it effortlessly.

Toland shuts up.

The enormity of this situation is not lost on Jesh Thule.

“This is over.” Ikora gestures Jesh down the hall and speaks softly. “Whatever he told you, it doesn’t matter. He tries to get inside your head. Tries effortlessly.”

“All that about the last question, about whether we might lose …”

“He’s worried,” Ikora says.

“He sounded pretty certain, to me.”

“I know. That’s his problem, too.”

“And you’re going to …”

“Make sure he doesn’t talk where any of us can hear. And keep the Hive at bay.”

The other Vanguard round the corner. They relieve Jesh of duty, and as he watches them set up a neat trio before the door he feels the jagged edges of Toland’s words smoothed away. The Hive might win, yes. But that isn’t reason to dwell on the possibility.

Except the conviction, in the screaming song …

No. It’s simply not important.

Jesh moves on.

Toland is exiled.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Dumbass got stabbed III

I really thought I had finished with this two shot but after a request from @/booksrlife300 on ao3 asking for the aftermath I really couldn't resist making it a three shot. And my writing demon certainly agreed because it really went wild during my plane ride.

Anyway here is part three (and i think the final part) to dumbass got stabbed.

Recap (since it's been over a year):

Percy gets stabbed by a monster after coming back from the movies with his friends and the first place he goes to is Jason's house. Jason nearly has a heart attack after Percy collapses on his door and then he pulls him inside and stitches him all up.

This fic starts with Percy waking up the next morning.

[image has alt text]

Percy wakes up to searing pain. It spills across his skin like an upturned sowing box. He doesn't know where it's coming from because it feels like it's coming from everywhere. He can't even take stock of his body because he feels like one big pincushion. He supposes being stabbed makes him a pincushion.

He doesn't want to open his eyes. He can feel the light behind them. Too bright. Too loud. Too not how he feels.

He feels like deep darkness. Like the darkness just before a star explodes. The darkness before the sky erupts. The kind that blankets all of his senses except the one that pings danger. That's red and wailing at him. But then pain so untamed it turns his vision orange lances across his side and his eyes snap open with a low howl.

He can see white ceiling. He can see black dots. He hears scrambling, clothes rustling and something falling over. And then he can see blue eyes. And then he can see skies and oceans and glass bottles and concern like mothering hens staring down at him.

"Percy," His name is a growled gasp. Sleep still clinging to the strings of his friends voice box, scratching it's way down his throat.

"Hello, I'm in immense pain." Vaguely he notes that he sounds like an automated machine relaying it's faulty inner workings. That's half how he feels now that the burning-orange pain has lessened to a caution-yellow.

"Here," A golden hand, fingers wrapped in individual bandages, long and racing with green veins, holds out a square to him. It is small and unassuming. Nobody would guess it holds the food of gods. Then again nobody would guess those gods existed.

His mouth feels as though he's been eating his clothes for sustenance the last week. All heavy tongue, dry saliva glands, and teeth too smudgy to be healthy. He considers turning the square away for some toothpaste and a glass of water. But neither of those are going to magically cure the wound marking his side. So he opens his mouth, his jaw, and let's Jason drop the square onto his tongue. Warm fingers brush his lips as they pull back and he wants to chase the lightning-blue zing that they leave behind against his sarcastic mouth.

Instead he snaps himself shut and chews slowly. Only half interested in the cookies, then brownies, then soda— which he somehow knows is blue— disappears down his throat. He feels the magic working through his veins, skin stitching itself together. A headache he didn't know he had disappates.

With a long exhale he relaxes back against cotton cushions and finally takes a good look around the room. He has every detail of it already memorised, having spent many a day and night in this position bothering his friend endlessly. There's the singular shelf that houses old trinkets tattered and bruised from years of moving; the single arrow from Thalia's set— given in protection and as a reminder that she would always be there, for real this time; there's the gaudy new York taxi keyring he had given the blonde, now without the ring part, so of no real use; and the snow globe from Piper when she visited Paris. The soft yellow wall— lemon drizzle if you want to get specific— sits in perfect contrast to the charcoal grey of the rest of the room. It sort of embodies Jason's whole presence. The desk, well used and scattered with books and paper and Chinese takeout containers, sits in the corner opposite the bedroom, right near the window. He says if he can see the city he can breathe a little easier. He knows what he's working towards. Percy thinks it's so he can see the sky and know there's always a way to escape.

Him and Jason are good at that. Escaping. From bad situations, from big feelings, from each other. There's always something left unsaid between them. It drives their friends mad, but it's all they can do to stop from becoming hurricanes and devouring the entire universe.

"How are you feeling?" The blonde is sitting in his swivelly squeaky desk chair, leaning over him with all sense of care and concern. It makes him feel like duck egg blue.

"Much better thank you." He attempts a grin. He hopes it's not a grimace. "No matter how many times I get stabbed it doesn't seem to hrut any less."

Jason narrows his eyes, "I wonder why."

See that's what Percy likes. Everyone else is always giving him disapproving looks and worried scoldings when he says things like that but Jason? Jason indulges him, makes it feel not so suffocating to always be injured and bruised and relying on little squares of God-food to get him through the month.

"How do I look?" This time it's definitely a grin. He can feel the green of his eyes go emerald with amusement.

"Very pretty as always." The reply is solemn, but there's a twitch of pink lips and it's all he can do to not reach over and touch it.

"Want to tell me what happened?" A frown replaces the amusement and he wants to rewind the last few seconds again and again. "You were a little...out of it when you showed up."

"Yes I suppose getting attacked by a monster makes all the smart chemicals in my brain go a little foamy."

"You don't know what attacked you?"

And he is pinned to the bed, to the room, to the world. Because nobody can read the words behind his words the way Jason can. Can read the emotion behind his pauses and the expressions behind his masks. He is neon purple.

"It was dark." He resigns himself to the story. When he's done, laid all the boring details bare, he studies the floors.

The silence stretches around them, cocooning them into something too delicate to touch. It feels almost awkward, or it would if he knew anything about that when he was here. Instead it's just quiet.

"Can you stand? You need a shower."

"Oof Jase," He puts a hand to his chest, hurt painted like clown's make up falling across his face. "I can't look that bad."

There's a precious smirk, full of quick whips kicking up in his friend. "It's the way you smell actually."

He takes an exaggerated whiff and nearly gags. "I smell like I'm decaying." He shudders.

A laugh bursts from the blonde and Percy doesn't want to move in case the music ends. He feels candy floss pink in that moment.

"Right up you get. I'll sort out breakfast and then you can entertain me for the day."

"You don't have to take care of me." He rolls his eyes, sitting up with a hidden wince. His feet settle on the floor. He's grateful neither of them acknowledge that he came here in a haze. That Jason did take care of him. That when his mind was nothing but blinding pain this was the first place his legs took him.

"I'm not taking care of you. I'm using you for entertainment."

What his friend doesn't realise is that Percy can read all his hidden scripture just as well. How "entertain me" means I'm keeping an eye on you. How "mind helping me with this" means I can do it just fine by myself but I want company. How winks mean "it's a joke between us" but smirks mean "it's honesty but gently". It warms his heart to know he can do this. It's a sunshine yellow thing to know someone the way they know each other.

"You good?" Jason stops at the door when he still hasn't moved from the bed.

"Yes just preparing to haul my very large body into your very small shower." He feels the eye roll more than see it. It tugs a smile onto his face.

"I'll remind you that I'm an even larger body and I make it work."

"How on earth do you ever have shower—"

"Percy Jackson!" He is snapped into a laugh.

And then he's in the bathroom and his mouth is full of mint bubbles and although there are circles as deep purple as squished plums under his eyes they shine with contentness. He doesn't fear or worry. Not here. At home, in his mother's house, he's the protector from monsters only he can decimate. At camp he is the protector from monsters that are determined to destroy. But here. He is just Percy. And his protector is cooking pancakes in the kitchen. He is just Percy. And he is sage green as he steps into the steam of the shower.

He looks down, catching the fading wound on his abdomen. His brown skin let's droplets of water rest briefly before rippling and they go racing down to the tiled floor. He stands there for a good minute just staring blankly. But then he hears the sound of a kettle whistling and it jolts him into action as he scrubs the grime and gross of yet another something trying to kill him, off his body.

By the time he's done— sweats and a loose tee rummaged from Jason's closet draping over his too hot skin— the pancakes are neatly stacked on two plates and fresh steaming coffee sits to the right of their food. He feels honey brown.

"Looks delicious."

"I know the way to your heart." The blonde shrugs.

"It's more of a journey than most bargain for." He laughs quietly.

"Dont worry I've brought my hacksaw and my hiking boots I'm willing to run through Amazonian forests."

"Well that's relieving," He grins around his mug. "I was beginning to think I'd be stranded in my stone tower forever."

"All alone?"

He snorts, "No I've made friends with all manner of being. I can't be alone, you know that." He bites into his pancake, blueberry slipping off his fork with a thudding splash into the syrup.

"I do know." The blonde's voice is all buttery and melting. And the truth that comes with it knocks a new vein into Percy's heart.

They're quiet for a few minutes as they devour their breakfast. When there's mere sips of coffee left he settles back in his chair and regards his friend.

"What manner of entertainment am I providing today?"

"Whatever you want but I'm not leaving the house."

"Oh good I don't know if I can make it ten steps out your door without half crumbling to dust these days."

"You wouldn't."

"Mhmm," He hums distractedly, gaging the weather to decide if they're going to huddle up with movies and far too many blankets or throw playing cards at each other while drowning in lemonade. It's a movie sort of day, he decides.

"You wouldn't turn to dust." Jason is saying. "You're too much god and too much good to die like monsters." There is that silent reading again.

"Maybe I was." Percy shrugs, "Before you know..."

And he doesn't need to add anymore because the big space the catches onto that sentence no matter how much time separates those events from the now still means the same thing. Before Tartarus. Before he made a ventriloquist puppet out of a goddess. Before he became unhinged.

"You are not a monster for protecting yourself. Or others." Golden voice is firm. Solid.

"You may be the only one who knows and thinks that."

"Doesn't matter it's still true."

"Okay enough seriousness." He doesn't have the energy for their circling conversation. "Shall we binge Pirates of the Caribbean?" For a stormy grey second he thinks his friend is going to keep their talk going but then he sees the surrender behind the blue eyes and a part of him unwinds.

"We can." There's a raised eyebrow accompanying the agreement and he knows there's conditions attached. Like a damn insurance plan. "If your promise to let me walk you home this evening."

"My big bad wolf." He teases.

The blonde responds with a low growl that makes his whole body turn a violent azure blue. "Fine. We shall stare at Captain Jack Sparrow and then you can valiantly walk me to my front door and shake hands with my mother."

"Wonderful. Now let's get some blankets down."

Jason smiles as he stretches on his tiptoes to reach the fluffy ones. He feels the soft material under his palm but the there's a hand over his brown one and it's tugging the blanket down. He sticks his tongue out at his friend.

Percy is ocean blue.

[akoumi]

MWAD FOLKLORE - 2/?

What story would you like tonight? Hmm….are you sure? You know your ma doesn’t like me telling you that one. She says you get nightmares. Well, alright. 

 For a little while, there was only Chernyava the creator goddess, looking after her humans. The world was dark, except for the fires that the humans built. They lived and died in relative darkness, their souls going up to Chernyava’s dark cloak once their time was up. 

But the earth itself was more than just earth - it had once been the head of an ancient, primordial god. Every part of it was imbued with magic, from the ground under your feet to the trees in the forests and the sky up above. 

And eventually, that magic began to birth things - animals like deer and wolves and bears, but it also gave birth to monsters. Inside the earth, there were crisscrossing tunnels and caves that went down forever and ever, pitch-black, containing nothing but worms and flies and moles. 

Deep down in the bowels of the earth, far away from Chernyava’s watchful eye, a creature was born. It was a monstrous creature, a wretched creature. It had the body of a great black wolf, with curved white claws and thick, shaggy fur, with a tail long enough to sweep the dusty stone floors as it walked. Where a normal wolf’s neck might start, this creature had the torso of a man. It had two sets of human arms, muscled and pale. 

It had the lower body and legs of a wolf, but the upper body of a man - and instead of a human face, it had a snout. A long, long black snout, much too wide, with crowded rows of slimy yellow teeth, and two mismatched eyes - one a golden yellow, the other one a pale gray. And on its head was a mane of red hair. Not the red hair that Nadia down the street has, no. Blood red. 

Its hair extended down this creature’s neck and back, down the human spine and down the wolf spine, petering off only at its tail. 

His name was Hel. 

For a time, he remained deep down in the caves under the earth, wandering the tunnels, eating whatever he could find - moles, flies, spiders. But it wasn’t enough. And eventually, he found his way to the surface. 

At first, Hel was surprised to know that he wasn’t the only intelligent creature on the earth. He enjoyed humans. He enjoyed watching them work, he enjoyed listening to them speak and sing and tell stories and riddles, and when he grew tired of them, he enjoyed the way they tasted. 

For a while, he continued on like this. Extracting stories and songs and riddles from humans, and if he was displeased with that, he would simply eat the offenders and move on. It was no use hiding from him either - nothing could hide from those mismatched silver and golden eyes or that constantly sniffing black nose. 

Eventually, Chernyava took note of this, and she did not approve at all. She did not approve of Hel terrorizing and eating her humans like this. So she found him when he was sleeping, great big body curled around itself as he slept deeply - and she captured him. When she woke, she told him that he had two choices - either he stopped eating the humans, or she locked him away in the bowels of the earth forever. 

But Hel was not afraid. He bargained with her, telling her that there was no way she could lock him away forever, that eventually he’d come back up and then really wreak havoc, that he was just looking for some entertainment - and finally, Chernyava and Hel came to an agreement. 

Hel would remain in the bowels of the earth, and keep his magic. He would not eat any of the humans, but he would be able to take souls of his choosing afterwards, take them down to his caverns where they would do what he asked - tell stories, riddles, sing songs, to entertain him for the rest of eternity. 

The agreement worked beautifully - for a time. Some souls went up with Chernyava, others went down to Hel. He heard hundreds of thousands of stories and songs and riddles - if he enjoyed your story, you would remain in the cavern with him, in relative comfort and happiness. But if he didn’t, you would be sent away to wander the tunnels forever. 

But eventually, Hel grew tired of this. He grew sick of the stale cave air, of the constant diet of moles and worms, of the stagnant rain water that sometimes dripped down, to interact with souls all day long. He wanted to go up to the surface, to feel the wind and drink clear riverwater and stretch his muscles - and most of all, he wanted to taste human flesh again. 

And so he did. Hel left his cave, and returned to the surface of the earth, where he began to gorge himself on people once more. The only way to escape was with a good joke, story, song, or riddle. 

Once again, Chernyava caught wind of this. Angry, she decided to go through with her original plan: catch him and throw him down deep into the earth where he would not be able to escape.

She looked for Hel, but he was a wily creature, using his magic and simple craftiness to evade her. Knowing she would not be able to stop Hel and keep an eye on all the humans around the world, she enlisted the help of two minor beings - Kirochka and Alyona. 

You see, at this time, they weren’t gods. Simply smaller magical beings, helping Chernyava by taking care of the humans as best as they could. They were tall creatures, with the clawed legs of birds and the wings of enormous eagles erupting from their shoulder blades, but with the faces and bodies of humans. They were known and revered throughout the human communities as wise, strong beings, always ready to help the humans as best as they could. 

When Chernyava asked them to take care of Hel, they jumped to the chance. At least until they saw him. I told you already that he was a scary creature, didn’t I? And they were shaken to the core. They saw his enormous black paws, they saw his bloodstained teeth, they saw the glint in his eyes, they saw the ease with which he tore apart the humans they loved - and it terrified them. 

But Alyona and Kirochka would not back down so easily. They knew they could not survive a direct fight with him, and so, they waited until he was asleep, gorged on the blood of tender children, black belly swollen. Alyona drew her knife then, ready to slit his throat. 

But he was not so deeply asleep as they believed. At the scrape of her blade leaving its sheath, he woke, and attacked the two. Kirochka and Alyona jumped into action, flying around him, using their talons to claw and scrape at him. If he was at full strength, there is no doubt that Hel could have easily torn the two of them into pieces. 

He was full and heavy, though, and tired. And so, unable to get too close and use their blades, Kirochka and Alyona both drove their talons into his eye sockets, wings flapping furiously to disorient him and keep themselves upright, and tore out his eyes. 

As he howled in pain, blinded, Alyona flew off with Hel’s golden, shining eye in her talons, and Kirochka flew off with Hel’s silver, gleaming eye in his talons, leaving Hel alone in his cave. 

And as Alyona flew across the sky, the eye shone bright, illuminating the world completely for the first time. She and Kirochka knew that Hel could not find the eyes, or he would regain his vision and come for both of them. And so they hid the eyes. 

But Hel did not die. He was blinded, yes, left with two black, yawning holes in his head, but his nose worked perfectly fine. He could smell them. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air of his cave, but underneath it, the faint scent of his eyes lingered. And Hel followed it. 

Alyona and Kirochka had remained there with the eyes, knowing Hel might come looking for them - and when they realized he was, they took the eyes again and flew off, in opposite directions this time. Alyona and Kirochka kept flying, hiding the eyes in different places for a little while before moving them again  - and Hel followed. 

Every time Alyona flew across the sky, the great golden eye that we call the sun in her talons, it lights up the world. Eventually she makes it to the other end of the world, and hides the eye in some place, plunging the world into darkness again. And Hel follows her. 

When Alyona finds a place to put the sun, Kirochka starts on his flight with the moon. When Hel catches scent of the moon, he follows Kirochka instead. And once Kirochka finds a place to put the moon, Alyona starts her flight with the sun again.

In this way, they keep moving, hauling the sun and moon across the sky, hiding them in different places, intercrossing their scents so Hel gets confused. He prefers to remain hidden, however, moving through the woods and the caves and the mountains rather than chance being seen and attacked by humans. Without his eyes, it’s difficult for him to defend himself. But he still enjoys eating and taking the souls of humans who wander too far from their families, too close to his claws.

Which is why I tell you, never go into the woods alone. And, if, just if you get caught, pray that he enjoys the song you sing for him, or the story you tell him - he just might let you go. 

Look, the fire’s burning low. It’s time for bed now. Go on. Sweet dreams, child.

[the-crows-typist]

Finally, we arrive at the fifth and final installment of our Valentine’s Event and closing with Cater Diamond paired with the word ‘Sunset’ which was requested by my good friend @twistinghearts​​. Please enjoy this, albeit, very late gift.

CW: Slow burn, OOC, minor mention of forced labor themes (in passing), minor mention of death (in flashbacks), mentions of blood, and Angst and Comfort under the cut. Please proceed with caution.

Word count: 6384

Other works: Chocolates Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd, Kiss Feat Vil, Flowers Feat. Kalim

A Heart From Me To You

A Diamond shines in different angles, in different light. It was sought after and cherished by those around him. Like the jewel his family was named after, Cater Diamond was one such person sought after by many. His skin smooth as silk, eyes teasing and bright like emeralds, and hair the shined in the sun like amber. He was a beautiful man.

“My diamond, come here.”

His lips pressed into a straight line in a moment, hesitant but readied. His green eyes look up to the aristocrat with a smile, the red birthmark on his cheek brushed by oiled fingers made a shiver rise up his spine.

“Look at me, darling. Smile at me.”  

Cater waited for the disgust to leave and his eyes to flutter closed.  What should have been a shared kiss became the swift plunge of a sword through the back, its tip barely grazing the beauty's skin with red droplets.

The clank of metal, the barking of orders; knights and guards rampaged the room in droves with arms taking him and pulling him down to the ground onto his knees. “Halt.” Came the voice of the attacker, your blade oozing at the tip as the fallen aristocrat crumples to the floor with labored breath.

Heavy footsteps come along, your eyes scanning the area of any more potential threats. Your step on the dying aristocrat on your way in yet you never regarded them with an apology, instead opting to look to the doll, to Cater.

“State your name.” You say, voice oozing with authority “What is your affiliation with this pig?” And like the namesake, the aristocrat squealed under your heavy foot. Even with the air of authority, your voice brought him a sense of calm. Freedom.

“Cater Diamond…”

There were murmurs, whispers, and looks towards him in awe, in surprise…In pity.

“Diamond?” Whispered one of the guards to another. “A jewel family?”

“That poor thing, I can’t bear to think about what has happened to those before him.”

“We can’t leave him here.” Said one of your comrades, Sebek. “This is no place for him to stay.”

“Bring him with us.” You turned to leave the room, sheathing your bloodied blade and making sure to step over the dying socialite again on your way out.

"And the pig?" Asked one of the knights who lightly kicked them in the face with a steel-toed boot.

“Do what is needed.” A cruel line brought on cruel laughter, Cater was pushed away from the room sparing him the cruelty of the knights in question. Though deep down, the diamond would have loved to see every second of it.

The trumpets sound in song at the return of the knights; Malleus Draconia, the ruling monarch, descended from his throne, and just as you had been taught and trained you knelt before him. "Your highness, we have returned safely.”

“Stand up dear one, remove your helmet.” Said the king whose fingers delicately held your helmet like a father giving affection to his child. You do so under his command, removing it to reveal your battle-torn face and with a flick of his finger and gentle caress, your wounds disappeared like dust to the wind.

“I do not doubt your abilities one bit,” He says, holding your chin and inspecting your face for any scratches he may have missed. All your life, you were taught to be the kingdom’s shield, its protector, its hero no matter what the task may be. Yet, when the Draconia family took to the throne things had become more different. “But you must be less careless.”

“It is only right that I do what I am told.”

Under a veiled sigh, he commanded you with the tone of a king. “Tell me what has been done.”

“We have eradicated one of the North’s primary figureheads and dealt surrounding the kingdom, they will no longer be a threat to us,” There was a moment of hesitation in your voice, remembering what might have been had you come in a second too late. Malleus’s eyes that shined with life could have cracked and dulled right in front of you. “We also found a doll and was able to safely remove them with no resistance.”

There was a time when those in power cast a reign of fear and greed on those they were meant to protect and a sick practice was born out of the treacherous tar of corruption.

It made Malleus’ stomach crawl knowing how many families were separated and made to kowtow to the needs and of those in power, forced to take up precious jewels as their names as a way to strip them of their identity, their humanity, their being. 

“And what of the scoundrel?”

"Squealed like a pig and died like one."

A cruel punishment meant for a cruel creature, the king nods his head sagely. “Good. And what of the doll?”

“He is currently resting in the private quarters we have provided. His name is Cater, born from the Diamond family.”

“Diamond…” His heart sinks and eyes closed, your eyes looking down to your feet when the air changed. Malleus shook his head “To think they still exist, those poor souls.”

His hand rests on your shoulder, rubbing it lightly. “Rest easy, dear one. I will request for your audience soon.”

You bow your head, sweaty soaked hair framing your face. “Thank you, your highness.”

As he gazed from the window of the small room, Cater's hands pressed against the warm glass while the sun began to set on the horizon casting an orange hue towards him. In his old room, the windows were small and high above him, only ever depositing rain or frost.

Here, however, he sees everything. From the bustling streets below to the laughs of children and adults alike. This world was warm as the orange hues of the setting sun, he liked it. His hand slid down the glass with a squeak, his mind going back to you the moment you killed the aristocrat that was coming onto him.

Even if the conversation was brief, your voice was gentle and soft, unlike the barking guards the encompassed you and held him down. If it were possible, he wanted to meet you, to speak to you again, to thank you for what you did.

A soft knock on the door and a small man emerged from behind the heavy door, his uneven hair revealed bits and pieces of magenta red that matched his playful yet worn eyes.  

“Greetings, your name is Cater Diamond correct?”

“Yes, um. Who are you?”

“Ah,” The smaller mind held a hand to his chest. “My apologies, dear one. I am Lilia Vanrouge, the royal advisor to the king.”

Cater’s body froze as scrambled to get to his knees. “F-forgive me, I—!”

“There is no need for that. A polite curtsey will do next time.”

“I came here to discuss something with you, Mr. Diamond. Please, stand up and sit on a proper chair. Though the weather is pleasant, the night brings a very bad chill to the floor, you might freeze if you continue like that!" Lilia pats his shoulder and lets out his hand for the beautiful man to take and hold.

When Cater sits down on the bed, Lilia pulls out a chair and begins to speak not long after he is seated comfortably. “As you know, the kingdom you once knew as home—.”

“That place is not my home.”

Eyes of fuchsia widen at his sudden outburst. “It was a prison and I don’t want to go back there. Ever.” His hands ball in his lap through the small giggling fits of the advisor “Then that settles one concern, on to the next.” Lilia says with a laugh, his hands on his hips and eyes narrowed to a teasing glance. “Tell me, Cater, where do you want to live from now on?”

With grunts, you hurled your ax over a block of wood and easily split it in half, adding itself to a large pile. It had been days since your last conversation with the King and you were only biding your time until your next assignment.

Your home was a comfortably small cottage near the foot of the forest isolated from the townspeople with a nice dining room that bled into the living room and the second floor being a neat storage of items to the cellar where you kept your food. Life within it was slow and boring, and you were fine with that.

You wouldn’t call your life boring nor would call your life adventurous either. It was all about duty, you were trained to be a knight, fought like a knight, and bore the pain of being so. As extreme as it may sound, you knew you deserved this life. You were born for it.

Out of habit, you pull your gloves tighter against your fingers.

Tightening your grip against the handle, you pulled it out with a huff and inspecting the sharp edge for any damage.

“It seems that you are stocked to the brim.”

Silver stands before you in comfortable attire, he had been a sort of brother-classmate as you grew together. He stood up for you as you did for him, he meant a lot to you despite the long time you were apart. "The nights get colder each passing day." You say, setting the ax down onto the ground. "I just want to be ready."

“Do you need some help carrying this inside?" Inquired the silver-haired man.

“Please.”

Inside the cottage, Silver nodded off against the warmth of the fireplace even after you set a mug of tea next to him. "Any reason you came to visit me, Silver?" The charred wood crackled against the flames that cast a comfortable orange into the room, like warm miniature sunset. In a few minutes, Silver regained his bearings; shaking his head to rid himself of the sleeping spell put over him.

Even years after he was hit by it, there had been no progress to remove it.

“I heard you came back from the North." He said. "I just wanted to know if you were doing alright. That place…" He drawled off, eyes hanging halfway down. "That place hasn't changed one bit." You say, holding the warm mug to your hand. "The winters are still perilous and the frost remains where it last sat on."

Silver hums, head lolling about, and with a sigh you stand up from your seat. Taking a blanket, you drape it over the Silver to allow him to get comfortable. Sitting back down, you try to focus on the sound of crackling fire against the cold winds that blew against your window.

By the time you awoke, Silver was already gone and the warm rays of the morning sun seeped through frosted windows, the fire long put out and now cold from water and sand. Pushing yourself off the chair, the blanket slipped off your body.

Opening the door, you were met by a world unhindered by snow. Green spread where frost would bite, birds would sing where the wind would whistle, and warmth where the unforgiving cold would settle. A carriage would soon stumble on the horizon, the royal family's insignia shining like gold. Malleus and Lilia disembark, their feet protected with layers of flowers and dewed grass.

“Your Majesty.” You say as you bow.

“It is good to see you, dear one.” The king stated, regarding you with a smile. “Lift your head for me.”

Behind him, Lilia helps down another person from the cart. Hair as bright as amber, eyes twinkling like emeralds, and lips as pink as rose quartz. Cater Diamond stood behind the royal advisor unsure of what to do but admire the scenery before him, his bare feet fiddling with the grass under him.

“What brings his majesty to this part of the kingdom?” Malleus’ hand touches your head, like a father consoling his child.

“Your final assignment.”

You didn’t know what to feel even after Malleus dropped off Cater at your home. All your life, you were taught to be a knight…And yet,

"You've done many great things for this kingdom, dear one. You are a great knight and a great leader, I am prideful of that…”

You could still feel the weight of his hand atop your head.

“But it is time that you finally found peace and through this final assignment, I hope to see that to fruition. Take care of Cater for he has chosen you as his home.”

Even with the kind words spoken onto you by the King, you feel as though you have failed in your duties as a knight. It was no wonder Silver decided to visit you, he was coming to see if you were ready for what was to come.

That one, really, ever a worrywart for his friends.

“Um, I’ll set my things here.”

Cater’s footsteps were tittering, gentle and unsure as he set a single sketchbook and pencil down onto the table. “Feel free.” You say and sit down near the fireplace. His grumbling stomach cut your thoughts, his fingers fumbling and then it hit you; your pantry was empty after you’ve been away for so long. Grimacing, you let out a sigh and starched the back of your head. You weren’t able to go on a supply run…

“…There’s a bakery not too far from here,” You say suddenly. “I can get something for you there so please make yourself at—.”

“Can I go with you?”

You didn’t answer for a moment prompting Cater to further explain with fidgeting fingers. “I was never allowed to roam outside of my room s-so I want to see the world, the Valley of Thorns! At least to an extent I can copy.” Cater holds up his sketchbook again, a warm yet sheepish smile on his lips.

Something within you popped like warm water against ice, fizzling through your body and without another word, you nodded your head at his request. “I’ll lend you my shoes, the dirt path is painful to walk on.”

You set some treats on the counter before you while Cater sat and watched the activity from a bench outside. “Oh, you’re usually alone when visiting. Who’s he?” Asked the shopkeeper, collecting the coins you set from your satchel.

"He's…Someone I've begun living with."

“Oho, I see. Well, you look like you’re in the age to begin that stage of life.”

“What, no. I—.”

Chatter echoed from beyond the glass door, a sizeable crowd gathering to Cater as he sketches the face of a woman before him. “No need to be shy about it, dear one.” He sets a few more bags of bread yet declines the offer for more coins.

“You have been a good customer since your arrival here and it doesn’t hurt to buy something extra. Besides, I’ve been wanting to try this combination out. Stewed meat in bread sounds pretty good, don’t you think?”

His smile wrinkled his face in glee against the sounds of amazement as he showed the portrait to her.

“I’ll be sure to let him taste it. Thank you very much, shopkeeper.”

“Anytime.” He winked, “You got yourself a keeper, there, dear one! Don’t let him run away.”

Shaking your head, you pushed the door open and see Cater smiling at the crowd with his sketchpad to his chest. You think back to when you first found him, how dreary he looked before he was brought to the valley.

He looked beautiful.

“Cater, let’s go.”

Emerald eyes look your way and his smile grew even larger as he got up from his seat. “Okay!” He bid farewell to his following, walking with you side by side.

“You leave the fire going through the night?” Cater asked, munching on some bread lined with melted goat’s cheese. “The valley gets cold so it’s best to keep warm as much as possible.” You add more wood to the fire and settle on the chair adjacent to it with Cater sitting across from you.

“The people here are very nice.” He said, setting down the bread on his lap. “A curious bunch, those lot.” You say while fishing out some foods from your satchel and stumbling upon the special wrapped bread handed to you by the shopkeeper. “It’s not every day they get to see someone new.”

“Is the valley that inaccessible?”

“For now, at least. His Majesty is looking for ways to open the kingdom by constructing roads leading out. Though it will take some time before it can be finished and used.” Taking it out of its packaging, you set the special bread on a heating pan above the fire carefully with a pair of long tongs.

“What’s that?” The doll asked, eyes twinkling in curiosity. “It smells good.”

“It’s a special bread from the shop. Give me a few minutes to properly warm it.”

He nods his head and waits patiently as you set the heated bread onto a plate and handing it to him. "I get to eat all of it?" He asked and you nodded your head still poised at looking into his green eyes that shined with life. "The shopkeeper wanted you to have it."

A moment of hesitance and Cater took a bite, what could only be described as pure happiness came rushing down his face in a flurry of pleased sounds as he began to eat more than his cheeks could hold. In your state of panic, you quickly got up from your seat and quick to run for a mug of water.

“Slowly now,” You say. “You’ll choke yourself if you eat so quickly.”

He drank his fill, cheek tinted red from choking and glee. Upon returning the mug, Cater wiped his lips that were swollen from the spice of the meat. "It's good." He says, holding the bread up to eat. "It's very good. Try it!"

The bread was shoved into your mouth, the spice of chili made your insides churn with burning flames. The diamond laughs at your reaction, his hair framing his face and the looming fire casting a glow of yellow as if under the light of a looming sunset.

“Do you ever explore the forest around your home?”

The fire was no longer lit and the two of you opted to spend the day out in an empty brush of grass where you continued to chop wood until your hands began to ache. "It's only when I look for herbs that I do." You reply, Cater's hand fiddling with a charcoal pencil and old-looking parchment.

It had only been a few days and this assignment was proving to be difficult for you to adjust to. Given Cater’s disposition to being isolated for long, he had the yearning to walk around and explore his new world while you would rather chop wood and wait for time to pass.

The both of you were total opposites.

“Oh,”

His eyes were downcast, pencil poking dots onto the paper absentmindedly. You look to your ax then to the large pile of wood you had created…Perhaps this will last you through a few nights. “There is one place I like to go to. It will take a few minutes to find.”

“What is it?”

You offer your hand for him to take, lifting him from his sitting position. “You will find out when we get there.” You say and with a few adjustments to your comfortable clothes, the both of you set off towards the forest clearing near your cottage. “Do we have to hold hands?” Cater asked and for a moment, your grip faltered almost to loosening.

“You’re not accustomed to the forest so I thought it was best to do so as a precaution.”

Cater smiles, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m teasing. It’s nice to hold hands.”

The silence lasts a few but long seconds and you keep going. Past a fork and through the logs, Cater’s hold on your hands never left nor did his presence disappear. A pang of indescribable warmth settles on your chest, you look to Cater again whose eyes look the canvas of green over with wonder.

“There aren’t many trees like this back there. You’ll only see a blanket of white. Does it snow here?”

“Only a few flakes if we’re lucky. The snow gathers more north of the valley.” The both of you ascend towards your destination, the ground acting like stairs. “Perhaps, when it’s possible to acquire a horse for personal use I can take you there.”

Cater’s hand tightens against your gloved ones.

“…I’d like that.”

With one last step, the warm winds of the valley blow against you as you approach a cliff bearing down the landscape of your home and Cater’s. When the wind had settled, you begin to speak. “I come here to get some peace and quiet whenever the town’s noise gets too much for me to handle.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You let Cater move on his own, taking a few steps to look at the sea of green and bright pastel before him. He turns to you, a blush of excitement on his face. “Can I draw this? “

“You don’t need to ask, just do whatever you like.”

Blades clashed, labored breathes, the smell of death lingers through the cold. Your armor feels heavy and your hands are worn. Your opponent attempts to swing at you yet your movements are precise, your blade quick and deadly as it pierced and plunged through the armor like melted butter.

Your body burned against the cold and frost did little to cool your warm and labored breathing. The horns of a distant song blast softly into your ears, the roar of a dragon whose flames green like envy never quelled against the permafrost.

Horses rounded the perimeter, the horns of a tall man come into view. Malleus’ glowing eyes looked to yours in a glance, his royal guards outnumber you easily and push you to your knees and arms spread out.

“Your majesty.” Said one of the guards, Silver hair peeking from his helmet. “Their hand…”’

The winds beyond the cliff became a comfortable breeze and the afternoon sun began its descent into the earth, the trees hiss like rain and branches groan softly. Cater’s sleeping form lay motionless next to you, his sketchbook set between you.

Curiosity peaked and you took it into your hands, flipping through sketch after sketch. From sketches of the townsfolk to the cliff beyond…

“Hm?”

But one stood out. A sketch of you, your face is worn and sweat dripping from your chin. Your body was hunched as if you had been delivered a blow from above yet it was the eyes that hit you the most. It held meaning, a sort of peace. ‘The King Knight’ it was titled.

“Do you like it? “

Cater pushed himself up, yawning and stretching his limbs. “You had a good pose while you were chopping wood so…”

“Is this how you see me, Cater? As kind?”

"Well, you rescued me, didn't you? I think that's enough to say that you are kind."

You give him back his sketchbook and stand up. You help Cater up, his leg going limp. “Ahaha…My leg fell asleep, how embarrassing.” Your actions were sudden, going to your knees for him to hop onto your back. “O-oh, um…I might be heavy.”

“I’ve carried many people while in full armor. It’s alright.”

And soon, the both of you descent the steps carefully with Cater resting on your back and arms wrapped around your neck. “I was just doing the right thing. Anyone would have helped you in that situation.”

“And many people opt not to. You’re kind, knight. You really are.”

The sun sets over the horizon, allowing the dark colors of the night to seep through on your way back to the cottage.

The horse-drawn carriage stopped within the lush greenery of the Vanrouge estate, Lilia smiling as you and Cater disembark with the help of the horseman.

“Welcome, both of you.”

“This place is huge!” the former doll exclaims, his voice echoing through the large hallway. “Is this the treatment of the King’s favorite?” He turns to you suddenly, wrapping his arm around your neck and your eyes go wide in embarrassment. “N-no, it’s just…”

Over the months since Cater came under your care, the two of you grew closer and closer each passing day. What was once a very shy and confused doll became lively and bright, like the sunset the both of you came to enjoy together by each other’s side.

He had become important to you, very important.

“My son used to be in the same class as them in the past, they have remained connected long after," Lilia explains, walking up to them while Cater greets with a curtsy.

You couldn't say much about your own growth but you were sure that Cater was adjusting greatly to life within the valley. Being able to see the sunsets with him after a day’s worth of shopping was enough for you.

You tug at your gloves out of habit.

"Your son?" Cater wondered Lilia's magenta eyes narrowed in the same teasing glance. “Oh, you think I’m not a father Mr. Diamond? I’m older than I look, you know.”

Cater shrinks back earning a biting laugh from him.

“I merely jest, dear one. Silver is not my son by blood, I found him as a babe a decade ago during my own excursion in the North.” The royal advisor opened the large mahogany door with ease as if it were made of clay. “He’s been living with me ever since.”

“…Was he a doll too?”

Lilia was silent at that moment, stopping just short of where his son was sleeping comfortably on a chair that sat before an intricate-looking coffee table. Cater gulped, opening his mouth to apologize only for Lilia to chuckle with eyes distant in remembrance.

“From the Goshenite family. Not that it matters now, though. Silver is my own and he always will be.”

The small man walks over to his son, shaking him awake sleeping spell. A discolored mark shows itself against Silver’s neck, the birthmark of a doll. Silver stutters awake, looking at Lilia who smiles at him from above.

Cater touched his cheek, feeling for the mark against his fingers. “Goshenite…How come I’ve never seen him.”

“Some dolls were not kept in castles but put in battlefields.” You explain while Silver slowly stood up, rubbing his eyes while Lilia holds his arm to steady him. “Silver was rescued before he was put out but they couldn’t easily break what he had already learned.”

Cater watches Silver smile, the warm morning sunlight highlighting his features almost making him and his birthmark glow.

“So he was made a guard here, in the estate? In hopes that it would break the teachings.”

Father and son hold hands, Silver’s eyes rising upon seeing you. A friend he came to cherish. You tug your gloves before Silver embraces you.

The picnic by the pond was both boring and contently, you and Silver staying behind on the mat while Lilia and Silver had their fun by the water. “He seems to be having fun.” Said the former doll, his eyes slowly blinking. In your hand was a sweet drink, the citrusy aftertaste bringing a sigh of relief to your warm body.

“He is.”

The long hours spent at your leisure was something you had to slowly get used to, from going shopping with Cater to enjoying the sunsets with him just outside your small cottage. You hear Cater laugh when Lilia splashed some water at his son, soaking his hair into a messy mop. “What about you?”

Tugging your gloves, you look to the horizon of lush green fields tended by Lilia’s help. “I can’t say much. It has been a time since I’ve held a shield, much less a sword. To just hold a drink like this feels so different to me but…It feels good to just sit down, I think.”

Cater huffs a small laugh, leaning onto your shoulder. “You’re so talkative now.” A hand is brought to his hair, his form melting to yours when you massaged his scalp. “I always talk to you.”

“But this is different.”

You hear a scream of thrill on the horizon, Lilia had been pulled to the ground soaked with water. The worrying attendants ready with towels but hesitant to approach in fear Lilia would pull them in as well.

Slowly, your hands intertwine with his as he rests against your shoulder, comfortable to take a nap. The sun’s afternoon rays make Cater shine, his emerald eyes shine brilliantly as he looks to you hiding beneath the shade, his birthmark a stark red against his cheek. He was beautiful. A pang of heat burned in your chest, a heat you could not describe.

While Lilia and Silver changed out of their wet attire and Silver had collapsed back into the couch because of his sleeping spell, you stood by the door of the estate and watched the sun turn orange as it descended the sky.

“There you are, and here I thought you left without saying goodbye.”

Lilia joined you in your leisure gazing towards the sky, from within his oversized coat he pulled out a pack of cigars, offering you one until you refuse. “Cater never leaves your side at all, does he?”

You tug at your gloves again. "Cater enjoys being outside so having him visit this place is a treat for him. He enjoys you and Silver’s company, even if he doesn’t show it.”

“I don’t doubt his sincerity, Cater is lively and a treat to be around. It’s a vast difference from when we first met all those months ago.” The cigar is lit and the general takes a whiff, letting smoke puff from his mouth. He offers you one which you decline politely.

"I will be honest with you, dear one, I did not expect you to accept Malleus' assignment." The cigar hung off his fingers, the ash falling to the ground little by little. "Then again, I never thought I'd be taking care of a child with all that I've done."

You tug at your gloves just as he takes another whiff. “Dear one, does Cater know?”

“No.”

“Will you tell him?” Your gloves cut into the skin between your fingers in one sharp pull.

“…He doesn’t need to know.”

Through his nose, Lilia sighed the smoke out. “Then perhaps I should do that same. It took a long time for Silver to finally calm down, I do not want to see him suffer.” The sunset shines a bright orange over the horizon and you knew well that Cater would be watching.

Lilia’s damp hair rustled when the wind picked up, his nose taking in the fresh breeze. Magenta eyes look down to the ground. “I cannot help but think I have awoken a flame that will continue to burn me for as long as I live.”

He smiles at you suddenly, broken and vulnerable. “Perhaps the permafrost had numbed you from your burns, dear one.”

“I’m not burning.”

Lilia continued to smile, taking a swig of a cigar and enjoying the sunset in silence by your side.

The fire crackled yet you couldn't sleep, the wind had ceased and the bitter winter turned into a breeze of the evening air. Cater slept peacefully across you, his hair pushed behind his ear carefully by your fingers; leather against soft skin. You stare at his birthmark for a moment, noticing how pale it had become since his arrival.

“Perhaps the permafrost had numbed you from your own flames, dear one.”

You sit back, allowing yourself warmth against the fire next to you. It had only been months since you took up the assignment given to you personally by the king, yet you felt as if you lived your whole life with Cater. It was peaceful, so different from the day you met.

You remember the path you took and the fights that needed to be fought to achieve your mission. You remember the soldiers who blocked your path, the birthmarks on their skin.

White iridescent, Opal.

Cloudy green, Jade.

Dull and vibrant browns and black, Rutile.

You remember a young soldier, their movements sloppy and readable. Their breath labored and hold soft, it was an easy battle.

“Padparadscha…”

They whispered before crumpling to the ground, their wounds far too great to be healed or ignored. Their helmet loosened, a round blue birthmark on the back of their neck. Sapphire.

“Padparadscha…!” A hand holds your ankle, a bloody hand reaching out to you.

How long had it been since you were called that?

Your moment of hesitance was cut by another sword that put the poor soldier out of their misery. Sebek looked to you, taking your hand. “We have a mission to finish. We can’t stop here.” And you were pulled away quickly.

The fire crackled next to you, the flames licking at your skin. You wonder if that doll had a family waiting for them to come home, you wondered if all of them did…Even Cater. Even dolls had people to return to, had people they cherished. Had promises, had love, maybe even a twisted sense of happiness…

And you destroyed that; a pain hit you from the bottom up threatening to release itself from your throat. You discard your gloves into the fire, the marks against worn hands popping out the more you look.

Cater's murmurs rang through you, his hand reaches over for yours. He was gentle with you no matter what. He brings your hand closer to his face, the presence of you close brought him peace. The heat from below began to bubble again, molten against your skin.

With all you’ve done, with all you’ve killed…Why did he choose to stay with you?

“I’m burning.” You lean close to Cater, throat hoarse from silenced sobs. “I’m burning.”

Cater once thought he could never sleep an entire night through, not with the sounds his ears could hear nor the silhouettes those perceptive eyes of his picked up in the night. He never thought he could walk around his room nor see beyond the high window that only brought in rain or frost.

He never thought he would see the world before him with someone by his side. From the rise in the east and its fall in the west. He spent every peaceful second with you, and he enjoyed it. He loved it. He loved…You.

“Where are you?”

Getting off his resting place, Cater opened the door to an empty space, and with feet tickled by grass he ran; ran through the forest with wind wild against his hair. The frost wasn’t there to mist against his mouth nor was the snow a detractor for his speed.

The trees filed past like green walls and the sun peaked through the cracks, acting as a compass. You were his freedom, his life.

He loved you.

“Where are you?”

In a flurry of leaves and wind, Cater’s breath stilled at the vast stretch of land that bore green and brown. The valley of thorns’ domain was a nest of life, a warmth from the cold. The wind picks up, the flurry of birds rising higher with the wind current.

“Cater?”

In the flurry of feathers, Cater’s green eyes stared into yours, swollen and red. He bound towards you, pulling you into an embrace and sighing into your shoulder; your hands come up around his waist returning the embrace. “What are you doing out here? It’s too early.”

“You weren’t in the cottage.”

“You could have waited.”

He tightened his hug, burying his head into your neck while rubbing smooth circles around his back. The wind blew wildly at your faces. "Why did you choose me, Cater? Of all the places to choose as your home.”

“You’re kind.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Cater,”

“Stop lying to yourself.” He begged. “If you weren’t kind, you wouldn’t have helped me.”

You sigh, pulling away. “Do you really think a person like me can be kind after what I’ve done?” You raise your hands, your birthmark a bright red against your skin; like a bloodstain that will never go away. "I am a doll of the battlefield, Cater. I was born to do it. I am a doll born to take lives, I am Padparadscha.”

“I don’t care!” He leans his weight on you, your back thumping against a tree trunk. “I don’t care what jewel you are, you’re my home!!”

He pushes you again, thumping the wood “I don’t care what you did before, you were forced to do it, you didn’t like any of it and shows!”

“You’re not a doll anymore, you’re human, you’re my home.”

Fingers loosely pull your clothes, Cater’s nose on your shoulder with breath shaky. “…I know it is because when I look at you, I can feel. It—.” He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in. “And—and when I look at you, I’m home.”

“Please, I don’t want that to go away Padparadscha.”

Your hands move again, raising to card through Cater's amber hair. "…Would you like to stay here a while longer and watch the sunset?"

Cater nods his head, the both of you sliding down and let time do its course, the sun slowly inching down towards the earth with the sky bleeding yellow and purple. His thumb brushes over your birthmark and your fingers intertwine.

“Cater?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He nuzzled into you, his beautiful features highlighted against the sun. No matter where he was, his beauty resonated with you. The beautiful man leaned in, lips brushing to yours in a kiss. 

“Thank you.”

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Spider's Bride Part 5

Pairing: spider!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, forced marriage, smut, breeding.

Words: 1835.

Summary: Whoever your stepmother sold you to, he wasn’t as honorable as she claimed.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

_____________

That night was the new beginning. Despite Bucky refusing to do anything except kissing you, you spent several hours talking and getting to know each other like lovers would, finally. You ceased to be afraid of him, the only one who had truly cared about you and ready to smother you with love and constant attention. In one week you tried watching Bucky regaining his true form, and, though it wasn't easy, you didn't feel repulsed or frightened to death. He was just different. Slowly, you came to terms with it.

The more open-minded you became, the easier it was to accept the reality you lived in now. You were lucky to have Bucky's sisters always encouraging you to get to know the world around you better: you could talk to them about things you were too embarrassed to ask your betrothed, and they had never even once refused you. At one point you started going out to the town, Bucky always close to you to protect you from anything you deemed scary. Though you were an outsider, someone who didn't even belong to the same kind as them, you were treated with respect and provided with support you needed so much. You even made a few friends, two female arachnids and a couple of elderly dark elves.

Then the day of the wedding had come. By this time you got accustomed to Bucky's spider form so much that being around many of his relatives - dear Lord, since he lived alone you could never guess he had such a big family - wasn't frightening at all. More than that, you really enjoyed being carried by your beloved on his spider-like body because the fancy wedding dress heavily embroidered with pearls and silver threads made it nearly impossible to move for you. Funny, just months ago you couldn't force yourself to look at those eight long legs with claws on the ends.

"Bucky, on your right!" Before the vicious lamia attacked the two of you, you had casted a barrier, protecting Bucky from a strong snake tail ready to strike.

Snapping out of his thoughts, your husband let out a strong silver rope that wrapped itself around creature's tail while Bucky charmed the monster, making it fall to the ground with a loud thud. You exhaled loudly above his ear, rubbing his chest and clinging closer to him.

"Dear, it's not the time to space out just yet." You said, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. "I don't want the kids to worry about their careless dad getting injured."

His cheeks grew warm at the mention of your kids, beautiful boy and girl you had given him a few years ago. There was nothing else that could bring Bucky more joy than watching you and them playing in the evening, his house filled with cheerful laugh and loud voices. He had never known he could ever give someone as much love as he gave his family, but Bucky didn't know someone could love him so strongly in return either. He had never felt happier in his entire life.

He adored graceful forms you had granted your children, their bodies looking even more human than his sisters', but when he talked about that, you always interrupted him saying that he doesn't look less beautiful to you just because he has more hair and his body is darker than theirs. It was unfair, you said and kept kissing him until he melted from your touch. One day you had to give him a big lecture upon judging the others based on their looks. Bucky couldn't possibly teach his own children they were better than others purely because they looked more crab-like rather than spider-like!

He smiled at you, eyeing him with concern. You were the best mother to their kids he could ever wish for.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He kissed the tip of your nose, making you giggle.

"Are you worrying about the children again?" You asked gently, knowing they were perfectly alright with Arabella and Miria. "Daddy?"

Oh, you loved watching him getting as red as tomato. What a little minx! You knew perfectly he got aroused when you called him that.

"Let's get out of here." He left a glowing charmed mark on the ground, showing where the lamia laid and surrounding it with a barrier. "I think we've done enough."

"If you refer to patrolling the forest, then yes." You smirked, and he felt warmth spreading in his chest as he remembered how eager you had been when he made love to you in whatever form. "You know, if not those damn creatures, I'd prefer riding on your back naked. It feels so good when I touch your lower body with my bare skin."

"Dear, I will fuck you against the tree right here if you don't stop." He growled, getting frustrated he couldn't touch you properly while you gigled in his long dark hair.

Bucky hurried further into the woods to the territory you two had already checked and cleared from any Hydra's monsters. Oh Lord, he desperately wanted to see you naked with your breasts and hips fully on display in front of him, calling him daddy when he fingered you, listening to your mewls and moans. It didn't help that you were already massaging his lower body, exactly the mound that covered his painfully hard cock.

"It's not even the mating season yet, but you're so eager." You laughed a little, and Bucky bit his lips.

"Look who's talking. I can feel you growing hot down there, little one."

You squeezed your thighs around his torso and started murming something that made him want to throw you to the ground and get on top of you immediately. Slowly stripping him of his leather jacket, you took off your own once your husband stopped, finding the right spot, and then you quickly slip off your pants.

"Come here, naughty girl." Bucky growled, helping you to come down and then lifting you up with his strong hands so you could lean to him. "You're too eager today. What happened?"

"I wanna mate, Gods, I wanna mate with you so bad." Your breath grew hotter as you felt his mound opening and his long, already leaking with precum cock touching your thigh. "Please. Today... isn't my safe day."

"Shit." He moaned, his instincts getting the better of him in an instant when you said you were ovulating. Damn it, he couldn't resist sliding inside your wet pussy, bottoming you out in one thrust. As you let out a hiss of pain and pleasure - he was damn big, and sometimes it wasn't easy to take him all - Bucky claimed your mouth with his, his grip on your body growing stronger. "You want me to knock you up again, honey? You want me to fill you with my seed? Because I fucking will."

You couldn't even answer him when Bucky rutted himself into you, drawing mewls and gasps from you as he fucked your relentlessly against the tree just as he promised, pressing the tip of his cock into your cervix. His mouth was on your neck, leaving little spots on your gentle skin, marking you his, claiming you just like the first time. Huh, you knew you needed to talk to him about having more kids when he wasn't aroused so much as your body was barely prepared for such intense session - he kept thrusting even after you cummed on top of his cock, screaming his name.

"Bucky, p-please, ah-"

"Little minx. You wanna grow heavy with my brood again, and you didn't tell me?" His dangerously low voice made your pussy throb around him, and you tried to find purchase in his shoulders, gripping them tighter. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Ahh, I'm s... s-sorry, daddy. I wanted t-to surprise you... ahh!" He inched you closer, holding your soft body against his, your lovely breasts pressing into Bucky's chest as he bottomed you out again, drawing a fucking scream from you.

Carefully sliding his hands down your body, he took you by the hips, and you crossed your legs behind his lower back, your toes curling. Your back arched of its own accord when you felt the coil starting to build up in your belly again, and you moaned louder, throwing your head back. The next second Bucky attached his lips to your neck, groaning at how tightly your walls were clenching him. The thought of you getting pregnant again made him burn with desire to fill you up to the brim.

"I'm gonna mate you till I'm sure I knocked you up." He whispered hotly in your ear, rolling his hips the way it made you see stars.

You were screaming his name as he picked up the pace, practucally pushing you into the tree, leaving a pair of scratches on your back, but you didn't care. The only one on your mind was the man who kissed and sucked and bit down on your skin, fucking you until you nearly passed out. As you squeezed him tighter, cumming again, you felt him finally stilling and releasing his hot sticky seed into your unprotected womb.

"I love you." He exhaled, his eyelashes trembling as he kissed you, grasping your ass as he filled you to the brim with his cum.

"I love you too." You muttered, touching his face with your lips. Mating with your lovely monster felt so fucking good.

You couldn't possibly imagine the depth of Bucky's gratitude for giving him a chance, for letting him love you, but he couldn't imagine how much you would grow to care about him either. Even after those years you two spent together, sometimes he was afraid you'd still flinch when he came to drop a kiss on your cheek or rub your back. However, the only thing you did was encouraging Bucky to continue, and then things often moved to your bedroom. The only reason why you didn't give him more children was because bearing an arachnid wasn't easy, and Bucky wanted to take care of your health, not destroy your gentle human body with constant pregnancies. But today... today you made him the happiest man in the world again.

Carefully lifting you up from his cock, Bucky took you in his arms like a bride, watching you breathing tiredly. He felt like he could explode from all the love gathered inside him.

"Oh, don't tell me I need to dress now." You pouted, and he chuckled, casting a spell - the very next second your body was fully dressed in your clothes again. Though you could feel his cum dripping out on your panties, it didn't bother you now. "You know, you have to teach me this thing if we will keep patrolling the forest."

Bucky got red when you winked at him and then laughed out loud, starting to walk back to the cave hidden deep into the woods.

THE END

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki    ​@helenaeisenhower  @villanellevi  @hurricanerin  ​@void-hoechlin  @abyssaint @navegandoaciegas  @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @ladyacrasia  @iheartsebastianstan  @what-is-your-wish  @princessofdarkwinter @mandiiblanche  @live—deliciously @heeeyitskay

[crashingmeteorz]

rich kid runaways (ft. yuexzukoxtoph friendship)

for my 100 Followers Celebration - credit to @aroacebitchboi for this amazing idea!

zuko faces his father in the agni kai, and when he is told what he must do in order to be welcome in his homeland again, he just says “fuck this” and runs away.

he’s not sure where he’s gonna go, just that he has to get out, and fast, because his dad’s gonna kill him. like. for real. so he stows away on a fire navy ship headed Literally Anywhere Else (and maybe the soldiers don’t care! because he’s 13 and hurting children is a disgrace! maybe they sneak him food and blankets idk!)

yue, meanwhile, in the north pole, has just been told she is going to enter an arranged marriage for the good of her people when she turns 16. respectfully, she asks her father what exactly this marriage will do, politically speaking. the north isn’t at war with itself, in fact they’re more united than ever. maybe if it were a southern water tribe boy, sure, but no, it’s going to be a northern boy.

her father just tells her it’s imperative to the stability of the tribe that they uphold tradition. yue, realizing this is bullshit, even at the tender age of 13, says “fuck this”, and runs away.

she is all but screwed without waterbending or any practical survival knowledge - except, she’s been chosen by the moon spirit. when she steals a boat and heads south, the moon takes pity on its ward and keeps her safe, at least on her waterbound journey. once she lands on the northern shores of the earth kingdom, yue depends on the kindness of strangers to survive.

zuko, meanwhile, is angry and mistrustful and afraid when he ends up on the western shores of the earth kingdom, and he depends entirely on his determination to survive. he learns to live off the land the hard way, and avoids major cities and towns for fear of being found out as a firebender. of course, if he’s ever spotted, he’s regarded with pity and empathy because of the festering burn on his face, but zuko doesn’t realize that.

yue never stays in one place too long, bouncing from family to family and learning more skills in a few months than she was ever taught in her whole life up north. she cooks and cleans and sews, yes, but she also farms and skins hunted animals and does house repairs. she is happily taken into homes because of her ability to heal - though never a waterbender, yue still learned basic healing with the other northern women, and can manage even bad wounds all on her own.

afraid she’ll be recognized by her vibrant hair, however, yue continues her journey south, considering running to the south pole for sanctuary. she wonders how their women are treated. zuko, meanwhile, lives alone in the wilderness most of the time, and moves very slowly up the west coast.

they’re 14 when their paths cross. three fire nation soldiers harass yue while she’s journeying along a rural road, asking her for a made-up toll. usually trading in work, yue has no money to speak of. the soldiers threaten violence, and, though he is afraid of being caught by his countrymen, zuko was never one to let bullies have power over the innocent.

he emerges from the forest, swords in hand, attacking the soldiers. at first it seems like he has the upper hand - and then he stumbles, and the soldiers laugh and pull him up to beat him. zuko panics and relies on instinct - firebending at the soldiers and burning them badly. they run away yelling, and zuko panics, certain that he’ll be caught out. he goes to run, but yue stops him.

“you’re hurt,” she says, pointing to where he’d been cut by the soldiers’ swords. “please, let me help you. it’s the least i can do.”

“you’re not scared of me?” zuko asks in confusion, looking around wildly, afraid his father will pop out of the trees and strike him down.

“you saved me,” yue says, just as confused, because between the rescue and the obvious burn mark, she doesn’t really think this boy would have any reason to hurt her. also he’s kinda shrimpy, and yue, who has built up some strength through hard work, is pretty sure she could take him. “come on, i have some herbs. is there clean water nearby?”

shocked that anyone in the earth kingdom wouldn’t call for zuko’s arrest on the spot, zuko leads yue to a stream in the forest. yue silently patches his wounds, and then eventually asks if she can get a look at his eye. apart from the initial work of the fire nation healers, zuko hadn’t really done much to treat his eye, and it’s so badly crusted he can barely see out of it. when yue reaches for him, he jerks away.

“i don’t need your help!” he snaps, standing and shaking himself off. “if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

“excuse me.” says yue, standing as well, because who is he to talk to her that way? “i didn’t ask you for help, you chose to do that. and you’re mad at those soldiers, not me, so why don’t you try being a little nicer?”

they stare at each other furiously for a moment. then yue sighs and says “i think i can help you with your eye, so that you can see. let me do that and i’ll leave you alone.”

it’s painful, and a very slow process, but with water warmed by zuko’s bending (”just heat up the water.” “someone could see!” “we’re in the middle of a literal forest! who’s spying! the frogs???”) and a few medicinal herbs, yue manages to clear away most of the crust and dead skin over zuko’s eye. when he finally opens it again, he’s shocked to find that he can see.

“well, i won’t bother you anymore,” yue says huffily, moving to leave the forest. as she does, she realizes she doesn’t know where the heck she is. zuko’s still marveling at how different the world looks with two eyes.

“umm, which way is out?” yue asks him. zuko snaps back to reality and says “oh, um. i’ll show you.” because he is, admittedly, grateful.

of course, when they try to leave the forest, they run into bandits and barely escape. then yue reccomends they take a country road, and zuko reluctantly agrees, except they run into more bandits. after the fourth round of bandits in two weeks, they’re convinced they’ve been cursed with bad luck.

“can we just go to a town or a city?” yue asks, panting from their desperate escape. “we’re not having much luck living in the wild.”

“i was fine until you showed up!” zuko retorts, panting as well. “fine! then i’ll leave!” yue yells back.

“wait,” zuko says, and yue turns, tapping her foot impatiently. “i’m sorry,” zuko says, to yue’s shock, because if her few weeks with this kid who calls himself lee has taught her anything, it’s that he does not apologize. “i don’t really...understand, um, local people and-“

“let me do the talking,” yue says, gentle as always, reaching for zuko’s arm. he smiles at her, a real, happy smile, and they make their way to the nearest earth kingdom town.

after that, yue and zuko are inseparable. they argue a lot, naturally, but they become good friends, too. yue says she always wanted a sibling, zuko says he always wanted a different sibling, so it’s nice, to have each other. without going into too much detail, they bond over their shared experiences of pre-determined destinies and overbearing parental figures (“my father said i have to get married for the good of the people! what does that even mean?” “tell me about it, my father got mad that i talked out of turn, so he tried to kill me.” “...he what?” “hahaha just kidding that’s not a normal thing that happens.”) no matter how scary it gets, they agree, the earth kingdom makes them feel freer than they ever have before.

does the food they cook suck because they’ve never had to cook in their lives? yes. do they sometimes put all four feet in their mouths because of how they speak to the poor people of the earth kingdom? yes. have they ticked off a lot of fellow teenagers for acting bratty? yes. (“what, so, you don’t have palaces around here?” yue asks. “yeah, where are the royal gardens?” zuko asks. “leave before we rock your shit.” says Every Teenager They Meet.) but at the end of the day, they’re happy.

at 15 they reach a city called gaoling. by now they can both do enough odd jobs that they always have some pocket money on them, although yue still struggles to behave in a way that isn’t dainty and delicate, and zuko still struggles with basic social skills.

they’re getting ready to move along, when they’re stopped by a girl. she’s young, about 11, and entirely blind. she’s being chased by a loud crowd, who seem to be just around the corner.

“please!” the girl says. “help hide me! they’re after me! i think they’re going to kidnap me!” yue and zuko, who are the captains of the child-protection-squad, immediately move to protect the girl.

“this way!” zuko says, and the three of them run down narrow streets and alleyways, in and around shops, until they’re stopped at the city gate by the mob going after the girl.

“alright, kid,” the leader, a tall, buff man with long greasy hair says. “you’ve stolen from us for the last time.”

“how many time do i have to tell you?” the girl bellows, much different than her sweet and innocent pleas from before. “i won fair and square! you’re just mad because you got your butt kicked by a little girl!”

before zuko and yue can even react, the girl pummels the mob of men with an avalanche of rocks, and then launches the earth they’re standing on into the air, landing them far outside of the city limits in a dizzying display.

“woo! that was awesome!” the girl says gleefully pumping her arms. zuko and yue are both trying to wrap their heads around what just happened. “thanks for the help. not that i needed it, i just didn’t want my parents’ guards to see me bending...i wasn’t really planning on running away, but, i mean, i doubt they’ll even notice i’m gone-”

“just a second,” yue says, collecting herself. zuko’s jaw is still hanging open. “who are you?”

the girl grins smugly. “name’s toph. who are you?”

i cannot fully express how much i love this idea. top-notch. god-tier. thank you again!

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 60

The trees were shapeless shadows against the night as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Blood pumped hard in her ears, and even with her gasping breaths, she could still hear them coming for her. Beneath her feet, she could feel their heavy footfalls as they crashed into the earth, and it was as though the very ground vibrated. Seven of her steps to one of their own, and even at a slower pace, their wider strides more than made up for the difference.

Her saving grace was the narrow gaps between the ancient trees. Additionally, her pursuers were just as hindered by the dark as she was. If she used her fire, she would reveal herself and her advantage would be lost. As it stood, she was not in a good position to face off against a large group of bloodthirsty giants.

She was lucky before, she doubted any chance at a repeat performance. The others had not expected their fellow to fall as easily as he did.

As Thrist fled with Jae, Nenani had turned to face the marauding group that attacked them and left Andy dead. The giant with the dagger had rushed her. His enormous frame had been cast in deep shadows against the stark white of her flames. He barreled towards her, dagger raised and shining. The blade was nearly as long as she was tall, glittering with the white and blue of her fire.

Nenani ran to one of the closer trees, whipping a vine back and upward towards the giant as he drew closer. Instinct rather than real calculation drove her. But it had been a lucky strike, with the end of her vine catching the edge of the giant’s jaw just as he passed. It curled around the back of his neck, and the thorns snagged into his flesh and began to slice as the vine pulled taught. The whites of his eyes grew large as he fell forward, dropping his dagger to reach for his neck as he fell. Nenani made it to the shelter of the tree just as he slammed into the earth, and the shock of it nearly threw her off her feet.

But Nenani did not bother to look back to gauge how devastating her hit had been. Instead, she ran onward, using his fellows’ momentary confusion and shock to her advantage. She had the barest head start before they began to follow after her. The height of their hubris was diminished, but not altogether extinguished.

And now they were angry.

“I thought you said you knew how to fight fire mages!” demanded one of them.

“I do!” snapped someone else. “Killed three during the war, but I never saw one do anything like that!”

“Then what fucking good are you?”

“Just shut up! New magic or not, it’s a damn child!”

“Go tell that to Baeu!”

“Sooner rather than later the little bitch is gonna lose steam,” snarled another giant. “And when we do catch her, I’m gonna pull each of her fucking limbs off one by one. And then peel her skin off.”

……………….

She was growing tired and slow, with her legs becoming clunky and dumb with fatigue. She found herself tripping over small twigs and mud holes until at last, she had to stop. Her lungs were on fire, and no amount of air seemed enough to satisfy them. Nenani huddled miserably under the heavy brush of a bush at the base of a small cluster of yearling trees. Their leaves were still thick and green, but their points were hard and thorn-like, gripping at her hair and dress and stabbing her hands and legs as she scrambled into them to hide.

The giants were moving as one group rather than splitting up, and their enraged prattling had not ceased. Nenani waited quietly under the prickly bush until she could breathe evenly again to move to another hiding spot.

Several times she dove for the cover of a bush and waited for them to move on before running back the direction she had come, just to try and throw them off her trail. Then the giants’ voices began to draw closer again.

In the dark, Nenani moved slowly in the other direction but continued to eye the brush and trees behind her. She was sure that any moment they would come into view and spot her and the chase would begin anew. But if she could keep her steps slow, perhaps they would not hear her at all and she could put more distance between them without having to kill anyone else.

The fleeting moment of power she had felt earlier in the day now tasted putrid and bitter.

A hand slipped through the dark to rest upon her shoulder. Nenani started, nearly leaping clear out of her skin as she whirled around, arms erupting into orange flames. There stood a human boy with short cut hair and grayish-green garb regarding her and her flames with a dour expression. It took her only a moment to recognize him as the boy in the tree who they had come across earlier.

The one who said she smelled like fire.

“Oh,” Nenani said, her flames dying away. “It’s you...”

“Come with me,” he whispered. The hand resting on her shoulder gripped hard, and he bodily steered her forward. She went without a fight, more out of bewilderment than anything, and by the time she came back to her senses enough to ask him anything, they were a good distance away.

“Where did you—” she began.

“Say nothing,” he warned in a harsh whisper. “Just keep moving. The tree with the hollow there. Go to it. Inside. Hide there.”

“I can’t see very well. And there are giants...”

“They won’t find you,” he said shortly and pushed her along at a quicker pace. She could see the dim outline of a large ironwood tree, the base of it wide and dark. When they got closer, Nenani could see better that the dark area was actually the hollow itself. She felt a hard push between her shoulders and fell forward. Gracelessly, she tumbled into the patch of wet leaves and muck, grimacing as her hands fell upon the slimy debris. Turning back to the boy, she opened her mouth to berate him, but he silenced her with a hand. With his other, he traced along the edges of the hallow, and a thin iridescent sheen fell across the opening. Through it, she could see the world beyond in better light. “No one will see you if I do not wish for them to. So long as you stay inside there, the charm will shade you from prying eyes.”

Nenani took a moment to watch the swirling colors, reminded of how light and colors danced across the surface of a soap bubble. She turned her eyes to the boy.

“Are you helping me?” she asked. “Why?”

“You are a walking wildfire,” he told her.

She blinked at him and frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Left alone, you will burn my forest to the ground. I would fail in my duties to not stop that from happening,” he explained bitterly. He studied her for several moments and the severity of his expression softened. “But I also see a little of the Green Mother in you. It is very small, but it is there. Like that little boy who ate the ironwood sap. But your fire is far more a part of you than the green. Strange oddity, you are. You must have uncommon parentage.”

Though Nenani knew she should feel offended by the way he said ‘uncommon parentage’, she decided to ignore his tone.

“Our father,” Nenani answered. “He was Thorn.”

The boy gave a small nod in understanding, regarding her again with an enigmatic expression.

“I have knowledge of them. Lost cousins, we call them. So that makes us distant cousins as well I suppose,” he said at last, a spark of amusement in his eyes. He knelt down to her level. “I have never seen fire and earth merged into one being. Your magic was a wonder to behold, cousin. But there is a great imbalance in you.”

“Imbalance?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“One side is pulling you to fire. Anger and fear and destruction. Revenge and blood. The other pulls you towards the Green Mother. Kindness and love and healing. Protection and trust.”

Nenani bit hard into her lip, his words ringing truth loudly in her head.

“Do not feed the fire so willingly,” he warned. “Fire is power, yes. But it is also unwieldy and short-lived if not tended and nurtured properly. Fire is a forever hungry beast, and no matter how much you feed it, it will never be satiated. It will take all of you until you have nothing left to give. You are on a path of destruction. Your fire will consume you if you allow it.”

Nenani looked down at her hands, just barely visible in the dark. “I need to be strong. I have to save my friends. My family. I can’t just do nothing. The...the giant who rules this place...the lord here. He is an evil man. The people you put in your gardens. That is his doing. They escaped his prisons. And there are others. Many.”

The boy regarded her for a long moment. “It is not my place to interfere with the affairs of outsiders. My priority is the safety of my people and the preservation of my forest. But this false lord concerns me greatly. There are giants all over my forest tonight. Fighting one another. Killing one another. I cannot breathe without smelling their blood, and I very much wish for them all to be gone.”

Nenani got to her knees and crawled closer to the barrier.

“Lord Colem came to help us,” Nenani explained. “He wants to bring Lord Brennan to justice. If we can do that, your forest will be yours again and we can rescue the people he has prisoner. My friends are already trying to free them. Could you help? You can do magic too. You’re a mage like me. Could you help us?”

“I cannot promise you anything,” the boy said, rising back to his feet and stepping back. “But we will make sure this forest is protected. When the spell drops away, it means you are safe to leave the hallow. Until then, stay inside. Regain your strength.”

“I can’t just sit here,” she replied. She pushed a hand towards the shimmering veil, but as he fingers brushed against it, her hand stopped as though pressing against glass. “What?”

“You should practice patience,” he suggested. “When the danger has been dealt with, the spell will fade.”

“No!” she snapped and began to bang her hands against the barrier. “Let me out!”

The boy tapped it with a finger. “You are a child who has wandered too far from her minders. You want to fight a foe as tall as the ironwoods who would snap you into bloody little splinters.”

“I’ve already killed two of them,” she shot back. “I’m not weak. I just need rest.”

“And I am giving it to you.”

“Not like this!”

“Do not mistake brutality for strength,” he quipped. “Stay here. Rest.”

“Fine!” she said. “But please! My friends are at the big house trying to save the humans there. If you can help them, please do it.”

“I will do what I must,” the boy said after a pause. “But I make no promises.”

As he turned to leave, Nenani called out. “Wait! One more thing. What’s your name?”

The boy tilted his head around just enough that she could see one green eye. “Ezra. And you, cousin?”

“I’m Nenani,” she replied.

“Like the river,” he said, the ghost of a smile creeping along his jawline. “I will leave you to rest, cousin Nenani. And heed my words about the fire.”

With great reluctance, she looked around her and at last nodded, giving into her fatigue. “Thank you, Ezra.”

With a nod, Ezra ran to a tree and scaled up the trunk as fast and as agile as a squirrel before disappearing into the branches above. She did as Ezra had instructed her to do and waited. For what seemed like hours, she waited, and as a deeper night fell upon the forest, Nenani found the pull of sleep pulling at her more and more.

It was not until she awoke to find the first whispers of dawn brightening the sky that she realized she had fallen asleep. For the briefest of moments, she did not know where she was and thought she was back in Vhasshal. But her chilled skin pulled her back to reality with a sickening crash.

The barrier was gone and the early morning quiet. Set just outside was a bright orange leaf, and set atop it was a pile of shriveled dark things. Picking one up to examine it, Nenani realized they were dried berries. She ate them quickly and with abject relish. Only after the fact did she realize it was probably not a very wise thing for her to eat random berries.

But if Ezra wanted to kill her, he was going about it in a very roundabout way. After she had finished her meager breakfast, she crawled out from the hollow and began to walk. She let her instincts guide her but still kept her eyes and ears open for any signs or sounds of giants. After a half hour, she came upon the first of them.

The vines had no thorns, but they were as thick as ropes and of such a deep green they almost appeared black. They snaked up from the ground in great numbers, wrapping around one foot and up the leg, squeezing hard against the body. They wound across the chest and under the arms, around each bicep, down to the wrists. Wrapped tightly around the neck, Nenani did not have to wonder what it was that had ultimately done the giant in. His lips were blue and his tongue swelled out from his mouth.

The giant was entangled with the vines against a large ironwood much in the same way the humans they had found had been. But instead of being preserved in a peaceful forever sleep, the giant’s remains were more akin to a warning than anything else. She did not linger.

After a few minutes' walk, Nenani came across another much in the same state and two more close by. As she studied the last one’s face, she marveled how someone who looked so human could behave like such a monster. Lost in her own musings, she did not hear the approaching footsteps. It was not till she heard the soft squish of damp leaves that Nenani turned to face the sound. Above her she saw the mouth of a large bag descending upon her, and then all at once, everything went dark. The walls pressed in as large hands gathered her and the bag up and into the air. She flailed and kicked at the fingers that held her and cried out.

“Easy there, little thing,” said a voice. “It’s dangerous out here all alone – OW!”

The rough spun fabric was dry and brittle and caught flames in mere seconds. The owner of the giant hands at the very least had the presence of mind to not immediately drop the flaming bag and instead quickly sat the whole bundle down very quickly.

The vertigo sent Nenani’s head spinning and she was tangled up in the charred remnants as she desperately swatted and pushed her way free. Arms still aflame, she scrambled to her feet and looked up to see an unfamiliar giant. Balls of fire materialized in her palms, but the giant was already putting a good bit of distance between her and himself.

“Gods above!” he squawked, nursing his singed fingertips and staring in open shock and fear at Nenani. “Why did you do that? I was just trying to help you! I didn’t mean no harm!”

Nenani glared. “Liar. You’re trying to capture me!”

The giant’s shock was rotating towards incredulity. “You could have said you were a fire mage!”

Nenani returned his incredulous look. “Who are you?”

“I’m the fella you just burned!” he snapped.

“Do better than that,” she snapped back. “Or I’ll do worse. So who are you? What do you want?”

The giant made a face and took several large steps back. “Captain told me to do a sweep for any stragglers and that’s what I’m doing. Cripes and crackers, I think you burned my finger prints off!”

Nenani paused. “Wait. Stragglers? What sort of stragglers?”

“Human stragglers!” he replied. He wasn’t even looking at Nenani anymore, seeming far too preoccupied with assessing the damage to his fingers. He stuck one in his mouth, wincing. “A few got lost in all the chaos of last night and we’re looking for them. I thought you were one, but clearly you’re…wait.”

The giant’s eyes widened and he turned them back to Nenani, seeing her in a new light. He pulled his hurt finger from his mouth. “You...you’re a fire mage.”

Nenani raised an eyebrow and looked pointed at the still flaming balls in her palms.

“I mean,” he continued. “That means…uh, well. You aren’t...the Princess by any chance, are you?”

Nenani eyed him more seriously. “Are you with Lord Colem’s men?”

The giant nodded. “I am.”

Nenani slowly lowered her hands. “Uh, then yes. I am. The princess I mean. Nenani. My name is Nenani.”

“But...I thought the rangers took you and the prince to safety already?” he asked. “What happened?”

“We were attacked. One of the rangers, Andy, he was killed,” she explained. “I told Thrist to get Jae to safety.”

The giant regarded her as though he thought very little of her actions. “Why didn’t you just go with him?”

“I could fend the attackers off better than Thrist could,” she answered.

The giant looked down at his fingers and back at her before his eyes drifted over to one of the dead giants still strung up in Ezra’s vines. “You...you did that then?”

“No,” she replied. “That was someone else.”

The giant shook his head in disbelief and ran a hand down his face. “Well, all that doesn't matter much right now. I need to get you back to camp and be quick about it. Our scouts reported earlier last night that the line we pushed back was a distraction and two more are sweeping in on our weaker side. Probably gonna try and take manor back. Colem won’t give it up easily.”

Nenani perked up. If they had taken the manor then surely Farris and Keral’s mission would have been successful. “Do you know if they were able to get the humans out? The ones down in the kitchens?”

“Most of them were moved last night,” the giant explained. “A lot of them aren’t too keen on us though, and a few ran off the moment they were free. I was to do a sweep to try and find them before Brennan’s men come through.”

Relief swept over her and she broke into a smile. “I’m glad,” she said quietly. “They did it then...”

He regarded Nenani cautiously and held his hands up. “Now, if you promise not to burst into flames, I can escort you back to the camp. As I was saying, those bastards are supposed to be coming through this way soon. I’d imagine these fellows all strung up were a scouting party.”

Nenani opened her mouth to answer when a rustling of foliage overhead drew both their gazes upwards. Pressed between the branches, Nenani spotted green gray garb and the now-familiar face of Ezra. He looked ragged and tired, and there were several rips along his sleeves.

“They are coming,” he said. “Many. We tried to slow their march, but we do not have the numbers. My people have moved away for their safety.”

“What the...” said the giant, squinting up at the human. “Who are…?”

“How close are they?” Nenani asked with renewed anxiety. “Ezra?”

The boy looked down at her with a defeated expression. “They will be upon you soon. You must flee from here, cousin. I am sorry. I did all we could.”

Before she could ask anything else, her ears pricked up as they caught a strange sound on the wind. Like a strong gale pushing trees. Her feet could feel the faint vibrations of many moving feet. An army on the march. 

Ezra looked off behind them and sneered before turning back to Nenani. “Leave now!” 

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BONUS ART