#a.k.a. run with the wind
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aila0veyou2death · 3 months ago
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𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬
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𖹭 pairing: viltrumite!mark grayson x flesh-hungry!female!reader (A.K.A warlord prince with god complex x bio-engineered monster girl built for carnage)
𖹭 TW: DUB CON, dark content, blood, gore, violence, power imbalance, swearing, possessive behavior, death, non-human biology, captivity, enemies-to-lovers trope?, face-fvcking, p in a v, size difference, breeding k1nk, dumbification, belly bulging, master/pet dynamic, overstimulation, biting, marking, p0rn with a plot.
𖹭 author's note: This fic is long, messy, heavy edited and 100% born from my horny little brain while watching Invincible Hope you enjoy :P
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Silence had never sounded so victorious.
What was once a vibrant blue planet, bursting with resistance and stubborn will, now lay in ruins. Cities crumbled. Skyscrapers reduced to bones. Blood dried into the dirt...Humanity tried its best—they fought with desperation, with all the fire they could muster.
But in the end, it was never a fair fight.
The Viltrumites walked the Earth's surface like gods claiming what was rightfully theirs.
Mark Grayson—son of a human mother, molded by a Viltrumite father—flew alongside the others in silence, dressed in the same white uniform. His gaze was sharp, scanning the rubble below. He didn't blink. Didn't speak. Just watched as his people moved like a plague across the land, searching through the decay not for survivors, but for something more valuable.
Secrets. Weapons. Leftovers of mankind's final, frantic efforts to defend itself.
They scoured beneath the ash, the collapsed buildings, the bones of a world that had tried to resist. Eventually, they found it—underground bunkers hidden deep beneath the crust of a dead world.
Inside, scraps of humanity clung to life. The scent of sweat, fear, and filth hit them first. Then came the screams—raw, panicked, and pointless.
The survivors didn't beg. They knew better. They cried, they clutched each other, they tried to run.
Mark said nothing. Not a single word. He didn't interfere. He simply watched, unmoved, as the others handled it. Blood filled the halls and screams died quickly.
There was no mercy left to give. Only silence and death.
Not a single emotion flickered in his eyes. No sorrow. No pity. No guilt. Nothing.
Not even as he hovered above the charred remains of the planet that birthed him.
Earth burned. And he watched.
He had been taken away before he ever had the chance to experience what this world could have offered him—just a boy when his father brought him to Viltrum, to be raised as one of their own. As a soldier. As an heir.
There were no childhood memories to mourn. No human attachments to cloud his judgment. To him, Earth was not home. It was a mission. A conquest. Another name on the long list of worlds that fell beneath the Viltrumite flag.
A hand landed firmly on his shoulder.
He didn't flinch. He knew that grip—it was measured, heavy, and commanding.
He turned his head slightly, meeting the sharp, weathered gaze of his father. Nolan stood beside him, armor stained with blood and ash, his cape fluttering in the dead wind. He looked at his son, not with warmth or pride—but with the calm precision of a general addressing his equal.
Nolan's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting from his son to the smoldering wreckage below. The quiet crackle of still-burning buildings echoed between them like a lullaby of conquest.
"It's pathetic." he muttered, voice slicing through the smoke. "The ones hiding underground. Crammed in piss-soaked bunkers, clinging to some foolish hope that their heroes would come back for them."
Mark said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"They should've surrendered," Nolan went on, colder now. "Some did. The smarter ones. But the rest?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Cowards. Hiding like insects in the dark. It’s disgraceful."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant wind and the distant creaking of a collapsed tower.
Then Nolan spoke again, glancing sideways at Mark. "We should check the GDA's underground facilities. Cecil was always hiding something. Back when I worked with him, I caught whispers—rumors of illegal experiments, unnatural weapons… even bio-creatures bred for war."
Mark’s brow furrowed slightly. "You think they actually built something strong enough to stop us?"
Nolan let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Doubtful. But who knows? If there is something down there, it could either be a useful tool… or a lingering threat. More likely, just another one of Cecil's pathetic failures rotting in the dark."
He looked ahead, eyes sharp. "Whatever it is, we can't leave it unchecked."
Without another word, Nolan lifted his hand and gestured.
From above, four Viltrumites dropped through the smoke in perfect formation, landing beside them in silence. Their white uniforms were stained with dirt and streaks of blood, but their expressions were calm and ready.
"Head to the GDA headquarters," Nolan ordered. "New York is nothing but bones now, but if they hid anything, it's down there. Deep." He turned to Mark. "We dig. We search. No stone left untouched. I want their secrets exposed and buried with them."
Mark gave a small nod and took off, the others following behind. They soared through the grey sky, silent wings of death gliding over what was once one of the busiest cities in the world.
Below, skyscrapers stood like charred tombstones, windows blown out, steel skeletons groaning in the wind. The familiar spire of the GDA building jutted out from the rubble, half of it caved in, the rest barely standing. Whatever was beneath it had remained hidden even through Earth’s last breath.
The Viltrumites landed and began tearing into the rubble like it was paper, shoving aside steel beams and broken machinery.
They crashed through steel and concrete with ease, moving deeper into the abyss beneath the ruined city. Reinforced floors gave way. Labs long abandoned passed in a blur of rusted equipment and glass. The dust thickened. Lights flickered, dim and weak like dying stars. The silence turned heavy. Tense. Wrong.
Then they found it—buried farther than any of them expected. A sealed facility, hidden beneath layers of stone and steel. Carved into the earth like something meant to stay forgotten. The air down there clung to them, thick with rot, blood, and iron.
The hallway ahead was narrow, smeared with the stains of time and something more violent. Rust bled down the walls in lines like veins. Blood left in handprints. Claw marks. Torn restraints bolted to the walls. Some of the doors were dented from the inside.
Nolan stepped forward and shoved one of them open with a metallic shriek.
WEEOO-WEEOO-WEEOO—
The alarms wailed like dying animals, echoing up every floor and spilling out into the ruined city above. Scarlet lights flooded the hallway, pulsing like veins. It was a scream. It reached the top of the building. The streets. The sky. Every Viltrumite nearby the area turned their head at the sound that's coming from crumbling structure.
And in the depths of that pulsing red light... something laughed.
Soft at first, childlike and playful.
Then it grew louder. Sharper. Hungrier.
A small figure dragged itself from the darkness of a ruined chamber, half-naked, blood-stained, nails cracked and filthy, hair tangled into a wild, matted mess. Your eyes were wide, glowing faintly under the emergency lights. Your body was trembling—not from fear, but from hunger. You hadn’t fed properly in months. Maybe years. And their scent—those clean, proud Viltrumite bastards reeking of blood under their pristine uniforms—hit your senses like a drug.
You smiled wide.
Your gaze snapped to the Viltrumites—and your pupils dilated.
You lunged.
It all went to hell from there.
The first Viltrumite barely had time to blink before you slammed into him, your fangs tearing deep into his throat. You shook your head violently, ripping out chunks of flesh like a starving beast. His scream gurgled to nothing as you twisted—snapping his neck and tearing it free with a savage pull.
You bounced off the falling body, landing on all fours like an animal, with his head still in your hands. Then you bit into it, chewing with noisy satisfaction, like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.
The others quickly charged, and one swung but missed.
You dropped the head mid-laugh, and grabbed his wrist, twisted it until the bones snapped loud enough to echo. He screamed. You slammed him into the wall so hard the stone cracked. The third came next—until your claws tore through his chest and you punched into his stomach, yanking out his organs like candy from a piñata.
"Oooh, so warm~!" you cooed, blood dripping from your chin. "Fresh meat really hits hard."
Mark stood frozen, mouth slightly open. His fists clenched and unclenched like his brain hadn't caught up yet. "What the hell...?"
Nolan didn't speak. His expression was hard, unreadable. But his eyes narrowed—and he took a single step back when you ripped the body in half, gore spraying across the floor in a wet splash.
No mortal prisoner stood before them—but a demon cloaked in flesh.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall as more Viltrumites stormed in, drawn by the alarm—only to find two of their own dead, one barely clinging to life, and you at the center of it all. Blood-drenched, crouched low like a beast, surrounded by the shredded remains of their comrades. You grinned from ear to ear, fangs glinting in the scarlet light, eyes sparkling with joy.
You looked up at the new arrivals and waved with a severed hand.
"More food?" you asked sweetly, licking blood from the stiff fingers in your grasp. "Hell yeah! Looks like we're going full course for breakfast today."
Mark's stomach twisted. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He was frozen in shock, even as his fists clenched on instinct.
Nolan's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening with rage.
And then you moved again—laughing, a blur of gore and teeth as you lunged forward.
The fight erupted.
𖹭 𖹭 𖹭
You left a trail of carnage in your wake—bodies were torn, blood still warm, the taste of Viltrumite flesh clinging to your tongue like candy. They fought hard. Harder than you expected. But not hard enough to stop you.
Some were left twitching on the ground, ribs shattered and lungs heaving. Others were little more than red pulp smeared across the concrete. You didn't kill all of them—not out of mercy, but because you were too full, too high on the rush of violence, and too focused on one thing now.
Escape.
You burst through the final floor like a cannonball, tearing through the layers of the GDA's underground like tissue paper. The red lights still flashed behind you, alarms screamed themselves hoarse. Your bare feet slammed into the cracked pavement of the surface—them you froze.
For the first time in decades, you felt air that hadn't been filtered through vents or tasted like copper. The sky opened above you—gray, grimy, sick with smoke, but still a sky. Buildings stood in disrepair, cracked and leaning, some half-swallowed by the earth like rotting teeth. The world wasn't at peace. But it wasn't the warzone you remembered either.
You stood on shaking legs—bare, blood-streaked, sun-drunk—blinking hard against the harsh, unfiltered daylight. Everything felt too big. Too open. Too quiet. You could still hear the screams of the underground, the alarms howling like dying things, the wet crunch of bone in your teeth. Blood still clung to your mouth like honey.
What happened here—?
A sudden gust of wind blew behind you—it was sharp, fast, and heavy.
Before you could fully turn, something slammed into your cheek like a meteor. The impact sent your body spiraling backward through the air, crashing through an abandoned car and skidding against the pavement before you dug your claws in, stopping yourself with a screech of broken concrete.
You snarled, wiping blood from your mouth, eyes snapping up at the figure hovering midair.
Dark hair. Blood on his fists. Chest rising and falling with tight, controlled fury.
Mark Grayson.
His eyes locked onto you, not with fear—but something worse. Cold, seething frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, twitching like he was holding back the urge to rip you apart on sight. He was scratched up, bruised, panting. Signs of your earlier encounter still painted across his skin. Behind him, more Viltrumites descended from the clouds like vultures, with Nolan among them, arms crossed, silently watching.
"Well, well," you purred, dragging yourself up to your feet with a crooked grin. "Aren't you a pretty one."
Mark didn't waste time. He charged.
You stepped aside like you were dancing, catching his arm mid-swing—but he twisted, and the two of you went crashing into the ground. His body slammed into yours, forcing the air from your lungs. You hit the pavement hard. It cracked beneath you.
You laughed.
Your legs locked around his torso, muscle to muscle, as you twisted and the two of you crashed through the skeleton of another half-standing building.
"Is this how you greet girls these days?" you breathed, grinning at him. "Tsk. No flowers? No sweet talk? Geez. What's up with men lately?"
Mark gritted his teeth, trying to overpower you.
You leaned in close, whispering against his jaw. "You always this rough on your dates, pretty boy?"
The two of you clashed again and again—flesh against flesh, teeth bared, blood spilled. The ground split open beneath your feet with every collision, debris flying, the city echoing with the sound of carnage. You were laughing—breathless, wild, drunk on adrenaline. Mark was giving you a fight, and god, it felt good.
But he was starting to slip.
You saw it in the way his chest heaved, in the slight delay between his punches. And worse—he hesitated. Just once. His gaze dropped to your mouth, flushed and slick with blood, and he flinched when you licked it slow, grinning through the chaos.
"Fuck, that hurts so good..."
That's when they invaded.
The other Viltrumites descended like mad hounds. You didn't get a warning—just the sudden weight of five bodies crashing into you mid-lunge. You screamed, thrashed, tore into one's side with your claws and sent another flying with a headbutt. One tried to grab your wrists but you quickly snapped his fingers like twigs. Another went for your legs and you sunk your heel into his jaw.
You were brutal. A machine built to kill. But they didn’t care. They kept coming.
You growled, nearly feral, muscles screaming under the strain of so many hands forcing you down. Your feet left the ground. You were held in place by sheer numbers that had your back arched and neck straining. One arm was pinned behind you, another around your ribs, another around your throat.
Then you saw... him.
Nolan.
Hovering just out of reach. Watching you with cold judgment in his eyes.
Something inside you snapped.
You lunged, with your head whipping forward like a beast. You nearly got him—teeth bared, inches from tearing into his throat—but you were yanked back at the last second. Still, it rattled them. They didn’t expect you to go for the general.
And neither did Mark.
He moved without thinking and slammed into you with enough force to break a mountain, shoulder in your gut, arm locking around your chest as he drove you to the ground.
"Stop!" he shouted, his breath hot against your skin.
You twisted in his grip—then bit down. Hard.
Your sharp teeth sank into his forearm, tearing its skin, ripping the muscle. He shouted, blood running warm across your tongue. You could taste him—Viltrumite blood, rich and violent, flooding your mouth like a reward.
He yanked his arm back and without pause, drove his fist into your jaw—forcefully.
You were still smiling as you went down, lips smeared in red. "...fucking awesome." you muttered breathless, the taste of Viltrumite blood still warm in your mouth. Your eyes rolled back as the world cracked sideways. Your body slumped and the sky above you blurred. You barely heard the other Viltrumites yelling before your knees buckled and your vision started to go dark.
The last thing you saw was Mark's face—shocked, bleeding, staring down at you like he didn't know whether to be petrified or fascinated.
And then, there were arms around you.
Strong and steady. Definitely his.
Mark caught you before you hit the ground completely, lowering you into his hold like he wasn't still bleeding from your bite, like he didn't just knock you out cold. You didn't feel the relief in the others, or the weight of containment cuffs snapping around your wrists. All you felt was warmth, before darkness swallowed you once again.
𖹭 𖹭 𖹭
You stirred with a groan, pain blooming at the base of your skull. Your body ached, heavy and sore like you've been hit by a planet—and maybe, in a way, you had. Your thoughts came sluggish, swimming through the fog in your head. Voices echoed around you, distant and distorted at first, like they were bouncing off the walls of your skull. But slowly, they grew clearer—they sharpened into words, whispers, and conversations.
Your eyes cracked open.
Bright lights seared into your vision.
You were kneeling.
Both knees pressed against freezing tiles, with your legs spread apart as if it forced open with no mercy. Thick restraints clamped tightly around your wrists behind your back, made of some dense, unyielding alloy that even your strength couldn't break through. The cold kiss of metal crawled over your spine. Chains dug into your skin where you had already been bruised, holding you still.
You were naked.
Completely.
There was no cloth, no covering—nothing to shield you from the cold or the sea of eyes watching from every corner of the stadium. The air prickled along every inch of your exposed skin, and the lights were focused solely on you, spotlighting every inch of your body—every inhuman line, every unnatural curve, every scar and every mark. Every part of what made you a monster was put on display.
A muzzle clamped tightly over the lower half of your face, molded hard against your jaw. It silenced you completely. No speaking. No biting. Just the soft rasp of your breath through your nose, quick and sharp, barely enough to calm the burn in your lungs. Your mouth was sealed shut.
A low growl rumbled from deep in your chest.
The sound cut through the low hum of voices like a blade.
Conversations stopped. Heads turned. The entire stadium fell silent.
Dozens—no, hundreds of eyes snapped to you.
They were all Viltrumites.
All of them. Rows of them, seated in ranks dressed in pristine white uniforms, most of them were cloaked—like some twisted cult of gods looking down at their captured beast. Their faces were cold, observing, and judgmental.
You shot the crowd with a venomous glare.
Then, one of the seated figures stood.
"It seems the beast has finally awoken."
The voice cut clean through the silence—calm, commanding, sharp as a blade. "Good."
General Nolan stepped forward, his presence heavy like gravity, each step deliberate. The stadium seemed to tense beneath his weight. He didn't look away from you, not even once, not even while the crowd of white-cloaked Viltrumites leaned in, listening. Hanging on his every word.
"This is the weapon that slaughtered twenty-seven of our finest." he announced, voice crisp and brutal. "An Earth-born experiment that crawled out of her hole after decades of silence. Not a soldier. Not a warrior. A threat. One that’s proven herself to be something far more dangerous than even a Viltrumite..."
You weren't listening to him.
Not really.
You didn't care for his dramatic little speech. All you cared about was the weight of the chains digging into your wrists and the deep, familiar ache that sparked in your muscles. You shifted on your knees, raw skin scraping against the cold metal floor as you tested your bounds again. Harder. Rougher. You knew they were watching. You simply didn't care.
Your breath came fast through your nose, the muzzle clamped over your mouth keeping you from speaking, biting, screaming. It was tight. Containing. But it wouldn't hold you back forever.
A low growl rumbled in your throat.
Then came the footsteps.
One by one, other Viltrumites stepped forward—soldiers, elites, survivors. Each of them wore the scars of your fury like badges of shame. Torn uniforms, burned skin, bruises blooming down their jaws and ribs. Some limped, others stood stiff and bloodied. They looked like warriors who had fought something far worse than their own.
They stood beside Nolan, forming a silent wall of evidence, an undeniable proof of your destruction.
"...To those who doubt what she's capable of," Nolan continued, gesturing toward them, "Let these survivors be your reminder—of the massacre she unleashed. Of the destruction this monster has caused."
A ripple of hushed awe and unease moved through the stadium. Even behind disgusted whispers and down-turned mouths, you could feel it.
Fear.
Respect.
Even some admiration.
They weren't just looking at you like a monster. No. Some of them were looking at you like you were unstoppable.
A force of nature.
You kept your head high despite the chains, the cold, the exposure. And as your gaze flicked across the stage, your eyes locked on something else—someone else.
Pretty boy.
He was standing just behind Nolan. Silent and stiff.
His face was hard to read, his jaw tight, but his eyes never left yours. Even after everything, he wouldn't stop looking at you.
And then there was Anissa, standing beside him like a shadow. Arms crossed, chin lifted slightly, like she was trying to figure you out. Judging and calculating. Not impressed—but not dismissive, either. She whispered something to Mark, a sharp little comment masked behind a smirk.
He didn't look at her. Didn't react. His gaze was locked on you.
And despite everything—despite the bruises on your body, the metal biting into your wrists, the weight of every eye watching—you smirked behind the muzzle.
Even now. Even here.
You could feel it.
That heat in your veins.
That wild pulse in your chest.
That hunger.
And he was still watching.
Their voices rose around you—cold and calculating, debating your fate like you were some unruly creature rather than a living being. The Viltrumite council spoke in harsh tones. Some suggested you be kept alive for study, molded into a living weapon. Your strength was too rare, too valuable to waste. You were a weapon, after all—unrefined, but powerful. Others disagreed. Their voices were sharp with caution, insisting you were too dangerous, too unpredictable, as you had already killed too many.
But then, the conversation shifted. It spiraled—quicker than your still-throbbing head could follow. But you caught enough.
They weren't talking about justice anymore, or even punishment.
A new thread had slithered into the room, it low and quiet at first. A suggestion that made your skin crawl.
"She's female." one of the council members said plainly, studying you with clinical detachment. "And clearly fertile."
Your jaw clenched behind the muzzle.
"She may be human in origin, but her body’s resilience and strength—those are above even standard Viltrumite females." another added. "Breeding with her could produce a hybrid that surpasses us. A child born of her might become the key to furthering our strength."
Disgust curled in your gut.
Breeding.
Shit. They were seriously discussing breeding you.
You could feel the weight of their eyes on your bare form. They weren’t just looking at a criminal anymore. They were evaluating you like a broodmare.
The female Viltrumites didn't object either. One of them tilted her head and added, "Her frame suggests high reproductive capability. The musculature, the hips, her bone density—everything aligns."
You wanted to laugh. To rip the muzzle off your face and tell them to shove their breeding program up to their asses.
But all you could do was breathe. Controlled, but furious.
And yet… somewhere under the heat of that fury, something twisted—a perverted, morbid curiosity coiled in your gut.
Breeding you?
Like you were some kind of baby-making machine.
You were trained to kill. Built for war. A monster, they said—and now suddenly, they were talking about your hips, your womb, your usefulness as if you were nothing more than a vessel. A thing to be filled, broken, used to build their empire from the inside out.
Your stomach turned. The word fertile echoed in your ears like a curse.
What were you now, a walking cradle? A fucking incubator for the Viltrumite legacy?
And worse—part of you wondered. What would it even look like? You, monstrous and wild, collared and panting beneath someone they chose for you. With your body betraying you. Bearing Viltrumite blood. Creating something terrifying. Something worse.
Something like you.
Your eyes narrowed, seething through your lashes.
You weren't going to let them own you.
But gods, the idea wouldn't leave. It curled around your brain like smoke. Sick. Curious. And Violent.
They didn't want to kill you.
They wanted to breed you.
A tall, scarred warrior stepped forward from the group of survivors—his arm still in a sling, a fresh wound slashed across his chest.
"If she is to be contained," he said, "then she must be broken. Handled. Someone will have to... train her."
The word train sent a flicker of rage down your spine.
"She won't yield to just anyone. Most of us tried, and barely survived. But according to the surviving officers…" His eyes narrowed at you. "There was one who managed to fight her back. Who held his ground longer than anyone else."
You stopped moving.
"Mark Grayson." he said.
The silence that followed was loud. Heavy.
"She responded to him. Almost like she enjoyed it." another commented. "We observed it—she was smiling. Laughing. Every time he hit her, she hit harder. She didn't want to kill him. It's almost like she wanted to play."
The crowd murmured again.
"She was having fun, and yet he still managed to injure her. To bring her down."
Mark's hands were clenched at his sides now, his brows furrowed, jaw tight. His silence said more than words could.
"She's a beast." the first speaker said. "But beasts can be trained. And if anyone is going to do it… it has to be him."
General Nolan finally turned slowly to face his son. "Mark."
Mark lifted his eyes, and for the first time, you saw the faintest flicker of conflict in them.
Nolan's voice rang clear, loud enough for all to hear. Cold. Final.
"She's your responsibility now."
"Break her. Tame her. Turn that wild thing into something useful. Think of it as… training a new pet." Nolan sharply commanded.
The word pet hung in the air, heavy and cruel.
And just like that, the decision was made.
You were no longer just a monster.
You were his task. His burden. His possession.
𖹭 𖹭 𖹭
You were moved into Mark Grayson's private quarters two days later.
You were escorted like an animal—your wrists locked in thick cuffs, a black gag secured tightly between your lips, and a gleaming high-tech collar locked around your neck. It pulsed faintly red, a constant reminder of the shocks it could deliver. You had already learned its bite. The plain white prisoner uniform clung to your body neatly but it couldn't hide the tension in your muscles or the defiance in your eyes. Your hair had been washed, but left wild and tangled, like they hadn't cared to do more than rinse you clean.
His father led the procession, flanked by five other Viltrumites. They walked in silence—grim and towering, like they couldn't wait to be rid of you. When the door to Mark's quarters hissed open, they shoved you forward without care. You stumbled, unbalanced, but didn't fall. You landed on your knees before him, like a stray beast dumped at the feet of her new master.
Mark said nothing.
He stood tall in his pristine white Viltrumite uniform, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. His eyes moved over you—your face, the collar, the gag, the subtle twitch in your smile. You could feel his gaze, cold and heavy, like he was judging you.
He didn't look surprised. He didn't even look particularly interested.
But he looked at you like you were his. Like you were already his.
The cage in the corner of the room was built just for you. Reinforced alloy. Thick bars. It wasn't hidden—it was a fixture in the space, something he'd clearly made room for. You were shoved inside it without grace, and the door clanged shut with a low, echoing finality.
His father said a few quiet words before departing with the others. Something about obedience. About control. Mark nodded, silent and cold, never once looking at you again until they were gone.
Only then did he approach the cage.
You were lying inside, already curled on your side like a cat. When he finally turned his gaze to you, you met it with a wink.
He stared at you with an unreadable expression. There was no lust, no hatred—just something… calculating. You could sense the effort it took him to stay composed, to look down at you and not act. You could feel the discomfort behind that stare. And you loved it.
He left you alone after that.
But when he returned hours later, the cage was torn open like it was made of paper. One of the bars was bent backward, and sparks flickered where the internal locking system had fried. You sat lazily in the center of his bed, legs tucked under you, the remains of your uniform hanging from your hips. Your upper body was bare—slick with sweat and blood, lips red from raw meat as you gnawed on something half-cooked
It stained his bedsheets. It stained your fingers.
He stopped in the doorway and stared at you for a long moment.
Then he exhaled slowly and murmured, "I really hoped you'd stay in the cage."
You licked your fingers, then flashed him a lazy grin. "I'm not an animal, Grayson."
He said nothing as he entered, stripping out of his uniform until he was half-naked. He moved toward the small kitchen like you weren't there, calm and composed, even as you followed him with your eyes, your teeth still sunk into the meat in your lap.
"Don't you have anything better to wear? Didn't my father give you something?" he asked over his shoulder.
You stood behind him now, silent, completely naked. You stretched your arms up—slowly, deliberately—exposing yourself without a single shred of shame.
"Ooh, don't like what you see?" you asked, with your voice sickly sweet.
Mark didn't turn around. "You don't get to tease me, pet."
Your smile widened. "That collar says otherwise."
And then—before you could take another step toward him—it sparked. Electricity crackled across your throat in a violent shock. You collapsed to the floor with a hiss, trembling and panting, but still smiling through the pain. He still didn't turn around.
"You're mine." he said flatly. "And pets don't speak without permission."
You lay there twitching on the floor, laughter bubbling from your throat even as your body spasmed.
You were such a problem. A walking mess of temptation and chaos. A feral, sharp-toothed creature he hadn't tamed yet. You stalked around his space like a spoiled cat—shedding blood, climbing on his things, curling up naked where you didn't belong. You didn't eat the rations he gave you. You rejected everything cooked. Mark quickly learned that the only way to keep you fed was raw meat, still dripping. And when he gave in and brought it, you looked at him with gleaming eyes like he was rewarding you.
He hated that. Hated the way you made him feel like he enjoyed your presence. Like he looked forward to your games.
You were always touching his things, brushing against him when he walked past, whispering into his ear when he tried to sleep.
"You're fun when you're pretending not to want me." you whispered one night, your breath warm against his neck. "I was just wondering how long it would take before you finally snapped."
His hand gripped your jaw tight, forcing your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed slowly along your collar
"I will break you..." he murmured, voice low and lethal. "And you'll beg me for it."
You met his threat with a wicked smile, eyes gleaming with challenge.
Gods, you were such a naughty thing.
𖹭 𖹭 𖹭
Living with Mark was a war of nerves.
He didn't speak much, not unless he had to. He gave orders, not conversation. Every time he walked into the room, he expected obedience—and every time, you gave him the exact opposite.
He tried to tame you with structure. Routine. Food. Clean quarters. The cage—still bolted to the corner of his room—was meant to remind you that no matter where you roamed, this was still captivity. You were still his.
And yet, you prowled through his space like a cat. A filthy, bloodthirsty little thing with sharp teeth and mischief in her eyes.
You made a game out of pissing him off.
You ripped the sleeves off the black Viltrumite uniform he had ordered for you, claiming they were itchy—then refused to wear anything else. You slept wherever you pleased, most often curled in his bed, stretched across the sheets like you owned them. You dripped blood on his floors from your stolen snacks, purred at him in mockery, and bared your teeth every time he looked too calm. You called him "pretty boy," "master," "hot stuff" and "Grayson," depending on what reaction you were hunting for.
Sometimes, you stood right in front of him, naked and smiling, collar still glowing red.
Sometimes, he didn't say anything.
Sometimes, he did.
And when he did, it was never nice.
Still, you could feel it—beneath all that authority and arrogance, something was cracking. Every time you got under his skin, every time his jaw clenched and his fists curled, you felt it coming closer. That first fight between you hadn't just been survival—it had been ecstasy. Something deep in your corrupted instincts craved the collision again. The pain. The rush. The blood. And the way he had looked at you, panting, bruised, victorious.
You wanted to taste it again.
But Mark had been sent off-world. Called away on a brutal conquest with other Viltrumites. Rumors spread fast—it had been ugly. Ugly and loud. You could practically hear the taunts in his ears, the rage in his fists. You knew how he got when pushed too far.
So you pushed him further.
By the time he returned, there was blood on Viltrum's walls.
You had tried to escape.
You tore through six Viltrumites before they even realized what was happening. Ate one. Injured another so badly they couldn't walk. You laughed the whole time, dripping with gore, half-mad with the thrill of it. You're not actually trying to leave, not really. You just wanted to fight. You wanted to feel alive again.
Once they captured you, they threw you into one of their most heavily guarded prisons. Chained you like the monster they said you were. But not before you left your mark.
So when Mark came home—wounded, furious, soaked in blood and sweat—he didn't go back to his quarters.
He went straight to the prison.
And when the cell door hissed open, there you were. Naked again, legs casually crossed, sitting on the floor like a satisfied beast after a feast, while still wearing your collar like a choker. Your mouth was stained with red. Your arms were chained above your head, but your eyes were calm—glowing with smugness and something else.
You tilted your head. "Welcome home, pretty boy~"
He stepped inside. The door sealed shut behind him with a cold hiss, and he didn't speak. He just stared and his silence was loud.
You didn't lower your gaze. Didn't shift or flinch under the weight of it. You wanted this—you wanted that fire in his eyes, the heat of fury crawling down his spine. You wanted that unhinged thing in him to wake up. To bare its teeth. To bite you back.
You smiled, slow and sharp. "You look like shit."
His jaw tightened. The cuts on his face were still fresh. Blood streaked down the side of his neck, half-dried, and his hands were trembling from self-control.
You cocked your head, chains clinking above you. "What's wrong? Mission didn't go so well? Or are you just mad I had a little fun while you were gone?"
You let out a giggle as he moved closer. Boots echoing off the cold floor. You shifted, legs still crossed, thighs open just enough to tempt.
"You killed six." Mark said, voice laced with coldness, "Injured five more."
You smiled with your teeth. "I was hungry."
His palm cracked across your face before you even finished the sentence.
Your head jerked to the side, the taste of copper blooming on your tongue. You spat, a string of red falling to the floor between your knees, then looked up at him with a smug, bloodstained grin. "There he is…"
He stepped closer. Towering. Trembling with restrained fury.
"You think this is funny?" he snarled.
You laughed, low and taunting. "It's hilarious, actually. They cried so loud. Struggled like babies. You should've seen their faces, pretty boy." Your voice lowered to a mock whisper. "I think you're getting soft on me. Not the same Viltrumite who left me broken on a battlefield."
His eye twitched. His chest rose and fell like he was holding back the urge to throw you through the wall.
"What do you want, huh?" he snapped. "Another beating?"
You cocked your head, smile dripping arrogance. "I want to see you snap. I want the same fire that pinned me down and made me feel alive. You've been boring since you brought me here... there's no fun."
Something shifted in his face—a cold fury, flickering with something darker.
His hands moved.
He simply undid the belt of his white Viltrumite uniform, then let the fabric drop away just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, and mean. Veins tracing the length like dark roads, the head was wet and angry.
You blinked. Frowning, your mouth twisting into a sneer. "Eww, gross—what the fuck do you think I'm gonna do with that!?"
Mark stepped forward, towering over your chained form. His hand wrapped around your collar, tilting your head back roughly.
"Open your mouth."
"Fuck you."
"I swear," he growled, leaning down until his breath scorched your lips, his voice is low and seething, "If you don't open your fucking mouth, I'll tear your jaw open and shove my cock down your throat until you forget how to breathe."
Your eyes narrowed as you watched Mark stand tall before you, his 8.5 to 9-inch cock jutting out, the swollen tip slapping lewdly against your parting lips. You could feel the heat radiating off his thick shaft, smell the heady musk of his arousal. His girthy length hovered dangerously close to your face, a silent threat and a promise of what's to come.
You opened your mouth slowly, not out of submission or eagerness, but to bare the sharp, wicked teeth you were so proudly known for. It was a challenge, a silent dare. Your tongue darted out, flicking against the weeping slit of his cockhead in a teasing caress that was barely a touch.
Mark's eyes flashed dangerously as you slowly parted your lips, revealing the glint of your sharp teeth. This was no act of submission, but a silent challenge thrown down between you. "Tuck those fangs away." he growled, his grip in your hair tightening warningsly.
You met his glare with a defiant tilt of your chin, not complying. "Make me." you taunted, your voice dripping with insolence even as his fingers dug into your scalp.
A dark snarl rumbled in Mark's chest. "Brat," he spat. His other hand shot out, gripping your collar possessively. "If I feel even a graze of those little fangs on my cock, I will snap your fucking neck. Got it?"
Before you could react, he pushed it forward, the thick head of his dick forcing your lips apart and stretching them obscenely around his girth. You gasped as he pushed deeper, your throat squeezing around its size. The tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat, making you gag reflexively.
Mark paused, allowing your throat to adjust to his size. His thumb stroked along your jawline, not a gentle caress, but a dominant, controlling gesture. "Breathe through your nose." he commanded gruffly. "You can take it."
Trapped and stuffed full, your glare was your only remaining weapon. Mark started to move, his thrusts initially slow and deliberate. Each drag of his thick length along your tongue and throat sends jolts of unwanted pleasure through you. As if your body is betraying you, you can feel your cunt pulsing, clenching around nothing as he used your mouth.
His pace increased, fucking your face hard and rough. Wet, filthy sounds of flesh slapping echoed through your cell. Drool and precum mingled, dripping down to your collar and to the floor. He gripped your hair tighter, holding your head still as he hilted with each brutal thrust.
He forced you to take his entire length, over and over, balls slapping against your spit-slicked chin. Tears streamed down your face from the relentless face-fucking and lack of oxygen, but he showed no mercy.
Suddenly, with a harsh tug on your hair, he yanked your head back and pulled out abruptly. You gasped desperately, drawing ragged breaths, thick ropes of your saliva was connected to his cock and the head of his dick was an angry red, flushed and leaking, hovering inches from your face.
It was then silent between the two of you, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing filling the tense air. His chest rose and fell, sweat beading at his temples, while you knelt there—lips swollen, throat aching, eyes glassy and unfocused from the brutal rhythm he'd forced on you.
Your head swayed slightly, lightheaded and dazed, the aftershocks of it still buzzing through your body like static. You blinked up at him, not out of defiance this time, but because your mind hadn't caught up yet—too fogged to realize he had pulled out without even cumming.
Mark grasped the metal cuff binding your wrists and, with a simple flex of his superhuman strength, tore it apart like it was nothing more than paper. The sudden release sent you off balance that you collapsed forward with a grunt, catching yourself on your hands and knees in an undignified sprawl. Before you could push yourself up, his fingers hooked under your chin, jerking your head back to meet his gaze.
A slow, mocking smirk tugged at his lips as he took in the sight of your disheveled state. Then, without a word, he grabbed you and with a sharp, effortless motion, hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The air rushed out of your lungs as your body collided with the hard wall of his chest, muscles shifting beneath you as he began walking out of your cell.
As you attempted to slip free from his hold, one hand gripped your rear possessively, giving it a sharp, punishing slap. The stinging pain radiated through you, a silent warning from him. You bit back a yelp, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry out.
Mark walked down the corridor in heavy silence, his steps echoing ominously as he carried you like a trophy draped over his shoulder. Viltrumite guards paused to stare, their gazes lingering on your bare, used form. You could feel their eyes crawling over your skin, filled with assumptions, judgment, maybe even envy at the power play unfolding in front of them. You shot them a sharp side-glare, though the faint blush dusting your cheeks betrayed the heat pooling beneath your skin.
Without breaking a stride, Mark took off into the air, the force of his flight making the wind whip past your ears. In seconds, you landed hard on the balcony of his private quarters. He barely gave you a moment to react before tossing you onto the bed like you were nothing more than his personal possession. The moment your back hit the mattress, he was already stripping off his bloodied uniform before crawling on top of you, pinning you down with the full weight of his body.
And then his mouth crashed onto yours. It was not gentle or loving but a brutal claiming. His tongue forced its way past your lips to dominate your mouth. He poured all his pent-up frustration and lust into the kiss, one hand gripping your hair to hold you in place as he plundered your mouth.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he released your bruised lips, both of you panting harshly. "You've done nothing but push and provoke me—every damn chance you got." he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "But now? You're right where I want you."
With one swift motion, he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head in one large, unyielding hand, pressing them into the mattress. His body hovered close, radiating with heat and fury as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "No more games."
Mark shifted his hips, positioning himself between your spread thighs. The thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance, already slick with your unwilling arousal. "It's time someone taught you the meaning of obedience." he rasped. "And I'm going to enjoy breaking you in."
With a single, brutal thrust, he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, dripping cunt. A guttural moan tore from his throat as his aching cock sank into the silken heat of your depths. Your back arched off the bed, a scream of pained pleasure punching from your lungs as you were split open on his massive shaft.
"AAHH~!"
"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight..." Mark grunted, giving you a moment to adjust to his size stretching you wide. "This cunt was made for my cock." He rolled his hips, grinding against your cervix, before pulling back and slamming in again.
Each relentless thrust sent lewd, wet sounds bouncing off the walls, your moans rising higher with every slap of skin against skin. His free hand roamed up your body, seizing your breast in a firm grip, fingers digging its softness as he pounded into you without mercy.
"Aah! Aah! Aah! Fuck! Mark! Mark—!"
Mark's mouth found your neck, his lips and teeth teasing over the sensitive skin. He licked and nipped at your racing pulse before soothing the sting with his tongue, almost tenderly. Mark's lips trailed up to your ear as he continued his relentless pace. "That's right. Scream for me." he demanded, voice a guttural rasp. "Let them hear who owns you now." His hand slid from your breast to your throat, fingers wrapping around it possessively, not squeezing, but with the clear threat of doing so.
He pistioned his hips faster, each powerful thrust striking your cervix and sending bolts of white-hot pleasure spiking up your spine. Your cunt clenched and fluttered around his plundering cock, slick walls gripping him like a velvet vice. The stimulation was overwhelming, pushing you rapidly towards a peak.
Mark panted harshly, sweat dripping down his brow from exertion. "Take my cock. Fucking take it, you whore." His grip on your hair and throat tightened in tandem with his increasingly brutal thrusts.
He could feel your body tensing, your legs starting to quake. "No." he growled. "Don't you dare cum without my permission." To emphasize his point, he reached between your bodies and pressed down hard on your clit, pinching the sensitive nub almost cruelly.
"No! No! Aah! I-It's too much! Aah! I can't—AAHH~!" Your back arched, a scream ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your cunt spasmed and clenched wildly, milking Mark's hard cock as wave after wave of ecstasy consumed you.
Mark groaned, the rhythmic squeezing of your cunt pushing him closer to his own release. "You think you deserve to come after all the shit you've pulled? You'll be punished for this." he growled, his hips slamming into yours with a punishing force as he chased his own pleasure.
With one last, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside of you. His cock jerked and throbbed as it unleashed it's hot, thick ropes of seed directly into your spasming walls. He filled you with his essence, flooding your empty womb, until you were overflowing.
As the final pulses of your shared climax fades away , Mark collapsed onto you, pinning you into the mattress. He caught your lips in a searing kiss, more passionate and intense than the one before. When he finally broke away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes searching yours with a dark, triumphant gleam.
"We're not done yet. You think you get to rest after cumming without permission?" he growled.
Your hazy eyes fluttered open, cheeks flushed deep red. Still breathless, you gave him a small, teasing smile as you slowly dragged your wet tongue across your lips, hungry for more.
𖹭 𖹭 𖹭
The night blurred into a haze of relentless, brutal coupling. Mark's stamina seemed boundless as he took you in every position imaginable, each thrust driving into you with punishing force and precision. The bed creaked and groaned beneath the onslaught, a lewd symphony of carnal lust.
You were drunk on pleasure, drowning in the overwhelming sensations of his body claiming yours over and over. Laughter bubbled from your lips, interspersed with wanton moans and cries of ecstasy. It was a stark contrast to the pain and fury of your first fight; this was a different kind of battle, one where you found yourself surrendering to the enemy's touch.
"Look at you," Mark growled, voice thick with satisfaction as he pounded into you from behind. "Taking my cock like a bitch in heat." His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, fingers sinking into the flesh as he rutted into you with wild abandon. "Such a good little pet."
He leaned down, teeth finding your ear as his hips snapped forward, striking your cervix dead-on. "You're going to look beautiful, all round and full with my child..." he murmured, voice dripping with dark promise. The filthy words sent a shiver down your spine, even as a traitorous part of you thrilled at the idea.
Your body was a canvas of marks and bruises, each one a testament to his ferocious desire. Your breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, the two slick with sweat and come. The obscene squelch of his seed sloshing inside you with each roll of your hips was the only sound louder than your escalating moans.
You lost count of the number of times he filled you, painting your insides white with his release. Your womb was flooded, as your belly starting to swell with the sheer volume of his cum. It looked as if you were already pregnant, the bulge of his seed a perverse parody of new life.
As dawn approached, Mark finally slowed, his thrusts growing less urgent as he chased his final climax. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt, cock jerking and pulsing as he pumped you full once more. He collapsed against your back, crushing you into the mattress with his weight.
After a long moment, he rolled onto his side, spooning you from behind. Mark's strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your limp, body flush against his chest. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat that clung to your skin. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, gradually slowing as exhaustion claimed him.
As exhaustion threatened to pull you under into a deep, dreamless slumber, Mark's strong arms encircled you from behind, holding you close against his muscular chest. He curled around your limp body like a lover, one hand possessively splayed across the slight swell of your belly, feeling the way it strained with the heavy load of his seed trapped inside you. A look of dark satisfaction flickered across his chiseled features as he surveyed the results of his relentless claiming.
"Rest now, my love." he whispered against your ear, a tender darkness in his tone. "Close your eyes… because when you wake up, I'm going to make you mine all over again."
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊˚⊹ ᰔ
𖹭 please don't repost, publish, or translate this shit anywhere. You don't have the right to do that. Thank you for understanding.
Divider made by @cafekitsune ୨ৎ
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l0s3rd0wnt0wn · 4 months ago
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"Oh, you were not what was desired, but that makes you no less dear to me. A boy would have been the Son of France, but you, Marie Thérèse, shall be mine."
With reader and her mom
Reader is a mama's girl through and through; you'll do anything with your mother. Father's Day is just another Mother's Day on the red carpet. The two of you will wear matching dresses and nails. Your mom is a huge fan and supporter. When you show her your boyfriend or girlfriend, she'll tease non-stop and then threaten whoever breaks your heart. You're her baby, no matter how old you get. When Bruce cheated on her and had a whole other child with that woman (a.k.a. Damian and Talia), you were born, and you were the only thing that made sense in this world. Holding you for the first time was like holding the most precious jewel in the world—her baby girl. Sure, she loves Jason and Dick, but no one can top you. She'll smile with the other Batkids at galas or photo shoots, but she'll wrap her arms around you when photos are being taken or press a wet kiss to your forehead as the press snaps a picture. True, Bruce Wayne has his sons, but your mom has you—her perfect little girl. She can't even fathom the idea of you getting older. When you started saying you were too old for tiaras or princess parties, how could you be too old? You're only eleven! You can still wear the Tiana dress she bought you, but she knows you're getting older, so she'll just have to deal with it. But please, put this princess dress on for her—pretty please! Your mom looks pretty young; lots of people think she's your sister, but that's only because she had you at a young age. You should see the looks on your teachers' faces when your mom, Gotham's sweetheart supermodel, comes scrambling to the door because you forgot your lunch. If you become a Robin or Batgirl, she'll be upset, but it's your life, not hers. She supports you all the way, even getting you a training tutor or going to the gym with you. Let's just say the two of you get really competitive on the treadmill. There's a picture in Bruce's office of your mom holding you in her arms. You could have been a toddler at that time, dressed in a bear onesie with a scarf around your neck. It's the middle of December; your mom wanted you to have a day out with Bruce. There are little snowflakes in her big black curls, and she has a bright smile on her face while her scarf swishes in the wind. Bruce took the picture, and it took him a while because he couldn't stop staring at your mom. "Brucie, hurry up! I can't feel my feet!" she giggles and squeaks, running into the limo, sighing when she feels the warmth. She cuddles you gently. "Did you like the snow, sugar butt?" Your mom laughs, kissing your rosy cheeks. When things get too hectic, Bruce can always stare at that picture and think about what he lost.
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honey-minded-hivemind · 4 months ago
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Who wants a crack/dark AU with Gen Z Earth 20-20-X Reader, who winds up in X-Men Evolution, and everyone is scared and sick every time they hear the horrors of the Earth 20-20-X?
(A.k.a. the vent au, for all of us who want to curse every single ******* out for this ******* we are stuck in)
Ideas for this Reader includes angst, such as:
• surviving the pandemic
• surviving a self-destructing country
• growing up poor
• growing up in a broken house
• being bullied
• religious/emotional/psychological trauma
And comfort, such as:
• getting a mutation they always wanted
• living in am economy before 9/11 (when things were affordable to some degree)
• getting to have a semi-okay teen life even if they used to be in their mid 20s
• some age regression, which mixes with hurt/scared fluff
• all the hugs and tubs of ice cream you want
Reader is able to change Prinicpal Kelly's mind on how to treat mutants by simply telling him what one year of their life was like on Earth 20-20-X. He is now a devout activist for mutant rights and runs for mayor, then president. So the Evolution world is also nicer than Earth 20-20-X, as they all may have bigots and jerks, but one day in the life of Reader in their old world and those who have any heart change. (And are traumatized).
Ye or no?
@sugar-soda @thewickedweiner @crow-crystal
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studioeisa · 6 months ago
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unknown / nth ⭐ minghao x reader.
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your boyfriend gives you a language lesson before bed.
★ minghao x translator/interpreter!reader a.k.a the lost in translation couple ★ word count: 1.9k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, conversation about mandarin (my reference). takes place post-lost in translation! not entirely necessary to have read the fic prior to this. title is from hozier's song of the same name. not proofread. ★ footnotes: minghao did a brief weibo live and i've been missing lost in translation for quite some time now, so i jammed this out really quick 🚬🦆 may write more for/about this couple in the near future, so take this as the first of many! ♡
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“I think Cold Love really represents me well. It’s probably because I’m an INFJ.”
You press your palm to your mouth to stifle your laugh. Minghao doesn’t react visibly, but his hand waves at you off-camera. A wordless reminder of Be nice. 
The two of you are across the room from each other— him, perched on the couch of his hotel room, while you’re already tucked in bed. Minghao had promised his fans a quick Weibo live to discuss his most recent EP, leaving you to your own devices for the next hour or so. 
You didn’t mind. It was one of life’s simple joys, listening to your boyfriend talk. 
He spends the next thirty minutes or so discussing his creative process and answering fans’ questions. You don’t bother him, knowing you’ll have all the time in the world later to tease him for some of his remarks. Like his indignance at growing taller or his jabs at his age. 
As you busy yourself with mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you relish in the familiar sound of Minghao’s Mandarin. It’s probably your favorite version of white noise, really. The mellow tone of his voice contrasts the rapid, sharp way that he speaks. Despite being well-acquainted with the language, there are still some words that elude you. You make a mental note to ask Minghao about them later. 
Less than an hour has passed before you hear Minghao beginning to wind down. “Good luck on all of your exams. To the people working, keep working hard! Make lots of money,” he says hurriedly. “And good luck with love, too. I hope you all find someone who loves you back so you can experience all sorts of feelings.” 
He’s never been the type to drag out his goodbyes, so you’re not surprised when— after a final heart sign and wave to the camera— Minghao is finally clocking out of his live. 
Immediately, he slumps back onto the couch like the whole thing had drained him. Sure, lives weren’t necessarily one-sided, but he did have to hard carry when it came to the talking part of the affair. You flash him a sympathetic smile as you sit up in bed. 
“Done, xīngān?” you call out. 
Minghao doesn’t respond right away. You don’t hold it against him. He sometimes needed a moment, needed a minute or two to pull himself together. 
After staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, Minghao lets out a shuddering exhale. “Done,” he responds, and he’s moving before you can register it. 
He gets to his feet and crosses the room in a few, quick strides. Once he gets to the bed, he wastes no time in reaching for you. His knees sink in the mattress; his hands dart out. 
You let out a slight squeal when Minghao tugs you into him. 
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. This had been a premeditated act. You can tell in the way his arms immediately snake around your waist. 
You let out a defeated sigh against his chest, but make no move to pull away. “Tired?” you ask, your hands resting on the small of his back as you return his embrace. 
He hums a quiet ‘mhm’. “I’m not built for this anymore, xīngān,” he whines. 
The two of you know that’s a bold-faced lie. Still, you indulge your sulking boyfriend lest he begin to pout even harder. “My poor baby,” you coo, running your hands up and down Minghao’s back in a show of comforting him. “Gonna blame it on being an introvert?” 
“Shut up.” 
You let out a small laugh. You can’t see it, but you swear you can feel the curve of Minghao’s smile as he presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head. 
“Thank you for being here,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence. “It means a lot.” 
A part of you wants to insist that it’s nothing. It’s not every day that you can steal away to his hotel room, though. In between your own work of interpreting for the boys and working on subtitles for videos, there’s also the added layer of keeping your relationship on the down low. 
Tonight, Minghao had just tried to asked. Texted a couple of hours ago that he wanted to see you. And you could never really deny him anything, not even on your best days. 
“Anything for you,” you respond as you stroke the short hair at his nape. 
Minghao buries his face in the crook of your neck, his smiling mouth warm as he mumbles against your skin. “Don’t give me that much power,” he warns. “I’ll abuse it.” 
You chuckle. “I don’t doubt that.” 
The two of you lapse into another bout of quiet. This had always been your way, even back when the two of you were friends: Comfortable silences, unspoken agreements. Your new relationship had only given you two the carte blanche to be a little more touchy during your shared moments of peace. 
You’re fairly sure that Minghao has fallen asleep when he speaks up again. “How do you think I did?”
“With the live?” 
“No, with cuddling. Yes, with the live.” 
“Ask nicely.”
“Please?” 
You put Minghao out of his misery by returning his earlier gesture— leaving a quick kiss, this time to the line of his jaw. “Stellar as usual,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pick up on everything, though.” 
“That’s new.” Minghao shifts around on the bed until he can prop himself up on one elbow. He rests his chin in his hand but doesn’t stray too far. He stays hovering over you, his free arm remaining around your waist. 
He goes on to goad, “Your Mandarin must be getting rusty.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “How can it be rusty,” you retort, slipping into the language as if to prove a point. “When you’re always insisting that we use it?” 
No matter how many times that you speak to him in his mother tongue, Minghao always seems momentarily startled. The surprise always fades into affection, evident in the fond way that he gazes down at you. 
He matches your code switch without missing a beat. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? I love it when you speak Mandarin,” he says, punctuating his words with a quick pinch to your side. 
You swat his hand; he giggles down at you.
“Which parts did you miss out on?” he asks. 
It takes you a moment to recall the terms and phrases you’d wanted to question him about. “撒娇?” you ask, the unfamiliar word sounding almost hesitant on your tongue. Sājiāo.
A thoughtful ‘ahhh’ escapes Minghao. “Think of it like aegyo,” he offers delicately. “It’s— often in the setting of a relationship. Acting cute to be endearing.” 
“Like when you gripe about me not responding fast enough.” 
“Examples aren’t necessary,” he says wryly. “But, yes. Like that.” 
You flash Minghao a grin before snuggling a little closer to him, entangling your legs. The added touch makes his expression softens in the way it only ever does when it’s you. 
“Anything else?” he prompts. 
It’s not everyday that Minghao gets to play the ‘teacher’ role in your relationship. In the beginning, you had been his Korean tutor. In the longer run, you had helped him translate and transpose words that he couldn’t reach. Every so often, you would run to him for some Mandarin help, and you could tell that he relished in the shift in dynamic. 
The thought pushes you to keep asking, even though the words are inconsequential. “You used the term 暖男,” you note. “What was that one?” 
“Nuǎnnán,” he echoes, correcting your intonation. You repeat the word as he said it, and he gives a small smile of approval.
“It’s our version of ‘nice guy’,” he explains. “But it’s rooted a lot in culture. A nuǎnnán is a man who can be considered inherently warm-hearted in an otherwise patriarchal society. And no—” Minghao’s tone takes on a more chiding quality when he sees you about to interrupt. “Do not try to call me a nuǎnnán.” 
You jut out your lower lip slightly. “Why not?” 
The arm that Minghao had around your waist rises, just enough so he can tap the tip of your scrunched nose. “Don’t pull out sājiāo on me,” he scolds. 
It’s not necessary for you to act cute. Your boyfriend would be endeared by you either way. 
You chuckle at being caught, and Minghao’s sternness mellows. “One last.” You hold up a finger as you try to nail the phrase that had first caught your attention. “裸婚?” 
There’s a flicker of surprise on Minghao’s expression. “That was from a fan making a joke,” he warns before repeating the word himself. “Luǒhūn translates to— hear me out, okay?— ‘naked marriage’.” 
The sight of your raised eyebrow draws a sharp laugh from Minghao. “It’s another one of those cultural things,” he says. 
When he doesn’t add onto his words, you shoot him an incredulous look. 
“What?” he asks with feigned innocence.
“That’s it?” you prod. “You’re not going to explain what ‘naked marriage’ means?” 
“You have access to the internet, don’t you?” 
“Xīngān.” 
“That’s me.” 
At Minghao’s continued evasion, you merely huff and give up. It’s getting late, anyway, and he has to be up early in the morning for sound check. Come tomorrow, you’ll have to slip away before anyone can come looking for either of you. The boys aren’t privy to your relationship yet, and God forbid any of the other staff find out.
“Fine,” you say, unable to resist the urge to just be a little haughty. “Let’s go to sleep.” 
Minghao is undeterred by your contempt. If anything, it only makes him smile a little wider, gives him an excuse to pull you into his chest. He goes to cradle the back of your head, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair. 
You lean into his touch, burying your face into the front of his shirt. There it is again. Those few, precious moments where the two of you can just bask in each other’s presence. 
The silence stretches on this time. You’re properly drowsy by the time Minghao speaks up, his words quiet as he mumbles them against your shoulder. 
“No house, no car, no fancy ring,” he murmurs, his tone contemplative and sleepy. “Luǒhūn.” 
“A naked marriage,” you respond mid-yawn. 
“Mhm.”
“Nothing but love.” 
“You got it.” 
The conversation feels like it’s teetering on the verge of something consequential, something of value. But with the two of you already halfway asleep in each other's arms, there’s not much you can do besides exchange some light pecks and mumbled words.
“I think I’d want at least a house before getting married,” you say. “Or, like, an apartment.”
“What, you wouldn’t live out on the streets with me?” he teases lowly. 
Your eyes flutter close. “You would have to convince me,” you shoot back. 
Minghao responds with a lingering kiss to your forehead. 
“How long will it take to convince you?” 
It’s a little too early in your relationship for the topic of marriage to be seriously brought up. It’s fun to dream about, though. To talk about in hushed tones, to toy with in Minghao’s mother tongue. 
To imagine a time where this might be your every night— falling asleep in each other’s arms. 
“Might take you years and years,” you answer, a giggle rising from the back of your throat. 
Minghao’s arms shake as he laughs. His lips stay on your head, almost like he can’t bear to peel away from you for a minute too long. 
“I don’t mind,” he says as the two of you begin to succumb to sleep. 
The last thing you hear is his affectionate, soft promise of, “I’ll start working on convincing you, xīngān.” 
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ilikemangosalot · 3 months ago
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Part two of the smc fanfic!!
I should seriously start giving titles 😓🙏🏼
Anyways enjoy, I rushed this a bit because I had no idea how to continue it off.
WARNING!!!! : gingerbrave getting wounded, Jam (a.k.a blood) Shadow Milk lowk insane.
🃏
“The trick isn’t making them laugh. The trick is keeping them laughing until the blade sinks in.”
Time had a strange way of stretching around Shadow Milk Cookie. He wasn’t sure if it had been weeks, months, or years since he re-entered their lives. All he knew was this: Y/N hadn’t kicked him out, and Gingerbrave hadn’t asked who he really was.
And wasn’t that the most delicious kind of tension?
He stayed in the shadows, a silhouette just out of reach. A jester without a stage, lurking like a bad punchline.
He would tell Gingerbrave bedtime stories—twisted tales about kingdoms that burned and heroes who lied.
“Why do your stories always end badly?” Gingerbrave asked once.
Shadow Milk Cookie smiled, his bells tinkling from his subtle movements.
“Because happy endings put the audience to sleep.”
Y/N watched all of it with a silent sort of fury. She had forgiven him just enough to let him stay, but not enough to trust him.
Sometimes, late at night, she’d find him sitting in the forge, eyes wide and glassy, speaking to no one.
“You’re talking to your reflection again,” she muttered, drying her hands.
He didn’t look at her. “At least it’s honest.”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I never stopped.”
She still remembered the day she saw the village burn. His laughter echoing through smoke, his silhouette outlined in flames like some hell-born ringmaster.
And the way her son had screamed—not in fear, but in confusion.
Like he recognized the monster.
And maybe he did.
Gingerbrave POV:
It began subtly.
He started having dreams.
A jester’s laugh.
A hand, too cold.
A voice whispering: “You died once already. Do you want to try again?”
He awoke sweating, shivering, and staring at the ceiling—remembering a crib he’d never slept in, a fire he’d never seen.
One night, he found Shadow Milk outside, spinning knives between his fingers like toys.
“Hey,” Gingerbrave said, hesitating. “Can I ask you something weird?”
The jester didn’t turn around.
“Only if you want a weirder answer.”
“Do you… know me from before?”
Shadow Milk’s fingers stopped. The knives vanished into smoke.
“Do you believe in reincarnation?”
Gingerbrave frowned. “I dunno. I think… sometimes I feel like I’ve done things before. Like I’ve lost people I never met.”
“That’s just growing up.”
“You’re dodging.”
He turned. His façade crumbled bit by bit, lips painted in a permanent smile.
“If I told you the truth, you’d never sleep again.”
“Try me.”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached forward, brushed a crumb from Gingerbrave’s cheek.
“You remind me of someone. He was fearless. Loud. Thought he could save the world.”
“What happened to him?”
Shadow Milk paused.
“He burned.”
🃏
Y/N heard the scream before the forge lanterns had time to flicker.
She ran out, axe in hand.
There stood Gingerbrave—shaking, jam on his arm. Shadow Milk beside him, breath ragged, eyes wild.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
“I didn’t—! He came too close, I—I didn’t mean to—!”
Gingerbrave backed away. “He changed. For a second. His face—he wasn’t him. He was—something else.”
Shadow Milk doubled over, laughter rising from his chest like bile.
“A round of applause, folks. The mask slips once, and suddenly the audience wants a refund.”
She struck him.
Not lightly.
Not symbolically.
With her full weight.
He crumpled.
Blood smeared the floor.
Gingerbrave screamed.
That night, she locked the forge doors. Kept Gingerbrave in her arms like a shield.
“I let him back in,” she whispered. “I should’ve known he never really left.”
But part of her wanted to run back out.
Part of her still loved what was left of Her.
And she hated herself for it.
🃏
Shadow Milk Cookie sat under the moon, fingers twitching with rhythm no music matched.
“Once upon a time,” he whispered to the wind, “there was a jester who killed his own ending. He rewrote the story. He tried to be good. But good was a lie. So he danced. Alone. Forever.”
Then, a voice behind him.
“You never finished that one.”
Y/N stood there, calmly as if nothing ever happened. As if he wasn't capable of doing anything to her to which she knew he wouldn't. Her axe nowhere in sight.
He looked at her—raw, paint smeared by blood, bells quiet.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“So are you.”
“You should’ve killed me.” he was aching.
“Maybe I still will.”
She sat beside him.
They didn’t touch.
Didn’t speak again.
Until, when he whispered:
“You were the only act worth repeating.”
🃏
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strawbewiecake · 28 days ago
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🌙 gentle rituals for when the moon feels heavy (a.k.a. you feel h•ngry) 🌙
If the impulse knocks, don’t open the door right away. Make it wait in the rain. Light a candle. Breathe through the noise. If it still matters in 45 minutes, maybe then.
🌫️
A kettle. A fan. Teeth brushing. Showers running. Better to fill your ears with hums than thoughts. It’s not hunger if you can distract it.
🍽️
Make it pretty. Make it deliberate. A teaspoon forces grace. Slow floods never drown.
🌿
New sheets. Fresh hair. A tidy drawer. Wash something until the ache quiets. A body in motion doesn't notice the echo.
📓
Numbers don’t lie. Write everything down in symbols, stars, invented language. It’s not obsession. It’s spellwork.
🩰
Tiptoe through your day. Ballet steps. Whisper walks. Feather-light existence. Gravity is a choice sometimes.
🫧
Herbal blends. Lemon water. Effervescent potions. Fill the hollow without noise. Taste without aftermath.
🎭
Sometimes being the version you pretend to be is easier than being the one who wants. Channel your coldest, most distant character. She doesn’t crave.
📺
Scroll through images of glass b0nes, ghost girls, misty mornings, porcelain wrists. Beauty is sometimes a form of f@sting.
🕰️
Promise yourself: just not now. Over and over again. Every delay is a tiny victory no one sees.
These aren't rules. They're just soft places to rest your will when the wind gets too loud. If you understand, you understand.
💌 My inbox is always open for mutuals who speak in moonlight.
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heroesrest64 · 2 months ago
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Farming For Heroes
Find the whole project here
(Notes: I wanted the interactions in this and the next chapter to be almost interchangeable with eachother? I feel like I did a pretty good job with everyone except Wind, who was slightly more personalized)
Chapter 2: Tutorials (pt.1)
There’s a knock on your door early in the morning, and you grumble while trying to claw your way out of bed, landing on the floor with a fwump. You sit there, blinking blindly for two seconds, not even remembering why you were getting up in the first place, only to hear another, slightly more urgent knock.
Ah. You should go and answer that.
You get up and head for your door, patting down your bed head and trying not to think about your morning breath. If someone wants to wake you up at the crack of dawn, they can get you at your crack of dawn self.
Of course, the person on the other side of the door would be Hateno Village’s mayor, a.k.a. your parents’ best friend and someone who you called an ‘uncle’ growing up. He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to see you looking so disheveled.
“Just like your parents… Don’t you know farmers are supposed to get up at the first cucco’s crow?” Reede smiles down at you, and you chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck in mock embarrassment. There’s no real heat in his words- Reede might be a bit strict when he’s on official business, but this is obviously a social visit.
“Good to see you too, Uncle Reede. C’mon in, I can get us some tea. Can’t promise it’ll be any good though.” Shrugging, you open your door a little wider, and the man steps inside, hissing at how roughed up the building looks.
“Geez. No ‘Oh my goddess, look how spotless these counters are’, or ‘wow, your temporary kitchen set-up is stunning, how did you manage to set up a cookfire inside your flammable wood house without burning the whole place down?’ And to that I would say ‘Thanks for your compliments, Uncle Reede. It was actually a whole adventure getting this cookfire set up, and I would prefer not to go into detail in the presence of polite company’.”
“Well there you go speakin’ my own words for me. Though, I am curious about that cookfire now-“ The brown haired man jokes, and you cut him a sideways look before setting a kettle over said fire, stoking the flames and leaving your tea to heat up before joining your uncle at your rickety, barely stable dining table.
“So, what are you here for? You’re not really one for social visits.” You hum, slumping into your chair, and Reede steeples his fingers in front of him, giving you a considering look.
“Times are changing, young farmer. The ways your parents ran this farm are long past, and nowadays there’s new techniques and machines that can do the work of five or even ten people. You can try to run it like they did in the past, but I think you’re more progressive than that. I came here to tell you that you should get with your neighbors. Mingle. Listen to what they have to say. You may learn some new techniques to care for your farm.”
You consider Reese’s words, tapping a short rhythm on your dining table until the sound of your kettle whistling pulls you out of your thoughts. You rush to take it off the fire, pouring two cups and dunking tea bags you got from castle town in the mugs before toting them back to the table.
“I hear you, Reede. I know you’re sayin this ‘cause I’m not the most social person around. I can’t promise much, but I can promise to try. Heck, why not start today? I’ll see about talking to a few of my neighbors just as soon as I finish up my chores for the day.” You grin, and Reede seems pleased, taking a swig of the offered tea before immediately spitting it back into his cup
“What is this?!” He gasps, appalled at the brownish watery mixture in his cup.
“It’s supposed to be a simple black tea. I don’t know what those city folk to do make it as awful as it is, but that’s what I’ve had to deal with these last few years…” You grumble, swirling your cup around and watching it darken ever so slightly.
“Do not drink that. Hold on-“ Reede pauses, reaching into his bag and rummaging around in it until he procures a bag filled with seeds.
“Make yourself some real tea leaves with these. I don’t want to see you serving up that swill ever again.” Reede shakes his head, probably thinking about you choking on the rancid tea for the last few years. You take the seeds like they’re a gift from Hylia, holding them reverently in front of you.
“Thank you, Sir Reede. Your donation will not be in vain.” You bow your head dramatically, and Reede scoffs before lightly flicking you on the forehead.
“Just stop by for dinner to pay me back. The missus and kiddo have been worried about you.” Reede waves you off, then carefully makes his way out of your house, avoiding some of the more obvious holes in the floor before firmly shutting the door behind him.
You let out a sigh, looking at the seeds on your counter before deciding that you really ought to get up and start your day before the sun gets away from you.
~~
You’re exhausted by the time you’ve finished planting your new tea seedlings and watering your crops, but you did promise your uncle you’d go out and socialize today. Your first stop looks to be Time’s farm, as you spot the man and his ranch hand tending to the fields on your walk through the village.
“Heya Time, Twilight.” You greet, stepping right up to the two men who halt their work to talk to you.
“Hello, farmer. What brings you by? In need of a couple more seeds?” Time asks, wiping his gloves off on his forest green overalls, and you try not to think about how muscular he looks with his work shirt rolled up like it is.
“Oh, nah. I’m just tryna see a bit more of the village. It’s changed a lot since I left. Like these watering devices, for example…” You tilt your head down, gesturing at the sprinklers with your chin.
“They’re sprinklers, set up by the young lady running the tech lab at the top of the hill. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to get you some as well.” Time explains, and you glance at where you remember the tech lab being, nodding briefly.
“I’ll have to check it out later, then. Do y’all mind if I take a closer look at your farm? I’m curious to see if anything else changed.”
“Not at all. Twilight, why don’t you take a break and give them a tour? And if you’re feeling helpful, you can help my ranch hand with a couple of his chores. It might knock off some rust and get you back in the farming mindset.” Time smiles, eyes glistening in the morning sunlight, and you feel like you can only mutter an agreement before Twilight gestures for you to follow him towards a barn off to the side of the carefully manicured fields.
“Are ya any good with animals?” Twilight asks, pocketing his gloves as he walks.
“I’d like to think so. What sorts do ya got?” You ask, skipping up to his side.
“We got a few options. I go out and tame the wild ones, then bring ‘em back here so they aren’t hunted by monsters and such. This here’s the coop- perfect for cuccos of all shapes and sizes, and the odd smaller critter, if you’re feeling adventurous about your livestock.” Twilight opens the door, and a flock of cuccos parades out, clucking and nipping around for any feed on the ground. You’re kind of surprised to see some pheasants and ducks mixed in the group, as well as some fluffy rabbits who hop out after the fowl.
“Wow! How do you take care of them all?” You ask, leaning down to pick up a slightly more docile cucco, petting through the feathers at the crest of its head.
“On clear days like this, they’re content to just be let out to feed and such, but Purah put in something called an auto-feeder that’ll fill up their troughs during rainy days. Not a bad setup, if you ask me.” Twilight smiles, stepping over a rabbit that had pinned itself under his foot and stumbling off towards a red painted barn.
“Over here we’ve got the barn. Lotsa sweet heifers roam the fields, and if ya ever go down to Lurelin, you could probably tame yourself a water buffalo or two. And of course, my favorite, some rough and tumble ordonian goats.”
Twilight pulls open the farm doors with a mighty heave, and you watch as the cattle come spilling out. The goats practically flock around Twilight, who pets them down before grabbing a pail to milk them.
“There’s a brush and extra pail inside, if you wanna help me get the cows. They’ll be grateful if ya help ‘em.” Twilight calls out, and you make your way into the barn, winding around the cows, sheep and goats that bump into you as you go.
Inside, you find the offered pail and brush, but you also take a moment to peek at the strange setup by the troughs, brows rising as the device churns out some fresh fodder right before your eyes. You’ll definitely have to get your hands on a couple of those once you get your barn and coop set up.
Back outside, you work on milking the cows, humming some sort of tune under your breath as you work. They really are very sweet, just like Twilight said, and you’re done before you know it.
“Got ‘em all?” Twilight calls out, pushing a particularly large ordon goat out of his way as it tries to bully him around. It seems Time isn’t the only one on this farm with an impressive set of muscles.
“Yeah. The bottles are right over there-“ You gesture behind you at a couple crates filled with the cows milk, and Twilight nods gratefully.
“Just gotta grab the eggs, and then we’re done.” Twilight gestures back towards the coop, and you follow, helping him gather up any eggs as well as some downy fluff the birds have shed. Twilight also hands you a pair of clippers and asks for you to help him shear some of the rabbits of their winter coats, leaving you with some of the thickest most comfortable fluff you’ve ever gotten ahold of.
“And here’s your cut,” Twilight hums as you finish up, holding a basket with a couple bottles of milk, some fresh eggs, a few feathers and a spool of rabbit fur out for you. You stumble a little, not expecting to get anything for your work, and more so doing it to knock off some rust as Time had mentioned.
“O-oh, you don’t have to-“ You stutter, hands raised defensively, but Twilight holds the basket out to you insistently.
“Take it, I insist. Besides, I think Time had something he wanted to do with the stuff you got from all of this.” Twilight tilts his head towards the farm house, where Time is standing on the deck, a glass in one hand, his other raising to wave a greeting.
“Right. Well, thank you, Twilight. I guess I’ll see you again later.” You dip your head gratefully, grabbing the basket by its handle before stumbling off to meet up with Time.
“Looks like you got yourself a pretty good haul. Come by again anytime and we can set you up with the same deal.” Time smiles, grabbing another cup off the railing that he holds out to you. It’s some freshly chilled orange juice, probably made towards the end of the winter season.
“Thank you, Time. Uhm, Twilight said you had something else you wanted to show me,” You start, climbing up the steps to be on equal footing with the man.
“Just thought I’d offer a trade deal. A lot of people in Hateno have certain items they want or need, and they’ll be willing to trade some premium products for that sorta stuff. If you give me one of those milks-“ Time gestures to one of the bottles settled snugly into your basket, “I’ve got some rare seeds with your name on them.”
The request is a little odd to you. Twilight works with Time, and he obviously has plenty of milk to go around, although maybe this is just Time’s way of showing you how other trade deals will work in the future. Either way, you don’t have much to lose.
“Sure thing. Here ya go.” You agree, taking one of the bottles, and Time lights up, grabbing a bag of seeds and trading them for the milk.
“Once these grow to maturity, stop by again and Twilight can show you how to properly use ‘em.” Time nods his head, and you take a moment to read the label on the seed bag. ‘Horse Grass’. You don’t think you’ve heard about such a crop before.
“Thank you, Time. I should head out now, but thanks for your hospitality.” You nod your head once, placing the seeds in the space the milk bottle once was before waving vaguely. Time waves as well, and you decide to move on to your next destination.
~~
Keeping on the trend of visiting people who’ve given you free things, you find yourself standing on the steps of Hateno Villages new clinic. It’s cuter than you thought it’d be, with planters filled with wild herbs on the windowsills and rain flowers painting the porch in hues of white and pink.
Stepping inside, you can faintly smell something sweet, like baked goods left to sit and cool down. “Hyrule? Are you in here?” You call out, stepping up to the counter and placing your basket down. There’s some faint clattering, and soon the brown haired man comes zipping into the waiting room, hair slightly askew and a worried look on his face.
“Oh my gosh you’re hurt already?! Where’s the damage? On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?” Hyrule goes around the counter, hands fluttering through the air as he scans you for whatever injury you might’ve incurred.
“Whoa, whoa! I’m fine. I just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing. I was also curious about your clinic. Hateno never had one before, so I wanted to know how it’s run.” You smile placatingly, and Hyrule immediately calms down.
“I see. Sorry for panicking; I heard from Warriors you were thinking about joining the monster hunting team and was worried you got hurt. I’m, uh, usually more composed than that.” Hyrule grins, rubbing the back of his neck nervously before looking off to the side, seemingly considering something.
“If you’re curious about how the clinic works, I can give you a tour.” The brown haired man eventually offers, and you happily agree, gesturing for him to lead the way.
“Okay, so this is kind of a reception or waiting room. It's also where you come if you want to buy some potions from me. There’s healing, stamina, and a few potions to protect you from the elements. Just the usual fare, I suppose.” Hyrule hums, guiding you behind the counter and pulling out a book filled with his different wares. He even listed allergens next to the potions. Cute!
“If you come back here, there are some sectioned off spaces for patients with more severe injuries, or if they need to be quarantined for observation. I try to keep this place tidy, what with a bunch of monster hunters running around. We don’t need anyone getting infections while they’re trying to heal up.” Hyrule clicks his tongue, and you nod along.
“Is that why you started a clinic here? To keep everyone healthy?” You wonder, and Hyrule pauses, pursing his lips in contemplation.
“In a way, yes. A lot of these people… They’re like family to me. I want to make sure they’re safe. So I do what I can for them, whether that be fighting beside them, or healing them after a tough battle.”
You’re a little surprised to hear that Hyrule is also a fighter. He’s more slight than you figured he should be, although now that you were looking closer, his muscles were pretty defined.
Hyrule takes you into another room, this one darker and smelling like herbs and something vaguely sweet. “This is where the magic happens; my workshop.” Hyrule explains, stepping a little further into the room and gesturing for you to do the same.
Herbs are drying on each of the walls, and there’s a large cauldron bubbling over the fire place, filled with an uncomfortably purple liquid. There’s also a table covered in other ingredients, a cutting board, and a mortar and pestle.
“What are you making?” You decide to ask, peeking into the cauldron cautiously. It’s probably the most vibrant purple color you’ve ever seen. Is it glowing slightly?
“That’s actually lunch. As long as you clean it out between meals and potions, it’s fine to use for either.” Hyrule smiles, and you can’t help but give him a sideways look. This glowing purple sludge is… a meal? Why does it smell sweet? What are the strange brown things floating within? Do you actually want to know?
No. No, perhaps not.
“A big pot like this must be hard to clean out,” You say instead, and Hyrule nods before seeming to realize something.
“Ah! That reminds me, I have something for you.” He gasps, turning towards the table covered in ingredients and rummaging through it before staggering back with what seems to be a smaller version of the cauldron you were just observing.
“This is a travel cauldron. It’s enchanted to fit in your tool bag easily, so you can take it on adventures or to cook simple meals at home.” Hyrule holds the cast iron cauldron out to you, and you carefully heft it into your arms. It’s not as heavy as you thought it’d be, but it’s sturdy and obviously well-loved.
“Thanks, Hyrule. That’s really sweet of you.” You smile, placing the pot in your bag.
“Since you might be joining the monster hunting team, it’s a good tool to have. I also have a couple simple potion recipes for you to try out,” Hyrule hands over a small notebook, and you feel yourself becoming overwhelmed with his kindness. You should get this man something, to say thanks for all of his help; but you don’t want to give him just anything from your person. You’ll have to plan out a gift and come back later.
“Thank you, truly, Hyrule. And thanks for letting me tour your clinic. Hopefully most of my future visits are social like this one.” You grin, and Hyrule starts guiding you back to the front of his clinic.
“Social visits sound fun. I’ll have to cook you something nice next time, and we can chat longer.” Hyrule gently places a hand on the small of your back, steering you around a shelf you would have run into otherwise, too preoccupied thinking of a way to turn down the offer for lunch. Although, maybe it won’t be as bad as it looked..?
No. You’d definitely get poisoned if you ate the purple goop still bubbling in Hyrule’s cauldron. You’ll just have to eat before visiting Hyrule in the future.
“Sounds good. I’ll see you around, Hyrule.” And with that, you leave the clinic, a new weight in your tool bag and laden with the knowledge that the town’s doctor cannot cook.
~~
Right next to the clinic is a building with smoke pouring out of its nearly industrial chimney. There wasn’t a forge in Hateno when you left a few years back, but you suppose Four has to work somewhere. You step inside and are greeted with a thick, all-encompassing heat and the smell of metal. Despite the ambiance, there isn’t a single metal shaving in sight, just rows of displayed weapons, tools and other small metal objects.
The actual forge must be in a separate room, you figure, and decide to browse the displays before checking it out.
While you’re looking around what seems to be the shop part of the blacksmith, you consider what type of weapon would be a good match for you. You’ve only ever gotten some basic training with a sword while taking a self defense class in Castle Town, but there are spears, bows and arrows, claws, axes and even war hammers on display. You’re just about to lift a sword off of its display when a gruff voice calls out, “Something caught your eye, youngun?”
Whipping around, you find an older man with an impressive beard on his chin and his head covered by a green bandana lightly stained with sweat. He smells like iron and there’s grease stains on his shirt and apron.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to touch them! This just, uh, looked like the same kind of sword I used back in castle town.” You ramble, raising your hands like you were caught, but the older man only keeps his stern expression for a couple seconds more before letting out a bellowing laugh that fills up the shop’s space.
“Hohoho! Don’t be so nervous, young one. You’re allowed to touch. Just don’t go swinging it in the shop,” The older man juts his chin back towards the sword, and you cautiously pick it up, careful as you take off the sheath to admire the forged iron underneath.
“It’s beautiful,” You breathe, testing the blade’s weight. Light enough that you could swing it with one hand, but sharp and sturdy enough for you to cause some decent damage.
“I’ll tell my grandson you said that.” The older man grins, his mustache curling up with motion.
“Grandson?” You ask curiously, resheating the sword and putting it back on its display.
“You might have met him. Short, multicolored tunic, hair held back with a headband. Four mentioned getting to meet the new farmer, who I suppose must be you.” The man hums, and you agree, realizing that Four must be this man’s grandson. It makes sense, you suppose. Blacksmithing must run in the family.
“Yes, it’s nice to meet you, uh,” You pause, realizing you don’t know the man’s name.
“Smith. Kind of an ironic name, isn’t it?” Smith huffs, and you laugh. The man seems to consider you for a second before pointing over his shoulder with his thumb, saying, “You look like you could handle some forge work. How ‘bout I take you to the work room and we see what you can make.”
You’re startled at the offer, but quickly scramble after the man as he toddles off to the forge. The door creaks open and you’re hit with a faceful of scorching air. It feels like you walked right into the hottest day of summer.
“Take these- we’ll have you smelt some copper bars for now.” Smith throws a thick leather apron your way, along with some insulated gloves that you quickly don before following the man towards the forge.
He shows you all the basics- how to get the forge to the right temperature, how to melt down the chunks of copper, then helping you pour it into an ingot mold before letting it cool. You have five copper ingots before long, and the man pats you roughly on the back in congratulations.
“That wasn’t half bad. Thinking of taking up smithing in addition to your farm?” A different voice asks, and you whirl around to see Four standing by the door, arms folded over his chest as he observes you from his resting place.
“Well, it seems kind of fun… Maybe I’ll take up smithing as a hobby.” You shrug, moving to stuff the copper ingots into your bag, only to be stopped when Four steps forward, halting you by lightly gripping your wrist.
“Hold on. You’re joining the monster hunters, right? It’ll be easier if you have an actual weapon.”
“I don’t think I have enough for one of your swords right now,” You nervously admit, cheeks flushing from something other than the heat of the forge.
“Don’t bother. Just give me those-“ Four tilts his chin towards the ingots in your hands, “and I can get you a decent starter blade.”
You hand over your freshly crafted copper ingots, and Four totes them off to a well organized work station before rummaging around, coming back only a couple minutes later with a copper sword.
“It’s sharp, so be careful. Tell me if it feels balanced to you.” Four lets you take the blood orange sword, and you weigh it in your hand before trying for a couple swings, careful to not hit anyone or any of the workbenches surrounding you. It’s not as good as the steel sword you tested earlier, but you can see yourself making use of it until you can afford something better.
“It’s nice. Thank you,” You dip your head, and Four rubs the back of his neck, smiling at you.
“Come back anytime, and we can get it sharpened for free. Gramps also has a bit of a side business. He can tell you the condition of any treasures you pick up while out adventuring. If you find something really good, it can be sold for a lot of money.” Four grins, and you nod, carefully sheathing your new sword and placing it on your tool belt.
The two men see you out shortly after, and you find yourself on your way once more.
~~
“Goddesses, I feel like I’ve done a ton today, and I still haven’t been to all the new shops in town,” You mumble, making your way down the dirt paths of Hateno until your stomach rumbles an ungodly sound.
Right. You skipped breakfast, and it’s already practically lunch time. That just gives you an opportunity to visit one more establishment and grab a meal at the same time. Aren’t you efficient?
You carefully cross the bridge leading to the tavern then jog up to the front door, swinging it open and immediately smelling something heavenly.
“Hey farmer! Come right in, I’ll take your order at the bar.” Wild calls out, dropping off some food to someone in a booth before rounding to the bar. You’re sitting in one of the plush stools just as he steps behind the counter, and he smiles before asking you what you’d like to eat.
“It’s right around lunchtime, so… Pizza?” You suggest, and the man seems elated at your choice.
“Sounds great! I’ll get that right out for ya- oh! Now that I think about it, the mayor said something about helping you relearn how to cook. Something about ‘not even being able to make a cup of tea’,” Wild hums, and you whip around to see Reese sitting in the booth, sipping out of a mug with a plate of piping hot food in front of him.
‘You’ll pay for this,’ you mouth to the man, who simply smiles innocently.
“So how about you help me make your lunch, that’ll knock the dust off.” Wild lifts a board separating the bar from the kitchen, and you step under it and follow him into the kitchen. It’s pretty spacious, and surprisingly well organized.
“We’ll do a few courses. A nice spring salad, your requested pizza, and something sweet as a dessert… chocolate cake?” Wild mutters the last part under his breath, but you still pick up on it. That actually sounds like a really nice meal, and you eagerly wash your hands before working on the dough for the pizza.
The two of you work in tandem to craft what’s shaping up to be a tasty smelling lunch, and the meal is finished before you know it, perfectly plated in front of the seat you chose for yourself earlier.
“That looks pretty good. Y’know, most of my friends are banned from the kitchen just ‘cause of how bad they are at cooking. I think I could make an exception for you.” Wild winks, and you feel your cheeks heating up, tilting your head down to hide the flush.
“Heh, I’ll take that as a compliment. This is really good, by the way. I’ll have to remember the recipe for later.” You compliment, tapping your fork to the plate of chocolate cake in front of you.
“Funny you should mention that, I actually have a recipe book right here. I took the liberty of writing down some basic meals, but I’ll leave the rest to you.” Wild slides a hard covered book towards you, and you tuck it away gratefully.
As you’re getting ready to head out after finishing up your meal, Wild stops you one last time, a couple wrapped parcels in his hands.
“These are the leftovers from earlier. I figure you should get to savor your hard work for longer than one meal.”
You’re starting to get a feeling that generosity and overwhelming kindness are just traits of all of the new people making Hateno Village their home, and you decide that as soon as you can, you’ll work on returning the favor.
~~
It’s almost sundown when you leave Wild’s Tavern, and you decide to just wind down during your last couple hours of daylight. Your wandering brings you to the stream cutting through the town, and you sit down at the pier, taking off your boots and socks and letting the chilly water ease your aches from walking around all day.
“Hey farmer! Taking a break?” A youthful voice calls out, and you hear the thudding of leather shoes against the aging pier before Wind plops down beside you.
“Hello, Wind. Yeah, I feel like I’ve been running around the whole village today.” You sigh, shaking your head in exasperation.
“I could tell. Seems like everyone I talked to had something to say about you.” Wind giggles, and you tilt your head at him, curious.
“Nothing bad, I hope?”
“Of course not! It seems everyone thinks you’re a good guest. Heck, Hyrule was saying he wanted to get some proper tea and snacks for your next visit, and Twilight was raving about how happy the animals you took care of were!” Wind gushes, and you feel your heart swell with warmth. If they talk about you so kindly even when you’re not around, they must actually mean it.
“Which is why I have decided that you would be the perfect fishing partner,” Wind announces, and whips a fishing rod out of seemingly thin air, dutifully pressing it into your hands, even as you fumble to get ahold of it.
“What??” You yelp, struggling to keep the rod in your hands and not let it sink into the stream in front of you.
“You heard me! It’s time for a fishing competition. Whoever gets the biggest fish by the end of the hour gets to keep ALL of the fish we catch.” Wind cackles, taking a second rod out and casting his line. You manage to calm yourself down and flick your rod, letting the bobber whizz through the air before landing in the water with a plonk.
Despite the panic-inducing start of the competition, fishing next to Wind turns out to be a delightful experience. He gives you some pointers, and has a generally humorous attitude about the whole competition. You’re almost certain he throws the challenge on purpose, as your biggest catch of a 48cm Hyrule Bass feels like something Wind could’ve pulled up in an instant with no sweat. Regardless, the competition ends in you earning three medium sized Hyrule Bass and four small armored carps.
“Not bad for your first haul! A lot of people fish as a hobby around here, and if you become better friends with them, they might invite you to a competition similar to what we just did. I’d say it builds some pretty close bonds, and sometimes you’ll get a ton of fish as a reward, so it’s well worth taking on the challenge.” Wind grins, and you let out an interested sound. Is this Wind’s way of helping you make friends? That’s… kinda cute and really sweet.
“Of course, you can always count on me to be your fishing buddy, at least, as long as I’m in town.” Wind rubs the back of his neck thoughtfully.
“You leave the village?” You ask, somewhat concerned.
“I live down in Lurelin, with my Grandma and sister. I usually sail up to Hateno Beach every couple days for deliveries, but this go around, my skiff got a little banged up. Sky is supposed to be fixing it right now, but that man always has his head up in the clouds,” Wind rolls his eyes, and you laugh. You may not know very much about the carpenter, but even just from meeting him you could tell he wasn’t the most present man in the world.
“Either way, I like staying in Hateno. The fishing around here isn’t too bad, and I’ve had a lot of time to get seashells to make gifts for my sister. Oh! Once my ship is back up, I’ll ferry you down to Lurelin, and you can meet her! I bet the two of you will get along.” Wind seems excited at his own plans, quickly standing up and tucking his fishing rod away.
“I’m gonna go bother Sky about my ship again! Have fun fishing!!” Wind shouts, peeling off down the road before you can even think to respond. You stare after him for a while before laughing, shaking your head in exasperation before casting your line back into the stream. You’ll have to get better so he won’t have to hold back the next time you compete against him.
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rhysdarbinizedarby · 2 years ago
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‘Our Flag Means Death’: How Blackbeard & Stede’s Fantastical Underwater Reunion Came Together
[Warning: The below contains MAJOR spoilers for Our Flag Means Death, Season 2, Episodes 1-3.]
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It doesn’t take more than a single second to recognize Kate Bush‘s haunting and heartbreaking tune “This Woman’s Work,” as Blackbeard, a.k.a. Ed (Taika Waititi), is pushed from a clifftop to plunge into the ocean’s depths below in Our Flag Means Death‘s Season 2 installment, “The Innkeeper.” But how did the pirate heartbroken over Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby) wind up in this position? It’s a delicate and winding path that starts with the infamous pirate’s unraveling over the course of the latest season’s first two episodes.
Believing Stede intentionally abandoned him after planning to run away together at the end of Season 1, Blackbeard embraces the version of himself so many have conjured up in their minds as he leads the Revenge’s “new” crew to pillage and plunder on the high seas. His unhinged behavior eventually forces Jim (Vico Ortiz), Izzy (Con O’Neill), Frenchie (Joel Fry), Archie (Madeleine Sami), and Fang (David Fane) to violently take control of the ship and neutralize Blackbeard — or so they think — after he steers them directly into a storm.
When Zheng Yi Sao’s (Ruibo Qian) Red Flag happens across an eerie-looking Revenge on the ocean, Stede dives overboard in his excitement over the possibility of seeing Ed, only to be told various excuses for his absence by the crew aboard. When Stede directly addresses Izzy regarding Blackbeard’s lack of presence, the now peg-legged pirate claims the Revenge crew dropped Ed on a beach.
This seems to ring true as we see Blackbeard wash ashore and cared for by his own former captain Hornigold (Mark Mitchinson). While together, Blackbeard and Hornigold discuss the mutiny that took place and Blackbeard’s hopes for the future. When a role-playing scenario testing Blackbeard’s ability to be an Innkeeper, a profession he’s interested in, goes awry, he attacks Hornigold, killing the tarp-clad pirate. But when Hornigold rises again, Blackbeard realizes something is off.
Aboard the Revenge, Ed’s body is uncovered below deck. Believing him dead, Zheng Yi Sao is forced to consider killing the Revenge crew for mutiny after initially welcoming them aboard the Red Flag. And Stede has to cope with the idea that his love may be gone forever.
After hatching an escape plan for the Revenge team, Stede and pals return to their former ship, leaving Zheng stranded without a wheel. Going to sit with Ed’s body, Stede wonders why he had to go and get himself killed. Meanwhile, Blackbeard begins to realize he’s stuck somewhere between life and death, a place this Hornigold manifestation calls a “gravy basket.”
As the two men banter about the pros and cons of choosing life over death, Hornigold ties a boulder around Ed’s waist and throws it from the cliff they’re standing on, pushing Blackbeard into the ocean. Just as it seems as though he’ll succumb to the waves, Blackbeard proves Bush’s song right: Perhaps there’s a little life in him yet. When Stede lifts the cloth from his face on the Revenge, underwater Ed reacts to the change. Peering into the water, he sees a light from which a fantastical mermaid version of Stede emerges.
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In the real world, Stede reacts to Blackbeard’s twitching hand, taking it in his and pleading for him to live as a montage of their moments together rolls alongside Bush’s still-playing song. The final seconds of the episode see Ed’s eyes open, giving Stede hope.
So, how did this moving turn of events come to pass? A team full of creatives was responsible for bringing the captivating and satisfying reunion.
Stede’s Mermaid Tail
“It’s a huge process,” putting together Stede’s practical mermaid look, according to costume designer Gypsy Taylor. She says “it started with me begging everybody” to avoid visual FX and make a tail for the sequence. The orange and glittering look could have followed several different styles, but ultimately, Taylor notes, “I thought if Stede is going to turn into a mermaid, and it’s in Blackbeard’s dream, it’s sort of his vision of a mermaid.”
Considering this, in Taylor’s mind, Blackbeard wouldn’t envision some epic fantastical creature; instead, Stede would “just be like a goldfish. He’d just be like a sweet harmless goldfish.” In putting sketches together of the ensemble, Taylor acknowledges the symbolism of the goldfish motif: “There’s a huge Chinese element that we have coming through, and goldfish in Chinese culture is considered lucky.” As this vision of Stede was responsible for helping bring Ed back to life, that luck was certainly there.
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“I thought that was a pretty beautiful thing, that they meet each other under the ocean and then they find each other,” Taylor gushes. “And so I went a little deep on that, but really he’s just a goldfish.” In order to achieve the goldfish mermaid look, Taylor teamed up with props master Hayley Egan, who’s based out of Australia. “She happens to excel at making mermaid tails,” Taylor shares.
After securing Egan’s involvement, Taylor says, “We fit Rhys in a jumbo stretch long skirt and made sure it was really tight so he could still sort of do this dolphin [swimming] action. And then we bought these mono fins, which you can purchase online and put your feet in.” Safety was key, though. “He had to swim really deep and for a really far distance, and he’d never done anything like that before,” Taylor explains. “So it had to be really safe and doable.”
Once that was figured out, Taylor says Egan “cast something like 3,000 hand-sculpted silicon scales. There’s something like five kilograms of glitter in the whole thing. And then we hand-dyed pleated chiffon for all the fins, so that when he was swimming through the water, it would have this magic feel.”
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While the scene may play as emotional and romantic, the story behind getting Stede’s mermaid look from Australia to New Zealand was actually quite comical. “[Egan] sliced two suitcases in half, filled [them with the mermaid tail], and then when it went through customs, the customs guy said to her, ‘Are you bringing fish into this country?’ And she’s like, ‘Yes, yes I am.'”
In total, there were four tails, including “a practice tail, a stunt tail, because Rhys had to do quite a few lessons before we got the real one on. And the real one was super precious, and chlorine’s very strong, it eats fabrics away, so we wanted to save the hero one for the hero shot,” Taylor reveals. When it came time to film, “We put him in [the tail], and it was just amazing.” In order to get Darby into the pool, Taylor says a ramp had to be built and the actor was placed in a wheelchair while costumed “and pushed in.” As unglamorous as it sounds, she adds, “it was like Rhys’s dream come true.”
How Kate Bush Entered the Music Mix
It’s safe to say Kate Bush has been having a moment on TV since last year’s “Running Up That Hill” needle drop on Stranger Things, but music supervisor Maggie Phillips says, “This Woman’s Work” was selected before Netflix‘s hit made headlines with their use of the aforementioned song. “When we were placing [the song in the season lineup],” Phillips says, “it was maybe weeks after Stranger Things, and I was worried that we would look like copycats.”
Phillips maintains that the song was in the mix before, but it ultimately “doesn’t matter because really what matters is that Kate Bush is a queen and more and more people need to know her music.”
She says, “From what I heard from David [Jenkins], it was a song that Taika was attached to.” At first, Phillips was reluctant to go with the song due to its prior uses, but “David told me not to worry about [that], that people have short-term memory when it comes to music.”
While she debated with the team over cutting it, “[David] has the visuals in his mind. I don’t. I’m just hearing it with a script and I had no clue how it was going to work until I saw the first cut, and it was beautiful and they picked a part of the song that worked really well with the visuals, so they sort of made it their own,” Phillips explains. “They added a different context to the song that I wouldn’t have been able to imagine myself. So they proved me wrong for sure.”
It’s hard to imagine the scene without Bush’s song. “It changes the way you listen to the song,” Phillips notes. “I got chills watching it and I know that song so well and haven’t gotten chills like that in a long time.” With all of the buildup, “You’re waiting for them to have their romantic moment. You’re waiting for three episodes for that to happen. And so it’s so cathartic when that song comes on, and you see them come together in this fantasy world under the sea. It’s just perfect.” This led her to email Jenkins. “I was like, ‘You were right. I was wrong. But this was beautiful, and thank you so much.'”
Blackbeard’s Wet Wig Woes
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Anyone watching the scene unfold would have to notice Blackbeard’s silver tresses weaving through the water, a feat much more difficult behind the scenes than the seemingly simple sequence onscreen. “We filmed that quite late in the season, and so we were really planning and thinking about that all the way through [filming]. I was a bit nervous,” hair and makeup designer Nancy Hennah admits. “I knew that he was going to have to be under the water with his wig on for quite a long time.”
Even with high-quality wig glue, Hennah says, “You can do everything you can to make that wig stay on, but there’s a limited amount of time that the glue will last. So we had to use different products than we would normally use to get the wig down.” Because the product Hennah normally uses to keep hair back in a wig is water soluble, “it melts, and the hair starts coming out from the lace, and it can ruin the whole look of the wig.” She had to come up with a creative fix.
“I glued his own hair back, and then we glued the lace on top of that, and wildly, it lasted right until the very last shot when they were dragging him through the water by the ankles,” Hennah reveals. “The wig just came off completely after they’d finished shooting. And so he came up out of the water, and the wig was off to the side, [and he goes], ‘I think my wig came off.'” She calls the success of the wig “incredible” and “just a fluke really.”
When it came to capturing Darby’s underwater look, it was all about blending the mermaid tail with his skin. “With Stede, Gypsy had a beautiful mermaid tail made, and we did a whole lot of practice with different types of silicon and things that we had to blend that piece between his skin and the tail. We made these pieces of silicon with glitter and things in them that we individually stuck over the top of the mermaid tail,” Hennah details.
Again, there were concerns about getting “things to stick underwater,” but watching the scene come together from behind the camera eased those. “[When] we were standing there on the set that day and watching the monitor, it just was so beautiful that we were all blown away by it, and that tank that they were filming in was a couple of stories deep, and to be out there in that water, it was challenging, and they both did so well. It just went off without a hitch. It was one of those great days where it just worked for everybody.”
Don’t miss what else is in store for the season. Stay tuned for additional interviews and content as the second season of Our Flag Means Death unfolds.
Our Flag Means Death, New Episodes, Thursdays, Max
Source: TV Insider
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ramona-quinn · 6 months ago
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Late Night Drive
CG!Blitzø and Little!Stolas
Co-written with @yourneurodivergentlady
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Plot: Stolas can't sleep and is overwhelmed with big feelings, so Blitzø takes him out for a drive to soothe his mind.
A.K.A., a follow-up story of Baby Feathers by @shhtickerbook
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Illustration done by @sugarnpaint (@hels-belle)
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Stolas stared up at the ceiling, trying to go back to sleep. A couple of hours ago, he was put to bed by Blitzø with a warm bath, fuzzy pajamas, and a couple of bedtime stories. All of that ensured a peaceful night's sleep for the Goetia. However, fireworks went off at midnight to ring in the new year, causing him to wake up. Stolas covered his ears with a pillow because he was very sensitive to sound. He internally prayed to ignore the noise and return to catching some shut-eye.
Unfortunately, it was no use.
Stolas looked over at Blitzø, who was sleeping on a beanbag in a corner of the living room. He considered waking him up for help, but he decided against that. Blitzø has done so much for him by helping him discover his tiny side. The imp needed a break.
Taking the pacifier out of his mouth, Stolas held onto it while fiddling with the handle ring. He could feel his headspace returning to normal. He grabbed his phone and looked at the time.
2:57 A.M.
The Goetia sighed. He got up from the couch and went outside to the balcony. He looked down at the streets below and saw people winding down and heading home after throwing New Year's parties. A rat-like sinner demon saw the owl and threw a water balloon at him.
"It's the shitturd I was talking about!" the sinner jeered while his friends laughed with him. "Hope you die alone!"
Stolas felt tears forming in his eyes as he got up and walked back into the apartment. As he made it to the bathroom to dry off, he couldn't help but replay what the rat had said. Maybe he deserved to be alone after what he had done. Maybe he deserved to be banished and have his royal status revoked. Maybe he deserved to lose his daughter. After all, selfish people like him didn't deserve to live...
"Hey, you alright?"
Stolas jumped, startled by Blitzø's voice.
"Oh, Blitzø... what are you doing up?" Stolas asked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Blitzø replied. “Who did this to you?”
Stolas looked down at the bathroom tile floor in silence.
"Here, let me help," the imp said.
While Blitzø grabbed a towel to dry Stolas off and get him into a fresh pair of pajamas, the Goetia's mind was running a thousand miles per hour. The insomnia wasn't making things better for him.
Stolas could feel his eyes flooding with tears once again. He hiccuped as his headspace drifted back and forth. He could feel his hands and body tremble as he dropped to the ground.
“Hey, hey, what’s going on, buddy?” Blitz softly asked as he crouched down.
Stolas sniffled and shook his head.
"You can tell me. I'm not going to get angry."
Stolas shook his head again, furiously rubbing his eyes with his arm.
Blitzø gently wrapped the towel around the owl, just like when he wrapped his coat around him when Octavia left him. The imp then gently moved Stolas's arm and gently cupped his feathered face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.
"It's okay, buddy. I'm here," Blitzø comforted. "You don't have to say anything."
The imp thought for a moment before finally considering something. “You wanna go for a drive? Maybe that’ll help you calm down.”
"A drive?" Stolas hiccuped as his voice pitch grew a bit higher.
“Yep. It’s useful for when you can’t sleep.” Blitzø told him, gently tapping his nose. "It'll be like stargazing on wheels."
"On wheels?" The owl tilted his head.
Blitzø nodded. “Yeah. You wanna see the stars?”
Stolas nodded, however something popped up in his mind.
"What if... what if people see me?" the Goetia asked worryingly. "'m little..."
“Baby bird, it’s dark out so they’ll be sleeping. If they do see you, I’ll protect you,” Blitzø reassured as he dried Stolas off with the towel.
"P'omise?"
“I promise,” he stood up and offered his hand to Stolas. “You ready?”
Stolas thought about it for a little bit, then nodded.
"Alright, let's get you changed into some fresh jammies first, yeah?"
The owl nodded again.
Once Blitzø got Stolas changed into a fluffy pair of dark red pajamas, the imp grabbed the two blankets off the couch and a couple of pacifiers and placed them into a bag.
Blitzø tenderly took Stolas's hand and took him outside.
Once they reached the van, Blitzø unlocked it and placed a blanket over the backseat. He then helped Stolas in and buckled him up. He got him comfy by covering him up with the other blanket. The imp then went to the driver's seat.
"You ready, kiddo?" Blitzø asked.
The owl nodded as he wrapped his arms around the blanket.
Starting the van, Blitzø backed out and began to drive. He turned on the radio to some soft classical music.
Stolas leaned his head, resting it on the blanket-covered seat. He looked out the window and could see the beautiful night sky. It reminded him of when he was a kid. He would go out on the balcony of his palace and do some stargazing on nights when the weather was just right. He would do research on the stars he looked up. He would try and talk about his findings to his father. However, the dad wasn't all too interested, even though he assigned him to be a prophet amongst the stars and galaxies of the universe.
Blitzø drove around for about thirty minutes, occasionally glancing back at Stolas.
"You okay back there?" The imp asked genuinely.
Stolas nodded sleepily. “Yeah.”
Blitzø smiled softly as he continued driving.
The owl continued gazing up at the sky.
"B'izø?"
"What's up, feathers?"
"Have... have you been sta'gazing before?" The owl asked reluctantly.
"I don't think I have. Why?"
Stolas looked down at the floorboard as he fiddled with a corner of the blanket he was holding. Blitzø wouldn't be interested in something like this. The imp would probably reject the idea of spending quality time with him... just like his father...
"Would you like to do that some time?"
Stolas's eyes widened at Blitzø's offer.
"Really?" the owl asked.
The imp nodded. “Yep, we can go stargazing anytime you want.”
Stolas gave a little smile.
“Ready to go home now, bub?” The imp asked as he glanced back at his little owl.
Stolas nodded his head as he let out a yawn.
So, Blitzø drove them back to the apartment. When they arrived, the imp got out of the van and went to open the back door. He opened it and saw Stolas drifting off to sleep.
"Come on, buddy. We're home," Blitzø said in a gentle tone as he shook the owl's arm.
"We are?" Stolas mumbled tiredly as Blitzø unbuckled his seat belt and gathered the bag and blankets.
The imp took Stolas’s hand and led him inside before bringing him back to the couch.
"Than' you, B'izø," Stolas yawned while the imp tucked him in nice and snug.
“You’re welcome, bud. Do you need anything?” Blitzø asked.
"Stay?"
Blitzø nodded and sat beside him. “Of course.”
The imp reached into the bag and pulled out one of the pacifiers.
"You want your paci?"
Stolas nodded tiredly as he reached for it.
Blitzø handed the soother to the owl, who popped it in his beak.
"Ni', B'izø," the owl murmured.
“Night, baby feathers,” Blitz reached out to ruffle his hair.
After a few minutes, Stolas drifted off to sleep. Blitzø smiled and went back to the beanbag to get some more rest himself.
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Author's note: Thank you to all of the lovelies who made this story happen (@yourneurodivergentlady, @shhtickerbook, @sugarnpaint, @hels-belle)! I couldn't have done it without every single one of you! /pos /gen
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DNI Banner made by @wolfenpupr
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solo-walker · 4 months ago
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So, Anakin mowing down the younglings is pretty well known atp, but I randomly wondered... was it absolutely necessary to do that?? Could you not simply re-educate the young Jedi, create your own messed up little army of darkside force-wielding children?
Born from a joke during a conversation with @pjo-tvs-version, here's a star wars crack AU, laughingly dubbed...
SITH SCHOOL AU
Anakin doesn't kill the younglings, and doesn't go to Mustafar. Instead, he stays behind on Coruscant to establish a new institution, a.k.a the titular 'Sith School'. Pulpy Palpatine thinks it'll be a good idea to fortify the place and start brainwashing teaching the younglings ASAP. Catch 'em young, as they say.
Obi-Wan catches wind of the turn of affairs and, still reeling from the shock of it all, decides to not confront Anakin/Vader. He informs Padmé of what has happened and stops her from trying to go find Anakin. They leave Coruscant as fast as possible to find a safe place to regroup with the survivors, bide their time and decide upon their next move.
Flash forward a few years, Padmé is now one of the leaders of the Rebellion and raising her twin children along with 'Uncle Obi-Wan'. Anakin/Vader is running the 'Sith School' along with Palpatine while keeping an iron grip on the state of affairs. The Rebellion clashes with the Empire and he manages to sense that his kid (I'm going with the headcanon that he can only sense Luke) is alive somewhere, presumably with Padmé. How wonderfully convenient would it be, he thinks, if he could bring his kid to the Sith School!
He decides to contact Padmé while Pulpy looks on this development with growing alarm and starts to play Mind Games^TM again. Not only will this throw a potential spanner in his plans, but may also disrupt the regimented manipulation of the minds of the students of the Sith School!
Anyway, so Vader holocalls Padmé who is desperately trying to control two powerful force-wielding toddlers and is understandably furious like
"HOW DARE YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO PROPOSE THIS YOU PIECE OF BANTHA-"
"Padmé, listen to me, this is about our child's education-"
"Correction: Children. And trust me, you wouldn't last a day with them." *cuts the holocall*
Vader is miffed, distracted and shocked ("Children?? PLURAL???") while Palpatine is losing his mind in the background.
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audreyscribes · 9 months ago
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Ω PJO MISCELLANEOUS DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🍃 ZEPHYROS: GOD OF THE WEST WINDS, PERSONIFICATION OF THE GENTLE WEST WIND AND SPRING. 🌷
A/n: Another Popular minor god let's go! Zephryos or Zephryus will always pop up like a random but welcome breeze, so it was only fitting to do a demigod imagine on him. Also either I'm not looking in the right direction or I see a lack of Zephryus demigods. No idea if he would make a good godly dadza. Now to see if anyone picks up the references I've put in from another fandom. MISCELLANEOUS DEMIGOD H/CS MASTERLIST LINK: [TUMBLR] || [AO3]
If you’ve ever heard of “Spring is in the air”, there is no better term used for Zephyros because that essentially sums up his entire existence. This also applies to you every time you make an appearance. Whether you bring love in the air or smell like flowery perfume (the good kind that brings you ease and happiness), it ranges a bit.
When you get claimed, you can hear the singing of swans as the wind blew gently from the west, carrying the smell of Spring almost like a herald…even if it’s not even Spring anymore. Unironically, your claim in Camp Halfblood takes place at Zephyros Creek…the creek that is literally named after him that runs through the entire forest.
As one of the more popular, minor gods, your presence as a demigod and your powers are also notable…which isn’t as much of a problem if it wasn’t much of a learning curve. Unlike where it’s pretty simple for the major gods where it makes relative sense of their domains and concepts, for Zephyros it’s less on the nose and requires some actual studying; from the winds, horses, spring, love, and etc.
As a child of Zephyros, you obviously have the power of the winds at your command. However, he is also technically a god of springtime, you also have the power to grow and manipulate plants, though not as much as the child of Demeter. Makes sense if you think of the wind carrying the pollen, helping the growth of flowers and the Spring wind heralds the changing of the seasons from Winter. If you’re at Camp between the seasons of Winter and Spring, you’ll find yourself in the company of the children of Demeter. A welcome change from growing decorative gourd to strawberries.
What no one tells you at first, despite being a god of the winds, you expect to have some connection to birds like the Swans from earlier, you learn you also have a connection with horses; as Zephyros has turn into a horse and had pulled Zeus’ chariot with his brothers against Typhon. So Pegasus flying is almost like second nature to you but slightly left field. Good thing you have the children of Poseidon because you two can gossip and complain with the pegasus…though why is that you feel a certain draw to certain pegasus…?
You also find yourself being drawn to and from the children of Iris; where you learn that Iris told them to make you feel welcome and extends you an invitation to drop by her Organic shop anytime, the children of Apollo surprisingly; once everyone got over the fact about their parents’ thing over Hyacinth, they welcomed you greatly and especially appreciated you spirit over any injured patients over or simply growing some well-need plants at that moment. Plus, every so often, you all get together to have a small music break and not surprisingly, you find yourself gifted at wind instruments.
You also meet Lester or a.k.a. Apollo as well around this time. He welcomes you as much as he can and while you appreciated the gesture, you knew he carried guilt and awkwardness towards you, forcing himself to show you that he had no qualms and in extension, show Zephyros that he regretted blaming your godly father for Hyacinth's death and to show he wouldn’t be petty and harm his own kid; even if he knew that received help during his own powerless moment. Luckily for you and him, Zephryos written a letter for Apollo that you gave to him, explicitly stating that Zephyros that was sorry as well and forgave Apollo long ago. You find yourself having another father figure in your life through Apollo, who constantly invites you to his and his children’s activities.
You find yourself being in the company of the children of Aphrodite. Zephryos famously has a connection being in the service of Eros, bringing Spring (i.e. romance) in the air, but there’s also his and Iris’ son; Pothos, the God of Sexual Longing, Yearning, and Desire, who is also an attendant of Aphrodite. So whether or not you have a particular interest in romance or whatever, the children of Aphrodite are more likely to share their secrets and gossip with you and even help you from time to time. Or you’re going to be the one spreading those juicy gossip and spilling the tea to the people of the Aphrodite cabin (and those who feel so inclined) about So and So being seen together while holding hands.
You quickly figure out that Zephyros is rather well-known around Camp, outside of his presence in Greek Mythos, as you find out that from Annabeth, like her, a lot of them were brought to their mortal parents from their godly parents by Zephyros. Somewhere down the line, you find yourself able to find out whose unclaimed demigods’ parentage is because Zephyros touch lingers on them, leaving you in a dilemma if you’re allowed to say it.
In terms of physical attributes inherited from your father, this is what’s going to be a nightmare for you. At first you thought you might inherit wings because Zephyros is often depicted with wings, but if your claiming doesn’t trigger it, then you might not have wings at all. Though this is not a problem with flying as you can manipulate the wind to help you fly. No, what’s a nightmare is that Chiron sat you down and told you that you might be able to turn into a horse because Zephyros has been known to turn into a horse, so you may be able to turn into that…but what really threw you in a loop is that you may possess the characteristics of a tiger because he’s also the sire of Tigers. So Tiger, Horses, and Birds oh my! good luck with that!
On the other hand, you’re going to have an animal companion; whether its a tiger, horse, or birds; though usually swans but not limited to it. Afterall, pegasus are considered horses too; so there’s that. For all you could know, you may have crows as your companion(s); though they’re a rather chatty bunch so you are probably going to call them as Chat. Or Bryan- for that one crow that can speak rather human like. 
Everyone stared at you with open gaped mouths as the claim of Zephryos floated above your head. The swans were singing and flapping their wings in Zephyros creek. The wind gently blew from the West as if Zephyros was gently running his hand over your hair, giving you a light kiss on the forehead. There was a waft of floral scent also coming from the West, and it smelled familiar to you. 
Everyone was staring at you with a range of awe, surprise, and absolute recognition. The weight of the stares was starting to make you awkwardly hot and uncomfortable. Silence gradually filled in when the swan singing started to fade off into the distance, only the wind swaying of the trees with the sound of the water running through the creek. It was then you remembered that you had the flag in hand, the fabric flapping in the wind earlier like some epic painting when you reached the goal. It was a whirlwind of events when you felt yourself flying, your feet carrying you like you were absolutely nothing. At first you thought you were definitely a child of Hermes, with your feet running like you had wings on your feet but then when you were getting pincered from all sides. You were cut off by the enemy side and the only exit was a cliff and the next thing you knew you jumped off the cliff in a run, and as you fell, panic hit you as you realized you couldn’t land safely and the creek wasn’t that deep to sustain your fall. 
It was at that moment the wind blew from the West and swirled around you, carrying off into safety into the waters. You botched the landing and did a couple stumble but you took that then going SPLAT.
You wondered if you should say anything when people weren’t really moving, whispering amongst themselves, until you heard a whistle that came off rather musically impressed and then a clap of rhythm. Your eyes turned to the source to see a boy with brown hair and eyes but when the sunlight filtered through the gap of the branches, you swore you saw blue instead. 
“Well, certainly Zephyros knows how to make an entrance, not that I wouldn’t do either of course” said the boy and you heard that one child of Demeter with a temper scoff. “I think we can say Capture the Flag is over right Chiron?”
The centaur shook out of his stupor and cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “Yes, that would seem to be the case” he said before he turned to the other campers to say that Capture the Flag was now over and your team cheered in victory. 
You were rushed over by your teammates for securing the win and congrats on being claimed. You thanked profusely, still not sure who claimed you until you saw the boy from earlier, that your brain hazily remembered as some from the Apollo cabin. 
“Well I never expected to see a child of Zephryos to appear, much less when I’m at camp. I guess there’s no real bad blood anymore if he’s open to claiming his kid in front of me.”
“Uh, wait Zephryos? He’s my dad? But isn’t he the god of the West wind-”
“Yes, Zephryos, God of the West Wind as well as the personification of it and a god of Spring you can say” he said, before gently gesturing you out of the water and that’s when you realize your shoes and socks were absolutely soaked and very uncomfortable as they squished with every movement. 
“I don’t think he would have a demigod” you admitted. 
“Well, Zephryos and I were both interested in a lovely human man named Hycanith, though he got jealous that Hycanith accepted me as a lover. It’s a long story but it seems like he had moved on some time to have you” smiled the stranger. 
“Wait, I remember that story…but you? The story had Apollo-” you started to say but you cut off your words when it hit you. You turned to the stranger beside you and now you could feel it.  “Ah yes, it’s a rather long story but I’m in my mortal form. Here, I’m called Lester Papadopoulos but those who know, know me as Apollo.”
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raaorqtpbpdy · 1 year ago
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Made of Meat
Danny Phantom/DC (Animal Man) crossover (thank you @stealingyourbones for the prompt)
When strange, faintly glowing meat creatures start rampaging through the streets of San Diego, there's only one man to call. And when Animal Man could use a helping hand, Phantom swoops in to assist. Or, Danny Phantom and Animal Man team up to fight the Lunch Lady
Read it on AO3
[Warnings for minor violence, mentions of vomit, and repeated mentions/descriptions of raw meat]
When strange, faintly glowing meat creatures started rampaging through the streets of San Diego, there was only one man to call. 
Absorbing the power of flight from a hawk overhead, Buddy Baker, A.K.A. Animal Man soared toward downtown to confront the monsters wreaking havoc on the innocent civilians of his city, his blond hair fluttering in the wind.
By the time he arrived, the chaos was well underway. Just like the reports had claimed, several unidentified creatures were causing the brunt of the damage, each of them about four feet tall and composed entirely of raw meat, still dripping with blood and already attracting flies, with glowing red eyes and fleshy teeth. Animal Man could see pools of vomit on the sidewalks from people who had evidently been too disgusted by the creatures to hold down their lunches, but he'd seen far worse himself and wasn't bothered by the creatures' grotesque appearance.
He swooped down to snatch a little girl out of the way of one of the things and take her to the nearest screaming woman—her mother, just as he had guessed—and urged them to run. There weren't as many people downtown as Buddy would have normally expected to see at this time, probably most of them already had already run away, but a few stragglers still remained, most of them filming the incident on their phones, some hiding, none of them in immediate danger.
With his bird's eye view, Animal Man had spotted a peculiar woman in the center of the commotion. She looked confused and sickly, with greenish skin. It wasn't her appearance that bothered him, though. Something about her felt off, and it unsettled the hero in a way he couldn't quite put into words. Using the sharp ears of a bat from the nearby zoo, he could hear her even from high in the sky, demanding to know where she was and what was for lunch.
Whoever she was, Buddy was pretty sure she was the woman in charge, and these meat gremlins were her doing. If he could knock her out, or better yet, peacefully convince her to stop, her creatures would stop too.
With the strength of a charging rhino, Animal Man plowed through her meaty minions with little trouble and slammed his whole body into her, sending her flying a few feet to land sprawled on the ground. He rushed forward to pin her so she couldn't get away, and it was then that he began to realize what was so off about her.
Her skin was cold and green, her eyes glowed red, and her clothes were about forty years out of date. But even more strange that that, he didn't feel any connection to her through the Red. The Red connected all animal life, from the tiniest single-celled organism, to the biggest blue whale, and humans were included in that. Through the Red, Animal Man could absorb the powers of any living creature. 
Not this woman, though.
She looked human, and acted human... but she wasn't human.
Animal man dug deeper, trying to feel out a connection to the Green, or the Rot. It was harder for him to sense them, but all three elements were connected, and they encompassed all living things, even after death.
Except for this mysterious woman.
She wasn't fauna, or flora, or decay. And now that he was feeling through the Red, he realized that her constructs weren't connected to it either, even though they looked like they could have crawled right out of it moments before they showed up here. Buddy didn't know how that was possible, but right now, what she was didn't matter half as much as stopping her.
"I don't want to hurt you anymore," he said firmly, "but you have to stop what you're doing, or I'll be forced to. I can't let you keep attacking innocent people with your creatures. It has to stop." 
The woman scowled and stood up, her body passing right through Animal Man like he was made of air, and a chill ran down his spine and he shuddered as he fell a few inches onto the asphalt below.
"What the...?" He tried to grab her again, but he couldn't even touch her. His hands passed right through her, like he was trying to catch smoke.
"You think you can stop me?!" the woman demanded, her hair standing up and writhing like snakes on her head. The meat monsters turned as one and began to converge on Animal Man. "Today's menu is doom, and now, it's lunchtime!"
"It's four-thirty!"
Animal Man snapped his head up toward the sound of the new voice, and saw a teenager flying into view. He wore a black and white jumpsuit, had white hair, and the green glow of his eyes was visible even from a distance. The teen rocketed down and slammed his fists right into the strange woman's face, sending her skidding backwards.
"You!" she hissed, her eyes widening and pulsing red—it was terrifying in person, but Buddy couldn't help the thought that it was reminiscent of a really angry Loony Tunes character.
Immediately, her creatures turned their attention away from Animal Man, and toward the newcomer. Evidently, she and him had a history. And she'd determined that the kid was a higher priority than Buddy was.
"That's right, Lunch Lady, it's me again," the kid said, grabbing a thermos that was hanging off his belt. "And I'm here to tell you that the only thing on the menu for you today is soup!"
Whatever he planned to do with that thermos, he didn't get the chance, as one of the meat gremlins morphed its arm into a long whip and knocked it away from him.
"Ew!" the kid said, dropping a few feet to punch the nearest creature and then dry-heaving for a second. "Are these things raw? Why—eugh!" he cut himself off with a shudder as another one got close and he had to punch it. Clearly the creatures were not his bag.
"Hey kid!" Animal Man shouted, ready to offer his help.
"It's Phantom," the kid shouted back. "Wait, who're you?"
"Animal Man," he replied. "I'll keep the meat things occupied if you can deal with her."
"You sure, dude?" Phantom flew back out of the meat things' reach with a grimace, and dodged the sprays of blood they spewed up after him looking almost as green as the Lunch Lady. "These things are pretty gross. Way grosser than the last time I fought 'em."
"I've handled grosser than them," Buddy assured. "They're not a problem—but I can't fight someone I can't touch."
Phantom turned slightly to look at the Lunch Lady, who was laughing triumphantly, and got splashed in the back of the head by one of the meat creatures still bombarding him. He yelped in disgust, and Buddy pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.
"Alright, deal!" Phantom agreed, wiping the back of his head with a gloved hand. "I'll leave 'em to you, just don't let them merge with each other, or her, they become a much bigger problem that way."
"Got it!" 
Animal Man summoned up some elephant strength, leopard agility and the reflexes of a fly and ran at the creatures. The force of his punches caused them to burst apart instantly, and in the time it took one to reform itself, he could take down three more.
Meanwhile, Phantom shot upward, firing a green beam at the Lunch Lady. His head turned frantically, like he was looking for something, but he didn't seem to find it. The Lunch Lady screamed as he dive-bombed her again, this time sending her through a wall—the wall itself undamaged. She came back through it moments later, back on her feet and angrier than ever. 
As much as he wanted to keep an eye on the kid to make sure he didn't get hurt, Buddy still had to focus on his own fight. Phantom was clearly familiar with this enemy, had apparently fought her before, and he seemed like he could handle himself. None of that stopped Buddy from worrying. None of his worrying changed the fact that he had a job to do.
In his moment of distraction, one of the creatures slammed into the side of Animal Man's knee, knocking him down. He used his elephant strength to throw it off and watched it splatter into a bloody, fleshy mass against a concrete wall. 
As he rolled over to get back on his feet and resume the fight, he saw the thermos Phantom had dropped. It had rolled out of sight under the bus stop bench. That must've been what the kid was looking for! Although Animal Man had no idea what Phantom could need it for, he darted forward like a cheetah on all fours and snatched the thermos up.
"Hey Phantom!" he shouted, jumping to his feet and kicking another creature into pieces. "You need this, right?"
Phantom turned, and grinned widely when he saw what his new ally was holding. Animal Man threw it up to him and he caught it easily and uncapped it right away, aiming it at the Lunch Lady.
Animal Man punched out another meat gremlin as a blue light shone from inside the thermos, and the Lunch Lady screamed and shouted in protest as she was sucked inside. As soon as the cap was back on the thermos, the remaining creatures collapsed into piles of raw meat, covered in rocks and dirt and buzzing flies. How this mess would get cleaned up was anyone's guess.
Fight ended, Phantom flew down to where Animal Man was standing, surrounded by a ring of red meat and plucked poultry, but did not touch down on the ground. A strategic choice, although it was a bit too late for the other hero to do the same.
"Eugh, I smell like a butcher shop and I have entrails in my hair," Animal Man commented, sniffing his sleeve with a grimace. "My wife isn't gonna so much as wave hello until I take a shower, and it's gonna be hell getting the stench outta my suit."
"Oh, uh... here." 
Phantom put his hand on Buddy's shoulder, and a cold empty sensation wracked his body for a few seconds. All the gross chunks and fluids dropped to the ground, falling through him like he was made of air, just like the Lunch Lady had moved through him earlier. When Phantom took his hand away, Buddy was clean. Even the smell didn't seem to be coming from him anymore, although it still definitely surrounded him.
"Wow, thanks," Buddy said, marveling at the distinct lack of red stains on his white gloves which had been absolutely soaked in it a moment before. "That trick must come in pretty useful for you."
"Yeah, well, it's the least I could do after you helped me out," Phantom said. His shoulders hunched and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "It was all my fault the Lunch Lady attacked in the first place. I was stupid and forgot to make sure the thermos was empty before I left Amity Park."
"Hey, you're not stupid; don't say that. Everyone makes mistakes, what's important is that you were able to fix it," Animal Man argued. 
Phantom smiled gratefully, and it wasn't until he took his hand away from his neck that he seemed to remember the splatter of blood and juices he'd gotten from one of the creatures and he wrinkled his nose at the red stain on his own glove. He hardly seemed to think about it as he turned himself intangible like he had to Buddy before and let the viscera fall to the sidewalk with a splat.
"So... what was she anyway?" Buddy asked, doing his best to keep a straight face. "The Lunch Lady I mean. She definitely wasn't human, I could tell that much."
"Oh, she was a ghost," Phantom replied. "I'm a ghost, too, but I'm a good guy, I swear. Sorry, I forget not a lot of people have seen ghosts outside of Amity Park. They're super common where I come from."
"A ghost, huh?"
Animal Man considered that. It would make sense. A ghost was dead, but not decaying, not made of flesh or vegetation. Not fauna, not flora, not rot. It tracked with what he had sensed from the woman before. But if Phantom was a ghost too, that meant he'd died at about the same age Buddy's own son, Cliff, had, and that sent a pang of heartache through the man's chest.
One thing didn't make sense, though. Phantom claimed to be a ghost, like the Lunch Lady, but unlike with her, Buddy could sense Phantom through the Red. It was a thin connection, like the kid was hanging onto it by a thread, but it was a solid one, too. If this kid really was a ghost, he wasn't the same as the one he'd just trapped in that thermos of his.
For a moment, Buddy thought about pressing for answers, but he quickly decided against it. It could be that the truth was too personal, or embarrassing, or even dangerous for Phantom to reveal, especially to a virtual stranger, even one who'd helped him out. Besides everyone was entitled to their secrets. Instead, Animal Man smiled at the kid and clapped him on the back.
"That's pretty cool," he said. "Say, do ghosts eat? You should come over to my place for dinner. After a hard-fought battle like that, I'd say you deserve it."
"You can eat after fighting those things?" Phantom looked down at what remained of the meat creatures and gagged.
"Trust me, if I wasn't already a vegetarian, I would be after this," Buddy replied. "My wife's making some meat-free lasagna, and we always have tons of leftovers. She usually doesn't like me taking hero stuff home with me, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind in this case."
"She knows you're a hero?" 
The open shock on Phantom's face was a bit of a surprise, but then again, he had said he was from out of town. Just because Buddy was often swarmed by local paparazzi, didn't mean he was any more than regionally famous.
"Everyone knows," he said with a shrug. "I don't keep my identity a secret. It can get annoying sometimes, but I don't really have any reason to. I'm not one of the big-shots, like Batman and Wonder-Woman. You're not from around here, so I bet you never even heard of Animal Man before today."
"Well... no...."
"Exactly," Buddy made sure to grin wide enough that the kid knew there were no hard feelings about it. "So what do you say? You coming over for dinner, or what?"
"I'd love to, but I can't," Phantom said apologetically. "I have to deal with all this meat and then my—uh... I just have other plans tonight."
"You need help with the clean up?"
Phantom frowned down at the piled of meat still surrounding the two of them. 
Maybe this really hadn't been the best place to discuss dinner plans. Man, Buddy really was desensitized to this kinda stuff wasn't he? For a guy who didn't eat meat, he sure spent a lot of time surrounded by it, both in the Red, and now here.
"Nah," Phantom decided finally. "I think I can just turn the ground intangible and phase everything down under the street level so it can decompose."
"Just turn the ground intangible, huh?" Animal Man huffed a light laugh and shook his head. "Yeah, alright, if you're sure. I should get going anyway. Stay safe, kiddo. Maybe I'll see you around again before you head back home."
"Uh..." Phantom blinked owlishly at him. "Y-yeah... you uh... stay safe too."
Animal Man smiled and nodded, and took off toward his home, borrowing the power of flight from a pigeon on a telephone wire. The way Phantom had reacted, it was almost like no one had ever said that to him before. Stay safe.
Where had he said he was from? Amity Park?
Maybe Animal Man should keep tabs on him from now on, just in case. After all, ghost or not, he was still just a teenager, and all heroes needed allies from time to time.
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scoldingdarjeeling · 1 month ago
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Instinct
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Rating: Explicit (mdni 18+) Relationships: Halsin x Tempest (OC) Fandom: Baldurs Gate 3 (post game) Additional tags: POV Halsin, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language. Fluff and Smut, Polyamorous Character, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Dark Past, Sleepwalking, Reithwin, Age Difference, Friends to Lovers, Demisexuality, POC, Healing, Magic scar/tattoo.
When Tempest, a human touched by the Feywild's haunting beauty, crosses paths with Halsin, the Hierophant of Silvanus, more bear than elf, something ancient stirs. What begins as quiet kinship soon blazes into fierce, consuming passion. Both carry echoes of the fey in their blood; she, marked by survival; he, born of wild groves. Each awakens the untamed heart in the other, a humming beat beyond planes and reason. On a night conjured by magic and vines, they offer each other the most primal of gifts: a glimpse of wholeness, where souls entwine in sacred abandon (a.k.a. Tempest loses her V-card to Halsin).
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Excerpt from Chapter One: Stormcaller
As the former Archdruid was about to rip the sinew, meat, and scales off his struggling catch with his bare teeth—a fresh salmon from the roaring rapids, warm blood filling his mouth, exhilarating and feeding his ravenous prey drive—a voice as deep as the river itself, yet feminine, called out to him...
“Forgive the intrusion, Son of Silvanus. I do not mean to disturb the waters...”
Halsin ripped the head off his meal before pricking his round ears towards the strange visage of a dryad who stood to his side, close, but not close enough to stir his territorial instincts.
Halsin might have been fully immersed in his chosen wild shape, the ancient dire bear, but spending a hundred years in hibernation had taught him to control his instinctual reactions. His intelligent hazel eyes tangled with the luminous green gaze of the fey—a daughter of Silvanus.
Halsin grunted and shook his massive head, flinging water everywhere, before he stilled, listening intently.
“I hear the voices of the trees carried by the wind; I bring an urgent report from the Willow Tree by the lakeshore... it concerns one most beloved,” the river dryad continued after a gentle bow.
She spoke in the tongue of the old forests. All druids knew it.
Halsin tested the air, but nothing stood out to him—he couldn’t tell the nature of her message. He reached out to her, mind to mind, in response.
“I will hear this message. Silvanus brought you here for a reason—of whom do you speak?”
The dryad looked up at him from beneath her green lashes, her piercing gaze conveying what he could not discern.
“It concerns the one bearing the storm in their heart—a female, human, and in peril. I was bid to find you with great haste!” she said, pointing with her gnarled staff toward the direction of the river, westward.
Halsin lifted his massive head, observing how the clouds, dark and foreboding, gathered in circles, concentrating in one place. As he contemplated her words, a flash of white interrupted his musings. A rumble trembled the earth.
Suddenly, there was another flash, followed by yet another. Halsin counted eight lightning strikes in rapid succession, all from the same place.
That was how he knew. By the Tree Father’s mossy beard... Tempest was trapped in a trance!
Adrenaline surged through his muscles in an instant as the severity of these revelations made his blood run cold. Time was of the essence—Halsin had to get to Tempest, and do so quickly, before the point of no return.
The dire bear barked in confirmation and took off in a run, leaving the river dryad behind, devouring the ground beneath him, building momentum. His great paws cut the time it would take to reach Tempest’s cabin by the lake’s edge in half.
More? AO3 Link Here
Shout-out to my awesome moots: this story only exists because of you! <3 @thoughts-of-bear, @amorgansgal, @hippotooth, @rambling-tam, @chesh-the-paladin-rogue, @serenaoffaerun, @starrforge & last but not least @optimisticgrey (I see you, moving in the shadows) 💫
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honey-minded-hivemind · 1 year ago
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I just imagined: What if there's an AU where Logan and Reader are experiments, maybe for the Weapon X scientists, maybe for something else, or for some mutant-experimenting group, and Sabretooth (a.k.a., his brother) ends up taking care of them once they've been busted out?
Let's look at it this way:
Logan has been in that place for Heaven only knows how long. He's seen sh*t, he's heard all sorts of awful things, and he's lived them. Then there's a kid thrown in with him, and suddenly he's a dad now. (Who else is going to parent this random kid/teen? The scientists? F*ck no!) So he's now trying to keep himself and this kid alive, biding his time until he finds the best opportunity for them to leave.
Reader is this random kid/teen who's been put into this program/experiment, and they've been tossed into the mess with no safety net... Until they end up with Logan, or as everyone else calls him, Wolverine. And Reader, seeing a feral, growly, possibly dangerous individual... tries to be gentle. Tries to treat him as a person. (This guy is covered in wounds and reeks of blood, and obviously needs care, and they're all in this together, aren't they?) And Reader is soon met with someone who is their protector in this H*ll they're living in, someone who'd kill for them and die for them, if the situation called for it. Too bad Reader would do the same for him...
(They become cellmates/cell-buddies. Logan, when he's not chained to the wall or floor or restrained in some way is curled around Reader. Reader tries to keep his humanity intact, and tries to maintain both of their sanities. The moment someone tried to take Reader away, Logan bit someone's arm off-)
Sabretooth comes into play when he finds out about this secret program trying to make or recapture mutant experiments, wanting soldiers or guards or weapons... And when he catches wind of a rumor, that his baby brother is in there... He decides to make it his business. And realizes he's going to have to get involved if he wants to get him out mostly intact.
Trying to act the part of a willing subject... oh, it grates on his nerves... Having to act like he's loyal, or controlled. Doing what they say when they say it. But the reward... tearing out their throats and getting his brother away from them, causing chaos, too... is too sweet, too much of a good thing, to pass up. Then he finds out his brother is attached to another subject, and suddenly he's now trying to figure out if he needs to keep them alive, too.
And what he finds... it convinces him to keep Reader alive.
They're the only good thing to his brother in this h*llscape. The only one treating him with any respect or decency. And that earns them his protection. Not to mention they're a small pup, just a cub, in a den of snakes and lions... And his brother likes them. Those are enough reasons for him to add Reader into his plan, to the list of people to break out. (If he roughs up or sets up a few jerks so they can have a taste of what they've given his runt or the cub, it's no one's business-)
And finally, the day comes and he can break them out... Except something goes horribly wrong, and he's now trying to make sure Reader is alive while struggling to keep his brother from running off with them. (Neither of them are in a position to survive alone, or to go another week without proper care and for and safety). So that leaves him with hardly any choice but to kidnap his brother and hide him and the kid where no one can get to them. They can all fight it out when they're well again, but that isn't going to be for a long time, and he does miss taking care of his brother... And he gets to care for the cub, who needs extra careful care and gentleness... So he's going to be busy for quite awhile now, isn't he?... He can't wait to get them warm and cleaned up and fed. They're just going to have to be kept very sleepy and relaxed while he works his own brand of healing and caring for them, 'kay? Just let good ol' Victor take care of everything...
(If you have any questions about this idea, please ask them!)
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shuamorollss · 1 year ago
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drop-tower crisis — k.sy x gn!reader
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after a whole hour of gushing about your fear of the drop tower ride while on a date with your boyfriend, you suddenly felt the urge to try and ride it... just to face your fears and have fun, right?
fluff, established relationship, reader doesn't have fear of heights, just has the fear of the ride alone. warnings/notes— none ... <1k wc + reblogs are greatly appreciated!
note— literally just a drabble i wrote under 15 minutes... only bc I'm so love deprived from the book i currently finished 😴 wrote this as like a moment in my head to my own WesLiz happy ever after anyway hehe that's all g'night or g'morning wherever u are!!!?!
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"Do you think mom would mind?" You asked curiously. Somehow, Kwon Soonyoung perks up a light grin in amusement on how you were suddenly shaky as you finally take a grasp this whole thing.
a.k.a your whole idea.
"That was out of nowhere." He raised a brow.
"I'm just saying!—like, you know... if I do this, will my mom be alright with it? Will she worry the hell out? or—" You let out an exaggerated gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as your seat finally secures itself in place. Keeping you from ever standing up or escaping as your now bethrothed to this god-damned drop-tower ride.
Soonyoung lets out a loud chuckle, his eyes never leaving to look at you as you lowly squeal in terror. And the ride hasn't even started yet.
"You pushed me to try this ride, I just ag—"
"You agreed yes, yes!" you nod repeatedly, myriads of questions wandering in your mind as to how and why you even thought of this in the first place.
Whenever you go to amusement parks, this was the very ride you avoid your gaze to.
Just by looking at a distance, having the seats suddenly raising up and acceleratng back down—and up again, has your stomach churning.
And now you're going to be experiencing it in real time.
Real. Fucking. Time.
"Soonyoung." you loudly call out in pure fear as the seat lightly shook, and up it finally went.
You took a glance at your boyfriend beside you to see him watching your very reaction. His face plastering an awful smirk and low breathy chuckles that were running along with the swift breeze of the wind as it continues higher.
And higher...
"Soonyoung." You squealed, squeezing your eyes tightly shut once more as you could see a whole mountain from up here.
You couldn't even look down it was that bad.
The way your feet couldn't even feel any flat surfaces at the bottom and the thought that you would fall off and meet your untimely demise sent numerous amounts of shivers down your spine.
All of this because... you wanted to try this ride. After years of avoidance.
Then, after a few seconds of accepting your fate, you felt someone's warm hand started intertwining with yours.
Just like that, you open your eyes, seeing none other than your boyfriend's hands holding yours.
From what was an unbearable smirk airing visible teasing and mockery from him a moment ago. Now turned into something mellow and genuine. His eyes laying onto you, and hands squeezing yours in comfort, he says, "You said face your fears, right?"
You nod reluctantly, both heartbeat and seats were still raising.
"Open your eyes, look around, or look at me, and have fun. 'kay?"
He squeezes your hand tighter, darting your gaze to your intertwined hands and back to his visage putting up the lightest beam for you.
Only for you.
And at that moment, his words that were so simple have easily broken you out to your room of fear. Suddenly you don't feel so scared anymore.
Still nervous, but not as before.
Then, the ride stops for a brief second.
You wanted to slide your hands out of Soonyoung's grasp, earning him a quick look of concern.
You give him your warmest smile, "I'm okay now."
Yet, he didn't let go.
"Nah."
He'd be damned if he would.
"It's not safe." You warn.
But he had to.
He breathes out a sigh. "Fine." he says, disappointment filling his nerves that will definitely dissipate in a matter of—
3... 2... 1.
And... take off.
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© shuamorollss. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.
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shy-nightmare · 7 months ago
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OMG, YOU GUYS! HELP ME! 😱
Before you ask, yes, I had another dream. And yes, I'll tell you all about it. I'm just walking in town, minding my own business, and it's such a lovely evening. The wind is a gentle breeze, the stars are sparkling bright, and the moon is still and serene. For a moment, the night is peaceful and quiet.
But then, I hear a blaring siren, I turn around, and I see them.
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I'm not playing with you, the weasels have infiltrated my sleep again. And it's not one or two of them. The whole pack. ALL FIVE! 😨
There's no one else around. Just me and them. And before I could blink, I'm literally being chased. Like how they chased Eddie, Roger, and Benny, they are now chasing me. Guys, this is not a joke. They're closing in on me. They've been haunting me for almost three months now. Everyone in that movie wants me to break.
I hate to say this, but...*sighs* It's time to take a vote.
I know it's been over two months since I started having these dreams, but as I continued being tortured and pursued, I started thinking. Everyone who I've interacted with has been so kind and welcoming (and yes, I'm tagging @trashogram, @just-kit-ink, @basiabd and @los-angeles-toon-patrol because they've been kind to me too 😊), and showed me nothing but kindness and compassion since I joined. And you've all liked what I've posted; my artwork, my chapters, and even my updates and moon photography. To me, it feels like I'm making a lot of progress and you guys really like what I've been sharing so far.
That's why I'm making this very first poll post. I want to hear what you think. @weaselnerd, @lastofautumn, and @imaginarytoon1, you're also invited and your opinions matter too 😁!
And @marinerainbow and @slashingdisneypasta A.K.A. @wicked1will0sparkles, if you're seeing this post, I'm sorry. The weasels got me 😔
Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to go run and hide now. 🏃‍♀️
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