#but also very much a menace ready to drown the others in water the second he got the chance

[candescentkpop]

Xion

Oneus: Valkyrie

Oneus Part 90 / ∞

[thesunshineriptide]

Could I request the vice housewardens + Ruggie play fighting with the reader, is there a certain way they initiate if they play fight at all? Do they smack talk? I NEED TO KNOW

Also don't forget to drink water and consume your fruits and veggies 💛

This request made me so happy and it was hilarious to think about someone fighting a bunch of cryptids for fun. Anyway yes absolutely I hope this if acceptable and thank you for reminding me, I am currently drinking water now

Okay so the vice housewardens (or second in commands, which is more accurate) are the feistiest group at NRC. They are all shady or ready to deck someone which makes me think that it’s simply a trait housewardens look for. I’d imagine they all play-fight, but where and how varies greatly. Also the tags look so gnarly but I swear none of them are that violent

Hit me with your best shot

Characters: Trey, Ruggie, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Ortho, Lilia, Floyd (mentioned)

Tw// fighting, violence, drowning (mentions), biting, hunting, Rook typical behavior, Leech typical behavior, food, bruises/marks, blood mention

Trey

Definitely a play fighter in the casual way.

Most likely to poke at you, smack you with a pillow, throw something at you, etc.

He’s probably the second gentlest in this regard because he’s human and not training to beat the fuck out of someone

When you play fight it’s probably because one of you is being snippy after a long day of dealing with other peoples bullshit.

You aren’t likely to end up actually injured or bruised or anything, but you may end up wrestling on the floor of Trey’s room or smacking each other with pillows.

He’s an older brother so he knows restraint but the urge to pull hair and smack the shit out of someone is strong.

Instead he just pins you to the ground and dramatically lays on you to keep you there

You guy definitely have a food fight.

Not like, with finished dishes or anything, but in a ‘I dropped some ice from the freezer and instead of kicking it under the fridge, we’re playing ice soccer in the kitchen at 3 am’ kind of way.

Or sometimes when you have leftover frosting from a cake he’s made you end up flinging it at each other.

If you ever cover his mouth he will lick it and give you an evil smirk

His trash talk is somehow both very good and very bad at the same time.

He gets into it but he also uses stupid insults like “you’re a poopface” mostly because he wants you to know he’s joking because onetime he called riddle an asshole and he cried so now he’s careful

Please take a boxing class with him you two would have so much fun

Ruggie

Initiates by walking up and biting your shoulder or sometimes just shoving you and running.

If you accept playfighting him at least once be prepared he’s going to do it a lot.

He has so much pent up aggression.

Half of the fighting is smack talk and boy does he have a MOUTH.

Hopefully you have thick skin because otherwise when he says shit like “you look like a gazelle ass fucked a cactus” you might actually cry

Definitely rougher when he plays.

Expect claw marks, bites, bruises, and sore limbs when you’re done fighting.

Try to ignore the stares you get from everyone when they see a bite mark on your shoulder because how do you explain you didn’t do that you were actually just beating the shit out of each other

He will start a fight literally anywhere and you two probably go at it for at least an hour before he gives up

If he ends up drawing blood he’s frantically making sure you’re alright and patching you up

Probably play fights with you as warmup for spelldrive practice.

This entails him coming to your room, pouncing on you to wake you up, then maniacally laughing when you fight him off with a scowl.

But on the bright side, he brought you breakfast (Leona paid for it, shhh) so it wasn’t for nothing

Jade

Jade isn’t one to play fight normally, he has a reputation to keep up.

So he won’t usually initiate that.

If you start to goad him into it, he just gives you a menacing smile then turns you over to Floyd to play like that.

If you still insist on playing with him, he will literally just pick you up and sling you over his shoulder until you promise to stop.

Then he drops you on the ground.

Now, that’s how it goes on land, anyway. But in water? Hooboy, hope you can hold your breath.

Jade’s third favorite thing to do is drag people underwater (the first two are hiking in the mountains and teasing Azul) and luckily for you, he remembers just how much you like play fighting!

And since Jade’s in the water, chances are Floyd is too.

They rarely do fun things without each other.

So now you’re going to be fighting for your life from two mischievous mer-eels.

Jade wears a darkly serene expression as he asks you whatever could be the matter and Floyd looks like he’s won the fucking jackpot when you surface from getting dragged into the water with them

You will not win this playfight, because there is little distinguishing it from a real one.

The only difference is that they aren’t actually trying to harm you, but you probably won’t realize that when Jade repeatedly drags you under water to see how long you can hold your breath, trapping your legs with his tail.

He finds the way you beat at him with your fists pretty adorable, which is lucky because that means you won’t drown today!

You will receive 0 aftercare from him for this traumatic experience, but he may invite you to do it again.

Don’t accept it’s a tr-

Jamil

You’re not so much play-fighting Jamil as you’re training with him.

Which is probably good, it means there’s rule and a time limit.

Anyway, most of his comments are half trash talk and half trying to get a rise out of you.

Very “is that the best you’ve got?”

Sparring with him is fucking exhausting so you likely do it mostly in the evenings or when Jamil is training some other students.

Sometimes he gets way too into it and ends up mixing breakdance moves and martial arts to kick your ass.

He has knocked your feet out from under you before and he will do it again

Moves so confidently and quickly you think he might moonlight as an assassin

Chances are you’re not gonna beat him, he’s got years of experience, but you’re getting stronger and faster when you’re with him.

If he ends up hitting you too hard he apologizes quickly and you don’t usually have many bruises due to the fact he makes you wear padding and you spar on a mat

Dude can totally take a hit so you don’t really have to hold back (he prefers if you don’t, it tests him more)

so don’t be afraid to smack him around.

Genuinely appreciative of you doing this with him and makes sure to let you know every time you take up his offer to practice together

He repays you buy providing you with snacks light on the stomach after you’re done working out together, usually some lightly chilled water and a piece of fruit.

Also sends you home with leftovers of whatever he made for dinner that night

Rook

Hahahaha….oh dear lord. So listen, there’s two types of play fighting.

There’s the one you initiate, then there’s the one he initiates.

One of them is fun!

The other is straight from a horror movie

If you initiate, he’s happy to indulge, and he hits a littler harder than he means to sometimes but overall it’s pretty chill.

You two end up chasing each other around campus, playing what could be described as a really intense, violent game of tag.

By the time you’re done, you’re both covered in dirt of mud and have sticks and leaves sticking to you.

If he initiates, please don’t take his offer.

This is the scary one.

His version of play fighting is chasing you through the woods behind campus with a bow and arrow and yelling vague threats about “ahh, you’re close! I can almost smell you~” and occasionally shooting an arrow that is ENTIRELY TOO CLOSE for comfort.

If he catches up to you - or just decides this is the right moment - he’s tackling you to the ground.

He’ll tease you for losing before attacking you with tickles, the most terrifying of all weapons.

So maybe it isn’t scary in the end, since he was never gonna hurt you, but running through the forest with nobody nearby except for a guy armed with a long ranged weapon is absolutely terrifying, and there’s always the slim chance he misses….

Ortho

Gentlest of the list.

He’s more sure how much pressure to apply when play fighting, so it mostly ends up being pillow fights, or something else that’s soft.

Poking, bumping into you, very very gentle punching, that’s all on the table.

If you try to initiate, Idia will get very pissed.

All of his internal components are extremely sensitive, you can’t just smack him! And besides that, he’s tiny, and his brother! Why would you do this?

Idia is genuinely terrifying when his entire attention is focused on you, and hes pissed.

The flames of his hair are growing and flickering wildly as his gold eyes glare down into yours.

The only thing that calms him down is when Ortho begs him to

So you don’t really get to physically play fight with him anymore, but you do get to game together.

With Idia’s supervision.

He’s not going to be letting Ortho around you anymore since you decided to fight a literal innocent child

Lilia

I’m fairly certain that play fighting is Lilia’s love language.

He loves to beat the shit out of people.

Least gentle next to Jade, because he will literally grab you and throw you in the air.

You’re not in danger, but his awareness of the human limits is limited, unlike Jade.

Probably isn’t a fan of shit-talking in person, but definitely does it when he’s gaming late at night.

Probably play fight in the Diasomnia lounge.

There’s an audience there to watch you get your ass kicked by an old man, as well as to see you fling the five foot nothing bat across the room.

Most intense play fighting imaginable.

He’s a big fan of flipping people and literally just throwing people around.

He’s completely fine with people doing it back to him, he finds it fun.

Playing with him is like trying to fight black widow, except if you call for a time out he’ll let you.

Silver and Sebek both try and warn you not to do this.

They literally trained with him as children they know he does not fuck around.

You ignore their advice and end up with a broken leg and a bowl of Lilia’s soup.

[random-mha-thoughts]

No Idea (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Anon asked:  "yooo sketch was so cute and he was so in character! if you're taking requests could you write a fic where basically all of 1a is at the dorms besides the reader who's patrolling and she gets attacked by dabi and has to fight him off alone meanwhile 1a and dadzawa watch from the dorms via news channel? bonus points for a water quirk reader! you can match the reader up with either deku or bakugou!"

Genre: Action, angst/comfort

Word count: 2,005

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ 

a/n: Basically this entire ask is describing just a portion of what I’m preparing for my multi-chapter Todoroki fic that I’ve already teased about for my 500 followers special, you can call it maybe an alternate pathway, or a separate continuity that helps to characterize my OC.  And I guess this one is well-timed because I just hit 1K yesterday?? I don’t know how it happened either tbh There will be a special event and a separate mushy post to come, but thank you all so so so much from the bottom of my heart.

This ended up longer than I expected, but that’s okay because I haven’t posted in a few days and I had time today to bang it out in one sitting.  I know this request came from a fluff like Sketch, so I hope you also like angst because that’s my specialty ;) (not to mention I was waiting for someone to request something angsty because I’ve had that photo saved and ready to use it for the LONGEST time).  Thank you for requesting it anon!

"Kinda sucks being out on patrol on the weekend," I sigh to myself, biting into my taiyaki.  "But it isn't all bad I guess."

Mirko had called me out to do a quick patrol this weekend.  This part of the city has been pretty quiet lately, and I don't mind showing my face.  A few passerby's wave at me and I respond in kind.  I like this part of the job, being the hero that everyone knows, respects, and trusts to protect them.  It gives me more drive to save them in time of crises.

"Blue!" a middle school girl walks by and waves.

"Hi, Mina," I smile and wave back.  "Going home from cram school?"

"Yup!" she flashes me a toothy grin.  "Dad's making dinner tonight for once!  It's Mom's birthday!"

"That's wonderful," my smile softens.  "Wish her happy birthday for me, okay?  And get home quick before she worries!"

"I will!" the girl runs off down the sidewalk, waving behind her.

So cute, I think, watching her small figure weave through the crowd of people.  I swallow the last bite of my fish treat and continue on my patrol.  Thankfully, it's another laid back day: I direct a few lost pedestrians to their destinations, make small talk with more familiar faces, help a few elderly carry groceries to their houses, and the like.  I'm content with the mundane flow of a lazy Sunday afternoon.

While talking to a grocery store employee, a sudden explosion in the alley across the street breaks routine.

"Everyone get inside the nearest building or run as far as you can!" I scream out instructions to the citizens nearest to me as I keep an eye on the alley for the next explosion and help anyone within reach to look for cover.  That explosion wasn't normal, I know those blue flames like the back of my hand.

Looks like my Sunday stroll is over.  I dial on my phone as I thread through the frightened crowd toward the alley.  "Mirko san, I might need backup.  There's a very high possibility that the League is involved here, but I'll confirm-"

Right when I'm within a few yards of the alley's opening, another bright blue light flashes, triggering the surrounding crowd to scream and run away faster.  I assist a few others, waiting for the smoke to clear.  A silhouette appears amidst the dark fog, and I know exactly who it is.

"I'm confirming, it's-"

Before I can finish, the shadow stretches out its hand towards me and blasts flames straight at me.  Immediately, I put up a water shield in front of me, then start building it wider so the people near and behind me can get away without damage.  I already know what happens when something - or someone - touches those dangerous blue flames.

"It's-It's Dabi of the League," I force myself to say, the name burning as it rolls off my tongue.  "He appears to be alone."

"Roger.  Try to apprehend him by yourself before I get there!  I'll hurry over as soon as possible!" my mentor responds and cuts the call.

I make sure everyone within the immediate area is evacuated from the streets, scanning every inch wildly for stragglers.  Heat increases around the me suddenly, and darting my head back around shows the fire eating through my water defense without faltering.  Before it completely penetrates my defense, I jump over to the side behind a car, right before a giant hole is ripped in my shield.

I catch my breath calling the water back towards me into my water nodes and compartments in my hero suit.

"Looks like you've improved a lot since the last time I saw you, (Y/n) (L/n)."

His menacing yet familiar voice as he drags out my full name sends shivers up my spine.  Damn it, of all the villains, I had to face him!

"Aw, don't be shy now, I know you're happy to see me too."  His voice moves towards my left.  "We don't even get to see each other anymore."

"I'd prefer it that way," I snap, readying myself for another inevitable attack.

"You better give me a good fight, little one."

His voice-!

At the last second before hearing the crash, I jump out from in front of my cover, the intense heat from the blue flames just millimeters from burning my fingertips.  Dabi had jumped onto the top of the car, his voice being evenly split in both of ears signalling that he had moved from my left to right behind me in the nick of time or else I'd be ashes.

I finally got a good look at his face.  The stitches and staples etched into his face down to his chest and arms are all-too-familiar, along with his raven black hair and turquoise eyes.

"Reminiscing?" his head tilts, gravely voice taunting.  "I don't think you have time to do that."

I sprint off and around for more cover as he throws more fire pillars from his hands, trying to find a fire hydrant of water fountain to give me more material to work with.  Otherwise, I'm only limited to manipulating what's in the air and the stores in my costume.  To my dismay, there's nothing around.

All I have to do is slowly manipulate the water particles around him and condense them over his hands to stop his quirk temporarily.  That's the plan in my head that I'm going for.  But he's way ahead of me, predicting all my moves and constantly jumping to move away from where I've gathered the water particles and forcing me to start over, leaving me to dodge him and put some distance between us.

"I already know all your plans, you can't defeat me that easily by yourself," Dabi mocks me.

I'm at the end of my rope.  It's difficult to keep running and there just isn't enough water in the air to work for a fast attack.  I dodge another one of his attacks and wrack my brain to think of a different strategy.  My mind can only come up with one all or nothing plan, but if it doesn't work, I'll be done for quickly.

It's a risk I have to take.  I slowly start collecting as much water as I can into my suit and immediately around me.  Knock him out as quickly as possible, face him head on.  I take a deep breath.  My body shakes from exhaustion, anticipation, and fear.  I'll have to use my body's own water storage to help me, making this plan dangerous.

Right when Dabi's about to burn me at my new hiding spot I jump out and summon all the water I've stored to mobilize.  Drown him!  A sphere of water forms just around his head.  In his moment of shocked hesitation before he strikes, I force the water to go down his airway to suffocate him.  He catches wind of exactly what I'm doing somehow, raising his hands to send another blast at me.  I summon another set of water from my costume stores to surround his hands to keep the explosion tamed.  Come on, fall unconscious already!

But it's curtains for me.  He's summoning a larger blast to his hands, neutralizing my watery protection around them and I don't have enough stored up to replenish it.  Desperately, I start using up the water inside my body.  Damn it hurry up!  I can't-!

I feel myself reach my limit just as he completely disintegrates my water seal with an explosion, sending me flying backwards down the street until I roll to a stop.  I'm exhausted, I can feel my blood pressure and heart rate dropping, and I'm too weak to try anything else.

Through my dizzied vision, Dabi staggers towards me, coughing and sputtering.  "Damn kid, you really almost had me."

It didn't work, I'm a failure.  I don't have the energy to say anything back.

"Get your hands off her!" a female voice resounds, and stomps reverberate through the ground.

"That's my cue."  I crack open an eye to see him smirk down at me before using his quirk to lift himself off the ground.  "Until we meet again, (Y/n) (L/n)."  He rocket away without a hitch.

Damn it...

After waking up in the emergency ward attached to an IV for my severe dehydration, Mirko tells me Dabi got away and she rushed me right over to the hospital to treat me since I was unconscious.  They won't let me leave until I've replenished all my stores and my urine's clear.

"Also, your teacher's coming to get you," my mentor adds.

Aizawa is going to kill me.

"OI!  WHICH ROOM IS IT?!"

Oh for fuck's sake, I know who else is gonna kill me.

Bakugou stomps in, his head trying to be held back by Aizawa's capture weapon to no avail.

"YOU DUMBASS-!" my boyfriend starts off before the scarf comes over his mouth to muffle his screams.

"This is a hospital, control yourself," Aizawa grits at him deathly and walks next to my hospital bed.  "I guess you did the best you could, but I won't praise you for almost getting yourself killed.  It was a good strategy, it would've worked if you had backup."  He pats my head before smirking.  "Bakugou was about to cry when you collapsed."

"SENSEI!"

"I'll leave you two alone to talk."

Him and Mirko step outside the room, leaving my high-strung boyfriend to rush me.  "Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was, you dumbass?!  You almost got yourself kill, look where you ended up...!"

I drown out his screaming, noticing how bloodshot his crimson eyes are from crying.  He was so worried about me.  I reach my hand up weakly and touch his cheek, cutting his reprimanding screams off short suddenly.  If I had the tears to cry, I would.  Instead, I offer him a tired, melancholy stare of affection.  "I'm sorry," I manage out.  "I know I said I wouldn't use up my own body's water, but I didn't want to die, Katsuki."

The aggression melts away from him face and his hand reaches up to hold mine.  "I guess it was instinctive," he admits, closing his eyes and I feel him start to tremble.  "Why would you face a villain like that alone?"

"I called for backup-"

"You should've stalled for as long as you could!" he sobs out, gripping my hand tighter.

My own body starts to well up, feeling the tickle in my eyes but no tears can escape.  "I tried," is my soft reply.  "I'm sorry."

Bakugou envelopes my body in his, trembling warmth blanketing me with his high emotions.  "What would I have done without you?  When I saw you get hit by that explosion, I almost lost it.  Did you think about how I would feel if you pulled something like that and didn't survive it?"

I feebly return his embrace, tangling my fingers in his puffy hair to comfort the sobs wracking his body.  "I'm here, Katsuki.  I could have been in a worse condition, but I'm still here now."

His trembling and cries slow down to a calming end, and he remains wrapping me with his affection.  "You did well, except the almost dying thing, I guess.  I'm proud of you for holding your own as long as you did against a villain like him."

"Wow, a compliment?  You must have really been shaken up," I poke fun at him to lighten the mood.

"I can be nice..." he mumbles into my neck.  "You better drink a whole ton of water so we can go back together.  Everyone else is worried about you too."

My mind wanders back to Dabi.  I'll have to face him again eventually, and he knows what I'll try to do in the future.  I'll need to be ready.  But until then, I have a hotheaded Pomeranian boyfriend to comfort me from my past and build towards my - hopefully, our - future.

~

Sequel

[apomaro-mellow]

From the Deep

Read on AO3

He wouldn't have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes. There, among the crashing waves, a mer beast. A creature from the depths that meant to do him harm. Poe had been minding his work, retrieving the nets he had cast when something bumped his boat. He stumbled a bit, but figured it wasn't anything to be worried about. Probably just a bigger fish that had been trying to take advantage of his catch before he pulled it out.

But he was bumped, much harder and then the waves suddenly turned choppy. The clouds above had begun to darken when they had just been clear and bright. Then Poe saw it rise from the water.

Skin white as the moon. Hair black as the the deep from where it came.

With a raspy roar, it commanded the oceans and toppled Poe's boat, knocking him into the water. While he struggled to find his bearings, he felt something sharp sink into his arm. He didn't know if it was claws or teeth but he fought it off anyway. He was at a disadvantage here but he had been in scraps before. He tried to wait for the right moment. Poe let the monster sink in even deeper to his flesh and pretended to lie limp, letting the creature gets its guard down so that he could get a better idea of their shape.

The thrashing stopped and Poe was sure now that those were teeth. With all the strength afforded to him, he raised a fist and landed a blow. Given that he was drowning and underwater, it wasn't as powerful as it could've been. But it was still enough to stun the mer beast. To make certain, Poe took out the knife attached to his leg and swung again. He didn't know what he hit but now there was even more blood in the water.

He was smacked by a dark red tail that retreated and Poe was left there, trying to figure out which way was up. He broke the surface with a choked gasp and looked around for his boat. It had been capsized and a little beaten but wasn't destroyed. The seas returned to their previous calm and the sun broke through the clouds.

The only thing Poe had as proof of his encounter was the bite mark on his bicep.

A year after and Poe was still on the hunt for that beast. Since then, a few had caught glimpses of it, but only Poe had the displeasure of coming so close to it. He swore he'd never let that thing hurt anyone ever again. Poe knew he was lucky. Had the tides turned just a bit, he'd be dead. It was another one of those days, Poe alone on his boat, the waters calm.

He was armed with a spear, ready to take down the mer beast the moment it showed itself. And today was the day. He knew it the moment the clouds turned back and rumbled. Poe grabbed his weapon, ready this time.

Or so he thought.

The waves got choppy again just as before, but they soon turned even more turbulent. The creature rose and this time even higher as a water spout lifted them into the air. It gave Poe a menacing look and a hiss and Poe felt an itch at his back. He turned and saw a giant wave bearing down on him. Before it could take him out, he turned back and thrust his spear at the beast. Poe watched as it sunk into the beast's chest and then his vision was blocked by the deluge of water.

He was falling, or maybe he was spiraling to the side. He could even be rising. Poe had no idea which direction he was going. Only that he was in fact moving. Poe was a strong swimmer but even the best couldn't move against an act of nature. But he'd done it. He had killed the monster. If he drowned now, at least he had that accomplishment.

All of the air had left his lungs and he couldn't stop the initial suction of water. He tried keeping his lips tightly sealed down but that wasn't all he had to worry about. If he could get his brain to stop swirling for a moment, he could figure out where he needed to go. If he could stop his vision from darkening...If he could...

Poe choked, unable to hold his breathe anymore. It got even darker. The something was pulling him. No, it was holding and carrying him. Poe felt something thick wrap around his waist. Did octopi eat people?

Whatever it was, it felt gentle. And the water was cold but this was warm. Poe closed his eyes, thinking this might not be such a bad way to go.

And then he was choking up water, coarse sand under him and the setting sun at his feet. But he didn't see any of that. What he saw was the face of a gorgeous angel. Poe tried to talk but his throat was still raw from choking up salt water.

He wanted to thank them, to ask where he was, how long he'd been out, where was his boat?

"What's your name?", he asked instead, the moment his throat was cleared.

"Finn."

"Finn", Poe repeated like a prayer, something precious. With a groan, he lifted himself a little on his forearms and turned his head away to look at where they were. He vaguely recognized these trees. This was an islet, not too far from home. If his boat didn't survive, he could make the swim, although it'd be quite the distance.

Then he turned back to Finn and smiled at his lovely face again. He noticed he was shirtless, which was a nice thing to notice. And then he noticed the scaly, bright blue tail below his waist, which would've been a nicer thing to notice first. Poe froze, unable to tear his eyes away from it. Partially out of shock but also the blue was so vivid and iridescent, he couldn't look away.

"That's a...that's a very um, pretty tail you have there. Nice and shiny."

"Thanks. It's for luring prey."

Poe knew he'd follow that tail in a second if he saw it. And how quickly the thought came to mind scared him.

"You're a...a mer beast? One of them?"

Finn frowned, but he didn't look angry. "We prefer to be called mer folk. At least in human tongue."

"Human tongue?"

"You wouldn't be able to pronounce it in our language." He paused for a moment. "I know you've already met one." He eyed the bite mark on Poe's arm. It had faded a bit but was beginning to look like something he'd carry for the rest of his life.

"I met a beast. A monster. He's one of you?"

"A mer, sure. But he's sold his soul for power. And he's using it against you humans."

Poe thought about how the waters moved to their will. How the sky got dark. As he was realizing just how strong this enemy was, a loud splash came from the water. Poe looked up while Finn looked away in embarrassment. A bright yellow tail rose from the water and slapped down, causing another big splash.

"I've...I've gotta go", Finn said. "Can you make it home alright?"

"I'm a man of the sea", Poe said confidently. "I'll manage."

Finn smiled and turned to roll himself back into the water. Poe couldn't help but grin at the sight. He was sure that Finn was much more graceful in the ocean. Once submerged, Finn gave Poe a wave and then swam off, presumably with another mer bea-mer folk, Poe reminded himself. Finn and the other one with him were mer folk.

The one who had attacked him was still a beast.

As they swam away, Finn ignored all of Rey's scolding. He was swimming in the clouds right now. And nothing could bring him down. Even Rey could see that. She rolled her eyes, giving up on lecturing him for now.

"So? What's that sailor's name anyway?"

Finn stopped short and Rey frowned, confused.

"...I didn't get his name."

Rey cackled so hard she was turning flips in the water. Imagine pining after someone for months and then not getting his name!

[bluecoffeemugs]

Hey guys... so i just re-wrote the very first chapter to my fic. 

I did it bc of many factors, but mainly it was bc I didn’t like it anymore and I noticed how much my writing had improved. It just didn’t seem fair that the ending was much better written than the beginning, bc i feel like no one would get past the first chapters bc of my writing. I mean yeah, it has much more attention that i could hope for, but i’m pretty self-critical about my work, so i just had to re-write it.  

Anyway, I’ll just post the chapter here because I want you to give it another chance, maybe it spikes your interest now. I’m putting a whole lot of effort in the ending, it’s got just a couple of chapters left, so it will be a finished fic soon. 

Here it is: 

(bill cipher x dipper pines. pirate au. pirate!bill. siren!dipper.)

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The gigantic ship swayed calmly over the ocean. The night was clear, the fresh salty scent of the sea lingered on the deck of the Golden Giant. The only sound besides the water below the ship, crashing small waves on the wooden walls of the ship, was the croaking sound of the captain's footsteps on the wood.

The crew had already released the plank, readying the ship for what they had been planning to do for months. And so, they stood, expectant and eager for what was to come, waiting for orders on deck.

The blond captain walked out of his cabin with a grin on his face. See, their crew had been waiting to catch this creature for months, but he had been waiting years. Oh, captain Bill Cipher knows about sirens. He knows how those beasts slaughter his kind. But he is not afraid of them, not a single ounce! The pirate also know how difficult it can be to catch one, he has heard countless stories and legends, none of them have succeeded. However, there has never been a legendary pirate that has tried to capture a siren.

Indeed. Bill Cipher is a legend. He has been living in the sea for as long as he can remember, and it has slowly become his life as a whole. Since he was a little boy, he was not only charming and ambitious but also highly curious. The supernatural and mystic myths spiked his interest from a very early age, so his drive for adventure and the unknown has never ceased.

Bill Cipher had always been so invested on mysteries, that he became a mystery himself.

The captain seeks creatures — all around the seven seas, and of any kind or species — studies them, and then sells them. The highest bidding of gold takes the price! Cipher doesn't need the creature anymore, what else could he do with them? Set them free? Now that would be insane. Setting them free means letting them go for free. If they won't pay, Cipher won't deliver. Besides, it's none of the blond's concern what the bidders do with the creatures after they buy them. Will they study them as he does? Will they slaughter them? Will they cook them, even if they're still alive, just to know what they taste like and brag about eating a mythic creature? Meh, Cipher doesn't care. He never has.

The blond went down the stairs and on to the deck to meet his crew. Such familiar faces that have grown into a family. See, Bill Cipher didn't always have his own ship and crew. Of course, he did acquire his ship — through a most epic fight he will never forget — when he was eleven years old, but still, not belonging to a family for his entire childhood until he was almost a teenager was not easy.

Belonging. Ha! Bill Cipher knows he doesn't belong. He actually takes pride in it! Because you know what? He figured that belonging to made you somebody else's possession, so he swore to himself he would be the only one who ever got to own himself and/or others.

Nonetheless, his current crew is better than what he could ask for. They are invested in the supernatural almost as much as he is, all of them have unique abilities that benefit him either on battle, on investigation, navigation, or plans, and most importantly, they are loyal. That's the quality Cipher values the most.

The captain was finally greeted by his crew. They were standing in line, looking at their pirate in anticipation, eager. All of them were loaded with their weapons of choice, let it be guns, knives, swords, or even knuckles.

The crew cheered at their captain, smiling widely at him. As the moonlight and oil lanterns were the only light that lit their faces, the shadows looked menacing and eerie.

The blonde returned the sly grin and humorously vowed to his crew's cheers. He was wearing a tail-coat made of leathery-fabric, a white button-down shirt that wasn't all that white anymore, black pants, and a slightly loose golden and weaponized belt around the hips. He was carrying his favorite gun and sword, plus other minor weapons that he hid not only around his belt but also around his whole body. And of course, he wore leather boots that reached almost up to his knees and his fancy black pirate hat, which had a single golden feather and some jewels adorning it.

"Tonight's the night, fellas," he spoke, his crew finally shutting up. "As we speak, fierce beasts are swimming below us, ready to devour another pack of men. Creatures that have forever lured uncountable men to their deaths by using their celestial voices and bodies."

His crew nodded. They knew all of this already, but something about hearing it right was those beasts live made it a whole lot more difficult to bear. Now they weren't only listening to a story, they were about to experience one. And maybe, they wouldn't even get to live to tell it.

"We will be the first known pirates to ever defeat them; conquer them!" The captain continued to speak. The crew's nerves turning into excitement, "Tonight, we catch a siren!"

Everyone cheered and punched their fists in the air. Noise returning to its natural state.

“Kitty,” Cipher continued, nodding to the toughest-looking man on the crew, “you will be in charge of the ship while I go on the rowboat.”

The man nodded in return, so the captain kept speaking, “Bigfoot, Cain, Red, Onyx, and Tiny, you will be staying here too.”

The biggest man in the crew, a man with a scar across his face, a red-haired young adult male, a woman with almost charcoal-black skin, and a small boy nodded in response. 

“Guard my baby while I'm out," Cipher joked and winked. They all knew how much he loved his ship. “And that leaves Hellhound, Dawn, Dagger, and Cheat with me."

A muscular young man, a tough but very beautiful looking woman, another woman highly equipped with at least half a dozen daggers and swords, and a teenage boy agreed.

“Get settled, then.”

And with that, they all retreated to stuff their ears with cloth or wax to muffle de sound of the sirens' voices. They had been preparing for this, they knew exactly what to do. They also knew perfectly well to stand their ground, no matter how tempting a siren could look. And most importantly, they knew that their goal was to catch a siren, not kill one. If for some reason they started to get aggressive, which they figured would be bound to happen, they would result in violence.

A few minutes later, the rowboat with Cipher's chosen crew was lowered down to the ocean. They paddled slightly further away from the ship, and then stopped when they started to notice the shadows under them. They were currently surrounded by huge boulders, covered in algae and coral, where they also spotted movement. A wave of adrenaline washed over everyone's veins, making the captain smile even more widely.

Cipher's team had their ears shut by different types of material, except for the captain himself. He was wearing an enchanted necklace of black pearls, which made him completely immune to the sirens' singing.

Soon enough, a ginger-haired siren came out of the water, and the pirates were immediately amazed by her beauty. However, none of them moved, as they waited for their captain's orders.

The siren swam closer to the boat, her eyes fixed on Cheat, the youngest one on the boat. The ginger held a powerful gaze, making the boy shiver, which was either because of her captivating beauty or because he realized he had been chosen as her meal.

The captain shot Cheat a confident look, making the teenager feel just a tiny bit better.

When the siren was practically touching the ship, another one came up to them. This one had curly, black hair and was staring straight at Dagger. Then a few seconds later, another creature appeared, she had darker skin and powerful blue eyes, swimming closer to Hellhound. The captain felt slightly overwhelmed by the sudden arrivals, but he never lost his calm.

Suddenly they realized that the ginger siren had gotten so close to the boat, she could easily snatch Cheat and drown him. Then, she saw the spears and fishnets, freezing on the spot.

"They're hunters!" She yelled, making all of the other sirens gasp and submerge back underwater. Cipher thought they were going to attack, but apparently, this pack of sirens had had other experiences with pirates and did not wish to repeat them.

Sure enough, however, the ginger siren was not going to leave her favorite meal alive, so she launched, grabbing Cheat with her sharp nails, and pulling him underwater with her. Hellhound threw himself forward and grabbed onto Cheat's legs.

The siren's strength was immense, causing Hellhound to begin to sink. Dawn and Dagger grabbed his torso and began to pull him to the boat. At this point, Cheat was completely submerged. In the meantime, Cipher loaded a crossbow and aimed to the spot where the siren was holding Cheat.

"No!" Dawn exclaimed although she could barely hear her own words because of the wax in her ears, "You might shoot Cheat!"

"Don't worry, sweetie" Cipher said calmly, fully aware that Dawn knew him enough to be able to read his lips perfectly, then shot the arrow. The movement below the water stopped. Hellhound pulled Cheat back to the surface. The boy was unconscious. Dawn began trying to remove the water from the teen's lungs.

Cheat suddenly coughed a great amount of water and took in shaky breaths, shivering. Dawn just looked at the captain and slowly shook her head.

"I never miss," Cipher said, obvious pride in his voice, Dawn could see it by the look of his face. She turned away.

The blond nodded at the coughing boy, and the teen managed a smile. Then the captain took off his coat and handed it to him, as the boy obviously needed it more than him at the moment. Cheat muttered a thank you. 

Cipher sat down with a sigh and looked around. He signaled his crew to hide the weapons and the fishnets, he should've known better. He might have blown their chance for the night, maybe their only chance! How could he have not foreseen that?

Time passed, and as he feared, no one else showed up. The pirates waited in silence. Cheat was almost completely dry now.

The captain fixed his eyes on the boulder closest to them, lost in thought, when he spotted another pair of eyes staring back. Immediately after those eyes noticed the pirate was looking at them, they hid behind the huge rock. Cipher stood up with a jolt, making the others around him jump in surprise. Then, nodded towards the rock and signaled his crew to remain silent.

"Hello?" Cipher said loudly, with the kindest voice he could manage, "We don't want to hurt you."

After waiting a few minutes for a sign of life, and not seeing the eyes again, he sat back down and sighed. He looked at the boat's wooden floor, sighing in defeat. Maybe he had imagined it.

Then, his crew gasped.

Cipher looked up and saw the siren far away, right beside the boulder. The light from their boat did not reach that far, so he could only see a dark figure the clear brown eyes looking back at him.

The captain stood up again, this time more slowly. He smiled gently at the creature, and spoke, just loud enough for the siren to hear, "We're just curious about your species, we don't mean any harm."

"I saw you shoot one of us," the siren said, still in the dark. His voice cracked but tried to remain steady. This only intrigued Cipher even more, because he had found himself a male siren. 

The crew looked at each other with wide eyes, they didn't understand what the captain and the siren were saying, but they sure as hell knew they were having a conversation.

Cipher remained calm, answering to the siren, "She was trying to drown one of us."

"You're hunters," the siren said gravely, much more as a statement than a question.

"We're pirates," the blond responded, as if it were pretty obvious, "we have weapons to defend ourselves, it's in our nature. Just as much as it is in your nature to lure us to death. Fair game, don't you think?"

The siren thought in silence, analyzing the words. But Cipher was not about to wait anymore, so he offered, "If you don't harm us, we don't harm you. Deal?"

Something about the way the pirate spoke made the siren want to trust him. Even if he knew the stories of pirates, how reckless and dangerous they were"¦ curiosity had always won him over. And something in his gut made him think that this pirate was not lying.

The words lingered. Cipher was afraid the siren might be smarter than him and swim away for good. But he was proven wrong when the siren slowly came into view, swimming closer to the boat.

When the siren was just a few feet away from the rowboat, the lantern's light finally glowed on his skin. Instantly, the pirates were captivated by his beauty. They had never seen a merman, much less a male siren. 

"You can come closer," the captain said, leaning closer to the water, "See? I have nothing on my hands," he said as he lifted his hands up innocently.

The siren moved closer, feeling just slightly safer and a whole lot more curious. He was intrigued by the sailors, he had never seen so many up close, and they were all staring back at him. The feeling was overwhelming.

Cipher smiled at the siren, then turned to Hellhound and winked, which roughly meant wait for my signal.

The siren's light blue tail was almost touching the rowboat's wood from below. He looked about Cheat's age.

The blond placed both of his hands behind his back. The siren and he just stared at each other in awe, each of them amazed by the other. Cipher noticed there were splashes of tiny blue scales on his shoulders, he had chocolate brown hair, and the most entrancing deep brown eyes the captain had ever seen. His gaze was purely innocent and curious.

"You're magnificent," the captain whispered to the siren, completely lost in the siren's eyes, almost forgetting what he was there for. Almost. Behind his back, he closed his hand into a fist. And so, the crew launched the fishnet at the siren and fastened it as fat and swiftly as possible, apprehending the siren.

The brunet screamed an unholy scream, Cipher was suddenly jealous of his crewmates with wax on their ears. The siren tried to escape the nets, almost knocking the boat over, but the crew acted faster. They lifted him, and with a loud thump, the siren was on the boat.

The captain had a large grin on his face and got closer to the siren. The siren had never felt so much fright in his entire life. He felt as if his heart had run up to his throat and was about to be regurgitated. He was about to scream louder, and try to knock the boat over once again, but with one swift move, one of the men that was holding him down injected a syringe into his skin. The last thing he saw was the grin on the blond pirate that had just betrayed him, until all faded to black.

[sonicasura]

Sonic May Cry

Today is Groundhog Day and the entire internet is going into a huge 'Into the ___Verse!' shtick. Basically an Into the Spiderverse based trope where alternate universes cross into one another specifically the characters. This story came from a recent What If situation involving Sonic the Hedgehog that was stewing in my brain yesterday.

And taking alternate universes thing, I delved in deeper with an another alternate universe involving the original Devil May Cry. Mix them both together and I got this.

Time is a very fragile thing and the wrong move can break it. Or: Classic Sonic/Kid Sonic gets blasted into the Devil May Cry universe and causes some big changes.

"Sonic! Run! The rift is closing! If you don't get out of there, you'll be lost in time and space forever! No! Don't do it! Don't leave me! Please! Sonic!!!"

Time was a very precious thing to have. It should never be taken for granted and should never be toyed with. The mechanized menace called the Time Eater had done more damage than either Robotniks could've estimated. The rifts were closing even faster than they should. Someone was going to be left behind with no choice. His best friend Tails wasn't going to be that person if he could help it. His best buddy would be fine without him. For this was his end not Tails. The end of Sonic The Hedgehog. And he welcomed it with open arms.

Great sacrifice comes with a greater reward. Fix their broken hearts, brave little warrior. Heal the wounded hearts of the Sons of Sparda, Sonic the Hedgehog. Right now, they need you the most.

Mitis Forest on the outskirts of Fortuna, a light shone brightly in an open flowerbed. The soft daffodils, petunias and dandelions were greeted by the weight of a small light blue furred hedgehog. The little beast barely reaching 2 ft in height with both face and stomach round with baby fat showing he was quite young. White gloves and red running shoes were the only clothing worn. His muzzle was light peach along with the center of his stomach.

Quills slightly long just like the ones on his back and stubby little tail. Black pupil like eyes slowly opened to be greeted with a vast starry night sky. 'Huh?' Thought Sonic the Hedgehog as he took in his surroundings. He was alive yet… 'What happened? I should be dead.' Sonic thought for a moment. 'This isn't my world that's for sure. And why does my back feel stiff?' The hedgehog then he picked himself off the ground and looked at what he was previously lying on.

Shock became evident as eyes widened when they laid on 7 gray lifeless stones amongst the grass. They looked to be cut into perfect diamond shapes but to Sonic these gemstones were far more precious. 'The Chaos Emeralds?! Why are the Chaos Emeralds here? No better question, why do they look so dead?' He thought picking up one of the lifeless emeralds. It felt really cold to the touch but the hedgehog could feel a tiny bit of energy in the stone.

'Could the emeralds have saved me? No… It did something else. Before I blacked out I thought I heard something. I also feel different too. I feel the same but I can't shake the nagging feeling that something about my body had changed.' He thought before looking at the lights coming from up ahead. He picked up the stones before hiding them in his quills. It was sorta weird on how the Emeralds could hide themselves in his fur like they weren't there but he never bothered about the details.

Sonic walked a bit closer up the hill to see the lights were coming from a large city. What struck him as odd were the large demon statues scattered about the whole place. 'Ain't getting any answers standing here. That city looks like a good place to find out where I am.' With a goal set in mind, he disappeared into a streak of blue as he ran over to the city at supersonic speed.

This city was very odd and quite creepy to the blue blur. Everyone was wearing hoods over their heads, there were armed soldiers about and the place seemed...tense almost ominous. It was the kind of feeling he got running into Robotnik's base or places like Chemical Plant Zone. That something nasty was brewing on the surface. A feeling that no town or city should have.

Speeding past everyone had earned a very unexpected cry of sorts. "Demon! There's a demon!" Demons? This was even stranger to him than meeting his older counterpart that could TALK. His voice box was stunted so he couldn't actually talk but the problem would resolve himself once he turned 10 years old. A few years didn't look so bad though it'll suck if no one can read his charades well.

A tiny hand grabbed his nose surprising the little hedgehog that he nearly crashed into a dumpster when he skidded to a halt. Plucking the nose grabber wasn't as shocking as finding out who had done the deed. A little human baby with white hair and blue eyes had managed to hitch a ride on him. A baby boy in a blue onesie had hitchhiked a ride on the FASTEST thing alive.

'#$#!@ How the heck did you get on me?! You must have insane reflexes to grab me in mid-run!' Sonic thought looking at the baby. His brain halted upon spotting what was really odd about the infant. His right arm was blue with little red scales and had tiny blue claws! It was even glowing light blue through the cracks of each scale! 'Nevermind. You ain't no normal baby because human babies don't have an arm like that.' He thought with a deadpanned expression.

The baby merely babbling as he tried to grab Sonic's nose again though Sonic pulling the baby away from his prize. The child was giggling and all happy before he immediately began to cry strangely. The hedgehog easily catching onto the sound of what he could guess were soldiers behind him yet they were talking about a 'project Nero'. Sonic immediately looking at the baby or Nero in his hands and couldn't help the rage bubbling inside him. He pushed it down before cradling the child in his arms and breaking into a sprint.

'No way those jerks are getting ya little buddy! They're insane to think babies are some kind of science fair project! Time to ditch this crazy island!' Sonic thought as he began to steadily speed up. He needed enough speed to run across ocean surface and he didn't want to accelerate too quickly or he would end up hurting Nero. It was a good thing to know that city was an actual island so he had many places to go from there.

The hedgehog glimpsing a map about a port town that was the closest to Fortuna or the island he was on. A smile grew on his face as he saw what looked like a pier leading straight towards the wide open blue. Without hesitation, Sonic sped up further before using the pier as a ramp. Both hedgehog and baby flying high into the air as a blue streak of light amongst the starry sky.

Nero giggling happily at the sight before him and the rush of wind going by his form. 'Glad you like the wind as much as I do. Have zero clue on caring for a baby but I could find some way to take care of ya.' He thought with a smile before looking down to see they were getting closer to the water. Being quick he immediately began to run after touching the top gliding across the dark blue surface.

Finding land once more was a good feeling considering he had been running for quite a bit. Truth was that the hedgehog wasn't fully recovered after waking up in this new world. The effects were beginning to show as fatigue was starting to slowly wash over him. He rather not drown with a baby in his arms. Sonic sped up a bit more so he can at least reach the beach.

He could rest there with Nero for the night before picking up his search for answers tomorrow. The hedgehog quickly slowed down as he skidded off the water and into the soft beach sand though not without tumbling up a bit at the end. Seaweed had gotten tangled around his legs leading the blue blur to take a header though taking the brunt of the impact so Nero wouldn't.

Something hard hitting his head was the last thing he felt before falling to his side and vision going black. Yet for a short second, he felt saw something red and blue coming closer to him. Everything was whispers leading to silence.

"Are you sure that woman wasn't hallucinating on what she saw? Humans tend to easily be mislead." A cold male voice said with irritation. Two twin males with snow white hair and pale skin walked across the beach shores sand. One whose hair was slicked back, eyes verdant, dressed in black shirt, long blue coat embroidered in gold and blue katana being the only difference to his twin.

The other had his hair down, bright blue eyes and wore no shirt but a black shirt, red coat, and had a giant black broadsword on his back yet walked easily as if the blade weighed nothing. "Lady swore on her own mother about what she saw Verge. Something was travelling across the ocean. A blue blur faster than even you! She said it was heading towards this very beach." The male in red fired back.

"My name is Vergil. You know that so use it foolish brother. I don't know why you took her words or judgment to account so quickly Dante." Vergil growled back at his twin. "Says the guy who raised a giant tower in the middle of the city." Vergil was ready to stab his twin when a streak of blue grabbed their attention. It was coming from over the distance as it glided upon the watery surface.

It slowed down enough for both twins to see what it actually was: a small blue hedgehog in red running shoes. They didn't question the absurdity upon noticing the little guy tripping before rolling into a rock head first knocking the fella unconscious. The brothers running to inspect the injured animal who was nearly balled up into a perfect sphere.

"A demon nestling? No, the little guy doesn't feel like it yet he does have some odd energy. Yet there's something demonic on him." Dante spoke loosening the hedgehog's balled up form to uncover a sleeping Nero cuddled into the hedgehog's fur and stomach. Vergil's eyes widened upon the baby's demonic arm and the energy flowing from it. 

Dante quickly catching onto who the baby actually was. An amused yet heartfelt grin growing on his face at the very conclusion he came to on Nero's identity. "Holy shit. The little fuzzball must have took all the impact so this little fella wouldn't. Never suspected ya to be the first to get laid without protection." Dante quipped only to earn a snarl from his brother.

Verdant eyes soften upon the sight of the infant before looking at the hedgehog that shielded his child from harm. 'The little furball is a mere nestling in age yet it's unfathomable for him to have that type of speed. If trained properly, this young creature will be a powerful force to be reckoned with. A worthy comrade and general." Vergil's devil hissed within the depths of his mind. Neither of them weren't blind to the massive potential the little hedgehog had.

"Vergil! Earth to Vergil!" Had snapped the young man out of his thoughts. He realized that he was cradling both his child AND the hedgehog in his arms. "Looks like someone's demonic maternal instincts decided to kick in. You snatched both the tykes and growled at me." Dante joked with a mischievous grin on his face. Vergil secured the two children into his left arm before pulling out his sword, the Yamato.

He brought the blade slicing a rift in the center of time and space revealing the interior of a shabby shop. He sheathed his sword while a blue spectral one stabbed into his laughing brother's chest. Dante recoiled from the sudden weight yet was still laughing as he followed his brother into the rift. He'll clean up the blood later. Teasing 'Mama Vergil' was more important.

After all, it isn't everyday that a little hedgehog who can run at supersonic speed across the ocean before crashing onto the beach with your older twin brother's baby with him. Or said brother instantly going into papa devil mode and growling at you for even trying to help take care of the unconscious tykes.

It was hilarious on how quick Vergil's personality just swapped because of his primal maternal instincts. The little hedgehog had a nasty bruise and cut on his head from hitting stone at how fast he was going earlier. Vergil threatening to stab his brother if Dante didn't get any bandages to wrap around the injury or any baby products for his son Nero which was the name on the tyke's onesie.

Yet, when Dante came back to seven lifeless stones on the counter of his desk as Vergil sat on the couch with a sleeping Nero nestled into a long silver black tail fast asleep coming from said brother's spine. The little hedgehog was on Vergil's lap while the older brother applied some ointment to the little guy's injury. The hedgehog wincing from the sting but not fighting back or even screaming in pain. "Looks like Sonic is quite the trooper. Despite being conked out, he ain't even letting out a whimper." Vergil gave his brother an odd look.

"Sonic?" The oldest asked in pure confusion. "Got to call him something until he wakes up. Since he was running across the ocean at Mach 1 speed, I thought the name Sonic suited the little guy. He must have some insane pain tolerance though. A bump to the head with your crappy homemade medicine would have me howling." Dante quipped as he handed the medical tape and bandages to his now growling brother.

"By the way, why are there a hunk of rocks on my desk?" The younger male pointed out casually picking up one of the stones. His eyes widened a bit upon detecting the small bit of peculiar energy hidden deep inside the stone. "It was on 'Sonic'. Hidden amongst his fur and quills when I went to inspect for any other injuries despite the absurdity. There is or was some intense power within all 7 of the stones. Something must have drained them dry except for a miniscule amount." Vergil explained giving his brother a serious look.

"Another mystery added about our fuzzy little guest until he wakes up. Glad you still follow the rules that I've set up after the 'recent' incident. 'No hoarding or using any items of potential magic or otherworldly power without Dante's knowledge.'" Dante joked before getting stabbed with another spectral sword in the stomach. The youngest twin had locked the jewels into a lockbox before stuffing them away. After treating both children, Vergil retired to his room upstairs.

Laid both Nero and Sonic down onto his bed before curling his warm body around them followed by his blanket. His demonic nature giving him the incentive to have both in his 'nest' and to keep watch of his 'young'. The thought had him let out an amused snort. Vergil rested his eyes and arms holding both kids near his chest before drifting off to sleep. It was the first night in years that his dreams weren't plagued by gruesome nightmares.

That's it! Kid Sonic basically babynapped Nero from Fortuna, ran across the ocean all the way over to the beach in Capulet before accidentally knocking himself out.

Sonic is like 5 years at the time during the events of Generations. This takes place after the events of Devil May Cry 3 but Dante didn't let Vergil fall into hell. Vergil is under 'Dante' arrest hence that rule until he can be trusted.

He isn't as distant since the events in later games didn't happen so expect this Vergil be a bit softer.

Plus neither of the brothers are blind to the potential our blue blur has and Vergil is going to take the initiative quicker than Dante. This Sonic is going to be OP as hell.

Until next time folks! Jambuhbye!

[whetstonefires]

Earth-3

Characters: Owlman, Talon, Superwoman, Orin of Atlantis, Donna Troy, Garth

Warnings: Dehumanization, vague sleazing at 13yo, brief mention of past eye trauma, villains

Words: ~4,500

For Sheillagh O., who has been very very patient about something that in theory was going to be done by the end of January.

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Talon ducked under his master’s elbow and slid the knife in where it belonged, at the base of Owlman’s spine.

It was one of three blades that slotted invisibly into the armor plates along his torso, to serve as additional rigid protection as long as they were in place and, when necessary, to offer an extra edge.

Not that the Owl ever even looked unarmed, nor would be harmless if he were. But there was a difference between the menace of jet claws, and the sharp point that could be made with five inches of steel.

Talon ducked back out again, lifted the left gauntlet from its stand and waited for the matching hand to be held out, that he might slide it on. This might take some space of seconds, as Owlman was flipping through the day’s reports on an obsidian clipboard, inset with faceted beads of smoky quartz forming the shape of the feather tattoo he gave his fully initiated followers, the footsoldiers of his Court.

(There had been a lecture last month, when the clipboard was delivered, about the choice of materials, and the balance between useful opulence and absurd ostentation. The latter, it seemed, would have been using actual gemstones in the decoration, rather than mere quartz.

Talon was glad it wasn’t set with diamonds. Inevitably one would have fallen out and gotten lost, and Owlman would have been in a temper.)

Without looking up from whatever document was making him frown so thunderously, the Owl extended his left hand. Gauntlet on. Flex, to make sure it had settled correctly. Pass the clipboard into that hand, obsidian impervious to the bite of claws, as Talon circled silently around his back.

It was important not to keep his master waiting, but neither could he distract him with haste and rush. There was a balance in this, as in all things. Perfection must brush the fingertips with every movement, though it might never alight within the palm. This was attainable. He had been well taught.

The old Talons had not been trained as squires. He’d been told that by one of the round white masks, old blood who had known Talons before him, in feathered armor, and trained them too. White circle inset with great dark eyes looking down, thinking little of him, in his ragged grey and scarlet. White mask and the voice that issued from behind it familiar, from times when he had been in error, and required punishment.

But the Court had changed, since the days when Talon wore the armor. And the King who ruled it now preferred the personal touch.

He didn’t need help arming up, of course. The entirety of the royal raiment was very particularly designed to be manageable by the wearer, without assistance, because Owlman felt that trust was a negotiable commodity but not one he preferred ever to have to rely upon.

A second pair of hands saved time and trouble, however, and the more height Talon put on, the more often it was his service that was called for, rather than that of the old man. He could almost reach the top of the Owl’s head now, if he stretched.

Clipboard transferred, the second powerful hand stretched out, and Talon slid the gauntlet onto it. Another flex of claws. Testing articulation. It was unthinkable that this armor could be neglected enough to rust, but something could always have gone wrong. Never assume.

The claws dove toward his neck, and Talon froze. What mistake had he made?

But his throat was not opened. One great knuckle hooked carefully under the edge of his jaw. The armored inner pad of the vast thumb pressed against his lower left bicuspid, through the thin flesh of his face. The very end of the thumb’s black claw pricked at the corner of his mouth.

Firmly, the heavy hand turned his face up, into Owlman’s where he knew better than to look unless instructed. Pale blue eyes punched into his own sharply enough it felt they should have punctured, and oozed down his face blindly. (He hated when that happened. The slime stayed even after he recovered, and blindness in the interim was awful.)

“Talon,” said his king, as softly as he ever said anything that was not a threat. Deep, smooth, and just a step shy of gloating. None of the cool sharp edges of his anger. Talon had done nothing wrong. The band around his heart loosened. “Focus.”

The hand withdrew from his chin, and Talon dipped his head in contrition. How could he always tell, somehow. What carelessness crept into his movements, when his mind began to spin away behind his eyes?

"Good." The Owl reached out and lifted the feathered mantle from its stand himself, swinging its weight around his shoulders to settle there, doubling his already great size and casting shadow over the gleaming-dark surface of his breastplate.

Reached up to draw the mask down over his face, and tipped his chin back as he did, throat bared, so that Talon knew to step close, reach up, and hook carefully along the the gorget the row of fastenings that kept the great cloak in place.

A twitch of broad armored shoulders brought the feathers into line, and they were ready to depart.

-

The meeting was on an island in international waters. Waters, however, that were within a convenient distance of Gotham by small watercraft, a thing ensured by the simple expedient of Owlman having donated the location to the cause.

Not that he didn't still own it, technically speaking, through a network of shells. (Talon knew vaguely that these were legal entities, but always pictured tiny curling conches and delicate oyster-carapaces strung on chains, swinging with every breeze.) But it was used for only this, and was treated for Society purposes as common ground.

The other members maintained just the narrowest thread of awareness that they were on his territory—enough to incline them to defer, but not enough to make them feel trapped.

It was a careful balance his lord maintained, over these titans of the world. Talon knew the delicate power of it because he was one of the most mobile weights on the scales, but also because he imagined anyone would, watching power flow back and forth amongst the mighty. The unstoppable force of alien or amazon curbed and redirected to a common purpose.

Or was that only anyone who had been watching Owlman all their life. Talon could not say.

The Court had been this restive, once. When Talon was new. Had still required delicacy, though never quite so much, because no one in it had had a fraction of the strength gathered here. Now all the Courtiers had learned to bow their round white faces and avert their staring Tyton eyes, and the King had turned his gaze beyond Gotham, into the greater world.

The waves broke black about them as they raced eastward, leaving the lights of Gotham far behind. It was low in the water, this small vessel, but fast and quiet as the wings of owls in the night air. Owlman steered, very upright in the only seat.

Talon crouched at his left hand, one bare knee steadying him against the inside of the hull. It was cold. Thin steel between him and the ocean’s depth.

He could drown for a very long time, before he stopped waking up again.

Sometimes when the boat was caught by a rise, he jostled against his lord’s knee. The Owl took no notice.

“Listen closely to the others,” he instructed, at length, as the shore of the little island and the tower’s height came into view. As though Talon might have forgotten. “I will be expecting a detailed report at the end of the evening.”

He didn’t glance toward Talon. Verbal confirmation was required. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. I intend to avoid conflict tonight, and in addition to the question of expanded membership, the political situation has expanded the agenda, so we may run late. You may speak to whatever hangers-on the rest have brought as necessary to extract information, but be subtle.”

“…yes, my lord.”

“You have doubts?”

“No, my lord.”

“Obviously they’ll be suspicious if you act out of character.” Yes, exactly. “Don’t.”

Well. That limited the options. A challenge, but the better kind. The more choices he was given, after all, the more likely it was he would make one that was wrong.

Talon tipped his head back a little to catch the flash of the stars. They said you could use them in place of a clock, if you knew them well enough. There would be a clock in the meeting-hall, to time his mission by. Owlman always made sure that business could be conducted according to schedule, so that if it was departed from it would be a conscious decision, and not the careless creep of accidental waste.

There were few worse things than error.

The ocean spoke, and the stars were silent, and he understood neither.

-

The prince of Atlantis was leaping lightly up onto the dock when they drew alongside it, casting the reins that bound his dolphin mounts aside into the cold March water. He had no need to hitch them in place; they would come when he called.

Careless, artless display of power. All the more effective for its lack of calculation.

"Orin," Owlman inclined his head minutely as he stepped across from vessel to pier. Talon knelt at his heel, lashing the boat in place against the dock—unliving things could not be counted upon to remain obediently where they were left, if something wished to carry them away, nor to come back when called upon, and the ocean did not bow to the Owl-king's will.

"Owl," the prince replied, return nod almost lost in the way he swept his pale hair back, scattering salt droplets against the rising moon, glittering even brighter than the golden scales of his armor. "Lovely night."

"Mm." Disinterested agreement. Claws loose. No offense taken. The embossed patterns of his armor caught the moon in them far more subtly, a spider's web over polished night. "Shall we go up?"

"You take the open sky too much for granted, my good bird," smiled His Highness, voice light as sun on water. "But surely. I sent my squire ahead to ensure the provisions would be suitable, today."

No staff was kept on the secret island, for security reasons, and thus catering was limited. The speedster Dash had been in charge of the food at the previous meeting a month ago, and his contribution had been dozens of cheeseburgers in paper sacks, whose scent had made Talon's idiot mouth water, even though last time he'd eaten anything of the kind (spoils from a target’s home) it had sat in his stomach like stone, until he lost it into a gutter.

Superwoman had been entirely amused by the cheeseburgers, and Ultraman had only gotten annoyed once he saw that Owlman was, and realized his own standards should be higher. Atom, who was the most recent addition to the cohort, had seemed indifferent, as much as the mood of a man six inches high could be read from any distance.

But Hydrolord had almost walked out in offense. Surface dweller food, he said, was suspicious to begin with, fast food was beneath his royal dignity, and cattle were disgusting.

The fact that he'd known what it was at a glance had not gone unnoticed, even by Talon. His Highness went ashore incognito; this was known. Whether he'd eaten Burger King before or only seen it, or watched the advertisements, had mattered less however than the general calumny cast by all upon Dash's entirely unconcerned head. It had been hypnotic, that unconcern. The fragile mortal man with nothing but speed to protect him, surrounded by the most dangerous people on Earth, so sure he could not be touched that a mocking smile played at the corner of his mouth even as Ultraman fumed and Owlman's lip curled in disgust; as Hydrolord made the sea crash against the rocks outside as though it would swallow the fortress whole.

Dash was terribly powerful or very foolish, and either way he was brave.

Perhaps he had given the offense purposely, to show how little he cared for his colleagues’ anger, or perhaps he hadn’t cared enough to concern himself with what they might want. He had simply sat back in his chair at the high council table and eaten cheeseburgers almost too quickly to see the motion of hand to mouth, and yet with no great hurry, and smiled, and let the empty paper wrappers pile up at his elbow.

The meeting had ended early and with everyone but Dash in ill temper, even Superwoman, who’d gotten fed up by then with Atlantean and Kryptonian sulking.

If the Dash had been waging some kind of war that day, Talon thought he might have won.

But this was a new night, and the ocean prince seemed in good spirits as he led the way up the winding gravel path, toward the stone turrets of the refurbished old fort. Pirate-hunters had sailed from this island, once. Never pirates.

The Superwoman intercepted them all in the entry annex. “Orin! Owlman! Just barely on time!” She was wearing a cape today, a great billow of cloth-of-gold that trailed behind her like smoke as she swept forward across black tile, but still fell heavy about her whenever it hung still.

“Diana,” the prince greeted the princess, all careful courtesy. His armor glimmered a slightly paler shade than her mantle. “A fair moon for you?”

“Lovely. I fought some sort of prehistoric flightless dragon in a magical cavern. It was delicious. Have you bested that Kraken yet?”

“It’s learning to fear me.”

She leaned in and patted his cheek, a condescension he accepted with a tight-lipped smile. “Well done,” she said.

“Thank you.” His bow was stiff. “Excuse me.” Prince Orin stalked off toward where his squire was carefully adjusting the placement of silver domes over platters on the long sideboard, his good mood dispelled.

Silver corroded rapidly in seawater. Those domes were not an Atlantean affectation. Talon had seen something similar in Owlman’s home. Wondered if asking about them would be a believable opening to conversation.

“Oh, and you brought your cupbearer again, I see!” Superwoman exclaimed to the King of Owls, the full weight of her attention falling onto Talon, and immediately claiming the whole of his focus. (Not quite the whole; some was still reserved for his king.) “I like this one,” she announced, tapping a thumb against the bronze armor plating along her upper arm with a noise like rain on tin roofing, mouth curling up. “He doesn’t flinch.”

Flinch? Well. No. It wasn't that she wasn't terrifying, of course. Talon simply had very little energy to waste on feelings like fear. He'd been trained better than that.

"Your Highness," he murmured, ducking his head. A hand came down upon it. Not quite as large as Owlman’s, and bare.

"Hm," she hummed. "Courteous little creature you've trained, Bruce. Your way is so dismally slow, though." Long fingers that could crunch bone like dry leaves toyed with his hair.

Owlman's hand clamped down on Talon's shoulder. "But effective."

"I think you'll find my methods are entirely efficacious, thank you." The sharp note in her voice promised pain, but the hand that slipped from his hair, curled down his face and under his chin was merely firm.

Talon's breath threatened to stutter in his chest. He was supposed to defer to her. He was not supposed to allow liberties. How to resolve these dictates. Was this a test.

If Owlman objected to having his right hand pawed at, he would say something. The hand on his shoulder had tightened, but not in threat. Not as a message. There would be claws in that. Talon submitted to the touch.

The Superwoman's skin against his face seemed to burn. As though with perpetual fever. They said she had been created in divine fire. Talon knew his own body temperature was low. A side effect of the electrum in his bones.

Owlman touched him barehanded, sometimes. That was never so hot as this.

She tilted his head up with a firm pressure, and he stared vacantly into her forehead.

"Why the mask?" she murmured.

"That intangible mystique." The Owlman's voice was heavy with impatient sarcasm. "Diana, if you're finished inspecting my possessions..."

Superwoman swiped the pad of her thumb over Talon's lips. The pressure struck like a bolt of lightning, raced up and down his spine, wrenched at his gut and left his whole skin tingling, chilled. He didn't quite manage to suppress all reaction; his master certainly felt the twitch through the hand still clasped tight around his shoulder. It tightened.

"Chapped," she observed. "You should look into an oil or wax for that, boy."

"Diana." Exasperation. There were very few beings in the world Owlman would bother to show exasperation without menace, but the Superwoman was beyond his power to control, or to readily annihilate. He seemed almost a man, with her. Merely mortal.

The Owl would not let the Superwoman take Talon. He would not. It was too great a loss of face. The practical inconvenience of losing him could be weathered, if necessary, but politically—

"Oh, very well." The Superwoman took her hand away. Talon had never been so grateful to belong to Owlman. "Do drop fifty cents on a tube of chapstick for the boy, though; it can't be efficient for his lips to be constantly splitting, no matter how fast they heal, and it's poor aesthetics."

"Thank you," Owlman said, withering. "For your input."

"Always happy to help, Bruce." She winked at Talon. "See you around, pretty boy."

“Isn’t he too young for you?” the Owl grumbled, falling into step with Superwoman and leaving Talon where he stood, the turn of his head and slope of his shoulder indicating absent dismissal. The edges of their capes brushed together, hard sunlight and soft shadow.

“But showing such potential. You do have nice taste, and they’re so delightfully moldable at that age.”

“Must you always interfere with my things.”

“You’re so generous with them. I only trashed your beach house a little, and I took care of the bodies myself. Anyway, I’ll let you play with my next acquisition if you like.”

“I’m not much for games.”

They were out of earshot, then, and approaching the great oval table that took up one whole end of the hall, raised up on a dais with a single beam of light pouring down onto the center, reflecting from the polished surface enough to light the faces seated around it, though the spotlight did not quite reach them.

Ultraman was already in his chair, its high winged back blazoned with the crest of his house on a gilded field. In the smaller chair facing his, Dash sprawled comfortably back against his sigil of lightning.

As he, Superwoman, and Hydrolord all reached their places, Owlman flicked the particular sign of dismissal that meant commence duties toward Talon. At the table, Atom expanded abruptly into being to fill his seat, and in the shadowed hall beyond, Talon fell away toward the lesser table that lay along the far wall.

Where Garth of Atlantis had, in his master’s absence, been cornered by Donna of Themiscyra.

She loomed over him with only a slight advantage in height, and though she seemed unarmed but for the coiled whip stored on one hip, and was smiling, the threat implied in the way she stood far too close for courtesy was very clear.

Prince Orin’s squire was his master’s opposite: stockily built, and thus solid even for an Atlantean, but only half a head taller than Talon despite being the eldest of the three, with ringlets of dark hair and purple eyes, and in place of the broad smile or frothing rage most common on His Highness of the Seas, Garth’s expression alternated between brusque bare-courtesy and poorly hidden resentment.

He seemed a very poor courtier and was a mess of defensive vulnerabilities, but had clearly been selected for his loyalty over all other concerns.

The Superwoman's right hand, in contrast, was her mirror image—"My sister, Donna," she had said absently the first time she brought the girl with her, and the resemblance was strong; stronger than his had ever been to the Owl, and they’d been mistaken for blood relations more than once, the few times he’d been deployed at his master’s side outside of uniform. And yet there were differences, ones Talon had catalogued at once, and watched still for any change.

Her balance was less perfect, and when she lashed out the loss of control was far less calculated, far likelier to leave her vulnerable. The fire in her stare was different, full of sparks and a snapping pride that spoke to doubts which could undoubtedly be targeted, if it came to a fight. Owlman had estimated her age at fourteen, with the caveat that Amazons did not age at the usual human rate.

Talon had spent three meetings with them already, without having been forced to fight. He was sure it was only a matter of time.

Today seemed likely to be the day, by the set of each of their shoulders. He might welcome it—pain was a small sacrifice for the clean certainty of violence, even against those he must not kill without a clear command. Certainly it would be easier than any other interaction.

But in combat he would have no luck subtly extracting information from their conversation. No good. He had a mission to complete. And Owlman planned to avoid conflict tonight.

“Careful, Amazon,” Garth cautioned, as Talon drew near. “To insult me is to insult my master.”

Superwoman’s protégée flicked the long tail of her hair out dismissively. “And I should be scared of your prince? What power does he have, besides the right to go crying to his mommy?”

“He is knight of the seven seas and the prince of Atlantis, who holds the trident of Neptune.”

“And what is that to the Queen of the Cats? Face it, he’s only here to pretend to be relevant outside his goldfish bowl.”

Garth’s hand strayed toward his waist, though there was no visible weapon there. “You insolent—”

His teeth snapped shut on word and possibly tongue as the heel of Donna Troy’s hand slammed up under his chin.

In the disorientation this created she yanked his gut onto her fist with a handful of curls, then flipped the triple human weight of an Atlantean’s dense muscle and bone casually over her shoulder.

He hit the ground on his face and had only time to break the fall before she was on him again, twisting his arm tight against his spine so that any struggle might tear it from its moorings—an even more serious injury for a boy who swam everywhere than it would be on the surface.

She dragged his head back with a loop of silver whip around his throat.

“Insolent,” she said, her face hanging just above the back of his ear, though she spoke loud and clear enough that Talon had no struggle to hear, “is a word for your inferiors. I am no such thing.

“I am the Lady of Ilium, carrying the legacy of the Titans that stand beyond the world. Troy fell because it trusted too well in the guardianship of Poseidon. Learn from them.

“Because if you continue to cross me I will challenge you to a duel of honor, and throw you down again with my lady and the gods to witness, and shackle your will to mine. And do you think your prince will still value your service, if he can’t trust you not to obey me, instead?”

The squire’s short breath and silence were answer enough, and Donna Troy smirked and let him go, standing up and not offering to help him to his feet. The long half-second it took him to rise spoke volumes to those who knew how to look, and the Amazon flicked the long tail of her hair again in scorn.

She flicked her eyes toward Talon with the gesture, and he realized she was gauging his opinion, his reaction to her violence and her successful threat. She wanted his approval? Or his respect. Or his fear.

He didn't fear her. Genuinely. There was...very little she could do that could threaten him, really. Up at the high table, her mistress was smiling sharkishly at his master, looking for a weakness. She would not find it. She would never find it.

Lady Ilium dismissed the squire of Atlantis and tried her own sharkish smile out on Talon, assured of his attention. He showed his teeth in return. It was not a comforting expression, but he didn't think it would be taken as a threat.

Could she break his will, with her magic? What would that be like?

"Anything to say, Birdie-bye?" she asked him.

Perfect. An opening.

He tilted his head. "Your queens don't know about this meeting, do they?" It was a question for both, if Garth wanted to seize the floor.

"Tch." Donna rolled her eyes and looked away, up at the table where the adults were indulging in intrigue. "Hippolyta will come around." She shot him a look. "Anyway it's not as though your government approves."

Owlman owned the city and state governments. The federal was proving a little more challenging. Talon shrugged one shoulder in carefully calculated indifference. It wasn’t the same thing. “My king,” he said, “is here.”

“And you think being the lord of a made-up Court with no realm of his own is somehow of more account than heir to an empire covering two thirds of the world?” Garth demanded.

Talon regarded him without expression, and the Lady Ilium burst into snorting laughter at the sight, and leaned forward to backhand Talon’s arm—a gesture that seemed almost friendly meant, though he felt blood vessels burst at the impact, and immediately begin to mend. “You’re chatty today, aren’t you shorty? Don’t worry about Diana, she knows what’s up. Her mom’s old-fashioned, we just have to work around her for now.

"Lots of Amazons want in on the outside world, letting you men control it just because it would be a huge chore to change things is such a drag.”

She wrapped an arm around Garth’s neck, too quick for him to evade, but rather than choking or cracking his spine she just dragged him sideways, until his head was conveniently positioned to violently tousle his curls. “And don’t worry about Atlantis, gillsy. We’re not gonna mess with your soggy system, that’s what allies is all about. You’re getting us onside, Atalanta’s gonna owe you.”

Donna Troy, Talon decided, was not originally from Themiscyra. Valuable intelligence, if he could support it with evidence. As a first step he would have to find a way to get her to touch him again, and confirm the impression of a hand far too cool to be a thing like her sister-mistress, of earth and holy fire.

[belzinone]

// @halforc-mercenary // cont. // ~<3

The night came early this evening and the nocturnal darkness washed over the sky like spilled ink, dyeing the clouds black and the canopy of leafs above into a deep azure that made the roof of leafs look like the water of a endless deep and endless old ocean that moved like waves in the soft breeze. It was a still evening, the only sounds were the soft breeze stroking through the trees leafs and the hollow clapping of Come-Heres and the Ponys hoofs on the uneven pebbled street that was more a road paved with thick, soft moss than stones. Mar sat slouched in the saddle, her back that was usually as straight as a saluting Soldiers was now round after hours spend in the saddle and in the late hours of the night her mind had started to wander away from viligantly watching the road to the longing for place to set up her camp, a fireplace to cook a porridge over and a good nap in a bed of blankets and furs.

It was this moment, when , out of the corner of her eyes,  she could see the orange light of a campfire shimmer through the wall of leafs like a wisp. From one moment to another the young woman sat up striaght in the saddle, one hand on the hilt of her sword and the other pulling at the reins of the pony to make them stop in their tracks. A few seconds passed in which Mar sat as tensed on the Pony as a drawn bow, her ears jolted upwards, her hand on the swordhilt, her eyes narrowed to the slits while the world around her drowned in the nocturnal darkness like in a fload of dark ink as the short moments passed by. She could ignore this fireplace, she could ignore this fireplace since it could mean that there was a enemy, she could ignore this fireplace since if there was a enemy she would need to fight and the day had been too long to fight now. On the other hand the one by this fireplace could also not be a enemy.

Mar flicked a freckled ear like an precarious cat would flick their tail. ”..I must be really desperate.”, the Halforc harrumphed eventually as she made her decision and jumped out of the saddle, grabbing the ponys reins and pulling them along with Come-Here towards the orange flicke rof fireshine between the dark treetrunks. Automaticallly the Halforc slowed down and started to sneak around the foreigners camp to spy out the stranger, her small feet barely making a sound on the soft forestground beneath as she slowly edged closer to the strangers camp. The fireshine was bright like molten gold against the blueish dyed foresground as Mar eventually stepped into view.

“..Greetings, Milady.”, the young woman stiffned like a soldier about to salute, although her voice was earnest still one of her small hands lay around the hilt of her sword, ready to clench to a fist and draw the weapon as she continued with the traditional words:  “If you offer me  hospitality and share your campfire, I will respect the guestright and share my food with you.”

Society didn’t always welcome her kind. Tieflings, always met with rancor, scrutiny, before even spared as much as a word. So she hid herself with her magic. To the common eye she’d appear to be just a traveling woman with the style of a bard yet the aura of a mage to be reckoned with. Her eyes were piercing but warmly bordered by feathery lashes and too soft an iris to be deemed menacing. Bel’d noticed the approaching half-orc from afar, rather, the trees told her. Nature spoke to her almost constantly, a pleasant prattle of their livelihood letting her know whenever the wind bent their stems, fluttered their leaves, or something animal did the same.

Had she been transparent of her true form, being come upon by a half-orc was arguably the best case scenario. She’d been told there was an underlying understanding between their tribes, veering further from more convincing humanoid characteristics than other races that halved their ancestry with the inhuman. Nonetheless... deep down, she knew better than to give the benefit of the doubt. People were quicker to curse her than they were to snap their other judgements. Her invisible demonoid tail retracted further into her garments.

“ To you as well, my dear, “ she called softly to her visitor from behind a performer’s shroud, “ I wouldn’t dare cross you. You can rest easy. “ Though she knew any prudent warrior would lower their guard only at their own discretion, she made a point to make herself appear as nonthreatening as possible (not to mention that her strength was in the feint.) “ The road has been pretty lonely... I’d appreciate your company. “ Almost soundlessly and without a twitch of a single muscle, a sturdy log floated from the forest and was set beside her. A blanket from her person followed and draped over the bark, making as welcoming a seat as she could fashion at the moment.

“ What tea do you prefer, love? “ she asked, calling her personal blends from the array of herbs she kept in one of her horse’s saddlebags, “ I don’t usually part with my favorites, but it seems like you have quite the catch there and it’d be more than rude of me not to share my best stock as well. “ Bel didn’t feel like she had to hide the fact that she was magically inclined. It was a simple skill many people shared with her, but it still gave no indication of what her true calling was as the small samples of nature hovered between Mar and the light of the fire, rotating dutifully like a space rack to present their options.

Bel then removed her mask and hood, revealing the humanoid level of self she was comfortable enough to communicate with. “ My mother gave me the name Isabella, but I prefer Bel. Would you grace me with your name? “ She honed her ability to manipulate her aura almost naturally, as masking the characteristic deviousness of a hell-borne spawn took a very conscious effort. Upon first meeting people, however, she took extra care to settle the air, all too eager to burn in her presence.

[supposed2bfunny]

Siren Au ficlet below the cut!

Because I’ve been hella inspired by @xxkaibutsukoxx‘s 2doc Siren Au (in case you haven’t noticed lol), here’s a fic based on the time Murdoc spends stranded in a cove after being rescued by Stu. I understand that it’s roughly a month or so that they spend in relative isolation together, so you can figure this is about half-way through that time period, where they’re starting to know and trust one another. These are just my own headcanons on some of what might have happened in that time.

Murdoc was currently surviving in a liminal place.

He was not exactly dead, but he was aware that he very well may die. He was breathing and his heart was beating, but he wasn’t living. And each day he was aware for certain that he would not survive much longer in his current situation.

After nearly being murdered by his own brother Hannibal and his vicious crew of pirates, rescued by a siren—a creature that by all means should have eaten him—and brought to a small cove to recover from his near-death experience, he had been stable but trapped with his own thoughts, which was always a dangerous situation.

At the very least, by now he was fairly certain that the overgrown fish (Stupid Fish, as he'd taken to calling it) was not planning to kill him. The same siren that had for some reason taken pity on him and saved him from drowning, and who had also carried him to this cove to recover, was the only other being he had been in contact with for weeks now, and he simultaneously craved their daily interactions and shied away from them.

One the one hand, Stupid Fish—recently, he’d started just calling him Stu as the siren picked up more and more English and felt less and less like a deep-sea menace—was kind. No matter how black Murdoc’s moods became, and no matter how many times he snapped for the siren to fuck off and leave him alone, Stu came at the end of the day without fail, bringing fish and shellfish for Murdoc to eat.

The pirate was aware that a diet of only fish was not healthy, and he was slightly concerned by how loose his pants were becoming. Eventually lack of proper nutrition was going to lead to illness, he knew that. But he truly appreciated how invested the siren was in his health, always chirping encouragingly as he swam up to the shore of the cove, dropping off his catch of the day and eagerly waiting for the pirate to dig in.

It wasn’t just food though. The siren brought him sea glass, shells, seaweed—anything that caught his eye, he would bring it to the shore and leave it for Murdoc. The pirate didn’t always know what to do with the “gifts,” but he’d begun accepting them, using loose threads from his clothes to string shells into necklaces to wear, or showing Stu how to hold the sea glass up to the light to observe the pretty colors better. Over time, the siren was even becoming somewhat of a conversationalist, communicating in broken English what he saw underwater when he was away from the pirate.

Murdoc had learned that Stu was a deep-sea siren, but tended to stay in shallow water due to a fear of whales. He learned that Stu was not particularly close to his clan of sirens, and that he was often lonely.

Stu also frequently communicated how badly he wanted Murdoc to join him underwater.

And there was the problem.

For as much as Murdoc wanted to leave the cove and try to make his way back to civilization, something had gone horribly wrong, something that he hated confronting with his rescuer.

It would be a fairly easy swim underwater to follow the siren out into open water through the cove. He knew that with the gills he’d gained from the siren’s kiss, he would be able to survive even if the swim underwater were to last for several minutes. While he was still pretty badly bruised from the tight chains that had nearly sunk him, and he wasn’t at his most physically fit due to lack of proper nutrition, he’d always been a strong swimmer and knew he could manage.

But since the night that Stu had rescued him, something had shifted in his psyche. The first day in the cove with the siren, Stu had tried to show him the way out, to guide him along and teach him how to use his new gills. Murdoc, still not certain whether or not the siren could be trusted, had been hesitant. Then again, he didn't want to stay trapped in a cove forever, so he'd eventually allowed the siren to take his hand gently and guide him into the water. Gentle; the siren was always so careful with Murdoc, apparently able to sense how tumultuous his moods were, and how jumpy he was since the night they met.

That day, Murdoc had followed along easily; the water was warm, and soon they were towards the edge of the cove, ready to descend down and swim out into open water.

But as soon as his head went underwater, he was back on Hannibal's ship, being thrown backwards over the side of the boat and plunging to his death. The memory was so vivid that he'd broken away from Stu, screaming and scrambling back onto shore, panic overtaking his body as adrenaline coursed through him, the fear just as visceral and all-consuming as it had been when it actually happened. Stu had been patient, trying multiple times to coax him back in, but Murdoc wouldn't have it. Each time he got in deeper than his waist, he felt as though he was drowning again, even as the gills on his neck opened up, ready to help him breathe.

Though not a smooth conversationalist, Stu was an excellent empath, and he seemed to understand Murdoc's anxiety. Each day, he would try to convince Murdoc to join him in the water. Some days were better than others. A few times, Murdoc was even able to swim alongside the siren for a bit.

"Good! Murdoc, good!" Stu had chirped. "Come with Me, Stupid Fish!"

But as soon as he dove down, Murdoc found he couldn’t follow. "Sorry, pet. Maybe tomorrow?"

And each day ended in failure.

He wondered how long it would be before the siren got sick of the charity work and either ate him, or left him to starve. Because at this rate, they were both getting frustrated with his inability to help himself.

Thus, the afternoons that Stu left him alone were the worst. He was left with his thoughts: memories of his time spent on his brother’s ship, the way the crew had picked on him and ostracized him (following Hannibal’s lead, naturally). Sometimes his memories brought him back to drowning, to his blurry memories of Stu approaching him underwater, the eerie blue-green glow of his esca. Occasionally, although his memory had blocked out most of the details, he would have flash-backs to the sounds of human screams and siren wails as Stu had helped him return to the surface once he’d been freed of the anchor and chains. The sounds of the sirens closing in on the ship were the worst thing Murdoc had ever heard.

Those memories, however vague, were the worst. He was too scared to ask Stu if he had feasted on any human flesh since rescuing the pirate.

Most often, his thoughts were simply self-depreciation. For all his aspirations in life, he’d been an utter cock-up.

He couldn’t even swim his way to safety even though he had fucking gills now, all because of his stupid anxiety, the overpowering fear of death that even a fucking siren’s kiss couldn’t cure. And so he was trapped, alone save for a siren that would surely eventually grow to despise him (just like everyone else did), waiting for death. It was a strange way to end life, this drawn-out waiting, lingering in a place he didn’t belong, no longer entirely human, but also not a siren.

A loser caught between two worlds, land and sea, human and other, life and death.

He was curled up in a ball one evening, lost in those thoughts, when he heard the splash of someone rising up out of the water behind him.

"That you, Stu?" he asked. He couldn't shake the fear that another siren would eventually follow his savior and find him. And he knew not all sirens were as human-friendly as his.

"Me, Stupid Fish!"

The familiar voice called back its affirmation, and Murdoc quickly sat up, trying to push away the negative thoughts that he knew the siren could sense on him. It was embarrassing to be so depressed and reliant.

He noticed immediately when the siren didn't clamber up onto land like he usually did to greet Murdoc. He also didn't seem to have any fish with him.

"What's up, luv? No food for the weary sailor tonight? What's with that look?"

The siren was hovering a few feet away, looking nervous. Finally, he gathered his words. "Murdoc, for me?"

It took the pirate only a second to decode the broken English. "For me?" Is what he'd asked when Stu had begun to leave him beach glass and shells in a small pile near the entrance to the cove. The siren had quickly learned to associate those words with gift-giving. Murdoc would ask it each time a new trinket was left on the sand for him. “For me?” Stu would light up (literally, his bioluminescent skin seemed to be somewhat connected to his emotions), and chirp the words back. “For me! For me!”

Stu had not yet untangled "you" from "me," so it was pretty clear that he was trying to communicate that he had something to give the sailor.

"What is it, Stu? What have you got for me?"

After a moment's hesitation, the siren brought his hands from behind his back and swam over to place something at the pirate's feet.

Murdoc had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from sobbing aloud.

There at his feet lay his guitar.

One of his most cherished possessions, soaking wet but otherwise looking as good as the day he'd last set it down in his quarters on board his brother’s ship.

“Wh-where did you get this?” he looked at the siren in total wonder.

“Ship,” Stu responded, eyes wide, clearly waiting to see whether the reaction would be positive or negative.

“You went back to my brother’s ship? The one your clan destroyed?” Technically the helmsman had destroyed it when he’d steered the ship right into rocks, but he’d done so because of siren calls.

Stu hesitated, then nodded. “Ship,” he repeated. “Good?”

The truth was, Murdoc didn’t know how to feel about it. One the one hand, it made him angry to know that the sirens who had killed his brother and crew were now raiding the remains of the beached ship, stealing all the gold and jewels inside of it. It was like adding insult to injury.

One the other had, why should he care? They’d all treated him like garbage and tossed him into the ocean. Now he was alive and they were all long gone, digested by a herd of underwater monsters. He had every right to reclaim his few earthly possessions.

“I’m amazed by the condition it’s in. Guess this wasn’t underwater; good to know the remains of the ship were beached,” he scooped the instrument up and let any remaining water inside of it pour out. “Do you know what this is?”

The siren nodded. “Music!”

“That’s right!” he lit up and made himself comfortable on some rocks along the shore and urged the siren to join him.

Stu obeyed, crawling up on his hands and sitting beside the pirate.

“What’s more, this is my music. This actually belonged to me. Out of everything you could have brought to me from the ship, you picked up something that is mine. Very good fish, Stu. Good fish!”

“Me Stupid Fish!” he chirped, repeating some of his favorite words, the first ones he’d learned to respond to. “Good Fish!”

“That’s right,” he responded, plucking a few notes on his guitar and wincing. Of course. Stu’d carried the thing underwater to bring it here, and the sound that came out of his poor cherished instrument was terrible. Plus it had languished for weeks, untouched and unturned. It may never sound as good as it once had.

But he couldn’t let that get him down right now, this was the happiest he’d felt in days, holding the guitar against his body and feeling complete, letting his fingers pluck out a few chords, trying to tune it as best he could given the condition it was in. It was like a missing piece of his soul had just been slotted back into his body.

“You’ve heard humans make music with these things right?” he asked, and the siren nodded. “Well, pet, you’ve never heard anything like the music I can make. Could probably have been a professional musician had I not chosen to live life on the sea.”

And with that, he started to play. Hell, it sounded downright terrible, the water-logged instrument was sharp as could be. But chords were chords, and he went from absentmindedly fiddling out a few noises to playing some of his favorite sea shanties, eventually tapping his foot in time, letting his head fall forward and nodding along with the music.

Before he knew it, he was singing too, and he knew that however horrible the guitar sounded, his voice was worse. No one he’d met had ever hesitated to tell him how dreadful his singing voice was, no matter how much he loved music (and secretly loved to sing).

“Farewell an’ adieu to you fair Spanish ladies,

farewell an’ adieu to you ladies of Spain,

for we’ve received orders for to sail for old England

and hope very shortly to see you again…”

Unable to contain himself, he stood up, not caring that Stu was looking at him like he’d grown two heads, not caring that without a large group of men he couldn’t get all the beautiful harmonies right, not caring one bit because suddenly he was walking up and down the length of the cove, and with each verse, it seemed to him that his guitar sounded better and better, never mind that it was a little sharp.

“Let every man here drink up his full bumper,

let every man here drink up his full bowl,

and let us be jolly and drown melancholy,

drink a health to each jovial an’ true-hearted soooul!

Ahaha, did you hear that?”

He turned to Stu, bowing although the siren rudely did not think to clap, but he hardly cared. He’d gone so long without music that he had forgotten how good it felt sometimes to just let loose and have a little fun.

The siren tilted his head to the side, and then broke out into the biggest smile he’d ever given the pirate.

“Murdoc good!” he chirped.

“You like how I sing?” he asked hopefully, and the siren immediately made a face.

“No,” he clarified. “Murdoc…happy!”

Ah, so his approval was in the lifted mood, and not the quality of the sailor’s voice. Well, it was better than nothing.

“Damn right I’m happy, this guitar means the bloody world to me! I can’t believe I can make music again! I can play some of the songs I’ve been composing in my head I—”

He was cut off as Stu’s tail twitched. He’d learned a while ago that the siren’s tail turned into legs when outside of the water long enough. Before his eyes, the siren’s tail swished back and forth a few times, and moments later, two long slender legs had replaced it, Stu kicking them back and forth experimentally and covering his lap with his hands self-consciously.

“Oi, Stu, get up. I can play music and you can dance for me,” he suggested.

Stu snorted. “No.”

“Oh, come on!”

Stu gestured at his bare legs and now it was Murdoc’s turn to snort. The siren had stayed on land with Murdoc several times, and each time, he was newly humiliated by his own nudity. Apparently he felt no shame wearing no clothes so long as he had his tail, but as soon as his genitals were exposed in his more human-looking form, he became self-conscious and sulky.

“Alright, alright, here’s an idea,” Murdoc set his guitar down on a rock, and the siren looked at him curiously as he unbuttoned his shirt. Once it was removed, Murdoc wrapped the clothing around the siren’s trim waste, securing it by tying the sleeves together so that he had a sort of makeshift loincloth over his groin.

“See? Nice and dressed like a proper gentleman now! You look lovely! Hell, if I were a captain, I’d take you aboard for sure.

Stu was actually quite impressed, rushing to the water’s edge to look at his reflection and behold his semi-clothed state.

“Pretty!” he squeaked, various chirps and clicks coming from somewhere in the back of his throat.

“That’s right, you look pretty. Now can you dance?”

“Dance?”

“Like this,” Murdoc picked the guitar up and began playing another song, a lighthearted one he’d picked up somewhere in the Caribbean about pretty girls and quality rum. As he played, he danced, swaying his hips and kicking his feet out. “Dance!”

“Dance,” Stu repeated with less certainty, trying to imitate his movements and stumbling a bit in the sand, nearly losing his balance.

“Okay, I see. So this is new for you. That’s alright, pet, c’mere,” Murdoc put his music-making on hold to offer a hand to the siren, pulling him close and wrapping one arm around his waist, an instinctive move really, to help keep him stable. He pretended not to notice when the bioluminescence of Stu’s skin lit up a bit. “Just follow my lead, move your legs—no, dummy, the other way—that’s it, good! Really good, Stu! Not a stupid fish at all, are you?”

“Me Stupid Fish,” he croaked, but mostly because he knew that by saying that he’d get Murdoc to smile, giggling when he succeeded.

After a few more awkward steps, Stu wrapped his arms around Murdoc’s shoulders for lack of anywhere else to put them, and they fell into a rhythm, swaying back and forth in each other’s arms, smiling and humming the tune that Murdoc had just been playing.

“D’you like to dance, luv?”

“Good dance, good,” he affirmed, pressing his face into the crook of Murdoc’s neck.

The pirate felt his cheeks flush at the contact. Stu’s hair, while still damp with seawater, was incredibly soft and felt nice against his cheek. And the feeling of the siren’s chin pressed against his latent gills was—embarrassingly—quite pleasant, and gave him a warm feeling in his belly that he hadn’t experienced in ages.

The realization that hit him: that he was getting flustered from being pressed flush against a siren, was embarrassing as hell.

Yet he didn’t pull away.

Because for the first time since the night he had almost died, he felt calm, even happy. He was having a nice time, and Stu’s arms were holding him tight, and his own arms were around the siren’s back, pulling him ever-closer.

“Hey, luv. D’you think you could go back to the ship? Get some more of my music?”

“Me go ship, music?”

“Yeah. I’ve also got a flute I could play. And some maracas from Spain. There’s also a lute and oh, god I’d love to play my viola again if you can get the bow too!”

“Yes,” Stu promised. “Yes me go ship.”

“Thank you,” the relief was overwhelming, that after all he’d lost, Stu could reunite him with his most beloved possessions. “But…not right now. Stay a little longer. I want to dance some more.”

He could swear he felt the siren’s lips press his bare shoulder for a moment, but maybe it was just his imagination.

“More dance.”

“Good,” and he was pressing his face against the silken hair, holding the siren tight and letting the tension ease out of his body with each step they took together. “Just once more dance with you, maybe two. Then more music. Always more music.”

[vintagehellfire]

It Hoths my Dreams

Pairing: Kylo/Reader, Ben/Reader

Word Count: 4122

Warnings: Profanity, abuse, manipulation, violence

Tags: @rosalynbair @thetoughestcreampuff @drtiberiussith @peterpangal2003

PART 1 | PART 2

Your entire body shook with tremors as your current lover burst into your room, just having gotten off work. He wasn’t a particularly awful lover, nor was he a good one. He just was. He didn’t quite fill the hole that Ben had left in your heart but you settled. There was not a love that would burn brighter than the one you had with Ben Solo and certainly no love that would equate it. You closed your eyes tight and let a tear fall down your face, hoping that your lover wouldn’t notice. Most things actually went by unnoticed by them, like the bruise you sported on your jawline and the massive purple bags that rested below your eyes from the countless sleepless nights of dissonant nightmares. You rubbed your hands over your face as images of Ben flashed through your mind at a thousand miles an hour.

“Hey my little fighter pilot, you doing alright?” Some concern got swept into your lover’s voice but you could barely look at them, guilt consuming your very being. You didn’t want them here, you wanted Ben. You wanted Ben to wrap you up in his strong and warm embrace, bury his face in your neck and press kisses to it lovingly, sensually, and protectively. You couldn’t respond in any way but shake your head. How could you? Your heart was someone else’s and that someone was coming to help you. “Oh, my sweet, I’m sorry I can’t be there.” The lie was dully spoken into the air, apology falling flat all too quickly and the dreaded dry taste that filled your mouth would not leave. “You- Were you talking to someone before I came back?” You could just tell what expression decorated your supposed lovers face – their head tilted, a flickering little spark of anger in their eyes, the fierce desire to wipe out anyone who poses a threat to their relationship with you, the need to prove to you that they were your one and only – and if they were not, they would become your only love through means that weren’t as loving.

Ben, I swear to god if you don’t pull up, we’re going to die!” You screamed, Ben’s laugh filling your ears. He was one of the best pilots around and he always taught you new things. There wasn’t a trick he didn’t know and he would always teach you just in case. With a smooth thrust upwards from Ben, the ship turned up and accelerated, you were left screaming and laughing at the same time. Evasive manoeuvres through caves, slipping and gliding through tight cracks in abandoned bases: these were the things Ben Solo would do to impress you. His idea of a date… or something.

“Just trust me.” He briefly turned to you and his heart swelled to three times the size it was before. “And if you don’t, then pilot it yourself.” He took one of your hands and placed it on the controls, fear striking you for half a second – just until your hand touched the commands. From there it felt almost natural, second nature as if you had been training for well over half your life. You’d flown ships before but they all paled in comparison to the beauty that Ben pulled out.

“I’ve never flown an X-Wing.” You admit, a smile plastering itself to your lovers face. He had a wicked and cruel idea, but he never would have done it if he didn’t trust that you were okay with it.

“Well, you’re about to!” With those words he stopped all commands and halted all thrusters, the X-Wing plummeting to a dead drop. You nearly screamed but instead, everything Ben taught you hit you like a brick and you took over. Narrowly missing the ground, you pulled up, water spraying from behind you and creating a large tide that could easily swallow many men. Your adrenaline pumped through your body and the feelings of excitement and adoration rocketed through your body. Without another thought, you took Ben to the place you loved more than you could ever love someone, or something, save for Ben of course.

“No, no,” you assured, a quiver in your voice making itself clear. It wasn’t solely from the incredible bout of sorrow that Ben Solo brought with him, it was also, and mainly, from fear, “just woke from a nightmare is all.” You bit your tongue, the lie coming as smooth and sweet as honey. It was nothing but a misguided truth. You did have your nightmares but tonight’s one was something else entirely – morphing from the absolute blood-curdling screams of Kylo Ren, to the animalistic growl of your current lover.

“That’s it?” They asked, puzzled, ripping away from you like you were some sort of disease. “Come on, it’s one little nightmare. Suck it up, they’re not real.” They turned away and picked up a Resistance helmet. They could bear the Resistance emblem all they wanted but to you, they’d never be a Resistance fighter. “I’m going to do a few rounds and I’ll be back. Sit tight. And there better not be anyone with you.” With a growl, they left to run rounds while you were stuck in this godforsaken bedroom of yours.

“(Y/n), slow down! No, fuck, watch,” Ben cut himself off by screaming, gripping the seatbelts so hard that his knuckles turned white. Ever since he introduced you to flying you had taken to showing him all the tricks that you learned and you often made him come with you to your practice. This time you didn’t hold back and it terrified Ben. You decided to take on what you and Ben called Hang Man’s Ridge, mainly because it was like a suicide mission and a half.

You never flew that recklessly anymore. You couldn’t. In fact, your lover forbade it after spending time in an X-Wing with you. You let out a choked sob and made your way back into bed and under your covers.

You flew and glided through the nooks and crannies, Ben breathing hard every time you accelerated in order to make a sharp turn. Your evasive manoeuvers were spot on and quite frankly so sharp that it jerked the two of you around. Despite wishing for a smoother flight, this was the only way to challenge the rocky area and live.

You focused on Ben, and you focused on all the good memories, much like the one with you flying the X-Wing. You even thought of the love the two of you shared, hoping it could guide him to you had he chosen to come find you. You weren’t hoping he would but to say you’d be disappointed if he didn’t would be an understatement.

Ben Solo grit his teeth knowing that there would be a hindrance in finding you. He knew the Resistance would attempt to shoot him out of the blasted sky, and he damn well knew that he wouldn’t let that stop him. He didn’t let anybody stop him or question what he was doing. Only the patrols that night dared utter half a question before Ben threw them to the side without a second thought. He tried to fly steady, speeding through the galaxy and to the Outer Rim. He felt your presence there but the question was where. He upped the thrusters and built up speed just to be able to shift into lightspeed without having his back slammed into the pilot’s chair. He thought of the fear in your eyes and the choked tremble to your voice as you ended the Force connection between the two of you. Something was not right and he wasn’t going to wait another day to find you.

You, on the other hand, tried to reconnect the two of you, emotions sweeping over you, sobs escaping you. Ben, it was always Ben and always would be Ben. Soon enough you wore yourself out, your head hitting the pillow and spiralling you into another nightmare.

               The darkness swallowed you, hissing echoing around you, trapping you and confining you to where you were situated. Venom dripped out of the jaws of the dark and seeped into your very soul. Volatile and toxic thoughts swirling through your mind, a storm of its own brewing deep within.

“He doesn’t love you.” The static voice dragged out, deep and menacing but snakelike and cold. “He’s never going to come for you.” The voice sounded like it was muddled and drowned out by water but it was present, booming, and deafening.

Ben’s breathing deepened and he tried to focus, putting himself into a meditative mindset. He thought that it would help him seeing as that is how he managed to connect with you through the Force only hours earlier. He ran his hands through his hair and clenched his eyes shut, he couldn’t wrap his head around what he’d possibly say to you, to his mum, to the Resistance. How could he justify showing up in the black mass that was a TIE fighter and saying he’s there for a greater good: for you? He slowed and let himself drift through space, clenching his teeth and sighing out in a shaky a faltering breath. Don’t destroy anything, don’t destroy anything. He tried to calm himself down, tears welling up in his eyes and a lump in his throat. His dark brows knit together and he dared shift his gaze upwards, suppressing his emotions of deep sadness. He didn’t really know what to do other than try to connect with you.

Your breathing was sporadic and every time you woke it was because you had either screamed so loud you woke yourself up or the emotional pain was too unbearable. You hated feeling this weak and pathetic. You were a Resistance pilot for fuck's sake, why the hell were you being affected this way? You knew that Ben was alive, you knew he wasn’t ready to leave you, and you knew that he was coming to find you. Each one of your thoughts about him screamed and echoed through the Force, reaching him slowly and with a slight delay. It helped him advance and in turn, you heard his thoughts and felt his emotions branch into your heart and pull you closer to him than you had ever felt. Come morning, the emotions that resonated had begun to change.

“Hey, didn’t get much sleep again?” Your partner had asked you as they padded their way into your room with two coffees. One was yours and the other was meant for them.

“Yeah… I mean no. Worst nightmares I’ve ever had.” You mumbled, the bags under your eyes growing far worse and your eyes seemed to age even further. A warm arm wrapped around your waist and a kiss was pressed to your temple. You felt yourself lurch and a feeling of nausea washed over you. Why were you still allowing this relationship to go on? You hadn’t felt anything for your partner in months. Besides, the relationship was a relatively new one and if you weren’t happy, why were you staying in it? What was the good in it? It would never be the same love you shared with Ben Solo- with Kylo. Your emotions conveyed strongly to Kylo- to Ben- stronger than they had before and he too began to feel sick.

“Love, you’ll get over them. Come on, now give me a kiss.” You felt a hand touch your chin and pull your face towards your left where you were met with your partner’s. They forced your lips to theirs and your shock and terror built and escalated so quickly that ripped through your heart. You tried to frantically pull away but instead, you were pulled closer.

As panic struck you, anger struck Ben and your distress aided for him to hone in on you. He shot off to D’ Qar faster than he had ever flown, even when you were younger he didn’t dare. He didn’t care if he got shot out of the sky, he didn’t care if his ship was blasted to bits, as long as you were safe, that’s all he cared about.

“No!” You pleaded and pushed off. “I don’t want to! I’m sorry just- get off.” You managed to muster a kiss.

“Excuse me?” Your tone was matched with a deadlier one, anger and rage fuming off your lover, though were they really a lover? “Shut your mouth and take a damn kiss.” They gripped at your shirt and pulled you towards them, your anxiety and adrenaline kicking in but anger present and clear as day.

“I said, get off!” You spat this time, kicking and managing to pull away. “I don’t want this.” You asserted but there was nobody willing to listen to you.

               Meanwhile, Kylo managed to burst into the planet’s atmosphere and signal the towers. Confused Resistance fighters didn’t know how to approach the situation other than radio every fighter they possibly had. Kylo, would not let up, that was one trait he kept but what he wouldn’t keep was who he had reinvented himself as. As of now, as of this rescue, as of being able to see you for the first time in years, he would call himself Ben Solo once again. To say his landing was graceful would be a lie. He was frantic, fuelled with emotions and without a care for anyone but you. Don’t hurt anyone. Rang through his head and he ensured to avoid all soldiers and living beings that inhabited the planet. A crash was heard not too far off from the base, Ben having completely missed the landing strip in fear of demolishing absolutely everything in the way. His mind was scattered, sending thoughts your way that only fuelled your resistance to your partner further.

“You piece of shit!” The words thrown at you liberally. “I give you my love and this is how you treat me?” A staff was picked up somewhere between you pushing off the bed and the words being yelled at you. “You bring someone into our quarters and lie to me, then refuse to kiss me?”

“You only use me for your benefit. I hope that you get dropped in the Sarlacc pit after what you’ve done.” Acidic and vile, your words were. It certainly didn’t stop you from saying them. It’s almost as if you learned nothing from that day on Hoth, only you had. You had mistrusted the wrong person and put your faith in someone far worse. “Where are you in the night when I scream of terror?” You spat.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want you for my benefit.”

“Yes, you do!” You screamed, the anger bubbling up from your chest. At these words, a staff swung at you and you barely managed to miss the hit. You were quick with your reflexes thanks to your pilot skills but you were not a soldier and it showed. Another swing came and hit you right in the temple.

               Pain shot through Ben’s head, alarm bells going off as it happened. He sprinted towards the base, shoving everybody out of the way and only pulling his crackling and unstable lightsabre to deflect any shots of plasma that were fired his way. They came few and far in between. It was warranted, he knew it. He was Supreme Leader, he was Kylo Ren, and he was heartless and desired nothing but to obliterate the resistance. All lies. The look in his eyes was the one of a trapped wild animal, frantic, bloodshot, and terrified. The burst through the doors of the base and watched as every single soldier slammed their backs into the walls as he sprinted down the halls, lightsaber in hand and knotted hair flying all over. Had anybody actually seen him as unruly as he was now?

“I knew you were a little bitch since the day we met. I fucking knew you, you bastard. You lying piece of shit.” Your partner cracked the staff they were wielding across your ribs and the cry you let out was enough to shake the ground. A shiver ran down the spine of those in the vicinity but most of all it made Ben’s blood run cold. Those who had been around witnessed the sweat that draped the man’s body and the sickly green colour his skin had become. They too noticed the flare or blinding anger that lit up in his eyes and they got to experience his quiet and baffled breath where sheer sadness pierced his very soul.

“No.” His breathing was frantic and he shoved every single human in his way aside. He begged and pleaded for people to show him your quarters, none of them comprehending what he wanted from you, but they didn’t dare question and they didn’t dare withhold the information. They could all take him, couldn’t they? It wasn’t important, there were more pressing matters and by the looks of the Supreme Leader, they were not matters that were remotely stable. It didn’t take him long to find your room, mumbled of “no” falling from his lips as he tripped over his own feet to get to you.

“Fuck you.” You spit blood at your former partner’s feet. How dare they call themselves your lover? They were no better than the First Order scum that had taken your home from you.

“Now, now, is that the way to talk you me?” They crouched in front of you, forcibly tilting your chin up. “Why can’t you see I’m doing this because I love you?” They asked.

“You don’t love me.” You grit your teeth, blood mingling with your saliva and getting caught between your white teeth. “You abuse me. Kylo Ren was a better lover than you’ll ever be.” You rasped out. With those few words, the person you had once known was completely wiped out, staff ready to crack you over the head. You heard the whoosh of it slicing through the air but the hit never came. Instead, you heard a sizzling sound and the familiar crackle that tugged at your heartstrings.

“Don’t touch them.” The deep voice was laced with venom, pure and hard hitting, the burning smell welcome in your lungs. Your heart leapt into your chest and when you brought your eyes up, you were met with the one person you didn’t think you’d see for a long time.

“Kylo Ren,” the former lover mocked, “what even brings you here? Does the resistance know? I could notify them that you were attempting an assassination.” The sickly sweet tone to the voice dripped slowly from their lips, threatening everything you loved.

“They know. Every. Last. One.” He spat, twirling his lightsaber in a show-off-ish way. His tactic was to intimidate but not eliminate. “Step away.” He hissed through gritted teeth. You tried to pull yourself up only to collapse to the ground, pain blinding you completely. Ben’s head snapped to you and within half a second the cruel being attempted an attack. With a quick counter, Ben managed to slice the other half of the wooden staff in half and butt the attacker in the head with his elbow, letting them cripple to the ground. He rushed over to you, retracting his red lightsaber, and quickly picking you up, bursting through many doors and rushing you to the infirmary.

“Stay with me, okay? You’re okay, don’t pass out. You’ll be okay. Just focus on my words, on my voice.” Ben cradled you in his arms, trying to keep you awake as you were most likely suffering a concussion. “Listen to me, okay? I never, never, stopped loving you alright? It pained me so much. Please just- fuck, I love you.” The words made your heart flutter even though your body was in mass amounts of anguish. It felt like you got lit on fire but you couldn’t scream. You couldn’t tell how many times you’d been hit. You couldn’t. It was too many. Love didn’t come in bruises.

               By the time you got to the infirmary, Ben had been sobbing, choking on his tears and he didn’t have a care for who saw him in such a way. He barely got any orders out to the rebels but as soon as they saw the condition you were in and that sobs that wracked the raven-haired man’s body, they knew that something was obscenely off. Not only had they not laid eyes on Ben in years but they had never seen you abused to this degree and the only times they did see you abused was when you adorned bruises and cuts from battles, even then, you rarely wore them. You could barely keep your eyes peeled open, but you listened and your heart broke over and over to the tune of the sobbing of the Solo boy that you were still deeply infatuated with.

               You didn’t remember passing out but you woke to a warmth on your hand, and feather-light press of someone’s lips to your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open and a groan escaped your mouth.

“(Y/n)?!” The deep rumble of the man’s voice ripped you into reality and your heart swelled. You never thought you’d hear the excitement in it again, much less in person. You carefully pulled yourself up and let your (y/e/c) eyes meet his.

“Ben,” you breathed, exasperated, love lacing itself into his name, “you came, you saved me.” He bit his bottom lip, tears welling in his eyes, and he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I did. I always will.” His voice cracked, emotion flooding it but he wasn’t sad anymore, oh no, he was overjoyed to see that you were awake. You had been out for a solid week and then some and he didn’t dare leave your side. Even when General Organa- his own mother- came in to see him, he couldn’t leave you. He allowed her to hold him as he sobbed, and he had confessed what had brought him here.

“The nightmares told me you wouldn’t, they swallowed me.” You managed to scoot over, tugging on his hand as a signal to come join you on the bed. He wanted desperately to wrap his arms around you, to pull you close, to kiss you, to feel your soft plush lips against his but he refused to push you.

“Your nightmares were wrong,” the promise he made you was deeply rooted and you felt it in your heart, “I came to rescue you, to apologise, to make it up to you to-” Ben rambled on for what was too long, and you hushed him by pulling him close, frail hands reaching for his waist. You sunk down low and let yourself lay down, trying to tug the tall man beside you down to lay next to his lost love.

“You’ve done enough. You’ve found me.” He sunk beside you, carefully placing one of his hand on your waist and taking one of your hands in the one he had free. “I’m sorry for what I said to you on Hoth. I was angry, defeated, and I really didn’t want to believe that you’d be capable of what you had done.” Your words flowed from your mouth, raw honesty behind them instead of a rehearsed speech that you’d been honing for yours. Damn any part of the speech you had, it was long forgotten. “I wasn’t kidding when I said that your screams haunted me. I carry them like ghosts and I regret not going back to find you. I regret everything I have done since that day but being here, being with you is what matters to me.” Your eyes briefly flickered to the man’s chapped lips, wanting something that you never thought you’d have again.

“It’s okay, love.” The coos that the man before you emit were soothing, your heart swelling at the sounds. “I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long time.”

               The two of you spoke at length, sharing stories, hushed murmurs, secret glances. Your legs gravitated towards one another’s and eventually tangled themselves together, keeping a warmth present. The longer you both spoke, the more sleep ridden you both were and despite you being out cold for most of the week, you needed a peaceful rest. A rest from the nightmares and from the bruises. Ben’s voice groggy, attractive and low lulled you to sleep, and your small yawns aided him to drift off. That night you were both free of any nightmares and recollections of Hoth, both safe and loved. And for once in many many years, both of you had each other.

[ethanalter]

‘Ozark’ Season Finale Postmortem: Jason Bateman ‘Didn’t Want an Obnoxious Open Ending’

Jason Bateman as Marty Byrd in ‘Ozark’ (Photo: Netflix)

Warning: This post contains spoilers for “The Toll” episode of Ozark.

From the very beginning of his journey into the dark heart of the Ozarks, Ozark star/executive producer/director Jason Bateman approached the 10-episode crime drama as an extension of his feature film career rather than a return to episodic television. And he stuck to his guns right up until the final moments of the feature-length season finale, which brings the saga of Marty Byrd — the hapless financial advisor who dragged his family from their home in Chicago to the backwoods of Missouri to pay a debt to a drug cartel — to a full-stop conclusion.

“I didn’t want an obnoxious open ending,” Bateman tells Yahoo TV about the last scene of “The Toll.” Written by showrunner Chris Mundy, the episode concludes with Marty, having temporarily resolved the imminent dangers confronting him, sharing a tender reunion with his kids, Charlotte (Sofia Hublitz) and Jonah (Skylar Gaertner), while his long-suffering wife, Wendy (Laura Linney), regards him with equal parts love and uncertainty. “It always pisses me off when people are so presumptuous as to leave something dangling in the attempt to force the studio’s hand,” Bateman explains. “I wanted to make sure we treated this as a 10-chapter film and left it all on the table.”

It’s also no accident that the ending of the season finale visually echoes the ending of the season premiere, which also closes with Marty and Wendy trading conflicted glances. Those were the moments where Bateman says he was most dazzled by his co-star, both as a director and a fellow actor. “What anybody learns from working with Laura is that less is always more. You work with her, and it’s this great masterclass in how you can get things done without doing any ‘acting.’ That long lens close-up of her [at the end of the finale] where she’s looking at Marty and going through a range of emotions — Laura did all of that in about five or six seconds and then drops that one tear out of one eye. There could have been more obvious cliffhanger-y ways to go to black on the last episode, but I really commend Chris and his staff for ending it in such an elegant and restrained way.”

Laura Linney in the last scenes of “The Toll”

That said, Bateman is the first to point out that there are ways to continue the story should Netflix decide to send them back to work for what he pointedly calls a “sequel” rather than a “second season.” For starters, even though lethal drug cartel enforcer Del (Esai Morales) has been lethally dispatched by Ozark crime kingpins Jacob and Darlene Snell (Peter Mullan and Lisa Emery), that couple is still very much a force to be reckoned with. Their close-quarters execution of Del is one of the finale’s most shocking moments, especially since it occurs immediately on the heels of Marty appearing to broker a lucrative peace treaty.

“We had a day or day and a half to shoot that,” Bateman remembers. “I had a bunch of shots laid out, but as we got into rehearsing it, I talked with [Steadicam operator] Ben Semanoff about whip pans and hiding cuts in whip pans. I asked if we could link four cuts in four whip pans and he said yes. So I threw out my individual shots, and we hid these four different cuts to create the sense of it all happening in one shot. It adds impact to everything going on in that room.”

It also awards Mullan the chance to turn the quiet menace that Jacob has been radiating all season long up to 11. Bateman says that the Scottish actor, who made a big impression on him in the acclaimed miniseries Top of the Lake, was his first and only choice to play the part. “I was dead set on getting him, and figuring out how to deal with his Scottish accent was not going to keep me from it!”

Beyond the lingering threat posed by the Snells, other story threads that could be woven into the fabric for a second season include the business opportunity proffered by Marty’s proposed riverboat casino, as well as all the illicit cash that he still has yet to launder. “There are opportunities for us to build on if we were to go back for more,” Bateman confirms. “But it was definitely on purpose that we finished things here. The stakes of the whole show are the life of this family; if we get you to invest in their health, both physically and emotionally, then you’ve got the stakes you need to enjoy the show. You want to start with them, and then hit the finish line with them.”

Before it arrives at its appropriately quiet conclusion, “The Toll” features one of most disturbing scenes that Bateman has choreographed as a director. That’s the moment where faith-challenged Pastor Mason Young (Michael Mosley) — who has become a father, but lost his wife in the process — appears to sacrifice his infant child, Old Testament style, plunging the baby into the waters of the Ozarks.

If you’re a parent, you’ll probably have trouble breathing as Mason holds his son there for what feels like an eternity. “That wasn’t premeditated,” Bateman says, about the length of time that Mosley held the bundle (which, of course, didn’t have a real baby inside it) under the lake’s placid surface. “It really was a result of what felt right for the shot. Anything faster didn’t feel as impactful.” Then, just when you’re ready to reach through the screen to rescue that child yourself, Mason lifts him back out and holds him aloft — making it clear we’ve been witnessing a baptism, not an execution.

Bateman admits that the sequence was his way of unsettling the audience, something he previously did in his 2013 directorial debut, Bad Words, where children were also put in danger. Although, in that case, the “danger” was having epithets and insults hurled at them by Bateman’s aggressive spelling bee contestant rather than the threat of drowning. “If the pastor heard anyone thought he was killing his baby, he’d be mortified!” Bateman says. “What we did with the filmmaking was an interesting mislead, and hopefully a satisfying payoff.”

Ozark is currently streaming on Netflix.

[morsmanbacklog-blog]

No. 2: Fallout 4

When I drew Fallout 4 as my second game I was tempted to revise the conditions of this blog; I had already put over 80 hours into the game, and wasn’t sure I had the chops to write on one so divisive. Besides, the very reason for this blog is that I get around to trying out the games that I let pile up underneath triple A titles like this one. In the end, though, I want this blog of mine to be as much about writing and thinking about video games as it is playing them, and Fallout 4 is certainly one that elicits some thinking.

I went to bed at a decent hour on November 9, 2015, the night Fallout 4 was released. Now, I was just as excited as anyone for Bethesda’s next open-world RPG, but unlike those who stay up for midnight releases, I’d much rather get up early than hold off sleep to enjoy a new game (yeah, I have also been known to find stray Werther’s Originals in my pockets. Why do you ask?). besides, the game was downloading on my PC as I slept and was pretty much ready to play when I awoke. By the time I left for class the next morning I had made my character, lost my wife and child, and had a shootout in Concord. I was thrilled to be back in post-apocalyptic America, and according to critics, so was everyone else. 

Well, it has been almost two years since Fallout 4′s release, and it would seem that those initial, positive reviews don’t reflect the current sentiment toward the game. whether it be coming from my gaming friends or lengthy think pieces around the web, the general feeling of disappointment toward Fallout 4 reminds me now of these first reactions to The Phantom Menace in comparison to its standing today as one of the worst Star Wars movies. Many of us, including myself, may have been blinded by the updated graphics and new features that came along with Fallout 4, but the sheen has since worn off, and the game we have now fails to deliver on many levels.

Because Fallout 4 not only had to live up to the rest of the Fallout franchise, but also Bethesda’s long lineup of revered, open-world RPG’s, there is extensive writing around the web about the myriad ways in which the game disappoints. Redditers subscribed to the r/gaming subreddit may be familiar with the numerous infographs or charts comparing Fallout 4 to Obsidian’s Fallout: New Vegas like the one below, usually in order to show how great New Vegas’ story and quests are in comparison to Fallout 4′s. I tend to agree with these critiques, but I also have never heard anyone argue from the opposing side, making it seem like those making and posting these comparisons hate Fallout 4 more than they actually like New Vegas. 

Oddly enough, I do not see many comparisons being made between Fallout 4 and Fallout 3, which would seem appropriate seeing as both games were made by the same developer and written by Emil Pagliarulo. Has Fallout 4 improved upon Fallout 3? The latter certainly has its critics, but I will get on with my time with Fallout 4.

                           Want me to play a game? show me the charts.

I started a new file shortly before beginning this blog, so I went ahead and picked up where I left off, which was right after saving a ragtag group of survivors from raiders at Concord. To spice things up this time around, I have been using the ENB and weather overhaul mod, PILGRIM, which makes the wasteland look and sound appropriately unsettling. I highly recommend the mod given that the game, though it certainly doesn’t look bad, seems oddly colorful and cheery at times. 

As far as the story goes, I cannot speak for the whole thing because, despite playing Fallout 4 extensively, I never reached the end, though I believe I got rather close in my first playthrough. That fact in itself may speak toward the quality of the main quest, but I tend to go off the beaten path fairly quickly in all open-world games, including, yes, the apparent gold standard of storytelling, New Vegas. It is the side-quests, hidden journal entries, and environmental cues requiring us to fill in the gaps that give Bethesda’s worlds any sort of narrative edge. This fact makes games in the Fallout and Elder Scrolls series so attractive; they are big worlds that reward exploration. One almost gets the feeling that Bethesda feels obliged to cobble up some mainline quest in their games when the side quests and general goings-on in the world were enough. When there are worlds inside paintings to enter, vampire cults to find, and evil orphanage headmistresses to kill, saving the world once again seems a lot less interesting. 

Fallout 4 is no different from Bethesda’s other RPG’s in this regard and is arguably worse due to the fact that the protagonist is not simply a voiceless avatar for the player to inhabit, but a fully voiced character who has had his world destroyed in every figurative and literal way imaginable. I cannot begin to fathom my reaction to my wife being murdered, my remaining family being kidnapped, and my world being nuked, but it probably would not involve returning long-past-due library books.  All games like this require some amount of suspending disbelief; a main draw is the freedom of the open world, which almost requires letting the protagonist behave inconsistently with his or her character.  Having a protagonist that can actually speak, though, makes it all the more awkward when I am not particularly interested in those goals; I begin to feel like the cordyceps fungus I saw in Planet Earth as I lead my unwitting character away from his own goals and toward my own.

As I said before, I have yet to finish the game’s main questline, but I am fairly confident that the leader of the before mentioned survivors, Preston Garvey, is Fallout 4′s main antagonist. If the player should choose to keep in contact with Preston after Concord (which I strongly discourage), he will soon saddle him or her with seemingly countless settlements to care for. What does taking care of a settlement mean? It could mean nothing. You could clear the designated settlement areas of raiders and then let the place go without food, water, or power. This is the route I take and the one I would recommend. You could let the evil Preston Garvey distract you from finding your son and stopping The Institute by doing his job for him, but why would you do that?

                         I hate so much about the things you choose to be  

Yes, on paper being able build your own buildings, assign jobs to settlers, and generally sprinkle your own creativity into the Fallout universe sounds like a great idea, and it is, just not when crudely put into a completely different type of game. The settlement mechanics, though somewhat restrictive, are not all that bad either; there are some impressive creations to be found around the web, but that is not the point. The point is that this is a huge part of the game that takes up a lot of space on the map, so it detracts from and interrupts the greater Fallout experience. There was something special about being able to afford a house in Oblivion or earning that small home in Fallout 3, but the settlement system takes away that sense of home and accomplishment by drowning the player in it. Oddly enough, I think this problem could be improved upon if there were fewer settlements, and if they were much more difficult to obtain, but as is, the settlement system is, in my opinion, the worst addition to Fallout 4. 

Though I stand by all that I have said thus far, I have now put around 100 hours into this game, and no amount of complaining on my part will negate that fact. You can tell me that the story is not compelling, that the settlement system doesn’t belong, that the dialogue choices are needlessly vague, or that the number of quests does not amount to that of New Vegas. Those critiques are all valid and make Fallout 4 the lesser of the three first-person Fallout titles. The key is to accept 4′s faults and enjoy what is great about the game as well as its many, welcome changes and gameplay improvements, such as better player movement and combat, an extensive crafting system, and a more varying and rewarding loot hunt.

What brings me back to Fallout 4, however, is the same gameplay loop that has drawn me to each of Bethesda’s games; there is a huge world and enough rewards and stories strewn about to keep me exploring it. The disappointment of the main quest is not as bad when I have quests of my own each time I play, like when I fought my way to the bottom of an abandoned hospital only to be jumped by a deathclaw, or when a yao guai chased me up a fallen tree in the woods. In the end, we play new installments in series such as Fallout and Elder Scrolls more for what has remained the same rather than what has changed, and those elements remain intact in Fallout 4. 

Though I initially dreaded drawing fallout 4, I believe being forced to ponder the game for a while has brought be to a greater appreciation of it, despite its many flaws. In fact, I will probably keep playing it on the side when I can, even after posting this, and perhaps get my hands on the story DLC next time it goes on sale. I will make sure to write if I have any additional thoughts. 

Ok, let’s see what we have next...

Blackshadows...What is Blackshadows?

P.S.Before I draw the next game, I have something to say about these types of games in general. Seeing as I was playing more for writing this blog rather than simply enjoying it as a game, I decided to be a bit more reckless with my items. I ate a lot of food, threw a lot of grenades, and generally didn’t play with the “but what if I need this later?” mentality. I ended up enjoying the game a lot more. it was better experience overall to just use what I had and get rid of what wasn’t useful. 

P.P.S. I do not plan on all of my posts being this long. Many will be shorter. I am going to write my honest thoughts and opinions on each game I play, that is all I can guarantee, but Fallout 4 has so much going on within and outside of the game that it required a longer post.

[readbookywooks]

And so Mort came at last to the river Ankh, greatest of rivers. Even before it entered the city it was slow and heavy with the silt of the plains, and by the time it got to The Shades even an agnostic could have walked across it. It was hard to drown in the Ankh, but easy to suffocate. Mort looked at the surface doubtfully. It seemed to be moving. There were bubbles in it. It had to be water. He sighed, and turned away. Three men had appeared behind him, as though extruded from the stonework. They had the heavy, stolid look of those thugs whose appearance in any narrative means that it's time for the hero to be menaced a bit, although not too much, because it's also obvious that they're going to be horribly surprised. They were leering. They were good at it. One of them had drawn a knife, which he waved in little circles in the air. He advanced slowly towards Mort, while the other two hung back to provide immoral support. 'Give us the money,' he rasped. Mort's hand went to the bag on his belt. 'Hang on a minute,' he said. 'What happens then?' 'What?' 'I mean, is it my money or my life?' said Mort. 'That's the sort of thing robbers are supposed to demand. Your money or your life. I read that in a book once,' he added. 'Possibly, possibly,' conceded the robber. He felt he was losing the initiative, but rallied magnificently. 'On the other hand, it could be your money and your life. Pulling off the double, you might say.' The man looked sideways at his colleagues, who sniggered on cue. 'In that case —' said Mort, and hefted the bag in one hand preparatory to chucking it as far out into the Ankh as he could, even though there was a reasonable chance it would bounce. 'Hey, what are you doing,'said the robber. He started to run forward, but halted when Mort gave the bag a threatening jerk. 'Well,' said Mort, 'I look at it like this. If you're going to kill me anyway, I might as well get rid of the money. It's entirely up to you.' To illustrate his point he took one coin out of the bag and flicked it out across the water, which accepted it with an unfortunate sucking noise. The thieves shuddered. The leading thief looked at the bag. He looked at his knife. He looked at Mort's face. He looked at his colleagues. 'Excuse me,' he said, and they went into a huddle. Mort measured the distance to the end of the alley. He wouldn't make it. Anyway, these three looked as though chasing people was another thing they were good at. It was only logic that left them feeling a little stretched. Their leader turned back to Mort. He gave a final glance at the other two. They both nodded decisively. 'I think we kill you and take a chance on the money,' he said. 'We don't want this sort of thing to spread.' The other two drew their knives. Mort swallowed. 'This could be unwise,' he said. 'Why?' 'Well, I won't like it, for one.' 'You're not supposed to like it, you're supposed to – die,' said the thief, advancing. 'I don't think I'm due to die,' said Mort, backing away. 'I'm sure I would have been told.' 'Yeah,' said the thief, who was getting fed up with this. 'Yeah, well, you have been, haven't you? Great steaming elephant turds!' Mort had just stepped backwards again. Through a wall. The leading thief glared at the solid stone that had swallowed Mort, and then threw down his knife. 'Well, – – – – me,' he said. 'A – – – – ing wizard. I hate – – – – ing wizards!' 'You shouldn't – – – – them, then,' muttered one of his henchmen, effortlessly pronouncing a row of dashes. The third member of the trio, who was a little slow of thinking, said, 'Here, he walked through the wall!' 'And we bin following him for ages, too,' muttered the second one. 'Fine one you are, Pilgarlic. I said I thought he was a wizard, only wizards'd walk round here by themselves. Dint I say he looked like a wizard? I said —' 'You're saying a good deal too much,' growled the leader. 'I saw him, he walked right through the wall there —' 'Oh, yeah?' 'Yeah!' 'Right through it, dint you see?' 'Think you're sharp, do you?' 'Sharp enough, come to that!' The leader scooped his knife out of the dirt in one snaky movement. 'Sharp as this?' The third thief lurched over to the wall and kicked it hard a few times, while behind him there were the sounds of scuffle and some damp bubbling noises. 'Yep, it's a wall okay,' he said. That's a wall if ever I saw one. How d'you think they do it, lads?' 'Lads?' He tripped over the prone bodies. 'Oh,' he said. Slow as his mind was, it was quick enough to realise something very important. He was in a back alley in The Shades, and he was alone. He ran for it, and got quite a long way. Death walked slowly across tiles in the lifetimer room, inspecting the serried rows of busy hourglasses. Albert followed dutifully behind with the great ledger open in his arms. The sound roared around them, a vast grey waterfall of noise. It came from the shelves where, stretching away into the infinite distance, row upon row of hourglasses poured away the sands of mortal time. It was a heavy sound, a dull sound, a sound that poured like sullen custard over the bright roly-poly pudding of the soul. VERY WELL, said Death at last. I MAKE IT THREE. A QUIET NIGHT. 'That'd be Goodie Hamstring, the Abbott Lobsang again, and this Princess Keli,' said Albert. Death looked at the three hourglasses in his hand. I WAS THINKING OF SENDING THE LAD OUT, he said. Albert consulted his ledger. 'Well, Goodie wouldn't be any trouble and the Abbott is what you might call experienced,' he said. 'Shame about the princess. Only fifteen. Could be tricky.' YES. IT is A PITY. 'Master?' Death stood with the third glass in his hand, staring thoughtfully at the play of light across its surface. He sighed. ONE so YOUNG. . . . 'Are you feeling all right, master?' said Albert, his voice full of concern. TIME LIKE AN EVER-ROLLING STREAM BEARS ALL ITS. . . . 'Master!' WHAT? said Death, snapping out of it. 'You've been overdoing it, master, that's what it is—' WHAT ARE YOU BLATHERING ABOUT, MAN? 'You had a bit of a funny turn there, master.' NONSENSE. I HAVE NEVER FELT BETTER. NOW, WHAT WERE WE TALKING ABOUT? Albert shrugged, and peered down at the entries in the book. 'Goodie's a witch,' he said. 'She might get a bit annoyed if you send Mort.' All practitioners of magic earned the right, once their own personal sands had run out, of being claimed by Death himself rather than his minor functionaries. Death didn't appear to hear Albert. He was staring at Princess Keli's hourglass again. WHAT is THAT SENSE INSIDE YOUR HEAD OF WISTFUL REGRET THAT THINGS ARE THE WAY THEY APPARENTLY ARE? 'Sadness, master. I think. Now —' I AM SADNESS. Albert stood with his mouth open. Finally he got a grip on himself long enough to blurt out, 'Master, we were talking about Mort!' MORT WHO? 'Your apprentice, master,' said Albert patiently. Tall young lad.' OF COURSE. WELL, WE'LL SEND HIM. 'Is he ready to go solo, master?' said Albert doubtfully. Death thought about it. HE CAN DO IT, he said at ast. HE'S KEEN, HE'S QUICK TO LEARN AND, REALLY, e added, PEOPLE CANT EXPECT TO HAVE ME RUNNING AROUND AFTER THEM ALL THE TIME. Mort stared blankly at the velvet wall hangings a few inches from his eyes. I've walked through a wall, he thought. And that's impossible. He gingerly moved the hangings aside to see if a door was lurking somewhere, but there was nothing but crumbling plaster which had cracked away in places to reveal some dampish but emphatically solid brickwork. He prodded it experimentally. It was quite clear that he wasn't going back out that way. 'Well,' he said to the wall. 'What now?' A voice behind him said, 'Um. Excuse please?' He turned around slowly. Grouped around a table in the middle of the room was a Klatchian family of father, mother and half a dozen children of dwindling size. Eight pairs of round eyes were fixed on Mort. A ninth pair belonging to an aged grandparent of indeterminate sex weren't, because their owner had taken advantage of the interruption to get some elbow room at the communal rice bowl, taking the view that a boiled fish in the hand was worth any amount of unexplained manifestations, and the silence was punctuated by the sound of determined mastication. In one corner of the crowded room was a little shrine to Offler, the six-armed Crocodile God of Klatch. It was grinning just like Death, except of course Death didn't have a flock of holy birds that brought him news of his worshippers and also kept his teeth clean. Klatchians prize hospitality above all other virtues. As Mort stared the woman took another plate off the shelf behind her and silently began to fill it from the big bowl, snatching a choice cut of catfish from the ancient's hands after a brief struggle. Her kohl-rimmed eyes remained steadily on Mort, however. It was the father who had spoken. Mort bowed nervously. 'Sorry,' he said. 'Er, I seem to have walked through this wall.' It was rather lame, he had to admit. 'Please?' said the man. The woman, her bangles jangling, carefully arranged a few slices of pepper across the plate and sprinkled it with a dark green sauce that Mort was afraid he recognised. He'd tried it a few weeks before, and although it was a complicated recipe one taste had been enough to know that it was made out of fish entrails marinated for several years in a vat of shark bile. Death had said that it was an acquired taste. Mort had decided not to make the effort. He tried to sidle around the edge of the room towards the bead-hung doorway, all the heads turning to watch him. He tried a grin. The woman said: 'Why does the demon show his teeth, husband of my life?' The man said: 'It could be hunger, moon of my desire. Pile on more fish!' And the ancestor grumbled: 'I was eating that, wretched child. Woe unto the world when there is no respect for age!' Now the fact is that while the words entered Mort's ear in their spoken Klatchian, with all the curlicues and subtle diphthongs of a language so ancient and sophisticated that it had fifteen words meaning 'assassination' before the rest of the world had caught on to the idea of bashing one another over the head with rocks, they arrived in his brain as clear and understandable as his mother tongue. 'I'm no demon! I'm a human!' he said, and stopped in shock as his words emerged in perfect Klatch. 'You're a thief?' said the father. 'A murderer? To creep in thus, are you a tax-gatherer?' His hand slipped under the table and came up holding a meat cleaver honed to paper thinness. His wife screamed and dropped the plate and clutched the youngest children to her. Mort watched the blade weave through the air, and gave in. 'I bring you greetings from the uttermost circles of hell,' he hazarded. The change was remarkable. The cleaver was lowered and the family broke into broad smiles. 'There is much luck to us if a demon visits,' beamed the father. 'What is your wish, O foul spawn of Offler's loins?' 'Sorry?' said Mort. 'A demon brings blessing and good fortune on the man that helps it,' said the man. 'How may we be of assistance, O evil dogsbreath of the nether pit?' 'Well, I'm not very hungry,' said Mort, 'but if you know where I can get a fast horse, I could be in Sto Lat before sunset.' The man beamed and bowed. 'I know the very place, noxious extrusion of the bowels, if you would be so good as to follow me.'