#hes defiant and angry at people of power and I want him to attack them for it when he gets to be free

[timestillstands]

Motherfuckers you are NOT ready for my punk metalhead Sun agenda I'm pushing.

[mushroom-creacher]

Wayward Dads Chapter 3: Don't Father Me

< - >

The room had quickly erupted into chaos.

Lark and Grant shouted questions that went unanswered, Terry started pacing along the small room and Sparrow was trying to bring Nick down from a poorly masked panic attack while Paeden clung to Walter.

Erin and Walter didn’t know what to do. How the hell did this even happen? Was there a way to reverse it? How were they supposed to handle this?

“Can we all just calm down for a sec?” Figgs leaned against the wall, their snake familiar resting contently in her hair. “They’re kids, so what? You can still grab ‘em and bring ‘em back.”

Erin sighed and massaged her temples. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Figgs. We don’t stand a chance against the Omega Daddies on our own.”

“There’s like, eight of you.”

“Six of which are children!” Walter spoke up.

Figgs scoffed. “That’s still enough to cause a distraction while the others grab your guys. You just need to keep the bad guys busy long enough to make an extraction.”

“That… might actually work…” Erin looked at the rest of the group. “We’d only need to hold up for a few minutes. I’ve seen you all fight, you may not be able to take someone down just yet, but you can stand your ground for a long while.”

“You can’t seriously be thinking of letting them fight those people! They’re 12!” Walter crossed his arms.

“It’s our only option if we want to get their dads back! Besides, do you really think they’re going to just sit here and let us handle it without them?”

“No, but we can at least try to keep them out of it!”

“They’re already in it! These kids have seen action, they’ll be fine!”

“We can’t risk them getting taken again! Their dads just got them back and now you want to put them in danger?!”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any other ideas!”

“Can you both please stop talking about us like we’re not here?!”

Erin and Walter went silent and looked toward the outburst.

Everyone was looking at Terry Jr., his brow furrowed in frustration.

“How about just asking us what we want to do instead of making the choice for us!”

“Yeah, we want to help! We can’t just sit here and do nothing while our dads are out there!” Sparrow spoke up.

Walter sighed. “Kids, we know you want to help but this is much too dangerous. We are fighting incredibly powerful people; you could get hurt or taken again! Then we’d be back at square one.”

“We’re not gonna wait around here while you guys are out there! You can’t keep us here!” Grant protested.

“Oh yes, I can! Even if I have to tie you to the door, you’re not going out there! It’s too dangerous!”

Walter felt a small tug on his sleeve, looking down he saw Paeden, unusually timid and afraid.

“Walter... Please... We can’t leave them...”

The bullywug stared back at the small boy before letting out a heavy sigh as he looked back up at the group of defiant tweens. He knew that only him and Erin wouldn’t be able to fight against the Omega Daddies, but putting these kids in the line of fire would be wildly irresponsible. But then again, he remembered how angry and scared he was when Paeden had gone missing and what he was willing to do to get him back.

“Ok. Fine. But we are taking every precaution! If things get bad, we retreat immediately. Understood?” He gave a pointed look to everyone in the room to make sure they knew how serious he was taking this.

 All of the kids nodded, letting out a collective sigh of relief.

“Ok, well now that you have all come to the sensible arrangement, maybe we should get a move on. Which kid are we nabbin’ first?” Figgs asked bluntly, already preparing to cast the portal.

“Gods, do you have to phrase it like that?” Erin cringed.

“What? We are nabbing kids, even if they should be nabbed, it’s still nabbing. So I ask again, who are we nabbin’ first?”

Lark and Sparrow stepped up.

“Our father is a powerful druid even as a child. It would be beneficial to acquire him first as he will be helpful in fighting the rest of our previous captors.” Lark explained.

“And he it would be smart to get another healer in case anything bad happens during the rest of the rescue missions.” Sparrow added.

Nobody argued, even if they wanted to. They all wanted to get their dads back as much as the others and Lark and Sparrow made some good points, though they all knew that this strategy was just their excuse to get their dad back as soon as possible.

Erin nodded. “Ok. You all should get ready, prepare however you can while Figgs and I work on this portal. Try to come up with a plan, a good one.”

The twins nodded and rejoined the rest of their small party and Walter to discuss strategies.

Though it was subtle, everyone could see the small glint in the Oak boys’ eyes. One that the other boys had only ever seen when someone dared to try and push one of the twins around. A look of complete and total determination and protectiveness. They were going to get their dad back no matter the cost. Because one thing you learn around the boys is that you never mess with an Oak.

[whump-me]

Whumptober Day 4: "You in there?"

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: defiant whumpee, torture, blood, electric shocks, near-drowning, guilt, car accident mentions, suicidal thoughts mentions, forced to watch, death whump

Words: 4100

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Without the rough rope binding him to the chair, Emory would have collapsed to the dirty concrete floor a long time ago. As it was, his chest ached with the effort of keeping himself upright. Or maybe it was the effort of keeping himself breathing.

Hot, thick blood spilled out from half a dozen different places, matting his pants to his legs as it dried, hardening on his bare chest and pulling at the skin. The smell of it made him gag every time he inhaled. One more reason it would be easier to just… stop.

But he didn’t have that option. His stubborn body, and his even more stubborn mind, were conspiring with his torturer to keep him alive through the pain no matter what.

The torturer leaned down. With two fingers, he tilted Emory’s chin up. Their eyes met. The torturer’s piercing blue gaze drilled all past his the pain of his body, all the way down into his soul.

“Are you still in there?” he asked, more like he was curious than anything else. “Is there anything left of you?”

in answer, Emory spat in the torturer’s face.

The torturer’s face darkened. He wiped the spit from his cheek with his sleeve. He dropped Emory’s chin and straightened. Emory’s chin fell heavily to his chest.

“More, then,” said the torturer, and stepped back. “Very well. I can keep going as long as I have to.”

What would it be this time? The knives? The lighter? The cattle prod? Emory’s whole body tensed in dread.

It would be so much easier if the torturer had any questions for him but that one.

He longed to give in. His exhausted body ached to give in. But he couldn’t do it, any more than he could force himself to stop breathing. What the torturer wanted from him was for his mind to give up, shut off, retreat. For him to be nothing but a shell, cracked and bleeding, with only blood and instincts inside.

That was something Emory couldn’t fake.

He was stronger than he had ever thought he was. He wished he weren’t.

He had never imagined he had this much defiance in him. He was a cliche of a weakling professor, all his strength in his mind and none in his body. He couldn’t even lift a grocery bag if it had more than a couple of cans in it. Adam used to tease him about it, about how he was perpetuating all the stereotypes about intellectuals by living up to them.

It wasn’t just his physical weakness. He was mild-mannered to a fault. Adam used to say that if someone walked up and punched Emory in the face, Emory would apologize for getting in the way of his attacker’s hand. Did all your suppressed rage go into your power? he had asked. Adam wasn’t Enhanced—he had no power of his own. He was endlessly curious about the genetic quirk that made Emory who was.

But that guess had been off the mark. Emory had no suppressed rage. If someone punched him in the face, he would probably not only apologize, but genuinely feel sorry. You should be angry about this, Adam had told him more than once—when he was passed over for a position that should have been his, when his sister never repaid the five-figure loan he had given her. You should learn to stand up for yourself.

But it wasn’t about being afraid to stand up for himself. Even when he knew he should feel angry, he just… didn’t. It wasn’t how he was built. He just wanted his relationships with everyone to run smoothly, even if that meant accepting the occasional injustice.

And yet here he was, spitting in his torturer’s face.

The torturer picked up the cattle prod. So that was what it would be, then.

Emory closed his eyes and pictured Adam. Adam telling him to be strong. Adam waiting for him to come home.

The thought of Adam was a blessing and a curse. If not for the way it bolstered him, maybe he would have given his torturer what he wanted by now.

The torturer jabbed the prongs into Emory’s exposed side. His muscles went rigid as the shock ripped through him. Emory didn’t think it should have been able to deliver a shock that strong. Maybe the man had modified it. Or maybe Emory had underestimated what an electric shock would feel like, to the extent that he had thought about it at all before waking up in this room.

The sound he made wasn’t even a proper scream. He had used all those up hours ago. It was a series of staccato moans. Even to his own ears, he barely sounded human.

The torturer withdrew the cattle prod. Emory gulped in the air as he sagged forward against the ropes. Breathing hurt. But his body persisted in doing it anyway.

His relief lasted less than two full breaths. Then the torturer touched the cattle prod to his other side, and his body convulsed against the ropes again. The scratchy rope dug into his chest, drawing blood.

Another moment of relief. Another few gasping breaths. Then another jab with the pod. And another. And another.

Until the small burn scars started overlapping with one another. Until he couldn’t open his lungs enough to draw a little breath. Until his muscles twitched uncontrollably even when the prongs weren’t touching him.

Sweat poured down his chest. He couldn’t lift his head. How long before his body hit the limit of what it could endure? How long before his mind was swallowed by the pain, obliterated like the torturer wanted?

Please, let it be soon.

The torturer set the cattle prod carefully down in the corner. Once more, he leaned down and grasped Emory’s chin between his fingers. Once more, their eyes met. “Are you still in there?”

Emory could tell from the disappointment in the torturer’s eyes that he already knew the answer.

He was still here.

Neither of them would get to end this yet.

“If you get what you want?” Emory gasped, “what use will I even be to you? You want me to work for you, don’t you? To join your little black ops project? I can’t take orders if there’s nothing left of me.”

“We don’t need your mind,” said the torturer. He tightened his grip on Emory’s chin. “We need your ability.”

“My mind controls my ability, dumbass.” Again, he marveled at himself as if from afar. Before this room, he didn’t think he had ever said the word dumbass in his life. Adam would have been proud of him.

“We’ve looked into the incident on file involving your power,” said the torturer. “Your intellect doesn’t control it. Your instincts do. That much was clear from the evidence.”

He closed his eyes at that. He didn’t like to think about what he had done before he knew what his power was, let alone how to control it. He still saw the faces of the dead in his mind almost every night before he went to sleep.

Adam was wrong about his suppressed rage. He didn’t have any of that. He truly didn’t. But fear… fear was another story. Emory was anxious, skittish, a walking stereotype in that way as well as all the others. Emory was, deep down, a giant coward.

All it had taken to trigger his power back then was a big enough shock, a rush of adrenaline into his system. A car rear-ending him from behind, shoving him sideways into the divider. A split second of panic, of I’m going to die—

He almost had. But not from the accident. It had taken a year of physical therapy to recover from the injuries his doctors had never been able to explain.

Five other people on the road that day had never gotten that chance.

He opened his eyes and held the torturer’s gaze. “If you read those files,” he said, “then you should know what happens if I don’t maintain extremely strict control.”

Control over his power. Control over his self. Fear didn’t master him anymore. He couldn’t afford it.

“I can’t choose what I take apart,” he continued. “Including myself.”

“That’s all right,” the torturer said, releasing his chin. “We only need to use you once.”

What target did they have in mind for him? Blowing up some military base on foreign soil? Assassinating some high-level government official? Whatever it was, the torturer’s casual tone told him he wouldn’t be coming back from it.

The torturer dragged something out of the corner and set it in front of the chair. It was a bucket full of oily-looking water. Emory stared into his own blood-streaked reflection and wished he hadn’t learned to keep such a tight grip on his own fear. Disappearing into a whirling storm of panic might have been a mercy.

The torturer tipped the chair forward. The man’s hands caught him halfway down, and lowered his head into the bucket.

Water filled his nose. It filled his mouth, tasting of mud and oil. The oil was smooth and bitter on his tongue. He coughed, and retched, and thrashed against the torturer’s grip. The rope and the torturer’s hands held him tight.

He imagined Adam’s hands holding him instead.

When his lungs spasmed and tried to draw in water, the torturer hauled him up and set the chair upright again. Emory vomited water and bile down his burned chest, and wished the torturer had left him under just one moment longer.

Again, the fingers under his chin, his head tilted up, the torturer’s voice. “Are you in there?”

He let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. A few last dribbles of water spilled out from his lips.

Yes, he was still here.

However much he wished he wasn’t.

“There’s nothing left for you but pain, you know.” The torturer’s voice was low, almost gentle. “What are you holding on for? Wouldn’t it be easier to just let it go?”

What was he holding on for? Sheer stubbornness, maybe—a stubbornness he hadn’t known he had in him, or the cursed strength of will that kept his power from spiraling out of control. He had learned that strength of will because the only alternative would have been to take his own life before he could take anyone else’s again. He had absorbed the lessons too deeply. He couldn’t relinquish that strength now.

But a different answer came to him as he choked and wept and tried to tug his chin free. It came in the form of a softly rounded face with hair hanging into his warm brown eyes.

It was Adam.

Of course it was. He hadn’t learned that strength of will alone.

At first, Adam had been just another face in the hospital support group during those first dark months. Then he had been the gentle voice on the phone, calling him up to make sure he was okay just because he had been quieter in the group that day than usual. He had been the pair of hands helping Emory down the stairs when his legs forgot months’ worth of progress from physical therapy and gave out on him.

And then, finally, he had been the first person Emory had confided in about what had really happened that night.

He hadn’t expected Adam to believe him. He hadn’t counted on Adam’s long-standing attraction to scientists and researchers and wimpy professor types. Adam had once dated someone who worked for some shadowy government organization that studied people like him. Maybe did more than study. Adam had left him the day he had gone into his files and read about the vivisections and secret breeding programs.

Adam was the one who had taught him the word Enhanced.

But Adam had given him something more important than a name for what he was. Adam had helped him forgive himself. And Adam had helped him learn control, so it would never happen again.

Adam was the answer to where he had found this maddening core of inner strength. Adam was out there waiting for him. He had to survive this, for Adam’s sake. And as long as Adam was out there, he had enough strength to endure.

“Adam,” he whispered, his voice rough from coughing up water.

The torturer released his chin.

Emory’s head drooped, but not before he saw the torturer give him a small, condescending smile. “Ah,” he said, like he had just been waiting to hear that name. “Are you ready to see him now?”

“What—” Emory began.

The torturer’s voice cut him off as he spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Bring him in.”

The door opened. Two guards marched in. Between them, they half-lead, half-dragged a spitting, snarling figure.

The figure’s face was bruised. His clothes were torn into many places to count, and blood leaked out from the torn places. His hair hung into his face, obscuring his features.

But Emory would have recognized the sound of Adam’s furious cursing anywhere.

Even as bruised and bleeding as Adam was, the guards still let out annoyed grunts at the effort it took to hold him. Adam wasn’t a wimpy intellectual stereotype himself. He just liked men who were. He was warm; he was gentle; but that wasn’t all he was.

Emory had no doubt he had given their captors a run for their money.

But here he was anyway, as helpless as Emory.

Adam looked up. Their eyes met.

When Adam saw him, he struggled against the guards with renewed strength. He let out another string of curses.

Emory just hung his head. “You don’t want him,” he said. “He’s not like me.”

“We know,” the torturer said. “We know everything about you, which means we know all about him. We know he was involved with one of our researchers a few years back. We know he’s the one who helped you recover from the incident.”

A pause. The torturer’s eyes glinted with cold light.

“And we know that when you have nothing left, he’s the one turn to. We’ve been saving him for this moment.”

“For what moment, you butchering bastards?” Adam spat, and Emory knew he was picturing the files he had seen on his ex’s computer.

“For the moment when Emory would have no resources of his own left to call on,” said the torturer. “For the moment when he would call out to you.” He turned back to Emory, stroking one finger down his wet and bloodstained cheek. “That means we’re finally making progress with you. I’ve peeled away the rest of your strength, little by little. Only one thing remains to take from you.”

Adam closed his eyes. “He means he’s going to kill me.” His voice was tight with anger, not the panic Emory would have felt in his position. “He’s going to kill me, and he’s going to make you watch.”

Even in the grip of the fear that clutched Emory then, he still maintained his control. The storm didn’t build inside him. Adam’s lessons had stuck that well.

“It won’t work.” His voice wasn’t fierce and furious like Adam’s. He sounded weak and defeated. Whatever impulse had led him to spit in the torturer’s face, it was long gone.

The torturer was right. There was finally nothing left to take from him.

Almost nothing.

“Keep him alive,” Emory said desperately. “Keep him alive, and I’ll do whatever you want. Isn’t that better for you? Wouldn’t you rather have full control of my power?”

“No,” Adam said, shaking his head desperately. “No, don’t you dare work for them, you know what they do…”

The torturer shook his head. “Too risky,” he said. “You could turn on us at any moment, if you’re left in full control of your faculties. Also, your power is at its strongest when your instincts take control.”

“I can learn to make it stronger without losing control.” Emory was begging now. So much for that well of inner strength he had resented when he had thought would never run dry. “And I won’t try anything. If I were going to do that, don’t you think I would have done it the second you stepped into this room?”

He had considered it. He could have taken the man apart molecule by molecule before he had said a word. But he hadn’t, because even though his fear didn’t master him, he was still a coward.

He had known that if he took the torturer apart, someone else would come, and someone else after that.

He hadn’t known how many he could take apart before they found a way to shut him down.

He hadn’t wanted to find out.

He had been afraid.

And so he had endured, and endured, and endured.

If he hadn’t, maybe Adam wouldn’t be standing in front of him right now, furious and bleeding and about to die. But he couldn’t change the choice he had made. He couldn’t change the kind of man he was.

“Please—” Emory said, and hated the whining in his voice. He hated it more than he had hated the strength that wouldn’t just let him give in.

Was the torturer right?

Was Adam really the only source of his strength? Had it never really been his at all?

Before he could finish the thought, before he could voice the rest of his plea, the torturer pulled out one of the knives he had used to draw long, slow lines of pain across Emory’s body. He thrust the blade into Adam’s chest.

Not through the heart. That would have been too quick. He slid it off to the side, into Adam’s left lung.

Emory should have known he would make it slow.

Adam jerked against the guards’ grip. He let out a wet, wheezing gasp. Blood trickled from his lips, down onto his torn clothes, and from there onto the dirty floor.

The torturer wiped the knife down with a cloth and tucked it away. He didn’t watch Adam, as if Adam’s slow death was beneath his notice. Instead, he focused intently on Emory’s face.

The guards, expressionless, held Adam’s dying body up.

“Adam—Adam, I’m sorry—” Emory cut himself off. His apologies were useless. What was there for him to say?

Adam shook his head. Telling Emory there was no need to apologize? Telling him his apologies were too little, too late? There was no way to know. Adam choked and gasped and gurgled, like he was trying to get a message out. But nothing intelligible came from his throat.

His eyes held Emory’s, like he was trying to silently impart that same message. But Emory didn’t know what he was trying to say.

All he saw was the warmth in Adam’s eyes slowly cooling, a dying fire, a dying man.

Emory didn’t know how long it took for Adam’s gasping breaths to quiet, for his twitches to still, for him to go limp in the guards’ arms. It felt like it took a hundred years. It felt like it happened in an instant.

The guards dropped Adam’s limp form onto the floor. Adam’s empty eyes stared up at the ceiling. There was no warmth left there anymore. There was nothing.

Emory’s throat was sore, like he had been pleading all that time, or screaming. He thought maybe he had been.

At last, the torturer stirred. He grasped Emory’s chin, and gently tilted his face away from Adam and up toward his eyes. “Are you still in there?” he asked again.

For the first time, Emory understood how the torturer might get what he wanted. He understood how the pain could be so bad that his mind would simply give up and slip away. All he wanted was to let his sorrow swallow him, to pull him under until he drowned.

But the torturer had been right about him. Without Adam, what was there holding him here? Without Adam, where was his strength?

Oblivion called to him. Before, he had longed to hear that call, but it had eluded him. Now he couldn’t imagine not answering. There was nothing holding him here. Not anymore.

And the longer he thought about Adam’s body, lying there empty at his feet, the more his fear grew. It wasn’t the fear he had grown used to living with. It wasn’t even the fear that kept him from attacking the torturer when he had first entered the room. This was the old panic. This was a hurricane sweeping the ground out from under him, battering him with its rains, twisting him in its winds.

Without Adam, he didn’t know which way was up. Without Adam, he didn’t know how to have control.

From the smile on the torturer’s face, he knew the torturer could see it.

He grasped for the last shreds of his control. The torturer must have been wrong. Adam couldn’t have been the only source of his strength. He wasn’t that weak.

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

And found the eye of the hurricane.

He saw the storm, and felt it, like it was a physical force. The battering, blinding fear of a life without Adam there to guide him and ground him and warm him. A life in the hands of his captors, a life of only pain and more pain.

The strength of his fear had made him despair, once. It had made him think, in those first dark months, of ending his life before something like the accident could happen again.

The torturer had been right, but also wrong. Adam had never been the only source of his strength.

He had been strong before he had ever met Adam.

He had learned one form of control. He had mastered his fear, and mastered his power. He had learned to see them both through impenetrable glass. He had weakened them until he couldn’t feel the force of them battering at his walls anymore.

But there was another type of strength. Another type of control. He could see it now, from where he stood in the eye of the hurricane.

He had never considered using it. Had never considered exploring the depths of what his power could do. The risks were too great.

But now…

Now, as the torturer had said, he only needed to do it once.

Maybe the torturer was right. Maybe oblivion was inevitable.

But he would make it the oblivion of his choosing.

He began with the torturer. He found the spaces within the man’s cells, where one molecule joined to another. Fear slipped inside those places. Fear of a world without Adam in it. Fear of the cattle prod, and the knife, and the bucket of water. Fear of disappearing like the torturer wanted, and fear of continuing to exist.

The torturer opened his mouth to scream.

Then he blew away on a nonexistent wind, and was gone.

The guards ran for the door. They never made it.

Now that the fear was loose, Emory couldn’t call it back. The chain reaction demanded to spread. The last time he had felt this, he had tried with everything in him to hold it back, and it hadn’t been enough. He had barely survived. Five others hadn’t been as lucky as him.

This time, he sat back in the eye of the hurricane, and he let it do whatever it wanted.

It spread through the walls, dissolving the bright light above him, turning to the ropes holding him to a fine gray dust. It spread through Adam’s body, returning him to the earth in a matter of instants.

And it spread into him.

Last time, he had barely held it back enough to save his own life. Now, with the momentum it already had, it was impossible to keep it out of his own body.

But he didn’t want to.

He would embrace the oblivion the torturer had wanted so badly for him. As long as he could take this place down with him.

Maybe he had some rage in him after all.

“Ask your question now,” he spat. “While you’re at it, ask yourself the same question. Are you still in there?”

There was nothing left of the torturer to answer.

A second later, there was nothing left of Emory, either.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

[comicavalcade]

Submariner Summer 28

Saludos mi gente, welcome to #SubmarinerSummer read through part 28, with Tales To Astonish #94: Helpless, At The Hands Of Dragorr! Namor getting manhandled right on the cover, too. And I'll say right now hold on to your bags and boards, people, this is a wild and long one

Title page has Namor holding the Council of War he promised last ish; surfacers pushing on Atlantis in general and Namor in particular too many times and Namor feels its time to act; the Warlords no surprise agree. Atlantean warlords are always ready for war against the surface.

Notes on the creative team: Lee is officially editor with Thomas on scripts, and we have THEE OG Bill Everett back on art. IMPERIUS REX! Also, not sure I mentioned him before but Simek is great on lettering, I dig his onomatopoeias, especially when he has them cross or break panels

At any rate, it falls on Dorma to warn about the consequences of war with the surface, that it might doom Atlantis. Which Namor himself said back when facing Krang and Attuma. So what gives? Well, Dorma asks Vashti, who has an interesting insight. And, a solo moment with Namor gives another

So, Namor has to prove to Atlanteans he's willing to fight for them so they don't turn on him. And he feels he has to humble the surface or they'll keep coming. Both are rather tragic in and of themselves. A third reason is likely proving to *himself* he doesn't have divided loyalties, as he wondered just that last issue:

But back to this ish, a strange message comes through, and Dorma delivers it to Namor. A dictator wants to conquer the world with Namor? Stealing from Dr Doom's playbook. Dorma warns its a trap, but Namor goes anyway. It is, of course, a trap, laid by...the Gnome?

Anyway, when Namor arrives, they catch him in their trap; at first Namor bides his time, but when they move him to meet the dictator Dragorr he busts loose. Unfortunately, their advanced weapons are enough to affect even Namor, and he comes before him anyway

This dude is Class A creep. Anyway, he has caught Namor first and foremost to use against local rebels opposing him. The rebels soon attack, and Namor is dispatched to take care of them. Namor wonders why he's being used. Against normal weapons, though, Namor is unstoppable

Namor gets his answer of why him; his presence breaks the rebel's spirits. Being away from the ocean starts to drain his strength as usual, but Dragorr's super-science rays reenergize him and pull him back to the castle. He remains defiant against Dragorr, though

In Atlantis, Dorma hears that Namor is helping Dragorr, which sounds off to her. So, she has herself a badass fashion moment and sets off to rescue her prince in distress. Once there she gets the rebels to help her and-we're told Dorma knows Spanish! ¡Chévere! And then she rescues Namor! 🤩

Dorma and Namor then encounter Dragorr himself, but the dictator isn't what he appears; a little speed and strength by Namor, a little water by Dorma, and the jig is up; there is no Dragorr! It was the Gnome in a robot all along!

Weird

The Gnome tries to jump out of a window, but he's caught in a net, angry they didn't let him unalive himself? Yikes. The rebels are grateful to Namor, but he's not having it from surfacers anymore after being used as a tool (not that he was before), though Dorma tries to calm him. With that, they depart for Atlantis.

So a lot of weird Silver Age mad science going on, a fake "Latin-American" dictator of a fictional Latin-American country plot, sort of with a bit of supervillain switcheroo, ending with attempted self-harm, and Namor now angrier than ever.

But wow, need *that* Dorma more often!

That's all we get for now, though. We'll have to see what the story has in store for Namor and Dorma NEXT in Tales to Astonish #95: The POWER Of The Plunderer!

[mzdsanalysis]

Wei Wuxian’s Actions and Morality:

I am kind of confused on some parts, and i would really appreciate it if someone is willing to discuss it with me. It’s regarding Wei Wuxian, and his exact involvement in the events at the Accident at Qiongqi Path and Bloodbath of Nightless City.

Now, at the accident at Quiongqi path, Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning were just going to Koi tower for the full month celebration to which they had been invited to. Jin Zixun ambushes and threatens to kill him if he doesn’t remove the hundred hole curse. Wei wuxian tries to explain that he didn’t cast the curse and isn’t guilty (admittedly he could have done it in a better way). Jin zixun doesn’t believe him and continues to threaten him. Jin Zixuan appears, tries to diffuse the tension, but still insists that wei wuxian comes along to answer the accusations. Wei wuxian doesn’t believe him (he isn’t wrong to. Guys show up with a whole gang, accuse him of something he didn’t do, and then ask him willingly to come along to “resolve” the issue, though they had spent the past year slandering him and wanting to murder the people he is trying to protect. Just getting into his perspective of things.) Wei wuxian gets angry and accuses Jin zixuan of being on the whole thing, and is agitated and afraid. Which is when he loses control of the resentful energy, which extends to his control of wen ning, and that’s how wen ning, not currently being in control of his body, punches a hole into Jin Zixuan and kills him. Now, automatically, I am going to absolve Wen Ning of any guilt. He is literally NOT in control of his own body. He did that due to the Wei wuxian controlling him with resentful energy. But Wei wuxian also isn’t completely guilty. He was upset, confused, and to some extent scared. But not even subconsciously was he planning or intending to kill Jin zixuan. He lost control over the resentful energy. He put wen ning is a specific state, and then lost control over him, due to not being able to regulate his own emotions during the whole chaos. An accident. An accident that led to someone innocent being killed, but an accident none the less.

Now, I expect different peoples take on this is going to deviate somewhat and that’s fine. I am cool with it. In my opinion, he isn’t completely guilty, but is still responsible. He did not have the intention to kill Jin zixuan, but he DID kill him. It was because of the resentful energy that he was still learning about and how to control it. But if you are going to use a knife after everyone telling you it’s dangerous – although they are doing it just because they don’t want you to have the knife, they want themselves having the knife, while at the same time threating to kill your friends, so you don’t exactly have a choice, but use a freaking knife to, you know, NOT DIE – when you accidently stab someone, it’s still somewhat on you. Lan Zhan had warned him that it could end up badly if he did loose control over the resentful energy and wen ning, and wei wuxian dismissed it. But it was still something he was experimenting with and researching, and hadn’t completely figured out. So it’s not like he didn’t care or was dismissing that it was a bad thing, just that he genuinely didn’t think it would happen. He has been controlling it so far, and everything has been fine, and since he doesn’t exactly have any other options, he will have to continue using it, despite the arguments on the dangers of it.

Now, the bloodbath at Nightless City. Wei wuxian already knows at this point that wen ning and wen qing are dead, and he heads there to atleast collect their ashes and bring them back. When he arrives at the pledge conference, all the sects attending, all 3000, are collected together, and Jin Guangshan makes his speech. He announced that both wens are dead, and then spreads the ashes, the ones Wei ying had come to collect. Then announces that they were going on next day to kill the rest of wens anyway, along with wei ying, to loud applause from the crowd in attendance. Its only then wei wuxian makes his presence known. Before that, he was just listening on. Jin Guangshan makes some more accusations: at Qiongqi Path wei wuxian killed Lanlingjin sect members, the ones jin zixun brought to ambush him, and that wei ying is the one who made wen ning go in a rampage at koi tower (a lie. While jin zixuan’s death at wen ning – actually wei wuxian’s – was an accident, the rampage at koi tower, as we know for a fact, wasn’t an accident (confirmed by MXTX’s interview.) I am not sure if it was mentioned in the book, but from what I can recall, it was xue yang. I might be wrong, but it was still done on Jin Guangshan’s orders. So the deaths of members of the other sect’s members, Lan and Nie, and the others, lie not at wei wuxian’s feet but Jin Guangshan’s. Wei wuxian doesn’t take the accusations silently, and argues back: he was the one who was ambushed, who almost got killed. He has every right to defend himself against the men Jin Zixun brought to attack and kill him. The crowd says he shouldn’t have been so heartless, and in wei wuxian’s own words: no matter what the other sects throw at him, no matter how hard they try to harm and kill him, he is not allowed to touch them, harm their members, defend himself or fight back even if it cost him his life. The sects throw in their final arguments in:

Even if he was fighting back, it doesn’t account for the 130 people who died at koi tower at hands of wen ning.

He shouldn’t defend the wens. They are horrible and evil and guilty and deserve to die.

He is only doing it for his pride, and to prove himself a hero.

He laid the curse on Jin zixun.

Each of them are easily nullified.

Wei wuxian didn’t cause wen’s ning rampage. Jin Guangshan did. The 130 lives are on his own hands, not wei wuxians.

People aren’t guilty by association, especially by family relation. None of the wen remnants have any blood on their hands. They are from wen qing’s branch and are non-combatants, thus they were not involved in any of the Wen Ruhon’s actions. Nor were they involved in at the accident at Qiongqi Path or Koi tower. They are innocent.

The argument about his pride came from their attitude towards him from before his defection. They had admired his powers and were intimated by it, but didn’t like that he belonged to Jiang sect, and wasn’t willing to change his loyalties to belong to them instead. He also dared being defiant and outspoken, and powerful while being a servant’s son, and that’s a crime of it’s own in their eyes. Is wei wuxian’s slightly arrogant? Yes. Is he wrong to be? No, he is very powerful and is aware of what he is capable of. Is that a reason to hate him enough to want to kill him? No! wth

He laid the curse on Jin Zixun. He didn’t. Su she did. Jin Guangshan and Guangyo were aware of that, and still sent zixun to ambush wei ying anyway.

None of their accusation hold any weight to them. Admittedly, we know that because we read the book and these characters aren’t exactly able to do that. The only people here who know about it are Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao, who planned the whole thing in the first place. So, I am not going to paint these people as all evil. Some of the sect’s members did die. Some of these people have actually the right to be angry at what happened, though the anger is pointed in the wrong direction.

But the rest of the people are there because of the mob mentality. Because someone is guilty, someone needs to be punished. Here its 50 people and wei ying, one of their own ex members. But because they are not worth the effort, none of it needs to be investigated, to be proven. They have an available party to hold guilty, and it’s far too comfortable for them to put it on their heads rather than find the actually accountable people.

To an extent, it really does seem, by the proofs handfed to them by Jin Guangshan, the wei ying is guilty, That he actually did it. But don’t they owe to the 50 wen members who are about to be slaughtered like cattle, for no other reason than being associated with Wen sect and Wei wuxian, for atleast one of them to look a bit harder, to try a bit harder? I would say so. Wei ying would too. I don’t think the other sects would agree with us, but it’s ancient china society, and modern war ethics and laws aren’t exactly in place to prevent them from doing so.

Back to Wei ying, he gets shot at by a disciple. It actually pierces him, just by luck not in a fatal place but only by a fluke. It was aimed at the heart. The intention to kill was there.  He fires the arrow back, kills back the guy who tried to kill him. I don’t know exactly how anyone could hold him completely in the wrong here. We might not like it, but wei ying is not some pure white angel, nor a pacifist by any means. He is a soldier, a fighter, and he is amidst people who are literally moving to kill him by any means, and he just got an almost kill-shot. He has every right to defend himself, fight back, and honestly, kill back anyone who is trying to kill him. Eye for an eye, punch for a punch. It’s ruthlessly fair, despite sounding harsh. Honestly, it is harsh, but it’s not wrong, wither we like it or not.

He calls forth his dead, the battle begins. Lan Wangji tries to get him to stop, but it doesn’t work. There are definite tones of a sort of deliriousness. I am not exactly sure to how severe it was, but it shows he wasn’t exactly in an emotional and mental fit state. It’s definitely obvious when he tries to make his way to Yanli, and is too worked up to control the corpses crowding around, and the one standing behind Jiang Yanli. He is only able to do it when yanli asks him to stop it all so that she could tell him what she had wanted to tell him. He forces himself to calm down, and is only then able to control the corpses. (I am not saying the deliriousness was severe enough to absolve him of any responsibility he does hold in the event; I am merely acknowledging it’s presence.)

Then Jiang Yanli gets killed by the bow guy’s brother, and that when thing’s go from going downhill to just jumping right off the cliff. But unfortunately, MXTXs writing doesn’t exactly let us to be a witness to the scene, so the curtains close, and we are only allowed to make our assumptions on what happened, who/how/how many exactly died.

The point of this bloody essay is to determine the exactly how much of the event was Wei wuxian involved and responsibly for, so I can examine wei wuxian’s morality with all facts present.

If we go according to the book, wei ying:

Used some pretty grotesque methods to kill in the sunshot campaign

Allowed/ made Wen Ning kill his killers at Qiongqi Path

Accidentally killed Jin Zixuan

Kill Jin Zixun and his men after their ambush

Got in a fight on the way to the pledge conference with a group of cultivators: he broke one’s nose, kicked out his teeth, and made another fall and break his legs (not a severe injury according to lan wangji)

Fought in Bloodbath at Nightless city (after they had made the announcement, they were going ahead with the attack on the wen remnants and wen ying)

I am only including actions that me, anyone else (or the character’s) could possibly hold against him and question his morality with.

Here is where my confusion comes in. Now, I made the mistake of reading the novel only after finishing the tv show. As we know, the tv show took some liberties with the plotline and altered a few things. I honestly like a lot of the changes. Usually when tv shows make changes like that, it doesn’t always work out and it kind of depletes the essence of the story, but they actually managed it quite well. But one of the key changes were the plotlines around the Qiongqi Path accident and nightless city.

Divergences in the tv show:

At Qiongqi Path, Su she’s flute is what makes Wen Ning kill Jin Zixuan (+ Jin Zixun) rather than wei wuxian loosing control due to his emotions.

At the bloodbath, Su She playing the flute is what stopped wei wuxian from halting the battle and loose control of the fierce corpses.

(+ by the time of the battle, the wen remnants were already dead, so wei wuxian’s fight becomes more about revenge and grief rather than to protect them)

Basically, they abbreviated a lot of his action to other people. Which I understand, I guess. You are less in the character’s head while watching the tv show rather than when you are reading the book, and for the audience to develop a better and more empathetic relationship with a lead character, liberties needed to be taken to make him more sympathetic.

My debate on his morality, hence, is more focused on the book character rather the tv show (honestly, since even his only 2 serious offences are not even his fault in the show.) but in the book, they kind of are. He did kill Jin Zixuan: accidentally. He had no intention whatsoever of him doing it; not subconsciously or consciously. He was just feeling agitated and angry and viewed Jin Zixuan as a threat, and Wen Ning, who was in his fierce corpse state, interpreted as a need to kill jin Zixuan.

The only way you could put this against him is if you hold him responsible of using such an unstable and dangerous form of cultivation/magic. But he already gave an answer for that, which none of us can argue against: he didn’t have choice. He never did with demonic cultivation.

He started using it in the Burial mounds to survive and make it out.

He used it to seek justice for his sects massacre (go ahead and debate the need for that if you need to. I don’t)

He used it to fight in the Sunshot campaign, and he was a MAJOR force in the campaign, and a enormous contributor to it’s success. Could they still have won if he hadn’t been with them? Maybe, sure. But if there was any risk to loosing them, and wen sect remained undefeated, Jiang chen and yanli and wei wuxian were as good as dead. No way they or the other sects who had raised arms against wen sect would have been allowed to live or survive.

He used it to save Wen Ning and other wen remnants: war prisoners who were undergoing severe abuse and were basically being killed off. For no reason than being wens. Yes, I know it was common in ancient china to kill off the whole family. But it’s not right. Wei wuxian doesn’t think so. And neither do i.

He used it to bring back Wen Ning for Wen qing.

-  I don’t know where I read it that he brought him back for protection or as a weapon. He didn’t. He was pissed at what they did to him, and brought him to allow him to tell wei ying who had kill him then allowed him to get his revenge. He than made him sentient because he had promise wen qing & the other wen members that he could bring him back. He promised his sister that he could bring her brother back. That’s why.

He used it to protect burial mounds and the wen remnants: A bunch of non-combatant members that he had grown to love and care about as family. As you can see here:

“ He turned around, knowing that it’d be a long time before he’s get to see the people he was familiar with again.

But…right now, wasn’t he on his way to seeing people he was familiar with as well?”

He used it to fight back during the ambush. He doesn’t have a gold core; He literally cant wield a sword to defend himself. So he uses it to summon corpses to fight against Jin Zixun’s men.

·       He uses it to fight in the Bloodbath of Nightless City, after Jin Guangshan announced that they were going ahead with killing the rest of the wens and wei ying, and the attending crowd voiced out their excitement over the prospect.

 Second, the bloodbath at nightless city. Yes, it was a very brutal battle with many casualties. But these people were planning to kill him and the wens. They had decided it by the time he spoke up. It was a definite thing that was going to happen.

 Now you can argue against the use of violence, and need of it. But while I am very anti-war myself, I still hold to the belief that there are some fights that are worth fighting for, that need to be fought for. The wen remnants were innocent, and no one, NO ONE, had the right to decide they needed to die just because they were wens. They were innocent people. They had not actively killed or participated in the massacre that the main wen sect had conducted, and being blood relations to the actual guilty party is not an indication of being guilty too.

You could also argue the value of 3000 lives against 50. I have seen people do it, and write metas about. But whats the value of 1 life or 10 or 50? How are we supposed to decide who deserve to live more? How is that anyway moral?

Wei wuxian didn’t act to choose one group of lives over the other. He did it to protect himself and the people he cared about, and that meant fighting against anyone who was actively intending to kill and harm them, and was an acting threat. As human being who, like any other being, has the right to defend himself, to protect himself, to survive and be able to live. 3000 people wanting to kill him, and wens doesn’t take away his right to do that. There isn’t a rule that if enough people want you dead and murdered, rightly or not, you should just let them go ahead with it and turn your belly up. That…just doesn’t make sense?

I am in acceptance that he is a grey character, with his flaws and his merits. What I am confused about is exactly how much black and white went into making his grey. Maybe because I watched tv show and read the novel at the about same time, I feel like I am missing something. Did I miss anything? Did he do anything else? Am I wrong? What do other people think? Where do you guys lie on your judgment of wei wuxian as person and on his moral stance?

[minty-mumbles]

Sunkissed Scales

Summary: The last thing Time expected to do today was meet a Siren that got caught up in the fishing nets. Unfortunately for him, that was exactly what happened.

Or

I make a Pirate AU, and Wind is literally the only character who isn't a pirate. I live for chaos.

Read it on AO3 here

~~~

Time was used to loud commotions on his ship. His small crew of seven were as good as family, but goddess, could their arguments be loud sometimes. Normally, the noise went away quickly.

Conflict didn’t tend to linger, and even those who held the most animosity for each other, like Legend and Warriors, knew better than to let a grudge stand. Out at sea, there was nowhere to go to escape each other. On top of that, sailing was not easy. It could be dangerous at times. They needed to be able to work together like a well oiled machine at a moments’ notice.

Even if a big argument did crop up, Time was usually confident that his second mate, Twilight, would be able to sort them out. The man was good at calming hot tempers and staying the hands of those who would draw weapons.

But Twilight’s skills with negotiation were rarely needed, like Time said. True arguments are rare.

So when screaming broke out above deck, Time knew he should probably be concerned. He had been in his cabin, reading a letter from his wife that he had picked up at the last port. He had just gotten through the first page of the letter when a shriek rang out. Time waited for a moment to see if Twilight or even Warriors would be able to smooth the situation over.

Unfortunately for his good mood, the shrieking did not go away.

And they did not sound like happy shrieks.

Several loud voices joined in the commotion. Time couldn’t pick out individual words, or even who specifically was yelling, but the panic and anger in the voices was clear.

Okay, this was sounding a lot less like there was an argument, or like it was just the boys having fun and messing around. It was starting to sound a lot more like someone was hurt.

Time threw down his letter, and swiftly exited the room.

When he reached the deck, chaos awaited him. Twilight and Warriors were indeed trying to calm down their fellow crewmates. They weren’t being overly successful. Four had squirreled himself away up the rigging. He seemed to be content to watch the disarray from a safe distance, where he wasn’t likely to be trampled. Wild was right next to him, munching on an apple, enjoying the chaos. (Time really needed to talk to him about where he kept getting apples in the middle of the ocean.)

And there in the center of it all were Legend, Sky, and Hyrule. Legend was yelling, flushed with anger in a way Time had never seen from him before. Sky and Hyrule were both standing protectively in front of the fishing net, which was hanging above the deck. They were seemingly shielding it from the irate veteran.

However, what drew his eye, or rather, his ear, immediately was none of that chaos. It was the screaming coming from said net.

Time paused, taking a moment to assess the situation before rushing in. Dealing with this would take a delicate touch.

Curled up in the net, currently screeching his head off, was a Siren.

Sirens were infamous creatures of the sea. There were plenty of myths and legends surrounding their kind, but most sailors could agree that actually seeing one was usually a bad sign. Their voices were powerful, and when they put their minds to it, their songs could enchant sailors into dreams filled with their victim’s deepest desire, so they would never wish to leave.

Time knew that most of his crew had never seen a Siren before. They had talked about it, though. Some of the crew, including Wild, Four, Warriors, Hyrule, and Twilight, had neutral opinions regarding the creatures. None of them had met one before, so had no reason to form opinions, besides being generally wary.

Sky was one of those that adhered to the old belief that Sirens were creatures sent by the Goddess Hylia to look after seas, much like she had sent the Koroks to tend to the forests of Hyrule.

Legend, however, had remained silent, giving off such angry energy that no one had dared to ask him his opinion on the subject, and the conversation moved on quickly. Time suspected he had had a bad encounter with a siren before. A very bad one, that he had not moved on from.

Time had not contributed to that particular conversion, and he couldn’t blame Legend for his sullenness on the topic, not when he himself had been much the same when he was younger.

Time strode forward quickly, calling for peace and for those quarreling to cease, just for a moment. They obeyed. Four and Wild came down from the rigging, with Warriors and Twilight backing off. Hyrule nervously shifted away from where he was standing.

Legend was reluctant to back down until Time put a calming hand on his shoulder. Sky didn’t move from where he was standing protectively in front of the net until Legend did, but eventually, everyone was relatively calm. Even the Siren had quieted down, staring intently around at all of them. His eyes gleamed, tracking all of their movements carefully, but refusing to meet any of their eyes.

Time took a second to assess the Siren in turn, taking in his appearance. He looked young, although perhaps he was entering he teen years. He was much too small to be fully grown, at any rate.

There was no way someone could mistake this creature as anything other than a Siren. For the chest up, he looked mostly Hylian, save for the fins sprouting from the side of his head, which were a bit too big for him. He probably needed to grow into them.

He was blonde, which wasn’t uncommon in Hyrule. Most of Time’s own crew had blond hair, but this siren’s locks put them all to shame. Even wet, the color was not dulled, and it gleamed like gold under the midday sun. The boy had sunkissed tan skin, from spending his life in the shallows that that they were currently sailing through. For the most part, he looked like any boy you might see in a seaside town.

However, his chest was where that illusion got shattered. Along his ribs, gills were pressed firmly closed against the salty air. Creeping along the sides of his torso, following the lines of his gills, the Siren’s scales glimmered blue in the sun, occasionally flashing an iridescent green. At the Siren’s waist, the scales wrapped completely around his body, and where legs would be on any normal Hylian, instead there was a long powerful tail.

At first glance, Time thought his scales were rippled with white, but upon closer inspection, he could see that the white stripes were actually scars. Many of them, covering not only his tail, but also his torso. There was even a rather large one criss crossing over his gills, and several small nicks on his ear fins.

He wore very little, only an orange sash wrapped around his hips, and a simple necklace with a chunk of pink coral on it. A pair of binoculars were attached to his sash.

The most concerning thing was the blood dripping from him onto the deck. For a moment, Time wondered if Legend had gotten to the creature before Sky or Hyrule could stop him. But he could see that it was the net causing him harm. It was wrapped around his tail, cutting into his fins.

Time wanted to groan and bury his face in his hands. Thankfully, he resisted the urge. He needed to show a calm face for his crew. First thing to sort out…

He turned to Legend, who was still silently seething under Time’s hand. “What happened?” His tone wasn’t demanding, but it was obvious it wasn’t a request. Legend didn’t seem reluctant to tell him though.

“I was just hauling up the net, and that,” he shot a glare at the Siren, who met his gaze steadily, “was trapped in the net. I was trying to take care of the problem before he could kill us all, but someone stopped me.” Here, he shot a look of ire at Sky and Hyrule.

Before Time could respond to that, Sky snapped back. “You can’t just kill him. He’s a creation of the goddess. If we do, she might cast divine judgment on us. We might as well release him. We’re taking a risk either way.”

Hyrule also offered their own opinion. “You can't just attack him because he could kill us, Legend. If you acted that way all the time, you would have to kill all of us.” Time raised an eyebrow in surprise at that. Hyrule rarely went against anything Legend said, even if they disagreed with their mentor, simply out of respect. But, Time supposed, Hyrule’s fairy blood made them familiar with people wanting to kill them just for their ancestry.

Time considered, but ultimately knew he would not condemn this boy to death because of Legend’s hatred of Sirens.

“Cut him down.” Time demanded, drawing his knife and handing it off to Hyrule. He kept his watchful eye on the young siren. He may be willing to set him free, but he would not tolerate him trying to hurt one of his crew.

Legend held out an arm to stop Hyrule before they could draw close to the creature. “That,” Legend hissed, “is a Siren. He could ensnare us all in his spell at any time, and none of us would be able to do anything about it.” True anger and hurt was seeping into his tone now, “He could trap us in illusions, show us our deepest desires, and none of us would even know until we wake up. If we wake up.”

Time let Legend say his piece, but ultimately, as Captain, he had final say. “And yet, he hasn’t done so. I have dealt with sirens before,” This earned him shocked looks from his entire crew, which he ignored. “It is better to cut him free rather than risk being cursed. Sirens do not just lull people to sleep with songs of desire. They can also command the sea, and they only get more powerful as they age. This one probably doesn't pose much of a threat to us. But I’d bet anything his guardian will.”

Time nodded at Hyrule. “Do it.”

Hyrule nodded, keeping an eye on the trussed up siren in the net as they stepped forward. The Siren, his eyes wide and defiant, watched Hyrule step forwards. When he saw the knife the sailor held, the Siren started thrashing.

Time sighed. He had sent Hyrule to do the job of cutting the siren free because they were the least intimidating person in the entire crew. Hyrule was also very unassuming, unlike many on Time’s small crew. They were the least likely to frighten the young siren right away.

(Well, maybe Hyrule wasn’t the least physically intimidating, thought Time, with a quick glance in the smithy’s direction. But, well... to be honest, Time wasn’t even sure the Smithy was even tall enough to do the job of cutting the Siren free.)

On top of that, Hyrule always seemed to give off a calming energy. This, Time knew, was due to their fairy heritage. He wasn’t sure if the calming effect would work on the Siren, as he was a magical creature himself, but every advantage would help them.

Unfortunately, although the Siren had been relatively calm at first sight of Hyrule approaching, the sight of the knife they held had pushed him into panic.

Hyrule shakily wiped their sweaty palms on their pants, and set to work.

It was slow going. Hyrule was obviously skittish, and fearful of the creature. They startled back at every movement he made. Thankfully, the Siren had stopped thrashing around once he realized that Hyrule was indeed setting him free, and was not gutting him with the knife they carried.

After a few minutes, with only minimal progress made, Time relented, and motioned Warriors forward to help Hyrule. With the two of them working together, it was only a few minutes before the net was cut and the Siren slithered to the floor.

He didn’t immediately throw himself over the side of the ship, which Time didn’t know whether to be thankful for or not.

On one hand, if the Siren left now, he would probably be grateful to the crew for setting him free and not killing him, and that would be that. No curses involved.

On the other hand, the boy was still bleeding. Already a puddle was forming under him on deck. He needed medical attention.

Hyrule, seeing the same, took a tentative step forward. He was obviously still a little shaken by the creature. (Despite being magical themself, Hyrule rarely encountered magical creatures besides other fairies that hadn’t automatically tried to kill them. Time could understand their hesitation.) They had put aside their discomfort at the sight of someone in need of help, the healer in them overriding their caution.

Instead of Legend, it was Time who stopped them this time. “Wait. Let me go first.”

“Uhhh, are you sure that's a good idea?” Warriors cautioned. ”You can be kind of intimidating on a good day. We don’t want him to panic. Even more.”

Time tilted his head to show he heard, but started forward anyways. The Siren hissed at his approach, scrambling back against the railings, Time could see now that the wounds on his tail were deep. The Siren likely wouldn’t be able to swim without great discomfort or pain for a good while. This was worse than Time thought.

As Time drew closer, the Siren flared his fins, baring his unnaturally long teeth. A guttural hiss escaped him, but Time didn't back down.

He kept an even pace, drawing closer slowly.

Time could see the moment the Siren actually got a good look at his face, and laid eyes on the markings there. His demeanor immediately went from fearful and defiant to eager and astonished. A single word slipped out of his mouth, spoken in the guttural songs of the deep.

“Kin.”

And indeed, the Siren was right. The blue V on his forehead marked him as a Siren-Friend. And the red marks under his eye, the ones he saw reflected back at him from the cheek of the young guppy, marked Time as good as kin to him.

While the Siren examined Time’s face, Time took the time to do the same. In the tattoos on his body, Time could read the status of this child. Humans usually would not be privy to the markings’ meanings. Humans also should not usually be able to innately understand Tempest Tongue, the language of Sirens.

Most humans, however, had not been possessed by the spirit of an ancient Siren that was trapped forever more inside a mask.

Time was just special like that.

This guppy was remarkably well decorated for one his age. Normally a Siren his age would only have their family markings, but this one had much more than that. Not that Time should be surprised. This Siren was descended from the very same, immensely powerful, Siren that Time himself had known.

The two red marks under his eye showed this affiliation. The rest of his family would have the same mark. Around his left wrist were tattooed thick black bands, the marks of a warrior. They announced to the world that this boy had bested enemies more powerful and fearsome than him, and that he was skilled in combat.

Up that same arm, symbols speaking of his deeds were placed. There was an hourglass on his shoulder. The gold sand inside the tattoo was slowly trickling downwards. Time was shocked to see the tattoo moving, but shook it off. That the Siren’s tattoos were moving was not the most shocking thing he’d seen today. Siren’s were proficient in magic, after all. Lower down on the boy’s arm, some sort of wand was pictured, with multicolored music notes slowly floating around it.

The crest of Hylia featured prominently across the Siren’s chest, the Triforce gleaming gold. This proclaimed the wearer’s loyalty to the Goddess, and such a tattoo wasn’t only worn by Sirens. Many of Time’s crew wore similar marks on their own bodies. Underneath that, the symbol of the Goddess Farore was worn proudly, in the traditional green.

Along with the permanent marks on him, he had doodles swirled around his back, drawn with a water resistant paint. Little pictures of fish and seagulls littered his back, while a line of hermit crabs marched down the boy’s right arm. The lines were unsteady, obviously drawn by a young child’s hand, even younger than the child before them.

Time’s eyes wandered back to the Siren’s, and was shocked to see that, for the first time, the boy would meet his eyes. He seemed to be pleased with what he had found in his own examination of Time, and was much more relaxed.

The Siren breathed out a relieved sigh. The only thing he did before slumping into Time’s arms, unconscious, was to breathe out the same word from earlier, this time in common Hylian.

“Kin.”

~~~

Several months later, Time once again heard screaming from above deck.

It sounded much less panicked than those screams half a year later. He stood and stretched out his legs. He had been plotting their new course for free hours now, and might as well take a break. He strolled out of the room.

Up on the deck, the scene he was met with was reminiscent of the one he had found the day they met Wind.

Most of the crew had paused in their work to take in the spectacle. Legend was the one screaming, but there was no true anger in his gaze this time. Hyrule was again trying to hold him back, but was made weak by the laughter they couldn’t hold back.

And there, draped over the railing of the ship, was the newest addition to the crew.

(Well, Time thought privately, it was less like he was an addition, and more like he had just refused to leave the ship for long, even once he was healed.)

Taking in the veteran’s soaked appearance, it was obvious what had happened, even if Legend's screeches of “If you splash me one more time, I’m going to find a way to drown you, gills be damned!” didn’t tip him off.

He smiled, leaning against the mast of the ship. He took an apple from Wild, content to eat it and watch the show.

[zponds]

AG 007 - "Tree's a Crowd"

Since Ash got Treecko in the new version of AG 001 - “Get the Show on the Road!”, it’d be very important to go over the new version of AG 007 - “Tree’s a Crowd”. In the new version of this episode, Ash does NOT catch the wild Treecko he befriended at the giant tree, as he already has one that he got from Professor Birch when May got Torchic and Brendan got Mudkip. 

And the plot is just below, so I hope you all enjoy reading it. ^^

The group finds themselves lost in Petalburg Woods, and Max argues with May that they have gotten lost in the woods. May simply replies there were cute flowers in the path they took and reminds Max the PokéNav should show the right way. Max replies they are out of the PokéNav's service. Brock separates May and Max, since arguing won't get them anywhere. Ash claims he, Brock and, Misty have gotten lost many times and didn't make much fuss about it. However, May and Max, still angry at each other, aren't amused by this. Ash spots something moving in trees, which, on closer inspection, is a Treecko. More wild Treeckos appear across the treetops. This catches the attention of May and Max. He says that he had wanted one since he first saw one at Professor Birch's lab. He quickly tosses a Poké Ball, but the Treecko bats it away with its tail, and May sarcastically reminds Ash that he already has a Treecko. Their talk is cut short when Brock notices that the Treeckos are running away. Ash runs off to chase after the Treeckos, while May taunts Max, angering him for his slowness.

Ash sees what looks like a huge, odd tree up ahead. Unfortunately, he doesn't pay attention to where he's going and falls face first down a steep hill. When he looks up, he sees that the tree is right in front of him, and it's massive. It's more than twice as tall as all the other trees in the forest. Ash comments that it looks almost magical, but he notices that it has no leaves and looks somewhat dead. Suddenly a sharp twig lands in the ground right in front of Ash's face. He looks up and sees an angry-looking Treecko sitting on a branch with another twig in its hand. Ash challenges the Treecko to a battle. Treecko leaps into action, jumping between the branches before spitting its twig at Ash’r Treecko. Ash’s Treecko dodges, but the wild Treecko lands next to him and delivers a powerful whack with its tail. Treecko taunts Ash’s Treecko, urging him to attack. Ash’s Treecko rushes towards his opponent, though the wild Treecko dodges and strikes Ash’s Treecko again with its tail.

Meanwhile, Team Rocket watch on and are mildly impressed with Treecko's reflexes. Meowth explains that Treecko would make a great masseur for Giovanni. The boss fantasy sets the Rocket trio's sights on capturing the Treecko for themselves. Ash, his Treecko, and Pikachu soon find themselves surrounded by a large group of wild Treecko. An older Treecko attempts to talk to the one that Ash just battled, but is yelled at and pushed backwards. The other Treecko look pretty mad, but the old Treecko urges them not to attack. Jessie is excited because she loves watching other people's troubles, and asks Meowth for a translation. The old Treecko says that the tree is going to die and all the Treecko need to move to another tree. However, the other Treecko remains defiant, replying that it was born on that tree and isn't going to give up on it, no matter what. The sentiment really moves James and Meowth, but Jessie doesn't think it's very heroic at all, since life is full of change. She explains all about this, until they notice that all the Treecko are leaving except for one. Once the others are out of sight, that Treecko rushes off too. Ash is prepared to follow it, but Pikachu and Ash’s Treecko have a better idea, so they stake out in the tree.

Brock has since cooked up a meal for him and the others to enjoy. While May, Brock and Max are having lunch, having no idea what Ash and Pikachu are doing. Max asks May how can she be hungry if Ash and Pikachu might be in danger. May threatens Max and wonders if he isn't going to eat his food. Brock believes as long as Pikachu is with Ash, they are fine, promising they could search for them after they would eat their dessert. As the sun sets, Ash, his Treecko, and Pikachu are still waiting at the old tree. Ash decides to send Taillow to look for his friends, since he's afraid they might be worried about him. As soon as Taillow flies away, Treecko appears carrying a leaf full of water. It carefully waters the tree before placing some dry leaves down to keep the ground from drying up again. Treecko goes off to get more water, as Ash wonders whether if it's too late to save the tree. As darkness falls, he, his Treecko, and Pikachu start to help the wild Treecko water the tree. It's angry at first, but it warms up to them when it realizes they just want to help.

As the four return from collecting more water, they hear a commotion and discover that Team Rocket is using a bulldozer to ram all the trees, knocking the sleeping Treecko into their net. When they spot Ash, Pikachu, and both Treeckoa, Team Rocket charges at them, sending them flying. After their motto, they take off in their waiting balloon, now covered in neon lights, with all the Treecko in a cage. Ash orders Pikachu to use Thunderbolt, but it turns out that the lights were actually electricity blockers. Ash calls for Taillow, but he quickly remembers that he sent Taillow away to find the others. Team Rocket takes the opportunity to grab Pikachu in a net. But the Treecko that Ash befriended and Ash’s own Treecko weren’t caught in the net, and both are angry. The wild Treecko spits its twig at the balloon, but it just bounces off. Team Rocket laughs, and James sends out his Cacnea. Ash doesn't recognize Cacnea, declaring the trio must have stolen it as he checks it out in his Pokédex. Treecko leaps from the top of a tree into the balloon, and starts attacking Team Rocket. Jessie steps backwards and accidentally hits the button that releases the trapped Pokemon. Treecko leaps onto the balloon itself and taunts Cacnea. Cacnea responds angrily with a Pin Missile, but Treecko evades and the attack punctures the balloon instead. The Treeckos free Pikachu and they all abandon ship as the balloon flies off into the distance, sending Team Rocket blasting off. 

The elderly Treecko then apologizes to the wild Treecko by waging its tail to the other one, but the wild Treecko still doesn't want to give up on the tree. Everything seems to be going well until the giant tree suddenly splits in two. The Treecko try to hold it together and Ash gets a rope out of his backpack, but they are stopped when the sun rises, illuminating the tree beautifully. As they look on, Ash and the Treecko have some sort of vision of the tree's life from a seed to the majestic tree it used to be. But the imagining fades and they're only looking at a split, dead tree again, and the two halves suddenly split even more and they fall over completely. A seed rolls from the wreckage and stops at Treecko's feet. Ash takes this as a sign of gratitude from the tree for trying so hard to save it. But Treecko doesn't take kindly to this suggestion and hits Ash. He realizes that Treecko is trying to tell him it's ready to battle.

Brock, May, Taillow and Max arrive to witness the battle as it begins. Pikachu uses Thunderbolt, which Treecko dodges multiple times, before finally scoring a hit. However, Treecko doesn't seem to have taken much damage, and Max reminds them that Electric attacks aren't very effective on Grass-type Pokémon. Ash calls for a Quick Attack, which Treecko dodges. However the evasion manoeuvre leaves Treecko vulnerable, and Pikachu delivers a lot of damage with a Thunderbolt. Treecko hits the ground, knocked out. Max doesn't understand what happened, but Brock explains that usually Electric attacks don't work well because the Grass Pokémon can diffuse the electricity into the ground. Brock also explains that when Treecko was in air, the Thunderbolt had much more effect, as usually electricity is absorbed into the ground. Ash congratulates Pikachu, and the the elderly one gives him one of the seeds from the tree. The seed, however, spouted out a new plant. The wild Treecko promptly plants it, before biding farewell to Ash and his friends as the other wild Treeckos care for the newly sprouted tree. 

And that is the new plot for the new version of “Tree’s a Crowd”. I hope you all enjoyed reading this. ^^

TRIVIA

1. Since Ash already has a Treecko from Professor Birch, there’s no need for him to catch another one. However, Ash does befriends the wind Treecko, as does his own Treecko. 2. The wild Treecko that Ash battles wants to battle as a way of showing the elder Treecko and the other wild Treeckos that it’s capable of staying with the old tree no matter what. 

[stan-joonies]

Enemies From The Start But Lovers For Eternity

With Victoria and her newborn army, the Quiluete tribe have seen a small increase in the teens that have been prompted to phase.

One of those being Y/N L/N. If Sam Uley could choose who he wanted to shift, it would not be him.

He was tempermental, even before the shift, now it was multiplied by three, something they didn't have time to deal with. He lashed out, had a disregard for the rules and had a fierce hero complex. He believed with his new abilities, he'd save everyone.

What Sam Uley had to admit though, was his Wolf was absolutely stunning.

His coat was almost pure white, small flecks of light brown covering his body. His paws feathered with black fur and his snout a dark black.

Y/N snorted.

"Fantasizing about me, Uley?"

Sam growled in warning, snapping his jaws at the smaller wolf.

"Don't start, this is serious,"

Y/n rolled his eyes at Paul, pausing when a sickly scent washed over him and poisoned his senses. It was chemical and synthetic, tingling unpleasantly.

Paul pushed him from behind.

"Hurry up, newbie,"

A growl rose in his throat, turning sharply to snap at his packmate's face.

"Stop it!"

Sam made his way between them, locking eyes with Y/N.

"Enough or you go back home,"

With a final roll of his eyes and defiant growl, he turned around and headed towards their destination, shaking his head in desperation to shake of the awful scent.

When they got to a hill, Y/N almost slipped when they went down the steep dip, nipping at one of the others when they snorted.

Before them was the Cullen Coven, The Cold Ones.

On instinct, his hackles rose and he let out a low growl, shaking his head when his head filled with the pack making snide remarks about his control.

"I'm fine!" He insisted, not looking into their eyes, instead focusing on the people infront of them.

He disregarded most of what was being said, out of naivety. The Cold Ones can't be that strong.

"He's not paying attention,"

Y/N looked to his packmates, only to realise he was talking to him.

Y/N scoffed.

"I don't need some old dead guys to teach me how to fight."

The ginger echoed what he thought, gaining a tense look from the long haired vampire. He ignored it though, raising his head defiantly.

"Come over here then," a burly one suggested, pretending to crack his knuckles. "I can show you,"

Y/N put a step towards the boarder, earning an intense growl from Sam.

"It's the only way he'll learn." The blonde one said. "I wont hurt him too much,"

The cockiness infuriated him, so in one large leap he was over to their side, growling at the blonde.

In one fluid motion he attacked, don't give your enemy time to breath.

Yet, Y/N was naive. Young. Inexperienced.

That rule didn't apply to vampires, they don't need recovery time. They don't need time to breath.

Jasper was two steps ahead, blocking and hitting him in all his weak spots.

Then, with a hand on a furry throat, her launched him and the wolf into the ground, a whimper coming from the white wolf.

Jasper turned, explaining where he went wrong before turning back to the shifter, fully prepared to lecture him too, but he froze.

Their eyes connected and for Y/N, the world tilted on its axis. Everything fell away. This person, the one on top of him, was his. He must protect him or he fails. He is important. The only thing that matters.

Meanwhile, the pack were filling his head with shouts and curses.

"Is that possible?"

"What is--"

"No fucking way--"

"Y/N! You--"

"He imprinted," Edward filled in, looking to the Cullens.

"But--" Bella began, looking to Alice. "Alice is--"

Jasper stumbled slightly, running across the field and to Alice, grabbing her close by the waist as if setting claim on himself and her.

Y/N had rolled onto his paws, shaking his head in confusion. He didn't have to look at the vampire again to know the feeling of rejection and emptiness that coursed through him like lightning. Sharp, quick yet so strongly painful.

"Y/N?" Seth's voice trickled into his head, only slightly shaking him out of his shock. "Are you--"

Sam snarled, jumping the invisible line before darting to Y/N and grabbing his by his pelt, dragging his roughly back to their side of the treaty.

"What are they doing?" Bella questioned, shaking at the sight of those powerful jaws digging into furry skin. "They're hurting him--"

"I think we're done here," Sam echoed, turning and dragging the boys frozen form with him.

"Edward!"

"It's not our place, Bella," he muttered gently.

"But--Jasper!" She turned to the southern vampire, who just scowled.

"My place is by Alice," He stated. "Nobody else,"

Bella matched his stare with her own.

"He couldn't help it, it's not his fault so don't blame it on him,"

-

Finally, Y/N came to his senses, shaking off Sam and licking his pelt clean.

"I don't wanna hear it," Y/N grumbled. "It's not like i wanted that to happen,"

"Are you ok?"

Sam's voice shocked him, his wolf turning to look at the Alpha.

"We felt it too, y'know," Paul added, coming to his side.

Y/N snorted.

"What part? The imprinting or the rejection?"

He tried to laugh it off, but everyone just looked at him with eyes of pity, making his hackles rise.

Without another thought, he ran into the forest, away from those looks and away from rejection.

-

The next time Y/N interacted with the Cullens was during the battlefield.

Y/N had trained on his own for the past couple months, maturing when the idea of battle came closer.

He as fighting three angry vampires that each tried to rip out his pelt.

Annoyingly, half his focus was on Jasper. Making sure no vampire snuck up on him and checking for injuries.

This cost him many scratches and attacks from newborns. He already recieved a nasty scratch over the eye, something so deep and bloody in his wolf form that he was afraid of what it would look like when he shifted back.

Just when he was getting overwhelmed, another body joined him, ripping heads off with perfect, dainty hands.

When he turned, he ached with the knowledge that it was his Imprints mate, his girlfriend, his wife, his forever.

This girl was the reason he couldn't get his happy ending.

But who was he to put that against Jasper? The last couple of months he turned twenty, though the pack noted that since the incident a couple months ago, he hasn't changed physically. That thought scared Y/N to the core. The bond with Jasper gave him a more fragile immortality, but it was immortality no less. So, he would unwillingly outlive his pack, his parents, his children, for a guy he doesn't even know.

Suddenly, a vampire was on him, strangling him tightly and he felt his bones crunch for a second.

Yet, Alice came to his rescue, flinging him off.

Y/N looked at her, nodding her thanks yet freezing halfway through.

Their eyes met. His gravity shifted. One person. Two people. Two people who hold his world. The only two that matter.

Jasper stopped his fight, looking to them. The shock, fear, anger, resentment, rolled off them in waves and almost choked Jasper with it.

But he saw a dark blur zooming across the field, right for Alice. The way the blur moved made Jasper queasy. One hit and both of them would be flying over the mountain.

Pulling himself out of it, he charged, heading straight for her.

Y/N smelt it before he heard it.

The chemical, sickenly sweet, synthetic smell coming towards them. Then he looked and saw the blur seconds away from Alice.

Instinct took contol, jumping infront of Alice and growling. The growl shook the stones and made the snow quiver and melt in fear.

Two bodies, completely opposite to eachother, slammed against one another.

Both toppling over the mountain...

-

Sam felt it before the rest of them, the numbness and the break of a special bond. With all the newborns cleared, he let out a howl, something that sounded so broken and fragile and something that was echoed by the others.

Sam ran to the cliff, his pack running behind him.

Jasper and Alice were there, looking over the cliff and talking rapidly.

They shuffled out of the way when Sam made it to the edge, his body leaning over. He couldn't see anything this far.

So he turned and made his way down the slope with his pack.

-

"What happened?" Bella muttered, looking at the Cullens gathering by the cliff edge.

"It was one of the wolves," Carlisle supplied helpfully.

"It was Y/N, he stepped infront of me but was thrown over the cliff. " clutching her hands to her chest, Alice's voice sounded sorrowful. "I felt it Jasper, he did it to me too!"

Jasper held her tighter, not knowing which emotion to feel.

He would be an awful liar to say he hadn't thought of Y/N constantly in the months past.

He did. Almost everyday and night, but he had Alice and Alice was his mate for eternity. To think Y/N had also imprinted on Alice was something remarkable in itself.

Yet, no hopes rose when the wolves didn't ascend the cliffs.

-

The wolves shifted back into their human forms, running forward and crouching over where Y/N was lying in a broken heap.

His limbs were disfigured, splayed and broken in all angles. Blood seeped from his neck and chest and arms. The stench poisoning their sensitive noses.

Sam crouched near him, rough fingers resting on his neck.

"Go get Carlisle!" He ordered. "He's breathing,"

But Carlisle was already there, jumping from the mountain and landing near them, sounding like a crack of thunder.

He quickly set to work, mumbling under his breath.

"His bones are healing in the wrong places. I'll need to break them again." The doctor turned to the wolves. "Take him back. I'll come as quickly as i can,"

Sam nodded, picking him up, giving a thankful glance to Paul when he readily shifted and let him put Y/N on his back.

They scaled back up the mountain, glancing at the Cullens briefly before disappearing into the forest.

-

The third time Y/N saw them, he wasn't self-aware of himself. He was dosed up on drugs to ease the pain and it made him feel slightly light headed.

Instead of seeing solid figures, everyone was slightly blurry and disfigured.

He was aware of someone holding his hand, it was a freezing cold, dainty hand.

"He'll be fine soon," someone assured. "With his accelerated healing, I'd give it three days."

"Poor kid." Another voice sighed. "He may be an absolute prick, but he tries his darn best."

There was a pause, Y/N groaning as the hand around his tightened.

"Stop looking at her like that," a voice chimed.

"Why? It's her fault this happened."

"She was in shock," the same voice retorted. "It's not everyday to get imprinted on,"

"And you'd know all about that wouldn't you?" Snarling rose up into the room.

"Can everyone shut up?" Y/N snapped. "I'm trying to relax," he felt only a phantom of the pain he would feel had he not been drugged up, yet it was still harsh enough to make him want to clench his jaw.

"Sorry," a voice beside him whispered.

"What happened?"

So they retold his story. Him grimancing at every gory detail as if he felt the pain again.

"Can i have a moment alone with Jasper and Alice?" He heard shuffling, blurs leaving the room. Two stayed, the one beside his bed and one in the corner.

"Are you feeling ok, Y/N?"

He was barely able to lift his head do he hummed instead.

"I'm sorry. I should've seen him coming. But--"

"It's fine. I feel like we were both occupied."

Silence.

"So, you remember then?" A masculine voice.

"I have great memory..." he uttered, shifting slightly when an itch crawled up his spine.

They sat in silence, each consumed by their own thoughts, Alice trying to see the future, knowing it was pointless.

"What's going to become of this then?" Y/N felt like shrinking into the sheets. Though he felt like he matured he was still dipping his toe in the embarrassing mindset of a teenager and hated these serious talks, especially when he led them .

"An...imprint," Jasper began. "Can be anything, right?"

Y/N felt dread in his stomach at the thought.

"Friends, siblings, protectors, lovers, anything the imprintee wants, it's my job to make you happy," he said it with such a lack on enthusiasm that even Jasper winced.

"So, that's what we'll be, friends. "

Y/N heard Alice's low whisper of 'Jasper' and almost felt warm to it.

"Of course," he shifted again. "Friends."

He could just make out Jasper nodding gratefully, coming forward to pull Alice away, ignoring her protests and leaving Y/N alone.

Y/N, when he first learned of imprints, was overjoyed. He was a true romantic at heart, yearning for the everlasting, true love an imprint can bring. He imagined him at 30, a beautiful girl next to him with at least one child playing in the garden. Then, as the sun would set they'd all lay on the couch, snuggled together and watch a disney movie. Then, when their child would go to sleep him and his wife would take him into his room, tuck him in and then go to bed themselves, content with the day and happy.

That seemed so far away now. Everything about that vision was wrong. He'd never have that. Even if he tried to date, the Imprint would win every time. That person would not know about his double life, would have to understand they aren't, and never would be, the most important thing in his life.

So, with that in mind, he shifted once more and closed his eyes, trying to will the dream of a perfect family away.

-

Y/N really didn't see his imprints that much. When the feeling of emptiness and hurt would crawl up behind him, Sam would give him permission to cross the border and hang around the Cullens home, never inside, but close enough. Sometimes Alice would come out, offer him some new clothes while petting his fur, then when he'd changed they'd walk around the forest, laughing and bonding over the smallest of things.

It was those times Y/N understood that Imprints are soulmates, matched perfectly to the imprinter. Yet, no matter how his feelings for Alice grew, he always fought with himself to give them the space appropriate to pass as friends, out of respect for Jasper, who he hasn't seen since he was bedridden.

When he recieved an invitation to Bella's wedding, his mum took him straight out to look for a new suit.

He obviously would've accepted anyway. Alice and Jasper were there, Bella too, who he'd admit wasn't as bad as the others claimed her to be.

So, he stood by Billy Black and Seth's side, watching the newlyweds dance with eachother, no space left between their bodies.

Jasper and Alice was across from him, Alice appreciating the suit while Jasper denied any 'checking out' his mate claimed he was doing.

"Why fight it Jasper?" Alice questioned quietly, squeezing his hand. "You feel it too, so why do you keep your distance?"

But Alice knew. Jasper didn't want to stand out. He never did. Having a boyfriend AND a girlfriend and having them dating eachother? That was an attention beacon that the blonde didn't want.

He shook himself out of his thoughts when Alice left his side, going straight for Y/N.

"Care to dance, Y/N?" Alice held out a dainty hand. "Jasper has as much right as you do," she added when his eyes immediately fell to Jasper.

Hesitantly, Y/N took her hand and led her to the dancefloor.

"I'll warn you that I'm not a very good dancer,"

Alice giggled, eyes lighting up.

"You can step on my feet if you want, I'll dance for the both of us," She teased.

Y/N rolled his eyes, a flush presenting itself on his cheeks.

"Very funny," He twirled her, admiring the way her dress danced with her. "This makes you look like a real fairy,"

They locked eyes, both smiling gently.

Everything faded away. The music. The people. It was only them. Their bodies swayed naturally closer, their chests pressed up against one another, their faces inches away from kissing. Alice felt his breath fanning her face like gentle kisses.

"We can't do this," He whispered, yet made no effort to move away. "You can't do this to me. It's cruel."

"What am i doing, Y/N/N?"

"You're waving the thing i want most right under my nose, but when i go to take it, you'll snatch it away," he uttered, eyes casting down to her lips.

"Well..." her hands came up to circle around his neck. "If you want something enough you just got to take it, do you want it that much?"

He didn't answer, instead, he swayed closer and Alice did the same. When their lips brushed it was as if every barrier broke. Their lips came together, their arms wrapping around eachother.

It was not fireworks. It was not explosive. But it was what Y/N needed. What Alice needed. What Jasper refused to allow him to have.

When they broke away, they saw Jasper retreat to the house in quick step, trying not to attract attention.

Y/N's heart ached for him. One dam broke and without that one the other dam was struggling and wouldn't hold up for long.

"Come on!" Alice dragged him in the direction of his house, ignoring her protests.

"Alice! We should give him time," But Alice shook her head and continued, up the stairs, down the corridor, through a door.

Jasper sat on a double bed, looking out of a window and his shoulders tensed.

"Jazz," Alice began, squeezing Y/N's hand. "We're going to be ok,"

Jasper shook his head silently.

"The times have changed. Jasper, this isn't as taboo as our times." He ignored her.

She sighed, looking at Y/N and letting go of his hand.

He almost whined in protests but yelped instead when she shoved him next to Jasper and forcing him to sit next to him, while she took his other side.

The silence dragged on for a couple minutes, Y/N couldn't help but fidget his his fingers. But a hand came inbetween both his own, holding his right hand in a tight grip.

Jasper still wasn't looking at him, but his face was concentrated, looking past the window. Past the trees. Past the sky. Far away.

Y/N smiled lightly, squeezing his hand in return.

It was something fragile but it was enough.

-

Y/N smiled as he came out the forest, arms ready and prepared when a 15 year old Renesmee jumped into his arms.

"Uncle Y/N!" She giggled, kissing him on the cheek.

"Hey Georgous,"

Bella came out to greet them, smiling at the h/c-ette.

"She missed you." Bella brung him in for a quick hug.

"Only two weeks," he assured. "I'm back now."

"Thank god," someone laughed, a small figure running towards him, colliding with him chest and making the shifter let out an 'oof'.

"Missed you too, Alice," He melted into her touch, bringing her as close as he can.

Going onto her tiptoes, She whispered into the shell of his ear.

"Jasper's waiting upstairs."

Y/N grinned, nodding. Even with the years that have passed, Jasper was still sensitive to showing public affection outside, mainly with Y/N. It sometimes brought the wolf down but centuries of homophobia doesn't disapear in one night, so Y/N was willing to wait.

He made his way to their room, opening it gently and smiling when Jasper turned to greet him with a matching smile.

He easily accepted Jasper's hug, melting when he kissed his cheek gently.

"Wow..." he sighed. "You must've really missed me," his arm tightened around his waist teasingly.

"Shut up," the blonde mumbled, pressing another to his forehead.

Y/N was willing to wait, they had forever.

[abbacchios-sunflower]

Welcome Aboard Part 1

Wow, finally made my tweaks and got to posting this akshlkjaslk, I’ve had a busy month, anyways, part 1 of my collab with @dongiovannaswife is finally here! A bit of an origin story if you will ^-^ Thanks Lena for working on it with me! <3

*****

“Hey let me go! What the fuck?!”

 “Shit, great, a civilian’s involved now, just our luck,” Mista rounded the corner and brandished his gun when he saw their target restraining a smaller girl, the sex pistols appearing around him, soon to be followed by Narancia and Abbacchio. “Alright cazzo, let the girl go and get this over with. It’s over for you.”

 The others behind Mista took notice the girl was staring at something, namely at Aerosmith, then in the direction of the pistols’ too.

 “No, you and your little buddies, are going to let me go and never come poking around again, the don’s going to forget about lil ol me and leave my business alone or she’ll get it.” Emiliano threatened, pulling the girl closer to him as his stand’s razor sharp blades for nails drew closer to her face. “Come on, I know that bleeding heart would get upset to hear a poor little girl got hurt because of his men!”

 “So she is a stand user like I thought,” Abbacchio muttered, seeing as how she was staring at the enemy’s stand as it grew closer to her face, the target not even noticing.

 “That good or bad?” Narancia could barely get out before a pinkish glow lit the alleyway up.

 “I said, let me go!” the girl snapped; a combusting in ball of fire appeared that knocked the Mafioso off of her, at least half his face scorched from the look of it. Emiliano used the shock to get away. She looked back to the other three and scowled, “what!? You wanna go too!? He’s getting away!”

 “Holy shit,” Narancia breathed, a smile cracking on his face, “an American stand user, cool.”

 Deeming the three not a threat to her, her stand pulled in closer to her again. “You’re… not from here, are you?” she swallowed, picking up on their accents and the fact that they were definitely not native English speakers.

 “You know, thanks to you that guy got away!” Abbacchio shoved past Mista and Narancia so he could lean down to get in the girls face with his usual scowl. “So thanks for nothing.”

 “Like you were any help to me just now!” She spat back, her stand hissing behind her. “You just stood there and watched that asshole try and rip my face off!”

 Abbacchio rolled his eyes and turned on a heel, gesturing to the other two, “let’s go, we’ll let Fugo and Bucciarati know what happened just now, we’ll reconvene at the hotel before going after him again.” He ordered the younger pair.

 “Ugh fine,” Mista looked back to the girl and her stand, “I- hey are you sure we couldn’t use a little extra muscle on this one? You also weren’t exactly very nice to her just now, she’s kinda owed an explanation.” He elbowed Abbacchio who was ignoring them.

 “You’re welcome for weakening him for you I guess!” She shouted after them, but they disappeared around the corner. Frustrated, she ran after them. “Hey! Are you idiots listening to me!?”

 “Buzz off, we don’t need some little girl’s help— aah!” Abbacchio waved his hand when her stand appeared in front of the trio, all of them flinching, especially after what they just saw it do before.

 “First off, I’m not a kid, second… I’ve never met anyone around here that can see her,” she walked around to speak to them more. “Who are you assholes and why are you here? Oh, and was that jerk with you?” She demanded.

 Narancia opened his mouth to freely answer all the questions when Abbacchio pulled him back, “this doesn’t concern you, so what if we also have stands? We don’t owe you anything. Come on; let’s go before he gets too far.”

 “We’re a part of the Italian mafia!” Narancia quickly blurted out before Abbacchio grabbed the younger yet again and covered his mouth.

 “Nara!”

 The girl laughed, “You expect me to believe that?” She frowned, looking them over again, “then again, after what just happened, I could believe it I guess,” she frowned. “So was that guy some traitor then? Did he escape and make it all the way over here and you’re trying to punish him?”

 Mista lowered his guard more, contemplating also telling her a little more, “Guess you can say that, he’s just causing a lot of trouble, okay? He needs to be taken care of.” He holstered his gun.

 “I want in,” she spoke again after a moment of silence.

 “Uh, no,” Abbacchio decided, but she got in front of them again, defiant. “Go home kid.”

 “He threatened to kill me; I still have to let Crazy finish the job-”

 “Wait, who?” Narancia asked.

 “My stand,” she pointed to the pink and blue flaming humanoid figure. “It’s short for Crazy=Genius.” She explained. “She sets things on fire and makes explosions... well, when I get angry anyways.”

 “Great, another volatile stand, sounds like Purple Haze all over again,” Abbacchio muttered.

 Mista looked back at the other two, “come on, what’s the harm in letting her help? Besides, as one of the don’s right hand men, I have seniority over you, I am a capo now after all,” He looked back with a smirk before, extending his hand to the girl, “Mista, that’s Narancia, the big cazzo over there is Abbacchio.”

 “Marissa- well, call me Mar,” she took it, smirking back. “So you are with the mafia, damn,” she chuckled a bit, “never thought I’d meet the real deal.” She shoved her hands back in her pockets and started heading off in a different direction, “the guy went this way so this will be our best bet.”

 “Thanks but we don’t need your help tracking someone down, that’s my job,” Abbacchio continued the other way. “Right now we need to regroup and let the others know what happened so we can move in together.”

 Mista shook his head and gestured for the others to follow.

 *****

“You know, I’m surprised you of all people let her follow you guys around.” Bruno sounded amused as they followed Moody Blue’s playback of their target from the alley he got scorched in. “No doubt Giorno will have concerns when we report in.”

 “Mista flashed his seniority card and I didn’t have a choice but to accept it- You have that look.” Abbacchio grumbled.

 “What look?”

 The taller laughed, “The look you always get when you want to adopt another kid.” He pointed out, looking over his shoulder at the girl talking with the other members of his team as he got in front of his stand more, always paranoid about showing newcomers Moody Blues. “But we know even less about her than when Giovanna first joined.”

 “Maybe that’s why I like her, she reminds me a little of him; I just hope you won’t feed her piss too,” Bruno smirked knowingly, turning back to Moody who had stalled, finding they were in front of a warehouse that was locked. Of course that was no trouble for them as Sticky Fingers appeared, unzipping the door and stepping through first.

 “Looks like it’s all here,” Fugo shook his head, looking at the crates that filled the small building. “This was everything that wasn’t accounted for back in the Sicilia warehouses owned by Volpe. This also means he’ll be back soon, I’m guessing tonight.”

 “Awesome! A stakeout!” Narancia cheered.

 Marissa walked over to one of the opened crates and frowned. “I thought it was a mafia thing to distribute drugs, you guys are kind of weird— I mean, not that I condone drugs myself, but you know… Unless I’m making rude assumptions…?”

 Bruno closed the lid on the crate, “our organization doesn’t run on such things, not anymore.”

 “How do you make all your money then?” she raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the answer.

 “Embezzlement,” Mista bluntly stated. “Protection fees, assassination, you name it!”

 “Just no drugs?”

 Fugo rolled his eyes and further poked around the place, “we may be the mafia, but have some morals. Our leaders just happen to despise drugs.”

 “How honorable,” she dryly replied, well, who was she to judge? She looked around more, curious if there was anything else to find, “You know, my stand can torch this entire place right here and now if you want. I’ve tested it before, it’s pretty powerful and nothing but ash would be left behind.”

 Abbacchio scoffed, heading back to the front door of the building where the zipper portal still was active. “And you’re a pyromaniac arsonist from what I’ve gathered; I don’t think you have room to talk about morality. Now let’s get set up so we can grab this guy when he comes back. ”

  One could hardly call it a fair fight, after Emiliano had returned to the warehouse to start moving his shipment out, they made quick work of him, using Crazy=Genius to torch the place and ensure that their target was dead and the drugs burned up along with him.

  “Consider it mission complete then, we leave for Napoli day after tomorrow, we’re ahead of schedule,” Bruno pocketed his phone as he informed the others who were drinking and unwinding from the fight before; though it wasn’t that much of a fight, six on one? Even with a stand as strong as his Nine Inch Nails, it was built for close combat while his opponents had ranged attacks.

 “Well, I better get back home before it gets too late and my parents worry,” Marissa got up and grabbed her jacket. “I had fun, guess I can officially say life will be infinitely boring from tonight on,” she joked when she was stopped.

 “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy having your stand to help out,” Bruno admitted. “You don’t seem to have much practice with her though.”

 “What? You wanna help me train her?” The girl was expecting some kind of joke, but he looked serious. “I can’t just up and leave and move to a whole new country on a whim… to join the fucking mafia too? Sorry, but I think this was more than enough for me for a lifetime.”

 “Just give it some thought tonight,” Bruno patted her shoulder, “I once heard that stand users attract other stand users, some kind of fate; I’m just saying, maybe there was a reason we crossed paths, because I know a liar when I see one, and you don’t really want to go on with a normal life. Right?”

 She got quiet after that one, but shrugged his hand off her shoulder, “I need to get back home.”

 “You know where to find us if you change your mind before Thursday.”

 *****

“Wait!”

 The five turned their heads when they heard a familiar voice.

 “Hold up… phew, shit, I’m not used to running,” Marissa placed her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “I… I still have some stuff I’d need to come back for if I did go, but,” she swallowed, avoiding their eyes, “I’d like to go back with you guys. J-Just to scope the place out for a week or two, see if I’ll like it or not,” she added on.

 “Wooo! New teammate! Trish is gonna be so excited for another girl to hang out with!” Narancia grinned.

 “I’m sure she gets sick of all of you constantly bothering her, but yes, I supposed you’re right about that. Plus it’s always beneficial to have a team full of varying abilities and powers; we could certainly use another powerhouse. I think Giorno and the Speedwagon Foundation would be interested in studying her and her stand,” Fugo turned away, ready to start off.

 “Don’t get ahead of yourselves now, she’s just visiting for a couple of weeks, no promises, she’s free to decline any offers we make her,” Bruno had reminded the other three.

 The young woman awkwardly smiled as the others seemed to welcome her, of course Abbacchio kept silent, aloof as when she met him a few days ago. It didn’t matter, she found it fun to tease him; anything could get under that guy’s skin.

 Whatever the group’s reaction to a potential new teammate, she followed them as they left their hotel.

 *****

“Yeah,” Bruno nods as he speaks into the phone, eyes trailing to Fugo briefly as he makes sure the call is safe.

 “We’re just heading to the plane —she’s coming with us in hopes of your approval, since Mista already said yes.”

 There is silence for a moment while Giorno speaks back, whatever he was saying making Bruno tense. The atmosphere changes momentarily as Sticky Fingers’ user looks out the window, watching as the businesses go by.

 “Yeah,” he mutters after a moment, low and calm despite his rigid posture. “I’ll let them know.” Silence settles in as he lowers his eyes into the floor of the car, seeming to study his own shoes as he listens to the boss on the other side of the line. “Of course, Gi —Don.”

 The call ends even before he can end it himself. With the team’s attention upon him, Bruno takes a deep sigh, closing his eyes and letting them open slowly as his sight falls into Mista, who’s right before him. “He’s not pleased —at all.”

 Abbacchio scoffs, rolling his eyes. He’s sitting by Mista’s side. “That brat is never happy with other’s decisions —he thinks he’s the only one allowed to make moves. Why name Mista his right hand if he won’t let him take part in the decisions?”

 Bruno raises an eyebrow, “Are you on her side now? I thought you thought the same.”

 “Do not misinterpret me.” He snarls back, “I don’t approve of this idiot’s decision. I’m just saying I don’t understand Giovanna.”

 Narancia laughs, short and lighthearted: mocking still. “Yeah, yeah, whatever —you’re not fooling anyone.”

 Abbacchio growls, shooting a glare at the boy, “Do you want Giovanna to know you got a broken nose?”

 “Oh?” Narancia smirks, leaning into Leone’s personal space, “So you care about what he has to say?”

 Before he can reply or even try to make his word true, Bruno speaks over them. Rough and commanding. “Enough.” He directs his attention back to Mista, who has been waiting to speak. With a curt nod from Bruno, Mista finally talks.

 “I’ll talk with him —I’m sure his discontent falls upon her being a civilian and getting involved, huh?”

 “A part of it, yes.” Bruno nods, adding last. “That, and the sudden reveal of information to her played into it.” He directs his attention to Narancia, who’s trying to sink into his seat. “He wants to talk with you, too.”

 Abbacchio chuckles —dark and mocking.

 Mista sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, maybe if I ask the Donna for a bit of help, he’ll soften?”

 Bruno shakes his head. “That won’t work.”

 “How do you know?”

 Bruno looks through the window for a moment, silence settling in before he turns back to the group, giving them all a brief look. “The call was on speaker. She heard it all and although she didn’t say anything I could tell they are on the same page.”

 Abbacchio rolls his eyes, mumbling something intelligible under his breath.

 “Are you done?” Marissa cuts through the conversation suddenly. “I’m still here and listening to you all.”

 “Oh, sorry, Queen of England” Abbacchio snarls, frowning as he looks through the window.

 The rest is silence before Mista murmurs. “At least we made the job.” 

[muse-oleum]

What did you want to show me?

Kingsman: Harry Hart x fem!reader

Prompt #67: “Let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules”

Summary: Another honeypot because it’s Harry Hart. Pulsating sexual tension and rough sex at the other end. Thank me later. 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: smutty af; swearing

When you get to the smut piece, play this, it’s my thot anthem. 

As a new Kingsman recruit, and one out of a grand total of two female recruits, you naturally drew attention to yourself. 

That, and your fiery, feisty and general no-bullshit nature. In fact, if half of Kingsman was enthralled by you, the other half stayed well clear of you. 

You’d been put forward by agent Bedivere, who knew what she was about. She’d been in your shoes only a handful of years before, and was a friend before a mentor. Thanks to her guidance, you made it to the very last round, and passed your last task with flying colors. 

Apart from Bedivere, Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin (even though he professed he “didn’t do favorites”), there was one other agent who was secretly glad of your enrollment. 

Agent Galahad, 6ft2, in his early fifties, with a killer swagger walk, was one handsome package. 

A tall, very English, very sexy package, who also happened to be a good twenty years your senior. 

That only made his occasional touches more thrilling. 

You were convinced nobody else had caught on to your mutual flirtation. Or, at least, you fervently hoped nobody else had because Merlin would definitely kill the both of you. With the amount of times you two had nearly blown up a mission by “accidentally” losing focus, you wondered at having never been told down by the quartermaster. 

Tonight, you could already tell, was just going to be another one of these nights. But this time, there was a twist. This was a honeypot. Your favorite. 

Why favorite? Honeypots were amongst the most entertaining missions on your agenda. There was nothing you enjoyed more than watching all these criminals fawn over you, and get absolutely dragged into the dust two seconds later. Hadn’t found anything more satisfying yet.

Roxy said this violent streak of yours was exactly why half of Kingsman was legitimately terrified at the idea of being left alone with you. 

All except agent Galahad. 

In fact, he was convinced what had originally attracted him to you was your sheer violence. If you had a grueling day, God have mercy on the poor soul who looked at you the wrong way. You could go rogue in a split second, and were never more powerful and sexy than when you were fighting. 

He wasn’t at all sure how he was going to handle tonight’s mission. You were posing as a couple (again) taking interest in a some underhand weapon deal (again) and he was going to need a cold shower as soon as he got back (again). 

The very moment he saw you approach the car, he felt a painful pull in his groin. 

You had opted for an open back red dress, figure hugging but bulletproof and comfortable. You had spent all the evening making plans as to how to successfully steal it from Kingsman’s seemingly never ending stock of fancy clothes. 

The dress hugged your figure in all the right places, leaving very little to the imagination. Agent Galahad had never seen you in such a dress - your gigs were usually more business/formal - and you smiled an almost feline smile when you noticed his reaction. 

If this dress didn’t get him to let go of that annoying self-control of his, than you’d consider yourself beaten. 

He didn’t look so bad himself in his three piece suit, the waistcoat accentuating his lean waist and broad shoulders. 

God he was so sexy. It should be criminal to be this attractive. The man was practically oozing sex appeal, from is slick back hair to the point of his shiny shoes. 

“Ready, Y/N?” he said once he had recovered his voice. 

“As always, Galahad.” 

The smirk you sent his way had his blood boiling in his veins. 

The car pulled up to another one of London’s long list of fancy hotels. This one was a tall penthouse, with tall glass windows reaching all the way to the 10th floor. Roxy would hate this, you thought. Not made for anyone who hates heights. 

“You go in there and gather as much intel as we can, get it?” came a suspicious Scottish voice at the other end of your mic. “No funny business, Y/N. Stick to the rules.”

“That rather depends on the level of stupid in the room.” 

Harry chuckled behind you. He was endeavoring to stare at something else than the motion of your hips under your dress and those intoxicating legs of yours. 

So far, he was miserably failing. 

“Ye, well, just get me what I need to bust those idiots, and if you have to beat up one or two of them, don’t ruin the dress. Stick together, don’t go off on your own.” 

“Would be a true shame, that’s for sure.” 

“Shut up Eggsy.”

“You sure need to learn how to take a compliment baby.”

“Don’t call me “baby,” it makes me want to vomit. Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I am working. Looking forward to entertainment provided by yours truly.”

Sighing dramatically, Harry turned his glasses’ feed on, recording the room, people and looking at a 3D plan of the whole building through the lenses. 

You were already in movement, in conversation with one of your targets. The tall American was evidently used to getting his own way with women and was an absolute nitwit. He babbled on and on about his business, how he got hold of the weapons he resold to the mafia for high prices, and how he didn’t care about the countless lives lost in the process. 

Disgust welled inside you but you held your own, watching as Harry successfully seduced another unsuspecting victim. His target was a middle-aged woman, the wife of one of the upstart weapon sellers in the room. Said weapon seller was probably busy in his suite with another woman, so you couldn’t begrudge her interest in such a fine specimen. 

But he was yours first and hers second if you had any say in it. 

Ignoring Merlin’s orders, you abandoned your target here and there, making headway for the staircase, planning to do some snooping around. Merlin had specified not to get in any risky business, but snooping and danger went hand in hand. 

You interrupted what looked like an intense threesome as you hijacked the first door. They didn’t even notice. 

The third door you unlocked looked to be more promising. It was a large room, city view, jacuzzi and all. 

“Where the fuck are you, Y/N? We’re supposed to stay together!” came Galahad’s angry voice in your mic. 

“None of these players stick by the rules, Galahad. “You gotta play their game if you want to find something truly useful. Like this.”

You let your glasses record the document you held, before taking off the gloves you’d put on and placing it back in the briefcase you’d found it in. You took off your glasses and put them in your handbag. Galahad and you had decided only one of you would wear theirs full time, so as not to arouse suspicions. 

You heard the door unlock and ducked behind the bathroom door, gun already drawn, heart beating. 

“It’s me.”

“Jesus Christ, you scared the devil out of me!” you hissed, trying to shake off the rush of adrenaline. 

“Yeah, well, if you’d stayed with me or even just told me where you were going…”

“Oh, shut up, rules don’t apply in honeypots. Got anything from that lovely lady? She certainly seemed interested.” 

Galahad stared you down. Hard. Then he removed his glasses.

(fun under the cut)

“And here I was thinking that old fashioned honeypots still had a future” was the only thing you could think of saying.

His eyes had darkened, his jaw was set. You felt the weight of his stare over your skin. He backed you up against the bed, your calves brushing against the soft sheets. 

“Why won’t you stick by the rules?”

Oh, he wanted to play? Fine.

Putting on your best sultry gaze, you took a step towards him, grateful for your heels as they boosted your height to match his.

“Because rules are boring. And, sometimes, you’ve got to break them.”

“You’re always angry at something.”

“That’s what brats do. We’re angry and we show it.” You edged even closer, your breath tingling his skin. Your voice wasn’t above a whisper when you said, lips ghosting over the older agent’s jaw:

“Too bad life made us that way.” 

Galahad smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. You were defiant, holding your small frame against his. He could feel your chest brush up against his. 

“Well, shall I show you what happens to brats who don’t stick by the rules?”

Your eyes widened. His hands snuck up on your waist, his fingers unzipping the back of your dress as his hands travelled up your back to grab your shoulders. 

He pulled you to him roughly, crashing his lips on yours as a groan escaped him. He felt your hips pressing against his, undulating against the hardened, sensitive part of himself. Your hands held onto his shoulders, ripping his suit jacket off his strong frame. 

You removed his tie next, just as he threw you on top of the bed, parting your legs to move in-between them. He thrust up against you, holding against your heated core for a few seconds. 

He pulled on your hair sharply, drawing a cry of pleasure and pain. You felt his tongue trace the outline of your throat, before he bit down hard on your pulse. 

I’m going to have to cover up that up. 

Galahad kept sucking bruising marks over your neck and chest, hiking your dress up above your waist before diving in between your legs. He didn’t waste time preparing you, sucking and licking up your core before attacking your nub. A sharp cry escaped you, a tug of pleasure ripping across your thighs. He held your hips down as you desperately tried to get closer to him. 

Galahad’s hands enclosed yours overtop of the bedsheets, gripping and pulling at your forearms to anchor himself against you as you shook against him, so close to release you could feel terrible waves of heat coursing through your core. 

Deciding you’d had enough of his torturing you, you pulled him up, forcing him to abandon his very enjoyable task. 

You weren’t about to relinquish control that easily. 

Twisting your legs around him, trapping his body underneath yours, you pressed down hard against his stomach. Biting your lips, you ripped button after button, throwing his waistcoat to the side. As soon as you felt his hands frantically reach for your hips, you dove in, leaving long, hot kisses on his chest. 

He rocked his hips against yours, locking his eyes with yours. God, you were going to orgasm now if he kept that rhythm going. 

He felt your legs squeeze up on him, as your head rolled backwards, the first moans escaping your lips. He surged upwards, meeting you thrust for thrust. He had to let you come first, but he knew he couldn’t hold out for long. Not with the way your heated core felt against his skin. 

“Fuck, Harry…”

Hearing you use his real name sent a jolt of pleasure through his groins. Fused at the core, both your centers felt on fire, feeding off each other in a dance as old as mankind. 

One hand found your breast, playing with your nipple. The other pressed against your throat, caressing your neck as he felt you pick up the pace. He knew you only needed the littlest push before he could enjoy his own release. 

Harry slid his hand down your torso, all the way down to where your bodies were joined. He applied pressure on your nub through the folds of your dress.

Your hands came crashing down on his chest as you bore your entire weight down on him, an exultant shout echoing through the room as your let your orgasm claim you. You rode the waves of pleasure, aware of Harry’s hands digging into your waist as he panted out his need. 

Smirking, you helped him along, drawing patterns against his fevered skin and, at long last, you felt him release inside you. 

His breath came ragged, chest heaving and eyes tightly shut, he was truly a vision.

You had to admit, you were proud of yourself for bringing such a man to such an undoing. You’d wondered what an unhinged Harry Hart would look like and now you had your answer. 

Leaning in, your arms resting on either side of his head, you resumed kissing him, stealing whatever was left of his breath. 

You could feel the last tremors of his pleasure on his lips. 

“What did you want to show me?” you murmured in his ear. 

Taglist: @justawriterinprogress; @tonystrksslut; @emilyyblackkk; the-sea-belt;

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[nobodyfamousposts]

Felix July - Contest (Demon Felix AU)

@felixmonth​

Saved this for the release of the Felix Episode. Just to see if I could make mine worse than canon.

Felix did not get angry. He was a being of logic and poise. He was the master manipulator, the one watching from behind the scenes as the puppets danced and flailed to his hidden strings. Barely a footnote in the course of history but with his hand in everything.

He did not get frustrated. Being frustrated would suggest that things were not going as planned. Being frustrated meant he was not in control. And he was always in control.

No. What he got was annoyed.

He was annoyed when his new contractor kept asking questions nobody had considered to ask before and caught on to what his true plan was.

He was annoyed when his new contractor refused to make any wishes.

He was annoyed when his new contractor decided she was going to try to help the very person who tried to kill her.

He was annoyed with his new contractor.

Impressed, admittedly. But annoyed.

______________________

“There has to be something you want.”

“Well, hello to you, too. Good morning, Mister Demon. Nice of you to drop into my room unannounced at the crack of dawn. Thankfully I’m not changing or anything or that would be downright awkward.”

“Oh please, your physical assets mean nothing to me.”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to be reassured or insulted here.”

“Then be neither. It really makes no difference to me.”

“And what does then?”

“Your wish, of course.”

“Of course.”

“...And?”

“Shame that’s not happening today.”

“It could. Surely there is something I can give you?”

“Nothing I want from you, thank you very much!”

“Money is fairly common and always useful.”

“Pass.”

“To get through all classes with the best grades?”

“But would I actually learn the material that way? I think I do well enough on my own.”

“Yes, ‘well enough’ says the student who comes to classes late and sleeps through them regularly.”

“Hey!”

“Eternal youth and beauty?”

“Oo, a classic.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“Chloe to get hit by a car?”

“I’ve been imagining ways for her to get into some sort of ‘accident’ over the years. If I was going to do it, I wouldn’t waste a wish on it.”

“Lila to spit up snakes whenever she talks?”

“Tempting, but no.”

“Hawk Moth’s Miraculous?”

“I am a hero specifically to do that on my own. I don’t need you cheating for me.”

“Cheating? Please. You say that like this is some math test instead of a supervillain.”

“A supervillain I already have powers and the means to stop. So no.”

“How about his identity then?”

“Still no.”

“More personal then? What about fame?”

“I already have enough trouble with that as Ladybug!”

“But what about as Marinette? You still need to get your name out there.”

“I’ll manage on my own.”

“In what—five? Ten years? Why wait when you could have your own clothing line? A fashion company?”

“I’m still a teenager! I want to get through school before even starting on that!”

“Adrien’s heart?”

“A heart not freely given is not worth having.”

“Oh come on, you don’t really buy the ‘true love’ nonsense, do you? It would be true love as far as he would be concerned.”

“I do NOT want you mind-controlling Adrien into loving me!”

“I don’t even have to control his mind to accomplish it. The right time, the right place, and a few well planed ‘coincidences’ could make him see you in an entirely new light.”

“I am not hearing this!”

“Just a few nudges here and there.”

“But it wouldn’t be genuine.”

“Then why not use a Wish for him? To make his life better?”

That actually made her pause.

“Less photoshoots and more free time. Which equates to more time with his friends and thus more time with you in particular. That would certainly allow you more opportunity to endear yourself to him.”

“I can do that on my own.”

“You’ll just have less chances to do it.”

“Then that’s a sacrifice I’ll have to make.”

“But is it one he would appreciate?”

“…”

“Or you could do the selfless thing and make a Wish for him. To give him something he’s missing. Something he would truly be grateful for.”

“…”

“I could even work it to have him find out it was thanks to you. After so many instances of your gifts to him going unrecognized and unattributed to you, wouldn’t it be nice for him to acknowledge what you do on his behalf for once?”

“And what could you even do that would be so great?”

He hummed to himself, considering.

“I could bring his mother back, if you like. Of course, it wouldn’t be her anymore, but it’s not like Adrien needs to know that.”

“Oh my GOD, no!”

“Or I could kill his father and let him inherit everything.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“He’s an old recluse. It’s easy enough to set him up for a heart attack.”

“FELIX!”

“Nobody would even know any different.”

A book slammed into the wall where his head had just been.

“GO AWAY, DAMMIT!”

“Is that a wish?”

The second book flying at his head was enough indicator for Felix to vacate the premises.

______________________

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was…admittedly more resilient than he expected. Though he believed the correct term would be “stubborn”.

She was refusing him for the sake of being defiant more than anything. Usually, such opposition would wear itself down after a time.

Usually.

But his new Contractor was far from the norm it seemed. Both in her circumstances in gaining his service as well as her personal morals. She had said she was going to refuse to make any wishes, and so far, she had held to that.

Commendable, if not irritating.

Part of him felt inclined to try and nudge things in the direction towards his goals. It would have moved things along at least.

But Marinette was a planner. And…frustratingly good at it. For all that she was emotional and easy to take by surprise when it came to her friends and her “love”, she was rather skilled in regards to problem solving.

He very well could have started twisting things in her life to push her to the point where she would HAVE to make a wish. There were so many things that could go wrong for her, after all. Bankruptcy. Expulsion. Social exile. Any number of unpleasant little happenings that he could just as easily come in and save her from with a single wish…

But he had the feeling of being challenged. And it seemed beneath him to stack the odds in his own favor in this way (not that they weren’t already, but there was still a difference between a “one in a million chance” and “downright impossible”).

There was the added complication that Marinette was, as previously noted, stubborn. If it came down to it, he wouldn’t put it past her to do something stupid and permanent out of pure spite.

Not to mention that Tikki was there, constantly watching him and just waiting for the chance to smite him.

So he had to plan instead. That was fine. He hadn’t gotten to really apply himself in the past few centuries when it came to his Contracts. Most people tended to make their wishes and leave it at that. Few actually WANTED him to stick around. And even back when he did, he was usually stuck playing a role of some sort.

This was quite a unique situation. A contest the likes of which he’d never gotten to experience previously.

Felix found himself looking forward to it. He had never gotten to truly play before…

Well…if his new Contractor wasn’t going to tell him what she wanted from him, he would just have to work it out for himself.

And if he could mess with certain persons in the meantime, all the better.

Humans were so easy to manipulate, after all…

______________________

Lila was confused.

Confused and increasingly frustrated.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was still here.

Lila had made her third wish, passing off her contract and all the consequences involved to the unsuspecting target, figuring that would be two problems dealt with.

Killing two birds with one stone, right? Neither an all too observant classmate or a soul-stealing demon to continue hounding her. It was perfect—for her, at any rate. She wasn’t particularly inclined to care what poor Marinette’s fate would be at the hands of that demon. (Well, maybe a little, if only out of a desire to offer some gratitude for escaping that fate herself—read: gloat.)

And yet…

The day after she ended the contract, she had gone to class, fully expecting to hear second-hand of Marinette’s disappearance or some other unfortunate fate. She had been ready to fake tears and spout kind words—and of course to “comfort” her classmates, especially poor Adrien. Hadn’t he just lost his mother recently? It would be such a blow.

Except…

Right when she was about to ask Alya if she had heard anything—to prepare the setup for them to discover Marinette’s fate—

“Sorry I’m late!”

Lila froze.

Sure enough, Marinette had entered the class with all the impact of a whirlwind. She appeared tired and out of breath, red from the exertion of her running.

And…wholly alive.

Lila wasn’t sure she could believe her eyes, but the rest of the class greeted her per normal and Lila barely gathered herself enough to give a wave of her own. Marinette just smiled and went for her desk, acting like everything was completely normal.

This…this wasn’t right. Nothing should be normal for her anymore!

She should be dead! Or soulless! Or panicked about her current situation!

Why was she here?!

Lila watched Marinette for the rest of the day with a close eye, just waiting to see what would happen.

But the end of the day came and went, and Marinette returned home perfectly safe.

This didn’t make any sense! The contract was finished, wasn’t it? Marinette should be gone! So why wasn’t she?

Maybe…maybe the demon was biding his time?

Yeah, he was probably just waiting before taking her soul.

But the next day came and Marinette was still there, acting like nothing was any different from usual.

The same occurred the next day.

And the next.

And the next…

Two weeks passed and Lila was growing increasingly paranoid.

What was going on?

The Contract is for three wishes, then the demon takes the Contractor’s soul.

So why was Marinette still here?

What was he waiting for?

Was he not going to accept the sacrifice?

No, he wouldn’t have agreed to it then if that were the case.

Did Marinette know what was going on? She certainly wasn’t acting any different. And if she did know, she would have confronted Lila immediately—that was the type of person she was.

So why?

It was three weeks in when she got her answer.

“We have a new student with us today!”

Lila’s pen snapped with the force of her grip. She never noticed the way Marinette stiffened.

“Hello, everyone.”

No.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

It couldn’t be…

“My name is Felix Agreste.”

His hair color. His dark green eyes. His complexion and facial features. Everything was disturbingly similar to Adrien.

But she knew…

As the one who summoned him, she of course would recognize him.

The demon in question hiding behind such angelic features merely smiled at the class. But somehow, she knew he was focused on her.

“I’m sure we’ll be great friends.”

It took every bit of acting and self restraint to hold back a scream.

______________________

“Okay, how did you do it?”

“Why, whatever do you mean?”

“Cut the act, Felix. I’m pretty sure Adrien doesn’t have a cousin.”

“Yes, you would be the one to know that, wouldn’t you?”

“Felix.”

“Such accusations! And we’ve only just met one another.”

“Felix.”

“Honestly, it was simple enough. A bit of manipulation here, some ‘suggestions’ there. I’m sure you should already know that human minds are quite simplistic and malleable—they must be if they haven’t caught on to the fact that you’re the one running around fighting butterflies in the equivalent of a polka-dotted onesie.”

“Hey!”

“You’re the budding designer, surely you could have done better.”

“I panicked, okay?”

“Regardless, I simply went to the Agreste mansion and introduced myself as Emilie’s nephew visiting for the rest of the school year.”

“And they believed you?”

“You’ve seen my power at work with Rossi, so you already know I can be quite convincing.”

“Not with everything.”

“Yet.”

“Still, was this really necessary? Setting yourself up as a student here and everything?”

“Of course it was. How else can I ensure my ability to stay by your side at all times?”

“Uh-huh. And how is that going to work out if you’re living in the Agreste mansion now?”

“Are you jealous?”

“It’s a logistical question.”

“No worries, my dear. I will of course make you my priority.”

“Right, because I’m totally the sole reason you chose to show yourself at the school.”

“Well, I of course had to see how my former Contractor has been doing.”

“You really shouldn’t be causing trouble like this.”

���You can’t say you didn’t enjoy the results”

“As funny as it was seeing Lila look constipated all day…”

“Wasn’t it, though?”

She couldn’t help the half smile, but didn’t say anything further.

It was a contest.

The rules were unknown.

The winning conditions a mystery.

But if he was going to be bound here, he was certainly going to enjoy himself in the process.

[firefield]

David Bowie - Reality (2003)

“The thing, probably, that keeps me writing is this awful feeling that there are no absolutes. That there is no truth. That we are, as I’ve been thinking for so many years now, fully in the swirl of chaos theory.” DB, 2003

I always learn new things about David Bowie whenever I listen through his complete discography chronologically, and this run through is no different. As I get close to the end here, I’m reminded how much less I know about these later works, due simply to the fact that they have existed for a much shorter time, and my experience with them is more limited. “Reality” rocks more than I realized on release day, especially coming off the heels of “Heathen” with all its layers and mystery and subtleties. An empty house afforded the opportunity to really crank this one up, a vinyl pass, and CD pass, and finally the 5.1 surround sound edition - and yeah - DB said he wanted a simpler sound, and wanted a record that could be translated into a live show easily and effectively and he got that in spades.

As with all his post-80’s work, and especially his post-heart attack material, “Reality” embraces the darker and more cynical side of DB’s many characters - from the irony of the album title with album art portraying a very cartoony space-man Bowie looking about as unreal and non-Reality as possible and still be recognizable - to DB’s insistence that he made a “positive!” record despite themes of aging and death, loneliness and anonymity, geopolitical strife, day-in-day-out mundanity and the creeping threat of urbanization to nature. Regarding the subject matter of Reality he told Interview Magazine, “This is probably a period when, more than any other time, the idea that our absolutes are disintegrating is manifest in real terms. Truths that we always thought we could stand by are crumbling before our eyes. It really is quite traumatic.”

I read quotes like that and I think, for a guy that is largely known for (and criticized for) his ability to synthesize the past and his surroundings into something entirely David-Bowieingly unique, he certainly shows skill at synthesizing the future as well. Beyond things like financial chicanery like Bowie Bonds and the impact of the internet on the creation and distribution of music, Bowie often hit at the very essence of what unites as well as divides.

The seeds of this malleablity of truth that DB describes had been planted in my country during the civil rights movement and the tragedy of the Vietnam War, but began to flower and bloom after the 9/11 event - affecting Bowie’s home turf and his family profoundly. Heathen is prescient, Reality is a little angry about things. DB took time to specifically say what Reality was not: it was not an angry album, it was not a response to 9/11, it was not his “New York Album” - but then he’d spend just as much time gently walking back those claims, almost wondering aloud if it was, in fact, all of those things and more. He speaks around this time about how naturally writing music came to him. Unforced, calmly. I think this “flow” is why you can glean so many little contradictions about Reality and it’s intentions and meaning. He’s letting it happen, not dictating the plot; the tensions of that city and that moment in time allowed to mold and shape the work. Polar opposite to the Heathen recording environment at Allaire Studios in the Catskill Mountains, Reality was recorded in the cramped Studio B of Philip Glass’s Looking Glass Studios in NYC and both those disparate studio choices impact their respective products acutely.

Reality is Bowie’s most “hands-on” record since Diamond Dogs, employing all his multi-instrumentalist abilities, and it’s also one of his most thoroughly demoed. Most all of Reality was demoed out in Studio B by DB and Tony Visconti playing all the instruments, with Mario McNulty (the same engineer DB would later trust with the posthumous reimagining/re-recording of Never Let Me Down) as studio assistant. According to Tony, he had a feeling that many of these “demo tracks” would not ever actually be re-recorded, so they were laid down at a useable fidelity. Consequently, much of the demo material survived on the final album. The band brought in for final overdubs was chosen with the live show in mind specifically. This was a smaller, tighter unit of BowieLive veterans and by all accounts recording was smooth and productive.

New Killer Star opens the record, and is also Reality’s debut single (that contained one of his more surprising B-sides, Sigue Sigue Sputnik’s ‘Love Missle F1-11’) and is a spectacular Earl Slick led hazy, woozy guitar statement.

This is followed by The Modern Lovers - Pablo Picasso - recorded in 1972 but delayed until their 1976 debut. This track mimics the space occupied by the Pixies cover Cactus - the second track on Heathen - DB pulling tracks from his past that he enjoys and placing them where they give the record momentum. Quite a different interpretation if you have heard the original - DB took liberties with both the lyric and the arrangement and it’s a cool little track.

Never Get Old follows and addresses the common theme of time and aging in DB compositions…. (Cygnet Committee, Time, Hearts Filthy Lesson, Changes, Fantastic Voyage, and many more) and the composition itself references much of his past in Space Oddities countdown, the elongated guitar strands of Heroes, bits of melody from Crack City, the four-walls-closing-in sense of Low and some of Hunky Dory’s ominous moments. A pounding live favorite.

…and seamlessly right into The Loneliest Guy. Anyone who saw the Reality Tour knows the captivating power of this piece, and it’s honesty and fragility was one of a few reasons why I thought this would be DB’s final album.

Looking For Water. Man, I *love* this song. It’s one of my favorite vocal performances on Reality and would certainly end up on my list of “underrated DB songs” were I compelled to make one. I like repetition in music, and it’s hypnotic and mantra-esque qualities - and this is one that always gets a significant volume boost.

She’ll Drive The Big Car - a supercool stab of Bowie sash and swagger, and a killer vocal performance, masking some seriously sad lyrics. Bowie manages to sound defiant, tired, funky, deferential, sexy and soulful all in the course of a single song. He’s such an effortlessly great singer, that’s it’s easy to become so accustomed to it that you almost miss it. It’s just “him.”

The exceedingly sweet “Days” fits nicely with all of Realities reflections, and has for me become a song I pay much more attention to since we lost the man to cancer.

Fall Dog Bombs The Moon is one of DB’s most overtly political songs, and was apparently written very quickly - under a half and hour - and directly addresses the Iraq War and the profiteering involved. Relatively bleak with murky lyrics, it’s a interesting and unique DB composition.

Try Some, Buy Some is just beautiful and I think one of Bowie’s most interesting and genuinely heart-felt covers (along with Waterloo Sunset, also from these sessions.) The inspiration to do this song comes directly from the 1971 Ronnie Spector version and the impact it had on him personally. DB seems to be absolutely sincere when he claimed that he had completely forgotten that it was a George Harrison composition until he sat down to work on the album credits.

Next up is the sizzling rocker Reality that has one foot in Tin Machine and one foot in The Next Day. Love Earl’s guitar sound here. Like New Killer Star, the guitar layers in this one sound amazing on the 5.1 surround mix.

Ahh yeah. Another in an amazing number of fantastic Bowie album closers. I’ve made it a point in my life to quit ranking art into “good/better/best/sucks categories and hierarchies and see art as an experience, not a competition. My friends know this about me, and consequently tease me and attempt to prod me into breaking this creed. Under unrelenting pressure to name a “favorite David Bowie track” I named Bring Me The Disco King.

I could give many reasons why this would be the one…. The repetition I mentioned earlier, here found in Matt Chamberlain’s drum loop (interestingly snagged from ‘When The Boys Come Marching Home,’) the overwhelming sense I had when I first heard it that this was DB’s final record, the sense that the threat of jazz that had always pounded on David’s door in his chord structures and harmonies had finally broken down the door… the very tangible sense that this was a composition that had already had a long life but stayed tucked into the shadows by its unsatisfied creator, only to be given life and light on this great album after it had been stripped down to almost nothing - simplicity being the sought after key to its finally being allowed to soar. If it’s not already obvious, I think this song is magnificent. Literally. The fact that David knew it was deep inside there, he just had to mine it out over the course of a decade or so is extraordinary.

Couple of thoughts about a track that didn’t fit well on Reality but made it to bonus/B-sides…

How cool is his cover of The Kinks Waterloo Sunset? In the years after his death, when I feel that loss in my heart, it’s Waterloo Sunset I turn up to 11 and allow it to yank me back out of that murk.

“People so busy

makes me feel dizzy

but I don’t feel afraid

as long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset

I am in paradise.”

[obsidianfr3sk]

Beginnings and Endings (Part 1)

@renegadesnet event 2: august of anarchy 

↪ [The Artino Brothers] 

Summary: In the beginning, it was just the two of them: David and Alec, the Artino Brothers. Then, they brought anarchy into the world. Now, David is not sure if there would be enough of themselves by the end of it. "Don't call me Alec anymore. Now I am Ace. Ace Anarchy."

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25686343/chapters/62363560

This is my contribution to August of Anarchy. It will be a two-part fic about the relationship between Ace and his brother from David’s POV. We have little information about how their relationship actually was, so I had a lot of fun coming up with headcanons and that kinda stuff.

Thanks so much to @dawniebb and @healing-winston-pratt for the timeline they did that helped me with the creation of this fic. I actually also used it for my other fic, The Origins, but I didn’t remembered you guys did it and I just had the image saved on my phone lol (I can credit you for that if you want me to, there’s no problem with that!) Son las mejores <3

The start of the beginning

Age of anarchy Year 0

His fingers felt hotter and hotter with each golden thread they held. A light coat of sweat ran all over his body, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was nervous or because they didn't have air conditioning and it was midsummer.

It wasn’t like he had no reason to be nervous. He had never used his powers for something so important.

Alec watched every movement and noticed every breath. His dark eyes were slightly closed and his lips were pursed. David had the same face.

"Am I doing something wrong?" he whispered.

"You are doing a good job," Alec said. "Why?"

"Because you haven't stopped watching every move I make and—"

"Don't worry, it's not personal—" he pursed his lips more "—I'm always watching."

David rolled his eyes. "You're lurking."

Alec picked up a dry cloth on the splintered coffee table and rubbed it across his brother’s forehead. David thanked him.

"That's not true," Alec replied, "I just enjoy staring at people from the shadows. It is a healthy hobby ”

"I'm sure it isn't."

But hey, what did David know about healthy hobbies? All he had done in those last months was accompany his brother to work during the day and watch television until late at night. Those were his hobbies. And he wasn't even sure if the first one counted as one.

David had been expelled from his school more than six months ago after the principal found out that he was a prodigy. According to her, that was not the reason for his expulsion. It was that he had lied and it was illegal to lie about your status as a prodigy for profit.

"So you do accept schools for prodigies have a lower educational level than schools for non-prodigies?" Alec asked the principal with a defiant attitude.

When Alec tried to enroll him in another school, he discovered that she had already warned the entire school district about David and no elementary school would be accepting him in the near future. He refused to enroll David in a school for prodigies because he would only fall behind in his studies. Apparently, those schools did not receive half the funds that the other schools received.

"Because they’re for ordinary kids," said David, "and I'm not."

“You are not an ordinary kid, that's true. You are extraordinary. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise."

In the beginning, David had remained positive. It was fun to accompany Alec to work, just like the old days. But the weeks passed and it was increasingly difficult not to miss his friends, his favorite teachers, and the math lessons that he liked so much. How did Alec never get tired of the monotony?

"Look, it's already taking shape," Alec exclaimed.

He was right.

"Do you think it looks like the one in your drawing?" he asked him.

"I don't want to give a verdict until you finish it, but yeah, it's a lot like it."

For David, Alec was a great artist. He was also a good brother and a remarkable student, judging by the diplomas on the walls of their old house. At the time, he had also been a good son, although David could not give proof of it. And neither did their parents.

Seven years ago, their parents had died in an explosion at the offices of the organization they were part of. It was called "Prodigies for the Alliance with the Non-Prodigies". His father preferred to call it "Anarchist Group" because the original name was “fucking dumb”. Over time, David realized that the real reason he called it like that was that he liked to see his wife frown every time he referred to her as "fellow anarchist Bianca."

"We are not anarchists," her mother insisted as she used her powers to levitate her cup of coffee. When she was angry, her blue eyes turned red. "We are—"

"Anarchists" interrupted his father. He turned his spoon into gold and raised an eyebrow.

“It is forbidden to use your powers at the table, Alessandro. And no, we are rebels. ”

"Anarchist rebels!" Alec exclaimed.

"Alec, your cereal, you're going to spill it!"

That was his last memory of them.

The news said it had been an accident with the gas pipes. There were some other theorizing that it had been a dispute between members of the organization.

"After all, so many prodigies in one place cannot be trusted," said a young lady from the newscast. “The prodigies are violent, even with each other. They don’t always know how to con—"

Alec appeared behind him and turned off the television.

"Don't watch that. Those are lies."

They had just returned from the funeral. David had not taken off his coat yet.

"Really?" he asked.

His brother nodded. “It was not an argument or an accident. It was an attack. And I have evidence to prove it. ”

The next day, he took David to the police station. Alec explained to the policemen about the bricks thrown at the windows of their house, about the graffiti that appeared on the porch, and about the death threats, their parents constantly received. He even showed them a box full of evidence, with photos and letters. But the only thing the policemen did was laugh at him and knock both brothers out of the place after Alec had the great idea of using his powers against them. That definitely hadn't helped their case.

"Mom would have thrown a chair at that idiot officer, too," Alec told him as they drove back to the house.

"I envy you," David mumbled.

"Why?"

"Because you will always have something of hers that I don't," he answered.

"David, look at yourself in a mirror. You are her living portrait. That is something I will never have.”

From then on, he took David everywhere, to the park, to the bank, or to the two jobs he had so they could pay the bills. David asked who would take care of him when Alec left for college in the fall.

"I won’t be going to college," he replied. "I already have other plans."

After so long, David finally found out about his brother's plans. He knew every last detail. They had spent sleepless nights talking about it and wondering what their parents would think. David was convinced that his father would be delighted, but he wasn't quite sure about his mother’s reaction. Alec assured him she would understand.

They had already tried everything. It was time for someone to do something for real. And that someone, was going to be Alec.

Finally, the helmet materialized in front of them. It was made of the most precious gold of all and identical to how David had imagined it.

Alec closed his eyes and held out his hand. The helmet began to levitate and slowly settled over his head. The sun streaming through the window revealed tiny golden particles floating around him. When Alec opened his eyes again, he appeared more fierce than ever. However, David was not afraid; he was amazed at his work.

"Perfect," Alec whispered. "It feels perfect. Nice job."

"Thank you…"

Alec stood up and headed for the door. "Well, I guess it’s showtime."

David jumped up and hurried to put on his shoes to catch up. Alec was about to leave when he realized what his younger brother was doing.

"No, David, you stay," he ordered.

"What? Why?" he asked indignantly.

“It is not an appropriate show for eleven-year-olds."

"But-"

"David."

Alec had not inherited his mother's eyes, but he had definitely inherited that horrible look that could intimidate even the bravest of humans.

David backed away, feeling pathetic and childish. The fact he was wearing one shoe and had a yogurt stain on his shirt didn't make him look more mature. He sat down on the floor and hid his face between his legs.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"But who's going to take care of me?" he mumbled.

His older brother rolled his eyes as he approached him. “You are old enough to be alone for a couple of hours. Or days. "

"Days?!" 

He had never been alone for more than five minutes when Alec went to the store across the street. It was too much responsibility, how would he be able to handle it?

Then, Alec lifted him off the ground. David gasped. His brother had never been able to do that with such ease, but he had no time to be amazed, because judging by his expression, Alec was not looking happy at all.

“David, listen. This is not a game."

"I know," he replied, doing his best to imitate his mother's frown.

"I know you know it," Alec said. He hadn't intimidated him. “But I want to be sure that you understand the magnitude of what I'm about to do. It will be a massive change in the way the world is controlled. ”

David crossed his arms and looked away. Alec gently returned him to the ground and ruffled his hair, slightly chuckling. David couldn't help but smile. Just a little though. He didn't want his brother to think he agreed with the decision he had made.

There was no point arguing with him. The more time his brother spent there, the longer the beginning of the end would be delayed.

Immediately, he mentally corrected himself. Alec had said not to call it the beginning of the end. What he was going to do was not the end of anything; it was the start of the beginning.

"What do I do while you’re gone?" he asked, without turning to see him.

Alec put his hands on his shoulders. "Stay here as long as you can. Secure all doors and windows and don't go out unless it’s absolutely— ”

Somebody knocked on the door. Alec and David held their breath for the ten seconds that person stood outside their apartment. A couple of letters slipped under the door and the person left. 

David wanted to go pick up the mail, but his brother's grip grew stronger.

"Don't stop to help anyone, David," Alec went on. "As long as I'm not there, you're the only one who can protect you. Do you understand? No one else matters, no one else will help you. Only you can help yourself." He took him by the chin to make him look him in the eye. "Understood, David?"

He had never seen his brother have such a severe expression. Alec had never spoken so seriously to him and had never forced him to look at him. For a second, David thought that it was the helmet that made his brother seem more frightening. But it couldn’t be that.

After all, the world was about to change. It made sense that Alec changed too.

Would David change?

"Understood, Alec," he replied.

"Don't call me Alec anymore." He released his chin and smiled at him. “Now I am Ace. Ace Anarchy. ”

"Ace Anarchy," David repeated. He let the name finish to visualize inside his head. "I like how it sounds."

Alec ruffled his hair once more. "I knew you would like it, my little nightmare."

[secret-engima]

Please consider, FnF Gladio meeting Reborn post lung-incident. Please, consider.

Ohhhh. Oh boy. OH BOY. Ummm I’m assuming you don’t mean Reborn as a reincarnation because he’s not gonna show up in Fangs and Feathers but hypothetically Imma bout to do a ficlet so buckle up-

Hypothetically Gladio is an adult, a Shield and a brother to Noctis, loyal and protective and FIERCE. Who trained himself to the ground, then pestered Cor for more because he was NEVER failing Noctis again, not in anyway. A Gladio who, when he was eighteen and finally had a motorcycle of his own, ran away to fight Gilgamesh and by the time Xanxus and Cor had busted their way through, found him bloody and tired and TRIUMPHANT, scarred and defiant and VICTORIOUS as Gilgamesh laughed, hollow and inhuman in his shell and presented Gladio with the sword Cor had lost when he tried the same at fifteen.

Hypothetically this Gladio is now 25 and strong and SKILLED, skilled enough to win against the famed, immortal Blademaster at 18, skilled enough to protect his king (he hopes, he prays, he trains because he is never going to fail this duty again, not in any way).

Hypothetically this Gladio has known for years that Noctis is a reincarnation, and that his original name was Tsunayoshi Sawada.

Hypothetically this Gladio, one day, sees his king stumble over air and catches him instinctively, and in the touch is pulled along as he falls through into another world. A parallel version of his past life. And while Noctis looks at the small town around them and pales, pulls his magic in until it’s totally hidden as if AFRAID, Gladio becomes angry. At the strange trip into another world, at Noctis’s reaction. At his FEAR.

They wander town, looking for a way back, and then Gladio hears a louder, more frightened version of the soft “hieeee” Noctis used to say as a child when startled, followed by a smooth, male voice that says, “A mafia boss doesn’t give up, Dame-Tsuna. Get up and do it again.”

Gladio sees Noctis flinch deep and visceral because even if Noctis had loved his tutor for freeing him, for teaching him (for eventually being ... not a father, but the only thing like it Tsuna had, after Reborn realized why Tsuna was so “hopeless” and actually apologized for all the terror he’d put Tsuna through, even if he never completely changed his methods), that is not the voice of his Reborn. For one, that was a man’s voice, not a cursed baby’s, which means things are already wildly different in this world. For another ... that was not the voice of the Reborn who had stood at his side until the end of his life, the one who had retired only when his head of hair was pure silver and his hands slightly shaky from arthritis. The voice that said “Dame-Tsuna” the same way others said “Son”.

This was the voice of Reborn before he cared. Hard and businesslike, borderline cruel as he forced his student to get up and try it again, to do it right this time or else risk being shot, who had forgotten what kindness was and indulged in pranks against the people who should have been in his care without a thought. This was a Reborn who had never been humbled, never seen his “helpless student” stand up to the one thing Reborn was terrified most of and say “No. You Can’t Have Him.”

Noctis does not want to see this Reborn. Doesn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Gladio sees the flinch, the expression of conflicted misery and fear and love and ... puts it together. Puts together the stories Noctis told him as they grew up and grew closer. Of his teacher who he loved, but who he had feared for years because of his too hard methods. Of being fourteen and shot again and again until he lost his ability to flinch at the sound of gunfire. Of being fourteen and forced to crawl to his feet and keep going even when his mouth tasted like copper and it hurt to breathe because Reborn wasn’t satisfied so Do It Again.

Gladio’s sword is out and he’s going for Reborn’s head before he can realize he’s moving.

Reborn, this one younger, this one not a cursed baby, this one who’s title of Arcobaleno is just a fancy label that marks him as one of the Mafia’s Best rather than someone who must carry a cursed artifact, barely ducks in time to avoid being beheaded. His retaliatory gunfire is swatted aside with obvious and open contempt, the sword slashing through sun-enhanced bullets like they were butter and not things powerful enough to rip through tanks. His student screams in fear and Reborn assumes the swordsman is an assassin come for the Vongola Heir, so he tries to lead the man farther away (not too far, in case the man had backup waiting for Reborn to be busy) from his useless student. The man follows easily, something hard and venomous in his gaze and Reborn inwardly scoffs because ah, the employer picked someone with a grudge against Reborn. How quaint.

It stops being quaint when the man launches on the offensive again and Reborn finds himself overwhelmed. Any attack is dodged or swatted aside like a fly, any feint is seen through and matched, the blade moves effortlessly in the man’s hands (Cloud? The sword looks heavy but he handles it like a paperweight), slicing through trees like frost, the shockwaves nearly sending Reborn flying the first time before he compensated. He catches a glint of Red flowing up the blade right before another unnaturally sharp and fast strike and realizes he’s up against a very strong Storm that is COMPLETELY ignoring Tsuna in favor of trying to take off Reborn’s HEAD.

Lovely. Just what he needed. Normally he would delight in this kind of thing, a nice break from trying to get train a useless civilian boy into a half-decent Mafia Boss.

But normally Reborn wouldn’t be giving ground and increasingly alarmed and afraid for his own life. The man just won’t STOP and none of Reborn’s tricks or tactics are working. Not diversions, not a flashbang shot to blind, nothing. He just keeps coming with a snarl on his face and speed that a Storm really shouldn’t have (the man fights like a Cloud, all unfair tanking and speed and power, but he is clearly a Storm in temper, in the red on his blade when his strikes split and devour the earth milliseconds after Reborn dodges.

Normally, Reborn would not be so hard pressed as to MISS the hunched figure that steals over to his student and starts gently talking to him before pressing a hand against the boy’s stomach.

The sudden EXPLOSION of Sky Flames, rippling out over the training ground, the park, the town, heck, probably the entire REGION definitely reclaims Reborn’s attention. His head snaps around to see, has a moment to be stunned by the sight of his student, his Weak Sky, Lazy Sky, Civilian Boy, wreathed in pure, pure amber Flames that make Luce’s look like guttering embers-

“Gladio, stop.” Says the stranger next to his student, eyes flashing from blue to bright red and Reborn feels steel stop just touching his neck, feels the wind of the halted blow send his hat flying, and pales. He’s slipped up for just a moment-

And if that stranger hadn’t spoken, that moment would have cost Reborn his life.

“He’s Reborn,” snarls the Storm, thick and furious and hateful.

“I know,” says the other man, “That’s why I want you to stop.”

The Storm growls feral and angry, pulls his sword away from Reborn’s neck, still ready to defend if Reborn tries to fight again, “He doesn’t deserve it. Any of it,” he spits and Reborn has the distinct impression he is missing something, because this ... doesn’t feel like disgruntled hitmen that want his fame and title.

The stranger near Reborn’s still wreathed-in-flame-student sounds ... sad. Nostalgic, is watching him with eyes that seem to see right through him and into his quietest, deepest parts, “I know,” the man repeats as he calmly helps Reborn’s student stand, “but I can’t help it.” A pause, a flicker of buried, ancient fury and hurt and suddenly the man is right next to the Storm in a flicker of sparks (Mist then? He doesn’t feel like a Mist). Reborn steps cautiously back, opens his mouth to demand answers (who were they, who did they work for, what had they just done to his student to make him for from a guttering Flame to a Sky Flame Reborn is almost getting FLAME DRUNK on right this minute).

He doesn’t see the man move. Just feels a touch on his stomach with gentle fingers.

The world goes grey. Grey and cold and deaf and dumb and blind and the world is spinning and he can’t get his feet under him, can’t keep them under him because he has no ANCHOR to the world, like its all just mist around his ankles. He drops his gun, falls over trying to get it back, curses as he stumbles to his knees because nothing is WORKING and he can’t THINK and what did they do? WHAT DID THEY DO? His Sun Flames are gone-gone-gone and he’s shaking and there is fog in his head and-

“Get up, Dame-Tsuna,” says the stranger softly, “a Mafia Boss doesn’t trip over his own two feet. Get up and do it again.” And it sounds like a quote. It is a quote. It’s him.

Reborn hisses a curse but STILL can't get his gun to stay in his hand long enough for a shot (he’s so cold so cold so cold)

“Stop it! Stop it!” Amber, burning and searing hot, curling around him as his student- as TSUNA leaps in the way, grabs the Mist’s (?) arm and pleads, “Don’t do it to him! He doesn’t deserve it, no one does! No one deserves that! Please!”

The man gently ruffles Tsuna’s hair, “You’re right. No one deserves it. It’s only temporary. It will wear off in just a few more seconds. I just ... wanted him to understand what it was like-”

Something inside Reborn shatters and his Sun Flames rush back, the world rushes back, sound and color, touch and taste and stability, the world stops sliding away from him and the fog clears just in time for him to hear-, “to be a completely Sealed Flame.”

Reborn lunges to his feet again, gun in a shaking but firm hand, mind whirling- “There was a seal on my student,” he hisses. Then he blanches, because this man just- that feeling had been- all this time his student-.

The stranger with the blue eyes shrugs, “Yes,” he says simply. “I removed it. Gladio, come on. I think our ride is here.”

The Storm scoffs but starts following the man away. Reborn takes a step after them, freezes when the sword comes to bear at his neck again, “Who are you?” he hisses, humiliated and humbled and wary for the first time in over a decade, “How did you know all this? What Famiglia are you sworn to?”

The Storm snorts and pulls his blade away, the other man pauses, sighs.

Unfurls his Flame like the rising of the dawn. It stretches and curls, strange and oddly crystalline, forming little shards of amber and blue diamonds in the air, but it’s powerful, it blankets the area, tangling and clicking effortlessly with Tsunayoshi’s almost like-

Almost like they were-

No.

No that was impossible.

Blue eyes are now amber gold as he smiles sadly, “Just a Sky who saw your student and knew what was really wrong.”

“I want your name,” Reborn rasps past the heady feeling of being surrounded by two Sky Flames (identical Sky Flames) that made Luce the Arcobaleno Sky look like a mere spark of fire.

A blink, a near mischievous (tired, bitter, nostalgic, conflicted) look, “We both know you already know my name, Reborn.” He turns away again, one hand tangling with the fingers of his Storm to keep the bear of a man from attacking Reborn again and somehow Reborn knows that there is nothing he can do to stop them from walking away.

Just as they reach the borders of the park and start to round the bend, the Sky lifts a hand in a lazy wave and a flippant, “Chaos, Reborn!” Then they’re around the bend and the crystalline Sky Flame is gone. Vanished from the air like it had never been.

Reborn stares, processing and staggering under the weight of ... everything that just happened. Looks down at his shivering student who leaped to his defense (poor defense, begging defense but still DEFENSE) even though Reborn has done nothing to win any sort of favor.

Even though he’s been pushing a Sky child past the breaking point without even noticing that the boy was sealed and not just weak from inexperience.

He needs a drink.

But first ... “I think that’s enough for today d-. Tsuna. Let’s take you home.”

Ask me in the next life, whispers in his ear over his whiskey late that night.

We both know you already know my name.

He’s Reborn

I know, that’s why I want you to stop.

He doesn’t deserve it. Any of it.

I know, but I can’t help it.

Ask me in the next life.

We both know you already know my name.

Reborn mutters a curse as he slugs back his drink. Buries the knowledge that just tried to behead him with a sword for another day. Or never. Preferably never. He has a training regime to drastically rewrite. And .... possibly. MAYBE. An apology to make to his student in the morning.

...

“You didn’t have to try to kill him, you know.” Noctis murmurs as they lounge in the sunshine of the Citadel garden. Safely returned to their home dimension with a little help from Umbra and Gentiana.

Gladio tightens his arms around his king, letting the smaller man sit in his lap like the cuddly cat his king-brother secretly is, “He deserves it. He hurt you. He hurt you so badly you’re still messed up in an entirely different lifetime.” He made you afraid of me. Even more than I had made you afraid of me. Gladio doesn’t say.

Noctis just sighs like he already knows, then murmurs, “At least I got the Seal off. I always wanted someone to come take the Seal off. Even before I knew what it was.”

Gladio growls and lets the matter slide.

But if they ever wind up back in that dimension, Gladio is going to track down Reborn and kick his tail again. Not kill him, that would upset his king-brother, but smack him around?

Yeah. That sounded good.

[argonas]

Misguided Justice - Pt. I

[[ Co-written with @kidcatgemini​ / @sinafay-the-defiant​ ]]

Evening had descended by the time Argonas set hoof on the small Arathi farmstead. Quaint and simple, the Vindicator could barely believe this is where his wayward student Sinafay had settled down. No measure of justice was served from such a simple life. But then, he knew she’d abandoned such duties in favor of her abhorrent and deviant lifestyle. His fists clenched as he paced up the hill from the fields proper, towards the small cottage overlooking the land. Smoke billowing from the chimney served as a sure sign someone was home. Sinafay… Grakkar… that abomination they called a child… he expected to find all three inside. Disgusting and unnatural as it was, that wasn’t even why Argonas was here. No, Sinafay’s transgressions far exceeded that, now.

Despite Raetos’ unwillingness to do what was necessary, and his efforts to convince the Vindicator of such, Argonas knew otherwise. Anyone who abided such evils as Avehi raising the dead were just as culpable as she was! By harboring and abetting the Death Knight, Sinafay had made her choice. And the Light demanded its justice. It almost hurt to consider; he really had taken pride in training young Sinafay in the ways of the Light, helping to nurture and cultivate her talents into a beacon of strength for their people. Such a waste…

His heavy hand banged against the wooden door - so fragile, he worried it might break if he hit it too hard. Still, the firm knocks echoed through the farmstead, as the Vindicator made his presence known.

“Sinafay!” he called out. “Sinafay the Defiant!”

It didn’t take very long for the door to open, revealing a very angry looking Draenei, brows knit into a scowl. She’d done a great job at losing the baby weight, already a good way back to her Vindicator fitness level. She wore a lovely, yet simple robe, ideal for a busy mother, yet accentuated her natural curves and showed off her Light bound tattoos. 

“Argonas,” she scolded, “Do you mind maybe NOT waking the baby I just put to sleep?!”

She pushed forward to try and shove the Vindicator back, but Argonas was unmovable as always, and in his full armor of course! With a frustrated huff, she moved around him, shutting the door behind her as she began to walk down the hill, tail twitching. Best to do the yelling away from Neelah. She couldn’t imagine what her former mentor was doing here at this time of night.

“What the FUCK are you doing here?!” She growled.

Perhaps it was motherhood, the hormones raging through her. Or perhaps coupling with a filthy Orc for too long had boosted her aggression. Maybe, partly, she was upset to see him again after how he left things with her. There were many likely factors, but no matter what or why, Sinafay was being terribly bitchy. It wasn't the attractive sour attitude he cherished in his departed mate, either; she was just being erratic and grumpy. Terribly unappealing!

He followed her a ways down the hill, stern expression his only real response to her demeanor. He looked her over, a mixture of sorrow and regret overcoming him. Oh how far she'd fallen… even glistening with the Light from her Lightforging did little to make her seem redeemable after such a terrible track her life had followed. It pained him to see his former pupil like this. Such shame he felt, clearly having failed to teach her not to parlay with savage orcs, or aide depraved Death Knights. She was his greatest failure.

"... I am told you sheltered and aided Avehi. Is this true?" Argonas asked, bluntly.

Sinafay raised a brow, turning to look at him as the question was asked. She relaxed a bit, having shaken off the anger now that they were a fair distance away from the house.

“She was here a few months ago; came across the farm by happenstance. Hadn’t seen each other for a while, so we caught up. Went on her way after that.”

Sinafay crosses her arms over her chest. Why was Argonas looking for Avehi? She thought back on her conversation with the Death Knight, frowning. She finally took a moment to look the Vindicator over; those dark circles under his eyes… and something looked off in that luminous gaze of his. Something she’d missed in her earlier frustration.

“If that’s what you mean by ‘sheltered and aided’, then yeah, I guess I did. Why?”

“She has dragged you into her terrible misdeeds.” Argonas elaborated, albeit vaguely. “Avehi has been raising the dead for nefarious purposes. If you are a friend to her, she will likely come here to seek shelter again. To hide from the Light’s justice.”

His eyes narrowed, as he reached back to draw his crystalline blade.

“This, I cannot allow.”

Sinafay didn’t wait a moment longer to see where the conversation was leading. She’d seen this exact situation play out too many times, on Draenor, to those suspected of aiding the Mag’har under Yrel’s reign.

She wasn’t about to allow him to use that blade. While she’d taken on a more domestic role over the past months, she’d kept her senses sharp. Having an Orc mate who enjoyed a good spar helped quite a bit.

Her eyes flared, hands slamming into the large Vindicator’s chest with a powerful blast of Holy Light to push him back before taking on a defensive position.

“I suppose I was right to not have trusted you after all.”

It hurt to have her suspicions realized. To know that her mentor was as blinded as the people she’d left behind on her world. She felt justified, in a way, the guilt of hiding her relationship with Grakkar from him washing away.

“Leave us be, Argonas,” she warned, baring her teeth, “This is your only warning.”

The Vindicator’s hooves scraped along the ground, slowing him from skidding too far back. He grunted, frowning deeper at Sinafay. He expected resistance, of course. He’d trained her well enough not to take a death threat lying down!

“Do you think I want to do this? I thought I had taught you better! But you have fallen so far from the path I laid out for you!” he growled, plated fist tightening around the hilt of his blade. “You failed! You abandoned your post! You betrayed our kin on Draenor, breaking your vow to protect them! And for an Orc!?”

“Hmph. Consider it my highest honor.” Sinafay shot back, defiantly.

Argonas grunted. He rushed in, hoofsteps hastened by the Light itself in a furious charge. He swung his sword in a wide arc towards Sinafay. Sinafay shot forward as he charged. She didn’t have a weapon or armor, but knew agility wasn’t Argonas’ strong suit, and planned to use that to her advantage. She rolled as he swung, just passed his right leg to end up behind him, her tail wrapped around his ankle, tugging it back with her momentum as she got to her hooves. 

She didn’t turn back to look if he’d fallen forward or not as she kept running; hoping she’d bought herself a bit of time as she headed towards Grakkar’s workshop. She knew there would be a weapon or something there she could use to defend herself with. The Lightbound could hear nothing but her rapid heartbeat as adrenaline rushed through her system, making it impossible to know if he was right behind her or not.

Suddenly, a bolt of Light struck her shoulder, knocking her off balance just as she reached the workshop. She stumbled and fell into the door, crashing through it! The heavy hoofbeats of Argonas closed in, making up what distance the tripping attack bought had cost him.

“And now, you abide by such abhorrence as Avehi raising the dead! Our own people, enthralled by her necrotic powers!” he continued to charge Sinafay, shouting aggressively. “I know not what set you on such a depraved path after we parted, Sina. But it has led to this final judgment! The Light will not tolerate your abusing its blessing to supplement death and pain to its chosen people!”

He brought his blade up for an overhead swing, cutting straight down vertically!

Sinafay barely had time to cocoon herself within a barrier of Light. Argonas’ sword crashed into it, causing sparks to fly and crackle in a near blinding light show as the holy forces fought against each other. The Lightbound woman grit her teeth as the barrier cracked under the pressure of the Vindicator’s strength. She was out of practice, and her former mentor’s conviction was too strong. She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but she would fight to the bitter end.

And that end grew closer as the barrier shattered. She tried to roll to the side but the blade found purchase in her side, forcing a cry out of her as blue blood oozed out of the wound. She reached out, hands grabbing the Vindicator’s wrists as her hooves kicked out at his face in a final act of defiance.

Argonas stumbled back, but not far. Swift and firm as the kick was, there was an insurmountable difference in stature between the two Vindicators. His face immediately began to swell up at the impact point of Sinafay’s hoof, but that only seemed to infuriate him more. The grinding of his plate gauntlet along the hilt of his crystalline blade rang out sharply as he shifted his grip. He took the sword in his hands, and lined up the piercing point with his former pupil’s chest.

“Through me, the Light’s justice will be served! The mistakes I made in judging the true measures of your character will at long last be corrected!”

He raised his blade, eyes narrowing as he started to bring it down to finish his grim task-- when suddenly a pair of arms wrapped tensely around his waist! From behind him, Grakkar took hold of the Vindicator and heaved him upward and over himself with a mighty roar! The Draenei was caught off-guard, and thrown over onto his back as Grakkar arched and kicked back and away from Sinafay. Argonas came crashing down on his shoulders and the back of his head, driving his chin into his chest plate as the rest of his heavy plated body rolled over the top of him! He was stunned! The wind knocked from him entirely as Grakkar threw him back!

“Get away from my mate, you honorless piece of clefthoof shit!” the Warsong shouted, snarling at Argonas.

He gave little time for the abettor to recover, rushing in to keep up the pressure. As Argonas rolled over and brought himself up to his hands and knees, Grakkar ran up and took hold of his head. Lining it up, he carried his momentum and slammed his knee into the Draenei’s crest! 

*CRACK* 

Argonas rolled over from both the pain, and the force of the impact to his face! But the assault didn’t end there. Grakkar trudged up alongside the writhing and bewildered Draenei. He knelt down scooping up a small handful of dirt to toss into the Vindicator’s face! Then, he just started punching! Once, again, three times! He bloodied his fist against the Draenei’s plated crest, pounding his face over and over with unyielding fury! 

Argonas did what he could to protect himself, but he couldn’t see his assaulter, much less block the barrage of punches! He’d dropped his sword, and couldn’t afford to reach out and feel for it nearby. That would only give the Orc more openings! Instead, he curled in, doing his best to cover his face with one arm as he swatted at Grakkar blindly with the other in hopes of deflecting or softening the next blow coming his way. One wild swipe caught hold of something - the Orc’s forearm. Success! With all his might, he ripped the Orc’s arm towards him, counter attacking with a punch of his own. He felt his plated fist connect, knocking the Orc back and away from him. Only for a moment… but the moment was all he needed.

Bringing his hooves back beneath him, Argonas stood up and quickly brushed the dirt and blood from his face. His luminous eyes set onto Grakkar, who also recuperated from their exchange of blows. For a moment, the two stared one another down.

“The Light… judges you too, Orc filth!” Argonas grunted.

“Fuck your Light!” Grakkar shot back, snarling.

With a furious shout, the Orc rushed at Argonas yet again. The Draenei took up a defensive stance, readying himself as Grakkar drew near. He knew he couldn’t match the Orc’s agility; their fight in Kun-Lai had taught him that, well enough. Instead he dug in his hooves, tail swaying limber behind him to keep his balance. As the Orc took his swing, Argonas brought his forearms up to block the incoming blow. Then the next. Teeth grit as he held firm his position, Argonas bided the Orc’s assault like a statue! He was ready for him, this time. Ready and waiting for his opening. His hands and arms felt raw, jarred and pulsing from the plate gauntlets reverberating each repeated strike. But he held his ground.

Grakkar raged on, throwing punch after punch in the hopes of landing one or two good blows, enough to throw his opponent off of the defensive. But the Vindicator was stoic! Unyielding! The old Orc already felt fatigue setting in. How long had it been since he had a good fight like this? Since settling down with Sinafay, and their young daughter Neelah, he hadn’t been in too many scrapes. His rustiness was taxing him now, exacting the toll of his inactivity. His blows began to slow, punches falling slower and softer against the same blood-smeared plate gloves the Draenei used to defend himself. His knuckles were pulp, each screaming a searing pain from crashing into the inexorable metal again and again. He rotated in a kick to mix it up, hoping to knock the Draenei over, but he might as well have kicked a boulder. One more punch. Another. Until finally the futility of it drained Grakkar entirely. He staggered back, growling.

And that was Argonas’ opening.

The blast of Light illuminated the farmstead, bright as high noon for only a split second. Argonas’ retributive burst was more than enough to knock the weary Orc over. The Vindicator charged, hoofbeats hastened by the Light’s gift to surge the mass of muscle and steel towards Grakkar. He’d barely managed to keep his balance, only for Argonas to slam into him like a rampaging elekk. The Orc felt his body tossed back, and yet he didn’t go far. Argonas gripped him tightly to keep him from sailing too far away from the impact, instead simply slamming him into the ground before him. The Orc’s pained howl was a symphony to the Vindicator. Retribution for so much pain that not only this Orc caused him personally, but all Orcs caused his people! Quickly, he followed up by stomping his hoof into the vile creature’s chest! Still surging with the Light, his plated hoof shoe seared into Grakkar’s flesh, causing him to writhe and moan in pain!

“You have caused enough trouble!” Argonas declared, pressing his hoof down harder. “And now, you will cause no more!”

Grakkar struggled, gripping the Draenei’s leg as he gave all his might to try and push back, but not only did the Draenei significantly outmatch his strength, his plated form weighed a ton! It took all the Orc’s might just to keep the hoof at bay! Even then, he felt his ribs bending and cracking, the hoof melting his skin. It became hard to breath, his cries of agony turning to harsh and hoarse gasps as Argonas pressed harder. He’d been in enough fights to know when he’d lost. And this… this was it. This was the end. 

His eyes widened at the realization, his expression of anger and rage replaced by one of fear. Despair. He had failed. He couldn’t protect his mate. His daughter. After everything he’d done, all the effort and sacrifice he’d made to protect Sinafay, to free her from bondage on Draenor… only for her to die here at the hands of another Light-crazed zealot. He strained a little harder, but nothing he could do would be enough to overpower Argonas. But he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t! He turned his head, looking over towards the workshop where Sinafay was. He couldn’t see her… and that hurt all the more, unable to lay eyes on his mate one final time. His strength began to wane.

“I’m… sorry…” Grakkar grunted, as his grip finally slipped.

*CRUNCH*

~*~

TO BE CONTINUED...

[98prilla]

Turned

Next

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AO3

...

Patton cocked his head, a slight frown on his face. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he eased Virgil off of his lap, careful not to wake him as he stood. He rubbed his arms, feeling almost chilled, a shiver running down his spine. Something was wrong.

 “Lo? Ro?” He called, and instantly, they appeared from in the kitchen, loosening a bit of the worry growing in his chest, safety in numbers, but something was still niggling at him, eating at his mind, screaming danger.

 “Patton. Breathe.” Logan, gently squeezing his shoulders.

 “something is wrong.” He answered, panic rising.

 “Patton, your eyes…” Roman gasped. He spun, gasping as he saw his reflection, his eyes glowing a dim red. The strange panic pulsed harder, and he flinched, shoving the others down behind him, just as the glass windows of the living room shattered.  

 His instincts took over, the alarm cry of danger screaming in his head, rushing in his bones, and he growled. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt his family again.

He snarled as he leapt into the fray, not bothering with weapons, his nails sharpening into claws, his fangs bared and ready to tear, as he immediately pounced on one of the assailants, rolling across the floor in a bloody scrap.

 Roman had his katana drawn, trying to fend off the attackers, Logan at his back with his crescent moon blades, Patton darting between them all with his extra speed, blocking the hits the others couldn’t see coming, keeping them away from the couch, away from Virgil, whom they seemed to hone in on.

 There were so many of them, too many of them, and they were faltering. Roman had a slash across his cheek, Logan was bleeding from his arm. Patton was scraped and bruised, still snarling and spitting furious, like an angry alley cat, trying to defend all three of his family members, unable to keep up, unable to stop one from getting through his line of defense, eyes locking on Virgil as one of the attacking vampires reached him, a scream building in his throat.

 Then there was a brilliant burst of black violet light that threw them all off their feet. Patton blinked furiously, breath freezing at the sight before him.

 Virgil was standing, eyes a deep, electric storm violet that covered the whites. The light sparked from his hands, wreathed up his arms, wove around him almost like a cloak. The power was so black it was white, shifting between the two, lightning crashing against his skin, the power radiating out from him, his entire being aglow with it. The other attacking vampires hissed, focusing on their target, leaving the others alone. A smile split Virgil’s face, a cold, cruel thing, that made Patton shiver.

 “You’ve made a mistake.” Virgil’s voice was an echoing boom, thunder crashing, rattling window panes, shaking the earth, a powerful reverb to it that had all of them wincing as it echoed in their mind.

 In an instant, Virgil’s hands twisted in a complicated pattern, glowing circles and runes appearing in the air before him, drawn with his fingers, then he threw his arms wide and the spell circle blew wide, encompassing all the charging vampires, enveloping them in devouring darkness. Their screams were the only sound to the room as they dissolved into smoke, and with a flick of his fingers, the dark spell was gone, along with the attackers. Then Virgil turned to the three of them, his eyes still burning nearly black, novas of light crackling across his skin. Roman shoved to his feet, katana drawn, standing guard before Patton and Logan.

 “It’s not safe here.” Virgil’s voice still boomed as he held out a hand, and Roman hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt Virgil, but this was scaring him. This wasn’t anything he’d ever seen before, and he wouldn’t let anyone, even Virgil, harm the others.

 “Roman. It’s ok.” Patton murmured, gently pushing down his hand holding the sword, stepping around him, taking Virgil’s outstretched hand. “I trust you.” He whispered to Virgil, noting the slight smile that played at Virgil’s lips.

 “I know, baby bat. Thank you.” Virgil replied, squeezing his hand, before looking back up at the others. Logan was next, hesitantly placing a hand on his arm, Roman following suit with a huff.

 Virgil closed his eyes, weaving another spell circle in the air, one more complicated than Logan had ever studied, then the world blurred like a wet water color painting, shifting and spinning around them, slowly resettling until it was solid again, and they were in a completely different place.

 “And I thought I was one for dramatic entrances.” A low whistle was accompanied with the words, and the group spun to face the small table against the wall, Remy leaning back in it, a smirk on his face, that slowly faded as he noticed the sparking light emanating from Virgil, expression shifting to shock as Virgil turned to look at him, eyes nearly black as coals, his veins pulsing with dark light.

 “they found us. Didn’t know where else to go. Keep… keep them safe…” Virgil swayed on his feet, and Remy swore, barely managing to catch Virgil in his arms as the magic instantly vanished, the black leaking from his eyes as they rolled back and he slumped unconscious, skin ashen.

 “Shit, Anx, you really know do know how to make an entrance.” Remy whispered, watching with baited breath as Virgil groaned, eyes blearily blinking open. He tsked scoldingly.

 “Did you have a stroke and forget the first lesson of magic, you moron?!” Remy shook him lightly, and Virgil hissed, rolling his eyes.

 “Be careful what you cast-“

 “If it’s too much it’ll draw from your lifeforce itself.” Remy chorused with him, glaring down at him angrily.

 “Cool. Now bitch, explain.”

 “attacked in our house. Pack of ‘em. Was… was the only option.” Virgil mumbled, eyes slipping shut once more.

 “Nuh uh, babe, not on my watch.” Remy muttered, silver light enveloping him for a moment, channeling his own magic into Virgil. Almost instantly, Virgil’s complexion evened out, his breathing steady, and the glow faded from Remy. Virgil didn’t open his eyes, but he stirred slightly, letting out a deep breath and relaxing in Remy’s arms, the pained tension leaving his body. It was a deep, restful sleep of recovery, Remy had made sure of that. It was his specialty, after all.

 He took a deep breath, then turned his attention to the others, scowling as he saw Patton, standing with Roman and Logan.

 “Someone wanna explain why you all showed up with my half dead adopted brother and him?” Remy asked accusingly, glaring at Patton, who waved nervously. Roman opened his mouth, but Logan stepped forwards first, eyes narrowed.

 “Actually, I would say that it was you who led trouble to us. Given that Virgil has been dormant in his role as Anxiety, and you have been searching for Deceit, it seems probable that you were tailed when you paid us a visit, thereby leading your enemies to our doorstep. The only reason we got out is because he used magic more powerful and complex than any I’ve read about.” Remy softened, looking back down at Virgil.

 “Of course he did. It takes a ton of magic to teleport two people, let alone three, including yourself. No wonder it pulled at his life force.” Remy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I was being careful.” He muttered, pushing back Virgil’s hair, before lifting him with a sigh and depositing him on the couch. In a literal blink of an eye, Patton was there, Virgil’s head in his lap. “He’ll be all right in a bit, just needs some, well, sleep. Remy smirked slightly, pushing up his dark glasses.

 “So what do we do? He said the house isn’t safe anymore, those vamps are probably watching it. So now what?” Roman asked, pacing, eyes never leaving Remy, full of distrust.

 “They seemed to be targeting Virgil specifically, and if it’s true they did indeed follow you to our location, it stands to reason they are after ‘the coven’ as you referred to it. It seems our goals now align. If we wish for these vampires to leave us alone, we must find their leader, and therefore find Deceit. Whether we like it or not, we must now work together.” Logan stated, standing near the arm of the couch, hands clasped behind him. Roman scowled, not halting in his pacing.

 “You think I like it either, pretty boy? The last thing I wanted was your pet vampire in my secret hideout.” Roman growled, katana half drawn, silver light sparking on Remy’s hands.

 “Say that again, I dare you.” Roman hissed out.

 “Gladly, bitch-“

 “Enough, you two. Just… enough. I get it. You don’t like me, don’t trust me, don’t want me here. I… I get it. But I’m not leaving. He’s part of my family, and I will do anything to protect him. So can we skip the hating me part, and focus on the problem?” Patton said, voice tired instead of biting, as he looked between Remy and Roman. Remy bit his tongue, looking hard at Patton for a moment, before sighing.

 “Alright. Alright, fine, fine, for now. Once we figure this out, I make no promises.” Roman hissed again, cut off by Patton’s glare.

 “I’ll just have to change your mind about me by then! Now, what do you know?”

…

 He was exhausted. He was slumped against the wall, crouched uncomfortably, his restraints biting into his skin, keeping him from any kind of sleeping position. Every time he drifted off, the collar dug into his neck, jerking him awake. He was stained with blood, but his eyes were still defiant as he heard footsteps approaching, glaring up at the vampire who stopped before him.

 “Well. That certainly went interesting. Seems I underestimated your little Virgil. He’s a slippery little shadow, I’ll give him that.” He smirked, relief filling his chest, Virgil got away. He’d always been smart, been strong, the strongest of the three of them, really.

 “If you were smart you’d let him go. He’s capable of far more than you can imagine.” He kept his voice even, making sure the exhaustion didn’t give him away, keeping his cool façade intact, as the vampire grinned, fangs showing.

 “Oh, but so am I. Something interesting happened, when my followers stormed their house. See, I expected four hunters. I didn’t expect three hunters and one very protective vampire. Wouldn’t you know, my coven turned a human a few months back, and got chased off before they could drag him back to the nest. What a lovely coincidence!” The vampire clapped his hands, green eyes flashing as his heart sunk.

 He knows what that means. If vampires from this clan turned Virgil’s friend, and this vampire is the leader of the clan, then Virgil is in grave danger. He can see through Virgil’s friend’s eyes, can listen through his ears, can get inside his head and control him like a thrall, if he’s close enough. There’s an enemy on the inside, and no one, including Virgil’s vampire, knows it.

 “Oh, don’t look so glum! You’ll get to see each other again soon, won’t that be great? Now, I’ve gotta go prepare my next move, but don’t you worry about a thing, pet. I’ll be back to play with you soon.” The vampire patted his cheek, making him wince, before he sauntered away, whistling, leaving him shaking.

 He closed his eyes against the wash of helpless hopelessness filling him from the inside out. There’s nothing he can do.

 He sunk down into his apathy, shutting himself off from the pain, from any emotion, because there is nothing, nothing he can do.