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javier-pena · 4 years

Text

bloodstain

Chapter 2 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Mature

Notes: First, let me start with saying that at this point taking a bullet for Dani @javierpcna doesn’t feel like it would be enough. She literally drops everything whenever I send her a new or revised chapter to look over and i cannot thank her enough! I kinda surprised myself with how quickly I finished this chapter, but that’s also thanks to Dani because the highlight of my day is sending her small snippets of what I’ve written and having her reply with “?????”. I also want to thank all of you who read the first chapter and left comments and sent messages, it means the world to me! I was so nervous about sharing this with you all, but I’m so glad I did. And finally, let me end this with saying happy birthday, Chrisann @darksber!!! I hope you have a fun birthday and I hope you enjoy the second chapter as much as you enjoyed the first one.

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The snow comes over night. The cold, clean smell is the first thing your mind registers, even before it has time to make you feel confused about the strange bedsheets wrapped around you. And then you remember.

The screams.

The blaster shots

The fire, the blazing heat engulfing you, burning your skin.

Those men on their speeder bikes, laughing, looting, taking whatever the fuck they want.

And you, unable to stop them.

The feeling of cold, all-consuming despair makes a shiver run down your spine, makes you curl up in a tight ball beneath your blanket and shake so violently it makes you feel sick. Then you cry, and with the tears comes the heat until you’re so hot you feel sweat collect at the nape of your neck and run down your back in icy beads. After yesterday, you hadn’t expected there to be any tears left, but there are, so many, and they don’t stop, they seem to be endless, like a river flowing, rushing, tumbling over rocks and down a precipice, drowning everything in its way.

You hate those men, you loathe them, you want them dead, torn apart by wild animals, you want them dead after they beg you for their miserable lives, you want them dead and forgotten. That anger and that lust for revenge that seem to take up every cell and atom in your body are what finally helps you to stop crying. They don’t help you to calm yourself – you are anything but calm – but they help you to focus your rage on one goal: kill them all.

Because with the memories of the pain and the despair and the utter helplessness you felt yesterday (and still feel today) comes the memory of him. The Mandalorian. And remembering him means remembering the hope you felt when he offered his services, when he pledged himself to your cause. Shit. You shake your head. He did no such thing. He accepted a job. He only cares about the money, he doesn’t care about the cause. Yes, he will help you achieve your goal, but he’s emotionally detached from it. And you need to remember that. You need to remember it for your own sake because as soon as you assume anything else, it’ll get messy.

And he terrifies you. He terrifies you so much, especially in the light of day. Because the morning sun makes him feel real, solid, and so much more dangerous. And you have a feeling you shouldn’t keep him waiting.

You finally sit up and roll your neck and shoulders to relieve the pain the previous day’s labors have left behind. You couldn’t defend yourself against the Mandalorian, even if the muscles in your body weren’t screaming with pain. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You don’t know why you would trust a complete stranger like that after everything that has happened to you, why you would trust a complete stranger who could snap your neck like a dry twig. Being around him feels like being constantly held at gunpoint. One wrong move and you’re dead.

But you need him.

Maker, you need him.

You get out of bed and stretch, then run your hand over your face to dry it off. There is a bowl of water on a small table next to the bed. You have to break the thin layer of ice that has formed on the surface, and when you splash it on your face, it is freezing, but at least it makes your burning cheeks feel numb and it eases the stinging in your eyes. You know you look a mess, but you don’t care. You get dressed in your soot-blackened clothes and then leave the small room. You have no idea if you’ll ever sleep in a bed again.

***

The morning air is icy cold. Two suns have risen, but the third one still hides behind the trees. The air is foggy, misty, and clouds of smoke pass you by. The settlement is already busy. In a shop next to the inn, a man heckles with the vendor in a raised voice. Two farmers lead a small herd of tauntauns down the street, while everyone tries to get out of their way. In the distance, a child is crying. It smells like fire and snow and life. You hate it.

The everyday noises are overwhelming to you; the melody of a hammer hitting metal in a nearby forge makes your skull vibrate, the voices of people talking makes you want to cover your ears with your hands and yell at them to shut up, the reverberations of the tauntauns’ claws against the frozen ground makes you want to take cover somewhere and hide until nightfall.

But you don’t run or hide or even just turn around to take a breath. Instead, you focus your attention on the Mandalorian.

He is waiting for you outside the inn. A thin layer of snow has collected on his shoulders, a sign he’s been standing motionless for a while. Even though the morning sunlight is pale and makes everything look hazy, you see him clearly. So clearly that you have to squint your eyes when you look at him. His beskar armor glistens from the sunlight it reflects, so much that the people on the street turn their heads to look at him. The wisps of smoke rushing past shroud him, but it’s not enough to dim the dancing shimmers. He carries a long staff strapped to his back, a kind of spear you’re pretty sure he didn’t have with him the previous night at the inn. And his face is hidden behind the helmet again, which probably shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. All of this just makes him look wrong. He looks so out of place standing in the middle of this dirt-poor settlement it makes you want to pretend you don’t have anything to do with him.

So you focus on what’s behind him. In one hand, he holds the reins of three orbaks, in the other a small bundle. He presses it against his chest like he’s holding a small child, not a lifeless piece of cloth. The orbaks are big, wooly beasts, dark grey in color, with two long, dangerously pointy tusks hanging from their mouths. Two of them have saddles strapped to their backs, the third one is laden with crates, saddle bags, even two long guns. The more you look at it, the more weapons you spot. What does one man need so many for? So much baggage will just slow you down. The bandits already have a day’s head start and travelling on heavily loaded orbaks will give them even more of an advantage. But this is probably the best the Mandalorian could do – the settlement is so poor, not even merchants sell speeder bikes – who would be able to afford them?

You shudder and wrap your arms around yourself, painfully aware that the fire destroyed everything except for the clothes you’re wearing. But they’re not enough to protect you from the bitter cold. You can see your breath hovering in a pale cloud in front of your face when you exhale slowly, you can feel the snowflakes on your bare lower arms as you walk toward the Mandalorian. You have no idea how he can stand there like the cold is nothing to him. Beskar doesn’t protect against low temperatures. To you, this is just further proof of how much he’s not human.

“Here,” he says, as you stop in front of him, holding the bundle out to you.

“What’s this?” you ask with a small nod at him, the bundle, and the orbaks. You don’t take it.

The Mandalorian looks behind him, then back at you. “Supplies,” he says.

You take the bundle from him and untie the chord that’s tightly wound around it. Folding back the thin cloth, you unwrap a long, dark brown leather cloak with fur linings and a thick, woolen scarf. The scarf looks itchy but feels very soft against your skin and the coat lies heavy in your arms, like a dead animal. The sight of these clothes leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and you don’t move to put them on. Instead, you stand there, pressing the unwrapped bundle against your chest, and look at the Mandalorian with raised eyebrows.

“What’s this?” you repeat.

He doesn’t reply, just nods and makes a gesture with his now empty hand, motioning you to hurry up.

You don’t. You just look at him, shivering more and more with each passing second. You’re not sure if it’s from the cold or from the anger you’ve been feeling since yesterday, since waking up this morning, since unwrapping the bundle; everything is stoking up the fire, feeding your flaming rage

“Listen,” you start. You try not to let your feelings get the better of you, but it’s impossible. You don’t quite know yourself why this small gesture enrages you as it does, you just know you need to set some boundaries right now. “I don’t need your pity,” you continue. “I don’t need you to look out for me. I can take care of myself.”

The Mandalorian huffs. “This isn’t a gift,” he says, his voice completely level. “I’m paying for it with your money. I’m not forcing you to wear it, but if you go on the journey like that,” he nods at you, “you’ll freeze. You’re no use to me dead.”

You feel heat rush to your face and settle in your cheeks. Without another word you put on the coat and tie the scarf around your neck. The coat rests heavy on your shoulders, weighing you down. It’s a size too big, but snug, and you stop shivering immediately. You run your left hand along the right sleeve under the pretense of fixing it, but you just want to feel the material under your fingers. It’s softer than it looks, which just serves to make you feel embarrassed and … stupid.

You feel stupid, so, so stupid. Did you really expect him to make you a gift? To look out for you? To care for you? You hired him to do a job and he’s just making sure you stay alive long enough to pay him. Much like the owner of a racing stable would do with his fathier. You scold yourself for having misread the situation. You blame it on the exhaustion you still feel, on the trauma you lived through, on the need for human connection you had no idea you even felt. There is no way to come out of this situation without feeling like a fool, so you just decide to ignore it. After all, it’s best if you just forgot about the whole thing. All you need to do in future is to be more careful around him so you don’t misinterpret his intentions again.

“Supplies?” you ask to distract yourself.

You wish you could see his face when he says, “Were you just going to follow them on foot with no food or weapons?” Because it doesn’t sound as if he’s mocking you, even though he should be. Hell, you should be mocking yourself. But he just sounds genuinely curious, as if this is a discussion about a topic you’re both not emotionally invested in, not a question of life and death.

“No,” you answer slowly, then look away. You have to admit you hadn’t thought about it yet, you were too focused on the idea of hunting those men down that you didn’t even consider you needed tools, supplies, food, and a means of transportation. “Thank you,” you add.

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod, accepting your words of gratitude. You’re glad he doesn’t press the subject, any subject really.

Without him, you would have been dead within a day.

***

It is still snowing when you and the Mandalorian leave the settlement behind. As you begin your journey into the unknown, tiny snowflakes settle in the fur of your orbak, making it appear white instead of dark grey. It blends in perfectly with your surroundings, where everything is light shades of blue, grey, and brown. And white, so much white. You squint your eyes and yet the light still stings to the point you tear up. You envy the Mandalorian his tinted visor and you wish you had something similar to protect yourself. Alvorine’s three suns hang low, their pale blue light filtered through hazy clouds. Everything you see is blurred and too bright to look at directly – it makes you feel vulnerable and exposed. Even as you enter the cover of the trees, their bare branches do little to help keep out the light and the snow and so you lower your eyes to your reddened hands holding your orbak’s reins as you trust the Mandalorian to lead the way.

The air is cold this morning, so cold you tie your new scarf over your mouth and nose and still feel it sting in your throat. Your face, still raw from crying, stings too. Your hands are frozen shut around the reins and you can’t feel your fingers. When you try to move them, the action is painfully slow. You shiver despite the heavy coat on your shoulders as you sit hunched over to give the cold air less opportunity to cover your body with icy touches. You would never admit to it out loud because you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one day, but the Mandalorian was right – you would have frozen to death within a few hours of leaving the shelter of the settlement.

You raise your head briefly to look at him riding ahead of you, but he is the brightest object in a 10-mile radius, you think, brighter than your orbak’s fur or the snow-covered ground. Back in the settlement, you already noticed how the suns’ light reflects off his polished beskar armor, but out here in the forest with nothing around to distract your gaze, he is like a homing beacon, like a bright, blazing fire lit in complete darkness. This brazen display makes you shiver; he is on top of the food chain, too quick and powerful and deadly to hide his presence. He could be spotted from miles away by someone on a sentry tower and yet the person keeping watch wouldn’t stand a chance. The Mandalorian would catch them sooner or later, no matter how well they were trying to hide. Nothing can escape him, so there is no reason for him to hide his presence, to sneak from cover to cover like a thief in the night.

He frightens you.

What is also bearing down on you is the silence surrounding him, you and your orbaks. Yes, there is the sound of their hooves against the frozen ground, the swoosh of their fur every time they shake their heads, the soft thud whenever they brush up against a branch, making snow glide to the ground. But that’s it. That’s all you hear. The Mandalorian travels in complete silence. His armor doesn’t squeak or thump. You cannot hear the sound of his slow, steady breathing. Even his hands lie completely silently on the nape of his orbak’s neck, the reins resting against the worn leather of his gloves. And you envy him those gloves because the further you travel into the forest, the colder it gets, and the stiffer and more unresponsive your fingers get.

You cannot recall the last time you felt this uncomfortable. You wish there was something to distract you from – well – everything. Yes, you’re grateful the Mandalorian doesn’t ask you personal questions because you buried your old life beneath wet soil and dirt yesterday, and with it you buried any desire to share it with a complete stranger. He also doesn’t ask you about the men you’re hunting, and you feel like he doesn’t have to because he just knows. Maybe he talked to the people back at the settlement, maybe it’s the years of experience he’s had hunting people for a living or maybe it’s just instinct – he knows where he needs to be going, he knows what kind of equipment to bring along, and he knows what the best strategy is to catch his quarry.

You don’t know any of these things. And the more you stray from the bare minimum of human civilization and into the wilderness of Alvorine, the more you realize you wouldn’t stand a chance without the Mandalorian. You would’ve frozen to death if he hadn’t given you the coat. Or you would have starved, or died from exhaustion from trying to carry all your supplies yourself. You would have gotten lost and eaten alive by a wild beast. Or you would, by some miracle, have caught up with the men, but would’ve gotten killed by them because you didn’t bring a weapon. By the look of it, the Mandalorian brought enough for a small army. And the more you think about it, the more you are prepared to admit that you were never seriously planning on going after the bandits. You are prepared to admit you were just looking for a way out so you wouldn’t have to live with the pain. One or two rash decisions made from a place of hurt and despair, one or two unplanned steps can mean death on Alvorine. While wallowing in your revenge fantasies, you weren’t thinking about Brea – you were just thinking about yourself.

But somehow – and this time you’re convinced it’s because of his instincts – the Mandalorian offered you a chance at success, one you might not even have wanted. He listened to the people in that inn and decided helping you with your cause is the right job for him. You’ve never heard of a Mandalorian like that. You always assumed they were only interested in money or the thrill of chasing down the rich and the powerful, in letting them know that no amount of credits can keep them safe. But here he is, content with spending a week or more in the forests of Alvorine, hunting down base criminals for the ridiculous amount of 240 credits. It doesn’t add up. And you would ask him about it if he wasn’t an unapproachable, withdrawn man, covered in impenetrable armor. You would ask him if he didn’t terrify you so much.

You wish you could talk to him about … something, you just don’t know about what.

But he makes that decision for you. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

His voice cuts so unexpectedly through the silence that you flinch. It somehow surprises you that he is real and not just a concept you’ve made up in your mind, and idea to help you live out your fantasies of revenge and vengeance.

When you don’t answer, he turns his head to look at you. You squint when you return his gaze, trying to make up your mind whether you are hungry or not (something that feels impossible when all you are is terribly, terribly cold), but then he pulls on the reins of his orbak and brings it to a halt in the middle of the path. He glides down from the animal in one swift movement; a small cloud of freshly fallen snow rises up when his feet hit the ground but there is still no sound and this is starting to unnerve you. It takes him a few steps until he’s next to you, the top of his head reaching your shoulder, even though you’re still mounted high on your orbak, and then he says in a rough, almost unkind tone of voice, “I asked you a question”.

And you remember the deal, you remember having agreed to doing as he tells you. It’s just, you don’t have an answer for him. So you just shrug.

He grabs the rein of your orbak and you finally – finally! – hear his movements make a sound, a low creak as the leather of his glove brushes against the leather of the bridle. The orbak shakes its shaggy head but he doesn’t flinch. His visor is directed at you and you know he expects an answer from you. He’s growing impatient, you can tell from the way his shoulders tense as he lets his gaze wander over your body.

“You’re hypothermic,” he observes, and as the words leave his mouth, so does the air you’ve been holding in and you start shaking uncontrollably.

Now that he’s pointed it out, there is no denying it. You’re cold, so, so cold, frozen and raw, you can’t feel your own lips, your nose, your cheeks. Your fingers are lifeless lumps against the coarse fur of your orbak. If the animal would decide to bolt at this very moment, you wouldn’t be able to hold it back. You’re not even sure you could climb down from the beast right now. Of all the deadly dangers of Alvorine it’s the cold that has finally gotten to you. It’s laughable, and you would laugh, if you could feel your face.

“Can you dismount?” he asks you then.

This is a question you can answer. “I think so,” you say, even though you know you can’t. Your legs are like two solid bricks of ice, too stiff to be moved.

“Do it then,” he says, and it sounds so much like a challenge that you’re determined to show him you can do it.

He doesn’t watch your pathetic display though. He lets go of the rein and walks to the third orbak that is carrying most of your supplies. You’re grateful for that because as soon as you try to dismount, you feel your body tense even more until you glide down from the orbak with a disgraceful plop and land in the soft snow with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. The sounds you make draw the attention of the Mandalorian back to you, but he doesn’t rush to your side to offer you help. Instead, he turns his attention back to the task at hand, looking through one of the bags strapped to the pack animal. You’re convinced he rolls his eyes under the cover of the helmet.

You try to get up, and you manage after two fruitless attempts. Your legs are shaking, but at least they’re supporting your weight. Walking on them is another topic you’re not prepared to cover yet. And then you feel it again, that hot sting of embarrassment you felt this morning, trying to make itself known by speeding up your heart rate and adding a feeling of nausea to your general discomfort. You push it down without batting an eyelash. There is no reason to feel like this, especially if you compare yourself to the Mandalorian. Not everyone can be a ruthless killing machine, immune to environmental influences.

Then he’s back by your side, and with a gruff, “Hold this,” he pushes a heating pad into your hands. You’re not sure at first if it’s switched on because you don’t feel anything, but when you move it around in your hands looking for the on button you notice it’s cranked up to the highest setting.

“You need to tell me when you’re cold,” the Mandalorian continues in the same gruff tone of voice, while he unscrews a flask.

Once it’s opened, he pushes it into your hand with such force you stumble backwards. Your whole body tenses at the contact and you realize you’re completely alone with him. There is not another living soul around for miles except for the three animals next to you, and they won’t come to your aid if he suddenly decides to kill you. And he could. He is so strong; you had no idea how strong until he pushed you back like that with a motion that didn’t seem to take any effort at all. And with another effortless motion, he could close a hand around your neck and squeeze until there is no air left in your body. You wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Drink,” he orders.

You do. It’s a hot liquid – tea, you think – but with a bitter taste to it. It warms you up instantly, much quicker than the heating pad does. You still can’t feel your fingers.

“Just tell me next time,” he repeats. “Losing a finger to hypothermia is a nasty business.”

And now you do feel embarrassed again. You’re a burden, you’re slowing him down. You already lost a quarter of an hour because you can’t handle a bit of cold. It’s not surprising he usually works alone. No one is able to keep up with him, least of all you in your weakened, exhausted state.

But you can’t turn back. You refuse to give up so easily.

You nod to show him you’ve understood his instructions. Then you let your gaze wander around, looking for something to distract you. You can feel heat rising to your cheeks, and it has nothing to do with the warm drink or the heating pad. You know it doesn’t because you’re still shivering. But you’re not going to apologize to him. For some reason, you feel like he would just brush it off, act like it’s no big deal. But it is to you, and you wouldn’t be able to bear him acting nonchalantly. The other possible response to an apology from you would be him trying to comfort you and you definitely. don’t. want. that. The mere thought makes your heart beat so rapidly it feels like it’s going to explode any second. The mere thought of one of his hands resting on your shoulder in a comforting gesture makes you want to run. You don’t want him to care for you because it’s entirely at odds with his character, his whole being. He is here to hunt and kill, not to hold and comfort. And this is what you need right now – a killer, not a caretaker.

You take a few steps, walk past him toward a fallen tree to calm your nerves. The deep breaths of cold air you take make you cough, but he doesn’t even flinch. Good. You’re usually not like this, you’re usually not someone who can’t take care of themselves. After all, you’ve lived on Alvorine your entire life, you know how harsh the winters can be and how dangerous the cold is. But yesterday’s events broke something in you, and the realization that you might never recover from it begins to dawn on you, take hold of you with a grip icier than the snow clinging to your worn-out boots. The weight of what happened to you slams into you with full force and you have to lean against a tree, its rough bark scraping uncomfortably against your cold, bare hand.

And then you see it – the bloodstain. One single, impossibly small, impossibly red bloodstain on the virgin-white snow. And everything stops.

You lurch forward and fall to your knees to examine it more closely. Yes, it’s definitely blood. You raise your head to look around, but you can’t spot anything out of the ordinary, just trees and snow and your own footprints. Your breath comes in short, labored bursts, and you suddenly don’t feel cold anymore. In fact, you don’t feel anything at all.

“What is it?”

The Mandalorian is there, crouching by your side. You point to the small, red dot, and he raises his hand to touch his helmet. His body grows rigid as he examines it, all the while not moving an inch. You don’t want to hear his verdict, don’t want to hear the conclusion he’s come to. That bloodstain stirs something inside you, a panic with such deep roots you feel it taking over your entire body, growing like weed, choking all other feelings, all life out of you.

Something in your body language must have given away this panic you feel, because suddenly the Mandalorian turns to you and says, “I need you to calm down.”

You nod, unable to speak. Then you turn your head away from him and throw up.

“Hey,” he says, and something in his voice catches your attention. It sounds almost … soft.

You turn back to him, running your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you apologize.

“I’m going to look around,” he tells you. Then he raises his hand as if to comfort you, but you flinch away from him. His hand hovers outstretched between the two of you for a brief moment before he lowers it again. “Just stay here. Try to eat something. I won’t be long.”

He pushes himself off the ground, towering over you. You stand up too, your legs shaking, but before you can embarrass yourself more by stumbling into him, he takes off in a slow-paced run and you stare after him until the trees swallow him up. And then you’re alone. Alone with three orbaks and your panicked mind.

It’s not Brea’s blood, you tell yourself.

But what if it is? a different voice asks.

It’s not. It snowed during the night, and we’re too far behind those bandits. It can’t be hers.

It can, you know it can. They could have left her here to die.

There would be more tracks.

Then why are you panicking? Why did you throw up?

You can’t argue with that. Instead, you sink to the ground again, bury your head in your hands, and scream. You scream so loudly that even though the sound comes out muffled, the orbaks still move their heads nervously. A few trees away, a flock of birds takes off, chittering in disapproval. You scream until your lungs begin to burn, until your throat stings, until you feel like you’ve just sprinted ten miles. Then you grow quiet.

***

When the Mandalorian returns, it’s almost dark. You’re not freezing anymore because you spent the last two hours or so pacing up and down the path through the undergrowth you’ve made earlier, your mind racing with scenarios of him not returning before nightfall. You fear the nights on Alvorine and you know you should have told him about the dangers these forests hold. Because how could he have known that it’s almost impossible to survive a night out in the wilderness? Almost because if anyone could do it, it would be him.

When he returns, the pauldron on his right shoulder is smeared with dirt and his chest is heaving with silent pants, but he’s alone. You’re simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

“We’ll make camp here for the night,” he decides without so much as a greeting.

You open your mouth to tell him how dangerous that would be but then close it again when you remember the nearest settlement is miles and miles away and you wouldn’t reach it in time before nightfall. You don’t have any other choice.

He sends you to collect some wood while he moves to tie up the orbaks. You scold yourself for not having done that earlier when you were waiting for him, but you had hoped it wouldn’t take him quite as long and he would be back sooner. As you move around, picking up the driest branches you can find, you glance over at him from time to time. He is lost in his own task, tying the reins to nearby tree trunks, patting one orbak’s neck, then scratching another one’s muzzle. They trust him, stand completely still in his presence while he circles them, examining them for any injuries or anything that might cause them discomfort.

Finally, curiosity gets the better of you. “What did you find?” you ask, as you break a big, dead branch into two parts.

“Nothing,” he replies in his brusque fashion you’re slowly getting used to. “A dead animal.”

You nod, then focus on the task at hand. Your small discovery and subsequent … breakdown? … panic attack? … you don’t know what to call it, has already cost you so much time. You could’ve covered twice the distance today if he hadn’t stopped here because of you. But … this isn’t a rescue mission, you keep forgetting about that. This is a quest for revenge, and those bandits will be there, no matter how long it will take you to find them. It doesn’t matter if it takes you two days or two months to reach them.

“Did you eat?” the Mandalorian asks you, interrupting your train of thought.

You shake your head and he sighs. Then he reaches into one of the saddle bags and pulls out a ration pack, tossing it to you. He proceeds to clear away the snow around the small pile of wood you’ve collected before doing something with his arm, so flames shoot out of the vambrace, igniting the stack. You can’t help but stare in fascination because you’ve never seen anything like it.

It doesn’t take him long to get a fire going. You grab one of the two bundled up, coarse blankets from the pack orbak and spread it on the ground next to the heat source, huddling up close for warmth and protection. You tear open the ration pack and begin to eat.

“I should’ve told you before, but it’s dangerous out here at night.” Your mouth full, you watch as the Mandalorian sits down opposite you, the fire between you. The warmth spreading through your body and your steadily filling stomach make you talkative. “There’s monsters in these woods.”

He chuckles softly but you’re sure it’s just your imagination. There is no way you could’ve heard a sound like that over the crackling fire. But before you can ask him about it, he raises his hand to remove the dirty pauldron from his shoulder, and you’re so distracted by that piece of steel being lifted off the body it usually protects that you stop thinking altogether for a moment. It’s stupid, you know that, but a part of you still thinks he might be a machine, and seeing that pauldron being removed from his shoulder feels almost forbidden, like you’re the audience to some ancient, sacred ritual you have no right to observe. You lower your gaze to the flickering flames.

“I’ll keep an eye out for those monsters,” he assures you, and you’re not sure if he meant for it to sound mockingly, but it doesn’t.

You still don’t think he fully believes you.

“Alvorine is a dangerous planet,” you tell him in a quiet tone of voice. “It might not seem like it compared to what you’re used to, but to us the dangers are very real.” You’re still not looking at him, but there is no point – you can’t see his face anyway.

“I believe you,” he says. “But fire is usually enough to keep the monsters at bay.”

As a response, you nod, even though you’re not sure he’s watching you. So you finally raise your head again to look at him. The pauldron is back on his shoulder, but his gaze is directed at the orbaks.

“I’m going to feed them,” he tells you. “They’re getting restless. Try to get some sleep.”

You nod again and stretch out on the cold, hard ground. Shivering, you pull your coat tighter around yourself. The fire is barely warm enough to keep your fingers and toes from falling off, and once it dies down, there won’t be anything keeping you from freezing to death. Briefly, you’re considering pulling the blanket out from beneath you to use it as a cover, but then you wouldn’t have anything to protect you from the cold ground. With a sigh, you close your eyes, trying to ignore the discomfort. Instead, you focus on the sounds around you, on the branches brushing against each other when a cold breeze tears at them, on the orbaks huffing impatiently and almost nervously, and on the crackling fire, the heat that makes a piece of wood snap in half ever so often. And then you hear another sound, footsteps, and your eyes snap open again.

The Mandalorian towers over you, and it’s the first time you were able to hear him approach. Instead of feeling proud of yourself, you bolt upright, adrenaline pumping through your veins. Whatever happens next, you know you don’t stand a chance against him. He slowly leans down, and you try to get away from him, but your muscles are frozen stiff and don’t cooperate. His arms move as if to grab you and a strangled cry escapes your throat.

But it’s just a blanket, just the other blanket, and he wraps it tightly around your shoulders. “Here,” he says with a low grunt. If he noticed your alarm, he doesn’t comment on it.

You look at his helmet reflecting the light of the dancing flames, and you wish you knew what was going on beneath it. Is he offended? Annoyed? Or maybe just as cold and exhausted as you?

“What about you?” you ask, grabbing the coarse material to hold it tightly against your body.

“I’m not cold,” he answers, standing up again. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you before sunrise.”

You watch him walk back to the other side of the fire and settle down on the cold ground with just his cape to keep him warm. And for the first time since you met him, his stoic presence doesn’t fill you with dread or panic or trepidation – he just makes you feel calm.

tag list: @bella-ciao, @chattychell, @darksber, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @magicrowiswritingstuff, @mothandpidgeon, @mbpokemonrulez, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos, @pescopadral, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #lmao i'm still a coward though and currently asleep #tw: flashing gif

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ladyofasoiaf · 4 years

Text

Jon ‘One Eye’ & Sansa Stark

In this meta I will try to point out the clues of Jon’s death- warging into his direwolf- coming back to life process.

Our main hint is going to be : ONE EYE motifs...

And interestingly this hint is always close to Sansa...

[Most of these clues etc have been already examined by many people but I will try to put them all in order to show the pattern..]

A GAME OF THRONES:

Waymar Royce

Waymar Royce appearence and story are very similar with Jon’s.

They look similar:

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife.

[AGOT; Prologue]

Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.

[AGOT; Bran I]

They are both young men of Night’s Watch but they were not very welcomed by their other black brothers:

His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. “Bet he killed them all himself, he did,” Gared told the barracks over wine, “twisted their little heads off, our mighty warrior.” They had all shared the laugh. It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups, Will reflected as he sat shivering atop his garron. Gared must have felt the same.

[AGOT; Prologue]

“Yes, life,” Noye said. “A long life or a short one, it’s up to you, Snow. The road you’re walking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night.” “They’re not my brothers,” Jon snapped. “They hate me because I’m better than they are.” “No. They hate you because you act like you’re better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks he’s a lordling.” The armorer leaned close. “You’re no lordling. Remember that. You’re a Snow, not a Stark. You’re a bastard and a bully.”

[AGOT; Jon III]

Others are a very important part of Jon’s arc and story and Waymar meets with them in Prologue:

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

[AGOT; Prologue]

This phrase also reminds us Jon:

It is more than impatience, Jon realized. They are afraid. Warriors, spearwives, raiders, they are frightened of those woods, of shadows moving through the trees. They want to put the Wall between them before the night descends.

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You’ll dance with me anon.

[ADWD; Jon XII]

In Prologue, Waymar gets killed by Others:

Royce’s body lay facedown in the snow, one arm out-flung. The thick sable cloak had been slashed in a dozen places. Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy.

[AGOT; Prologue]

And Jon dies in ADWD:

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

[ADWD; Jon XIII]

But Waymar comes back to life as a wight with ‘ONE EYE’:

Will rose. Ser Waymar Royce stood over him. His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye. The right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw.

[AGOT; Prologue]

So: A young man of Night’s Watch who looks like Jon dies and comes back to life with ONE EYE.

Let’s continue with the second book...

A CLASH OF KINGS:

Orell

Orell is Wildling who is also a skinchanger. His animal is an EAGLE.

Jon kills Orell in ACOK; Jon VI:

Jon nodded toward the one by the fire. It felt queer, picking a man to kill.

[...]

Jon’s man leapt to his feet, thrusting at his face with a burning brand. He could feel the heat of the flames as he flinched back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. The Valyrian steel sheared through leather, fur, wool, and flesh, but when the wildling fell he twisted, ripping the sword from Jon’s grasp.

[...]

“You ought to burn them you killed,” said Ygritte.

[ACOK; Jon VI]

But due to the magic of skinchanging, a portion of Orell’s consciousness remained in the eagle, which developed a fierce hatred for Jon.

And in ACOK; Jon VII he dreams of an eagle attacking him and people talk about vargs and skinchangers:

Then a sudden gust of cold made his fur stand up, and the air thrilled to the sound of wings. As he lifted his eyes to the ice-white mountain heights above, a shadow plummeted out of the sky. A shrill scream split the air. He glimpsed blue-grey pinions spread wide, shutting out the sun… “Ghost!” Jon shouted, sitting up. He could still feel the talons, the pain. “Ghost, to me!” Ebben appeared, grabbed him, shook him. “Quiet! You mean to bring the wildlings down on us? What’s wrong with you, boy?” “A dream,” said Jon feebly. “I was Ghost, I was on the edge of the mountain looking down on a frozen river, and something attacked me. A bird… an eagle, I think…”

[...]

“Skinchanger?” said Ebben grimly, looking at the Halfhand. Does he mean the eagle? Jon wondered. Or me? Skinchangers and wargs belonged in Old Nan’s stories, not in the world he had lived in all his life. Yet here, in this strange bleak wilderness of rock and ice, it was not hard to believe.

[ACOK; Jon VII]

So: There is a skinchanger who dies because of Jon but a part of him keeps living in his animal: eagle.

The interesting thing is that between these two Jon chapters (Orell and eagle dream) comes a very important Sansa chapter which has many parallels with Jon VI chapter...

An example of parallels:

[…] ‘All I ask is a flower,’ Bael answered, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell.”

“Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious…

[ACOK; Jon VI]

Sansa lowered her head. “The blood frightened me.”

“The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You’ve had your first flowering, no more.”

Sansa had never felt less flowery. “My lady mother told me, but I… I thought it would be different.”

[ACOK; Sansa IV]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: B5

In this chapter Sansa says she wants to be loved and Cersei warns her that “love kills too...” Next chapter is Jon with his eagle dreams and warging abilities:

A half smile flickered across the queen’s face. “[…]Robert wanted to be loved. My brother Tyrion has the same disease. Do you want to be loved, Sansa?”

“Everyone wants to be loved.”

“I see flowering hasn’t made you any brighter,” said Cersei. “Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.”

[ACOK; Sansa IV]

Let’s move on to third book...

A STORM OF SWORDS:

Orell and Wargs

In ASOS; Jon I, we learn the name of the Wildling that Jon has killed in ACOK; Jon VI:

“He slew Qhorin Halfhand,” said Longspear Ryk. “Him and that wolf o’ his.”

“And did for Orell too,” said Rattleshirt.

“The lad’s a warg, or close enough,” put in Ragwyle, the big spearwife. “His wolf took a piece o’ Halfhand’s leg.”

[...]

“What’s this?” he said. “A crow?”

“The black bastard what gutted Orell,” said Rattleshirt, “and a bloody warg as well.”

“You were to kill them all.”

“This one come over,” explained Ygritte. “He slew Qhorin Halfhand with his own hand.”

[ASOS; Jon I]

This Jon chapter comes after ASOS; Sansa I.

And these chapters have many parallels such as:

Sansa knelt at the feet of her future queen. “You do me great honor, Your Grace.” “Won’t you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Loras, help the Lady Sansa to her feet. Might I call you Sansa?”

[ASOS; Sansa I]

“I would be pleased to eat, Your Grace. And thank you.”

“Your Grace?” The king smiled. “That’s not a style one often hears from the lips of the free folk. I’m Mance to most, The Mance to some. Will you take a horn of mead?”

[ASOS; Jon I]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: C1

We also learn about Sansa’s new betrothed: Willas Tyrell..

Willas has a bad leg and so does Jon, in ASOS:

“Willas has a bad leg but a good heart,” said Margaery. “He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars. You will love him as much as we do, Sansa.”

[ASOS; Sansa I]

If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. “A lucky thing my leg got in the way,” he muttered.

He rested for a while to let the horse graze. She did not wander far. That was good. Hobbled with a bad leg, he could never have caught her.

[ASOS; Jon V]

Let’s keep reading...

In ASOS; Jon II chapter Jon’s eagle dream from ACOK comes true and Orell’s eagle attacks Jon’s eye:

He could still hear wings, though the eagle was not in sight. Half his world was black. “My eye,” he said in sudden panic, raising a hand to his face.

“It’s only blood, Jon Snow. He missed the eye, just ripped your skin up some.”

[…]

Can a bird hate? Jon had slain the wilding Orell, but some part of the man remained within the eagle. The golden eyes looked out on him with cold malevolence.

[…]

I will need to get this tended, he thought, but not just now. Let the King-beyond-the-Wall see what his eagle did to me.

[…]

The look Mance gave Jon was grim and cold. “What happened to your face?”

Ygritte said, “Orell tried to take his eye out.”

“It was him I asked. Has he lost his tongue? Perhaps he should, to spare us further lies.”

Styr the Magnar drew a long knife. “The boy might see more clear with one eye, instead of two.”

“Would you like to keep your eye, Jon?” asked the King-beyond-the-Wall. “If so, tell me how many they were. And try and speak the truth this time, Bastard of Winterfell.”

Jon’s throat was dry. “My lord… what…”

[ASOS; Jon II]

Jon almosts loses his ‘one eye’ and becomes Jon ‘One Eye’ Snow because of this attack..

After this eagle attack Jon chapter comes ASOS; Sansa II

And these chapters have many parallels such as:

Jon wheeled and followed Tormund back toward the head of the column, his new cloak hanging heavy from his shoulders. It was made of unwashed sheepskins, worn fleece side in, as the wildlings suggested.

[…]

“I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace.”

[ASOS; Jon II]

A new gown?” she said, as wary as she was astonished.

“More lovely than any you have worn, my lady,” the old woman promised. She measured Sansa’s hips with a length of knotted string. “All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it.”

“Which queen?” Margaery was not yet Joff’s queen, but she had been Renly’s. Or did she mean the Queen of Thorns? Or…“The Queen Regent, to be sure.”

[ASOS; Sansa II]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: C2

And after the chapter of an eagle attacks Jon’s eye we learn in next chapter that Sansa’s betrothed Willas Tyrell flies EAGLES:

“Willas has the best birds in the Seven Kingdoms,” Margaery said when the two of them were briefly alone. “He flies an eagle sometimes. You will see, Sansa.”

[ASOS; Sansa II]

Why is Almost One Eye Jon and Sansa Stark being near to each other important?

Because the first Sansa Stark in Stark family tree was married with her half-uncle Jonnel ‘One Eye’ Stark:

So another Sansa being close to another Stark family member who almost had lost his one eye sounds interesting.

Well, Jon didn’t lose his eye but his face got scarred:

He had almost forgotten about his face. “A skinchanger tried to rip out my eye.”

Noye frowned. “Scarred or smooth, it’s a face I thought I’d seen the last of. We heard you’d gone over to Mance Rayder.”

[ASOS; Jon VI]

Who else has a scarred face? Sansa’s husband- Tyrion Lannister:

“I like your scar.” She traced it with her finger. “It makes you look very fierce and strong.”

He laughed. “Very ugly, you mean.”

“M’lord will never be ugly in my eyes.” She kissed the scab that covered the ragged stub of his nose.

[ASOS; Tyrion II]

Varamyr

What happens to this eagle later?

Skinchanger, Varamyr Sixskins, takes control of Orell’s eagle. Varamyr uses the eagle to scout Castle Black and spots Stannis Baratheon’s arrival at the Wall.

The eagle bursts into flames during the attack on Castle Black with Melisandre claiming she was responsible.

The skinchanger was grey-faced, round-shouldered, and bald, a mouse of a man with a wolfling’s eyes. “Once a horse is broken to the saddle, any man can mount him,” he said in a soft voice. “Once a beast’s been joined to a man, any skinchanger can slip inside and ride him. Orell was withering inside his feathers, so I took the eagle for my own. But the joining works both ways, warg. Orell lives inside me now, whispering how much he hates you. And I can soar above the Wall, and see with eagle eyes.”

[...]

“Banners,” he heard Varamyr murmur, “I see golden banners, oh . . .” A mammoth lumbered by, trumpeting, a half-dozen bowmen in the wooden tower on its back. “The king . . . no . . .”

Then the skinchanger threw back his head and screamed.The sound was shocking, ear-piercing, thick with agony. Varamyr fell, writhing, and the ’cat was screaming too.... and high, high in the eastern sky, against the wall of cloud, Jon saw the eagle burning. For a heartbeat it flamed brighter than a star, wreathed in red and gold and orange, its wings beating wildly at the air as if it could fly from the pain. Higher it flew, and higher, and higher still.

[ASOS; Jon X]

Melisandre burns the eagle. Who else got burned in the books?

Jon Snow in AGOT:

He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk halfway to the elbow. At the time he’d felt nothing; the agony had come after.

[AGOT; Jon VIII]

And Jon burns himself in AGOT; Jon VII:

Jon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the arm away and snatched the lamp from the Old Bear’s fingers. The flame flickered and almost died. “Burn!” the raven cawed. “Burn, burn, burn!”

Spinning, Jon saw the drapes he’d ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the puddled cloth with both hands. Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.

The direwolf wrenched free and came to him as the wight struggled to rise, dark snakes spilling from the great wound in its belly. Jon plunged his hand into the flames, grabbed a fistful of the burning drapes, and whipped them at the dead man. Let it burn, he prayed as the cloth smothered the corpse, gods, please, please, let it burn.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

This Jon chapter comes after AGOT; Sansa IV:

And these two chapters have many parallels such as:

So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly … only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor’s Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside.

[AGOT; Sansa IV]

They took his knife and his sword and told him he was not to leave his cell until the high officers met to decide what was to be done with him. And then they placed a guard outside his door to make certain he obeyed. His friends were not allowed to see him, but the Old Bear did relent and permit him Ghost, so he was not utterly alone.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

Yet somehow it seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after she’d built a fire. She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.

[AGOT; Sansa IV]

Yet he was trembling, violently. When had it gotten so cold?

[…] 

Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: A10

What happens to skinchanger Orell and warg Varamyr after the eagle burst into flames?

The incident greatly affects Varamyr and supposedly kills the remnants of Orell inside the eagle.

After the defeat of the wildlings at the battle beneath the Wall, Varamyr has lost all his possessions in his madness from experiencing the eagle’s death; he has also lost control of his snow bear and shadowcat, but his wolves remain.

[Orell dying completely and Varamyr gets mad also reminds me another resurrected character Beric Dondarrion who also has ONE EYE and him dying for good to bring Catelyn Stark back to life... And like Varamyr, Lady Stoneheart loses her mind too... ]

Let’s move on to fourth book...

A FEAST FOR CROWS:

Jon is not even in this book?

But Sansa is and we learn few things about her crushes:

Waymar Royce:

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl.

[AFFC; Alayne I]

Grrm reminds us Waymar Royce aka the biggest foreshadowing for Jon in AFFC book via Sansa’s chapter...

Loras Tyrell:

Loras was another crush of Sansa and we learn that he got burned really bad in AFFC.

Like the eagle and Jon.

“Tell me,” said Margaery. “I command it.” Command it? Cersei paused a moment, then decided she would let that pass. “The defenders fell back to an inner keep once the curtain wall was taken. Loras led the attack there as well. He was doused with boiling oil.” Lady Alla turned white as chalk, and ran from the room. “The maesters are doing all they can, Lord Waters assures me, but I fear your brother is too badly burned.”

[AFFC; Cersei VIII]

More about Loras // Jon, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: A8

Let’s keep reading the fifth book...

A DANCE WITH DRAGONS:

In ADWD; Prologue Varamyr encounters with Others (just like AGOT; Prologue) and Varamyr’s body dies, but his mind lives on in his wolf One Eye.

And Varamyr also thinks about Jon and his direwolf..

So we have dead warg who kept living in his animal: A WOLF whose name is ONE EYE.

Varamyr could feel the snowflakes melting on his brow. This is not so bad as burning. Let me sleep and never wake, let me begin my second life. His wolves were close now. He could feel them. He would leave this feeble flesh behind, become one with them, hunting the night and howling at the moon. The warg would become a true wolf. Which, though?

[...]

“They say you forget,” Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death. “When the man’s flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains.”

Varamyr knew the truth of that. When he claimed the eagle that had been Orell’s, he could feel the other skinchanger raging at his presence. Orell had been slain by the turncloak crow Jon Snow, and his hate for his killer had been so strong that Varamyr found himself hating the beastling boy as well. He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. Mance should have let me take the direwolf. There would be a second life worthy of a king. He could have done it, he did not doubt. The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it.

[...]

A sleeping direwolf raised his head to snarl at empty air. Before their hearts could beat again he had passed on, searching for his own, for One Eye, Sly, and Stalker, for his pack. His wolves would save him, he told himself. That was his last thought as a man. True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake. Then he found himself rushing over moonlit snows with his packmates close behind him. Half the world was dark. One Eye, he knew. He bayed, and Sly and Stalker gave echo. When they reached the crest the wolves paused.

[...]

The things below moved, but did not live. One by one, they raised their heads toward the three wolves on the hill. The last to look was the thing that had been Thistle. She wore wool and fur and leather, and over that she wore a coat of hoarfrost that crackled when she moved and glistened in the moonlight. Pale pink icicles hung from her fingertips, ten long knives of frozen blood. And in the pits where her eyes had been, a pale blue light was flickering, lending her coarse features an eerie beauty they had never known in life. She sees me.

[ADWD; Prologue]

Jon dies in his last ADWD chapter and his last word was his direwolf’s name: GHOST...

[ADWD; Jon XIII]

So we have a full circle:

It started with Agot; Prologue

and ended with ADWD; Jon XIII

Let’s not forget that Jon’s death was foreshadowed in ASOS; Sansa VI chapter.

Lord Petyr dismissed him with a wave, and returned to the pomegranate again as Oswell shuffled down the steps. “Tell me, Alayne—which is more dangerous, the dagger brandished by an enemy, or the hidden one pressed to your back by someone you never even see?”

“The hidden dagger.”

“There’s a clever girl.” He smiled, his thin lips bright red from the pomegranate seeds.

[ASOS; Sansa VI]

Next chapter was Jon:

Fore more about Jon’s death and Sansa; please check:

Jonsa Book Hints: C12 & E7

“Do not be so certain.” The ruby at Melisandre’s throat gleamed red. “It is not the foes who curse you to your face that you must fear, but those who smile when you are looking and sharpen their knives when you turn your back. You would do well to keep your wolf close beside you. Ice, I see, and daggers in the dark. Blood frozen red and hard, and naked steel. It was very cold.”

“It is always cold on the Wall.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, my lady.”

“Then you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered.

[ADWD; Jon I]

In conclusion:

Jon’s death, him warging into his direwolf during his death and him coming back to life arc has been foreshadowed since AGOT; Prologue and its most obvious hints were given in ADWD; Prologue by echoing AGOT; Prologue.

The ‘ONE EYE’ motif seems like a key hint for his resurrection.

And Sansa is always close to this motif or she has some connections with this motif via other characters or her chapters.

A Sansa Stark being close to another ‘ONE EYE’ Stark is interesting because of the historical couple: Jonnel ‘One Eye’ & Sansa Stark in Stark family tree..

Even the hints of Jon’s death can be found in Sansa chapters.

All of these tell us that Sansa will be important in Jon’s past resurrection story.

Thanks for reading.

Some sources:

Waymar // Jon

Disfigurements

Jonnel / Sansa

Jon’s fate and losing an eye

#jonsa #jon snow #varamyr #orell #jonnel one eye stark #sansa stark #agot #acok #asos #affc #adwd #actually jonsa #jon snow x sansa stark #waymar royce #one eye #meta #mine

252 notes · View notes

treesnutsandleaveswrites · 3 years

Text

A Big Job

Pairing: Mandalorian x Reader (mostly the Child x reader tbh haha)

Summary: You’ve been working for Peli Motto for a long time. When the Mandalorian comes along, you’re given a big job of fixing his ship and watching his little friend

Warning: fluff

Word Count: 1220

A/N: Sorry! I meant to post this on May 4th! And I tried making this one gender neutral

XXXXXXX

You were an orphan on Tatooine. As was nearly everyone else. On Tatooine, you had to make sure you had a job. If you didn’t, you were left alone in the desert or sold to slave traders. Maybe the Tusken Raiders would eat you if you were useless. You made sure you were useful in one way or the other. Working till the end of your days sounded better than choking on sand. Your life was hardly eventful other than fixing speeders and protocol droids. Sometimes the Jawas would come in so they could trade stuff with your boss, Peli Motto. You’ve been working for her ever since you were young. She almost dumped you once or twice because her droids worked faster, but who would be there to fix those droids while she was gambling at the cantina?

You were cleaning up some parts when a ship landed in the lot. Peli got out of her seat and signalled for the droids to approach as the door of the ship opened. You watched as a tall man in silver armor walked out of the ship.

“Been a while since I’ve seen a Mandalorian around these parts.”

“Can you fix my ship?”

“It’ll cost you.”

The Mandalorian pulled out some money, “Will this do?”

“Maybe, just for the door.”

“I’ll get you more, do you know where I’ll find any work?”

“The Guild doesn’t operate around here.”

“I’m not a part of the Guild.”

“Alright, well, head to the Cantina. You might find work there.” Peli looked over to the work droids, “Get a move on!”

The Mandalorian spoke quickly, “No. No droids.”

“Then it’ll take me longer to fix this hunk of junk!” Peli groaned and looked to you, “Leave those parts alone for now and come take a look.”

You nodded and grabbed some tools before heading towards the ship, giving a small tap on one of the work droids’ heads with a small wrench. The Mandalorian looked at you before walking out of the lot towards the cantina.

While you were fixing up the damaged ship, an odd sound came from within it. The work bots stopped messing around with Peli and you all grew silent. Another noise came from the ship and the door opened, which made you all cautious and huddle near each other. As you watched, a small, green, pointy eared creature emerged from inside, whimpering. Peli picked it up and looked at it, confusion still evident.

“It’s okay, little one.” She pet one of its ears and it cooed gently.

Twenty or so minutes later, the Mandalorian came back with a young man you’ve seen around the town. Peli scoffed while getting out of her small “office”.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve! Are you crazy?! Leaving a kid inside that damaged pile of scrap?!”

“Where is it?”

“He’s fine, he’s in there.”

The Mandalorian went to get him and held him close.

“This is gonna cost you extra.” Peli grunted.

“I’ll get your money. This young man has a job. Do you have any speeders?”

“Just those two junky swoop bikes.”

“We’ll take them. I’ll try to be back tonight, maybe tomorrow morning at the latest.”

He nodded to you as you watched him and the young man take the bikes and head to the desert.

You knew it was going to take you all day and night to fix the damages of this ship without the bots, so you tried working fast. Peli was too distracted playing sabacc with the work droids and “watching” the child. You were inside the ship, fixing some wiring, when you looked to the side to see the small green creature next to you, chewing on some jerky. You laughed gently before pulling the tough jerky out of its mouth and ripping it into smaller pieces.

“There you go, little one.”

He cooed and ate, plopping down next to you as you crouched down to fix some panels. You shook your head and continued with the repairs. The child observed you with his big eyes, very comfortable with your presence. He wiggled his small toes, still keeping his eyes on you. You looked back down at him and smirked.

“What?” You chuckled, sitting criss cross and facing him, “What do you want?”

“Pa-too.” He gurgled, holding out his hand.

You tilted your head in confusion, “What?”

He closed his eyes and it looked like he was going into a trance.

“Kid?”

Before you knew it, the pendant on your overalls flew to his hand. You had no words to explain what you saw. You looked at the child in shock, then glanced at the pendant. The creature giggled, and looked at it by holding it extremely close to its eyes. You smiled and tried grabbing it back, but the child yelped.

“Okay, okay,” You held your hands up on defense, “You can hold it until I’m done with the ship.”

You had finished just after sundown and were now sitting in the lot with the child in your lap as the work droids played around with a sphere shaped rock. A swoop bike approached the lot which caused you and Peli to get up, expecting the Mandalorian. However, it wasn’t him, but the young man he had left with.

“Where’s the Mandalorian?” Peli asked sternly, “Does he have my money?”

You stayed quiet as the child whimpered, hiding behind your leg.

“I’m afraid he’s indisposed…” The man pulled out his blaster and held it up to us, “Make one move, I shoot the kid.”

Peli picked the child up and the work droids stood cautiously. The man rounded you up in the dark, waiting for the Mandalorian to return. Peli held the child while the man held his blaster to her back. Footsteps approached and the shine of Beskar glistened in the low light.

“Come on out, kid…”

The man chuckled and went on about a rogue bounty hunter on Nevarro and a high value target. The Mandalorian stayed quiet, which ticked off the young man. Before you knew it, Peli and the child were safe and the man was on the ground. You emerged from the dark and took the Child from Peli as she went to the Mandalorian. He poured out a sack and they looked at the huge amount of credits.

“Is that enough?”

Peli nodded, “Yup. But it’s them who did most of the work.”

You shook your head and looked back at the child. It cooed and held your pendant in his small hand.

“Okay, little one. I need that back.”

The kid whimpered, gripping it tighter, which caused you to laugh.

“Come on… you have to get going.”

The Mandalorian looked at you before looking to Peli.

“You know… I could use some help for on my ship. I’m sure that money could buy you ten more droids. Do you think I can take them off your hands?”

You looked at him in shock, “What?”

“You fixed my ship… and the kid likes you.”

Peli laughed and nodded, “Go ahead.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Less mouths to feed.” Peli said nonchalantly and signaled to the work droids to help her gather the parts in the lot.

“Get your bags packed and we’ll get going.”

You grinned and looked down to the child, “Okay…”

#the mandalorian #the child #grogu #the mandalorian x reader #treesnutsandleaves writes

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iselsis · 4 years

Text

Off the Streets

Summary: Omega Jason Todd needs to get some food and go to ground quickly, before his heat hits. This plan is destroyed by Batman and his habit of impulse adopting children the way some people impulse buy gum at the cash register.

“Get back here, you thief!” the clerk hollered after him.

Jason, not an idiot, did not go back there, or even stop to pick up one of the bags of food he dropped. The clerk wouldn’t go far from the corner store, or he’d have more than just one kid grabbing some packaged food and sprinting, so all Jason needed to outdistance the beta to get away scot free.

His rush of pride was quickly squashed by reality, and the flickers of pain that had started in his stomach and promised a heat, soon. Without a calendar, he’d been forced to guess when most his heats were, and heats for younger kids like him could be inconsistent anyways. The first signs of heat had only just shown themselves, warning him to get food and hide quickly.

Food, down, he thought to himself, rather smugly. The beta hadn’t even been a challenge to outrun. He’d even snagged two water bottles and shoved them in the pocket of his hoodie, which was more foresight than he’d had the last time he’d gone into heat. It had been one of the nice working girls had found him and taken pity on him that had kept him from crawling out of his nest on day three to track down some water.

Jason ducked into an alley that he knew even the bravest of store clerks wasn’t stupid enough to enter a dark alley at night. You might run into strangers.

And speaking of strangers, Jason slammed directly into a wall of concrete. Jason stumbled back, rubbing his sore nose in confusion. There had not been a brick wall there when he’d been casing the joint that afternoon, but apparently one had conjured itself up.

“You have something that doesn’t belong to you,” the brick wall commented in a deep, gravelly voice.

Jason looked up – and kept looking up – until his eyes saw the yellow and black bat symbol, and the pointy black bat ears above them.

Oh, hell no. Jason spun on his heel and made a break for it, but Batman collared him immediately and yanked him back.

“Let me go! Let go!” Jason dropped his hard won food and desperately clawed at the gauntlet holding his hoodie. He’d go hungry if he had to. It would suck hard, but he couldn’t let Batman arrest him and throw him at the GCPD right before he went into heat. He’d be lucky to come out alive.

It was useless, though. Batman was probably three times his size, and wearing armored gloves. It took Jason a minute to accept that, and that he was just wasting energy he’d need to live through the beating he was in for and stop fighting.

Batman waited a few more moments after he’d stopped struggling, like he was waiting to see if Jason was really done.

Once he was satisfied, he gave Jason a small shake and jerk his head at the mess that Jason had dropped. “Pick those up.”

Jason scowled fiercely at him, but knelt slowly, Batman’s hand following his hood, and started feeling around for the food without breaking eye contact. His stomach made a loud growl at the sight of all the pretty food, all packaged up and ready to eat….it had been a couple days since he’d last found more than a few scraps. He hadn’t been able to find a job, or anything easy to steal until the food, and now he had to get away and bunker down for his heat. Without the food, that meant that it would have been at least a week before he got to eat again.

Batman might have mercy if he behaved, though.

“Here,” he grumbled, standing up and holding out the armful of food to Batman. “Now let me go.”

Batman didn’t move to take it, which was damn rude. Instead, he stared down at him for several seconds, his head tilted in a calculating pose. “Why did you take that food?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Jason snapped before he remembered the he needed Batman to like him if he wanted to beat the clock and get back to his cozy little nest of rags and shredded pieces of cardboard. He deflated somewhat and looked to the ground to hide his flushing cheeks. “I’m hungry.”

“And your parents won’t feed you?”

“Does it look like I ha-” Jason started sarcastically, then cut himself off and muttered in a less hostile tone, “No. They’re dead.”

His mom was, at least. She’d wasted away from the drugs until there was so little that even her tricks didn’t want her anymore, until she couldn’t talk or do more than stare vacantly at the ceiling, and until she finally stopped breathing on their couch. It still hurt, thinking about her, even though it had been a whole year. The blanket he’d pulled from her nest and stuffed into his backpack before he ran now smelled of him and of Gotham’s underbelly, instead of the sunshine and honey that she’d smelled like before – before she’d gotten sick. He missed her so much.

His dad was in jail. Probably. Didn’t really matter one way or another, because Jason wasn’t going anywhere near him anyway.

“I see,” Batman said quietly.

Jason dared a quick glance up, then froze. Batman looked…sympathetic. Like he actually understood. It just looked wrong on the Unholy Terror of the Night. He was going to die. He had broken Batman, and the universe, or Batman’s fists, was going to demand vengeance.

“Who takes care of you?” Batman asked him, kneeling down to be closer to Jason’s height, but still keeping a hold on his hoodie.

Jason swallowed hard and tried not to look intimidated. Even down low, the alpha was huge. “I do. Can I go now?”

Batman frowned. “Why aren’t you in foster care?”

Jason fixed him with an incredulous glare. It was a bit more daring that he should have been giving out when he wanted to get on Batman’s good side, but seriously, wasn’t Batman supposed to be some great detective? The foster system was in the hands of the mobs, and even if it wasn’t, and they were in some other city that wasn’t like Gotham, omega pups weren’t safe in foster homes.

“’s not exactly safe for people like me,” Jason muttered. He was normally good about keeping his scent covered, but with his heat approaching, everything was out of whack. There was no way that Batman hadn’t noticed what he was.

Batman nodded and stood up. “Come with me.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he tried to back away, but he couldn’t get far. “Where are you taking me?”

Batman started walking toward the mouth of the alley and gave Jason’s hood a slight tug. “You’re going to return what you stole. I’ll deal with you after that.”

And then he’d give Jason a firm talk on why stealing was bad, and Jason would pretend to be thoroughly repentant and be up and at it again as soon as his heat was done? Batman nodded because he understood that Jason wasn’t safe in foster care, right? So he wouldn’t try to put Jason in there? Or maybe he was just going to beat the hell out of him for stealing, like he did to every other thief he’d met. He’d seen what Batman gave his dad for stealing, and his dad had been an adult alpha with friends. A packless omega pup would be lucky to survive Batman’s wrath. If he did survive, then he was going to be broken, immobile, starving, and in heat a mile from the safety of his nest in the middle of Crime Alley.

Jason’s legs felt like lead as he trailed after Batman. He knew that he needed to hurry, get whatever was coming out of the way so he could get back to his nest, away from any alphas who could smell him, but he didn’t want to fork over the food he had stolen, and he didn’t want to get beaten.

The clerk was scowling when they walked into the store, an expression which quickly changed to shock, and then to smug satisfaction when he realized what was going on. Batman released his hood and gave him a nudge toward the counter. Jason scowled and shuffled up to it.

He tightened his hands around his ill-gotten goods one last time before he opened his hands reluctantly and dumped it all on the counter.

“Here’s your dumb shit,” he grumbled.

The beta growled in smug triumph. “Looks like the little thief met the big bad bat. He beat the shit out of you yet?”

Jason scowled at him and stormed back to Batman, but his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. “There, I gave it back. Can I go now?”

Batman put a hand around Jason’s upper arm and led him out of the store. He said nothing as he pulled Jason in a new direction. Jason focused on deep breaths. Panic might make his heat come quicker, but the clerk’s question rang in his ear: he beat the shit out of you yet? Batman understood why he wouldn’t go to foster care, probably understood that meant the cops too. He still had to be punished, though. Jason shuddered and tried half-heartedly to pull away.

“Please let me go,” Jason begged quietly. “Please, I’ll be good. I won’t steal again, I promise.”

Batman looked down at him, but didn’t loosen his grip. “I’m not going to hurt you. Calm down.”

Jason’s heart sank. The no was bad enough, but expected. Was Batman trying to lull him into a false sense of security? He’d thought that only the Rogues were freaks, but now he realized that the guy dressed as a vigilante bat probably should be in Arkham too. Jason struggled a little harder, but he hadn’t eaten in two days, and even if he had, he was no match for the giant alpha.

“Please, please let em go,” he tried. “I learned my lesson, okay? Please!”

Batman stopped and grabbed Jason’s other arm, forcing Jason to face him. Jason flinched hard, but no blow fell.

“I’m not mad at you. I know that you were just trying to survive,” Batman promised, his voice losing a slight edge on the gravel, but he was still scentless, and his face was covered, and with his body so close to Jason’s, he couldn’t tell if the man was telling the truth. Why would he be telling the truth, though, and where was he taking Jason if he was?

“If you’re not mad, then can’t I go?” Jason whimpered helplessly.

Batman sighed and shook his head. “You aren’t safe on the streets. You need to come with me.”

With that, Batman stood up and tugged Jason suddenly into an alley. Jason had to bite his lip hard to hold back the terrified scream – it would only make Batman angrier, and angry people hurt more. He was going to be beaten, no matter what lies Batman was telling him.

What was this place, Batman’s favorite alley for beating up stupid kids? He’d been pretty purposeful about coming to this place, so there must have been something.

Then he saw it – a glint of light on metal. The shell of a car.

He was an idiot. A damn idiot. Batman wasn’t going to beat him up, Jason was a starving, packless omega pup on the brink of heat who no one would miss.

Batman was going to rape him.

Jason suddenly threw all his energy in trying to break free of Batman’s grip, hoping to take him by surprise, but Batman just picked him up and carried him over to the car despite his protests.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Batman repeated, grunting a little as a well placed elbow jabbed into his ribs. “I’m not angry with you for stealing. You’re about to go into heat, and you need to be off the streets now.”

“No, please, let me go!” Jason begged him, clinging to the cape as Batman opened the door and tried to put Jason inside. “Please, I’m fine on my own, you don’t have to do this, please!”

Batman unclipped his cape when he couldn’t get Jason’s fingers off it, and tossed it in on top of Jason, then closed the door behind him. Jason made a half-hearted attempt at the door handle. It was locked, of course. He wasn’t going to be able to escape his punishment so easily. Tears welled in his eyes, and another, vicious cramp sent them spilling onto his cheeks. He felt the first flicker of heat start in his stomach, and knew that he had maybe an hour before that tiny spark had consumed his whole body. If he was lucky, Batman would be done with him by then, or at the very least, drop him off outside the abandoned building he’d taken shelter in when he was. More likely, Batman would keep him for his entire heat under the guise of protecting him.

The driver’s door opened, he could hear Batman climbing inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man. His breath hitched and his entire body flinched at another cramp. He buried his face in his knees and groaned.

“Is your heat starting?” Batman asked, his voice losing even more of its gravel. “I can help you with that.”

Jason flinched. Batman’s voice was becoming less and less disguised, and there was no way he was going anywhere once he’d hear the man’s real voice.

What did he tell Batman? When alphas offered to help omegas with their heats, it only ever meant one thing. But that was going to happen anyway, and maybe he could hurry it all up and get it finished so Batman would let him go. Earn some good will by being a compliant little bitch.

Jason nodded miserably.

He didn’t look up, but he could hear Batman opening and rummaging through the center console for something. That protection he kept talking about, probably. The kind that came in foil wrappers.

There was a small rattling noise, painfully familiar, that had Jason looking up in confusion.

Batman was holding a small white bottle and checking the label on it.

“How old are you?” Well, that came out of nowhere.

“Twelve,” he answered without even meaning to. It must have been the randomness of that question shocking him.

Batman grunted. “You’re supposed to take two pills, then.”

Jason watched in stunned silence as Batman uncapped the jar, shook out two white pills, and held them out toward Jason. It was almost in a daze that he reached up and took the pills from Batman’s hand, and the water bottle that he was passed a moment later. That was…not what he’d expected.

Unless Batman was trying to drug him.

“What are these?” Jason asked suspiciously.

“They’re just Tylenol. Would you like to see the bottle?” Batman told him, more patiently than Jason would have expected.

Jason hesitated, not sure if it was a trap, then nodded. Batman calmly handed over the small plastic bottle in his hand, and Jason snatched it and read the ingredients, directions, and warnings three times before he had concluded that yeah, that was…actually probably just a painkiller.

Jason cautiously took the pills with a swig of water and a sideways glance at Batman to watch his reaction, but there was no crow of victory, no smug smirk at Jason for having drugged himself. Just a painkiller, for real, then.

“Buckle up,” Batman instructed, slipping the key into the ignition and bringing the car to a purr.

Panic tightened Jason’s throat, and the scent of it was immediately thick in the car, mixed with a cloyingly sweet omega heat scent. His breaths were fast and shallow, and he found himself clenching his eyes tight shut again.

“Where are we going?” Jason cut a glance to Batman. Scentless, unreadable Batman.

Batman paused, frowning slightly at Jason’s reaction. “I’m taking you to my home.”

Jason couldn’t breathe, and his eyes welled with fresh tears. No wonder Batman was giving him the medicine; he wasn’t being kind to a random orphan he was gonna fuck once and abandon, he was providing for his future mate.

“Can’t we just do it here and get it over with?” Jason pleaded. He’d never be able to escape from Batman’s headquarters, wherever that was, and he was sure by the offering of the medicine that Batman was in for the long haul. If he went with Batman, he was going to die a slave to a hero, probably fairly young.

Batman tilted his head slightly as he fixed Jason with a stare. “Do what here?”

Jason flinched and his cheeks flushed bright red. Batman was going to make him spell it out? His heart hammered, and he turned begging eyes on Batman. “Please, I won’t fight you, but only once. I’ll do just what you want me to do, I won’t struggle at all, but please do it here, and let me go when we’re done. I-” His mother, coming home late at night or not at all, covered in bruises and bitemarks that she hadn’t been before. His mother, not even recognizing him because the drugs her pimp had her on were so strong and kept he more firmly under the beta’s control than shackles ever could. His mother, scared that she might be pregnant with the child of an alpha she didn’t know, only to lose the baby and get even worse than before. “Please, I don’t want to be a whore.”

Batman’s jaw dropped, and he actually, physically recoiled from Jason at the suggestion. “I’m not- I-“

Batman’s grovel was entirely gone, and he couldn’t seem to find the words for how revolting he found whatever it is he was mad about. Was it that Jason had asked him to let him go after a light demonstration of courting? Jason’s eyes stung fiercely.

“I didn’t bring you here to rape you,” Batman said firmly at last, still not in his Batman voice. Jason was definitely never, ever leaving. It wasn’t going to be rape, it was going to be mating while Jason was in heat, and that didn’t even count in courts that weren’t in Gotham.

Jason tucked his face against the window and let the tears fall. There was no one but Batman to see, and Batman had singled him out probably because he could already tell how weak Jason was.

Batman sighed. “What’s your name, son?”

Jason sniffed and muttered thickly, “What’s it matter?”

“I want to know what you like to be called so I can call you that,” Batman told him.

Jason didn’t want to give him his name, but he also realized that he was probably never going to see a single other person ever. He didn’t want to lose the name his mother gave him, or use some sort of fake name for the rest of his life.

“Jason,” he whispered.

Batman sighed again. “Alright, Jason. I’m not going to hurt you. That includes any kind of sexual touching. Adults touching kids that way is very wrong, even when it’s an omega in heat. Not everyone believes the same way, though, so you have to get off the streets before your heat gets any worse. I’m not trying to keep you forever, just until your heat is finished. Then we can figure out where you want to stay. Does that sound good to you?”

It sounded good. It sounded so good. For a moment, hope sprang up, burning with painful, wonderous brilliance, but then it flickered out and died.

“Everyone’s seen what you put Robin in! I’m not an idiot!” Jason snapped at him.

“Robin designed his outfit by himself. I didn’t particularly like the lack of pants either, but the design was sentimental to him and I allowed it. I did not ever touch him sexually, and you’re welcome to ask him about that yourself when you meet him,” Batman said, then started to pull the car out of the alley like the conversation was done. If he was done talking, then it was. Batman held all the power in their relationship.

“I’m meeting Robin, then,” Jason drawled, trying to hide the wobbliness in his voice as they travelled at breakneck speed down the streets. It had never been proven, but a lot of people thought that Robin was an alpha too. “You usually invite friends over for this kind of thing?”

Batman had the nerve to give a long suffering sigh. Asshole. “If Robin comes by the house, then you’ll meet him, but he isn’t going to touch you either. Jason, you’re safe. I promise.”

Safety and promises. Jason snorted bitterly. He’d stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago.

#omega jason todd #alpha beta omega #bruce wayne is a good dad #jason todd #bruce wayne #accidental baby acquisition #Alpha Bruce Wayne #Batman

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stovetuna · 5 years

Note

Stony for 30 or 40? I LOVE U SO MUCH UR FICS GIVE ME LIFE 💛💛👏

AHHHH YAY LIFE!!! you and an anon both requested #30, so here’s some classic tony!angst and protective!steve :3 — I PROMISE THERE IS A VERY MUSHY, VERY HAPPY ENDING

#30: “You’re not worth it.” (TW: child abuse, references to alcoholism, Howard being a shitty human being [but what else is new])

***

It’s Wednesday, and Wednesday means movie night at the mansion. A time-honored tradition that goes all the way back to the Avengers’ inception, back when Steve was still finding his way out of the ice—literally and figuratively—and Iron Man and Tony Stark were two different people.

It’s been a long time since those early days, Tony thinks, watching the new team assemble on the couches, loveseats, beanbag chairs, and blankets strewn around the in-home movie theater. The screen isn’t excessively massive, per Steve’s wishes, but the sound is as good as it gets, per Clint’s; Tony updates the hardware year over year to keep up with the times, especially as film goes the way of digital (much to Steve’s chagrin).

But tonight is Steve’s pick for movie, and Tony wonders if it was planned that way the moment Luke Cage asks what they’re going to watch and Steve gets that glint in his eye. The one that Tony can recognize from a mile away now without even trying, the one that screams “Steve Rogers is a little shit” and that very few people seem to be able to hear.

Tony groans the moment Steve grins and says, “Home movies!” while revealing two armfuls of reels from behind his back, some of which are so dusty and small, Tony wonders if they’re Steve’s.

The team settles in with enough snacks to put a rhino in a coma while Tony and Steve head to the back of the room where the vintage projector Tony pulled out of storage for the occasion awaits.

“Next week, you can pick the movie,” Steve whispers conspiratorially, bumping Tony with a friendly elbow. Tony has to hold himself back from leaning into Steve in response, the way his body feels primed to do and has done for literal years, ever since—god, since always. But Tony knows his interest and affections are very much one-sided, and Tony doesn’t need to flagellate himself over it any more than he already does with everything else in his life. Plus, watching Steve with each of his girlfriends is more than taxing enough.

He’s had years of practice keeping his feelings for Steve from the man. He can handle an elbow and a wink. That shit’s practically child’s play.

“If footage from my sweet sixteen made it into this lineup, we’re watching all three Die Hards,” Tony replies with a saccharine smile that makes Steve blanch.

“Tony, no.”

“Tony, yes.”

“The last time we watched Die Hard, Clint wouldn’t stop talking with a fake German accent for a week.”

“I know! It was hilarious, and I want to get it on camera this time so I can send it to Alan Rickman. He’ll hate it.”

Tony giggles at Steve’s huff, which is really a laugh disguised as exasperation, another one of Steve’s tics Tony knows by heart. The pain and joy of knowing that secretly splits Tony right down the middle—the joy of knowing Steve is a much bigger troll than anyone realizes, the pain of wanting to grab him and kiss him for it—but he hides it all with an elbow to Steve’s ribs and a muttered “jerk” under his breath.

He’s spent the past ten years and change like this—halved by a love that makes him feel whole, which is an equation that shouldn’t work, but does, because Tony’s math is always right—so what’s one more night? In the grand scheme of things, not much, and every second of it is more than Tony could have ever hoped for.

Together in the darkest part of the room he and Steve work in tandem to load the first reel onto the projector and let it run: it’s early footage of the first Avengers team, recorded off of a news broadcast. Down in front, the rest of the team throws popcorn and jeers, laughing themselves hoarse at the costumes, the villains, the dialogue—“‘He’s a real ball of fire!’” Clint wheezes from his beanbag before Natasha pelts him with Milk Duds—while Steve and Tony sit back behind the projector, shoulder to shoulder, running their own private commentary all the while:

“I miss that armor.”

“Shut up, no you don’t.”

“It’s true! Anyways, isn’t vintage all the rage these days? You should bring it back.”

“I’m not bringing back Pointy-Faced Iron Man and his Roller Skates of Doom, Cap.”

“Not even for me?”

Tony slides Steve a look out of the corner of his eye, face still directed toward the screen, a classic are you fucking kidding me? if there ever was one. Steve bats his eyelashes in response, because of course he does. Unfortunately for Steve, Tony is mostly immune to that tactic by now.

Mostly.

“Let us watch Die Hard next week and I’ll consider it.”

“Ugh, Tony…”

“Hey, heart-eyes! Next reel!” someone (see: Bucky) shouts. Not for the first time, Tony’s glad to be concealed in relative darkness back here—even Steve’s enhanced vision won’t be able to make out the blush Tony’s knows is all over his face right now. He also gets a reprieve from sitting so close to Steve, hyperfocused on his warmth and all of the sensory trappings of home that come with it, while he swaps out the old reel for a new one. New-er, rather. He doesn’t look at the case or look at any frames before feeding it through the projector.

“Alright, you rabble-rousers, pipe down,” he shouts as the image on screen flickers to life.

“‘Rabble-rousers’?” Steve quirks an eyebrow at him as he sits back down. Tony folds his arms over his chest and shushes him.

“Don’t start.”

“Ooh, is that you, Tony?” Wanda coos from her place on the loveseat next to Vision.

“Look at all of that hair! Danny Zuko’s got nothing on you, Stark,” Clint laughs. Tony nails him with a popcorn kernel right in the ear.

The footage unspools, harmless—albeit embarrassing—at first: it’s a home movie from when Tony was young, no more than eight or nine. He’s wearing what looks like the remains of what was once a nice suit, something his parents forced him into, probably, but devolved into undershirt and slacks and suspenders hanging down past his knees. He really was a gangly kid, wasn’t he?

Tony laughs along with everyone else, warmed by Jarvis’ voice offscreen telling “Young Master Anthony” to show off his latest invention for the camera. He feels Steve’s eyes flicker over to land on him whenever young Tony smiles at the camera or laughs at something Jarvis says, but Tony ignores it. Mostly.

“He reminds me of Steve,” Bucky tells the room when young Tony is shown with a replica of Cap’s shield, posing triumphantly to the sound of Jarvis’ delighted laughter. Jess aww’s.

“He does, kinda, doesn’t he?”

“How have I never seen these before?” Steve whispers, leaning closer as he does. Tony swallows hard against the shiver that ricochets down his spine hearing that low voice in his ear.

“A lot of things of mine you haven’t seen, Cap,” he replies, too late to stop the innuendo from slipping out. He looks at Steve after he says it and almost, almost lets out a gasp: when did Steve get so close? And why is he looking at Tony like that? All intense and considering?

“Oh, here’s someone else I remember,” Bucky laughs. Tony turns away from Steve, grateful for the excuse, and starts to release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

It gets caught in his chest the moment he sees himself filling up the screen, young Tony standing alone in Howard’s office, having perched the camcorder on the big oak desk to record himself with Cap’s shield—the real one this time, not a toy. On screen, Tony has his back to the camera, the vibranium shield clutched in his too-small hands. He has to perch it on the floor, its weight just enough to counterbalance Tony’s, but holding it…even now, he remembers the thrill of that first time. The cool touch of vibranium humming under his fingers, the knowledge that he was holding his hero’s greatest treasure…his adult fingers clench against his thighs at the memory.

But then, the image shifts into a sharper memory still, and Tony feels something old and awful claw its way from somewhere deep in his chest, remembering all too well what comes next. It tastes like bourbon and cigar smoke and the metallic taste blood leaves on the tongue after you’ve been smacked in the mouth. Tony’s hands fly out to clutch the sides of his chair and stick there; he can’t move them to stop the projector in time. It just keeps playing out, each frame worse than the one before.

Of course he remembers this moment. He remembers it perfectly, because it was the first time Howard really hurt him. Not with his hands, although the bruises did linger longer than usual, after.

This was the moment when Tony, so tender and impressionable even at that “advanced” age, learned what his father really thought of him.

That old, awful feeling feels a lot like drowning when he thinks of Steve seeing what’s about to happen, let alone the rest of the team.

“I’m Captain America and I’m here to save you!”

“You’re not saving shit, boy.” Howard stumbles into frame like a bad Vaudeville performer, slurring Tony’s name like an expletive. “Put that down, you fucking brat. You’re not worth it.”

The blood rushing in Tony’s ears drowns out the sound of voices past and present. All he can see is Howard filling the frame in that horrible tan suit, gripping a bottle of bourbon by the neck. The image catches on young Tony’s terrified expression, the way he hides behind the shield that’s almost as big as he is. He watches his own mouth move—Cap will save me, he’d cried, so confident, so certain that his hero would come and put Howard through the wall and carry Tony away to safety—and then down the bottle comes…

“Turn it off! I said turn it off!”

Something hits the projector hard enough to not only knock it off the table it was sitting on, but send both hurtling across the room. They smash to pieces against the far wall with a noisy clatter that almost stops Tony’s heart in his chest.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the thwap-thwap-thwap of film smacking the floor as the reel spins on and on until coming to a feeble stop. He can hear breathing, heavy and labored and sliding quickly toward panic, and he realizes with a shuddering gasp that it’s him making that sound.

Tony looks up and sees Steve standing where the projector once was, cradling his bleeding hand. The man looks stricken, pale and horrified, worse than if he’d seen a ghost; behind him, the team has inched closer, all of them wearing varying expressions of distress and pity and guilt and sadness, and suddenly Tony can’t bolt out of his chair fast enough. He can’t get away fast enough. He follows his feet out of the room into the corridor and down, down, down to the workshop where it’s safe, where he can’t get in, no one can, not unless Tony lets them.

Someone is calling his name, but Tony disappears down the stairs before he can figure out who. He bursts through doors he can’t see and staggers over to the closest workbench, sucking in deep, ragged breaths like he can’t catch up to them. Is that a screw loose in his chest cavity, he wonders, gasping, because that rattling sound seems to indicate something has come undone that shouldn’t have. Howard’s dead, Tony reminds himself, over and over again. It’s a fact as true as any algorithm, so why won’t it take?

JARVIS’s voice moves gently through the noise in Tony’s brain: “Sir, Captain Rogers is asking permission to enter.”

Steve.

Tony can’t decide if the thought of Steve seeing him like this helps or worsens the rattling in his chest. Either way he feels like shit, but only one of those ways ends up with Captain America pitying him, or worse.

He’s so caught up in thinking about all the ways this could backfire he doesn’t realize JARVIS has let Steve into the workshop, regardless of Tony’s feelings on the matter. The realization sets in when Steve’s voice appears close to his ear, soft and low with a frisson of urgency, like he too is slightly out of breath.

“Tony, it’s just me. It’s okay. I’m going to put my hand on your back.”

Warmth spreads from Steve’s fingers through Tony’s shirt and into the skin high up on his back between his shoulders. Steve can probably feel how fast Tony’s heart is racing, but spares him his overt concern and instead keeps telling Tony what he’s going to do before he does it: a hand on Tony’s forehead, an arm around his back, asking JARVIS to turn the lights down to thirty-five percent.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

Tony sags into Steve’s touch, his large, warm hand cradling Tony’s head like something precious; the deeper dark quiets the room around them, makes it less overwhelming, less full of ghosts waiting to cast their own opaque shadows on the empty walls. Tony and Steve are left standing in a dim light Tony knows makes him look sallow; he wavers on his feet, left to borrow from Steve’s strength because he can’t find his own. Lucky for Tony, Steve is right there, braced and ready for anything. Like always.

The rattling has settled somewhat, but Tony still has to rely on Steve to tell him when to breathe and how deeply. He forgets, sometimes, that Steve has experience dealing with panic attacks, which so often came before an asthma attack. Steve once told him that even years removed from his sickly days, he still remembers what it’s like to lose that grip on reality, feeling the heart too acutely as it beats against too-brittle ribs.

While Steve draws on those memories often enough with others on the team, it’s a rare occasion for Tony to be on the receiving end of Steve’s nursing hand like this. Jokes or angry silence over cuts, breaks, and bruises, sure, but this? Tender hands and a voice pitched low and soothing, lullaby-soft, speaking words of gentle encouragement? Tony’s head feels light with it.

“Do you want to sit down?” Steve asks. Tony shakes his head against his palm. “Okay,” Steve whispers, his voice the only one in the room, which makes for a funny kind of one-sided conversation. Then, before he can think better of it, Tony turns toward Steve, wraps his arms around the man’s impossible waist, and hugs himself close to Steve’s radiating heat. He’s too gone for shame, and too weak; a soft, gentle Steve is hard to resist, even on good days. And this just became a no good, very bad day.

Fucking Howard.

Steve, for his part, takes the hug in stride like they do it every day. Tony likes to imagine it, touching Steve like this whenever he wants to, but that’s all it is—a fantasy. Just like being with Steve is a fantasy, one Tony has entertained for far too many years to count. He satisfies himself with Steve’s friendship, tells himself it’s enough, and if he happens to sleep with the occasional look-alike, that’s nobody’s business but Tony’s (and JARVIS’s, and in one deeply unfortunate instance, Pepper’s).

Strangers want Tony Stark, the celebrity; Steve wants Tony as a friend and teammate. That’s all. So Tony steals his nice, platonic hug as he trembles and breathes his way out of a panic attack, being careful to avoid nuzzling the soft notch at the base of Steve’s throat the way he wants to. Badly.

He’s so preoccupied with holding all the disparate parts of himself together and hiding them so Steve can’t see, he doesn’t notice Steve’s hands start to rub his back in long, soothing strokes until Tony is half-melted in his steady arms, weak-kneed at how comforted he feels. Steve doesn’t say anything—just keeps moving his hands, up and down Tony’s back, across his shoulders, along his arms, and over again. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this, without motive, ulterior or otherwise; his skin feels warm down to his toes.

“Better?” Steve murmurs. Tony nods against his chest. He doesn’t let go. Neither does Steve, who seems to fold himself over Tony until they’re more like one person than two, standing there breathing together in Tony’s darkened workshop.

Slowly, thoughts of Howard, of hurt, start to melt back into the shadows. In their place is Steve, filling up all of Tony’s empty spaces with light, even some of the ones he didn’t know he had. For such a strong man, Steve is unbearably gentle, handling Tony the way he might handle spun sugar or thin glass. Tony has never felt so genuinely cared for, and the fact that he can’t pull back and thank Steve with a kiss smarts a little in the face of it.

That is, it does, up until the moment he feels Steve brush a kiss against where Tony’s hairline meets his forehead, soft and uncomplicated, but lingering, like Steve wants to stay there. To do more. Tony knows that move because he’s imagined doing the exact same thing to Steve, god, thousands of times.

Tony wants so much. Too much. Asking Steve for this would tip things precariously toward the latter. But the question is taken out of Tony’s hands the moment one of Steve’s perches itself under his jaw and tilts his face up.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.

“It’s ancient history,” Tony replies, maintaining eye contact through sheer willpower when all he wants to do is look at Steve’s mouth, now so close to his.

“Not to you, it isn’t,” Steve counters, and there’s not much Tony can say to that. “I’ll talk to the team. They might have questions, and you shouldn’t have to answer them. Not tonight, anyways.”

“I know you’ve got big shoulders, Steve, but you don’t have to take on my baggage on top of everything else.”

As they talk, their bodies never move an inch apart; chests pressed flush against each other, Steve’s fingers splayed along the side of Tony’s neck. All of it—the proximity, the tenderness, the intimacy—feels as natural as the breathing they just did together. Ten-plus years of friendship will do that. But then, the way Steve is looking at him doesn’t really scream friendship.

It kind of screams I love you.

Steve gives him that little smirk and says, “Maybe I want to.” Tony scoffs, flicking one of the shoulders in question for good measure.

“God, how are you still such a horrible liar, Cap? Is there something in the serum that makes it impossible for you to keep a good poker face?”

“This is my good poker face,” Steve replies, and there it is again, the same look Steve gave him earlier before the night spun out like a race car with its wheels blown off: intense, considering, and so, so close.

Tony swallows nothing but air. Steve, never breaking eye contact, cards his fingers through the hair on the back of Tony’s head and holds them there.

“If I kiss you right now, will you have another panic attack?” he asks quietly. Not even a blink. The part of Tony’s brain—a scant centimeter, at best—that isn’t currently blasting a hundred sirens at full volume is actually kind of impressed.

“I doubt it,” Tony replies evenly. “I’ll probably just pass out.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown grin. Steve squeezes his other arm around Tony’s lower back and hums, deep and resonant, in his chest as he leans down to brush his lips feather-softly against Tony’s.

“You fall, I’ll catch you,” he whispers before dipping in for a proper kiss that floods Tony’s head with incandescent light. It’s chaste and measured and burning with mutual restraint, tastes faintly of the buttered popcorn Steve ate earlier, and the only way it could be better is if it never ended.

Tony tightens his arms around Steve’s waist, and when Steve pulls away to speak, he doesn’t go far, seemingly content to stand there in Tony’s embrace in the middle of the dimly lit workshop.

“Still breathing?” he asks. Tony smiles; Steve smiles back.

“Takes a lot more than that to knock the wind out of me, Cap.”

The way Steve’s eyes darken at that little remark is definitely something Tony intends to investigate further, later. For now, he leans into the hand now resting on his cheek and sighs.

“We’ll test that theory another time,” Steve husks before leaning forward to press a kiss to each eyelid. Tony hums happily, sinking further into Steve’s arms. “Can I carry you to bed?”

Tony gives him a look. “I’m heavy,” he says.

Steve just smiles, kisses Tony like he’s been doing it forever, and replies: “You’re worth it.”

- - -

see? happy endings. fuck howard.

#I'm sorry it's been so long!!!#work has been bonkers and then travel happened and now I'm trying not to get sick #so here's fic #stevetony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers #616 fic #howard stark is an asshole #young tony stark #avengers movie night #prompt fic #responses #rachel writes fic

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queenvidal · 4 years

Text

Reuinons

- 6 months are a long time, they have a lot of catching up to do -

- Work on AO3 -

Chapter 2 (NSFW)

The moment the elevator starts moving, Wrex has to shift from one foot to the other. Shepards smile is morphing into a mischievous smirk. "What's the matter, big guy? Nervous?"

"Teasing, Lexis? You should know better than teasing a krogan you left waiting for months."

The smirk vanished as quickly as it had come. Instead her brows move into a frown. "Yeah, sure. Like the Alliance left me a choice."

"No, but I did. Told ya not to hand yourself in. I'd have loved to see 'em try to get you off my planet." Both knew the Alliances would have not tried anything. The peace between Earth and Tuchanka has been too fragile.

Shepard folds her arms in front of her chest. "Mood killer, Wrex."

"Nah." He chuckles. "I know how to get you back in the mood." If only the damn elevator would hurry. His groin plates started shifting the moment he got word of the other races agreeing to board the Normandy for negotiations. Wrex armor is getting tighter and tighter. This topic might be a mood killer for her but surely not for him. If anything it reminds him of how long he has been abstinent.

Neither of them said something about monogamy but still Wrex waited for her. The women of his clan are hard to seduce and furthermore his mind was very occupied with gaining and keeping his power among his clan and the others.

Except for the one time he was on the Citadel, when he paid Cora's Den one final visit before it closed. They never lacked of beautiful dancers and hookers. He considered taking a human to the private areas of the club but in the end he just payed for his drinks and left.

Somehow it didn't feel right. And for some reason he didn't find the human females nor the asari very alluring. Something he noticed with his own females, too. The work of making them agree to sleep with him started to seem not worth the outcome anymore. Not to mention that fun and enjoyment never were the main focus when sleeping with krogans anyway. Is only about procreation, nothing more.

Oftentimes Wrex found his thoughts around his former Commander. Her lips and what they were capable of. Something no krogan could give him. Sure, Coras humans could have done it and probably even their asari but if he's honest with himself, it's not about the strange mouth pillows in particular, it's about them being Alexis.

He still remembers the last time they were together, how she smelled, how she tasted, how she wiggled underneath him in ecstasy. Wrex can feel his quad tighten in anticipation, his armor is getting painfully tight. But he is holding himself back, he'd rather have her in the privacy of her cabin, than in this poor excuse of an elevator.

Shepard seems to notice the reason behind his discomfort. They had a similar situation happen when she was on Tuchanka before she left for the Collector-Base. "So…" Her voice sounds suspiciously playful. Slowly she turns, facing him completely. With a coy grin on her face, her hands are wandering up his chest until they stop just beneath the exposed hide of his neck. "You really waited for me? A wonder you didn't exploded during my time under arrest. Six months are a long time after all."

The elevator it is, then. Without a word he grabs her, lifting her up. Shepard quickly wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him to her even closer. Having her trapped between him and the wall, Wrex buries his face in the crook of her neck to savor her sweet smell. Damn, she smells even better than he remembered, having him even more turned on. Krogans may lack of lips for kissing but he quickly learned he still can nip at her skin. Having her sighing nevertheless.

The stupid jacked of hers is getting in his way eventually, blocking him from the soft skin of her throat. Alexis can hear the buttons flying against the metal ground, Wrex ripped through the cloth but she couldn't care less with his hot breath against her neck.

Finally the elevator doors open. Just in time. Wrex carries her out to the small anteroom. Her legs let go and he carefully lets her down, only to spin her around.

Wrex is wasting no time, he opens up the seals of the goin plate of his armor. Finally releasing his rock hard member. Shepard hurries as well, she pulls both her trousers and her panties down, letting them pool around her ankles.

She almost has no time to brace herself against the wall, when Wrex kicks her feet further apart to get better access to her hot core.

The sweet scent of her arousal is floating Wrex nostrils, almost driving him insane. He positions himself behind her, coating the tip of his member with her excitement. With one quick thrust he enters her. He moans against her shoulder and she against the wall. Fuck, for how long was he craving for this?

But Wrex won't let her adjust to his size, he starts moving forcefully, pushing in further, just to withdraw again. His talons are buried deep into the sensitive skin of her hips while he takes her in a fast rhythm. His grasp might be too hard but he couldn't care less. That what she gets for teasing him and her moaning and sighing speaks for itself, no complaining from her side.

Shepards legs start to tremble, the sensation of Wrex blunt spikes along his length is almost too much to bare. His thick and pointy tip is hitting are her g-spot with unbelievable precision. The tight coil in her belly is about to burst at any second.

Wrex can feel her already tight walls closing in on him. Fuck, this woman is like a vice. Her moaning and slick hot wetness is drawing Wrex closer to the edge with every movement of his hips. When he feels her pulsing around him, after a few more hard thrust, he starts losing his rhythm. With a low grunt he spills himself inside her but instead of catching his breath he withdraws completely.

Shepard wants to complain but whatever she was about to say, dies in her throat when Wrex spins her around to face him again. She looks up at him with flushed cheeks and half lidded eyes while his are burning with desire. Wrex grabs her thighs and picks her up to presses her against the wall again. He spreads her legs as far as possible.

Shepard lets her head fall back when he pushes into her again. With the new angle, his groin plates are pressing against her clit. It feels way too good and she's biting her lips, trying to keep her sounds down.

Something Wrex notices and doesn't approve of. He darts his tongue out and licks over her pulse point. His human buries her nails into his chest plate in response. But the muffled moans are still too quiet for his liking.

Wrex increases the speed and strength of his thrusts, almost slamming into her. Shepard clings to him for dear life, she is close again. Wrex nips at her neck one final time before he bites her where her neck and shoulder meet.

Unable to hold back anymore, Alexis cries out, not in pain but in pure pleasure. It's throwing her over the edge, hard. Her orgasm is leaving her squirming in her krogans hands. Wrex is responding with an orgasm of his own, her tightening and spasming walls making him follow her suit only seconds later.

Both are panting heavily, not letting go of each other. Wrex leans his head against the cool metal of the wall while Shepard lets her head drop onto his shoulder as they recover. Not trusting her legs yet, Wrex tugs her closer and starts carrying her to the door, down the steps and to her bed, where he carefully lays her down.

Shepard swipes loose strands of hair from her forehead as she looks up at her krogan with a small smile on her lips. "Done already?"

A low laugh rumbles through Wrex chest. “Heh, this was just foreplay. I’m everything but done with you just yet.” Only now he stars to remove the rest of his armor, Shepard crowls to the end of the bed to help him. It's falls unceremoniously to the ground, piece by piece until he's completely naked.

He looks down at her to find her beaming at him. Damn, she is a sight. Slowly Wrex leans down to nip on her lips and Shepard kisses him back. It's ridiculous but Wrex can't deny he likes it. "My turn." She whispers against his skin.

The bed shifts and protests loudly under Wrex weight but it doesn’t break. This time. Carefully he leans back against the headboard of her bed, watching her getting rid of the ridiculous jacket and her bra underneath it.

Leisurely she's coming closer to straddle his legs. Wrex eyes wander over her naked form as she's slowly lowering her head towards his member. His pulse quickens when he feels the tip of her tongue taking its time to wander from the base up his length and to the head. She encircles it with her full lips and starts bobbing her head down ever so slowly.

Dammit, it feels even better than he called to mind. It takes all his strength not to move his hips to thrust into her warm mouth. Her slow pace is maddening and perfect at the same time. Too much and not enough.

The Clan-Chief can’t keep from growling, when Shepard starts to suck on his tip. She circles it with her tongue every now and then and continues to suck again. Taking more of his length in with everytime she does it.

Stars are dancing behind Wrex eyelids. When he closed his eyes, he can't remember and he doesn't care. This is way too good to allow even the shortest of coherent thoughts. Alexis tongue starts playing with the blunt spikes of his shaft while swallowing around him.

Wrex buries his talons in the sheets, almost tearing them. "Fuck…" He pulls even harder at the sheets, when he can feel Shepards delicate fingers massaging his quad while the speed of her working him with her mouth increases.

Eventually she releases him again with a loud plop . Wrex opens his eyes again, just in time to see her carefully lowering herself onto him. A sigh leaves her swollen lips when he enters her again. Both stay still for a moment, only looking at each other before Alexis starts moving.

Every so slowly she is rocking her hips. Leaning on his chest for leverage, before she starts to push her legs to go up and down.

While enjoying the sight of her taking pleasure in riding him, Wrex lets his hands wander from her thighs up to the hips, where bruises are already developing. He can't tear his eyes from the traces of his talons on her dark skin. A visible mark, that she belongs to him. The idea alone is making his head dizzy. He encourages her to go harder by meeting her hip movements by his own.

Shepard moans in response. "Ah, Wrex." And is going faster with her rhythm. Her walls are already starting to close around him again. He increases in speed as well. With his hands buried in the flesh of her tights again, he thrusts up quickly and hard. Her skin is clapping against his hide and plates. It's music in his ears.

Her moaning is getting louder and louder, encouraging Wrex to let go of his self control. Her whole body starts to shake from the intensity of her orgamsn, when he takes her with force. Alexis is so hot and almost painfully tight, Wrex can’t hold himself back any longer. He slams into her until his quad tightens, preparing for the elease.

He comes undone in her with a loud and deep rumble in his chest. It is vibrating through his whole body and his vision goes white. Wrex is completely losing all his senses for a long moment.

It takes him a while to come back. When he is able to collect himself again, he finds that the tip of his cock started to swell, same for his once blunt spikes.

Wrex tears his eyes open, when he realises what just happened. He looks up at the Commander, who looks back at him with wide open eyes, stunned. "What the fuck, Wrex?” She asks, still panting.

“Sorry.” He simply whispers, completely out of breath and still a bit dazed. Without a thought he adjusts his hips, causing Shepard to hiss in pain. His spikes are keeping her in place and punish even the slightest movement. “Shit, Wrex. What is that?”

“I… got carried away.” He starts as he lets his hands fall back onto her thighs. “I… we are locked. Won’t last long, though. A few minutes.”

It is silent for a few moments until Shepard realizes what's going on. “Did… did you just knot with me?”

Wrex doesn’t answer, he is still catching his breath. He catches the faint sound of a chuckle and light touches on his mouth. Shepard lowered herself down as far as his spikes allowed her to to kiss him. “Should I feel honored?”

“Not when you are so damn smut about it.” He raises his arms to hug her to him. “Just be grateful it didn’t happen in your mouth.”

Another chuckle and then silence again. Damn, as mind blowing as this was, the krogan Clan-Chief is feeling exhausted. All his limbs feel like heavy jelly and his eyes refuse to open.

Shepard nuzzles her head at his neck, slowly laying down on his chest. For once she doesn’t say anything, just letting him hug her.

Wrex is savoring the moment of having his human knot with him. He totally forgot this feeling. Until now he did it only once, when he still was a young and stupid krogan, just after his rite with a female he can’t even remember the name of. Ever since no other woman ever got him even close to knotting.

Hell, if someone had told him, someday he would have Commander Shepard kept in place by his member, he’d simply shot the person for talking shit.

The swell of the spikes and the tip is wearing off, releasing Shepard from their hold, but neither her nor Wrex make any attempt to move. Shepards thumb is drawing lazy circles on his chest and he does the same on her back.

“I’ve missed you.” He feels her whisper against his neck.

“Of course you did.” He earns a light punch on his chest from her in return but he just huffs a laugh. While still hugging her, he rolls them to the side, finally able to face her without looking down at her all the time.

It should be weird. Finding peace and comfort in the arms of a female human. To knot with one even. But it isn't, it feels right. He still can't quite believe he is with her, that she is as attracted to him as he is to her. As strange as it is, Wrex wouldn’t trade it for anything, except for-

“Commander, the Dallatras gave us the exact position of the krogan females and left the ship. Do you want us to set course?”

Shepard answers Traynor with a simply “Yes.” Not making any effort to move out of her lovers arms. It will take hours to get to Sur'kesh anyway, a short nap won’t hurt. Slowly but surely the Commander drifts off to sleep, when suddenly she feels Wrex low voice rumble through his chest.

“Hey, Lexis?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

#ao3 #shepard x wrex #Wrex #urdnot wrex #Fanfic #Mass effect #mass effect 3

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thenixart · 4 years

Text

Unedited dorohedoro fic- Chapter 1 part 2

A/N: Characters will get names when I come up with names. I am open to suggestions.

When Ton wakes he’s warm and comfortable and kinda hungry. The horror of the last day felt almost like a bad dream. He turns over ready to go back to sleep and maybe have a better dream when he sees it and the dam bursts. On his bed stand is a photo of people he’d half forgotten and a calendar date that he still very clearly remembered.

Today was the day that his father died. Today is the day his family was shattered.

What a cruel place to dump him.

Forcing himself to leave the lovely warmth of his covers he grabbed the framed photo. It was his family… his first one that is. He’s at the center of the picture sitting in his father’s lap and his father is in turn sitting on the ground and leaning on his pet hog. His mother behind them looking proud. On their left was Ushishimada being picked up by his mom and mighty devils was it weird to see him with hair again. And flanking them their many aunties and uncles and the other kids. Not blood but family all the same.

His eyes burned and tears fell onto the glass of the picture frame. After some hesitation Ton takes the photo and gently folds it before putting it into his pajama pocket. Real or not he wanted to keep it with him this time.

He doesn’t want to get out of bed. His inner child offers up the suggestion that maybe nothing bad will happen if he’s not there to witness it. But Ton knows better than that.

Ton slinks out of bed and is immediately thrown by how different his body is. So small and soft and unmarred by the stresses of homlessness and starvation that are waiting in his future. He really is just seven years old again.

He sees his childhood home on the day of the end with the eyes of a battle hardened warrior and not an already grieving child. The entire farm is tense with the quiet before a battle. A siege is what it looks like as he sees from the window uncle [Animal transformation magic] setting traps on the perimeter. His auntie [temperature control magic]’s forge putting out tons of Smoke as she pushed herself much harder than usual while Ushishimada raced back and forth from the forge to the field carrying pieces of armor to auntie [animal control magic] fitted the bigger animals with it.

As Ton passes rooms that would normally be crammed with the sounds of people he notices the emptiness. People’s things are packed up and there’s barely any humans or magicless mages left on the premises. Humans… What was his family’s dealings with humans? The answer didn’t come readily to his mind, only that there’d been humans and others without magic who came and went for reasons he was never really told. Ushishimada had been older, maybe he knew?

He left the children’s house to cross the yard to the main house. Ton noted the absence of the chickens which would normally be crowing at this time or running around begging for treats. The sows and cows were gone too. One of the hunting dogs clad in pointy, scribbled on armor greeted him enthusiastically before being called back over to auntie [animal control magic]’s side. Her door, there was no mistaking the elegantly carved wood with the hand painted looking singing animals covering it, was steadily dissolving by the door. Unbidden a chuckle came to him at the mental image of a bunch of farm animals getting dumped in the Hole for their safety. Hmm well, certainly whoever the enemy was they probably wouldn’t be able tell the difference between their humans and sorcerers who couldn’t do magic amongst so many like them.

The main house (damn his family really had some money and he never noticed before) was a house in mourning. Ushishimada’s mom was on the couch in the sitting room with his cousin [tiger mask human cousin] and her human friend, Akane. [Ushi’s mom] was putting the finishing touches on some masks for them, a black tiger and red hen respectively. It was as equally clear that she’d been crying recently as it was that the older kids were very much pretending that nothing was wrong. And from the hatchets strapped to the woman’s armor it was also clear that she expected fighting to start soon.

They greeted him warmly if concerningly affectionate. Like they may never see him again… and well... he never did see them again did he?

He heads towards his parents’ room slowly. Something about the hush making him want to tread quietly. And he wants to put this off as much as possible.

At the almost closed door he overhears a private conversation.

“At least I’ll see the bastard in Hell,” A voice like a walking mountain rumbles. Quietly Ton brushes away the tears that started falling fresh. From the richness of the baritone and the subtle clacking of tusks on tusks there was no mistaking his father’s voice for anyone else. The man’s breathing sounds labored even from a distance.

A woman’s voice… his mother’s voice responded. Low and thick and sharp like molasses. “That may be what happens, but that’s not remotely fair. And damn the devils for it.”

“You know, you can go to jail for saying such things,” His father half chuckled and half wheezed. “And Hell’s no place for a sweet thing like you.”

She snorted incredulously and playfully swatted his arm, “Really? Flirting at a time like this? What a pig.”

“Wild boar, thank you very much.” He retorted. It was a routine clearly familiar to them. Ton saw through the crack in the door their fingers intertwining. His father’s pale chubby ones slotted into his mother’s dark work roughened ones looking almost like a piano.

His mother leaned in conspiratorially and asked in a tone he strained to hear, “Your magic… could you…?”

His father’s magic? To be honest Ton couldn’t remember what kind of magic his father had at all. Nor his mother’s for that matter.

“Hmmm no,” his father answered after some thought. “That mushroom bastard killed Kokuo. Without a proper anchor… I wouldn’t be able to stay myself. I’d only end up causing more harm than good.” He sighed wistfully, “Besides, with this kind of magic… it’s best to go when your time’s up.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Tell me again… what happens to humans when you die?”

You? Was his mother…?

“Well, now, unlike you sorcerers none of us has the power to revive the dead.So no one really knows for certain. Lots of folks think that if you are an evil person you go to a hell for a while and if you are a good you get to be reborn as something or someone else. There’s also the heavens, where good people go for like, eternal rewards of some boring shit like that. Some of the monks think that if you’re like, holy enough you stop being reborn and simply cease to be? Spiritually? Or something?”

“Oh?”

“I don’t really get the appeal. Of just ceasing. Why not just live different lives for all of eternity?”

“That does sound nice. Far more lenient than our fate.”

“Course there’s always stuff like ghosts and limbo and all that.”

“Limbo?”

“It's a kinda state the dead enter sometimes before they move on. A nowhere place where ghosts are born. Angry souls that refuse to rest or simply folks that have some business to finish before they do. No one ever really makes happy stories about it. ...I wish I could meet you again in my next life.”

His father hummed, “That would be lovely.”

Before he could catch himself Ton sniffled.

“Hey pigglet! Come give yer daddy a hug!” His father boomed like his lungs weren’t failing him. Ton pushed open the door to see his mother helping to prop up his father so that the big man’s back was against the headboard. Right, somehow his mind impressed the date of his father’s death but the method had slipped into the sands of time. There was something extremely unnerving seeing a good portion of the man’s chest just… crumbling. Large portions of it were bendaged as best as possible but the web of cracks extended past the edges, the affected skin dry irritated and flakey. Bits fell off when his father breathed just a bit too deeply, creating what Ton could imagine was just the worst bed experience of crumbs in your sheets but grosser. In the places where the magic had completely eaten through the skin he could see shiny white pockets of fat crisscrossed with fungal hyphae. There is no shortage to the horror that settles into Ton’s gut that his father would have likely died days ago if he were a leaner man.

It also doesn’t escape him that his mother is dressed for war. Combat boots and sections of scale armor over her hunting clothes. The vital bits of course, the major organs of the torso and places with large arteries like the neck, upper arms and thighs. Her crossbow, and a full quiver of arrows, her hunting knife (a beautiful knife he needed to commission someone to make him a copy at some point it was fucking watered steel!), and a pair of pistols… emergency weapons.

Ton had nothing against guns, he was a damn good shot himself but he’d hunted with his mother. Guns were noisy and dulled your ability to hear after using them. And the smell of gunsmoke dulls the nose (not that you could actually smell anything but the boss when fighting at his side). His mother was fond of saying that any of your senses could provide you with life saving information so it was best to avoid impairing them unless you had no other choice.

And it looked like his mother was expecting the worst.

At her hip was her mask that looked like she’d given the black leather a fresh shine. The snarling panther maw was a thing of beauty, something his father thought as well as his tattoo of it still shone proudly on his father’s remaining properly intact shoulder. Mask...human. Huh. Actually if his mother was human then so was his cousin [tiger mask] and her friend Akane too. Ton supposed having masks in this world were useful to humans, they’d be mistaken for mages and less likely to be attacked or sold. But why wear it to a fight? It wasn’t a helmet like Tetsujo’s mask, it didn’t offer up much protection.

His mother kissed him softly on the forehead and the gleam of her necklace caught his eye. Speaking of things that weren’t very helpful on the battlefield… the necklace was more like thick twine dyed black with colorful beads, fine enough. But then there was the claw hanging from it that had to be about as long as a uni-bear claw and curved like a cat’s. Ton didn’t know if it was real, it kinda looked like it was made of stone of some kind, but it certainly looked sharp. Sometimes Ton’s brain liked to throw the image of her accidentally getting stabbed or cut by that claw because sometimes brains are assholes like that. It never did as far as he could recall, according to her it was a good luck charm. She’d once told him that it saved her life.

A frown crosses his face. Ton had no idea if his mother survived this day or not.

His father gave him an affectionate side hug that looked like it clearly caused him pain but the man was grinning through it.

“Dad… you’re dying aren’t you?” Ton hates how the voice that comes out of his mouth sounds like a child. He hates that he feels like a child. Hates that he’s in the body of a child who can’t join the coming fight or steal some healing smoke to save anyone. He hates that they look at him like he’s a child even if he technically is at the moment.

He hates what’s coming next.

One thing he is thankful for is that his parents never lied to him. That he’d forgotten that his mother was human or what they’d done for a living was on him not asking that many questions. His parents didn’t sugarcoat it when they confirmed that yes his father was dying. That everyone dies eventually. That his mother may die fighting the bastards who hexed his father. That some of his aunts and uncles may face the same fate.

Of course Ton knows that death isn’t anything to fear so long as you’ve got a cause worth dying for.

“Do you want to die?” Asked Death as she stood on the other side of his parent’s bed waiting for his father to kick the bucket. Instead of the terrifying gas masked firefighter skeleton soldier was a black-skinned woman, not Black as in brown like his mother but black as in a crisp winter night during a blackout. Her clothing was also black but more like the black of black jeans washed at the wrong temperature and looked rather cozy.

Natsuki was not with her.

“Your Partner is safe.” Death said like she heard his thoughts. “This is not a place for her. I ask again, do you want to die?”

Did he? He looked at his parents and his younger self frozen in time. Ton hadn’t died gloriously in an ultimately futile battle against powerful sorcerers trying to change the world or even protect something important to him. (And suddenly he feels like he failed his parents at that thought.) He’d been killed like an annoyance by someone he admired. Betrayed. And gotten his comrades killed by the grief that his death caused.

...and Tetsujo was still alive the last he’d seen. It was still up in the air if Dokuga was still kicking or if the bo--if Kai’d eaten him as well. If Tetsujo was still alive he’d certainly try to save Ushishimada and Saji’s heads to revive them. Ton knew for a fact that his own corpse was unsalvageable, the massive chunk taken out of his temple certainly contained his devil tumor and without it… he didn’t really know how one would go about reviving without it. And…

So long as some of his loved ones were still alive… isn’t that something worth staying around for?

“I don’t want to die,”Ton said and knew for certain. As sure as the worry slithering in his gut. “If I can help my comrades in any way that’s what I want to do.”

“So that is your choice?”

“Yes.”

Reality blacked out again.

#thenixkat #dorohedoro #fanfiction #crosseyes #ton drhdr

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hytregos · 5 years

Text

Existence No. 1: Awakening

Pages: 18

Word count: 8463

...

Many years after the Omni War, everything has been devastated. This is a world where all your characters meet, either from fanfiction or canon stories. Name the character or fanfic, it is in it but is must make canonical sense. All worlds have been brought down to their knees, only to beg for a piece of crumb. After the war, the United Rail Nations formed a new ideal and recovery method on how to recover after the war.

However, when it was thought they all could recover; there have been financial and policy setbacks that have kicked in just days, weeks, or even months before hand. This resulted in what many would name, the green death. Why was it named this way, it is named because everyone started losing money randomly without any intervention. Stocks start to deplete rapidly, a majority of cosmic bank and planetary banks went dark. Worldly civilizations and economies started to fall apart.

The newfound and enriched politics that have formed up and have been established started to slowly break apart to the point where politicians and leaders start having fist fights. After a while, the broken political system started to shatter more widely. This was an opportunity for terrorists and pirates that originate from any spectrum. Mass death and revolutions plagued everything. As if anything could get worse, there have been reports of civilization shutdowns, causing mass famine to spread. This allowed multiple unknowns to take place and rule the abandoned or dead worlds in their name.

Just as things can’t get worse, there are many secrets in the cosmos. Some are open; some are not meant to be discovered. And some… that are originally not meant to be.

Prologue No.1

Everything has its beginnings. Everything has its pros and cons. Everything starts with humble or great beginnings. There are heroes and there are villains who created their stories, stories that have been passed down through time. Most particularly; The grey fox, the blue falcon, the hare, and the frog taking on the evil monkeys, fish, and bugs. The naive little boy martial artist to challenging the gods. The young star warrior who stood against a king, a knight, and nightmares. Two plumbers, a princess, and a demon king. A silent boy with a fairy, a princess, and a reincarnation of the lord of evil. A kaiju and a country. The battle of metal tops with spirits within. Knights who’s blades shine with the force would ease the darkness. One soldier, one alien, one ark, and seven rings. The slayer who went to hell and back. The man who does good. A trainer and its companion. The man of the universe. The cats of the universe. The dragon warrior. A cat who shows fun with a big hat, colored red with white stripes. The green what who stole Christmas. The robots in disguise. A brave kid against the Titans. A boy who claimed the stoned sword that once belonged to his father. A targeted man who survived the POW camps. The firstborn of a God. The founders of the land of the free. The father of country named India. The man who forged the art of war. The father of western studies. The president who freed the slaves. The lost underwater city. The man on the moon. The first woman to fight for women's rights. The American Evangelist. War that conflict with other worlds. The underwater creature of madness. The scientist who constructed E=Mc2. The entrepreneur who named a theme park after himself. The little blue people who wore white and red. The big blue people who are tree lovers. The Mexican tiger boy. A spoiled boy with a groove. A ghost hunting phantom. A leader of the primates.

A time card came with a thousand to a trillion introductions later, both in the realm of fiction and nonfiction.

“They told me to hold the time card because some yellow sponge was what came and it would be a waste of time and effort if the author included a lot more introductions”, an individual announced as it walks off with the time card.

And finally, the chaos warriors and the protectors of seven gems with its giant emerald. These characters and their stories inspired others to make their own fan made creations or even something new but inspired by them. Just like this one. And believe it or not, all of these characters actually met.

Before all of those, everyone was separated. But then, geniuses from their own realms came together to build machines or create special portals to other realms. That is how everyone met. For short, just think about anyone fictional, they likely met but also won't be doing what you could expect them to do. Just like a Sondash ship. It was a new golden age. Everyone started new alliances and created new… things (almost anything to be exact, kind of like the virtual reality thing in Ready Player One known as the Oasis).

However, everyone speculated that a new force of negativity will rise eventually. Some agreed, some neglected, others were silent by just the thought of it. After ten years, it came to be, the empire, a combination of forces united into one formidable foe. Those who knew, shoved it in disbelievers faces screaming, “HAHA, WE WERE RIGHT!” Sharply little of those who were silent, knew about something, that this was part of an upcoming disaster, upon immeasurable levels, upon mythological levels. The war had two names; The Omni War and The War to End All Wars. The one who established led this empire was Mhleliw II. It took eight years but the empire has been defeated. He promised that this empire will last forever, and that everyone will ascend to godhood. However, despite his defeat, Mhleliw II was never found nor was any trace of him. Some suspect he may have killed himself or have wandered off in his madness.

After years of peace and terror with violence that was unbearable for one moment everything went back to normal. Everything is a barren wasteland. And the war came with a cost. A new depression came where everyone is set on the break of poverty and worse. It didn't start immediately; it started after cosmic stock market trading system crashed. It started a year later after the war ended. After the trading system crashed, then came banking failures, digital piracy, name it, it happened.

However, after researching the technology and the nature of the mechanisms that belong to the empire, people began to go mad upon trying to understanding it. One of these unfortunate madmen, is a young child, before the age of 10, saw two sigils clashing with each other out of pure rage, fighting for dominance. Another was a mad teenager, aged 15, who saw what it looked like or what they looked like. Because of this, there has been a new research group with highly developed and trained minds to ensure that they don’t go mad upon research. This group is known as “Project Omni of Creation and Destruction”.

Now, we get to the story-

Some Skion scouts, who suddenly got lost, trapped in some realm. The Skion are four armed vampire like beings without the special powers, wearing antiflux oxygen suits that run on 48 hours of oxygen. It all went from random galaxies to now, breaching rifts with singularity micro-dimensions. Now, they’re stuck, in an unknown void, surrounded by some barrier. The

location with the barrier has what felt like ten suns, with a surrounding of four other bright lights, each with their own attributes. One is comprised of an advanced technological machine like flicker, one comprised of corporate promotion spotlights, one of the desolations of matter and anti-matter, and one comprised of both cosmic time schemes. The one they fly above is comprised of what looks like a world purely composed of how nature sets up the way of how life naturally functions.

The scouts are Mikov, Trieechii, and Qu’tuk. Mikov is the youngest and stands 5.5. He is also the most amateurish and irresponsible. He’s bald with triplet pointy ears with yellow silicone iodine eyes with tiny pupils. The skin is as reluctant and dirty as frog depiction. His color scheme on his armor is yellowish plagued with stone red paint cells. It had extendable chain lingering and dangling on the spiked shoulder plates with molting krinkiton metal.

Qu'tuk, the middle aged of the three, the leader of this patrol squadron, he unfortunately stands 4.11 due to a lack of mutual calcium and protein deficiency since birth. He has no eyes but has astronomical sensory of his surroundings. Not only the shortest but also the heaviest of the group, as well as the strongest. He has no hair, no ears but has earholes. Extremely thinned eyebrows with some baize splashed onto some of the parts. His personal armor standbys are nothing but a deflection electromagnetic bubble which always malfunctions.

Trieechii, the oldest of the three, also the leader of this squad, standing 6.2. Like Mikov, has triplet pointy ears and silk flavored eyes with large pupils with a secondary pupil. His neck is oval shaped due to a mercury and prolonged corona exposure that came from one of a variation of a tyrannical singularity created space mutant's crystals. He has a hairstyle that is identical to that of Niagara falls with a multitude of broken hair fangs that looked like a 10 foot dragon slayer wearing dragon killing equipment... who is a dragon type as well. His armor pigments were pure purple mixed with granite and ruby.

Qu'tuk shoved Mikov with aggression, “It was your idea to bring us here!”

Mikov turned around and responded, “Mine!? You’re the one who thought about this AFTER you raided bunker c-42 on empire terrain! And after you decided to tinker with rift crossing dimension breaches!”

"Oh BLAH BLAH BLAH, always blaming the deadbeat smartass!"

"Oh BlAh BlAh BlAh, AlWaYs BlAmInG tHe DeAdBeAt SmArTaSs!"

"Oh, now we are going through this AGAIN?"

"Oh, NoW wE aRe GoInG tHrOuGh ThIs AgAiN?"

Those two argued for a long time. This strife of words went upon to even Mikov, as usual, starts mocking Qu'tuk. The situation is a dumbass vs a smartass. Mikov is a buffoon who only knows how to get into trouble while Qu'tuk is the one who many would consider "the one who knows too much".

Trieechii one had to fire a shot between them to cease the quarrel. But that barely did anything. They continued to quarrel after the shot was fired. How can he deal with this? Usually, the shot works but didn't work didn't work. Trieechii reaches for something in one of his four pockets and pulled out a flare. This flare began to gleam a bright light, overshadowing the argument between the two Skion scouts. They both used their arms to shield their eyes from the bright light. The flare that Trieechii is using is a Glani flare. This flare has been manufactured and produced by the Alien sentient modulator known as Cellva konk, who is known for inventing the alpufan dusk.

Both Qu’tuck and Mikov stopped fighting and turned to Trieechii. They both gave a dumbstruck face to him to resemble their idiocy. These to bundlers, they always get into repulsive arguments over a little crumb of bread. Some back at planet Sulop began to wonder why those two were stationed together in the first place. Trieechi gave them disappointed, but not surprised face. The two responded with the usual gestures, a spinning hand, giving off a ‘I won’t do it again’. Trieechii knows that another quarrel will happen again, just give it time.

Trieechii then turned his attention to the strange barrier to see a shadow flying towards them. Both Qu’tuck and Mikov turn to look at the shadow. When the creature bumped into the light part of their barrier, the creature bounced back. But nothing less, it did it again and again and again until there was a crack. The scouts didn’t even notice the crack, but what they did hear was the sound of what felt like two church bells being scrapped by each other.Qu’tuck and Mikov hovered to the location to figure out what is happening there. Likely that this barrier was there to keep the shadowy figure and others like it in that so called world.

“Wait, I don’t think moving closer to that barrier is a good idea.”, Trieechii exclaimed cautiously.

The other two smirked and looked at each other and back, “We’ll be fine, it’s just a shadow figure. Likely one of those shadow demons that the night hunters fight.”

“I am just saying… Look around you, does this place seem out of order to you?”

The two stopped and turned to Trieechii with flickfulness.

“Think about it, a giant creature that shows that it wants out and four others that could be like this place? Something doesn’t seem right here.”

Qu’tuck moved his voice in, “I think he’s right. I mean… now that I think about it, I don’t think we are supposed to be here. I think it is best to figure out a way out before we one, lose oxygen and lose our ability to properly breathe and second, maybe the one light with machine flickers would be able to help.”

Mikov doesn’t care and just laughs his ass off, thinking that this is a joke. Matter of fact, this scout thinks that all of this is a joke. Why does this person think all of this is a joke is a reasonable matter. Under Mikov, the creature flies towards the barrier, focusing its attention at the three scouts. Mikov flies closer to the barrier, not acknowledging the other two’s call outs for him to fall back. In response, he goes on a freefall to the barrier. Because he is falling at a rapid paste, the creature stops soaring and hovers in place, waiting for the moment to strike.

Mikov stops his freefall right where he is at the exosphere, the tip of the world’s atmosphere. The other two soared down to Mikov’s position. The creature’s eyes began to gleam with excitement. It stops hovering and aerialites to the Skion’s position. It aligns its wings together and creates a twin spear motion with the wings. It began to ascend into the air once more and lock on the three Skion scouts. Qu'tuk notices the creature charging at them.

The creature appears large, has five wings on both sides of its body. But because it is seen as a shadow figure, it is hard to truly make out for what it is. The most notable thing is the eyes, the two slit pupils that may have given its size away. From what the eyes can tell them, this thing is a massive flying behemoth. But would behemoth be the right term, it is rather skinny and slick than hulking and bulking. Rather, this would be some kind of flying serpent like creature with wings rather than gliding scales on the bottom of its body.

The other two then turn to the barrier to see the shadowy figure penetrate the barrier, allowing it to reach out. Their eyes stared shook, their blood ran cold like ice, every breath felt like charcoaled firecrackers. It looked small from the distance, but now, they see… this thing. They are not sure what this thing is. Qu’tuk however, slowly started to bleed out from his eyes and choke from the blood that ran down from his eyes to his mouth.

The other two opened fire at the creature. They used Krakulon Harpoons to potentially stun the creature and keep it away. It stuns enemies by emitting a 100- 1,000,000 volt stun, enough to render an Elder electric Dragonite to its bones. But the harpoons didn’t work, the sun is having no effect on this creature. But rather, the stun effects are reflected back at them, causing the three scouts to have a severe reaction to the electrical volts. However, the volts returned are stronger than the volts brought from the harpoon.

The creature looked back at its world, never before did it attempt to do such. Many others do try but most all never made it. Perhaps the Celstiontiqunchs’ were but delusional liars made up of those who descended on mad corruption. Last time they were free was when they were frontiering strife from those machines. This barrier was made to keep them out forever, but this? Why, no, more like how, how did it free itself from the barrier? The creature looked at the three Skion scouts. It noticed that one of them still lived after that reflected volt. Trieechii weakly slithered his nearly shut eye towards the creature as he can only see it’s eye. He can’t truly understand what he is seeing. What is this thing? Why is it here? Where is this place?

The creature simpered one of its right five eyes towards Trieechii, returning attention to Trieechii. It gave off a blank red eye, no pupil or cornea, that shines at Trieechii. Slowly in response, Trieechii began to shake uncontrollably as his mind starts to deteriorate. The creature turns back to its world. Upon returning to it’s world, it notices that the barrier is flickering. With each flicker, the barrier grows weaker and weaker, allowing it to pass through. Could that mean… he is returning? Or is…, it returning? Either way, these questions conflict with the creatures thought processing.

Next, in a faraway land known as Equestria, that has been renamed Pionola; the new leader, Dimeonka, is now leading the ponies. Because of the war, Pikonola is having a hard time and Dimeonka doesn't stray far from the struggle. Dimeonka is a stallion with a black pigment with white red stripes. He is a calm mined pony with a low temper esteem. He likes to point the way to a better world, through extremely dangerous situations that can leave an entire species extinct. He goes through PTSD and is currently on medication. His eyes are brown, mane and tail are blond and he has an arrow piercing a page as a cutie mark.

But what happened to Twilight and her friends? Twilight and the rest of the mane six died in the war. Celestia and Luna died in the depression due to lack of funding and the plague. Discord; after fluttershy’s death, went into depression, which lead him to suicide by making himself fade from existence. Spike is nowhere to be found. In other words, Equestria is in ruins. Lack of funding and something about some powerful demon who always smiles came in and turned the world into a ghost town. The biggest one is a war against a band of space pirates.

The current party runs Equestria is a Brankius party. It is a party where the direction of society is directed by a higher one’s thinking. In other worlds, there is this hidden individual who gives orders to officials and the officials’ synchronize it in their way so this hidden individual won’t be detected. In context, Dimeonka is not the true leader, but a figure to the real one, playing the act whole the hidden one dangles with the puppet strings. However, the figure must

be a well known selective that must commit an action that will make him forgotten, so he or she or it can remain in power.

Although it works perfectly if done correctly, the political party is heavily flawed. Secretly, everyone fights for that secret leadership, only for everyone to end up killing themselves after obtaining such position. This has been going on for a long time, enough to render Dimeonka to his hoofs and possibly be on everyone’s mercy. But after a long setback, Dimeonka changed somethings to how Equestria’s Brankius party roles. Because of this change, the secret leader has been revealed and executed, and Dimeonka became the true ruler.

He is a reddish solid color, with short mane and tail that indicates that he has fought an Ursa Major and lived. His eyes are violet with some bloodshot veins indicating bloodshot eyes. He bares a conch shell crest cutie mark, indicating that he likes to decorate things in a ‘counched’ matter. He wears a pair of goggles, the left glass however is slightly cracked but barely noticeable unless you look real hard on it. He stands at 5.7 ft tall and 6.10 ft at length.

In the castle, a guard is taking a break in the guard headquarters. However, in other worlds there are guards, security, and other personnel or some type of police headquarters with a lone operative taking a break. Each of them laid down or sat down and rested. However, they heard some type of voice or felt some type of presence. They look around to see nothing, but that insecurity remains. ?They each know something is here, there has to be something here, but what?

Each of them looks up to see some strange shadowy figure that is staring down at him. Some didn’t seem concerned that much, some were concerned, most were silenced. Those who didn’t seem concerned, waited for it to do something. Those who were concerned armed themselves or amped their abilities and prepared for a fight. Those who were silenced, couldn’t bare to witness what they are seeing.

Despite different approaches, they all met the same fate. The ones who were not concerned were an easy picking, allowing the shadowy figure to pounce on them, metaphorically devouring them. Those who were concerned, tried to dispense of it, but all failed in the attempt. Those who were silenced, began to tear with terror. They are returning, they know the time is right. THEY are here, they are… The shadow figure opened its mouth at the silenced guards and…

Shortly after, the guard shows up struggles to stay up as it walks down through the empty halls of their locations. They shook ferociously as if they were frostbitten. Their eyes look bloodshot, their faces reddened with some but not noticeable cuts. Their armor/suit is ragged, cut, and damaged. Their posture is rugged and clearly, the individual(s) struggled to stand.

“Why are you shaking like that and where were you?”, curiously asked the leaders as the guard walks forward.

The guard stops and tries to speak, but they each fell down in different ways, showcasing a fresh slashes, cuts, or scars, through their bodies, from their head to their feet. Thecuts began to bleed heavily. Some of the cuts even exposed their interior muscles or even their bones. Some of the flesh that are right by the damage started to fall off as the blood began to sprinkle, but for some, it didn’t or did sprinkle again. Their bodies begin to cloud as more blood began to leave their body.

One section of leaders were not conspicuous of the situation and mildly laughed it off, claiming that the whole thing is an act. Some began to laugh with the leader, while the others try to help the individual. The second cast were curious about what is going on, so they called a medic to figure out what is going on. The third cast rushed to the individual's attention, demanding a medic to aid this individual. However, what they all have in common, is that they were attacked by the same thing. However, each attack on each individual has taken different forms, all depending on the area and species. What could be the cause of such calamity? Is it another terrorist attack or some type of remediation that is randomly unfolding itself to the world. There are enough problems right now, why start a new one?

Each of the guards were shaking intensely as the cold started to flood their bodies. They all wish they have never seen what each of them have seen, they just want to forget it. But now, their lives are cut short because of this calamity. Was it fate or some sort of interruption? Each withering slowly as the light starts to fade for each of them. Each of the leaders or medics or anyone who was close to the guard asked questions such as, “What happened? Who did this to you? Is this some prank? Who would commit such brutality?” Each of the guards slowly looked up with clouding eyes.

“He….”, they each weakly mumbled out loud.

“Who?”

“HEEEEEEE…..Ee.eee--”, each of the guards died out before they could utter a word.

This info, not enough, but by how each said it, it is as if they have seen something they were not supposed to see. Each of the medics used brain transplants on the guard(s) to translate what they saw. they stick the electrical receivers in the neck part and the neuro receivers in the cranium parts. The medics added the impulses into the victims to get a read of their memories. This is happening through many methods; psychiatric memory manipulation, magic mind reader, anything to figure out what happened.

Back at the throne room, Dimeonka used a mind extract spell to analyze the corners of the guard’s recent memories. This spell only allows Dimeonka to go back to memories that are 72 hours old, or three days to be simplesti. He looked into the mind of the recently deceased guard and found what appears to be a shadowy figure or some type of [phantom that attacked him. It was fast but terminal. It took many forms but what remained was a figment of eye and a spine of teeth. IS that right? A figment of some sort or… something? Dimeonka can’t tell since the memory is starting to fade. But unlike most times, matter of fact, this is the first time anyone’s memory is fading a lot quicker than necessary.

When Dimeonka stopped his mind trace, he noticed that the body is starting to fade from existence. No seriously, none of that thanos dust or fade like a ghost, fade as if this guard never existed in the first place. Dimeonka took notice as the guard starts to fade away. This method was said to be complete fiction with possibilities such cause being impossible. But seeing the impossible before him, stunned him to the bone. He is speechless on what he has witnessed. Never before had he witnessed such testified death impossibility happen before him. Everyone else who knew about the same theory were also stunned, speechless.

Dimeonka stumbles backwards conflicted, trying to understand what is going on. But has he goes deeper into realisation, he notices that he is slowly beginning to lose his mind. His head pounding, brain cells start to deteriorate and rupture, and his vision starts to blur. He can barely keep it together, this is something that should NOT happen. Begins to hum “whisper of the river” to calm himself down. It is a song that requires you to use leaves for instruments to play it correctly. This song has been used in mediation sessions that he has been taking lately. Though it is hard to play it correctly with the right leaf structure, the result is really soothing.

The Everyone else is either losing their mind, remained frozen, or quickly assessed the situation and alerted everyone in their high councils about the situation. This isn't just happening to Dimeonka, this is happening to everyone! When each senate or council member got the information, they either doubted or embraced the information. Those who doubted the information either went mad or had some of their own underlings containted. Those who embraced it couldn’t believe what they are hearing and try to reject the information. They can’t bear to hear such information that invalidates the current knowledge that they have.

Every time something new but unexpectedly large is announced, nearly everyone panics. No one can rest in this time of era with war, terorism, economic deterioration, etc. What else is there to do in these times without having some sort of life or death stress? Is everyone’s struggle in vain, does it have no end? Would there be a moment where everyone can finally rest? Some are indeed dying from overwhelming stress, anxiety, etc. But this uprise, this crosses too many lines.

Dimeonka then calms himself down and orders three guards to investigate the area. The three guards swifty stampede through the halls to the location where this recently deceased guard was. The iron weight added with every thump on their hoof gave out loud clanging vibrations to the fortress. The stress from the fast pasting stallions causes the armor to start scratch up in some parts. However, this particular armor is constructed by a form of nanometal that regenerates any form of it'setal tissue, as long as the wearer is alive.

"What do you think caused that?", the second guard personifies to everypony.

"Could be some large creature. Otherwise, something new, maybe not.", the third guard responds hastefully to the second guard.

Like everyone, they pray for a REAL rest. Everyone is always on alert, no breaks, almost no sleep, and even no repercussions for their physical or mental health. These guards are no different from such unfortunate calamity. The guards have been trained to contain a mind that is solid metal. However, because of the underdeveloped and decaying economy, as well as political corruption that sprung behind places, the guards begath to throttle into corruption as well. Because of such actions being taken to course, the united rail nations stepped in for each local system and suggested robotic guards, but many, including Equestria, declined the offer.

The guards arrive at the scene of the incident, only to find nothing but debris that originated from the guard and the room storage. The room is about the size of an average size shed. The room can store up to 25 stallions and is one of the new five guard stations that hosts a mini kitchen. This station also holds five beds and has an armor closet that holds different types of armor, all for different purposes. Such example of differentiation is bulk armor is for walls, slim is for scouting and patrols, and weighed is for intense wind resistance.

They scavenged the room for any clue but no answer. However, there is one clue, on the chair, a giant clawmark that is causing the chair to spaze in and out of existence, trying to render itself and keep itself alive, somehow. One of the guards attempted to touch it, but was stopped by a voice in the guard’s head, telling him not to think about it. I mean, it’s just some anomaly, what can go wrong? These guards are nothing more than mere privates that just entered a militant force.

During the scavenging, they manage to uncover the guard’s notes, written in a black notebook with stretch marks that have dried tear stains on it. The pen has been used three days ago and is covered in dry sweat. The notebook has been written on the same day as when the pen has been used. The pen has a metallic but rubbery for it’s build. It is six inches and some damage indicates that this guard chews on his pen. The chew marks indicate healthy but brittle teeth bites.

Two of the guards looked everywhere but barely any clues to what really happened, other than the claw marks on some places. They turned to the third guard, who has begun to stutter and sweat. His eyes are pinned on what he is reading, something about an unknown force awaiting and some schematics about unreilating and unknown locations. Some of this knowledge… is not even on record. Trojecting seven light years from waypoints outside their own multiverse and pinpointing several stars to constellations that don’t replicate natural shapes. This knowledge...., isn’t theirs or anyones that they know of.

As much as the guard tries to understand it, he can feel his mind slowly melting as he attempts to see any real meaning in their world. But all of this…it makes no sense, everything is wrong here, it doesn't match up! The guard begins to pant uncontrollably as he thrives deeper and deeper into the pages. Be begins to hear voices, voices that he has never heard of before, or rather voices that maybe no one has ever heard from before. The guard looked around to see if anyone is there, but all he could see was his vision blurring and the two guards looking at him with confusion and scarcse.

The guard looks up to see a figment of shadows looming above their heads, mumbling things to one another, as well as giving off a glitch like vibration to them every time they revolve around each other. They each can’t be described but they all have multiple appendages on nearly every part of their body, each with their own set of eyes and mouths. The main eyes are large with a set of 2x3. The best they can come up with is some twigs that are strapped down to a large pole and liquefied in some jello maker. The limbs are rather something that a jellyfish would have, something rubery but also slimy and satisfying to touch.

The guards don’t know what to think about this, al they have in mind is what is happening to the third guard as he starts to swiftly turn the pages frantically and in a frightened motion. He continuously turns his head and eyes as he swarms through every page he looks at. All of it, it is not supposed to make any sense. Everything this guard is reading, it’s all wrong. It’s supposed to be WRONG! None of this is supposed to be true!

The guard starts mumbling some strange words, in a voice that mirrors that of the shadowy figures that are floating close to the ceiling. The creatures crack down to the third guard, emanating a strangely distortive energy around them that causes all but the shadowy figure’s vision to start blacking out. Is this what that earlier guard experiences, was this the final moments of vision before he passed? Is this, what he saw? What the hell is going on, someone tell them something, tell them something NOW!

One of the guards, the first guard, ran away from the scene before this blacking out could advance. He can only bare to look back and witness the two fading from existence like that.

There is no true way to describe the situation that they are in, it is as if they are being erased from their memory. However, despite such feeling of relativity, it is not the exact same. This one guard, named Hipiro, has joined the guard just to get paid and finally make a living, not settle down on unknown anomaly that shatter reality by just being there.

Hipiro is a low class guard, just like the other two, mostly just so he can make a living out of something. The other two did it for the power and position. Hipiro is 27 year old pegasus who was born with one wing deficiency; a disorder that only gives pegasus one wing instead of two. This deficiency is rare, but it has happened before. It is as rare as obtaining candymarus; a condition where somepony born with candy for body parts. However, one of the largest differences is that one does not almost instantly die days after birth.

Hipiro runs off to the throne room but before he enters it, he is introduced to a foul odor, fresh but foul and somewhat spicy. When he arrives at the throne room, he only witness what can be described to be gore. What else can be said about witnessing multiple corpses rangolled around and hung from their intestines or any organ of bone of theirs. Their eyes are jotting out with their Sclera and corneas ripped to shreds. Parts of their iris’ are scattered with their pupils mixing with other pupils. The veins of the eyes are mixed with some of the blood puddles that has dried up. Actually, Hipiro is not even sure if the strains are veins or thin tissues of flexible muscle.

The legs and hoofs are dismembered and dislocated. Their muscle tissue is slowly slithering off as is drips down from the body part is was originally assembled to. Some of the muscle tissue has some bone marrow leaking onto the remains, causing the order more rock and milk like. Some of the bone marrow has protein and fat in it, causing the odor to worsen. The stench when blood starts to rot and bodies began to decompose. But it has barely been an hour and this is happening? What the hell is going on, SOMEONE TELL HIPIRO SOMETHING!

The flesh that surrounds the torsos have been tangled up in what can be described to be a big pile of cheap spaghetti. Intestines all chews or clawed up and tossed around one another. By some means, some of the dead poses are even individuals who are attempting to return their intestines back in their bodies. Some of the intestines still has depiction in them that are now leaking from the intestines. Some of the stuff wasn't even fully digested ye and it comes out as a brownish liquid that is jet to be become a wet solid based depoture known as poop. Some of the intestines has depiction on the exterior of them. Some have dried up with insects feeding off them and maggots devouring the remnants.

The livers and kidneys are no different from such fate. They all are torn up and scattered among the throne room. Stomach acid starts to corrode the gallbladder and kidneys. Some of the corroded parts happen to be tongues Some parts of the arteries are penetrating the spleen, and

thoracic. The stomach acids also increase the smell of the foul odor coming from the remains. Some of the kidneys and livers have become a breeding ground for many insects. This place, nothing but FOUL!

The heads and tails of the ponies are all what can be described to overlayed flesh just being folded to the point of There is a pony with their stifle being crushed by a spinal cord that is slowly being devoured and covered in slime and mucus by bone worms. The skull is bashed up with parts of the brain dripping out or splattered across a terrain. Their tongues are al dripping out with saliva and blood with their spinal fluids leaking down from their necks. Their teeth brackled and some hung around like decorations. Even their noses were all smashed as if they were compressed by a hydraulic press.

Hipiro slowly walks in to see everybody rendered down and disemboweled and possibly eaten, al in different ways. He starts to suspect that this has something to do with the shadows that has been circling that guard station. Now that he that he thinks about the shadows, Hipiro begins to wonder; is the other guard, Thundero ok? Is he dead, is he injured, what has happened of him? All of this is rapidly flowing through his mind, making him feel unstable. Too much, so little time, so many weird things going on. He doesn’t know what to do.

He then hears a rather high pitched joyful but sinisterly unsettling and disturbing laugh, in a voice that he has never heard of before. He looks around to see some of the bodies disappearing, only the blood stains remain of the deceased ponies and stallions. Wait, what happened to Dimeonka; where is he? Has he met the same fate as these unfortunate souls? If anything, what if he evacuated just before whatever happened here? The possibility is medium, he mostly never backed down from a challenge, especially if it threatens his position of power. But if it doesn't me may try to strike a deal with it so there wouldn't be any conflict.

He then hears a studderosh and petrified voice in the distance. Sounds familiar, rugged and weakened, through a pile of corpses. Out came a hoof, covered in blood but looks as if it were blending in with the fur. The fur color… and how the hoof is shaped, it’s familiar. Hipiro gallops towards the pile of bodies carefully, he doesn't want to trip over the bodies or slip caused by blood puddles. If he did, he would likely end up with serious injuries due to armor added impact which could lead to a concussion or some loss of bone structure or even interior bleeding.

He arrives at the corpse pile and reached his hof out and led a hoof to this survivor, only to the survivor to be a familiar stallion.

“Dimeonka?”, Hipiro sharply realizes after he has pulled this stallion out from the pile of corpses.

Hipiro lifts him out, only to feel vibrations coming from his leg. These vibrations that is intensely being deominstraighted to Hipiro, it is as if something has scared Dimeonka. He has shakes like this at times, however for the shaking to be intense as if he were a vehicle in an extremely rocky road, something has caused him to result in this behavior. Hipiro pulls Dimeonka complete out of the piles and the first thing he witnesses is the sheer horror on his face. Whatever Dimeonka has seen, it must've been out of this word.

“Hey, Lord Dimeonka!”, Hipiro calls out to his master.

He then proceeded to tap him, causing his to snap in fright and terror. Hiprio jumped back in shock at what has happened to Dimeonka. Dimeonka looks at Hipiro with petrification as if he has seen something that scarred him for life. Hipiro waves his wing to Dimeonka, but in response, Dimeonka swiftly gallops out of the pile, circles around the room, and back into the pile.

“WHAT ARE YOU D-D-DOING!?”, frantically squealed the petrified stallion with his body still heavily shaking uncontrollably.

Hipro jumps in response to his random squealing. Whatever Dimeonka saw, it clearly gave him an impact. Never before has Dimeonka ever acted this way.

“NEVERMIND WHAT I SAID!”, Dimeonka squeaked and dragged Hipiro into the corpse pile.

“What are yo-”, Hipiro is interrupted by Dimeonka, shushing him.

“This world, this isn’t our WORLD! This place, it doesn't… IT DOES NOT BELONG TO US! IT IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE OURS!” , Dimeonka begins to lose it.

“Lord Dimeonka! Listen to yourself! You don’t know what you are saying!”

“NO, YOU LISTEN TO ME! LISTEN TO MY VOICE AS I COMMENCE THAT WE SHOULD ALL OPEN OUR EYES!”

They both then hear some chuckling in the distance. It originates beyond the throne room entrance. The chuckling continuously gives off a vibe as if there are multiple voices there. One childish, one of an adult, one of a lunatic, one of a beast, one of a creature from an unknown world. The walls began to collapse as the bodies began floating in the air, exposing Hipiro and Dimeonka. The roof began to distort as it gave of this glitched or static like sound effect. It is as if reality of collapsing, but for the two, they know it’s more than just a reality split.

“They are here…”, Dimeonka mumbles in submission.

“Who?”, Hipiro responds swiftly and mildly frightened, and recognizing the submission in Dimeonka’s voice.

“They… I don’t know. But they are here. They are here to take what we have become. They are here to reclaim what is theirs.”

Hipiro glanced at Dimeonka cluelessly; who is… are they? What do they want? Hipiro starts to feel his brain pounding intensely. Each pounding causes him to startle and fall to the ground with immense pain. He recovers but slowly feels the aftermath of the head pounding still taking affect. He remembers something about Dimeonka, before his leadership, he had to be taken in for insanity treatments. Perhaps this was one of the main reasons. He may have been slowly losing his mind over time, likely due to a drastic change of point of view.

Nothing less, the voices, they slowly creep up closer to the two, causing them to gain goosebumps. The voices echoed through the room and through the halls, but it also gives a feeling that these voices originate more than just one location. Hipiro looks for an exit and notices the open glass figurine window. He charges at the glass figurine, hoping to make an escape and breach into the outside world, escaping this situation. He could take Dimeonka, but given his current situation, his mind is set into submission as he slowly begins to grow unstable.

He collides with the glass only to be reflected back, not dealing any damage to the glass. This blast sent him back a 1 ½ yards away from the glass. He felt this deflection as if something backhanded him back to his starting point. He looks around to see nothing but Dimeonka scrambling his voice around as he begins to roll around, once again, in submission. Hiprio begins to think, “Who is he really submitting to?”

A voice called out Hipiro’s name in an unsettling and grooming way. It is as if the plagued sea of stars have begun to spiral in his tounge. The sky begins to twaddle around him as an attempt to slurp some sense into him. The revendius vocality is causing him to stutter and shaking randomly. It is small and barely noticeable; but for the emitter, it is noticeable. The voices begin to cackle out like some ravaging noises, so infamiable, so untamed, it can never be recognized or even puzzled together.

A shadowy figure begins to loom over the halls, but some of the shadows originate from the windows. The shadows that are originating from the windows cause mass screaming among the new Ponvymania town. A gang related town with a low tolerance for anyone squishy or soft. Ponyvill fell into decay after the Omni war hit Equis. It when out quicker than a rendering siphon. It is peckering with the scent of… mixed frost and sea salt, or so what can be stated.

.Hipiro stumbled backwards as the shadows began to surround him, starting with some type of… claw like figure? He is not sure, but what he sees, is a claw of sales that indicate something of reptilian origin. Or… what impracticalities have penetrated his mind? Hipiro then begins to hear Dimeonka screeching some foul and dispensed language, he can’t even understand what Dimeonka is saying. Matter of fact, there has been no recordings of the language that Dimeonka is using. Words that… could not… should not…

The shadow begins to form, around Hipiro as he preps a Gattatik Val C-3 Machine Gun from his armor. The weapon supports a cooler from the barrel and the ammunition are Slug double F centimeter roundz. One shot from this weapon can send a curl a blue whale to oblivion. The bullets however, are nothing more than a crum, enough for a mouse to feast on. He stands firmly, waiting the the ting to pop out. He feels a hoof dragging upwards on his hind left leg. He turns his neck 157 degrees counterclockwise to find out who is dragging his limb.

Dimeonka looked at Hipiro with fanaticism in his eyes and sweat. His heavy breath gave a feeling as if he lost it. Hipiro slowly moved his head backwards, away from Dimeonka as he slowly creeped up to his upper torso. Dimeonka reacted to this by pinning Hipiro down on the ground. Dimeonka screamed in submission, demanding the shadow to take them away.

Hiprio pointed the Gattatik as Dimeonka is he screamed, “I am sorry… I have no choice.” Hipiro fired the gun, instantly ripping Dimeonka in two, scattering his organs and kidneys everywhere.

The foul scent of deprained blood being spilled fresh as the scaled claw swipes it an ingests it like a…- jellyfish, or a blob like substance. The body of Dimeonka is swiftly ripped apart and dissolved as it was injected by the random gloomy prepotouisms. The liquids from the body began to evaporate as his skin and fur begins to dissolve. The muscles are ripped up and saturated into this smoothie like substance. The bones have been ruptured into… seeds inside of a strawberry shake? The organs and the brain have been shifted in tenderized cuisines in a size of a pill.

Hipiro thought Dimeonka would die in battle or some kind of disease or assasination attempt. But this, how can it be spelled out? Being eaten alive? Being dissected alive? Being burned or melted alive? Atoms ripped apart? What can it be? What is this thing doing? Is there anything to be said for what Hipiro must bestow? He walks backwards frightened, he rather be hypnotized into being a worthless slave he once was rather than witness this. He felt a pat on the back, it felt scaley, but interestingly smooth and mildly soft. He stops to turn to witness a giant appendage glooming over him… Hipiro slowly increased his voice to produce a scream that he

could never reach. The thing opened what appears to be opening its… mouth and towered over Hipiro.

Back at the unknown word, the barrier that surrounds the location begins to raddle. The creatures within the world begin to look up and notice the barrier flickering on and off, rattling intensively. That is when they knew, the barrier, it is dying. One of those creatures… expands its wings and skyrockets in the air. This thing begins to curl into a ball in preparation for potential breach. The creature makes contact with the barrier and it miraculously breaches. The pressure from the breach scatters into the infinite sea for where the starts and beyond lay. The creature uncurls itself and looks back. In response, the creature cries out to the other creatures, informing that the barrier is broken, and descend back into its world once more.

The creatures responded drastically, screeching and whaling their snarls at every location there is. This was enough to inform the other starry locations and some locations in the…--- infinite sea of stars, where ‘everyone’ thrived. Those who heard such sounds… and paid attention to these foul and unfortunate sounds…, they were all RE-introduced to… what they considered a voice from the reaches beyond the void. Those who didn’t pay attention, ignored it and moved on. No one could ever guess what has happened.

#Existence Novel #Hytregos

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writermich18 · 5 years

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Good Omens Writing Prompt: AU Meets Canon

"Our Michael is a pyromaniac."

All conversations stop. The Canon characters - including Lucifer in human form - turn to stare incredulously at their AU counterparts.

"What." Canon Michael deadpans.

"It's true." AU Michael easily shrugs about it. Her voice was calm, rough, and low with a slight high undertone similar to AU Lucifer's own tenor voice. This Michael had wild, neck length red hair with it framing and mostly moving to the left. Any way you looked at it from any direction, it still looks as if it was constantly on fire. Sharp, but open and mischievous amber orange eyes with a red pupil. Darkly tanned skin marred with white, sometimes pink, scars. A prothestic left arm. Pointy ears with small blue hoop earrings (the same kind worn by BOTW Link and the same type of ears as Hylians). All of the AU Angels had those pointy ears and a different colored pupil other than black. The AU Demons all had round ears and black pupils. Baby cheeks but roughed by the weather and the streets, rough but circular jawline. Short nose. AU Michael was wearing an undershirt black sleeveless training turtleneck, a dark red and white tunic over that with Enochian and Celtic designs dancing on the hems and collar. Chest armor with one shoulder pad, armguards and fingerless black gloves with a metal plate on top of which the Army symbol was carved on. Dark blue leggings, armored skirt, shin guards, and black shinobi sandals. A tanto was strapped horizontally to her waist with a belt. Said belt had an assortment of other pouches and supplies attached to it. She had on a dark orange cloak with many Enochian and Celtic designs sewn on the back, hem, and collar. Dark red rope at the neck connected the two ends.

"I tend to blow shit up. Lucifer-nī tended to scold me for it," she remembers with a fond smile. "He still does, too." She adds.

"Because you keep shit up in Hell! It's already chaotic enough, stop adding to it!" AU Lucifer practically yells at her from his spot next to Canon Lucifer. Though his yell was more like a slightly louder normal voice. His voice was a smooth, tenor's voice with a rough low undertone similar to AU Michael's. There was a ghost of a tempting voice hidden somewhere in it. Long nose but it looked like it had been broken and reset a couple of times, most likely by Michael and then reset by a medic. AU Lucifer had just as wild hair as Michael but it was more in the way of stylishly curly mess than Michael's wild lioness mane of hair. It fell to his chest, unfairly stylishly, and dirty blond yet somehow shining in the natural light as if it was the fucking sun itself. High cheekbones, smooth jawline, but you could just tell that he was harsh to the touch at a closer look. Sharp, closed off silver eyes with a slit black pupil that still shined with its own inner light. Peach, pale skin. Round ears without a piercing. He wore a black high collar button up with a white silk tie and a black blazer with white lined hem and collar, white trousers, and black dress shoes. He looked put together but like he could easily destroy your life without a word.

"It just needs a little more fire, lighten the place up a bit."

"Says the soldier!" AU Luci sarcastically retorts.

"They're gonna be at this for the entire day so..." AU Uriel mutters. AU Uriel has a medium leveled voice, not high nor low pitched, it wasn't rough nor smooth. It had an emotional undertone, as in you could hear their emotions even when they were supposedly emotionless - comes with being the Archangel of the Arts (and yes, the Arts as in any type of art including philosophy), I guess. They were dark brown skinned person-being. Short, cropped black hair with some braided tiny buns burling along their head. Multi-colored eyes and pupil for the Arts is the element she maintains and is multicolored for its many aspects. Pointy ears with stud Anime character earrings (fan art is art) and multiple other ear piercings, and one lip piercing on the right side of their lips. Extravagant, cosplay style makeup painted their face into a beautiful canvas. They wore a high school's music shirt, with blue overalls - the overalls were painted on like a canvas as well - over the shirt, a utility belt filled to the brim with different artifacts all supplies from the different artistic areas. Old and worn galaxy styled sneakers finished their look.

"Stop it." Another voice pits in. AU Michael and Lucifer stop immediately and sulk as they refused to look at each other. Canon Aziraphale stared at his AU counterpart, the one who said stop it, as he has been since meeting her.

AU Aziraphale who apparently prefers to go by Ezra when she's on Earth doing her job. She, unlike him, was raised as a soldier practically her whole life. She never stopped training even when she was being Heaven's Earth agent. So she had muscles where he did not. He was chubby from eating while she was "chubby" from training and growing muscles - not really "traditional" chubby, chubby like a rolling torso and muscles. Not a bad thing but differently not something he's seen on his own body since becoming Heaven's Earth agent. Unlike him, she had a wild mane of white - white, not light blond - hair set up like AU Michael's with a slight difference in volume. Darkly tanned skin with scars and calloused hands and feet. Bare foot, dirty from walking on the ground. A nomad, she said she was. Didn't tend to stay in one place. Got antsy if she tried, like an enemy was going to pop in and kill her in her sleep because she's kept a predictable schedule. Sharp but almond shaped and kind amber orange eyes, red pupils like AU Michael's. Her Michael's adopted blood daughter, did the blood ritual to make it official for the papers. That explains the the fire colored streaks briefly seen flickering around and in her hair like actual embers, Canon Aziraphale thought faintly. She wore the same hoop earrings as Michael. Pointy ears. Baby cheeks but roughed by the weather and the streets. Ezra wore a black turtleneck like Michael, over which she wore a dirty blue button up with brown chest armor and a red wrongly tied tie. The sleeves were ripped up and turned into a short sleeve. She wore fingerless gloves with the metal plate that has Heaven't symbol on it. Wrapped around her waist was a plaid blue-and-black shirt under which was a utility belt with a assortment of book recovering supplies, a first aid kit pouch, and weapon pouches with another pouch, probably filled with more weapons, tied around her left thigh. Ruined at the hem, and torn dark blue pants covered her legs with multiple pieces of bandages and rough signs of frantic sewing on the pants. Her nails were somehow manicured, with only a few nails being mildly bitten. A nervous habit. She also apparently has a smaller version of Michael's pyromaniac tendencies - not a lot but enough to where even her superiors except her mother and Mother was afraid of pissing her off.

The rest of the Canon characters were also slightly unnerved and or intrigued by their respective counterparts.

Canon Adam was actually jealous of his counterpart because though he had an older sister, he didn't have a twin sister. Said AU Adam's twin sister was apparently essence adopted by AU Michael - meaning while her earthbound body made her the Young Family's daughter, her adopted-by-an-angel-and-ritually-claimed-as-Michael's-child soul, her essence, made her essentially Michael's daughter, meaning she got the benefits and consequences of being Michael's daughter. Which means AU Adam is not alone in the Child of an Angel department. Not only does he have a big sister in the form of AU Aziraphale - being Michael's angelic adopted daughter, related to AU Adsm through siblings Lucifer and Michael - but also a twin sister, related to AU Adam by 2 ways: sibling relation thus cousin relation for their children, and siblings through the Young Family, relations through earthbound body.

This situation they've all found themselves in will either end in hilarity or tragedy. All of them, except for the Chaos Trio (AU Michael, AU Lucifer, and AU Aziraphale), prayed for it to end in hilarity because another tragedy did not need to happen right now.

Ezra was just hoping for the Canon counterparts (and some of the AU counterparts) to never learn of the circumstances which caused her world's Michael to take her under her wings (literally and figuratively) and adopt her. That was a scarred past that should be buried and forgotten. Though she did want some chaos to happen.

AU Michael was also crossing her fingers and hoping people never found out about her ostracized and broken past which helped push her to help two damaged but not broken children. That was a wound too deep to heal without breaking someone else. Though she did want some chaos.

Lucifer just wanted chaos so that he could finally take that 32 hour long nap he's been meaning to take.

#good omens #writing prompt #au meets canon #aziraphale #michael (good omens)#lucifer (good omens)#adam young #siblings #adoption #long post #sorry i'm on mobile unfortunately

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romien · 5 years

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How to save a life (part 1)

This is my first time posting my writing in English. I am not a native speaker, so forgive any mistakes you might find here. Hope you enjoy it!

Waking up on an alien planet after five years that just somehow went by, even though for you it was like a blink of an eye, is weird. And quite frankly, terrifying.

But running around the fallen debris from the destroyed Avengers compound that was turned into a battlefield while simultaneously holding the most powerful jewels in the universe and dodging spears, energy beams – and was that a branch? – definitely beats it.

Peter was so not having a good day.

„Karen! Is there anything we can do to distract them?“ he shouted, mildly desperate as the aliens kept coming and he was nowhere near the van inside which he was supposed to drop the gauntlet.

„I’m sorry, Peter, but your enhanced strength and agility are the only reason you were not taken down yet,“ his AI informed him.

Peter actually envied how cheerful and unconcerned she sounded while telling him that.

„Super helpful, Karen,“ he growled and ducked when a knife was thrown his way.

There had to be something he could do. Webbing aliens and dodging hits surely did not get him killed but it really didn’t help him to move towards his goal either. In fact, Peter realized, that the aliens were actually forcing him to move backwards.

„Karen – does this suit have any weapons I could use?“

„Would you like an access to the manual or automatic weapons?“ was the enthusiastic response he got.

„When this is all over, you and I are gonna have a really long talk about what a necessity are the laws on gun control,“ Peter huffed partially amused but mostly concerned.

„Should I disable the weaponry then?“

„NO!“ he yelped and hissed as one of the knives nicked his thigh. „Is there a… wait, is that a grenade?!“

„Yes, Peter,“ Karen chirped in his ear.

„Okay, we will add that to the list of things we need to discuss. Get me the grenade and calculate with how much force should I throw it on the ground so that I can use it as a boost.“

„That is not advisable.“

„Says who?“

„Per the Baby monitor protocol-“

„That was rhetorical, Karen! How much force?“

„About half of your full strength throw, Peter.“

With a deep breath, he took five quick steps behind, which made the aliens stumble in surprise. They didn’t have any time to get their footing back as Peter threw the grenade and shot a web onto the little flying vehicle that sped above them.

His spidey sense flared up when the greande hit the ground and immediately blew up. Thankfully, the flying drone was going at the same crazy speed, even with Peter latched onto it. More importantly, it was headed straight to the van so the boy braced himself for what was about to happen.

But that was when the Parker luck striked again.

„Peter!“

He was sure that was Mr. Starks voice and so he automatically turned his head towards it. Iron Man was really looking his way and even from the distance he saw the panicked look upon his mentors face. Alarmed, Peter looked up and saw another drone headed his way.

Cutting the web string was not an option. He was moving too fast and the momentum would throw him directly to the very pointy looking debris that lay ahead. If he tried to jump up the webbing would be cut by one of the drones, possibly by both of them.

He was screwed.

And just as he was contemplating letting fate run its course he saw another thing quickly flying towards them. At first it looked like another drone, but even from the distance it seemed smaller.

„Hold tight, young spider!“ hollered a booming voice somewhere down on his right.

The hair on the back of Peters neck stood up and he would swear that he felt electricity in the air. Once the flying object was closer, Peter realised, it was Mjolnir. And even though he was most likely to die however the situation will resolve, the fanboy in him was screaming in delight with the thought that Thor was actually talking to him.

„Brace yourself, Peter,“ interrupted his inner fangirling Karen as she calculated movement of every object in his vicinity and displayed the results to him. „The hammer is flying very fast so it would be best to web yourself to it as soon as you can.“

„So I won’t hurt myself?“

„You will definitely get hurt. My data tells me there is 77,5 % chance that you will dislocate your shoulder performing this maneuvre.“

„I am so inspired by your pep talk, Karen.“

Not hearing her answer Peter shot his web at Mjolnir the second he was in his shooting distance. As he dropped from the drone and brace himself to the pain of having his shoulder dislocated, the most unexpected thing happened.

Instead of his shoulder being popped from the socket, he was stopped mid swing. Because the hammer wasn’t moving towards his goal anymore. It flew right into the spiderlings hand. Peter was too shocked to do anything but his muscle memory took over so that his fingers could wrap themselves around the handle.

And then he was falling again.

This time he thanked the one lucky start that watched over him (and probably died right after helping him) as he was close to the ground and with a little bit of uncoordinated moving and wiggling in the air he hit the ground less harshly than he anticipated.

Peter let out a long breath and closed his eyes for a second to try and calm his racing heart while he lay there. However the second he felt himself calming down his spidey sense prickled as a shadow fell over him causing his eyelids to snap open and look up.

His heart stopped for a second and then started racing a mile a minute.

„You are extremely annoying, little spider.“

Thanos reached for him with his big purple hand but before he could even get close to him Peters sensitive ears picked up the sound of repulsors charging and he instinctively ducked more to the ground a second before the power blasts flew above him and hit the titan square in the chest.

The loud angry roar hurt Peters ears and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to regain at least some of the control of his senses and body. When he opened his eyes again he felt like he couldn’t possibly close them again, not even for a second.

The scene right in front of him was both horrifying and enticing. Captain America, Thor and Iron Man were all fighting the Mad titan and each clash of their weapons and armor reverberated in Peters body. He couldn’t look away and he couldn’t move. Even though he should. He really, really should.

Get the gauntlet away from Thanos.

Throw it inside the van.

But his limbs wouldn’t listen to his brain screaming at them to move. He was absolutely petrified. For the first time since he became Spider-man he understood his own mortality. How close to death he was at times in the past saving people.

And how he saw death, in its endless haunting beauty and finality, in Thanos‘ eyes.

His thoughts were interrupted when the body of Steve Rogers landed not even two feet away. Peter was relieved when the man grunted as he got back up on his feet even though a bit unsteady. He fastened the strap of his broken shield on his forearm, effectively stopping the blood from the nasty gash there.

And then he looked up from the ground beneath his feet and his eyes met Peters. Well, the now fully engorged white lenses of his suit. The Captain then looked at Mjolnir that was resting comfortably in the spiderlings clenched fist. Peter looked back to the fight that a glowing lady who fired blasts from her bare fists has joined and for the lack of anything to do he offered the hammer to Captain America who took it but not without a curious glance in his direction.

Then he threw the hammer at Thanos and rejoined the battle. Another explosion sounded somewhere behind Peter and with the sound of Iron Mans repulsors firing it was enough to shake him from his stupor. Standing up on shaky feet he looked in the direction of the van and after taking a big breath he leaped from his position and headed straight to his goal.

Every move he did had a purpose now. He felt himself zoning out as he automatically kicked and punched everything that came running at him. There was no time to think about the injuries he caused while making his way to Ant Man.

But then another explosion went off right next to him and he was thrown away alongside many others. He felt disorientated and was glad that so many warriors from their side stood up and defended him. Because Peter was too busy looking around.

People and aliens were dying. Both sides were attacking viciously and Peter felt chill running up his spine. They were losing. And he didn’t need Karen to tell him that, he could see it with his own eyes. Those eyes fell upon the object in his hands and in complete contrast to the furious battle around him his hands carefully turned the gauntlet so the Stones were shining on his face.

They were intriguing. He could feel the power by looking at them and just imagining what it takes to actually wield them... He shuddered and closed his eyes.

He could feel and hear his protectors being defeated by their enemy. He will never get the Stones to the van in time. Or in one piece.

Opening his eyes in that second was the most challenging thing he ever faced his entire life. But the ongoing sound of repulsors made him. And the words that came to the front of his mind.

Nice job, kid.

Peter leapt to the feet so suddenly that the aliens didn’t have time to defend themselves. And once the ones in front of him were dead by his feet thanks to the still active instant kill of his suit, he ran. He was sprinting so fast he made himself dizzy with the speed and felt like his legs didn’t even touch the ground anymore.

So close. The van was right there.

His spidey sense was murmuring below the surface. But for the second time in his life, he didn’t listen. Because he had to get there. He had to.

Twenty feet.

Scott got out of the car eyes widened.

Eighteen feet.

Peter was ready to try his luck and throw the gauntlet.

His spidey sense screamed.

And then a spear went straight through his left knee.

The scream he let out was more out of the frustration than the pain. Tears blurred his vision as he fell to the ground and onto his wounded leg, probably screwing the busted kneecap even more. He didn’t care about that though.

His eyes frantically searched the ground and once he saw the gauntlet he began to crawl towards it. He reached it quite quickly thanks to his determination and clutched it tight to his chest.

He could do a lot of things. Most of them would be considered stupid by Mr. Stark.

But he didn’t have a choice. Not really.

His fingers deftly reached for the stones. The metal mended when it was met with his superstrength. Just as he was starting to think about how to execute the plan, his world exploded in pain.

He screamed again, this time purely from the agony as he was dragged by the spear lodged in his limb. Somewhere in the distance he heard yelling and feel the ground shaking as people ran to them. It was hard but he managed to lift his head and look Thanos in the eyes with as much disdain as he could muster.

It made the Titan smile as he easily plucked the gauntlet from the spiderlings weak hands. Peters closed fists fell to the ground as he breathed heavily and looked at Thanos from his position lying on his back, defeated.

„Perhaps in another life, you will fight on the right side,“ was what he said with such conviction of his own rightousness and superiority it almost made the young man laugh out loud.

„Depends… on how you… look at it,“ Peter managed to say between his clenched teeth. His whole body was pulsing and he had to close his eyes to regain control.

The Titan probably decided that that was the end of the conversation as the next thing Peter knew, he was kicked ten feet away and harshly landed on some rocks. The spear still lodged in him.

His eyes barely opened as he heard an angry scream, that could have been no one else’s but Mr. Starks. On cue, Iron Man flew from the sky and hit Thanos who protected himself with his sword and punched him so hard he hit the ground and parts of the Iron suit were obviously broken.

Thanos took the gauntlet with the intention of putting it on but was stopped by Captain Marvel. While the two fought Peter saw Tony looking at something behind him so he painfully turned his head as well. And there was Doctor Strange, looking at them with solemn expression on his face.

Slowly he lifted his hand and held up one finger.

Only one.

Peter closed his eyes and heard as Carol went flying from similar punch that Mr. Stark received. He could also hear the whirring of the gauntlet as it adjusted to the large hand.

„I am inevitable.“

The snap that followed would have had him flinching but he could barely move. He pried his eyes open and with the last amount of strength turned his head back to the Titan. He didn’t try to get up because he knew it would be pointless.

So he lay against the pile of rocks behind him, not even feeling them digging into his back. He had his eyes on Tony who was kneeling on the ground facing the Titan and Peter.

Eyes determined. Furious gaze. His right hand went up and the Iron man armor slowly crept up onto his hand and formed a gauntlet.

„And I…am.. Iron Man.”

And the same thing that happened to the Mad titan occurred again. Mr. Starks eyes widened in shock that was slowly morphing into panic. And Peter wanted to assure him. He wanted to ran to him and tell him so much.

He wanted another hug.

But he knew it wouldn’t be possible.

It took both Thanos and Mr. Stark a second to figure out what happened. Then they both turned towards Peter.

Dead eyes looking at him with the intent of murder, but also fascination and disbelief.

Warm eyes looking at him with so much fear. For him.

Peter tried to smile but the pain didn’t let him express anything, so he hoped his eyes were the same as Mr. Stark described to him.

Full of curiosity and intelligence. Shining with passion and excitement. Like an open book.

And Peter prayed and pleaded with the Stones he was holding tightly in both hands to let him show the one thing that mattered.

To let Mr. Stark know, how much he loved him.

He didn’t see Iron Man when he blinked. He saw Tony Stark, face crumpled with tears in his eyes, looking at him with such a loving look that Peter would have teared up as well if he could.

So he hold that look in his mind. And added Aunt May, Ned and MJ. Mr. Rhodes and Miss Potts. His family.

He was still looking in Mr. Starks eyes as he wished and felt the Stones responding.

Greedy and wanting. His body, his mind, his soul.

Everything.

But he was not afraid

Bight light. Painpainpainpainpain…

And he was not alone.

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spider son

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vulpixen · 5 years

Note

👶 - Mystery Trio, perhaps? Or 🏝️, if you'd prefer.

I’ve decided to combine the two into one fic! And this is the result of this Mystery Trio short fic as they end up on an island with very special water. Somewhere out on a seemingly deserted island in the middle of nowhere, 1980….

Stanford Pines was walking ahead, using a machete to cut away the heavy foliage of the humid jungle along with his twin brother, Stanley Pines. Ford’s assistant, Fiddleford McGucket, in tow. They were determined to find the materials needed to repair their ship and sail off to the mainland. But first, they must find a viable source of water. It wasn’t long before complaints on Stan’s part were being made.

“How long is this gonna take before we find fresh water?” Stan cuts away another branch, “We’ve been trekking out here for hours, mosquitoes are biting the hell outta me, and I’m starting to get hungry and thirsty!”

“Sigh. I know, I know…. Stanley, if there is wildlife out here, then there’s likely a viable source of water they thrive off of,” groaned Ford, being tired himself as they’ve been stranded for a few days, more than ready to return home. Fiddleford had to agree with him.

“Ah reckon we should be getting close to a source of…” Fiddleford spotted, from his peripheral vision, what looked to be pool of water with stone walls at the edge except for the sole entrance, guarded by a younger man clad in old Spanish armor carrying a poleaxe in hand. “Think we should ask that fella? I mean, he could be reasonable.”

Stan and Ford exchanged perplexed expressions, the three wondering why there was a man guarding that pool. However, seeing that there was a person, they came to the conclusion they stumbled upon a possible civilization hidden from the world. What appears to them, at least. Ford noted the armor and weapon, “What he’s wearing seems familiar–”

Stan had Ford stand aside, “Familiar or not, we’re going to get some water.”

“Stanley, we have to be careful!” warned Ford, him and Fiddleford following Stan out to the clearing of the dense jungle to confront the guard.

“Hey, man with the pointy stick and metal butt, can we get some of that water?” Stan asked with an assured grin. That grin turned to an alarmed frown when the man points his poleaxe at him.

“None must enter here by the order of my superior, Alejandro the Bold! If you are looking for drinking water, you won’t have any here.” The young Spaniard glanced behind him, “This water is… special.”

“Is it the most holiest water in existence or something?” questioned Stan.

“Well, it does have some magical properties.”

Ford and Fiddleford couldn’t help to pry further in intrigued. “Can you tell us what sort of magical properties? I’m Stanford Pines and my partner here, Fiddleford McGucket, we’re scholars. My rude brother here is Stanley.”

“I ain’t that rude,” Stan mumbled back.

“I can’t reveal too much, I’m sorry. But my name Leon Rivera-Cruz, pardon my own rudeness.” The lone soldier had to ask of the three men, seeing their more modern clothing he hadn’t seen before, “But can you tell me where you men came from? I’ve never seen such clothes.”

“From Gravity Falls, Oregon. The United States of America.” The Spaniard gave a confused look that prompted Fiddleford to ask, “It’s 1980, and it looks like you’ve been away from the rest of the world for a long time.”

“I….” The soldier was bewildered. It had been hundreds of years since he and the rest of his comrades had been off the island. It didn’t take Ford and his brother and assistant long to piece everything together to figure out what the soldier was hiding.

“That water has been keeping you and your men alive, hasn’t it?”

Leon nodded, relenting to tell the truth, “It is. The others want to keep it to ourselves no matter what and never leave. Why I can’t let you pass.”

Not wanting to stand by any longer and wait, being thirsty as he was, Stan rush passed Leon and dunk his head into the pristine pool age-reducing water, taking two big gulps of it before raising his head in satisfaction. Ford, Fiddleford and Leon were flabbergasted.

“STANLEY!!!”

“What? This water is good! I can already feel better now that –” Stan’s voice cracked, sounding much younger as his whole form was engulfed in light, changing his form to appear as a ten-year old child within seconds. Thankfully, his clothes changed with him as shrunk. Stan was a child again before his brother and the other’s eyes. “– I feel much better!” Stan didn’t notice at first until he saw how much taller everyone else was. Stan raised a brow, “Why are you guys… taller?” Stan looks at his hands, then his reflection in the water to see that he has changed back to a kid again, “Holy shit! I’m a little kid! Whoo, I’m a little kid!”

“Sweet sarsaparilla, Stanley, hopefully this is temporary,” Fiddleford remarked, wiping his brow.

“Oh it is. You have to keep drinking the water to remain young.” Leon points to the opening of the rock face where the water was coming from, “It comes from there. There are colorful stones in there that have touched this water that gives its power. My superior broke a piece off, but it lost its magic the moment it was removed from the base.”

“Fascinating!” Ford said, documenting the discovery in the first journal. “We don’t aim to stay here for long as we are stranded and in need of repairs and supplies. Though while we wait, I can study this if you don’t mind, Leon.”

Leon nodded, pleading Ford, “Um, yes, we can help repair what ship you have and let you three be on your way. Just promise you’ll keep this whole place a secret. The rest of the world would taint this place.”

Fiddleford, Ford and Stan agreed.

“Yeah, whatever, old/young guy. Kinda feels nice being a kid again,” grinned Stanley. “No aches and body pain like an older person.”

Fiddleford asks, “Could I take a sip of this? See if the amount of water affects how much age is reduced on me?”

“Great idea, Fiddleford!” encouraged Ford in eagerness. “I’ll even try it myself. Stanley, how much did you drink?”

Stanley thought for a moment while he climbs up a tall coconut tree, “Two big mouthfuls, I guess.” Stan yelps, seeing a coconut crab, “Ah! Fight me, buster!” Stan uses fisticuffs against the large crab, knocking it out of the tree and had it scurrying off to another tree. “Yeah! Can’t take on a kid like me, you crusty idiot! Pines! Pines! Pines!

”Leon doesn’t bother to say no this time, “Be my guest, but just a little. Drink too much and you become an infant for a whole day like what happened to me the first time I drank too much of it.” He chuckled at the thought for what was a lifetime ago.

And so, Ford and Fiddleford tested the youth-giving waters and stones. The scientists found it amazing as they’ve heard of the fabled, Fountain of Youth, but never thought to find something similar to it. Fiddleford took no more than a small gulp, turning him into a young teenager again, him having been more lanky and flexible back then. Ford ended up taking notes along with two big gulps like his brother did, turning into a kid himself.

Stan took notice of his brother’s change, finding a good time to ask him, “Hey, Sixer! Why don’t you come play with me like we used to as kids? At least until it wears off.”

Ford gave it thought before agreeing with Stan, “Alright! And we can fit into smaller places we couldn’t before.”

“That’s the spirit, bro!” Stan laughed as him and Ford go off. Fiddleford making sure they don’t get into too much trouble on his watch.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #mystery trio au #stanley pines #stanford pines #stan pines #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #thelastspeecher #vulpixens fanfiction

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rockmiyabideusexmachina · 6 years

Text

2018 Megaman Summer Fanart Contest Part 1.0 Results!!

Again, thank you everyone for your patience. Too many random things popping up over the last 2 weeks. ^^; Whew, just got this posted before midnight. Sorry for the late night post for those of us in the US, but it’s kinda my thing, isn’t it?

14 total entries between the two categories, but as always, a nice mix of new participants and veterans to this contest. Are the usual players coming away with the goodies, or have the newbies snuck in to wow us with their creative styles? While tumblr will shrink down all the images, I will include the full size uploads (well, almost for all - 2 were way too big) on my imgbox account. Just click on the “(FULL VIEW)” link for each one. Hopefully this way, there won’t be people who have trouble viewing them this time around.

My thanks to @digitallyfanged and @jaybird-c for helping me judge the entries this time around!! We were all sorta on the same page it seems for our individual results, but it’s always harder when there is a smaller total of participants, because everyone is deserving in their own way.

Thanks once again also to all who participated! For all winners [and there are 10 of you, out of 14], I will be contacting you as soon as I can about your prizes. If you didn’t win, there’s always next time...which starts as soon as tomorrow, when I announce Contest Part 1.1 (as in Mega Man 11)!!

Without further ado, after the break, here are your top 3 winners for each category, the raffle winners, and all of the fantabulous artwork!

CATEGORY 1: Ride Armor Road Trip

[FULL GALLERY HERE]

1.) @follyknight: (FULL VIEW MAIN IMAGE LINK) (PHOTOS 1) (PHOTOS 2)

*Tabby’s #1 - I felt like out of all of the pieces, this hit the theme the hardest. Definitely showing the back of one of the cards was a really unique touch to the piece as well. And that LaLinde postcard. The CHEEK. “Hey dad, I visited your girlfriend while on vacation.”

*Jay’s #1 - I have got to hand it to Folly Knight, above and beyond doesn't begin to cover this. Eight postcards, each with a unique theme, composition, and aesthetic, and then all presented together? That's fantastic.

Miyabi’s #1 - Even as simple, everyday objects, that book and cup of coffee are painted so well! I appreciate all the various scenes you presented in your postcards, with emotions ranging in each one of them. From the hilarious “Shrimpin’ Ain’t Easy” bib to Blues’ loneliness in Fiji, your entry was varied and unique. I also felt your entry really represented the theme very, very well.

2.) @multiple-sages: (FULL VIEW LINK PIC 1) (FULL VIEW PIC 2)

*Tabby’s #2 - This is very cute. I like that it showed summer activities from sort of a different perspective/culture. Not everything is action and traveling. Sometimes it’s small festivals and quiet cafes with friends. Zero definitely seems like the type to sit around in a cat cafe for hours.

*Jay’s #2 - Man, it was hard to pick -- a lot of these have great composition, but I think the #2 Spot should go to [multiple-sages for] Cinnamon and Zero. It does a great job at setting the scene for the moment and raises a lot of interesting questions as to how exactly we got here. Obon postcard is also very good, but of the two, this is a slightly less evocative piece (that is, there's less story apparent here)

*Miyabi’s #2 - Both cards look super cute, and show different ways the hunters spend their time not battling Mavericks, while experiencing tradition in Japan. The Maverick Hunter logo stamp on Axl’s was a nice touch. The little kitties are all adorable, either sleeping or pawing around with Zero’s luxurious golden teaser toy hair. Like Cinny is trying, it’s hard to hide your smile while looking at that scene!

3.) Steph O’Dell: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Tabby’s #3 - A very cute image of the ladies at the beach. Everyone needs some sun! I do dig how you made it sort of look like a selfie.

*Miyabi’s #3 - While the hubby is away, the girls will play. Haruka finally gets out of the house and to the beach with some friends. The selfie style was a different take compared to the other entries, while still feeling like a postcard. While the palm trees look like they’re just ‘shopped in, the rest of the background ocean and sand is deceptive enough where I couldn’t tell you had worked on that until I zoomed in closer. So kudos for making that part of your background look photorealisitic! .

Runners up (in alphabetical order):

@bracedshark *RAFFLE WINNER ~ X7 4KOMA*: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay’s #3 (tie) - Very appealing and exceedingly well-composed, but kind of suffers a little from how they handle the text. There's a sizing issue the cuts some of the text short.

*Miyabi says - I didn’t know I needed to see starfish booblight Zero, but I am amused! XD I totally liked where you were going with the curved arc format for the text to match that familiar typefont on so many postcards, but I agree that the ‘from’ getting partially chopped feels like it just needed to be resized down a little more. Otherwise, a fun pic that fit the theme well!

@chaudandfrends *RAFFLE WINNER ~ ZERO ACCESSORY SET*: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay wrote - This drawing is ambitious, but I'm afraid it's more pictures with text over postcards.

*Miyabi says - I don’t care if I need to eat my calcium, I am not touching those fishbones, Captain Beefhead. Good mix of action with Yai, Dingo and Netto jumping into the water, to the rest of the crew reclining and enjoying their refreshing dip. The watercolor look to your sky and sand give a little contrast to the rest of your coloring technique for all the characters. LOL at Enzan ducky on his inner tube.

@forceway: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Miyabi says - Much like myself, a Shadow vacation involves not really going anywhere, not really doing anything, and just enjoying the simple things outdoors near home, while sipping an ice cold beverage. XD While you won’t see many Polaroids around these days, it feels fitting for these two bots. I felt it was a wonderful composition, and very enjoyable piece.

@seabyrocks: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay wrote - I gotta say, I love Seabyrocks' sunset lighting, but I'm afraid the pose is a little simple and, I hate to break it to you, Rock, but you put your hands on backwards.

*Miyabi says - Nobody should visit Mega City without a commemorative autographed heroic Rock Light postcard! I do think you did wonderful blending those sunset colors in, on the right side of the pic. The purples and oranges are so pretty in the sky. Very cute!

@tealsalmon: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay’s #3 (tie) - Very appealing and exceedingly well-composed, but kind of suffers a little from how they handle the text, as it blends in with the darker parts of the background.

*Miyabi says - This turned out very pretty, and also gave me a laugh with Zero’s pointy helmet tips poking through his straw hat. Having a butterfly land on X’s finger feels so fitting for his peace-loving ways, and I loved the E-Tank being used as a container to hold all those fresh strawberries. Even the little details like the dirt and grass on Zero’s shovel are well done.

CATEGORY 2: Ruby-Spears Mega Man: Plasma Powered Up!!

[FULL GALLERY HERE]

1.) @irissempi: (FULL VIEW ZERO SHEET RETRO)

(FULL VIEW ZERO SHEET CLEAN)

(FULL VIEW ZERO CAP RETRO)

(FULL VIEW ZERO CAP CLEAN)

(FULL VIEW ZERO CAP 2 RETRO)

(FULL VIEW ZERO CAP 2 CLEAN)

(FULL VIEW AXL SHEET RETRO)

(FULL VIEW AXL SHEET CLEAN)

(FULL VIEW X SCREENCAP)

(FULL VIEW LUMINE CAP RETRO)

(FULL VIEW LUMINE CAP CLEAN)

*Jay’s #1 - This. This is the picture that caught my eye immediately. The composition, the lighting -- this is one of those iconic series' images that gives you everything a character stands for. Lumine is going to end the world, and every second of it's gonna rock. Goofball Axl and hardcore samurai Zero are also winners.

*Tabby’s #1 - I love this. I love everything about this. I love the extra mile on making the design sheets, and making it look like a horribly ripped off tv shot. The corny dialogue. Clearly Ruby Spears needed to continue and make us an X series.

*Miyabi’s #1 - You get major kudos for using an actual Ruby Spears production sheet as your format, and adding those effects to make it look just like it was a photocopy I scanned. The grainy filter to make the ‘screencaps’ feel like they came from a VHS tape, and punny one-liners are wonderful! Thanks for putting in all the work to make your entry feel like it would fit in perfectly with the original series! (P.S. - those aren’t booblights for Zero anymore. Those are mammoth pec sunglasses, that would blind anyone who dares to stare at his super cool, manly chest!!! LOL)

2.) @kaitlinexe: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Miyabi’s #2 - Of course this theme was right up your alley, and you certainly didn’t disappoint! I can’t believe how many characters you tried to fit into this collage. While at first glance it might feel like you focused on mostly existing RS-characters, you really did add quite a few updated designs. I just have this feeling that you planned to be even more ambitious than this, but weren’t able to finish it as you hoped. But regardless of the lack of background, the work you put in drawing all of these characters is amazing! Kalinka, Treble Boost Bass, and Time Man are probably my favorites of your redesigns.The more pronounced spikes for Bass’ helmet and claws look so, so good!!

*Jay’s #3 - I gotta love all your new designs, and is your Skull Man taking notes from Hitoshi Ariga or am I just getting my hopes up? Bonus points for all the attention to detail and going out of your way to replicate the original style.

*Tabby’s #3 - You definitely have the style down pat here. It’s super clean. This would make a great poster, with a little bit of background work.

3.) @pstart: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Tabby’s #2 - Dat Forte. You really changed up his and Gospel’s design quite a bit, and it definitely works within the Ruby Spears theme. Super kudos on the retro graphic design going on here. It almost looks like the back of the old DVD covers too.

*Miyabi’s #3 - Just from the look on his face, I feel like Bass would have the same wisecracks and would sound almost just like Proto Man...only with a deeper voice. And now I’m imagining Proto and Bass both harassing Mega in stereo. XD I like the "super” title twist to your ad, which would have played off the actual game well, if Ruby Spears got another season to coincide with Megaman 7′s release. It does feel like an ad I’d see in old gaming mags.

*Jay wrote - I like your poster design. Good job cleaving to the show's style, good job with the little details like the marketing schlock and copyright, great job with the classy reference to the old school instruction manuals.

Runners up (in alphabetical order):

@forceduser *RAFFLE WINNER ~ RUBY SPEARS WILY CEL*: (FULL VIEW PIC)

*Jay wrote - Block Man is a neat design; the plunging neckline is certainly evocative. This one, too, could've stood to have more personality exhibited.

*Miyabi says - From what little we’ve heard, Block Man’s dialogue in Megaman 11 is like by far the most fitting to be used in Ruby Spears. So he was a good, and relevant choice to try to tackle. Definitely can see his chiseled pecs hiding under his main shell, and feels like he’s at least been working out on leg day, doing squats while lifting his heavy body around everywhere.

@hyperbole1729: (FULL VIEW COMIC) (FULL VIEW BURST)

*Jay wrote - Your Burst Man is something. The explosive nipples are going to haunt me. But as stand-out as your design is, I wish you would've shown off more of Burst Man's personality.

*Miyabi says - Your comic totally has the right tone with the dialogue, from Proto’s complaint not being able to deal the final blow, Wily being Wily, and the obligatory ‘sizzling circuits.’ It flows well, has some drama, and I totally read it all in their Ruby-Spears voices. Burst does seem like he’s bulked up just right, with some minor changes to his classic design.

@3-oclock-blues *RAFFLE WINNER ~ ARCHIE COMIC INKED PAGE*: (FULL VIEW PIC) (FULL VIEW SPLASH)

*Jay’s #2 - Now THIS is promotional material. I love how well Bass is introduced by simply having him rage off into the distance. Everybody else, they're mad because they hate this moment. Bass? Bass just hates everything. Splash Woman is also a neat design, but also shows off more design than personality.

*Miyabi says - BUT I WON’T MISS THIS TIME...With all the rage and fear from everyone around them, it’s quite amusing to see the two brothers smiling as they hold their glowing busters to each other. It’s chaotic, but also nicely almost ties in with the photo theme of the first category, too. Splashy’s side fins and more flowing waves protruding from her helmet are nice touches to her design. Would have been interested to see how she and other Light/Wily bots would have fit into that family photo.

#Rockman #Megaman #Mega Man #Rock Miyabi's 2018 Megaman Summer Fanart Contest #Fanart Contest

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mommydragon-of-all · 6 years

Text

OC Interview Meme

This looks fun. Also some answers drastically differ depending on around what time this "interview” takes place. So i got thinking and since I was tagged by@sakurabunnie who’s getting to know my pre-inquisition Soren, i choose to time this before Inquisition. Then i was tagged by dear @hadiden-lavellan too, but by then i was halfway through his post, and hey why not, some looking back :) Thank you both!!!! :3333

For Soren (Lavellan):

1. What is your name?

“A lot of people have called me by a lot of names. You can call me Soren.”

2. What is your real name?

“It is actually Soren. Yep, just Soren. I lost my original belonging and i didnt take any of my families surnames. Not permanently nor in any way official.”

3. Do you know why you were called that?

“Oh well, my parents wanted a pair of short and strong names that ring together, even if they had to get a bit creative. Also, as i learned, a pair of names that can be lilted and growled equally well haha “

4. Are you single or taken?

“i am free like a bird. Does your nest have some extra space on a cold night by the way?”

5. Have any abilities or powers?

“Im a highly trained assassin, among … other things. If you ever get in trouble… *slides over a strange little object* flash this around the shady parts of any city. They will take care of the rest. But for your lives sake, do not try to lie”

6. Stop being a Mary Sue.

“ I dont think i ever used that alias… “

7. What’s your eye color?

“Oohhh you are welcome to gaze into them closer, yes ;) no low light excuses, they have their own, so just lean over… “

8. How about your hair color?

“ Oh yes that is harder to tell in different lights. Its dark red, like good wine or blood from the liver .”

9. Have you any family members?

“ I have tons. If you meant blood relation… other than my twin sister i have some distant family. Literally distant even, like few and far between, out in the world. Some of us exchange awesome birthday gifts some years though, regardless of the exact date. Who has time to time that. “

(Scattered by the wind, but firmly standing like the trees)

10. Oh? What about pets?

“ Sadly animals are deadly afraid of me. It takes just a sniff to run for dear life… Even predators… it takes a special blend of proud and crazy to befriend me it seems. I would kill for such treasures. Like that Hart i once fought for an apple in that deep forest and lately rode to far destinations… i think it starts to get even attached!!! If he sticks around im gonna call him Captain. But remember, Dont go close to him! For your dear life, please dont. He is easy to recognize. Big as a mountain and looks like “Oh, Shit”. “

(’Where to, Captain?’)

11. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

“ Those things are about to change. Or drop in numbers significantly in the world. Just wait. …as truly as i want to mean that, unfortunately some things never change. Like the darkness in people, festering hearts. There will always be things like betrayal, prejudice, hatred, discrimination, envy, greed, cruelty,... i could go on. People who mostly keep themselves above those shades of their nature are all worth to be protected.“

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

“ Oh there are so many awesome things in the world and so many exciting things to do! I cant even count them. Like there’s hunting dragons for one! Speaking of hunting, there is also treasure hunt and demon hunt and manhunt and wyvernhunt and countless others, the bigger and meaner the better! But then theres also MAGIC! Do you have any idea how awesome that is? Everything magic and everything it touched. Putting together and using magic objects for so many things! And spells??? Potions, lotions, weapons... And there are also PEOPLE! The most magical thing is the warm light in ones heart. And they are so various and unique! There are different languages and codes and symbols and oh the stories! And dance and music and pleasures and laughing and caring and helping and…. oh … haha… im sorry, are you awake? Please ask away. “

(’Ah, what a beautiful day!’)

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

“ I think you snoozed off and forgot about my profession already. :) “

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

“ Hahaha oh these sharp and pointy things and stuff arent for chopping and cooking vegetables either.”

15. What kind of animal are you?

“Pfffft i am my own species! Hehe! A unique hybrid i guess! But definitely a big animal, yes. Sis’ won that argument long ago, so there you have the answer. “

16. Name your worst habits.

“Hmm? What?” (*Muffs out with one of the interviewers -already leafed through-notebooks between his sharp teeth, booth on table...*) Hey! That is… how did you… *sigh*... nevermind

(exhibit 99: ‘”I’ll go straight there!”)

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

“My sister, definitely. She is the best. She is indestructible in every way i swear! Gotta be the strongest person alive. She is also really cool. But hot. I mean explosive! Not that shes not hot, technically... she is my female version after all haha. And caring for me with great big sister love (*mumble*:even if i am like 5 minutes older), but dont spread that ;) Might harm her notoriety. I also look up to several of my tutors and many other people for many different reasons. People can be so many kinds of amazing.”

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

“You can not expect me to label my interests in a world full of so many differently beautiful people with warm hearts.”

19. Do you go to school?

“Yes. Life. 24/7. Got less intense since i learned how to survive and sustain myself, and grew a strong body to back up my needs and will, but there are always new things to learn and lessons you never asked for too. I had some actual teachers along the way too, but lately mostly i just teach myself what i dont just encounter by diving into new things. Which is not only fun by the way, you are bound to learn a few things. Then there are books, theories, researching, digging, honing instincts and reflexes, combining and refining techniques or theories, trial and error... Life is a bottomless school “

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

“Wow, wow, you mean like.. babies? Sweet Fade, i wouldnt dare breathe their way, they are so fragile... little young PEOPLE, persons who arrived so recently and understand so little and cant even tell whats up just cry and i cant understand them, i understand every language but i can not understand babies for my life and ... and... thats terrifying! And do you have any idea how EASY it is to kill someone? And then there is that small bundle of vulnerability, my proximity could be lethal to it! And .... *sigh*... sorry just... It all would depend on that special person i might find who would want to keep me for life, for better or worse, and if they wanted kids... even if babies, i would be on board. I would do anything for that special someone. Even learn baby care... Bigger kids, well, i already have :D . In good care. If any of them were to be taken under my constant and indirect care, would depend on a lot of things. Right now they are much safer otherwise.”

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

“Most certainly ;D.But none of them know much about me, of course. With that comes a transformation of those feelings”

22. What are you most afraid of?

‘Im not afraid of ANYTHING!” *eyes instantly betraying* “Fine, fine, gotta be loss. Ironic, isnt it, for i have but what is on my person. Replaceable come and goes. Im mostly afraid of losses that arent even really “mine”, but others. Loved ones or even barely known ones loosing their lives or their light. Loosing my sister, myself, my heart... that is all i am. The only thing i cannot live without is my heart, i AM my heart, and loosing pieces of it or have it broken or freezing through a hole... I hate how selfish that is. But yeah. There you go. I still tend to leave pieces of it everywhere, and it only grows with that, funny how that works, but it also tends to get wounded on every turn. I fear the numbing cold. I fear the day when i cant hold it together and go on anymore.”

(from “When you are away”)

23. What do you usually wear?

“What you see is my whole wardrobe, hahah. But i shift and change to blend in from the dirt of Orzammar’s dust town to the shining halls of Orlesian palaces. Its fun. What i like to wear mostly are well covering clothes, that allow a great scale of mobility, but not baggy to catch on things. Made of high quality materials only. My clothes MUST be of great quality materials, more for comfort than durability. Heightened overall senses arent always fun. Oh and for outer wear i like leather, especially dragonskin stuff for light armor, and long boots are the only footwear i acknowledge, some with high heels, and a matching pair of long gloves from soft fine leather are necessary too. Long coats from mostly leather and all the necessary leather straps and harnesses and pouches and belt too of course. If it counts, all my current favorite necklaces with magical pendants and bracelets are a constant wear too. It also doesnt hurt if my clothes look great. But fine materials tailored to my body and my needs usually bring that effect without further touches.”

(*his gear gotta let his smooth ass move*)

24. Do you love someone?

“I love all good people. ...and some others”

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

"Bahahahhahaa now thats some blunt question! It deserves to be answered truthfully. I wish i could say when i was a baby, but truth is i think it happened a few times during the wilder rides of intense poison training with blood magic assistance, but im not really sure, i was barely conscious through those parts from pain and all kinds of nasty sensations, i came to my senses naked and tucked in after them. I never do extreme limit pushing training alone. There were also times when i was subject to some blood spells and experiments unwilling too. I have some suspicious blurry memories that i have made all sorts of messes. Egh. Lets move on to more fun questions”

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

“Perfect!”

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class)

“I live outside of such systems. But i took part in every class during my life, thanks to current families or goals.”

28. How many friends do you have?

“Plenty, but one cant have too many. Helping each other goes a long way. I tend to make some friends everywhere i go, but i have few close friends. The closest one is my sis’. She knows me more than i know myself, and she is always there for me, at any cost.”

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

“Pie? One of the most fun cakes. It was invented for throwing i swear!”

30. Favourite drink?

“Hmmmm... old, red wine, hot and seasoned, spiced with a nice kick of that special antivan poison blend. I dont recommend you trying it, but you dont know what you’re missing out.”

31. What’s your favourite place?

“Wherever i am welcome.”

(*one favorite place example. It is not Where, it is Who*)

32. Are you interested in someone?

“I am interested in everyone. Are you fishing for some special interest?”

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

“Hahahha oh you never disappoint! Well, it was a long time ago when i last i wore a bra, back when i could still pull off the young girl appearance, to get in paces and so on. I always made sure to have a proportional but quite evident bosom. Oh it was such fun, my long hair helped too, and i dished out that act spot on! Like that time in Val Royeaux, when the heads i turned waltzing in as part of a rich antivan court were spinning all around in frantic search in the chaos, while i walked right out as a male servant. Oh sorry, i got distracted. You also asked about my “willy” if i recall correctly. If you would like to measure it so badly we can discuss that later ;) “

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

“Hmmm.... whichever promises more sunk treasures and secrets. Some lakes hide quite the surprises let me tell you.”

(’Looks like a perfect place for some diving..’)

35. What’s your type?

“My type of what, exactly, dear? ;)”

36. Any fetishes?

“I am very flexible in many ways, let me tell you, in case you are planning to bend me to your will. And if id have some suggestions, well, let it remain a little mystery for now ;p”

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

“Depends. What would you like me to be?”

38. Camping or indoors?

“Nothing beats a warm bed and a well secured resting place. Especially with my... condition, and experiences”

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

“Are you kidding me? You have such awkward, uncomfortable questions... Let me get a new round of drinks for us and lets do this till morning!” “What do you mean new round... when did this cup of hot wine get here? It has my name on it??? What the... I better go i think.”

40. Now it’s over!

“What? Oh come on, we just got to some really “embarrassing” parts! Talking about “embarrassing”, would you like to hear the story of my encounter with this qounari dreadnought captain and ended up on board to Ostwick? Maybe you can tell me some stories yourself too in exchange..” *puppy eyes+shining grin combo* “Well, im not exactly in a hurry...” “Excellent!” *shifts closer and pours more wine*

I tag @quizzikemen @pelle-lavellan @hadiden-lavellan @sakurabunnie @elalavella @nipuni and everyone who wants to do it! For those who already did this consider this a tag for another OC! Gotta love them all :D (if you feel like doing it. I always feel like reading it)

#finally i got around to finish this post #soren lavellan #oc meme #dragon age inquisition #dual wield assassin #male lavellan #screenshots

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quietpagan · 7 years

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TH What Falls and What Grows ch. 14

What falls and what grows,

What reaps and what sows,

Cares nothing for beauty or bane;

In changing field,

The flower must yield,

And the weed will grow in again.

The three of them just stared at each other for a few moments, Draal’s shoulders tensing as Blinky ogled at the felines.

“They, erm…like me,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh my God…”

He looked bad, but better than when she’d kicked him out. The arm and eye she’d turned to stone during their duel were almost completely healed, to the point where he only had a few stiff fingertips. His torn nose hadn’t finished, but that hadn’t stopped him from putting a bent piece of rebar through the damaged tissue anyway. When he stood he stood tall, without any stoop or limp, and Alex was actually relieved to see him well. Filthy, but well.

He’d made efforts to keep himself clean, but he was in the human underground, not the troll tunnels, and sometimes mere effort just wasn’t enough.

“You realize where you’ve been living,” she asked. A bit of damp grime unattached itself from the ceiling and splattered on her shoulder. “I do have a sense of smell, Trollhunter.” “Yes, and so do we. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. We can’t stay here long.”

Draal followed behind her and a bemused, somewhat unhappy Blinky with little complaint. Honestly, he just looked happy to see someone who wasn’t a cat.

“I doubt I would receive a hearty welcome home, Trollhunter,” Draal murmured as they walked, his strays trailing behind him like a parade. “Take care to remember that I was banished.”

“It was more like unofficially ostracized. There was no actual banishment or casting-out,” Alex said. She took point, looking around each corner before going forward as Draal pointed out which tunnels to take. “It is tradition.” “It was implied. You can come back at any time.” “They will not be happy about this,” Draal murmured mournfully.

“I have a big sword,” Alexandra replied. Blinky, at her side, looked mildly worried.

“He does have a point, Master Alexandra,” he said quietly, turning to her to try and block Draal out.

“No matter his state, he was dishonored, and thus is unable to return without having earned it.” Alexandra snarled at him in demonstration.

“I also have pointy teeth.”

“And they are very menacing, yes, but you can’t just start swinging fist and foot at all who disagree with you! You are a part of our Heartstone now, a member of our collective tribes, which means that you have to follow the rules that our society dictates! Just because you are the Trollhunter does not give you the right to go gallivanting about, doing whatever you want!” His tirade stopped when he noticed her grinning. “And what, precisely, has you so amused!” Alex laughed, the sound echoing in the damp tunnels.

“I was wondering when you would start yelling at me again,” she said, to his astonishment. Up ahead of them, the tunnel brightened. “You’ve been tiptoeing ever since the whole ‘Changeling’ misunderstanding. I forgave you for that a while ago – I was just waiting for you to accept it.”

Blinky sputtered and blushed, as she knew he would, when they stepped through the torn grate and out of the tunnel.

Alexandra went first, watching the underside of the bridge for any unpleasant visitors. She hated this place now.

Mid-afternoon was raging above them, the noise of cars and their radios echoing inside the canal. Traversing the canal in broad daylight was a fantastically bad idea, given the likelihood of being seen by the humans on the bridge, but they were running out of options. Sunset was hours away, and the sewers were completely unsafe.

Several of the cats that trailed behind Draal spread out, wandering around the edges of the canal.

“Hold on,” said Draal to Blinky, behind her. “You knew she was a Changeling too?” “I was grossly mistaken,” whispered Blinky morosely. “I accused her of such in front of the entire market, to my eternal embarrassment and shame. She proved me both a liar and a fool and wait just one blasted minute, what do you mean ‘too’?! You thought she was a Changeling?” Alexandra’s hair stood up, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the conversation or if she felt someone watching them. The underside of the bridge looked empty, but she knew Bular to be adept at keeping himself unseen. There were also goblins and other Changelings to worry about. She didn’t like the feel of this.

I hate this fucking bridge.

“Is she not?” “Of course not!” Blinky fervently hissed. “I made a humiliating miscalculation, and she proved it with a gaggletack, even! But if you suspected the same thing, why did you not come forward?” Alexandra didn’t hear an answer, meaning that Draal must have merely gestured. She wanted to focus on the conversation but couldn’t, and she turned around with a last, suspicious glance.

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” she said, interrupting the two. “Do you want to risk it, or head back?”

“I would like to get out of this blasted tunnel sometime today,” said Blinky. “This is an…uneasy place, however.” “I cannot go back,” said Draal, gesturing to the other end of the bridge. Alexandra smacked him on the arm, and then wiped her hand on her vest.

“You can stay by the staircase until I can sneak you in,” she said, “But I’m not just going to leave you here.” Draal looked mildly stunned, but Blinky was smiling.

“I can take care of myself, Trollhunter,” said the larger troll.

“But my being Trollhunter means that you don’t have to,” she replied quietly. Draal shifted uncomfortably.

Softy, from the darker end of the tunnel, the faintest, slowest “Waka chaka…” echoed from the gloom.

All three of them stiffened. Alexandra grabbed their arms with her four, and gently pushed them out of the grate.

The goblin down the tunnel looked to be alone, so far, and was watching her curiously. She kept eye contact with it as she backed through the bent bars, not looking away until the others caught her, preventing her from walking backwards into a ray of sunlight.

The shadow of the bridge bowed somewhat from the movement of the sun, and they walked completely silently along the darkened line. Perhaps, if they could get to the other side without triggering the goblins’ ire, they might make it without a fight. They just needed to stay quiet and slow.

All of the cats scattered suddenly, every one of them bolting away from the group and out of the canal, and Alexandra knew…

…’By the pricking of my thumbs’…

…that they were about to get their asses beat.

“RUN!”

Draal caught the horngazel as she pushed it into his hands.

“You’re the fastest, get that portal open NOW!”

He loped away, leaving her and Blinky to trail after him with their stupidly short legs.

Above them, laughter rang.

“Do you just hang around there all day, waiting for someone to come out?”

Bular landed on the concrete with a resounding CRACK, the ground sending up little shards. Alex summoned her sword and chipped off a piece of his arm before he could draw his own weapon, and then booked it as fast as she could away from him, teleporting just a few feet ahead.

Better prepared as she was, she still didn’t want to risk Blinky and Draal’s lives by engaging and possibly dying in a fight.

Bular easily caught up with her, however fast she ran, and he slammed his head into her side, chucking her a good fifteen feet across the shadow. Glow from the armor trailed after her but she could feel the puncture from his horns, and it bled alarmingly across the concrete. Her bottom left shoulder wrenched as she landed badly, and only Draal’s alarmed bellow saved her from getting her head caved in when Bular tried to jump her. She twisted her sword up at the last second and he fell heavily upon it, the blade piercing his hip.

It was odd, how sunstaining smelled. It was slow, like burning dust in an old heater, but although it lacked the decay of flesh it still smelled dead.

The leathers Bular wore protected him from being sliced in half, but his scream of anguish echoed across the canal, and as he fell to the ground his right leg and half his hip and tail turned to stone. Alexandra was too busy trying to stop her own bleeding to celebrate the hit. The adrenalin and pain were making things too fast and too shaky. She smelled blood and it made her heart race sickeningly.

“Trollhunter! Here,” Draal yelled, a bright blue light behind him indicating the opening of the portal. Flashes of green and rough, deep shrieks told her more than she needed to know about how many goblins there really were, and all of them were trying to get through the door.

Bular twisted and grabbed her foot as she tried to run, pulling her over his jagged body to slam against the ground on his other side. She pushed her foot against his face and got a foot full of screaming teeth for her effort, even if she was able to push herself away. Bular levered himself to standing, using one of his swords as a cane, the other no less deadly for the shaking hand that held it.

Alexandra scrambled to her feet and watched his eyes.

At the end of the canal, a flash of blue caught her gaze and she pulled off her helmet, throwing it as hard as she could at Draal, who was coming to help her. It caught him on the collarbone and she held out a hand.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, knowing that Draal would hear her.

“You’re still injured and I need you to go home,” she hissed. “Please keep the portal open, and don’t let anything else in!”

Out of her periphery, the blue mass that was Draal backed up and kicked an invading goblin into the wall, leaving a smear of green. He and Blinky settled firmly against the open portal, slapping away goblins, and she turned all three eyes back on Bular.

The shadow of the bridge had lengthened with the late sun to where she could not dart around Bular without him reaching her, even with his injury.

Six feet to the left, sunlight shimmered with heat.

If I tackle him, I can get him into the sun, she thought, shifting her feet uneasily as Bular carefully watched her movements. He was being curiously and disturbingly silent.

Blinky know I’ve got the Leoht Stone, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine! Maximum effort!

Alexandra ground her feet into the concrete and launched herself at the son of Gunmar, slashing at his face so that he was forced to lean backward and unbalance himself. She tackled him around the middle and the weight of her threw him across the shadow. She thought that she was succeeding, until his arms grabbed her around the middle and suddenly they weren’t so much being pushed by her tackle as falling, directly down onto the concrete. He used her momentum to fling her over his head, and she desperately dug her sword into the ground to keep from rolling backward. She skid to a jolting stop just inside of the shadow.

Bular flipped onto his stomach and pushed himself up with a snarl. He began to lever himself up again, and then stopped, his eyes focused on her right leg. She glanced back at it with a single eye.

The heel was in the sun. And Bular didn’t know about the stone!

With a panicked yell Alexandra summoned her sword and threw it at Bular’s face, rolling toward him in time to catch the hilt as he knocked it away with a shake of his horned head. He grabbed her by her own horns and slammed her face into the concrete. The smells of cement and aggregate and flood residue mixed with stinging blood in her nose and the sudden welling of tears, the sense curiously heightened as the ground eight inches in front of her face blurred dizzingly.

Bular leaned down, using the side of her head to balance himself, and the acrid smell of old blood and digested flesh spread over her face in a warm, close gust.

“I. Saw,” he whispered in her ear.

Utterly immobilized beneath his immense weight, her helmet shivered and screeched as Bular’s claws dug into it.

“I’m half tempted to let you go, just to watch you die by those you’re sworn to protect.”

“How chivalrous,” Alex muttered, the words muffled with half her mouth ground into the dirty concrete. Out of the corner of one eye, Blinky and Draal were occupied with the invading horde of goblins.

Hell with it.

She half-transformed her head and body. Bular was thrown off balance by the sudden lack of horns beneath his hand and he fell for half a second, and that was all she needed. Body made smaller for a critical instant, she pulled her legs over her stomach and shoved them into his abdomen, turning back fully and levering his body off of her.

But even half stone-turned and slower he was massive, and he lashed out with one foot as she tried to scramble away from him.

The heel connected with her injured side, and in a panic Alexandra teleported.

She landed ten feet in the wrong direction, and sunlight blinded her.

Whoops-a-fucking-daisy was the only thought that crossed through her mind.

The sunlight beat down on her troll skin for the first time in years. Her body was warring with her, it knew that despite its immunity it shouldn’t be in the sun, and she fought the instinctive urge to turn to her human form, but –

- Blinky and Draal were just in the shadows, staring at her with open mouths, and never had the heat of the sun felt so cold. She was well aware that Blinky knew about the Leoht Stone, but…still. She knew the stone was a lie, even if he didn’t, and never had she intended him or anyone to see her like this.

Back in the shadow, Bular chuckled. Alexandra trembled as he murmured the word she had always hated; the word she trained herself not to flinch at; that motherfucking word that she had not been called by anyone still alive in over fifty years:

“Impure.”

She almost threw up with the beating of her heart so hard in her throat, but as Bular laughed she drew herself up, brushed off her armor, shouldered her sword, and walked calmly in the sunlight away from his stricken form. He made no effort to follow her; the sound of his laughter was enough to dog her footsteps. But where she walked he could not follow, and his eyes burned as they watched her. She’d injured him the worse, but he’d won this fight.

Blinky and Draal both drew away from her when she re-entered the shadow, as if they were expecting her to turn to stone then and there. Alexandra winked at Blinky and stepped through the portal, and was shut back into safety.

Her skin was still warm from the sun. Blood and pain were still pulsing from the wounds on her side and face and bitten foot, and she slid down the wall with a groan.

“I love Sigrid the Shadowless,” she murmured to her knees. “Good work with the goblins, gentlemen.”

“A most fortuitous choice of gem,” said Blinky faintly. When Alex looked she saw that he was actually a bit pale, on the bits that weren’t smeared with green gore.

Alex laughed and nodded.

“I’m not quite ready to spend eternity with those ghostly assholes,” she said, clutching at her side as she banished the armor. Draal knelt beside her and poked at her abdomen.

“We need to take you to Vendel,” he said. “Although…does he know?” Alexandra, who suddenly found herself having difficulty staying awake, forced herself to rouse.

“Hmm? Know ‘bout what?” “That you are a Changeling, Trollhunter. Are we really not talking about this?” Alex pushed herself up with a groan.

“Draal, I’m not a Changeling,” she said firmly, banishing the armor and unlocking the back of the amulet. Her fingers fumbled as she pried the Leoht Stone out of the casing but she managed to shove it underneath Draal’s ridiculous rebar hoop.

“This stone belonged to the Trollhunter Sigrid the Shadowless, and it grants the user the ability to walk in daylight. I’d say it was pretty useful. Help me up.”

Alex pushed her arm against Draal’s chest, forcing him to grab it and pull her to her feet, where she actually swayed.

Blinky swooped into action, activating the crystal staircase and hopping down them as quickly as he could.

“Draal is correct that you need medical attention, Master Alexandra. Wait right there, please, I shall fetch AAARRRGGHH…”

Alex ignored him and started down the stairs, leaving smears of blood on the glowing crystals.

A trickle of blood tickled the back of her throat and she coughed. Damn, her nose was broken again.

The loud echo seemed to loosen Draal’s tongue, at least. Alex had wondered vaguely how long he could stay quiet.

“Why did you lie to Blinky,” Draal said as he helped her over the wider gaps in the stairs. She hopped a little on her unbitten foot and glared at him.

“I didn’t lie,” she said calmly. “I’m not a Changeling.”

“I once had an understanding with an Impure,” he returned. “I recognized your scent, eventually, and your habits.”

Alexandra stopped, and so did he, and he backed up when she turned to him with glowing eyes.

She wanted to throw Draal against the wall and threaten to remove a limb, for calling her that – but it would do no good. Her heart wasn’t into threatening someone she finally would admit to considering a friend, and she knew that being as monstrous and violent as possible, although it was significantly easier, was not a better alternative to actually being open and honest for once.

Her fists clenched, but she did not draw her sword.

“Don’t call us that again,” she said quietly. “I honestly don’t care what you think of Changelings, personally or in general, but don’t call us that again. There is nothing about me that is impure.”

She grabbed Draal’s filthy arm again to see what he would do, and when he didn’t flinch or back away further she leaned on him again.

“Why didn’t you tell Blinky,” she whispered.

“I…I spent many long days pondering what to do, when I realized what you are. You were chosen by the same amulet that chose my father, and which had refused me. You spared my life, and saved it again today. Whatever you may be I believe you have earned your right to be here, and to have your secrets.”

Alex nearly wanted to cry.

“Damn straight I have,” she murmured furiously. “I guess this means I won’t have to threaten you with decapitation?” The giant blue idiot’s laughter shook the crystal stairs, just as AAARRRGGHH and Blinky reached the bottom and began to climb.

“If it would make you feel better, Trollhunter,” he said. Alex let go of his arm and allowed AAARRRGGHH to pick her up like some blood-smeared, eight-foot baby.

What an asshole.

Vendel was not amused to have a bleeding Trollhunter brought inside the Heartstone, and even less amused to hear about the Bridge. Blinky filled him and AAARRRGGHH in on what had happened as AAARRRGGHH placed Alexandra down on a stone table.

Vendel moved aside a few odd-looking bits of his work and held an old eyeglass up to Alexandra’s side, peeling back the edges of her blood-sodden vest to see the puncture. After a brief glance he set his staff against the table and moved forward for a closer look.

“Were you even wearing your armor,” he mumbled grumpily. Alexandra hissed as he poked at the hole.

“As a matter of fact I was, but Bular decided that my stomach was a good spot to smash his face into.”

“Hmph. I am waiting for the day I hear that you have gone the same way as poor Unkar the Unfortunate. You certainly seem to encounter Bular enough to make it a distinct possibility. Disrobe.”

“What can I say,” Alexandra croaked, sitting up with difficulty and trying to get her wrenched arm out of her vest. “I’ve always had a thing for tall, dark, and murderous.”

Vendel put a massive hand to her back to balance her, and rolled his eyes.

“Deya save us from a Trollhunter with a sense of humor,” he said. Alex dropped her vest on the floor and he lay her back down.

He worked in silence from that point, save for the occasional mumble, and Alexandra did not dare relax. Finally laying down was tricking her brain into thinking that it was time to actually sleep for once, and she needed to be alert for the right moment to make her escape. Getting medical attention from someone who knew what he was doing, instead of buying a poultice or a healing crystal at a stall and hoping that it would be enough, was great, but not when Vendel was suddenly perfectly in place to see how quickly troll medicines worked on her Changed physiology. She couldn’t relax, not now. Draal was still waiting at the portal entrance, and she needed to get out before Vendel wondered why her skin was healing so much faster than it was supposed to.

He made sure that her shoulder wasn’t dislocated and set her nose back to its usual crooked place, but otherwise paid closest attention to the puncture on her side. After an agonizingly long time, Vendel declared the wound too shallow to have missed anything more than muscle and fatty tissue, and he slathered something tingly over it.

“How long have I got. Be honest.”

The old troll snorted as he wiped his hands.

“With any luck, several centuries more,” he said, surprisingly softly. “With each battle you make you seem to strike a crippling blow. Perhaps next time you’ll actually kill the vicious brute.” “’Thought you didn’t ask me to kill Bular,” Alex murmured. Vendel shook his head and walked over to the side of the cavern.

“It seems that I do not need to, Trollhunter,” he said. “By yourself you’ve come closer to it than most of your predecessors.”

He put a hand to the wall of the Heartstone and bent his head. After a moment of silence, a tiny chuck of yellow crystal broke off of the wall to his left, and he deftly caught it.

Alexandra stared with wide eyes as he walked back to her and pressed the crystal shard, as wide as her hand was long, against her side.

“What did you just do,” she asked. Vendel used his staff to pick her filthy vest off of the floor.

“The Heartstone shares its essence with us,” he said, “and on occasion will also share pieces of itself to hasten a troll’s recovery from sickness or injury. Keep that on your side, and hopefully I will not have to see you in here anytime soon.”

Alex was just glad that she was allowed to leave so soon, but he stopped her with a sharp tap on the shin.

“Don’t move,” he said grumpily. “There are a few medicines I have to give you, and I’ll have AAARRRGGHH take you back to your chambers. The less you move, the better.”

Alexandra innocently languished on the stone table while he slowly stomped away, and when he was finished packing her a medicine bag she swung her legs over the table and hopped off, failing to bite back an anguished yelp but managing to snatch the bag from Vendel’s hand and book it to the exit.

“Trollhunter, get back here!” Alex gimped away as fast as she could.

“Thanks, I feel great!”

She heard Vendel mutter something angrily, his staff thunking against the floor, but he did not pursue her.

“Then I will heavily advise you to not walk until tomorrow morning, at the earliest, for all that I expect you will listen to me.”

“Of course, but I’ve still got to go fetch Draal,” she said, the door closing behind her just as she heard a startled yelp.

“What?!”

Alexandra could have said a lot about the troll equivalent of twiddling their thumbs, when she laboriously climbed up the stairs to find Draal balancing bits of rocks and crystals into little stacks, but for the lost look on his face she said nothing except an order to carry her back down.

The market wasn’t as empty as she would have liked when they entered, and enough trolls were out and about to notice Draal the Destroyer’s homecoming. She’d made Draal put her down, not wanting to be carried in plain sight for the second time that night, and her slow, painful pace hampered their progress.

“What is he doing here,” said a one-eyed troll. Alexandra shooed Draal past him and elbowed aside another who was in their way.

“He’s here because I asked him to come back, and you don’t actually need to be assholes about it,” she said firmly, making a few members of the crowd tut disapprovingly.

“Everybody have a good evening,” Alexandra yelled, glaring at the trolls in their way until they backed down. She slowly led Draal through the marketplace and into the residential quarters, where he picked her up again without her needing to ask.

Her rooms smelled better, at least, since she’d gotten the gnome to start taking out the mess that the cats made. He still lived in a hole in the wall of her bathroom, but enjoyed the wrappings of whatever foods she’d bought over the day, and the cats had learned not to try any play with him lest they get a tiny, painful bite on whatever offending foot tried to bat at him. She saw him skitter back into his hole as Draal set her down and closed the door.

“Just stay here,” she said, gently shooing two cats away with her foot. The felines clearly recognized Draal as the person who had brought them to Alexandra, and they crowded around him. “Your old place was taken over, I already asked. Unless you’d like to stay in your father’s rooms?” Draal, knuckling a happy cat on the head, murmured a negative.

“I have not visited those rooms in years,” he said quietly. “It would not feel right, even now that he is gone.”

Your father sucked as a dad, Alex thought, resolving to bring some of her cats over to Kanjigar’s place just so that they could shit on his floor.

“I’ll take his room,” she said instead. “Everyone will be expecting you to stay there, not here. I’m still picking through his library, anyway.”

“You are bleeding on my floor, then, Trollhunter,” said Draal with a faint smile. Alex picked up her bitten foot, examining the tiny smear of blood that came from the toes.

“It adds to the décor,” she said. Draal snorted and lightly shoved her; the strength of the blow sent her tumbling roughly onto the nest. She kicked Draal in the leg when he sat next to her and grabbed her coddled-together medical kit from the floor. The brief, vaguely fond exchange was almost too friendly for Alexandra’s comfort, too close, too familiar – but in all honesty she didn’t have the energy or the heart to keep more of a distance.

Bloodied vest and pants were added to the pile of leathers on the nest, and he dabbed a sweet-smelling tincture over the ragged puncture in her side. The fragment of Heartstone that Vendel had given her was applied to the wound.

“Hold it there.”

Alexandra patiently held still as he tended to her wounds, feeling the aches in her body slowly build up as she allowed her muscles to finally relax. The tension that seemed to hold her upright fled, and every hit and bruise made itself known.

Alex almost fell asleep while Draal was wrapping up her foot; she awoke to find herself slathered in poultices and ointments, with a fluffy black cat curling up between her left horn and her cheek and Draal settling in behind her.

“Should call yourself ‘Draal the Cuddlebug’,” she mumbled sleepily. A crystal-laden arm slid under her back and pulled her onto her side, just as the other one crawled over her torso and pushed her back against his chest.

“No. No. You have your own bed now, let me go.”

Something that felt like a face pushed into the back of her head, and she summoned her helmet just to spite him, moving her head so that her back horns poked him in the cheek.

“Get your goddamn rebar out of my fucking hair, you jackass.”

“You are welcome to leave, Trollhunter,” Draal murmured. His arms loosened enough that she could wiggle out without difficulty.

“I don’t want to exacerbate my injuries,” Alex said. She was seriously enjoying the warmth that he gave off, especially since she was still undressed and chilly from the poultices.

“Good excuse.” “Shut up and go to sleep.”

A/N: Bitch you thought. I thought. We all thought. I’ve got the original chapter where she really did admit to being a Changeling stored and I’ll post it after a bit as a ‘what-if’ chapter, but after much deliberation it would have complicated the story too much at this time of the telling. Usurna and the Tribunal would have been alerted and Alex doesn’t have enough support within Trollmarket for that kind of reveal yet. Also, making her trust Blinky and Draal with something so close to the chest after she’s only just started to open up didn’t really rub me right for her character. She’s been secretive and reticent about getting that close to people for decades and she’s not going to change that in just a month or so without some serious character development and friend-making.

AHHAH HAH YAASS I LOVE fight scenes and I’ve been hoarding this scene for months.

What Blinky doesn’t know, and wasn’t around to witness first-hand, was that the stone of Sigrid the Shadowless doesn’t make a troll immune to sunlight, but turns them human temporarily (in my headcanon). Vendel knows this, at least, but fortunately he wasn’t around for this fight.

I don’t think that the Gumm-Gumms in the actual armies had much to do with the Changeling spies, so after so many centuries I doubt that AAARRRGGHH would have recognized her scent. But Draal damn dated a Changeling, so he’d recognize her scent after a while, especially since he was living with her after their fight. I’ll also make mention that she doesn’t smell exactly like a Changeling anymore, and you’ll see why in the next chapters. She’s funky smelling if you really concentrate, mostly troll but with a little Changeling mixed in.

For Deya’s origins I looked up the Welsh legends of Changelings and edited a little bit. It’s actually quite fascinating. And did you know that there’s a place in Cornwall called Mên-an-Tol that has a circular rock and a legend of getting your real baby back if you passed the Changeling kid through the hole? I’m not kidding.

And we’re back to grumpy cuddles. This will not be an Alex/Draal fic, I think, it’s just platonic cuddles. Alex would probably jump him if he asked, but she’s got enough on her plate without worrying about a whole relationship on top of everything else. Both of these assholes are a bit starved for physical affection at the moment and will get a little cuddly and close, but I’m not really feeling a whole relationship here. I’m not making nudity a bit problem for Alex; she’s never been shy about her body and I don’t think she connects completely with her troll form yet.

#trollhunters #drabble #what falls and what grows #draal #blinky #aaarrrgghh #vendel #bular

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