#human legs and hands sticking out of split open parts of the snake body

[ganondoodle]

Rykard and Rennala join the fight!

somethign Miquella didnt account for was Radahns immediate weird family

jerren on his way to beat miquellas ass once he learns what he did to radahn

(Elden Ring)

[sukirichi]

the morning after – gojo satoru ver!

warnings: slight dirty talk and suggestive content, like the yuuji one, nothing too explicit! Oh and a teasing, cheeky gojo :>

masterlist ! (photo not mine)

It doesn’t hit you until you’re whacked by an arm in the face. Literally.

You whine and push the foreign weight away that smushed your nose at the impact, less than pleased because you’re having the best of your life, but someone had to ruin it. Nevertheless, you refuse to open your eyes and settle into the warmth that encases you in that moment. It reminds you of your precious unicorn plushie you left back at your apartment; cuddly, precious, keeps the nightmares away, but the best part about this human teddy bear is that he’s all firm muscles and body heat instead of fur cotton.

Wait, what? Human?

It’s when you hear the man stirring above you with a husky groan that you freeze in your spot, eyes snapping wide open your vision blurs for a split second. The first thing you see is smooth skin and firm pecs, followed by a slender, strong neck and a sharp jawline – oh god.

So last night wasn’t a dream.

Clenching your teeth and even biting the inside of your cheeks to stop squealing – more out of embarrassment and shame than happiness, really – you slowly reach up between your squished bodies to pinch your cheeks, bringing blood and feeling back into them. No wonder you’ve slept so well last night, and as someone who prefers pulling an all-nighter until you pass out in the middle of an anime series, it’s quite rare to find a good eight hour sleep.

It’s not like you had much...activities performed that would take up too much energy. Until Gojo Satoru came, the teacher from the Tokyo school, and also the notoriously infamous “strongest jujutsu sorcerer.”

You’ve had a crush on him the moment you’ve started working as a teacher in the Kyoto school. Utahime, who was closer to him, was incredibly appalled when you told her one day about your raging crush on the white-haired man who looked absolutely breathtaking with his blindfold, but without them?

Just the thought of having seen them last night, when he was between your legs, no less, has you inwardly groaning and cringing so hard you feel so shameful that you can’t even look him in the eye. Satoru is fast asleep above you, one of his strong arms lazily draped over the curve of your waist and his fingers brushing against your bum. When you shift a little to give you both space, his fingers begin to hover dangerously close to a sensitive area and you let out a tiny squeak, muffling it with the back of your fist before he awakens.

This man had the Six Eyes – the last thing you wanted was for him to sense and notice the little things and wake up. No, you had to leave before he even gets the chance to move.

The chances of not waking him up was pretty slim, but you’ve always been proud of your sneaky movements that you try anyway. Fortunately, Satoru doesn’t seem to be a hardcore cuddler because he doesn’t pull you back when you finally slip past the sheets.

You freeze for a moment at the edge of the bed, still in disbelief that you actually slept with him. No, no, that’s wrong, you’d have slept with him anytime if he allowed it but �� he actually slept with you. It’s not that you’re looking down on yourself because you’re also a special grade sorcerer and could stand your own ground confidently, but your powers when it comes to exorcising and your social skills are two different things that don’t even come close together.

You’re not worried that a special grade curse would kill you and take away your privilege of finishing that new manga you bought in your day off because you know you could handle it easily, but as a person, there’s a stark difference between you and Satoru.

True, he wasn’t exactly liked by everyone because he refused to be limited by rules and regulations, always claiming that one should not be hindered by the narrow-mindedness of the others, but it was something you really admired about him because you’re not like that. You’re old school, sticking by the book, much like his co-worker Nanami Kento who equally hates overtime, and while Gojo Satoru was loud and confident, you’re more of the person who stays by a corner during a party.

Which is exactly what happened last night at Utahime’s birthday party – aka the old wrinkly principal isn’t here so let’s get wasted type of party.

You’re not surprised that Gojo Satoru walked in, but when he did, you had to clutch your spirit water and drink it in haste because he’s got you feeling thirstier than you did last night – and you drink your water plenty. But how could you remain sane when he looked so gorgeous in just his uniform and his laughter has butterflies erupting in your stomach?

Truth was, you’re satisfied watching him from afar. It’s not like you ever plan on asking him out or being his friend because you’re sure Satoru has better things to do and prettier people to talk to, so when he sits next to you in the desolate leather couch, legs crossed over one another and his arm right behind you (although not touching, he respects your space) you nearly pass out.

One thing leads to another, and you find yourself writhing under his arms, shamelessly crying his name over and over again until the dead hours of the night that has his ego inflating.

You don’t remember how or exactly why it happened, but definitely, alcohol had to be involved. There’s no way Gojo Satoru would actually notice you, much less sleep with you, when he’s completely sober, which is why you scramble around the room with the blanket covering your bare body as you look for your discarded clothes.

If he wakes up and sees you, he’ll probably regret everything that happened last night, if he remembers any of it, anyway.

But you’re most definitely mostly sober through the whole thing, so you remember how good he was in making you feel like a goddess. The way he sucked on your neck, licking a stripe at your burning skin while his large hands groped your breasts possessively, all the while rutting in that perfect spot that has your eyes rolling at the back of your head with your nails running down his back – you shiver just thinking about it.

Gojo Satoru really has that effect on people.

You hide your flustered state and quickly pull on your undergarments, about to slip the sweater over your head, only to die on the inside because you realize you’re wearing those full cotton panties instead of sexy lingerie. With a groan, you fight back the urge to cry. But then again, who could blame yourself for not dressing sexily? It’s not like you had any idea that this would happen.

You’re halfway through your jeans when Gojo’s husky morning voice breaks through the silence. “Leaving already?” you hear him smile, although your back is turned to him, face completely morphed into terror. “Such a shame. I was actually thinking shower sex sounds nice – if you’re into that, of course.”

“Satoru,” you greet lamely with a bow, avoiding the way his stunning eyes raked over your form with an unreadable dark expression. “Uh, you’re awake, and...good morning, I guess.”

Gojo smirks at your flushed cheeks, and it takes everything not to stare at the way his biceps strain from the way he supports his head, hair sticking in every direction and looking absolutely sexy in the morning light. “Good morning to you too, Y/N,” your breath stifles, because he knows your name? “Although it would be an ever better morning if you weren’t such in a rush to leave,” he chuckles, “It makes me feel like maybe you regret what happened last night.”

Your head snaps up at his words as you shakily wiggle your arms, “No, that’s not true, I loved every second of it! It was...it was the best night of my life,” your cheeks tinge a shade darker when Gojo beams at your words, chest almost puffing out proudly. Shyly, you turn away from him and fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt. “I just...I didn’t think you’d still want me here around, because you were drunk last night and all and I thought maybe you’ll regret it, which I don’t want to happen so yeah, I just thought I’d leave before I get to...” you clear your throat awkwardly, “...be rejected like that.”

“Y/N,” his voice falls an octave lower, the thoughts in your head growing so loud you don’t even hear that he’s already left the bed, and now he’s cradling your chin until you’re forced to witness the galaxies burning in his eyes. “You thought I was drunk last night and did it because I was just horny? That I would regret it and forget all about it?”

His proximity has your breath stuttering, your eyelashes slapping your cheeks as you blink rapidly. “Well, uhm, I’m not really your type, so I think it was safe to assume that.”

Gojo hums at your words, his calloused thumb running over your lips. A small smile flits across his face when he remembers how much of a good girl you were for him last night, obediently opening those lips up and letting him bask in the warmth of your wet cavern before swallowing all he has to give. Funnily enough, Gojo isn’t the best with his words, so he just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before sighing.

“I wasn’t drunk,” he finally admits. The confession has you slipping from his grasp, but Gojo snakes his arm around the small of your back to pull you to him, the warmth of his bare skin seeping into your clothes. However, it’s nothing compared to the lust and adoration burning in his eyes – one you can’t properly fathom in this clouded state. “Tipsy, sure, but I assure you I was aware and sober for every little part,” his lips hover at your ear, one of his hands coming at the back of your neck to tilt your head to the side, granting him access to the hickeys he’d purposely left.

Just the sight of his markings on your perfect body has a tent growing in his pants. You feel his erection rub at the pad of your jeans, eliciting a small whine from you, and this makes Gojo resist the urge to bend you over right then and there. But he doesn’t do that, because he knows your body is too tired from his ministrations, and he’s nice enough to give you a break – even if that’s not exactly what your burning core wants at that moment.

“Like the way you clenched around my cock when I hit that sensitive spot of yours,” he laughs when you shiver at the way his breath tickles you, “Or how pretty you look when you cream around my cock, begging me to go harder because you can take it, and baby, I promise you, I loved it just as much as you did.”

Finally, Gojo pulls back, and he’s extremely satisfied when he sees how small and innocent you look just like that, as if he hadn’t just folded you in half to watch the way your pretty pussy welcome him and take him better than anyone else just hours ago.

“But,” he continues, “I think I enjoyed it a lot more, considering I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time now,” at his words, you furrow your brows, and that’s when he realizes his mistake. Gojo reverts back to his usual lighthearted self and fans his hand out almost comically with his hands on his hips. “I mean, not just the sex, though it is amazing, but having you close is what I meant. Like holding your hand or getting to kiss you,” he sighs dreamily as if you’re not in the same room as him.

“Uh,” you awkwardly begin, unsure of what to say. “Are you saying you like me?”

“Yeah,” he smirks, which shouldn’t have been such a sexy look on him, but because he’s Gojo, it was. “But Utahime said she’d cut my balls off if I even get near you. Thank goodness she was too drunk last night to ever see it, but I’m glad I talked to you. I’m just ashamed I’m only saying this after the sex but...would you like to go out with me?”

Thanks to his Six Eyes ability, Gojo is blessed with the privilege of seeing you malfunction before him as you try to find your words.

[lexibugsblog]

Sharing with Strangers

WARNINGS: N/A, cuddles and fluff

Arvin One Shot

This is my first fan fiction I've ever written so please be gentle :D

Arvin makes it to Cincinnati and gets dropped off at a diner

A red Volkswagen pulls up outside, a man in a baseball cap with a duffel bag throw over his shoulder steps out waving at the other man before he drives off. I look at the clock on the opposite side of the wall, 3:23 A.M. The bell chimes above the door as he strolls in, worn baseball cap still hiding his face.

“Hi, welcome in!” I regenerate my normal greeting. I grab my notepad and make my way over to him,

“What can I getcha’?”

“Just coffee.” He states quietly, glancing out at me from the corner of his eye. “Coming right up,” I notify him, giving him a smile. Once I prepare the coffee I bring it over to him, setting it down on a napkin. “Thank you,” he mutters, this time his head looks up for a split second. I turn to walk away, but he looked in need of some company and there was only one other guest, asleep at a corner booth towards the back of the diner,  so I slide into the corner booth across from him. He finally looks up at me, mouth agape. “How long have you been on the road?” I inquire. 

“How did you-” he takes off his cap, his mused hair adding to his disheveled appearance.

“You look like haven’t had a good meal or a good sleep in a minute,” I explain, he seems a bit taken back at this point, maybe insecure about how he looked, but he shouldn’t be, even worn to the bone he looked drop-dead handsome. 

“So, are you running away from something or to it?”

“Take a guess,” he smiles playfully before taking a sip of his coffee. I laugh a little, lacing my fingers together on the table. I purse my lips, taking him in, his chocolate eyes watching me, awaiting my response. “Running away,”

“Why do you guess that?”

“Your eyes,” I explain, he laugh awkwardly breaking eye contact at that moment.” You have tired eyes, full of woe, not hope, at least not as much as someone who would be running to something. Also, you were hitchhiking, so it must have been abrupt and  really bad whatever it is your running form.” His eyes then flicker back up at me for a moment, nearly brimming with tears. My heart sunk to my stomach, “I’m so sorry! I really didn’t mean to-” I begin apologizing profusely, getting up from the booth.

“No, no really it’s okay,” he gestures back to the booth,” Please stay.” I hesitate as he sniffles, running his hands over his face, pushing away any water that was on the verge of spilling out. “Please.” He says on last time before I take my seat across from him again. “I really am sorry.” I declare one last time. “It’s okay, really,” He assures me, “Its just been a long drive.” I nod, shifting in my seat, trying to break the uncomfortable silence without overstepping again. 

“Where are you headed, if you don’t mind my asking.” I preface this time.

“I don’t know. The man that picked me up said he was headed here, so I’m here.” 

“Where were you coming from?” he opened his mouth to speak, a name on the edge of his lips be he stopped himself, thinking on the answer, “A small town, on the other side of Ohio” I laugh softly to myself. He smiles back at me, eyebrow raised in confusion, “What? You don’t believe me?”

“Nothing,” I smile pushing my hair out of my face, “You just really have this whole ‘handsome mysterious stranger’ thing down pat. You show up at three in the morning to a 24/7 diner, ball cap shielding your face, duffel bag slung over your shoulder. Then when asked where you’re from, you give the vaguest answer a person could get.” He chuckles, once again running his hand through his hair, “You think I’m handsome?” he flirts halfheartedly. I let out a laugh, blush filling both our cheeks as he laughs along with me. He had a beautiful laugh, much lighter then he himself seemed to be. This time, even once our laughter died down, the silence didn’t seem as uncomfortable as before. 

“Look,” I prompt, “how about I make you some food, on the house, I get off at five and we can go back to my place.” he seemed in awe of this offer, hell I was a bit in awe of my offering, but something about him seemed different. I’ve lived in this city my entire life, I had met a lot of people most of them questionable at best, but he had something about him that made him seem like a genuinely good person. “It’s not a lot but its a real bed, at least for the night.” 

“I’d really appreciate that.” he finally answered after a beat.

“Okay,” I give him a nod and a smile before getting up from the booth to prepare him some burger and fries. Time ticked by quickly after he finished eating and I finished cleaning up it was nearly time to go. I finish packing up my sketchbook, and art supplies that had been laid out on the counter before he’d come in when Sarah finally comes in to relieve me. I grab my backpack before heading over to his booth to let him know we could go. “What’s your name by the way?” I ask as he slides out of the booth.

“Arvin, my names Arvin,” he states as he throws his duffel bag over his shoulder. “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet your Arvin.”

The walk back to my apartment was quiet, I began overthinking things. What if he was some crazy person, I sneak a glance at him, what if he murders me or something once we get back to my place. How could I even begin to politely retract my offer, he looks over at me a shy smile on his lips, as his hand tightens around the strap of his bag. Before I could say anything, we were at my apartment, 

“This is it,” I tell him, as I begin fumbling for my keys. “Hey,” he stops me, “If you’re uncomfortable I can find a motel.” He gives me a sympathetic smile and once again my heart wrenches looking into his bloodshot eyes. He’s been through it, I don’t know exactly what it was but I could tell he needed a little human kindness.

“No, I’m not, just promise...promise you won’t, like, murder me or anything?” I propose, he chuckles sticking out his pinky finger, “I promise,” he says, as I wrap my pinky around his. We both smile inwardly as I finally find the apartment key. After walking up a couple flights of stairs, I open the door to my place, flicking on the lights, as we enter. I sit my things down on the small kitchen island, I shove my hands in the pockets of my bib, becoming a little insecure myself as he looked around. I hated the color of these walls, it must have once been a vibrant orange but over the years has become dull, the pale yellow overhead light not helping. The covers of my bed disheveled, I’d always meant to get into the habit of making it but I never did. He then sat his bag down, moving over to the large window the by the bed, he looked out it, 

“I’m going to change real quick,” I inform him as I meddle through my closet for my pj’s “Feel free to make yourself at home.” I gesture to the whole one room of my apartment. I quickly change into a sweater, shorts, and some comfortable socks before exiting the bathroom only to find him staring at my painting sitting the easel.

“That’s not finished,” I explain, biting my thumbnail, watching him admire the unfinished painting of a naked woman. 

“This is really good.” he compliments. It could be better. It isn’t until he turns around, I stop looking at all the imperfections of the painting and I actually look at him, no more jacket, baseball cap, or even shoes, he looked perfectly at home, as if he was made to be here, at this moment. I wished i could capture this image forever, it almost felt like a dream. 

“Thank you,” I finally say, remembering he paid me a compliment just a moment ago. I shake my head of all the thoughts swirling around in my head as I begin to turn the bed down for him. “I’ll take the couch,” I say pulling the throw blanket off the back of it.

“Definitely not,” he states firmly.

“What?”

“I’ll take the couch, I’m the guest.”

“Which is exactly why you get the bed.”

“I’m not letting you-”

“Look,” I interrupt him for the second time tonight, “I promised you a bed to sleep in tonight, and that what you’re going to get,” I say firmly, he presses his lips together in defeat. “We could share?” my cheeks flushed at the thought, but with my back to him he was none the wiser.” I mean, if that’s okay, I don’t want to make you feel weird or anything, I just..” he begins stumbling over his words, causing a smile to pull on my lips. “Okay,” I say finally turning to him.

“Okay.” he agrees his lips pulled together in a tight smile. As he settles into bed I turn out the lights before joining him. At first, we both lay on our backs, neither of us saying anything. Eventually, I began to hear the patter of rain against the window, and his breathing became more shallow. I finally look over at him for a moment, the neon lights of the outside shining onto him, he really is beautiful, this is the last thought that passes through my mind before drifting off.

*

I wake up the next morning to the sound of a heartbeat thudding in my ear. As I come to I realize my leg is flung across his hips, and his arms are snaked around my body. Part of me felt like I should be freaking out, I only met him yesterday, but a big part of me couldn’t deny how natural and comforting this felt like this was how things were meant to be. Not long after he finally woke, realizing our position he quickly lifts his hands from my body, not all the way, just hovering above where they were.“Im not uncomfortable.” I simply say, and with that his hands return, tightening even. Yeah, this is good. 

Once we finally get up from bed, he takes a quick shower I make us breakfast. He comes out of the bathroom in the same disheveled clothes from yesterday before sitting on a stool at the island. I set a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him before taking a seat beside him with my own plate.”So, whats next?” I prompt. He takes a bit, thinking about the question for a moment. Selfishly I knew what I wanted his answer to be, but also I could tell he’d been on a long journey before he’d out into the stranger’s van that brought him to hear, and he had a long one left to go. He finally swallows and looks over at me, a boyish grin plastered onto his face, “I think I might stay here for a while if you’ll have me.” I toothy smile spread across my face, he may not be around for long, but I was more then happy to be part of his story, even if just for a little while.

[mommy-medusa]

y'all thought you'd seen the last of me? NOPE! enjoy a scene between Medusa and Athena!

---

Medusa met her at the top of a cliff overlooking the sea around her island. There was a singular tree atop it, a giant, majestic olive, bearing juicy green fruits that Teddi would often snack on. Beneath its lush brambles, stood her visitor, glowing soft gold, staring out at the wine-dark ocean as the full moon reflected against the roiling surface and the shined armor she wore. When the owl arrived, it perched on her shoulder and tapped her on the cheek with its beak to get her attention.

Medusa still vividly remembered the first day they met. Teddi was only four at the time. They were coming back from a visit with Euryale, and the sky was dark and heavy with rain, but nothing could have prepared Medusa for what followed.

The storm hit them like a wall. Teddi dropped the rock she had been fiddling with and burst out crying. There were noises in the trees all around them. Visibility was zero.

For a moment, Medusa didn't know where they were.

Who she was.

Did she have a splitting headache on that day or was her mind just starting to make things up, back-projecting her memories like a faulty storyteller who kept forgetting details about the tale?

Whatever it may have been, it wasn’t even the worst part. There was something massive in the woods around them, something that circled like a frenzy of sharks who’d just smelled fresh blood. Medusa hadn’t been able to see who or what it was with the rain pelting into her eyes; the lack of sight was terrifying for her, as her main line of defense completely revolved around it.

Teddi was crying her little heart out, clinging to Medusa in terrified desperation. Medusa cupped the back of her head with her hand, pressing her face into her chest to muffle her strangled sobs, but it was not enough to make them hidden in the wake of what could only be described as a baby hurricane.

Something lunged out from the underbrush, and Medusa was prepared to defend her daughter, even if it meant dying.

But then there was a flash of white light, and a spear stabbed down into the beast’s skull, pinning it to the ground. Medusa looked up through the sheets of rain pouring down into her face, and a bolt of lightning lit up the figure of her celestial savior standing before her.

Now, however, there was no lightning to light the way. Instead, there was the full moon, and Selene’s glowing silver gaze backlit the goddess that had called upon Medusa to the meeting spot.

She was thin but muscular, donned in a pure white, full-length chiton that was padded with golden armor on her narrow shoulders and chest, its polished metal carved in the intricate design of an owl’s head coiled in olive vines. Shining gauntlets were clasped around her wrists, one hand holding a spear wound by a snake and the other bearing a shield of goatskin. A black cloak trimmed with emerald green serpents billowed in the slight breeze of night behind her, making her look like she had wings. On her head she wore a golden owl-shaped helmet, its gaze a glare of onyx. When she turned to Medusa, her eyes were as grey-blue as the ocean water and infused with light.

For a long moment, Gorgon and Goddess of Wisdom just looked at each other in silence.

“Athena,” the gorgon finally said.

“Medusa,” the goddess replied.

Medusa tipped her head at the serpent-trimmed cloak and snake-wound spear. “Did you bring those as a tribute to me?”

Athena’s face twitched slightly, like she was trying very hard to not react in a way that wasn’t mature. She was always like that, always keeping that dumb facade up because of the pressure put upon her by her father.

“I don’t tribute anyone,” Athena said curtly.

“I see,” Medusa said. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?” She slithered up the rest of the cliff’s incline delicately, her long tail leaving no trace in the damp grass. She closed the distance between her and her visitor, getting right in front of Athena, so close they were almost touching. “Or have you come to see me?”

Athena’s face did that thing again, this time with more of a noticeable struggle. Behind her luscious wisps of brown-black hair, Medusa almost thought she could see hints of red.

“No,” Athena said harshly. “I have not.”

“Oh?” Medusa placed a black-clawed hand on one of Athena’s shoulders, tracing the weaving designs inlaid across her armor pads. “Then for what did you summon your little messenger for?” She eyed the owl, which had shifted its position on an overhanging branch. It blinked back at her with those huge, goggle-like eyes of its.

Athena opened her mouth, then closed it a moment later, seemingly cornered. Medusa had her prey right where she wanted her. Her lips split open in a wicked smirk, venomous fangs flashing in the moonlight.

“Are you sure, dear Athena,” Medusa purred, leaning her face in close to Athena’s, her tail slowly wrapping around the goddess’ legs, “that you have not come to sate your desires with me?”

Athena pulled away suddenly, stabbing her spear into the ground like she was trying to command the earth to crack open and swallow Medusa up for her words. Her cheeks bore the flickers of an interesting shade of red, which Medusa would have additionally teased her on if she weren’t completely engulfed by laughter.

“Medusa,” Athena hissed.

“I apologize, I apologize--” Medusa sputtered out through her laughter. She had respectively pulled back as well, but couldn’t help the fit of giggles that rolled through her. “You just make it so easy!”

Athena’s nose wrinkled slightly. She seemed to have calmed herself, though she still had the faintest tint of a crimson blush on her cheeks.

“I apologize,” Medusa said again, straightening herself up. “I’m good now.”

“Are you really?” Athena asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Medusa answered, her voice evened out.

“Hm,” Athena’s gaze shifted back out to the water. She looked like she was watching for something. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Ever since that night eight years ago, Athena routinely made trips back to Sarpedon. At first, Medusa didn’t understand why; yes, she treated her to hospitality and dinner as thanks for the rescue, but why would the powerful goddess of wisdom and war herself want to stick around with a monster and her human child? Eventually, she found out: Athena was as lonely as she had been. Though, it came in a much different form compared to what Medusa used to feel.

Try as she might, Athena could not shield off all of her emotions. She had more walls than anyone Medusa had ever known before (which wasn’t a lot, but it was still something), but once she created cracks in the granite, she was able to read her as clearly as Nyx spelling out “I NEED FRIENDS” with the stars.

Medusa quickly picked up on all the little quirks she hadn’t noticed the first few times she and Athena met up--the face twitch thing, the way she would sometimes fall into an obedient silence, the constant tenseness in her muscles like she never relaxed--but then she started spotting even more mannerisms: the sheer will she had to use to keep her voice level, the mindset that she wasn’t allowed to show any emotions that weren’t deemed mature or leader-like, the way her voice raised a few octaves when she was flustered or taken off guard, the panic she felt when that pretense did start to slip.

Personally, Medusa preferred the goddess when she wasn’t wearing that stupid mask she created for herself. She liked the awkward, endearing Athena that could make Helios jealous when she smiled and was really bad at crab catching.

But at the same time, Medusa could understand why she had such a thing in place for herself. She didn’t walk about it often, Medusa believed she didn’t like to in the first place, but Athena shared what she wanted. And with every snippet she let slip out of her own personal struggles, Medusa understood a little bit more.

To be the favorite child of the King of Gods himself must be like constantly walking on eggshells. Medusa had thought her monstrous parents had been harsh and disciplinary, but after hearing stories about what it was like having Zeus as a father made her grateful to have Ceto and Phorcys instead of the bearer of lightning himself. She couldn’t truly understand such an experience, but she got a taste of it through Athena: through the constant tension in her body like she was a coiled jungle cat ready to spring, through the practiced reserved tone of voice, through the tired eyes from constant pressure from her father, through the guilty looks when she did show emotion and the guilty looks when she didn’t show emotion.

Athena came to Sarpedon time and time again to get away from all of that, to finally relax, and Medusa was determined to help her with that.

Still. It didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to tease the goddess.

“Are you waiting on a boat?” Medusa asked, following Athena’s gaze out to the water.

For a moment, Athena went rigid, but it went away as quickly as it came. She was usually very good about fixing the slips in her demeanor; another thing Zeus and his excellent parenting could be thanked for.

But this time-- this time something a little extra lingered behind before Athena was able to bury it away with every other emotion that she deemed negative. If Medusa hadn’t been so in tune with the way Athena acted, she probably would have missed it, but it was there, flickering in the reflection of the moon in her glimmering grey-blue eyes.

Fear.

“No,” Athena answered. “Just watching the water. It’s a beautiful view.”

Medusa let it slide for the moment. As concerned as she was, she knew better than anyone that Athena didn’t like to be pushed. She already dealt with it enough from her father, Medusa didn’t want her to have to deal with it from her safe person, too.

“It is,” Medusa agreed. Then, hoping to ease Athena’s obvious worry, she added breezily, “Not as beautiful as you, though.”

Athena went rigid again, but this time it was for an entirely different reason. The blush came back, deeper than before, and she tried to hide it by turning her head away, but Medusa had already caught on.

“Thank you,” Athena said in a clipped voice.

“You always act as though you’ve never been complimented,” Medusa said, sliding up next to her so they would both be standing at the edge of the cliff.

“On my strength,” Athena said. “I get complimented on my strength. And my fighting prowess and my ability to kill people.”

“Oh, so do I!” Medusa grinned at her.

“Not on-- on--”

“Your beauty?”

Athena looked away again, but the glow of the moon reflected against the red of her cheeks. “Mmm. Sure.”

“You know, one day I’m going to make you admit it,” Medusa said.

“Admit what?”

“That you’re pretty.”

“Mmm,” Athena made the noise again, something she would do when she was caught between a rock and a hard place and didn’t know what to say. “Over my dead body.”

It showed up again- the fear. It remained a little longer than the first time, and Medusa even heard Athena suck in a sharp breath before she was able to regain control of herself again.

The first time was worrying enough for Athena, but a second? Medusa was going to give the goddess one more chance to either open up herself or quiet her anxieties before she stepped in.

“Anyway, I’m immortal,” Athena went on hurriedly. “So it won’t ever happen.”

“Well, I’m immortal, too,” Medusa said. “So I’ll just wait it out with you.”

There it was again, and so close to the second time, too. Something really had Athena unsettled. But before Medusa could begin questioning her, Athena spoke up before she could, halting her words for the moment.

“You’re not immortal,” Athena almost growled. “You can die.”

Silence. The owl overhead shifted on its branch, as on edge as its goddess.

“Athena, what’s going on?” Medusa asked. “What’s wrong?”

Athena looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Athena--”

“Nothing is wrong,” Athena snarled, using the voice she often used for war in hopes that it would scare Medusa into leaving her alone. But the goddess of wisdom seemed to forget that Medusa had two monsters for parents, more specifically Ceto for a mother, and nothing was more frightening than the way they would roar when she or her sisters did something bad.

“Athena,” Medusa softened her own voice. She raised her tail and slipped it under Athena’s chin, making her look at her. “What’s wrong?”

Athena was quiet for a moment. Medusa thought she was going to give her the silent treatment before she finally relented, “A man approached me earlier today. Perseus. He asked for my help in slaying you.”

Medusa was silent.

“I didn’t agree,” Athena went on quickly, sounding slightly panicked. “I refused his request and sent him away. But still. I worried.”

Medusa couldn’t believe it: Athena, goddess of war, known for her incredible skill in battle, was freaked out for her sake. Out of all the things she had seen, the lifetime worth of carnage she had witnessed over the years, the tons of gore she was often drenched in during times of war, all the battles and the violence and the death, it was a man saying he wanted to kill Medusa that got her worked up.

Medusa began to laugh.

Athena was startled. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Medusa flicked her tail. “It’s just-- you have probably witnessed enough bloodshed and violence and other horrors to strike a mortal mind into complete insanity, and this is what frightens you?”

Anger flitted across Athena’s expression. It was more common than most of her other emotions, but still didn’t come out very often. When it did, Medusa thought she looked like a fiercer, adorable, more attractive version of Ares.

“Should I have agreed then?” Athena asked. “Maybe I should have given him a ride over on my giant owl?”

“You have a giant owl?”

“Not the point,” Athena snapped. “The point is that a man wanted to kill you and you are laughing.”

“Athena, darling, if you haven’t noticed, a lot of people want to kill me,” Medusa said. She could tell her lack of worry was getting on Athena’s nerves.

“No, you don’t understand!” Athena said, and she sounded completely panicked, now.

“Athena, breathe--”

“He was a demigod.”

That made Medusa pause. She blinked.

“Oh,” she finally said. “I see. How peculiar.”

Athena looked anguished. “Yes, and he’s dangerous. To you and to Teddi. And if anything happened to you, I--”

Medusa cupped Athena’s cheeks, silencing her. The goddess’s eyes were as big as the moon when she looked at her.

“Athena,” Medusa said, her tone both calm and commanding at the same time. “Breathe. It’s alright. Nothing is going to happen.”

“But--”

“Nothing,” Medusa cut her off, “is going to happen. Just breathe, darling. It’ll be alright.”

Medusa couldn’t believe it: the goddess of war and wisdom herself actually listened to her. Athena gave her a tiny nod and then shut her eyes, taking several deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth.

“Good,” Medusa purred, wrapping her tail around Athena. “I’ve handled myself well enough over the centuries, have I not?”

Another small nod.

“Now, tell me, dear Athena: who is this man?”

Athena finally opened her eyes, and Medusa could see that several of her walls had been let down. She could feel it, too; against the scales along her tail, Athena’s muscles were loosening their vice on her bones and her posture was slouching ever so slightly into Medusa’s grip.

“His name is Perseus,” Athena said. “He’s one of my many, many brothers, but this is the first time we’ve met.”

“Your father sure does know how to get around,” Medusa commented.

Athena snorted. Medusa loved it when she would laugh. “Tell me about it. But Perseus came to me asking for aid, something about your head being a gift for a king. I didn’t listen very much. I sent him away as quickly as possible.”

“And you were worried about me,” Medusa cooed, brushing back some of Athena’s hair. It was like silk against her fingertips.

“Yes, I was,” Athena said. “I do not want anything to happen to you.”

“You underestimate me, dear Athena,” Medusa said, leaning in. “I’m stronger than you think, and-- may I kiss you?”

With her jaw hanging open slightly, Athena nodded.

Medusa smiled, closed her mouth for her, and then pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. She craved the warmth Athena’s body held.

“As I was saying,” Medusa went on. “Nothing will happen. Everything is okay. You can relax now, my darling.”

Athena opened her mouth, most likely to object, but then closed it and nodded silently. Medusa kissed her again.

“I do, however, find your worry both adorable and incredibly attractive,” Medusa said, making Athena red. “Sit with me.”

They both sat on the edge of the cliff, looking out at the ocean. Medusa still had her tail loosely wound around Athena, but Athena didn’t seem to mind. She wasn’t making any effort to get her off.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Athena whispered at one point.

Medusa looked at her endearingly. “You won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

Athena nodded slightly.

“You were right,” Medusa said, gazing at the water. “The ocean is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you,” Athena mused.

Medusa laughed. “Bold, are we?” she grinned. “First my heart, now my words? What’s next, my dear Athena?”

Athena was smiling, now. “Your favorite citrus tree? I have yet to decide.”

Medusa laughed some more. It was moments like this that really made her think about what her life had become. So much had changed in a span of only twelve years, and though it moved fast, she enjoyed every minute of it. She held those memories like stars, and they seemed to be laid out before her in the glittering night sky as she sat there on that cliff, Athena by her side, thinking.

[strange-lace]

Meltdown (Rewrite)

I suddenly decided to do a rewrite of an old story I did for my Monkie Kid OC here since then, she’s gone through quite a bit of changes and I found myself not happy with that story anymore.

Content warning for body horror (it’s kind of the main premise of this fic with Nagi’s shapeshifting powers going wrong). Enjoy!

Nagi had long since became aware that while her shapeshifting was very versatile, it had made her body unstable as a consequence. There was a limit to how much she could shapeshift in a day, how many transformations her body could handle before things got… messy. Both physically and mentally.

She had made a list of symptoms that she could keep an eye out for a long time ago, when it was still new to her. The list had long since been lost during her countless travels but the words were practically etched into her very brain.

Yet the demon seemed to have forgotten the list in most dire of times.

Her new family seeing her meltdowns for the first time.

It was the aftermath of another battle with the Demon Bull King’s forces where Nagi admits, she had already been pushing herself with multiple changes in her form. Shifting into a Bull Clone, numerous animals, Red Son, even a shadow on the wall on one point, all for the purpose of causing confusion for the enemy and allowing openings for MK and Mei to do their thing: causing complete chaos. She wanted to prove herself useful to the team while still remaining a hidden element, an ace up their sleeve if need be.

She was feeling strained after it all but in a pleasant way, like the ache in your muscles after a workout. Exhausted but nothing that she couldn’t handle after some rest or another shot espresso in her system. And the sight of her friends, her family, all gathered together in celebration made her feel a warmth in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a while. Not since…

It wasn’t important now. What was important was teasing her little brother figure for trying too hard to be cool.

“’It’s a beach man, why don’t you take a swim and cool off!’” Nagi mimicked, seamlessly shifting to the form of MK just for emphasis. “You had been waiting to use that one ever since you met Red Son, haven’t you?”

She let out a giggle in her own voice at the sputtering received in response before it devolved into a slight cough, a sudden tickle in the back of her throat. A tickle which soon developed into a full-on coughing fit that left her struggling to speak and had the others looking at her in concern. Now Nagi was the one with an embarrassed flush to her cheeks, gratefully taking the water bottle offered to her by Sandy.

“Looks like I got a little sand down my throat, no big deal!” She said, doing her best to give a reassuring smile while ignoring the strange feeling of… something in her throat.

Symptom #1: Sudden coughing fit followed by the sensation of something building up in the lungs.

Yet even with the water, the constant need to cough just wouldn’t go away. Pigsy and Tang were starting to go from mildly to extremely concerned, especially when the flush on Nagi’s face ceased to go away as they left the artificial beach and back to the shipyard. Not helping was the fact that Nagi was suddenly feeling very warm, to the point that Tang had yelped in shock when he felt her forehead to test her temperature.

If Nagi had sweat glands, she was sure she’d be sweating bullets despite it being a relatively cool day.

Symptom #2: Extreme fever, to the point of body feeling like it’s on fire.

“Nagi, maybe we should have you see a doctor,” Tang said, genuinely starting to fret at the snake demon’s state. Nagi was quick to shake her head at the idea, knocking off the cloth on her forehead that had been soaked in ice water to help with the fever. Going to a doctor was absolutely out of the question for her because, practically speaking, what could they do from someone like her? Human doctors were used to patients with non-regenerating skin, a sturdy skeleton, and ones with typical organs.

None of those things which Nagi possessed.

A part of her was more afraid of just what would be found if anybody had examined her.

“Don’t be ridiculous Tang, it’s just a slight fever! I’m sure I’ll be fine after some rest,” She wheezed, struggling to breathe as the sensation of something in her throat had become thick, cloying and making it difficult for any air to reach her lungs.

Sparks of panic began to bloom in her heart once things started to get fuzzy and blur, as if she was about to pass out. Yet Nagi remained wakeful and suddenly it hit her.

Symptom #3: Sight begins to blur as eyes become unstable.

Her list, how could have forgotten her list.

Shit, it was a meltdown.

She had to leave immediately.

“I just… realized that I have… something to attend to at home. Excuse me,” Nagi said while clumsily attempting to climb off Sandy’s sofa, managing to weave her way past MK, Mei, Tang, and Pigsy before being stopped by the brick wall that was Sandy. She could only wheeze as the room began to spin around her, droplets of something running down her face.

Oh no. That wasn’t sweat.

“Whatever it is, we can take care of it. You should probably just focus on resting Nagi,” Sandy said, placing a hand on her shoulder to reassure her that everything would be fine.

Only for his hand to slowly sink into her shoulder with a nauseating squish sound. And when he pulled away in shock, some of it stuck to his hand to form a goop bridge between the two which drooped lazily before falling to the ground. Nagi could only numbly watch, her hair beginning to droop from MK’s gravity defying spikes before another coughing fit suddenly hit. These were strong enough to force the demon to her knees, hands over her mouth as her lungs convulsed to get whatever was depriving her of air out.

She felt faint relief as she finally hacked up whatever it was clogging her throat.

Only to pull her hands away to see them now stained with a red goop which seemed to fuse with her rapidly softening hands.

Nagi only faintly heard the screams of horror surround her.

Symptom #4: Body begins to destabilize.

“Ah shit…” She mumbled, faintly noting the strings of goop that were trying to glue her lips together. Stumbling to her feet, guilt gnawed at her chest at the sight of the others no longer screaming but the room was still in absolute chaos. MK and Mei were raiding Sandy’s freezer out of hopes that ice could somehow stop her melting, oh right she was indeed melting, while Pigsy did his best to help Tang from getting sick on the living room floor. Sandy was still staring at the slimy remnants of Nagi’s shoulder on his hand, face frozen in shock.

“Sorry Sa-” Her words were cut off with a choke as the world suddenly shifted by only a couple inches, yet Nagi could feel that something had changed. The sensation of a tail sluggishly moving behind her and her ears being much larger gave her a good idea of who she had suddenly shifted to. Or maybe not, as she looked down to see her newfound fur was both peach and black in the pattern of shifting stripes. Her clothes were an unfamiliar mishmash of orange and dark fabrics that were struggling to not fall apart at the seams.

It only hit Nagi that she had hit the next symptom when her tail began to split into two and only seemed to worsen when she tried to reel it in. Her control was slipping through fingers like sand and she was nothing more than a prisoner to the whims of her unstable biology.

Symptom #5: Uncontrollable shifting, often resulting in traits mixing together to a painful degree.

She could only let out a mournful gurgle, regretful at the mess she was making on Sandy’s floor as fat droplets of her being dripped down like candle wax. Said man’s face suddenly lit up, as if hit with a brilliant idea, and Nagi let out a startled wheeze as she was suddenly picked up and gathered into Sandy’s arms. The man visibly struggled for a moment, genuinely surprised at how much she weighed yet persevering. She did her best to not look at the globs of… herself which fell off in clumps that splattered across the hardwood floors and carpet.

Quickly moving to his bathroom, Sandy carefully placed the demon in his large bathtub while making sure to plug the drain. Last thing he wanted was any piece of Nagi going down his drain. She allowed herself to be positioned in the tub, limbs limp and boneless though not out of choice as pain wracked through her body relentlessly. A whimper broke through her waxy lips as large, bull-like horns ripped through the sides of her head, metal material now circling her eyes.

“What’s happening to you Nagi? Is there anything we can to help?” Sandy asked, hearing the others entire the bathroom behind him as they looked upon the bathtub with concern.

“Meltdown… happens when I… use my powers too much,” Nagi wheezed, speaking a struggle as it become more and more difficult to keep her lips separate, the melted strands of her self getting closer to gluing them together. “Can’t do much… except wait it out. Burning up.” She sagged in relief at finally finishing her words, leaning her head against the rim of the tub. Her entire body was on fire, so much so that it was no wonder that she was practically melting.

The loss of sensation in her legs made her look down, only to see her legs begin to melt together into a mockery of a snake tail. Her fangs elongated, poking past her lips, and scales popping out in random patches from her fur, fire hot itchy pain that she had long since grown numb to.

Nagi let out a mix of a croak and squawk in surprise when MK and Mei barged in to start dumping buckets of ice into the bathtub. She could only jolt and squirm helplessly as the cold assaulted her senses, whimpering as she struggled to get out of the tub and away from the cold. Thankfully, Sandy was quick to pull her out of the bath and away from the ice, cradling her against his chest with no mind to her sticking to his hands.

“Kids, you’re not supposed to stick someone with a fever straight into an ice bath, we can’t risk putting Nagi into shock! We gotta start with lukewarm water and work our way from there, C’mon, get this ice out of the bath so we can use it for later.” MK and Mei were quick to follow Sandy’s lead, guilt heavy on their shoulders that they could have hurt Nagi by accident.

Once the tub was clear, Sandy carefully placed the snake demon back in and turned on the faucet. Nagi relaxed as the lukewarm poured over her melty tail, sagging in relief and letting go of the illusion that she had any bones. The mild temperature was a welcome relief to her fever, a sigh leaving her lips.

“There we go, that’s better!” Sandy chirped, patting Nagi on the head before going still again as more goop stuck to his hand. At this point, the previous slime-like residue had dried and caked on his hands, which he was doing his best to ignore until Nagi wasn’t on the knife’s edge of overheating.

“T-Thaaannk yo-” Nagi choked, feeling something almost pop in her chest and in a snap, Sandy’s tub was on the verge of overflowing. He hurriedly cut off the tap, just as surprised to see that a tub that almost looked comically large for Nagi’s small frame could now barely hold her in, the tip of her tail trailing to the bathroom floor. She could only let out a wheeze that was questioning the universe as to why she must suffer this constant discomfort and torment.

“Well that’s… new. You alright there Nagi?” Mo echoed his concerned sentiments, giving a curious meow by the door of the bathroom.

“Juuuuuuussst fiiiiinnnnne,” she said, her words slurring but not wanting to worry Sandy more. Nagi wiggled about to try and get comfortable while he slowly began to add more water to the bath of colder and colder temperature. As the water’s temperature began to drop, the snake demon’s shivering only got worse but Sandy noticed that the rate of her “melting” was slowing down too. He took that as a good sign if anything.

They continued this for hours with Sandy eventually switching places with Tang and Pigsy once the two noticed he looked exhausted.

“Ti… tiiiiirrrrred,” Nagi hissed quietly, struggling to keep her eyes open now that she didn’t feel on the border of falling apart anymore. Her mind and ability to speak was still as coherent as syrup but all the internal alarms were quiet now and she didn’t feel like she was approaching death’s door. “Wanna sleep…”

“I know you wanna kid, just try and eat some of this broth, okay? You need to eat something after all this,” Pigsy said, his tone soft as he held the bowl of warm broth to her lips. She whined but complied, taking cautious sips to put something in her stomach. Turns out being in agony for hours worked up an appetite as Nagi found herself close to devouring the bowl itself once it hit her how hungry she was now.

Thankfully Pigsy was able to pull away fast enough that he didn’t lose his hands by accident.

“Hey don’t eat Pigsy’s hands, he needs those! Take it slow, last thing we need you upsetting your stomach,” Tang joked, less unnerved at the sight of Nagi’s unhinging her jaw with the Monkey King’s face since everything she could do and would do in future paled in comparison to what he witnessed today. In a way, seeing her so vulnerable made her slightly less terrifying to the man.

Just a bit.

Nagi, nonetheless, did what she was told and slowly finished the broth. With her belly not eating itself in hunger and instead filled with warm broth, she couldn’t help the purr which rumbled in her chest. Eyes sluggishly began to close and this time, she didn’t bother fighting the pull of sleep and instead welcomed it. Sleep was always gentler with her compared to the abrupt darkness that was passing out from the agony of a meltdown.

Tang and Pigsy couldn’t help the sighs of relief once they saw that Nagi was finally asleep.

“So… we gonna talk about what happened or…”

“For now, let’s just help Sandy… clean the place up. We can talk about everything when Nagi wakes up. However long that takes.”

Tang let out another sigh before taking off his glasses to clean them. A nervous tic of his.

He could work with that. They could all work with that.

For now.

[chelsfic]

Leftovers - Part 11 - Nandor the Relentless x Reader Fanfic

For Previous Parts: WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Guillermo shows off some of his cool, new vampire powers and the reader tags along on a hunt. What could go wrong?

A/N: DON’T @ ME ABOUT THE PATRIOTS DIG! I’m from New England! It’s finnnnneee. Also, previously I said this might be the final chapter. It’s not. There’s one more to come after this.

Warnings: Peril!, Blood drinking

---

“So...what’s it like!?”

You’re sprawled across your bed watching Guillermo stand in front of the full-length mirror amusing himself by picking up various knickknacks from your bureau and making them float in the reflection. He’s dressed as he usually is: a pair of khaki slacks, a button down shirt and a thick, striped sweater on top. The one adjustment he’s made to his wardrobe is the addition of a black leather duster that’s currently folded at the foot of your bed. Very Spike.

He turns to you with a wide grin, his newly minted fangs on full display.

“It’s...wonderful!” he gushes, coming to sit by you on the bed. “I can fly! I can turn into a bat! And did I tell you I worked out my special vampire power!?”

“Guillermo! Show me!” You sit up, bouncing the mattress excitedly.

“Okay, okay!” He glances around your room for a second, his eyes darting from your cluttered bureau to your overflowing closet to the floor that’s littered with laundry. He raises his hands and does a little flourish. Suddenly your discarded clothes are floating through the air, folding and neatly stacking themselves, the objects on your bureau are rearranging and tidying themselves and your closet is swallowing up the overflowing clutter. 

“Oh...my...g--” you stop yourself just in time and throw him an apologetic look. “--gosh! Your secret weapon is housekeeping!?”

Guillermo gives you a deadpan look as he corrects, “Telekinesis!”

“That’s...so...awesome! Guillermo! You’re like Matilda!” 

If he could, Guillermo would be blushing under your praise. As it is he’s smiling wide enough to dimple his cheeks. 

“Guillermo!” Nandor’s voice booms through the house. “Are you ready to come hunting with us?”

---

Nandor grumbles about taking you along hunting. But when you hint that you don’t want to be left alone with just Colin Robinson for company--and Nandor spots Colin sneakily setting up his Scrabble board--he...relents. He’s been doing a lot of that lately and he’s secretly very worried about word getting round the vampire community. So, he pretends that it is his idea.

“Yes, we should take the human with us. For cammy flogs,” he nods knowingly into the camera.

“Cam...camouflage, master?” Guillermo suggests, his eyes narrowed in confusion. 

“As I said, Guillermo!” Nandor snaps, irritably. “Let us away to sate our dark appetites!”

With you tagging along the vampires are forced to walk to the park and there’s a good deal of complaining going on even from your steadfast booster, Nadja. 

“Sorry, guys,” you honestly do feel a little bad, especially since you can tell Guillermo is itching to stretch his wings, so to speak. “But, hey! Maybe you’ll run into someone on the way who looks good to eat?”

Nadja sniffs petulantly, “Now that we are forced to acquire our own meals every evening because Guillermo has shirked his duties!”

Even Nadja’s entitled griping can’t drag down Guillermo’s ecstatic mood. He’s almost floating with happiness--no, he’s actually floating, you note that his feet are several inches off the ground.

“I’m not a familiar anymore, Nadja!” Guillermo explains for the umpteenth time. “You guys are lucky I’m still doing so much of the cleaning with my special vampire power.”

Nandor stalks beside you, his long cape billowing out dramatically in his wake. He bares his fangs and interrupts, “Well...let’s not be too hasty, Guillermo. You’re still kind of my familiar...my servant...my...cool...vampiric...underling…”

He trails off as you dart a warning glance in his direction.

“What!?” he whines, shrugging his broad shoulders with a nervous grin. “Someone needs to do the dusting and help me with my hair!”

“Don’t worry, master,” Guillermo sighs, not without affection. “I’ll still take care of you. We’re a family now!”

You feel like your heart might burst and you clutch your hands together and gush over how sweet that is, even as your boyfriend hisses and grimaces in distaste. 

“Guillermo!” you skip over to him, tugging on the long leather coat and making grabby hands. “Piggy back ride!”

He nods with a laugh. You jump up onto his back, squealing in delight as he glides above the concrete. 

“Don’t go too high!” you whisper into his ear, fisting your hands into the leather of his jacket. 

“Hey, be careful there!” Nandor grouses. “Guillermo, control your baby vampire bloodlust! If you eat my girlfriend I’m going to be really annoyed!”

You roll your eyes but send a smile in Nandor’s direction all the same. As Guillermo would say, he has a funny way of showing he cares.

Guillermo’s still effortlessly lugging you around when you enter the darkened paths of the park. There are a few late night joggers about, some homeless people and couples walking arm in arm. Your group splits up, so as to attract less attention. Nadja and Laszlo go off together and Nandor sticks with you and his new fledgling. 

“Help me pick someone out who looks kind of...villainous…” Guillermo says to you over his shoulder. He’s still coming to terms with taking human life.

“Sure,” you chirp, scanning the park for a likely victim. This is part of the reason why you wanted to tag along tonight. Not just to see your newly vamped friend in action. But...to see if you can deal. “How ‘bout that guy? He’s wearing a Patriots jersey. He must be at least a little evil…”

Guillermo snorts, but his eyes track the fellow with a hungry gleam.

“His face is...really red,” he mutters under his breath, baring his fangs and practically drooling with blood lust.

“Human,” Nandor says, coming up behind you and lifting you off Guillermo’s back. “Time to get away from the hungry vampire now.”

He sets you down in front of him, wrapping his arms around you and shielding you from the chilly night air with his cape. You both watch as Guillermo transforms into a bat, gliding soundlessly over to the man and then taking his human form right behind him. He drags him behind a nearby bush. The whole thing takes seconds and they’re almost entirely obscured from view except for the man’s kicking legs. 

“Wow…” you whisper, suddenly feeling very frail and very human. “That was...so quick!”

Nandor tightens his arms around you and leans down to whisper in your ear, “Soon, my little human. Soon you will conquer the nights with us! In the blinks of the eye it will be your turn…”

He drifts off and you crane your neck around to see that his eyes are trained on the shuddering bush, his mouth open in hunger as he subconsciously reaches out. 

“Nandor… It’s okay if you want to go take a bite. I’ll be fine,” you offer, edging out of his arms. 

“Just a quick…” he mutters and then he’s flying forward faster than you track with your human eyes.

You creep closer to the bush, not willing to stand out in the open like a baby gazelle in a park that is apparently a vampire hunting ground. Guillermo and Nandor are hunched over on either side of their victim. The sound effects they’re making as they tear into the man’s throat are not...all together without their charm. Sure, the squelching, liquid suction of their feasting is kind of gross, but Nandor’s deep, feral growls stir something inside of you. You find yourself fantasizing about kissing those bloodstained lips…

“Hey, boo. Long time, no munch.”

The familiar voice comes out of nowhere. Faster than you can react--faster, even, than Nandor and Guillermo can pull away from their meal--you’re grabbed from behind and suddenly launched into the air, soaring into the night sky over the park. 

“What the shit!” Nandor shouts from below.

At first you flail your limbs out madly, shrieking and clawing at the hands on your shoulders. But when you finally catch a glimpse at the retreating ground below you, and realize how high up you are, your body goes slack. You desperately clutch the wrists of the vampire holding you and slam your eyes shut against the dizzying sight of your legs dangling, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground.

“She said she wanted to join the club--mile high! I said, that’s easy girl, I can fly! One quick thing, though, ur gonna die…”

The vampire twists you around until you’re front to front, but you keep your eyes stubbornly shut. Tears leak out as you whisper, “Don’t drop me, don’t drop me, don’t drop me…”

“Count fucking Rapula!” Nandor’s voice suddenly tears through the sky and you dare to open your eyes, craning your neck around to see him with Guillermo, Laszlo and Nadja all floating in mid-air behind you. 

Rapula--you guess that’s his name?--shifts your body around casually like you’re nothing more than a bag of potatoes. Now he’s holding you under only one arm so he can point dramatically at your vampires.You let out a whimper and cover your face with your hands to block out the view of the ground beneath you.

“Nandy? The...Remorseful? Is that it?”

Nandor growls and lunges forward but Laszlo puts out his forearm to keep him back.

“Careful there, old chap. He’s the only thing standing between our roller warrior and the ground below!” Laszlo turns to Rapula, “Now, I say, unhand our human thrall, Count Rapuleeeehh!”

There’s a beat of silence during which you hear nothing but the sound of the wind whipping around you. Rapula’s arm on you tenses momentarily as he answers, “Whatever you want, old-timer…”

And then you’re falling. 

And screaming.

And falling some more.

Until suddenly you’re not falling anymore. But instead of the solid, final impact you expect, you find yourself landing in a pair of outstretched arms. Nandor cradles you to his chest, his grip on you is borderline painful but you’re not about to ask him to loosen it. You snake your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder and holding on like your life depends on it. Because, well...it does.

He says your name, softly at first and then more insistently, “Okay! Okay! You can stop shouting now! I’ve got you.”

You didn’t even realize you were shouting until his words break through and you snap your mouth closed, subsiding into tiny whimpers as he floats back up to join the other vampires. 

“WE’RE GOING TO RIP OFF YOUR DANGLY BITS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR ASSHOLE!”

You’ve never felt more appreciative of Nadja’s hyper aggression. Guillermo and Laszlo are restraining Rapula between them and Nadja hovers before them, clawing her nails down the leech’s face as she unleashes her unholy diatribe.

Rapula’s bravado has melted away and he’s begging in a soprano squeak, “I didn’t know she was under anybody’s protection! You shoulda put a label on her or somethin--”

Laszlo turns to Nandor with raised brows, “That is true, Nandor. You were meant to write your name and the date on her with the marker pens. We might have avoided a lot of bullshit if you’d followed your own rules for once.”

“Shut up, Laszlo!” Nandor, Nadja and Guillermo all cry out at once.

“Master, why don’t you take Smash home? We’ve got this situation in hand,” Guillermo suggests, he pats his leather duster and you spot the end of a sharp wooden stake sticking out of his pocket. Seems like a bit of a hazard for a vampire to be walking around with one of those…

Nandor scoffs, “No! I will be the one to do the avenging. Guillermo, fly home and fetch my head-ripping gloves!”

The other three vampires look skeptical and you peek up at Nandor with a pleading look.

“Please, Nandor. I just want to go back to the house. And the ground, back to the ground, please.”

Nandor looks from you to the group with an obvious frown. Finally, he sighs dramatically.

“Very well, human! Yeesh, you’re really ruining my reputation over here,” he complains but there’s no heat in the words. He turns back to the other vampires. “After everything that happened with the Council. I think it’s probably best if we refrain from killing him. Simply dismembering him and scattering the parts in the ocean will be sufficient, alright? I’ll see you all at home.”

With that matter-of-fact proclamation, Nandor tightens his arms around you and soars away, gradually descending into the park until he touches down smoothly into the grass. 

“We’re on the ground, my human,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Do you want to walk or you want to do the pig ride like you did with Guillermo?”

You huff a laugh and look up at him with a coy smile, “You’d really give me a piggyback ride? Even if it made you look silly?”

Nandor glances around at the empty park as if he expects a panel of judges on vampiric coolness to pop out from behind a tree. He looks back at you with an abashed grin. 

“I will do it. Although I never look silly. Now come on.”

He slings you onto his back and rises onto his toes until he’s gliding just above the ground.

“Wee!” you squeal, throttling his neck in your excitement. It’s...exhilarating to feel so safe and happy after nearly dying--again.

Nandor glides the whole way home, casually hypnotizing passersby so that they ignore the odd, floating man and the cackling girl straddling his back. When you finally make it back to the house he pauses at the door, depositing you onto your feet and looking down at you with a hesitant expression.

“My human,” he begins, drawing out the last syllable as he searches for words. “I know that you wanted to wait a while before your unholy transition. But I was thinking...maybe we better get it over with before you...accidentally get eaten or dropped from the sky or something.”

You snort at his wording before your face turns more serious and you admit, “You...might be right.”

“Is that a yes?” Nandor asks with a hopeful sparkle in his dark eyes.

You look up at him and for a moment your head spins as you contemplate how far you’ve come. You went from victim to thrall to roommate to lover to...well, what exactly will this mean for you two?

“Nandor...Nadja turned Laszlo into a vampire and now they’re married. Does that mean this is, like, a proposal?”

Nandor’s face blanches in surprise and his eyes go shifty as he answers, “A proposal to eat up all your yummy yummy blood and replace it with some of my own thereby turning you into an immortal vampire, yes.”

You shimmy back and forth on your feet playfully as you prod him further, “And then…? What comes next after that?”

“And then…” Nandor echoes, “we will see.”

You laugh at your goofy vampire and walk ahead of him into the house. 

“Alright...you make a good point. So...tomorrow night?”

Nandor’s mouth splits into a wide, vicious grin as he answers, “Tomorrow night.”

---

A/N: There’s one more chapter to come! I thought this was going to be the final one but--the demons demanded otherwise!

Tags:

@festering-queen​ @kandomeresbitch​ @strangestdiary​ @glitterportrait​ @scuzmunkie​ @redwoodshadows​ @sarasxe​ @rileyomalley​

[softrobotcritics]

HG Wells soft Martian robots from “The War of the Worlds” (1897)

The cylinder was already opened in the centre of the pit, and on the

farther edge of the pit, amid the smashed and gravel-heaped shrubbery,

one of the great fighting-machines, deserted by its occupant, stood

stiff and tall against the evening sky. At first I scarcely noticed the

pit and the cylinder, although it has been convenient to describe them

first, on account of the extraordinary glittering mechanism I saw busy

in the excavation, and on account of the strange creatures that were

crawling slowly and painfully across the heaped mould near it.

The mechanism it certainly was that held my attention first. It was one

of those complicated fabrics that have since been called

handling-machines, and the study of which has already given such an

enormous impetus to terrestrial invention. As it dawned upon me first,

it presented a sort of metallic spider with five jointed, agile legs,

and with an extraordinary number of jointed levers, bars, and reaching

and clutching tentacles about its body. Most of its arms were

retracted, but with three long tentacles it was fishing out a number of

rods, plates, and bars which lined the covering and apparently

strengthened the walls of the cylinder. These, as it extracted them,

were lifted out and deposited upon a level surface of earth behind it.

Its motion was so swift, complex, and perfect that at first I did not

see it as a machine, in spite of its metallic glitter. The

fighting-machines were coordinated and animated to an extraordinary

pitch, but nothing to compare with this. 

People who have never seen

these structures, and have only the ill-imagined efforts of artists or

the imperfect descriptions of such eye-witnesses as myself to go upon,

scarcely realise that living quality.

At first, I say, the handling-machine did not impress me as a machine,

but as a crablike creature with a glittering integument, the

controlling Martian whose delicate tentacles actuated its movements

seeming to be simply the equivalent of the crab’s cerebral portion. But

then I perceived the resemblance of its grey-brown, shiny, leathery

integument to that of the other sprawling bodies beyond, and the true

nature of this dexterous workman dawned upon me. With that realisation

my interest shifted to those other creatures, the real Martians.

The Martians wore no clothing. Their conceptions of ornament and

decorum were necessarily different from ours; and not only were they

evidently much less sensible of changes of temperature than we are, but

changes of pressure do not seem to have affected their health at all

seriously. Yet though they wore no clothing, it was in the other

artificial additions to their bodily resources that their great

superiority over man lay.   (((The soft robots or “handling machines” are a kind of Martian powered exoskeleton, a plug-and-play suit for the Martians, who are mostly brains.)))

We men, with our bicycles and road-skates,

our Lilienthal soaring-machines, our guns and sticks and so forth, are

just in the beginning of the evolution that the Martians have worked

out. They have become practically mere brains, wearing different bodies

according to their needs just as men wear suits of clothes and take a

bicycle in a hurry or an umbrella in the wet. 

And of their appliances,

perhaps nothing is more wonderful to a man than the curious fact that

what is the dominant feature of almost all human devices in mechanism

is absent—the _wheel_ is absent; among all the things they brought to

earth there is no trace or suggestion of their use of wheels. One would

have at least expected it in locomotion. And in this connection it is

curious to remark that even on this earth Nature has never hit upon the

wheel, or has preferred other expedients to its development. And not

only did the Martians either not know of (which is incredible), or

abstain from, the wheel, but in their apparatus singularly little use

is made of the fixed pivot or relatively fixed pivot, with circular

motions thereabout confined to one plane. Almost all the joints of the

machinery present a complicated system of sliding parts moving over

small but beautifully curved friction bearings. And while upon this

matter of detail, it is remarkable that the long leverages of their

machines are in most cases actuated by a sort of sham musculature of

the disks in an elastic sheath; these disks become polarised and drawn

closely and powerfully together when traversed by a current of

electricity. In this way the curious parallelism to animal motions,

which was so striking and disturbing to the human beholder, was

attained. 

Such quasi-muscles abounded in the crablike handling-machine

which, on my first peeping out of the slit, I watched unpacking the

cylinder. It seemed infinitely more alive than the actual Martians

lying beyond it in the sunset light, panting, stirring ineffectual

tentacles, and moving feebly after their vast journey across space.

After a long time I ventured back to the

peephole, to find that the new-comers had been reinforced by the

occupants of no fewer than three of the fighting-machines. These last

had brought with them certain fresh appliances that stood in an orderly

manner about the cylinder. The second handling-machine was now

completed, and was busied in serving one of the novel contrivances the

big machine had brought. This was a body resembling a milk can in its

general form, above which oscillated a pear-shaped receptacle, and from

which a stream of white powder flowed into a circular basin below.

The oscillatory motion was imparted to this by one tentacle of the

handling-machine. With two spatulate hands the handling-machine was

digging out and flinging masses of clay into the pear-shaped receptacle

above, while with another arm it periodically opened a door and removed

rusty and blackened clinkers from the middle part of the machine.

Another steely tentacle directed the powder from the basin along a

ribbed channel towards some receiver that was hidden from me by the

mound of bluish dust. From this unseen receiver a little thread of

green smoke rose vertically into the quiet air. As I looked, the

handling-machine, with a faint and musical clinking, extended,

telescopic fashion, a tentacle that had been a moment before a mere

blunt projection, until its end was hidden behind the mound of clay. In

another second it had lifted a bar of white aluminium into sight,

untarnished as yet, and shining dazzlingly, and deposited it in a

growing stack of bars that stood at the side of the pit. Between sunset

and starlight this dexterous machine must have made more than a hundred

such bars out of the crude clay, and the mound of bluish dust rose

steadily until it topped the side of the pit.

The contrast between the swift and complex movements of these

contrivances and the inert panting clumsiness of their masters was

acute, and for days I had to tell myself repeatedly that these latter

were indeed the living of the two things.

Suddenly I heard a noise without, the run and smash of slipping

plaster, and the triangular aperture in the wall was darkened. I looked

up and saw the lower surface of a handling-machine coming slowly across

the hole. One of its gripping limbs curled amid the debris; another

limb appeared, feeling its way over the fallen beams. I stood

petrified, staring. Then I saw through a sort of glass plate near the

edge of the body the face, as we may call it, and the large dark eyes

of a Martian, peering, and then a long metallic snake of tentacle came

feeling slowly through the hole.

I turned by an effort, stumbled over the curate, and stopped at the

scullery door. The tentacle was now some way, two yards or more, in the

room, and twisting and turning, with queer sudden movements, this way

and that. For a while I stood fascinated by that slow, fitful advance.

Then, with a faint, hoarse cry, I forced myself across the scullery. I

trembled violently; I could scarcely stand upright. I opened the door

of the coal cellar, and stood there in the darkness staring at the

faintly lit doorway into the kitchen, and listening. Had the Martian

seen me? What was it doing now?

Something was moving to and fro there, very quietly; every now and then

it tapped against the wall, or started on its movements with a faint

metallic ringing, like the movements of keys on a split-ring. Then a

heavy body—I knew too well what—was dragged across the floor of the

kitchen towards the opening. Irresistibly attracted, I crept to the

door and peeped into the kitchen. In the triangle of bright outer

sunlight I saw the Martian, in its Briareus of a handling-machine,

scrutinizing the curate’s head. I thought at once that it would infer

my presence from the mark of the blow I had given him.

I crept back to the coal cellar, shut the door, and began to cover

myself up as much as I could, and as noiselessly as possible in the

darkness, among the firewood and coal therein. Every now and then I

paused, rigid, to hear if the Martian had thrust its tentacles through

the opening again.

Then the faint metallic jingle returned. I traced it slowly feeling

over the kitchen. Presently I heard it nearer—in the scullery, as I

judged. I thought that its length might be insufficient to reach me. I

prayed copiously. It passed, scraping faintly across the cellar door.

An age of almost intolerable suspense intervened; then I heard it

fumbling at the latch! It had found the door! The Martians understood

doors!

It worried at the catch for a minute, perhaps, and then the door

opened.

In the darkness I could just see the thing—like an elephant’s trunk

more than anything else—waving towards me and touching and examining

the wall, coals, wood and ceiling. It was like a black worm swaying its

blind head to and fro.

Once, even, it touched the heel of my boot. I was on the verge of

screaming; I bit my hand. For a time the tentacle was silent. I could

have fancied it had been withdrawn. Presently, with an abrupt click, it

gripped something—I thought it had me!—and seemed to go out of the

cellar again. For a minute I was not sure. Apparently it had taken a

lump of coal to examine.

I seized the opportunity of slightly shifting my position, which had

become cramped, and then listened. I whispered passionate prayers for

safety.

Then I heard the slow, deliberate sound creeping towards me again.

Slowly, slowly it drew near, scratching against the walls and tapping

the furniture.

While I was still doubtful, it rapped smartly against the cellar door

and closed it. I heard it go into the pantry, and the biscuit-tins

rattled and a bottle smashed, and then came a heavy bump against the

cellar door. Then silence that passed into an infinity of suspense.

Had it gone?

At last I decided that it had.

(...)

I came upon the wrecked handling-machine halfway to St. John’s Wood

station. At first I thought a house had fallen across the road. It was

only as I clambered among the ruins that I saw, with a start, this

mechanical Samson lying, with its tentacles bent and smashed and

twisted, among the ruins it had made. The forepart was shattered. It

seemed as if it had driven blindly straight at the house, and had been

overwhelmed in its overthrow. It seemed to me then that this might have

happened by a handling-machine escaping from the guidance of its

Martian. I could not clamber among the ruins to see it, and the

twilight was now so far advanced that the blood with which its seat was

smeared, and the gnawed gristle of the Martian that the dogs had left,

were invisible to me.

I stood staring into the pit, and my heart lightened gloriously, even

as the rising sun struck the world to fire about me with his rays. The

pit was still in darkness; the mighty engines, so great and wonderful

in their power and complexity, so unearthly in their tortuous forms,

rose weird and vague and strange out of the shadows towards the light.

A multitude of dogs, I could hear, fought over the bodies that lay

darkly in the depth of the pit, far below me. 

Across the pit on its

farther lip, flat and vast and strange, lay the great flying-machine

with which they had been experimenting upon our denser atmosphere when

decay and death arrested them. Death had come not a day too soon. At

the sound of a cawing overhead I looked up at the huge fighting-machine

that would fight no more for ever, at the tattered red shreds of flesh

that dripped down upon the overturned seats on the summit of Primrose

Hill....

[nutellamilkshake]

A SPORTS BLOG: Women's Rhythmic Gymnastics  Rio 2016

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MaxT2vguGXQ

Introduction

Rhythmic gymnastics is one of three disciplines in the sport of gymnastics. The others are artistic gymnastics and trampoline. Female athletes perform expressive and acrobatic moves with the aid of handheld apparatus — a hoop, ball, pair of clubs and ribbon.

Court Dimension

2016 Rio Women’s Rhythmic Gymnastics was held at the Arena Olímpica do Rio. For its court dimensions, the single case coverage area is 7m x 7m, and the duo, trio, and group performance area are 10m x 10m. However, normally, the competition area is 13 m x 13 m (approx. 42.5ft. square). A black delimitation strip surrounds the competition field. The boundary is horizontal, still, and equal in height to the output area. It has a surface area of 100cm. The safety zone is also 100cm in length.

Equipment

Costume

Gymnasts usually use leotards or singlets. Leotards can be short-sleeved or long-sleeved and cut at the groin area much like a bikini so that there will be no hindrance to an athlete’s flexibility or movement.

Hairnet

This is used to make the athlete look neat and to prevent from the hair to tangle.

Toe shoes

Toe shoes are specially designed professional shoes for rhythmic gymnastics. They cover toes while the heels remain open. Silicone elastic band fixes the toe of the shoes around the heel.

Hoop

Hoops are used in conjunction with various gymnastics movements like splits and handstands to increase difficulty. They are made out of either wood or plastic material. It weighs 300 grams and has an interior diameter of 80 to 90 inches.

Ball

The ball is made of rubber or synthetic has a diameter of 18 to 20 centimeters, and its minimum weight is 4000 grams. The balls are made of rubber or synthetic plastic material. They are often utilized by the gymnasts in their routines to showcase their balance and flow. 

Clubs

They are built by wrapping a thin layer of plastic or a similar material around an insulated thin rod. They usually weigh 150 grams each and have a length of 15.6 to 19.5 inches and have a diameter of 3 centimeters max for the head of the club. In competitions, they are juggled, thrown, tossed, or rolled to and from a variety of body parts – hands, feet, legs, back, etc. They’re made of either wood or synthetic material.

Ribbon

Ribbons are made of cloth or similar fabric. They usually are measured to be 4 to 6 meters in length – whilst the attached stick to the ribbon is usually 1 meter long. They are comprised of snakes, spirals, swings, circles, throws and catches, and figure-eight movements. In the end, the ribbon must remain constantly in motion whilst doing routines. Usually, ribbons weigh 35 grams.

Basic Skills

Beginner Rhythmic

Correct Body Position. This is absolutely critical to progress in rhythmic gymnastics. All body and equipment skills require the gymnast to use the correct body position for safe completion.

Arm Positions. Proper carriage of the arms is also critical for rhythmic gymnastics. For beginners, the arms may be held in either first or second position or with the hands on the hips.

Beginner Rope Technique

What to Use. Any type of rope which does not have handles may be sued for rhythmic gymnastics. The most suitable materials are hemp or a pliable synthetic fiber. Other materials may be too light or flimsy to hold a good shape during the swinging or circling movements. To find the appropriate length of rope for the student, have her stand in the middle of the rope and pull the ends up one each side of the body. The ends of the rope should be knotted and should reach approximately to the armpits. If you are cutting the rope to achieve the proper length, you may cover the ends with tape to avoid fraying.

Skill Groups. You will find the following 5 skill groups presented in this curriculum:

Swings     (1-handed, 2-handed)

Circles     (1-handed, 2-handed)

Forward     jumps/skips

Releases

Exchanges

Grip. Throughout the rope curriculum, proper grip of the rope should be stressed. The rope is held lightly with the thumb and index finger wrapped around the rope just below the knots. Gripping the rope too tightly will affect the pattern of the rope and cause the gymnast to perform skills out of the correct plane.

Notes:

When performing one-handed skills with the rope, the free arm should be placed on the hip or extended to the side at all times.

Avoid hitting or brushing the rope against the floor when performing rope skills.

Jumping rope is a terrific conditioning activity. Try placing your rope activity either and the beginning of class for a good aerobic warm-up or at the end of class for a strong conditioning exercise.

Beginner Hoop Technique

What to Use. Any ordinary plastic “hula hoop” can be modified to suit the rhythmic gymnastics class. A minimum weight of 300 grams can be achieved by wrapping the hoop with plastic or electrical tape. The “noisemakers” inside the hoop can easily be removed by removing the staples at the joint, pouring out the contents, and reassembling the hoop. Of course, official hoops for rhythmic gymnastics are available if you prefer. To find the appropriate size hoop, stand the hoop on end and measure the top of the hoop approximately to the hip bone.

Skill Groups. You will find the following 6 skill groups within this curriculum:

Swings

Circles

Exchanges

Rolls

Passing through the hoop

Spins

Notes:

When performing one-handed skills with the rope, the free arm should be placed on the hip or extended to the side at all times. Hoop offers much room for creativity because the range of movement is uniquely diverse. Everyone loves to do the “hula hoop”, but look for the excitement as your students discover the endless variety of skills which can be performed with the hoop.

Beginner Ball Technique

What to Use. Balls designed specifically for rhythmic gymnastics are inexpensive and come in many different sizes and colors. Ordering an assortment of balls from a rhythmic supplier is a great investment for your program. The smallest sizes available (approximately 16cm diameter) are perfect for small hands. Larger sizes should be used to fit growing hands. The largest regulation size is 20cm diameter. Balls larger than this should not be used. If you currently have other sport balls in your gym, these can be used. Make sure they are not too light (a 350-gram minimum is a good guideline) and that they are not too “bouncy.” To check for proper inflation, press on the ball with the heel of your hand. If the ball does not give with the pressure, deflate it slightly.

Skill groups. The following 6 skill groups are included in this curriculum:

Swings

Exchanges

Rolls (on the ground, on the body)

Bounces

Rotations

Tosses and Catches

Grip. Throughout the ball curriculum reference is made to “correct grip.” Mastering the correct grip is critical to learning proper ball technique. Below are the rules for holding the ball:

Ball rests on the palm of the hand

Fingers are relaxed, not squeezed together, and follow the shape of the ball

Ball is not gripped with the thumb or any other part of the hand

Ball does not rest against the wrist or the forearm

Notes:

Ball lends itself well to group activities because it is easily exchanged with a partner or in a group setting. Be creative with your class organization and try using different set-ups to encourage cooperation among your students.

Beginner Ribbon Technique

What to Use. Ribbons are the most recognized piece of rhythmic apparatus and usually the first thing your students will want to “play” with. Ribbons that are too long for the student, however, can quickly cause frustration when it constantly becomes knotted or wrapped around the struggling gymnast. Whether you make your own ribbons or buy them from your equipment supplier, be sure they are long enough to seethe patterns being created, yet short enough for your smallest participant to manipulate. Be sure to sew the end of the ribbons after they are cut to avoid fraying. To make your own ribbons, use a medium weight satin or satin/polyester blend ribbon approximately 5cm wide. The stick can be made from dowels or the ends of fishing rods 50-60cm long. Shorter sticks may be used for preschoolers. Ribbons should be attached with a fishing swivel to a ring of some type (i.e. eyelet screw) at the end of the stick.

Skill Groups. The following 4 skill groups are used in this curriculum:

Swings

Large Circles

Snakes

Exchanges

Grip. To show correct patterns with the ribbon, it is necessary to first master the correct grip of the ribbon stick. Below are the rules for holding the ribbon stick:

Stick is held between the thumb and middle finger

Index finger points down the stick, fourth and fifth fingers wrap lightly around the stick

End of the stick should be hidden in the palm of the hand

Notes:

The flowing movements of the ribbon can deceive observers into thinking that the ribbon is easy to manipulate. On the contrary, ribbon requires a good amount of arm strength to properly create the beautiful patters. Encourage your students to really “work” the ribbon so the whole length can be involved.

Technical and Tactical Skills of each team

Watching all throughout the game, most competitors had their own tactics on presenting their performance. They have done such beautiful movements especially with their mastery in using the props such as hoop, balls, clubs and ribbon. They have done wonderful jump, leaps, spins and hand rotations. Some participants made mistake, but it was not a hindrance for them to stop presenting, we are all humans and we all make mistakes, they just acted like nothing happened and continued the show with such graceful movements together with their aesthetic smiles. Through the different individuals, they mesmerized the audience and judges with their unique capabilities and performances. Thinking about the athletes while watching the video, I can really say that gymnastic is really a hard sport, it may seem easy for us to look but behind those successful presentations are numerous failures and tears they’ve been through in order to come up with such spectacular performance. 

Rules of the Game

Rhythmic gymnastics combines ballet, dance and acrobatics with expressive movement and manipulating apparatuses such as the ball, clubs, hoop, and ribbon.

This sport is ideal for developing flexibility, strength, as well as body coordination. It stems from various dance styles and exercise regimes that share the common idea of expressive movement as an exercise tool.

> Individual programme

During the individual programme, an athlete will manipulate only one of these five apparatuses at a time - rope, hoop, ball, clubs and ribbon. One apparatus is rotated out of contention every two years, with the gymnast required to compete on the remaining four events.

> Music and Choreography

All routines must be performed with music, with only short pauses of music allowed. The choreography must centre around a theme developed from beginning to end using a variety of body movements and the handling of apparatuses.

> Movement Rules:

o   Leaps and jumps

All leaps and jumps must be of a good height, have a precise shape and good amplitude.

All leaps with the back arched must have the head in contact with the leg.

o   Balances

All balances must be performed on the toes or the knee. These must be held clearly and have a good, fixed shape.

o   Pivots

All pivot combinations must be performed entirely on the toes without heel support.

> Basic Rule:

Each gymnast must perform choreographed routines using each of the following four pieces of apparatus:

Ball

Hoop

Clubs

Ribbon

> Scoring

Performances in rhythmic gymnastics are given a maximum of 20, comprising difficulty (D) and execution (E) scores.

The D score is based on each performance element, including leaps, jumps and use of apparatus. These D scores are averaged to give a score out of 10.

The E score is based on how well the routine was executed either by the individual or the group. The final number is an average of the middle three scores awarded by the judges.

The D and E scores are combined at this stage, giving a mark out of 20. Then, any deductions are taken away. The list of instant deductions is incredibly long and complex in rhythmic gymnastics. Competitors can be penalized for anything from breaking the apparatus to landing heavily on their feet.

> Judging

o   Good Form and Execution: In elements such as leaps and jumps, a gymnast’s toes should be pointed. Her legs should be straight. She should maintain tightness in her body and each skill should look planned.

o   Control of the Apparatus: The gymnast should keep her equipment moving and look as if she has complete control. Dropping the apparatus is a deduction. If the equipment rolls away or off the floor, more penalties are incurred.

o   Flexibility: Rhythmic gymnasts should achieve a minimum of a 180-degree split on split leaps and jumps, and often they go much further. A great rhythmic gymnast will exhibit flexibility in her back, legs, and shoulders.

o   Choreography: The intricacies of movement are essential in rhythmic gymnastics. Each routine should be a performance, and the gymnast’s music should be a necessary part of the routine, not simply used as background music.

o   The Uniqueness of the Routine: A great gymnast will perform a routine that looks different from the rest. It will have something special about it, risky throws and catches, complicated choreography, extreme flexibility, or simply unique skills from others performed in the competition.

 How to officiate the sport

Meet Referee

Conducts the judge’s education meeting prior to the event,

Makes the panel assignments or conducts a draw,

Has ultimate control over technical decisions,

Judges  every routine within human possibility,

Can question a panel score, even if the judges are in range, if she feels it is not appropriate,

Can call a conference of either judging panel, can make the decision to go to base score,

Keeps  track (with the help of an assigned volunteer secretary) of all scores and rankings,

Determines the number of sessions in association with the meet director,

Makes sure the timers and line judges are knowledgeable about the rules and their function,

Serves as the spokesperson for the judging panels to the organizing host and the participants,

Makes sure the Head Judges review the official score sheets before signing them,

Mediates all professional disagreements, and has the final response,

Is responsible for any media involvement concerning the judges,

Respond  to any written inquires before a session has ended.

Head Judge

Attends pre-competition education session,

Makes sure judges scores are within the proper range,

Requests the MR to call a conference if there is a disagreement,

Keeps track of rank order for assigned events.

Acting Panel Judge

Attends pre-competition education session,

Judges each routine assigned with undivided attention.

Line Judge

A Line Judge determines if the athlete and the apparatus are within the boundaries of the field of play. There are two line judges for each individual routine, and you will be responsible for the two lines that are in your “corner”of the carpet. Each judge is responsible for the line to their right. The red line denotes the warning area, and if the athlete or their apparatus touches the line they are still in bounds. If any part of the athlete’s body and / or apparatus touches the floor outside of the red line, then she is out-of-bounds and the judge immediately hold up one flag high in the air for a few seconds. If both the apparatus and gymnast touches the floor outside of the red line, then immediately hold up both flags high in the air for a couple of seconds.

Timers

Each timer requires a stop watch that indicates the minutes, seconds and milliseconds, a rotation order, timer judge chits and a pen.

Procedure to follow as a Timer Judge:

Have  a Rotation List available.

Check off each gymnast as they are announced so that you know which gymnast is on the floor.

Start the timer when the gymnast starts moving (or first gymnast in group), and stop the timer when the gymnast stops moving (or the last gymnast in group). Record the time to the millisecond on the rotation order. For example, 1:30:05. If the routine is over or less than the required time     (times to be provided by the Meet Director), then also complete the Timer Judge Chit.

Give the timer judge slip to a runner to take to the head judge for inclusion in the scoring papers.

Judge Administrator

The primary responsibilities of the Judge Administrator are to act as the GCG representative at EC and CC, to ensure that all Judge Rules and Technical Rules are followed, and to ensure that all score ranges are within FIG requirements. The JA does not act as a reference judge and does not score the routines.

Apparatus Judge

Every apparatus will be checked during the Warm-Up prior to the start of the competition rotation. If there is a fault with the apparatus measurement, the apparatus judge will show the coach, so the athlete has time to change apparatus. If a coach/athlete refuses to change apparatus, the Apparatus Judge will retain the piece of apparatus, complete the judge chit and send it to the JA immediately. The JA will come to verify the concern as soon as is possible, but it may not be until a break in the competition. The apparatus must be retained until the JA has completed the verification.

Summarization

 All of the athletes did well on presenting their routines. Russia’s duo Magarita Mamun and Kudryavtseva fought a close fight but Mamun had the advantage and ends up getting the gold medal because Kudryavtseva had an error and missed her final toss that the audience didn’t expect at all nevertheless, it was a good fight for all athletes of this event. Speaking about podiums, Margarita Mamun of Russia was reigned the gold medalist. Coming also from Russia, Yana Kudryavtseva bagged the silver medal and Ganna Rizatdinova from Ukraine bringing home the bronze medal.

References:

Gymnastics  Canada. (2018, February). Rhythmic Gymnastics Judges Rules and Regulations.  Retrieved from Gymnastics Canada:  http://gymcan.org/uploads/files_files/GCG_Judges%20Rules%20and%20Regulations_EN_FINAL.pdf

Rookie Road Team.  (2020, February 8). Rhythmic Gymnastics Equipment List . Retrieved  from Rookie Road: https://www.rookieroad.com/gymnastics/rhythmic-gymnastics-equipment-list/#rhythmic-gymnastics

USA Gymnastics.  (2020, June 15). Section 4: DUTIES AND RESPONSIBILITIES OF PROFESSIONAL  MEMBERS. Retrieved from USA Gymnastics:  https://usagym.org/PDFs/Rhythmic/Rules/section4.pdf

[thecurseoflife]

CHAPTER 15 - Change of heart And so, they ran.

Without Maximus, the captain of the guards was much slower than usual, but was still on a horse, and the two companions had to be sly in order to not get caught. But at some point, neither the horse nor the captain cared about getting them.A deafening, atrocious sound behind them had changed those priorities.They could hear trees after trees falling down behind them, enraged hissing and violent thuds, sign that the snakes were coming closer, and they weren't in a good mood. Once again Varian prayed for Ruddiger, his heart sore at the idea that his best friend could have been eaten out of anger.

But something even worse was happening has this thoughts crossed his mind.Camalia was losing speed. And she knew it.

But her lungs were burning and her feet were bloody. She could barely feel her legs and was threatning to fall any seconds. Her vision was blurry and she could taste blood in her oh so dry mouth.She stumbled once, then twice. Both her and Varian's breath were short, and as the horse was now running between them, they could feel doom and death looming on them.Suddenly, a hand reached out to Camalia, and she slowly looked up to see Captain looking straight ahead, worry, fear and resolution in his eyes. She quickly understood.

-Not... Without... Varian...

She could barely articulate the sentence, showing in how much pain she was in. Captain greeted his teeth and closed his hand, pulling away from Camalia. She closed her eyes, resigned to die.

She was about to stop running, when she felt lifted from the ground and before she could register what was going on, she was sitting behind Captain. The music mage immediatly turned to the other side of the horse, where Varian was running. But he wasn't there.

For a split second, atrocious fear pierced her guts. Did he fall ? Trip on something ? Why wasn't he there ? Was he dead ? Was he- Then she realised someone was sitting behind her and a wave of relief hit her when she turned around and saw her friend sitting behind her, out of breath, clearly in pain, holding his chest.

Once she was reassured, she turned toward Captain and the path straight ahead. She pointed on the side and opened her mouth to speak, but all she could do is inhale and exhale quickly, incoherent mumbling making their way through her lips. Surprised, she placed a hand over her mouth.

-You don't have enough air into your lungs yet. Calm down first, then you'll explain.

Cap's voice was soothing and exceptionally calm given the circumstances. The racket of trees being uprooted and giving their last breath, or the high-pitched hissing that was resonnating in the forest and the soul of every living being never stopped.  Camalia was hit by the realization that all those noises were being distant the more she was running, and now that she was on the back of a horse, all of them came back like a punch, and she had to cover her ears. She kept whispering apologies to the poor trees that had to suffer the consequences of her decisions, to Varian and Captain that were dragged in that curse she worked so hard to get rid off, to that horse that was running, probably terrified to the bone, to the insects, the plants, the planet.The girl was sorry, oh so sorry, it was all her fault, she should have never been so selfish. The curse was her burden to keep, and not theirs. Because she tried to get rid of it, because she tried to run, because she was scared, because of her, everything and everyone were getting hurt. She should have stayed their to endure the snakes hits and anger. It should have been her. She deserved it. She was a horrible person. It was all her fault.

It is all her fault.

She had to fix it.Despite the burn that air was making in her lungs, despite the taste of blood she had in her mouth, despite the numb in her legs and the way her arms were shaking, she pointed in a direction and tapped on Cap's shoulder.

Thankfully he understood and followed her wish. He was convinced Corona would be far more secure than wherever she was leading them, but he couldn't in his right mind take the monsters behind them back to his king and queen and back to all of the people. He was conflicted, and the girl's confidence and the fact that she apparently knew what she was doing convinced him to follow her directions.

The kids behind him were still weak and struggling to breath but they were slowly getting better, soon enough, he hoped, for them to execute whatever plan they had in mind.The horse was fast. Well, it was a horse. But he had the best rider on his back. Sadly, the giant murderous anger driven snakes knocking down trees were faster. Much faster. They quickly took back the time they lost chasing that stupid rodent, and they were getting close. So close the wall of trees weren't enough to hide their greatness. Varian could already see their belly-thing, and he yelled.

-They're getting closer !

Captain restrained himself to look back at the horror they were trying to outrun, focusing on not making the horse trip and dooming them all. Camalia pointed right again, and he followed. Right, right, left, forward.... Right. Did she actually know where she was going or was she just trying to lose the thing chasing them ?Suddenly the girl vigorously pointed at a giant tree and leaned over against Cap's back to be heard.-THERE ! Stop before, there's a ravine right past that tree !Apparently she knew. Captain pulled on the reins and Camalia hoped down the horse, almost crashing head first in the mud, but she regained her balance and ran behind the tree.Now that they had stopped, Captain peaked behind them and he felt his stomach drop.The snakes where enormous. Their heads could be seen above the forest while their bodies were slithering and chopping down trees, burrying rives and slapping any animals foolish enough to cross their paths. They had this look of utter and complete rage on their face that sent chills in Captain's neck. He could feel a knot form on his throat. Nonetheless, and as idiotic it may have appeared in that situation, he drew his sword and took his stand. The tip of his sword was reflecting his feeling, despite the tough face he had put on. It was trembling, shaking so much it was a blur. He wasn't going down so easily.While Captain was getting ready to fight for his life, Varian had slid down the horse and joined Camalia behind the tree.  She was under a huge blanket, covering... something. He wasn't sure what, but was pretty sure he was about to find out.

-Okay, this is fine... Not broken... Perfect. Maybe we'll make it out afterall.

-What is this ?

The music mage popped out of the blanket and tugged on it, revealing... a thing. It sure looked like it served some purpose, but what ? It was a pile of sticks and metal parts, some kind of instruments, even glass and silk, he could see coton deep into the thing. Everthing was tied together with rope, bolts and some other unknown thing. It looked messy, and weird, but functionnal. For whatever function it was supposed to serve.Camalia was taking some branches laying there and it took Varian a second to realized it was also attached to the thing. She started strapping the branches on her body, that it's her arms, legs, even head and torso, but she let her hands free. Once everything was there, she took a few steps forward and the branches tensed up through their rope-joints.Then she started to gesticulate and a frightful din exploded in the forest, almost deafening Varian.

-This is what's going to save our lives. Some stuffs to help the real song from the heart. I read in a book that more instruments could make a melody more powerful, and I really need all the power I can have to defeat the curse.

Ah yes. Let's make noise to drive the snakes away. Great plan.

If she was planning to sing above this atrocious cacophony, maybe it was time to tell her that no one would even hear her.

Varian opened his mouth, ready to share his thoughts when the last tree separating the snakes from the three humans and that one horse fell down.The snakes had stopped, and for a few seconds that felt like forever, they all stared at eachothers. The horse broke the weird staring contest by getting back up and racing straight to the forest, and to safety with a shrill neigh.Decaiera hissed softly, anger distorting her features, ready to talk, but was cut by her sister.

-You pathetic, foul, disgusting humans. Did you imagine in some wondrous dream that you could dupe us ? That rodent merely slowed us down. You should have expected better from your curse, little plant.

But Camalia wasn't listening, only enraging the two gigantic monsters more. She had her eyes closed, guitare in hand, her chest rising slowly as she took deep breaths.

-How dare you ignore us ?! We are your curse, we are your doom ! You cannot hope for distraction when death is upon you.

Once again the music mage ignored them. Varian fell down, fear clouding his mind and numbing his legs. Fear and probably also that good ol' run they had. But let's say it's only fear. Captain was brave, not foolish. As long as the things weren't attacking him, he wasn't going to attack back. For now, all he could see is that they had a big mouth but didn't take much actions. Although he did see the amount of damage they made back in jail.

-STOP IGNORING US !

Witheria, the hot headed one, charged on Camalia, ready do gulp her down, to finish with this curse, to kill her and be free. But moments away from falling to the other side, the music mage rose her head and pronounced those words with a clear and deep voice.

-My name is Camalia, and today I will perform the song from the heart to free myself from my curse ! As long as the melody will play, neither Witheria nor Decaiera will be able to hurt anyone. This is the condition. If the song failed, it is that my heart has changed. Then through years and pain, the new song of heart I'll have to gain.

The song of heart had yet again been summoned, and the spell acted immediatly, violently pulling Witheria away from the mage. She crashed down on some trees a couple of meters away, Camalia coldly glaring at her. She looked at Varian and Captain, now staring at her, waiting. She didn't want them to hear this. In her plan, in her head, it was supposed to only be her, and her curse. And now, the two people she was the closest to were there. And this time, she had to be completely, utterly open. Open like no human should ever be open in such a short amount of time.

Inhale. Exhale. Take the guitare. Move the right elbow. And sing.

"I'm in pain. But the pain I'm feeling inside, Overwhelming, eating me upside down, Is everything I can feel. No one's coming to save me... Are they ?"

The melody was sad, low and slow. Camalia refused to meet her friends eyes, focusing on the song and getting it down. Every word was a weight leaving her shoulder, but the burning look of Varian's and Cap's was like a mountain on her back. She felt old, weak and useless. She felt naked and stupid. Yet every word she spoke she poured her heart in it, her broken twisted heart. She started to move, and although she did looked pretty stupid, the music rising behind her was worth every moment of it, and no one, not even the snakes thought of making fun of her, not even one snarky comment. The music got harder, angrier, there was more and more percussions echoing. When Camalia spoke, it was a cry, a tear without any leaving her eyes, a call for help and a whisper of forgiveness.

"And I'm in pain ! I feel so lonely, surrounded by people, Feel like I'm been eaten alive in a gigantic black hole But I'm all alone"

Every sentence, every word felt so right and they were so strong, vibrating in the ground, aligning with the melody, dancing around her and screaming at the same time. It was like a show you couldn't take your eyes off at. Even if they could, the snakes wouldn't have attacked. Unlike the first song from the heart, it didn't take some time for the words to sink into each person there. It was printed in their heart, so loud and clear, written in their minds in letters of fire.

"I'm in pain No matter the bruises and broken bones Despite the blood and the darkness surrounding my every move Regardless of the cold of my feet and the warmth in my eyes Even though my throat is aching from all the screaming There is no more light for me... Is it ?"

There was such despair and resignation in her voice, in the song, every fiber of their souls could feel it. When a sentence ended, a piece of her soul went with it, hitting her curse and slapping her friends like a wake up call. The melody was slow and sad and so full of nothing again. Camalia's voice were as much.

For a split second, Varian wondered if she actually wrote it beforehand or this actually was a cry of her heart right there, right now.

"And I'm in pain. I feel breathless surrounded by people, Feel like they'll be eaten alive in a gigantic black hole I should be all alone I should be all alone Why aren't I all alone ? Haven't I caused enough trouble as it is ? Aren't I the burden you had to carry all those years ? And I'm sorry ! I'm sorry ! I'm sorry !"

Everything went crescendo as she was making her way through the song. It came so easily and slipped on her tongue like it was the most natural thing to say, but it was a internal fight in a jungle, and she was getting more and more lost every second she was in it. She shouted the last part, and everything went silent for a few seconds, but everyone knew she wasn't done. The soft, sad melody arose from her guitare yet again, as she took deep breaths, not one tear rolling down her cheeks. Every single one of them was already in the song. When she sang again, it was as faintly and as heartbroken as the melody coming out of her instrument.

"I'm in pain. This is all my fault, I should pay for it. I should never, ever have come to this world This is all my fault. All my fault."

The forest fell quiet, more quiet than it has ever been, and more quiet than it ever will be. Then, slowly, the birds chirped, the wind blew, the river ran, the animals walked and sang along with the nature, a tribute to Camalia's melody. It was sad, but full of harmony, and it was beautiful. It was a noise only the five people there will ever hear, a beautiful orchestra made for one girl. She touched the soul of things and creatures that couldn't even understand her words, not only with her magic.

Afterwards the forest fell back into it's usual noise, and life resumed it's course.Camalia opened her eyes and in the place of the two gigantic black snakes were two average sized white snakes, looking very sad. They weren't a threat anymore, the curse was gone. They were exactly the way they used to be, when they cared for Camalia an eternity ago. She sighed and detached herself from the machine she took years to make, and that finally fulfilled it's purpose. She felt like the sky was bluer, the wind was purer, everything felt lighter and better. She took a deep breath and allowed herself a small smile.The snakes slithered pitifully to her, and she took a step back.

-Camalia, we're... It wasn't us. We're deeply sorry.

-None of what you have gone through should have happened to a young lady like you. But we were controlled by that devilish curse as much as you.

-I know.

Witheria and Decaiera smiled to eachothers, heart filled with joy that their protege agreed to let them back into her life. They were ready to crawl to her side when she rose a hand to stop them.

-I know none of this is your fault. But I was hurt. Horribly, deeply hurt. There is not blame to make, but I don't owe you anything. The wound is fresh, and I bet it will leave a scar. A scar that may disappear one day, in a very, very long time. However, you are linked to that wound. And your presences might... No, will make it bigger. I don't care that now you're all good. I don't care if it wasn't your fault. You hurt me. You're toxic to me, no matter how good you are. Please, if you care about me, leave.

The music mage looked at them in the eyes while speaking. She had been conflicted about what she should do once the curse was lifted, and she felt bad for sending them away, but she knew it was the right thing to do. For her, and for them. They needed to heal, and they couldn't do that together.The snakes glared at her, looking hurt and offended. Witheria frowned and was about to speak... well, probably scream, but her sister nudged her softly. The darker, yet now white snake hissed, hesitated, then followed Decaiera into the woods, were they disappeared.

Camalia could finally breath again. WHAT’S THIS ? FIRST / PREVIOUS (Wattpad)  / NEXT

[diveronaevents]

AUTHOR: Liz (minor edits by admins)

MENTIONED: Paris, Tybalt, Volumnia, Regan, Edgar, Miranda, Hippolyta, Helenus, Diana, Orsino, Rosaline, Mercutio

TRIGGERS: Violence, Murder, Grievous Injuries

Using VIOLA’s funeral as a distraction, the Capulets, led by PARIS, rescue ORSINO from the Montague captivity and teach them a lesson in the process.

TIMELINE — 

April 1st - ORSINO is taken.

April 4th - ROSALINE asks VOLUMNIA to have PARIS look for ORSINO. Unable to reach him, VOLUMNIA reaches out to PARIS and asks him to head the rescue operation.

April 6th - PARIS and TYBALT start to look for the possible captor.

April 7th - PARIS enlists REGAN to tail MERCUTIO without detection and find the location where ORSINO is held.

April 8th - PARIS plans the rescue mission and further entlists EDGAR, MIRANDA, HIPPOLYTA, HELENUS & DIANA.

April 10th - The team rescues ORSINO.

PREPARATIONS —

The call from the capobastone raising alarms about missing ORSINO prompted PARIS to retrace the man’s last known location and find some clues as to what could’ve happened to Capulets’ notorious hitman. Crossing the line once again, PARIS used his security clearance to personal, or rather, Capulet benefit – he went through the security footage of various locations throughout Verona, courtesy of local law enforcement and his company’s facial recognition software the government was using. 

After a sleepless night of staring at the screens, PARIS found a potential witness. The time was of the essence, thus abandoning his usual tricks of persuasion, he enlisted the tiger of Verona to make the witness bird sing. When TYBALT was done with the prey, his knuckles were bloody and the information – obtained. TYBALT and PARIS now held the key clue to the puzzle of ORSINO’s disappearance: he’d been taken by none other than MERCUTIO themself.

Shadowing the Montague harbinger of war was no easy task, it required stealthiness of a night wind and lethal touch of a masterful marksman. Who was better suited for the task than mighty REGAN? Per PARIS’ instructions, she waited for the dusk to provide her cover and followed MERCUTIO like their own shadow. Around midnight, REGAN came bearing the good news: the Montague captain had led her to an abandoned orphanage at the outskirts of Verona. Her observant eye clocked the rough estimate number of soldiers that may be guarding the precious captive. Sudden flashback to the Capulet Anniversary night gave PARIS an idea: the looming funeral for the fallen VIOLA shall be the perfect distraction to arrange a prison break. He spent the next two days flashing out his plan, and called upon MIRANDA, EDGAR, HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA.

THE MISSION —

The morning of April 10 arrived with grey skies and a weakened Spring breeze. The grief-stricken Montagues slowly gathered at the funeral, with heavy hearts and teary eyes, to say goodbye to one of theirs. DIANA, an unwelcome guest, made her way to the ceremony, dressed in a beautiful black dress and a lacey veil – doing a little to hide the darling of Verona, but her social status granted her the safety of not being attacked out in the open. The purpose of her being there was simple, yet crucial – she would be PARIS’ eyes and ears. Should Montagues have got alerted of the attack and left the cemetery to provide back-up at the orphanage, DIANA would warn her team straight away.

PARIS had split the Capulet team in three groups. Each had their own role to play.

The first to arrive at the orphanage – a run down building, out of commission for nearly forty years, with grass sticking out from the cracks in the concrete – was the ATTACK team. PARIS had chosen TYBALT and REGAN on his side, and three of them would unleash hell on the Montague soldiers, weakening their defense and drawing all the attention to themselves.

The heavy iron door would be the first obstacle they encountered, but thanks to REGAN’s intel, PARIS came prepared. He set up the explosives and blew up the door. TYBALT and REGAN rushed inside through smoke and shambles, starting a cacophony of gunfire to provide cover for PARIS to join them. Once he did, TYBALT was first to break Montague line of defense, leaving fallen soldiers in his wake – using his gun, blade and bare hands interchangeably to wreak havoc. PARIS followed him closely and helped thinning the herd with his pistol. The hawk-eyed REGAN took a position behind the duo, providing cover and picking off Montagues one-by-one with her rifle, making sure they wouldn’t outnumber TYBALT and PARIS. Not all Montagues were brave enough to face the Capulet forces, and rushed to the door, only to be gunned down by REGAN, life leaving their bodies before they could leave the building.

As Montague forces started to flock to the main entrance, upon PARIS’ singal, the DECOY team pulled up in the driveway. HELENUS sat at the steering wheel of a shiny vintage Stingray and HIPPOLYTA in the passenger seat, gun ready. They remained in the driveway long enough to be spotted by the Montagues, and then drove towards the back exit. A carefully planned and perfectly executed move that would create confusion amongst the Montagues later.

Back inside, as the attack trio advanced in the building like a plague on a medieval ship, PARIS came face-to-face with a Montague, his eyes meeting the barrel of the enemy gun. Despite making a good use of his pistol earler, he had yet to actually murder someone. The mastermind of the mission hesitated for a second, but TYBALT shook his friend out of it. Encouraged by TYBALT, PARIS committed his first murder. There was no remorse in his eyes as he examined the body hitting the ground with a thud. Not that he thought there would be.

Watching the scene unfold, one of the Montague soldiers seized the opportunity of TYBALT being distracted and emboldened, snuck up on him with a knife, injuring the Capulet captain in the arm. A grave mistake on Montague's part – TYBALT, turned into a steaming, burning rage, shot him in-between the eyes five times. The main hallway was now cleared out, as REGAN shot the soldier who struggled to get on her feet. PARIS advanced deeper in the hallway.

Whilst the attack team were arranging a Montague massacre in the mail hall, the RESCUE team - EDGAR and MIRANDA made their move. They climbed to the second floor through the thick vines snaked all the way to the roof and snuck into the building from the balcony. Their steps were quiet, like feathers falling on the ground. Silenced pistols clutched closely, they searched the building for ORSINO. None of them intended to go back to the Twelfth Night until they found him, even if they had to leave no stone unturned in this cursed orphanage.

Gunfire had quietened at the moment, as the attack team was moving towards the staircase. The sound of PARIS’ phone buzzing cut through the silence. It was DIANA, giving him a heads-up that Montague reinforcements were coming. The plan PARIS laid out to the team two nights prior had accounted for this. 

TYBALT and REGAN headed back outside to deal with the reinforcements, and PARIS stayed behind. He intended to sweep the building one last time, for the rescue team to navigate safely. More confident with his gun now, PARIS took down two Montague soldiers during the sweep. The first one had been hiding behind the door and managed to shoot PARIS in the left arm, but he retaliated quickly, shooting them in the head. The second kill was easier. The third? Even more. Lady luck had been kind to the emissary, the bullet had only grazed PARIS. With careful steps, PARIS ascended on the stairs and spotted another Montague at the window. A quick shoot in the back, and the enemy was none the wiser – they didn’t even see PARIS coming.

EDGAR and MIRANDA rushed through the empty hallways, encountering dead bodies and injured soldiers on their way. Finally, they discovered the basement where ORSINO was held, guarded by two Montagues. EDGAR with no hesitation, eager to free his friend, engaged in hand to hand combat; After a brief scuffle, EDGAR pistol-whipped the first guard across the temple, effectively knocking him out. A second Montague came to his companion's rescue right away. MIRANDA’s bold attempt at intercepting the enemy got her punched in the face, but before she could have been seriously wounded, EDGAR shot Montague in the leg. There were only three of them in the dingy, dark basement now – EDGAR, MIRANDA and barely conscious ORSINO. They unshackle him in haste, it’s about time they leave the building.

Supporting ORSINO, EDGAR allows him to use his shoulders as a human crutch as the trio heads out of the orphanage. They had almost made their way out of the basement, when one of the two Montague guards, staunching her wound and hungering for revenge, straggled up the staircase with a gun, only to meet her rather grim end. MIRANDA threw a knife in one swift motion, and the blade landed right in the forehead of the Montague.   

The three of them left from the back entrance, set out to escape through the woods until they reached the car they'd hidden the night before. Halfway to the car, ORSINO fainted from the pain. From here, EDGAR and MIRANDA carried him to the car, doing their best not to exacerbate the wounds on his torso. They drove away quietly, choosing a longer route to Verona.

After EDGAR and MIRANDA left, PARIS joined TYBALT and REGAN outside, who were engaged in a fight with the Montague reinforcements who emerged from the first car that arrived. Soon, the second car followed suit. HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA, with a Capulet soldier who looked deceivingly a lot like ORSINO with his soft, dark curls, seating in the back, took it as their cue to enter the scene. As a part of PARIS’ orchestrated plan, HELENUS made the engine roar, and sent pebbles underneath the wheels flying in all directions. An intentional act to lure the second car. 

Their stint worked. Montague’s put the car into ignition, and set out to chase after them, but HELENUS left no chance to get close enough. Whilst speeding on the road, the Montagues opened fire from their car and HIPPOLYTA in turn, shot back from her passenger seat. Right before they reach the main highway, HELENUS made a quick 90 degree turn and halted, making it possible for HIPPOLYTA to aim her shots. The emissary managed to crack the windshield of the Montague car, making it difficult for them to keep up.

Back at the orphanage, the dust began to settle. Per PARIS’ calculation, they only had a few minutes left before Montagues arrived in full force from the funeral. It was time to get back to the Twelfth Night, but not before leaving a message behind for the Montagues. The message was simple – the Capulets will break any cage they try to put them in, whilst the Montagues will be left to bleed out – like VIOLA, whose death they were morning that day. REGAN and TYBALT nailed the dead (and some alive) Montague soldiers to the windows, re-enacting Viola’s demise, and in another symbolic gesture, PARIS destroyed the place where ORSINO was held with a sledgehammer. 

Soon, DIANA sent them the final warning. High on their success and in spirits, PARIS, TYBALT and REGAN took one last amused look at the orphanage before they left. 

THE AFTERMATH —

HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA, who were driving in the opposite direction from where EDGAR and MIRANDA were headed, eventually lost the Montagues on their tail. They met with DIANA, PARIS, REGAN and TYBALT at the Twelfth Night. ORSINO had been saved and in MIRANDA and EDGAR’s care. The two of them later joined the rest of the gang at the Twelfth night, where PARIS threw a little celebration for a successful end of the mission.

[renaissancespaceheroes]

Hidden in Plain Bite

CW: snakes, snakebite, animal attack Over tree roots, around puddles, and through vibrant red and purple foliage, Beck made his way through the dense jungle with the rest of the crew. They were on a mission to document the Khugnoin nation’s traditional stories and cooking practices. The Khugnoins had fought back against the Clandek invasion of their planet, and they and the other nations of their world had managed to repel the invaders. They’d decided they wanted more of their culture documented so that the descendents of those who’d fled the planet could be connected to their heritage. Dr. al-Amin had worked closely with the nation’s magistrates and with a local anthropologist to plan a series of videos, and today they were going to record them. 

If they ever made it there. There hadn’t been a landing spot big enough for the da Vinci near the Khugnoin village, and they’d already been walking almost an hour. Beck was considering asking the doctor if she was sure she wasn’t lost when the trees parted and the crew emerged facing the Khugnoin village. 

The village was high in the trees, wooden and leather structures built around massive trunks and connected by bridges. The people themselves were well-camouflaged, despite being in the open, covered in downy feathers that were the same purple as some of the jungle’s darker plants. It was easy to see how the Clandek had underestimated them: they were shorter than humans, and they had feathers like baby birds. 

“Oh my gosh, they’re cute!” Valentina squealed. 

“They’re valiant fighters who defended their planet from an invasion,” Dr. al-Amin pointed out. “And more importantly, they’re people. Be respectful, and don’t patronize them.” 

Valentina nodded. 

“Right. Sorry.” 

The Khugnoin magistrates were already on the ground and ready to meet the crew, as was the human anthropologist who’d been getting to know them and learning their language. She translated between the magistrates and the crew. The Khugnoin language was beautiful, but even though Beck tried to listen for words that might be similar to languages that he knew, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. After introductions, the locals led the crew up to one of the houses, the crew set up the cameras, and the interviews started. Despite not being able to understand their words, Beck could tell that the Khugnoin storytellers were passionate about this project, telling their tales with dramatic tones and expressive gestures. 

After a morning of filming, they took a break for lunch. The crew had brought rations with them, but their hosts insisted on treating them to a dish made from boiled strips of the bark of a native tree and covered in a savory sauce. It was kind of like Terranovan peanut sauce over noodles, or Istolian groundbean paste with strip squash, Beck thought. The anthropologist explained that there were quite a few things on this planet that were poisonous to humans and Fyreans, or simply foul tasting, and the Khugnoins had put a lot of research and thought into what to prepare for their guests. 

“Please thank them and tell them we appreciate the work they’ve done,” Beck said. “This is delicious.” 

She passed on his message, and their hosts smiled and said a phrase to the anthropologist. 

“They’re saying ‘you’re welcome,’ but formally,” she said. “Literally translated, it’s a blessing from the goddess of hospitality.” 

Beck had never been religious, but he still felt touched at the blessing. 

“That’s very kind of them.” 

After lunch, the doctor suggested they split up and have someone get footage of the village while someone else filmed the rest of the interviews and the cooking demonstration. Beck volunteered to walk around with a camera, and Valentina and KS-7 came along. 

The Khugnoin children lacked the formality of their parents, and before long a whole group of kids was gathered around the camera, making faces into it and waving. Beck couldn’t communicate through words, but he kept his body language inviting and his tone light and even made a few silly faces of his own. The kids were fascinated by KS-7. They had mammal-like animals on their planet, and they’d seen machines, but a robot marmoset was something new and exciting. Valentina plopped down on the platform they were on and let them touch him. 

“We’ll probably need their parents’ permission to put that in the video, but I think we’ve gotten some good shots,” Beck said to Valentina when it seemed like the kids were starting to lose interest. “How about the surrounding area?” 

“Sounds good, as long as we don’t get lost,” she said. 

“Nah, we won’t go far.” 

They traveled around the village, getting footage from a few different angles. 

“What about a shot from the ground?” Valentina suggested. “Like where we first came out of the jungle and saw it?” 

“Good idea.” 

They made their way back down to the jungle floor and spent a few minutes recording from there. KS-7 hopped between tree branches, exploring. 

The robot froze. 

KS-7 was face to face with a snake, a red-scaled, beady-eyed creature that was staring him down. 

He leapt away, and the snake struck out, missing the little marmoset. He scrambled up to Valentina’s shoulder, but the snake followed. Beck grabbed a stick from the ground and rushed towards her. 

“Get off! Leave him alone!” Valentina yelled. 

The snake struck again, sinking its fangs into Valentina’s arm. She screamed. Beck got the stick under the snake and launched it into the jungle, where it seemed to decide its prey wasn’t worth the effort and slithered away. 

“Val! Are you okay?” 

Valentina slumped against a tree, breathing hard and staring wide-eyed at the bloody punctures in her forearm. 

“It hurts. Do you think it’s deadly?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” he said. It could be harmless, it could be deadly, or it could be somewhere in between. “We need to get you to the medi-pod.” 

“That’s an hour away,” she said. “I don’t know if we can make it there in time.” 

“Then we’ll have to see if the locals can help.” 

Beck wrapped an arm around her and helped her stand. She leaned on him for support, stumbling as they made it back towards the village. KS-7 followed behind on the ground instead of in the trees. 

“Come on, Val, you can do it. We’re gonna make it.” 

When they were within earshot, Beck called up to the people in the trees: 

“Help! Please, help us! Help!” 

Even if they couldn’t understand, surely they would hear the desperation in his voice?  

A few Khugnoins looked down from their bridges and houses, and they called to each other something that Beck couldn’t translate. A few minutes later, several of them were down on the ground, carrying a stretcher. Valentina nodded and let herself crumple down onto it, and the people-- the medics?-- carried her towards a pulley platform. Beck stayed with them, holding Valentina’s hand. 

“You’re doing great. We’ve got you,” he said softly as the pulley lifted them into the village, and she squeezed his hand but said nothing. Her eyes were closed, and she looked pale. 

The medics carried Valentina to one of the houses, where there was an array of plants in pots and herbs drying in the window. A Khugnoin woman waved them inside, and Valentina was laid on a pile of blankets. She was still breathing hard and fast, and her face contorted in pain. Beck didn’t let go of her. 

The woman-- the doctor?-- looked at the punctures, which had already turned the area around them red and swollen. She turned to Beck, letting loose a series of syllables that clearly meant something. She seemed worried, and that was a bad sign. 

“Um…” Beck made a slithering motion with his hand and hissed to indicate a snake. 

The woman nodded and gave him a look that said that she’d definitely gathered that much already. Of course she had; it was clearly a snakebite. She repeated the question, and Beck ran a hand over his head in confusion. 

“Valentina!” Captain Clay burst into the room with the anthropologist. Sett and Dr. al-Amin were at the door, looking inside nervously, as were a few Khugnoins. Alexa had her arms folded over her chest and looked serious. 

The Khugnoin doctor said something quickly to the anthropologist, who turned to Beck. 

“She needs to know what kind of snake it was and how long ago the bite happened. That will affect what kind of antidote she needs.” 

Okay, that made sense. 

“It was a red snake with a roundish snout, about this long,” Beck said, holding his arms apart to indicate the size of the snake. “And it happened less than ten minutes ago.” 

The anthropologist translated, and the Khugnoin nodded and got to work crushing up fresh leaves, adding some liquid from a wineskin-like pouch, and grinding little pods that looked like fish eggs. The resulting mixture stank horribly, but if it was effective, Beck wasn’t going to judge it. 

The Khugnoin administered the medicine to Valentina through the inside of her nose and under her tongue. Beck wasn’t a medical expert, but it seemed like that was a good way to get something into the bloodstream quickly. Valentina gagged at the smell, and Beck couldn’t blame her. 

The Khugnoin doctor said something to the anthropologist, and there was a bit of back and forth between them before the anthropologist turned back to Beck. 

“She’s going to continue to care for your crewmate, but she needs us to leave. She’s going to do…” She thought for a moment. “Well, prayer isn’t quite the right word, but neither is magic. It’s part of their religion, and they don’t want to share it with those who aren’t members of it.” 

“Is she going to be okay?” the captain asked. 

“I don’t know, but I trust the people here to do their best.” 

“Be safe, Valentina,” Beck said softly, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go. 

When they were all outside, KS-7 clung to Beck’s leg and let out a whimper. The captain leaned back against the bridge railing with his hands in his pockets. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

Beck sighed and rubbed the back of his head. 

“We were filming from the ground, and KS-7 had a run in with a snake. It bit Valentina, and we didn’t know if it was deadly, but we didn’t think we could make it back to the ship in time to get her in the medi-pod.” 

“That was a good call,” Sett said calmly. “She’s very weak already and in quite a bit of pain.” 

Right, the empathic stuff. Beck just nodded. 

One of the Khugnoin magistrates told them, through the translator, that they were welcome to continue work on the filming, or to stop for the day. No offense would be taken either way. He also said that if they wanted to spend the night, accommodations would be made available. 

“Am I right in saying they’d be willing to find a place to put us up, but would rather not?” Dr. al-Amin asked. 

“Yes, that’s a fair assessment,” the anthropologist said. 

“Then let’s do the cooking demonstration tonight and go back to the ship to sleep. We can finish up the narrative project tomorrow.” Her voice was matter-of-fact in a way that bothered Beck. “Of course, the final call is yours, captain.” 

“You mean leave Valentina here overnight? Alone?” Beck asked. 

“She’s not alone. She’s in capable hands,” said Dr. al-Amin, hands folded in her lap. “And I’m sure she would want us to complete our mission.” 

Beck looked back at the house where they’d left Valentina. He’d only known her a few days, but he didn’t want to leave her alone like this. He especially didn’t want her to die. This was awful, feeling helpless to do anything and having to leave her in the hands of total strangers. 

“I’m worried about her, too,” said the captain. “But you’re right, doctor. I think the best thing we can do is trust our hosts and wait. It might be the only thing we can do.” 

Beck sighed. 

“All right,” he said, looking back at the group. 

The food the Khugnoins were cooking for the video was one of the dishes that was poisonous to humans, so they didn’t share it with their guests. Instead, they offered them a platter of fruits: a creamy, opaque fruit with a citrusy smell, a cluster of yellow berries that tasted bitter like dark chocolate, and a juicy, fleshy, pink fruit with a tang. Beck would have enjoyed them more if he hadn’t been so worried. He was always up for trying new things, but Valentina had been with the Khugnoin doctor for a few hours, with no word on whether she was recovering. 

They made the hour-long trek back to the da Vinci, with KS-7 clinging to Beck and making sad noises, and Beck still couldn’t shake his worry. That night in the sleeping quarters, he hardly slept at all. What if the antidote didn’t work? What if it and the sacrament were just superstitions, a placebo at best? What if it worked in Khugnoins, but was toxic to humans? What if they hadn’t gotten Valentina there in time? What if the snake came back to finish the job? Okay, so that last one was a little far fetched. But still. There were a lot of things that could go wrong. 

By morning, his mind had been around in so many circles, with no answers in sight. Breakfast was rushed and quiet. The crew made it through the jungle, back to the Khugnoin village. When they arrived, the magistrates invited them up to the house where Valentina had been treated. 

The Khugnoin doctor welcomed them inside. An earthy, herbal aroma hung in the air, dense but not oppressive. There, on the pile of blankets, Valentina lay asleep. Her hair had been taken out of its braid and brushed, her face was clean, and there was a bandage wrapped around her arm where the snake had bitten her. She looked peaceful.  

KS-7 clambered down from Beck’s shoulder and curled up next to Valentina. 

The Khugnoin spoke through the translator: “She had a rough night, but she made it. She’s going to survive, and while she might feel tired more easily for the next month or so, she does not appear to have lasting damage.” 

“Thank you so much for saving her life,” Beck said. 

“Your gratitude is appreciated, but the credit goes to the gods.” 

Beck nodded respectfully. 

They let Valentina sleep so that she could continue to heal while they finished filming. Beck wasn’t as anxious as he had been yesterday, but he was still a little antsy, still eager to get going. It was just part of life, wondering if he’d overstayed his welcome, He was used to being ready to see what was next, to needing to keep moving. You couldn’t stay in one place too long; that’s when things got messy. 

The crew wrapped up filming the storytelling before lunchtime, and soon they were ready to be on their way. They went to get Valentina, who was still asleep. 

Beck knelt down next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“We’re ready to go, Valentina. Time for you to wake up.” 

She stirred and rolled away from him, and KS-7 peeked out from the blankets. . 

“Five more minutes,” she grumbled. 

“Come on, Val. We’re not gonna leave the planet without you, you know.” 

She sat up and blinked. 

“I’m alive. Holy shit, I’m alive.” 

She threw her arms around Beck, and Beck returned the embrace. 

“Yep. We were worried for you, but the locals knew what to do, and.you pulled through.” 

She leaned back. 

“That’s great! I mean, not that you were worried. The rest of it.” 

“I knew what you meant,” Beck said with a chuckle, standing and offering her a hand up. 

She took it and managed to stand. KS-7 hopped up onto her shoulder, taking his usual spot. Valentina hugged each of her crewmates, except Alexa, who refused. She also offered a hug to the Khugnoin doctor, who politely declined, and the anthropologist, who accepted. 

With their mission complete, the crew made their way back through the red and purple jungle to the da Vinci. As they ascended into the vastness of space, Beck watched the stars shift around the relatively tiny ship, eager to see where their next adventure would take them. 

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 4 Part 4

One more update after this and that’s the first arc done!!!

Link to next part at the end.

(last part)

(chrono)

Chapter 4, cont.

The fusion came alive in a rush of light and surging blood.

He fell to one knee. His brain fizzed and sang. He tried to make out what it was saying - it seemed louder than other brains, more chatty. How would he know that? He only had one to compare with. No - two to compare with -

“This is very weird!” he shouted to the empty cave.

He staggered upright. His body felt wrong. Like a sponge. No, like a liquid. Out of its container, but keeping its shape out of habit. Did liquids do that? No, they definitely didn’t. Better not look down or he might find himself a puddle on the floor.

He took a step. His leg was the wrong length. It ended up miles from the rest of him. Also, it clanked. He chanced a look (try not to spill), and saw he was wearing plate armour that was a strange, molten silver-black.

He was getting distracted. It was hard not to get distracted by how alive he was. But oh dear, not for long. Now he noticed it, the half of him that was Crowley (it was already hard to sort out who was who, obviously he was him, no need to make it more complicated than that) was in danger of glooping right out of his brain. Couldn’t have that. He had a mission.

He gritted his teeth (new teeth! Weird). He turned, with narrowed eyes, to the force-field.

Easy-peasy. Ooh goodie, he could still say that. Jiminy Cricket. Hell’s Bells. Bless you. Piss off. Christ Almighty. Fu - no, he was getting distracted.

He drew one sword, then the other, and rushed the barrier.

There was a crash, a flash, and a smell like tin foil catching on fire.

He ricocheted off the wall of light. The swords whisked through the air, bent in half, and embedded themselves in opposite walls.

From a heap on the ground, he stared down at the knot in the front of his breastplate. It was as if a burning hand had sunk into the metal and scrunched it.

He thought for a moment, and shed the armour. When he stood up, his feet felt like they weren’t attached to him. He had more joints than before, or fewer. Time was running out. Bare-headed and barefoot, he stomped back towards the barrier.

When the light-field was close enough to singe his hair (what great hair!), he paused again, and raised his right hand. The gold signet ring on his little finger glowed, and his shield reappeared.

Nothing from the human world could pass. All right, then.

He pressed a finger experimentally to the barrier. It lit up with a tingle that made the back of his mouth taste funny. Airless. Cold. Lines of light sketched along his finger to the third knuckle. He withdrew it.

He held his shield over his head, and shouldered through the barrier.

Part of him expected it to smite him to ash, even as the blue light split apart for his shield. It vibrated down his arm as he passed through. Cracks of light radiated from the centre.

He was out the other side. Unharmed.

As he caught his breath, his shield winked out. Just like that, dead.

His breath turned solid in his lungs, like he was trying to breathe magma. He tried to turn it off. Breathing wasn’t necessary, he just liked how it felt.

His body flickered.

He hissed through his teeth and looked down at himself. Just as he feared - any more of this and he’d soon be a puddle on the floor.

He stretched out his arms for balance, and saw they were stretching further than they ought to. All of him rolled out too thin. Soon be thin enough to vanish.

His destination lay ahead. The fire roiled in its giant stone dish. Hellishly hot and waiting for him.

Walking was a surreal thought experiment. Each footstep was random; where they brought him down bore no relation to where he’d started out. Although direction had no meaning, he tried to keep the column of hellfire in his line of sight. His hands reached out blindly. They were far too long, fingers distended and dripping black. Somehow still not long enough to touch the base of the huge stone font.

He closed his eyes and fell forwards. Unbearable heat scorched his forehead.

He opened his eyes. The pillar of fire roared before him, burning gold.

Nothing for it.

He gripped the edges of the stone dish, and dunked his head in the flames.

The fire roared over him like a hot wind. His cheek burned as the snake-shaped gem upon it glowed white and sealed back together. Black corrupting tendrils receded from his brain. His limbs spooled back to their normal length.

He reeled out of the fire, backwards, and more backwards, too fast, unstoppably, legs a blur, arms pinwheeling, the electric zap of the barrier as he crashed through it, then rocks underfoot and whoops as he went flying and the cave flipped over and that was goodnight from him…

~*~

Aziraphale rolled over, winded. Feet away, Crowley appeared to have bounced.

His thoughts caught up to him, and he sat up far too quickly, clutching his head. He waited out the extra display of sparkly lights, and fumbled across the ground for Crowley. As he reached him, Crowley bolted upright. They stared at each other, wide-eyed.

Crowley grabbed his cheek and felt his gem furiously. Then he patted himself down, as if making sure he hadn’t come back with any extra bits. For a moment, there were some lingering traces about him - a thinness in the face, a hint of scales. Then Crowley screwed up his eyes and shook his arms and legs out, and the suggestion of snakiness disappeared. He looked back at Aziraphale the same man-shaped being he’d almost always been. It could easily have been a trick of the light.

“Angel, you bloody idiot,” he growled.

Aziraphale was still getting his breath back, but he managed a wounded stare.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sticking your head in hellfire! What’s wrong with you? You had no reason to think you’d be ok! We could have unfused once we got through the barrier, you big feathery twit.”

“Well…” Aziraphale scrambled for a defence. It wasn’t as if it had just been his decision, surely that was the entire point of -

Crowley lunged for him.

Aziraphale took a moment. Then a moment more. He tried to process the feel of two twiggy arms thrown around him in some kind of chokehold. Obviously that’s what it was. It was nowhere near high enough on his body to actually choke him, but Crowley had had a trying few hours. Probably his aim was off.

This went on for long enough that Aziraphale could no longer pretend not to know it was a hug. Eventually his brain started making whistling noises at him, and there became a real danger he might say something embarrassing.

“Right you are,” he said, in the end. His voice was only slightly strangled.

Crowley separated from him, but didn’t stray far. His face was as red as his hair. His golden eyes, no longer pained and scared, flicked around the cave.

He offered Aziraphale a hand up without needing to ask.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.

---

(link to next part)

[inactiive-shit]

Life As A Sanders

Chapter 11: Knights And Diplomas\

((Previous))//((Next))

LAAS Masterlist

Read on AO3

Warnigs: None

Pairings: familial DLAMP

Summary: The twins graduate.

Words: 6,082

Ages: 18 & 22 & 12

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you had asked Logan how he felt about being an adult, the answer would have been simple: mostly calm, a little excited. They would have more freedom, but they never really had any complaints about the amount of freedom they got from their Dad. It wasn’t that crazy.

That was before Graduation Day.

Now, sitting in a crowded auditorium and preparing himself to go up on stage and collect the thing he’d been working toward for the last thirteen years, Logan’s opinion had changed:

He was fucking ecstatic.

There was not a calm bone in his body, and he couldn’t help the tremors running through him. He was grinning, so wide it made his whole face feel like it was going to split open, and he wanted to laugh. God, he felt amazing.

“L? You good?” Virgil was smiling as he asked. Logan would’ve stretched his smile wider if he could’ve.

“Yes. I am doing tremendously well.” Logan grabbed Virgil’s hand. “We are graduating, Virgil. We are getting to become real, functioning members of society. We are going to be able to do whatever we want. We can go places and buy things and we don’t have to tell anyone about it first.”

“But we will,” Virgil said. “We’ll tell Dad if we’re going to the store or going to meet somebody.”

“Yes, but we’ll do it because we want to, not because we might not be able to go.” He couldn’t help the energy oozing from every pore anymore than he could stop the blood pumping through his body. This was exciting and amazing and fantastic and wonderful and-

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed. “That is pretty cool.” He leaned back in his chair, looking every bit nonchalant that Logan looked ready to explode. Logan just kept on grinning, vibrating in his seat as the lights adjusted and music played and all those other graduation things happened. He didn’t hear most of it, too absorbed in his own excitement, too ready for whatever he was going to do next. He wanted this to last forever while simultaneously hoping it ended right now so that he could get started on something. It was the strangest feeling Logan had experienced, but it wasn’t necessarily bad.

Then, suddenly, Logan heard his name being called and stood up, walking up the aisle to the stage with Virgil right behind him. Hooting and cheering was echoing from all over the audience despite the fact that the Principal had explicitly asked for all cheering to be withheld until all the graduates had retaken their seats.

Within all the noise, Logan felt positive he could hear Dad and Ro and Dee. It was unrealistic to imagine that their voices would be heard when they were sitting so far up in the seats. But Logan knew what he knew, and that was that his family was every bit as excited about this as Logan was and they were making their excitement heard.

Every step approaching the stage felt like Logan was ascending Mount Olympus to meet with Zeus, or entering the Shire to see the Ring. There was an inflating, buoyant feeling in his chest, and if he wasn’t careful, Logan might just float away with all those ‘Happy Graduation' helium balloons.

He paused on stage to receive his diploma - a rolled up sheet of blank paper with a fancy bow on it because they couldn’t get the real thing until they’d gone to the bookkeeper to make sure that they didn’t have any outstanding fees - and shake the Principal’s hand, smiling up into the crowd. He found his family and beamed at them, resisting the urge to jump up and down like a lunatic. Logically, Logan knew there was no reason for him to be this excited. Not much was realistically changing. He wasn’t even taking his real diploma right now.

But something in him didn’t care about all that. He was doing something big, something huge, he and Virgil both were. They were going to take this step into real life together, and they were moving up to something else. College in the fall or a job, maybe. Logan didn’t know yet. What Logan did know was that it was his decision, and he had so many options.

Logan took his seat beside Virgil again, holding hands, both of them shaking. He didn’t hear the rest of the Graduation Ceremony, whatever people talked about or whichever of their classmates got their diplomas. Logan’s leg bounced up and down, up and down, up and down as the ceremony dragged on for eons. Then the students were standing up and their families were flooding in. There was a bottleneck at the doors, and Logan knew they’d be stuck for a while before Dad and Ro and Dee got to them.

“Follow me,” Virgil whispered, tugging on Logan’s hand. Intrigued, Logan followed Virgil through the crowd, both waving as they passed by Percy and her Mom. How she’d gotten into the main area, Logan didn’t know. Similarly, how Percy had graduated while turning in less work than Virgil was also a mystery, but at the end of the day, Logan was content just to know that it had happened. As much of a pain as their friends could be, and Percy in particular, Logan was glad that all of them had graduated. It wouldn’t be the same if they hadn’t.

Virgil bee-lined for a door being guarded by the physics professor - he actually owned a doctorate, why he was a high school teacher was beyond Logan - and they both paused there.

“Mr. Sanders,” he said, eyes on Virgil despite the fact that Logan was the one who had taken his class.

“Dr. Bhasin,” Virgil responded, giving a slight nod. Dr. Bhasin glanced around before nodding back and opening the door and letting them through. It shut behind them with a quiet snick.

“Virgil,” Logan said, all his questions stopping at the tip of his tongue. Luckily, Virgil got it.

“I didn’t want to deal with the crowd and I figured with the combination of having to get Ro and Dee here, they’d be late and get pretty bad seats. When I found out he was going to be guarding one of the doors for ‘safety purposes’ I brought him a bag of LaffyTaffy in exchange for letting me leave.” Virgil shrugged.

“LaffyTaffy,” Logan repeated.

“Everybody has a weakness, L,” he said. And while Logan wanted to repeat LaffyTaffy for the rest of his existence in complete bewilderment that a doctor who was as revered as his physics professor would disregard rules for candy, he could already feel that helium feeling rising up in his stomach again and he decided rather forcefully that he wouldn’t get stuck on his own lack of comprehension with his teacher’s strange and nonsensical patterns of behavior. He was not going into the humanities for a reason.

“Lovely,” Logan said instead and they ran down the hallway and then down a flight of stairs, ending up outside in the sun. Logan blinked quickly, the light burning his eyes after so long a time of sitting inside and waiting to be able to see his family. Outside, probably three fourths of the students’ families were waiting, like they were supposed to, for their kids to come out. Logan knew it was going to be a pretty long wait for them because so many others chose to try to enter the main part of the auditorium instead of heading outside, but he felt entirely, selfishly glad that Virgil had been able to foresee that particular issue.

“I see Ro,” Virgil said, pointing toward a shock of bright red hair. Logan took off running for it and Virgil followed half a step behind. They barrelled into him at full speed, nearly knocking him over. Then they were engulfed by three pairs of arms and teary laughs and Logan would float away if they let go of him. Luckily, they stayed that way for what could have been hours or days; all he knew was by the time he stepped back the other students had flooded outside also.

“My baby is all grown up!” Dad said, hanging onto Logan’s hand just as tightly as Logan held his. “Both of them!” He cooed and cried over them, grabbing ahold of their faces and kissing their heads. He took picture after picture as he did it, which was rather impressive considering he had tears smudged all over his glasses. While normally Logan abhorred such displays, and especially when they disrupted his meticulously done hair, today was anything but normal. Logan laughed loudly and leaned into it, feeling every sensation with amazing clarity.

“Are you excited for dinner?” Roman asked. For the first time today, Logan remembered: their graduation dinner.

“Nooo,” he groaned, drawing out the syllable. Roman snorted at him but Virgil, the only one with some sense, joined him in his whining.

“This is gonna suuuuuck,” he said, leaning into Logan. “So many people.”

“Ssssssocializzzzzing,” Dee hissed from his spot on Virgil’s back and Logan would deny the way he went right back to smiling at that adorable little snake sound. “Disssssgusssssting.”

“Exactly,” said Virgil. “Dee gets it.”

“Da-ad, they’re corrupting my brother,” Roman said. Virgil punched him in the arm and Roman feigned being mortally wounded. Dee cheered wildly and any semblance of respectability that Logan had vanished as he devolved into a round giggling - not that he would ever call it giggling, but some facts were simply irrefutable.

“Oh, come on, now,” Dad said. “Nobody’s corrupted.”

“Yet,” Roman said, sticking his tongue out at Virgil when Dad started walking toward the car. Logan coughed over a laugh and instead caught up with Dad.

“Who exactly is meant to attend this dinner?” Logan asked.

“Just your friends, kiddo! I promise, I wouldn’t invite anybody that you didn’t like.” Dad smiles at Logan, and Logan cannot for the life of him explain that perhaps, just for tonight, he does not like any of them enough to want to see them. But he knows that Virgil would like to go, and that Virgil is always less anxious with Logan around. So he took a breath and nodded.

“Adequate.” Dad gave him an odd look but opted not to say anything and they got home in relative peace.

Relative peace meaning only that Logan had not gone completely deaf by the time he stumbled out of the car to escape the unfortunately loud music Virgil had been permitted to play. How his twin had not lost all his hearing yet remained a mystery to Logan, but one he knew better than to look into personally.

The last time he had asked too insistently, he permanently lost one of his socks. He did not intend to have a repeat.

Logan wished he could say that he was not even kind of tempted by the blanket fort he saw in the living room when he walked into the house—it was unprofessional, ridiculous, and frankly the structural integrity was so bad it was a wonder it could stand at all. But that would be a falsehood and Logan was far too excited to even pretend that the blanket for was unappealing.

He discarded his shoes and the graduation cap quickly, diving into the fort. Roman laughed on the outside, and Logan would have complained about that too but he was suddenly contending with an armful of little snake.

“Moviesss,” Dee hissed, curling up in Logan’s lap. Dad crawled in after them, grinning.

“Yep, kiddo,” he said. “We’re watching movies until it’s time for dinner.”

Roman squeezed in after him and they all had to shift around a little so that they fit comfortably. “I think we should watch Mulan,” he said.

“Vetoed,” Virgil said immediately from outside the fort.

“Virrrrrrgillllll,” Roman whined.

“Roooooomaaaaaan,” Virgil responded, “no.” Roman groaned and threw his arms out, coming within an inch of taking Logan’s glasses off his face.

“Roman, do not underestimate me when I say if you hit me in the face, you will regret it.”

“Oh yeah?” Roman said. “What are you gonna do about it, specs?” Logan kept his face completely blank while he dragged a finger across his throat. That was one gesture that he had found particularly useful in life. It always caused Ro to make a face and stop whatever offending thing he was doing. As he did now, which Logan was grateful for.

“Snow White,” Dee said, hugging his stuffed snake to his chest.

“Ooh, good idea, kiddo,” Dad said.

“I agree with Dee,” Logan said. Dee wriggled happily, almost smacking Logan in the face when he waved his arms a little too exuberantly for the small, weak structure they were sitting in. Logan sighed, moving his face back, and refused to look at Roman when he made Offended Princey Noises and started babbling nonsense about having no allies.

What did he think this was, a war?

(If it was, Logan was totally winning.)

Logan snickered to himself while Virgil set up all their movies and then dragged himself into the fort, nearly knocking it over in the process.

“Got enough snacks there, emo nightmare?” Roman said, swatting at Virgil. Virgil held up a box of snowcaps. “Sorry, thank you, I love you, you are my favorite brother.” Roman snatched the candy away and very nearly hit Logan’s glasses off his face. Again.

Logan sighed and scooted a little closer. If he couldn’t get outside the range of Roman’s arms, he may as well get inside his personal space. An eye for an eye, right?

~~~~~~~

Logan adjusted his tie, in the same shades of blue and gold as his graduation garments had been, and then smoothed his hair back. He fiddled in front of the mirror, examining his outfit as though he thought it might betray him. If asked why, Logan would simply say that he wanted to look his best. He had just graduated, after all, and this dinner was going to make it as official as it got.

In truth, Logan was dawdling.

This graduation dinner was going to kill him if it was the last thing he did. Don’t get him wrong, Logan did like seeing his friends and he had been excited about getting to graduate with his peers all day. And that was part of the problem.

Logan had been excited and very nearly bouncing himself through the ceiling since the previous night. Graduation had gone amazingly, filled with pictures he was sure he’d get tired of looking at eventual (but for now still filled him with that indescribable, inflated feeling.) And now all he really wanted to do was sleep. Or maybe talk to Virgil about some of the things they wanted to do with this new-found freedom.

Instead, he was going to a celebration dinner with friends. It was not bad, per se, but it was not exactly ideal, either. Still, it wouldn’t be terrible to see them and Virgil was more excited about this than he had been about Walking, but he had done it for Logan. The least he could do was support his brother.

“What’re you doing?” Ro cried, barging into Logan’s room. At some point they had switched necklaces so that the pronouns read ‘they/them.’ Logan smiled slightly. He had bought them the pronoun necklace shortly after they came out, and Logan was always made happier to realize how much they liked it.

“Preparing to leave. What are you doing?” Logan said. He tightened his tie again. Ro rolled their eyes.

“C’mon, Poindexter. You can tie that in your sleep and we’re going to be late to your own celebration.” They snagged one of his wrists and began leading him toward the car.

“We are hardly going to be late,” he muttered but did not object to leaving. The restaurant, some pizza place Logan did not bother with figuring out the name of, had been reserved for a record number of people. Logan and Virgil and Ro and Dee and Percy and Dad, and Dad’s sibling Emile, and Emile’s son Kai, and Kai’s datemate Elliot. There were also Ro’s friends Anton and Marco, and Dee’s friends October and Seth, and a few people from Dad’s bakery, including Missy. Logan recalled he had invited his lab partner from Physics, Linda, and his two friends Nate and Corbin. Corbin’s boyfriend, Sloane, might also make an appearance, though Logan would not be surprised if he did. The two were figuratively attached at the hip. Virgil had only suggested two people: someone who Virgil only referred to as dickhead or The Critic, and Remy.

The latter, Logan knew, Virgil liked in a way different from how one liked friends. He also knew Virgil was still recovering from an unfortunate incident a few years prior that had ended with Logan and Ro egging someone’s house. Virgil had not expressed an interest in dating or trusting someone like that again, except for vague allusions to Remy, but it was not yet Logan’s place to be encouraging that.

Though he might. Virgil could be slow to trust and even slower to take a risk for himself. This was a risk that was almost certainly going to pan out in his favor because Remy was just as enamoured with Virgil as Virgil was with them. He would have to consult Ro first, get their expertise and advice on the matter. Logan preferred not to mess with romance. It was outside his realm of desires. As such, he had no idea what steps to take to help Virgil along with it. But he would, regardless.

Once they arrived at the restaurant, Logan was surprised to see they’d been beaten there. By none other than Nate himself. He was known for being chronically late to literally everything he attended, if he showed up at all—and Logan does mean literally. He had never, in all his time, known Nate to be anything other than late (fashionably, as Remy would insist, but what is fashionable about not respecting another’s time?)

“Hey, bro, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up,” Nate said, following the Sanders into the restaurant. Logan snorted.

“And I thought your M.O. was to never show up on time, simply to prove you did not have to. Has that changed or is this an anomaly to be discounted when making plans with you in the future?”

Nate smirked, leaning in a little closer to Logan as they waited for the wait staff to bring them back to the party room. “An anomaly, an exception. Who can say? Maybe I misread the time.”

“Or maybe you’re an ass,” Virgil said, shoulder-checking Nate as he walked by. Logan coughed over a laugh and tried to look sympathetic as Nate stared after him, affronted.

“What did I ever do to earn your brother’s ire?”

Resisting the urge to be outwardly impressed with Nate’s choice in diction (he’d been told it was sometimes a rather condescending thing to do), he said, “It’s how he shows love.” Then Logan hooked his fingers through Nate’s sleeve and pulled him along. It took longer than was strictly necessary for Logan to let go, but there were very few people in the world whom Logan would willingly come into prolonged physical contact (or, really, any kind of contact, but physical especially) with, and Logan had never been one to entirely forgo the things he enjoyed without ample reason.

“Oh, like a cat,” Nate said. Virgil turned around and hissed and Logan barely contained the laugh that threatened to escape at Nate’s horrified expression.

“No, not like a cat,” he choked out, adjusting his glasses for Composure™. “Cats are actually very loving creatures. It is merely a matter of understanding their ways of expressing love and reciprocating so that they understand you also love them.”

“Oh, really?” Nate said. He pulled Logan’s chair out without hesitating and took the seat next to him. “How do cats show love, then?”

“You don’t even like cats,” Logan said, leveling his best deadpan look on Nate. He was unaffected, however, and just raised an eyebrow right back.

“Humor me.”

Logan snorted and shook his head, but obligingly opened his mouth. “Well, when a cat bends its tail…”

~~~~~~~

Hours later—or at least, it felt like hours to Logan’s exhausted brain—they finally brought out the dessert. Dessert meant that the event was almost over, and that meant it was almost time for Logan to collapse into his bed and make his plans for tomorrow.

Plans that would likely include driving somewhere (just because he could) to pick up something that he would need, as well as most likely taking Dee along with him because Dee loved car rides and always woke up nearly as early as Logan did.

So, while Logan was not particularly excited about dessert, he did help himself to a cupcake and had to wipe some of the chocolate icing off Nate’s face when he was too enthusiastic with his endeavour to eat it in one bite. (On a dare from Remy, no less, which should not have surprised Logan in the least.)

Currently, however, Virgil was ensconced in a conversation with Remy that was taking his entire focus, Percy and Nate were going head-to-head to see who could eat more cupcakes the quickest (the benefit of having a baker for a dad: unlimited dessert. Even when it was an ill-formed idea), Linda was trying to dissuade them (something Logan knew was futile from so much personal experience), and Corbin and Sloane were barely shy of making-out. With everyone that Logan was worried about or responsible for taken care of, Logan felt content and confident in taking his leave.

He stole out the front of the restaurant, slipping down to sit on a conveniently-placed bench before anyone noticed him moving. It had been a very long day, and while Logan had enjoyed his conversations Nate and Corbin and Virgil and all the congratulations and attention that he and Virgil were being given, he was very tired. A quick break now, and then he’d be able to stomach another cupcake or two before it was time to leave.

The day had been good, and Logan could not have been happier with the outcome.

He was still resting on the bench when a presence settled in beside him. “Are you asleep?” asked a young voice, and Logan cracked a smile.

“Not at all, little snake.” Logan opened his eyes and looked at his younger brother (he’d never had one of those before, and even now the thought made him feel impossibly brighter. Being an older brother, he decided, was a good thing. The thought of the responsibility had been nerve wracking at first, but now Logan could not be convinced to trade it for anything.) “What do you need?”

“I brought chess,” Dee said by way of explanation. He unfolded the board between them and pulled the bag of pieces out. “You said you’d practice with me, and I thought you might want to now since, ya know, you don’t always like loud people so much.” Dee looked up at him big, hopefully eyes and it was suddenly a struggle for Logan to not have to wipe his eyes.

“Of course,” Logan said, and he reached out to ruffle Dee’s hair the way Ro always did to Logan himself. Dee beamed up at him, one lower canine missing from an unfortunate incident regarding a swing set and a badly positioned seesaw. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Yesssss,” Dee hissed, up-ending the bag onto the board and watching as the pieces scattered. Logan laughed brightly, resisting the urge to ruffle Dee’s hair again and righting the pieces.

“Do you remember where they go?” Logan asked.

“Chad, Brooke, Charlie, Lilah, John, Charlie the second, Brooke the second, and Chad the second,” Dee said, nudging each piece into its correct place.

“My next question was going to be if you remembered their names, but I suppose that answers that question,” Logan muttered, even though that really did not answer any such question. “What about these guys?” He held up a pawn, the only pieces Dee had not yet put in their proper places.

“Well,” Dee said, barely glancing up, “they all look the same so I just call them the Dudes.” Logan internalized his groan. These antics were probably urged by the combined efforts of Ro and Virgil, though it is something Dad would do, too, because he always said you remembered things better if you gave them names.

Still, it would not fly if Dee wanted to join the chess club at school, like he’d been talking about, and even doing professional competitions. As cute as naming the pieces was, he would have to know their official titles.

But...well, that was something they could work on next time.

“In what directions can the Dudes move?” Logan asked.

“Forward,” Dee said confidently. Then, more hesitantly, “And only one square. But the first one gets a double jump?”

“Very good,” Logan said, and he moved one of his pawns two squares forward. “Which piece in the back row can move over the first row?”

“Is it Charlie?” Dee asked.

“No, but good guess. It’s the Knight. Uhm, I believe you named them Brooke.” Logan pointed to Dee’s horse head piece, and Dee picked up. “Do you know why they can do that?”

“No.”

“It’s because they are horses, and that means they can jump right over the pawn-the Dudes’ heads.” Logan corrected himself quickly, pointing to the two squares on the board that Dee’s knight could go to. Dee giggled, jumping the horse over the pawns and neighing, landing it in the righter space of the two possibilities.

“Interesting,” Logan said, stroking a pretend beard. Dee giggled and Logan moved another pawn into position. Dee poked his tongue through the hole in his teeth while he contemplated the board. Eventually, he scooted a pawn forward to sit next to his knight. He was too new to know any strategy of the game, but Logan couldn’t help but imagine that Dee knew exactly what he was doing, with that cute little concentrating look on his face, and that he had a plan.

Though, it probably would not just be imagining for too much longer. It was no secret that Dee was extremely intelligent. It was only a matter of time before he was figuratively kicking Logan’s butt every game they played.

Logan would be willing to bet that time would come sooner rather than later. He couldn’t wait to see it.

~~~~~~~

Approximately two hours later saw Logan and Dee entering their fourth game of chess. Logan was focusing much harder now than he had been before. Dee had managed to take out half Logan’s pieces at least in their first two games - partly because Logan was going easy on him and still trying to teach him - but in the third game, either by some over-sight on Logan’s part or because Dee somehow did know some chess strategy, he had taken Logan’s Queen, or Lilah as Dee preferred, and had very nearly beat Logan.

“Have you been researching this?” Logan asked, allowing Dee the first move.

“Nah,” Dee said, scrunching his face up before moving one of his knights. “Why? Am I doing good?”

“Good?” Logan asked, and he was faintly aware that he was incredulous in the best possible way. “Dee, you are doing phenomenally.”

“Awesome,” Dee said, sounding just as excited about the game as he did when he asked for Sour Patch Kids at the store. He paused before asking, “Is it supposed to be hard? It just kinda makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“For some people, it does. For most people it is a very hard game that takes years of practice.” Logan moved his piece in counterpoint to Dee’s.

“Huh,” said Dee. “Well, that’s weird.” He didn’t say anything else, and neither did Logan, and Logan played the first game of chess in years in which he almost lost not once, but twice. It was an entirely unique experience.

People Logan recognized started pouring out of the restaurant, and Logan realized that they had spent for more time outside than he had intended to. He helped Dee pack up all the pieces and find the rest of their family still inside the building.

“Hey, Lo! I was beginning to think you ran off,” Dad said, wrapping his arm around Logan’s shoulders briefly.

“I think Dee should join the chess club,” Logan said with no preamble. Dad blinked, confused, but then he shrugged amicably.

“That would be great! As long as he still wants to when school starts up next year, there’s not any reason he shouldn’t.” He grabbed one of the empty cupcake boxes off the table and tossed it into a trash bin. “Anything in particular bring this up?”

“Well,” Logan said, helping to collect the trash. Sure, the staff could clean it all up, but they had all worked the bakery with Dad at one point or another. It was always a little pick-me-up when the patrons helped out. “We were outside playing and-”

“I almost beat Lo!” Dee exclaimed, jumping at Dad. Dee was swung up and around, onto his back, and Dad laughed.

“That’s really impressive, Dee,” Dad said. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!”

“Hey,” said a voice at his shoulder. Logan spun around, startled, and came face-to-face with Nate. “Where’d you run off to?”

“I was, uhm, outside. With Dee.” Logan very suddenly felt short of breath, noticing the dimple on Nate’s face when he smirked. “We were playing chess and got caught up.”

Nate hummed in response. “Did you enjoy your graduation?”

“Yeah, I did. I am exhausted, though.” Logan wondered, briefly, if this is how Virgil felt around Remy. He wondered if, perhaps, he was not in fact aromantic, but maybe something more like…

Demiromantic.

What an unfortunate time to realize he was crushing on his best friend.

“Here, I got you this.” Nate pulled a little box out of his pocket and offered it to Logan. Logan was hesitant to take it - with his rather suddenly realized feelings and absolutely no advice asked of anyone more knowledgeable about the subject, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

“Uh, thank you,” Logan said. He took the box.

“Wait til you get home to open it?” Nate asked. Logan nodded mutely and stuffed the box into his own pocket. “Cool. Text ya later, nerd boy.” He punched Logan’s arm before walking, slowly, out of the room. Logan watched him go, conflicted. He was not, generally, one to hide his feelings. He would have to confess soon because if not, he would act unbelievably strange around Nate from then on. It would be enjoyable for no one. But for now he was better off waiting to get advice before making any definitive choices.

“What is up with people in leather jackets? Virgil, you. It must be something in the air,” Ro said, appearing next to Logan. Logan coughed over his spluttering while Ro laughed. “Anygay, we’re leaving too. Come on.” He grabbed Logan’s hand and dragged him to the car. It was so reminiscent of exactly what Ro had done to him earlier that Logan felt as though he were experiencing deja vu but in reverse.

You know, if that were a thing that could happen.

The ride home was quiet and Logan excused himself to his room immediately. He was not at all surprised when, no more than thirty minutes later, Virgil opened his door a crack, entered, closed it, and then flopped onto his bed soundlessly. In the dark room, wearing their pajamas, it was easy to pretend that they were both back to being six years old and sharing a room.

“It has been a day,” Virgil said, voice tired but light.

“Most are,” Logan said, and Virgil tossed his hand at Logan in a half-hearted slap. It landed on his face and they both just left it there.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“Yeah,” Logan sighed. “It was good, though. Productive.”

“You can just say you’re happy.”

“I am ecstatic and also exhausted.”

“Fair enough. I feel ya. What’s the first thing you want to do with our new-found freedoms and diplomas?” Virgil’s fingers began tapping a rhythm into Logan’s face, soft and soothing.

“Store. Buy things I don’t need. Learn more about chess.”

“You have weird priorities, Lo.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“Sleep in until noon, regret my decisions, and then, possibly something crazy. Something beyond insane. Something absolutely-”

“Are you going to hang out with Remy?”

“Maybe.” Virgil shrugged, shifting Logan slightly. “We’ll see what kinds of dreams I have.” They stayed quiet for a few minutes, Logan wondering what Virgil’s dreams had to do with anything.

“I like Nate,” he said. “In the same way I believe you like Remy.” There was a breath of silence before Virgil responded that very nearly made Logan’s head explode.

“First of all, rude and incorrect. Second of all, demi?”

“I think so. I’m not sure. I’ll have to look into it more.”

“There’s nothing wrong with changing your identity,” Virgil said quietly. “I thought I was gay for years before I realized I was actually pan and just had a lot of stuff about myself to figure out.” He paused, and Logan felt a tension he had not even realized was carrying leave his shoulders. “And, if you don’t want to, there’s no reason you even have to label it. You can just like who you like and leave it at that. Plus, now that you do like someone, I get exclusive rights to make you suffer.”

“Shut up.” Logan laughed. “Thank you, Virgil. That was...immensely helpful. But do not think this means we will not be talking about Remy.” Logan scooted slightly closer to the wall, allowing Virgil enough room to actually be fully on the bed. “Oh. I just remembered that Nate gave me a present. Could you grab my jeans?”

Virgil reached to the ground and found Logan’s pants, pulling the box out of the pocket and tossing it to him. “That all?”

“Yes.” Logan felt the box, weighing it in his hands.

“Come on,” Virgiled whined, “open it. I wanna see what’s inside.”

“Mind your own business,” Logan said, just a touch petulant, but went ahead and opened the box by his phone light anyway. Inside there was a chewable necklace—something Logan had been meaning to get for quite a while. He had a nasty habit of chewing whatever was near him when he was working or thinking—and a slip of paper. Logan did not bother to bite back his smile at the gift as he slipped it on and unfolded the paper.

Logan,

Me and you could go out to the festival Friday night if you want. Meet you there at six.

Call it a date?

Logan did not squee when he read those words, but perhaps a sound somewhere in the neighborhood did come out of his mouth. Immediately he started chewing his necklace (convenient) and smacked at Virgil’s arm. Virgil laughed.

“Ro can help you get ready for your date,” he said. “But you should probably text Nate to let him know you accept.”

“Yes, yes you are absolutely correct.” Logan whipped out his phone, but then paused. “Is there not some form of texting etiquette? To not respond too soon so you don’t seem clingy?”

“I’ve never gotten that stuff,” Virgil said. “You like him, he likes you. You want him to know that, so why pretend to be disinterested? I don’t know. Respond whenever you want. As long as it’s coming from you, I doubt it’ll matter.”

“Okay,” Logan muttered, already quickly texting Nate that Friday sounded like a wonderful idea and that he absolutely could not wait.

“Well,” Virgil said, “now that our emotional shit is taken care of.” He yawned and stretched his arms above his head, repositioning himself slightly. “Night, L.”

“You better go out with Remy,” Logan said.

“Stop meddling.”

“God themself literally could not make me. Night, V. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Logan fell asleep, and while he could not speak to the quality of Virgil’s dreams, his left him refreshed and excited the next morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @supersoftsupersleep @trashcanego

[broken-clover]

Goretober Day 9- Medical

Man, this one is weird. In hindsight there were so many other options I could have gone with, and I went with this one? Meh. Honestly I wonder how coherent this is in the first place, I’m probably gonna edit it in the morning to try and make it less disaster-y because I can’t make an informed opinion right now I don’t have enough brainpower to do that. Hopefully the long weekend will let me catch up on everything (including the sleep)

Well! Onto the important stuff. I figured I’d been away from Blazblue for long enough, so have a Tager! Because I love him, and I love to hurt him. Also maybe a warning for canon compliance because I dunno how well this works, I tried to do some background research but Blazblue is confusing and at some point I just kinda gave up.

He’d learned two lessons that day, ones that he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to forget anytime soon. The first was the idea that brute strength was a powerful tool, if used wisely. Bare hands could do a lot of damage, even matched up against machine weaponry.

The second was that the feeling of having your ribcage torn clean open was the worst sensation that a person could live through.

The whole fight had been a whirlwind, and he’d barely remembered where it started. They were supposed to have been retrieving Nirvana, but the group that had commissioned them had said that Nirvana was supposed to be dormant. Maybe it wouldn’t have been the cleanest mission, but they hadn’t been expecting-

“GOOD! Keep squirming! I LOVE it when they squirm!”

A flash of sea-blue hair and burning red eyes sent everything back into disarray.

“Artillery! Keep on the left, don’t lose track of Nirvana!”

He couldn’t remember when he’d dropped his weapon. It was nowhere within reach. Partizan always had extras, just in case something happened while they were out in the thick of a mission. But Partizan had been the first to fall down and not get up. He could still see a pale hand clutching her long spear, even as they both marinated in her own blood.

“Flamberge! Pull back!”

It had swiftly turned into a losing battle, and they all knew it. But they also knew that not all of them would be able to make it out. That…thing, it was too fast to outrun.

“Take everyone who can still walk and RUN! I’ll try to hold him off- !”

Even that had been wishful thinking. He’d watched Artillery get his jaw torn clean off, Flamberge stabbed on her own blade, Francisca left bleeding out from her snapped-off leg, and Krieg nothing more than a mashed-up pile of flesh, half-crushed under a support beam.

The monster had killed them all, deliberately, right in front of him, as though a punishment for trying to be the martyr. It had left him alive for last, savoring every moment with a wretched sense of satisfaction.

”You made for a bunch of fun toys. Never had any of ‘em last that long before.”

He didn’t want to think about some of his best and closest friends, butchered without mercy, not offered a moment to say goodbye to the world before they were taken out of it. All that was left now was him, sprawled out on the hard ground, bleeding and pinned down by something that looked human, but couldn’t be. No human could commit such an atrocity.

Some manic, hysterical part of him laughed in triumph, realizing that he wouldn’t be parted from them for very long.

It seemed to exert so little effort when it ripped him right in two. Almost like opening a present. Though the pain sparked off of every nerve, dragging out a scream that could shake the heavens above, he found himself wondering about the creature that was mauling him. Who had decided to create it? Did it know anything else besides the blood and sweat and tears of war? Was battle all that it knew, or did it simply not care about anything else?

Sharp teeth grazed his exposed innards, ripping out a mouthful of something. The creature was eating him alive.

”Never had a toy that’s so tasty, either…”

As long as Bullet was far, far away from there...she’d begged to come along, insisting that her wounds had finally healed. They had all ribbed him over it, laughing about how easy it was for her to get him to say yes. But he had been firm. Of course he cared deeply about their younger member, that was why he wanted her to fully recover before she could go back onto the field, no matter how much she pleaded and scowled.

He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t died yet. He could see a single arm off on its own, and the action of tearing through his ribs had definitely snapped the spine. One eye had been punched clean out, and he could barely manage breathing without trying not to choke as blood pooled in the back of his throat.

There wasn’t much after that. Blood. Screaming, but not his own. Flashing lights. Something was lifting him. Had the goddess of death finally arrived to release him from the agony?

It had been dark then, for a long time. He could make out the vague faces of his friends, staring out in the gloom. They never moved, never said anything, just stood and stared. It still offered a sense of comfort, being with people he knew. It felt less lonely.

The sound of a light switching on felt like a gunshot whizzing past his head. It was the first real sensation he could remember in what felt like an eternity. It was odd to feel something again.

He immediately regretted the thought, as a tidal wave of pain slammed into him at full force. It was a sensation that he recognized. The memories flooded back a moment later- the twisted, mangled bodies of his companions, a horrible, satisfied smile, drowning in his own blood-

“I know, it’s not like I’ve forgotten about you.”

The unfamiliar voice snapped him out of the memories. He couldn’t remember anything, who was she? Why was she talking to him?

The light burned. He barely had enough energy to squeeze his eye shut to hide from it. Something like footsteps clicked in the distance.

“I’ll help you right now.” The strange woman’s voice came back. “No, let me rephrase- I’ll give you a ‘chance to be helped.’”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Was this woman death? Had she come to judge his soul? Perhaps that’s why the light felt so blinding.

The sound of footsteps was joined by the clink of metal, things being pulled and pushed around. He didn’t tend to think of himself as an especially curious person, but the lack of understanding of his current situation definitely had him wanting to know more, even if it hurt.

The light still hurt. It was hard to focus on much more than that. But he could make out a pair of shining lenses looming over him, adjusting things that he couldn’t see. The light glinted off of a dozen cables and wires, attaching and affixing themselves to...was that his body?

There wasn’t much to be seen. It was clear that nearly all of it was broken. Only one limb appeared to have anything useful still attached to it. Needles were stuck into his sides, with no proper arms to find the veins to. He didn’t look like a person. He didn’t look like he was supposed to be alive.

“Hey, can you hear me?”

She was talking to him now? What for? It didn’t make any sense. He managed to get a dry groan out, before it made his head spin.

“I’ve got some interesting readings from you. You’re really lucky. I think you’re compatible.”

“‘Compatible?’ Compatible with what? What was she talking about? Why was he even here in the first place?

He must have made some noise without realizing it. The stranger’s voice came back, sporting an oddly soothing tone. “Hey, hey, you’re my test subject now. I can’t exactly have you die on me.”

Test subject?!

“But I hope you’re ready to become a demon…”

Oh, no. Was this what everything was all about? She’d managed to scrape him off the ground and stitched him back together just enough so that he could be used as a lab rat?! Was this woman absolutely deranged?

He desperately wished he had the power to move. Even attempting a pathetic wiggle was too much, and it only made him writhe in pain. There was nothing he could do as she finished looking him over, and fetched a sharp needle to stick in him.

He could feel the foreign object digging in, pooling out. It burned in his blood, ripping skin and muscles and cells apart and eating what was inside. Was this some kind of torture? It had to be. It felt like being split in two all over again. He could almost see those menacing eyes, boring into his soul as it tore him into bits.

When he finally felt lucid enough to think, all he could focus on was the thought that this couldn’t be his own body, it looked nothing like it.

He wasn’t supposed to be this big, or this red, or this…metallic. Something had been welded onto the stumps of his legs (hadn’t there been more of them left? What happened to his other leg?). What were all these extra parts? Why were they here?

“You’re up?”

His eyes snapped towards the source. The strange woman. Something about her face was frightening.

“W-what-” It didn’t sound quite like him. But it was close enough. Closer than everything else.

“Whatever. You don’t need to worry about that.” She held something in her hand. A thick cable came off of it, which she connected to another that snaked across the floor.

As soon as she did, an odd rush of coldness flooded his body. The second cable seemed to connect to him in some way. That wasn’t supposed to be there, so why was it?

“I’ve still got a few more jobs to do with you. But to do that, I’ve gotta clean the slate and start over.”

What? Why did she say so many strange things? Everything felt so confusing. He didn’t know what any of it meant. What did she was with him? Why-

She twisted something on the strange object in her hand, and everything went dark.

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[starrymarktuan]

Fire in his Blood (Ice)

» Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader

» Genre: Angst and fluff; vampire!au, non-idol!au

» Word Count: 1,923

» Description: After a chance encounter at a hockey game you become infatuated with player number twenty-eight, Jackson Wang. But how do you bridge the divide between human and vampire?  

» ice :: fire :: blood

photo cred

Going to a hockey game was sort of an indulgence.

Sitting on the cold plastic chairs in the skating rink, the seat pinching your butt and making you squirm, you realized that it was kind of like how humans watch cooking shows. They gather on sofas around television sets and watch their food get pounded, sliced, diced and cooked.

This all applied to vampires watching hockey. Well, except the cooking part.

Mina was sitting next to you with her legs crossed tightly, tapping her perfectly manicured fingernails at an even pace on the plastic armrest. She hissed every time a player slammed into the plexiglass window in front of your seats, a tooth falling out and blood smearing the surface. Her tongue darted out and licked her upper lip.

“Calm down.” You rolled your eyes. Mina liked to go to hockey games on an empty stomach and test her restraint. This, in your opinion, was a terrible idea. One day she would snap, kill everyone in the room (starting with number nineteen, whose blood was dripping down his chin) and end up incarcerated.

You weren’t willing to take that kind of risk. You overfed before going to games. It meant that you felt bloated and uncomfortable now, and your eyes turned a terrifying shade of red, but it ensured that you wouldn’t leap from your seat at halftime and go overboard drinking from muscular, bruised hockey players.

“That one,” Mina said, holding a hand out and pointing at a player. Her eyes and her finger tracked him as he skated from one goal to the other, rejoining his teammates and getting back into position.

You squinted and leaned closer to her, following her finger. Number...twenty-eight. Black hair, sweaty and sticking to his forehead, peeked out from beneath his helmet. His mouth guard was black and his jaw was clenched tightly on it. He hit his stick harshly against the ice and seemed to growl at the opposing team.

“He has fire in his blood.” Mina was speaking softly, in almost a growl, and your eyes snapped to her. Her fangs were partially extended, so much so that she couldn’t close her mouth all of the way. Your fingers encircled her wrist and she bent down quickly, biting your arm like a cat who didn’t want to be picked up.

“Mina!” you gasped. You held her jaw and forced her to look at you. Her eyes had gone white like they did when you were hungry. “Mina!” you snapped again, “When did you eat last?”

She didn’t respond and you wrenched her from the chair, dragging her down the row of seats and up the stairs. You were sitting in a mostly unoccupied section, on purpose. But Mina’s feet planted, taking root in the concrete when you passed a human.

You cursed yourself—how could you be so stupid? You’d been too busy trying to get her out to consider if any humans had been sitting behind you both.

You spun around. Mina was baring her teeth at...a family. Two men cowered in their seats, clutching two children. Both kids, a boy, and a girl were crying noisily, burying their faces in their fathers’ chests. Mina took a step towards them and you immediately stood before her, spreading your arms like a shield in front of the family.

“Mina.”

Below, on the ice, the game had stopped. The timer was still going because the announcers, the audience and the timekeepers had also stopped. Everyone was looking at you both. There were security guards on the steps above you and below.

This was why you didn’t go to hockey games on an empty stomach.

Mina’s eyes turned cloudy, her dark irises becoming clear beneath the smoke. She was calming down. She was still hungry, and after all of this commotion, you would have to leave immediately. But at least she wouldn’t have to be carted out of here.

You took a step towards her and at that moment a sharp bite hit your skin. Mina’s eyes turned white again before slipping entirely closed. As your body convulsed you watched Mina hit the ground, your own knees buckling, and you turned to see the terrified expression of a young security guard with his taser extended.

Just as you were blacking out, eyes closing and mind shutting off, there came a commotion from the ice—

“Hey! What are you doing!”

And then silence.

You woke up twenty-five minutes later, soaked in sweat.

Blinking awake you shied away from the harsh lights pointed directly down at you. Where were you—the hospital? Jail? Outside?

None of the above?

The smell hit you next. It was pure body odor, talcum powder, and running water. And sweat. Your own and other people’s. A loud clanging nearby made you wince and shut your eyes tightly, reopening them to try and combat the light again. You covered your face with your hand and hissed slightly.

“Oh, you’re awake!”

You sat up, your back stiff from whatever you’d been laying on. Glancing down you saw that it was a wooden bench, thin and long. Looking on either side of you there were brightly colored lockers, being repeatedly opened and closed by half-naked guys.

And then you looked straight ahead—Number Twenty-Eight. The player with fire in his blood. The one who had started this whole mess. You glared at him out of common decency. He seemed to ignore it.

“Are you okay?” Twenty-Eight said, “You went down pretty hard. But,” he twisted his neck to look at the side of your head, where it had hit the concrete steps, “no bruise.” You reached a hand up and delicately prodded the flesh. It had hurt when you’d gone down, but there wouldn’t be a bruise now. You’d eaten so much before going to the game, that your natural healing abilities would be able to work overtime. Mina was probably not so lucky.

Mina.

“Where’s Mina!” You felt your muscles tense and you couldn’t help but bare your teeth slightly at Twenty-Eight.

Jackson felt the threat like a shot to the heart and it sobered him. He’d thought he was playing the part of the knight in shining armor—jumping over stadium chairs and racing up the stairs, throwing the foolish security guard out, carrying this one into the locker rooms and leading his teammates to help him. He was your hero.

In the story that played in his mind, he’d forgotten you were a vampire. You didn’t need a hero. Apparently.

Jackson jerked his head over, motioning to a separate room. “She’s in there,” he said, “There’s a vampire on our team and he said she looked like she was starving. He kept her away from the guys—when she woke up she was pretty savage.” You snarled slightly at the insinuation, but he pushed on, “But he always has a couple of blood packs in his bag, so he gave her a couple. She’s been feeding for a couple minutes now. She just woke up, too.”

Jackson watched you absorb the news. Your eyes flicked in the direction of the room he pointed out and he could see you listening to what was going on inside. You must have heard something promising because you visibly deflated. Your mouth closed, and your muscles relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, looking at the ground. You coughed uncomfortably and looked at him straight on, saying more loudly now, “I’m sorry. Mina’s...she’s very important to me, is all. But my reaction was...a bit overboard.”

Jackson felt the whiplash. You’d gone from sleeping beauty to confused amnesiac to threatening monster and now to composed professional. Who were you? He felt the curiosity coil in him like a snake.

“That’s okay,” he conceded, “You had every right to be confused.”

You nodded, appreciating his acknowledgment, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Thank...you,” you said, again looking away, “I heard you yell before I blacked out. You must have kept us from being reported or sent to the police. So, thank you.”

And now, you were a compassionate, slightly embarrassed...person?

“You’re welcome. The security guard was out of line, your friend–Mina?” you nodded, and he continued, “She was clearly backing down. He jumped the gun.”

You nodded, your eyes flicking back to the room your friend was in. You noticed now the hockey player leaning against the door. He was still in uniform, his hair sweaty. But while his teammates were bloody and bruised—Twenty-Eight, sitting in front of you, had a delicious looking split lip, and a brilliant purple mark on his jaw—his skin was pristine. He chewed on his bottom lip unconsciously and his eyes were a familiar shade of red. The color your eyes were now.

He must gorge himself before every game. Just in case.

“That’s Mark,” Twenty-Eight said, following your gaze. You watched the vampire for another second, until his eyes snapped to yours, sensing your stare. He inclined his head and you did it back, respectful and thankful for what he’d done. “And I’m Jackson,” Twenty-Eight interrupted.

You looked back over to him, your lips quirking up in a half-smile. Across the way, Mark was listening from afar, his ear attuned to Jackson’s heartbeat, now racing as his conversation with you continued.

“What?” Jackson said, “Is my name funny?” He scratched the back of his neck, forgetting again, that you were a vampire.

“No,” you shook your head, your hair falling in your face so that you had to tuck it back behind your ear, “I’ve just...I’ve been calling you ‘Twenty-Eight’ in my head.”

Jackson’s eyebrows raised and he looked down to his chest, where the twenty-eight was emblazoned. He chuckled and said, “I’ve been calling you Pretty Vampire Chick.”

You smiled, your eyes flicking over to the door as it opened, Mina’s sheepish facing appearing in the opening. You turned back to Jackson with a smirk, “Works for me.”

Mina avoided your eyes when you walked up to her, almost hiding behind Mark as she emerged from the room. You smiled widely, relieved to see the just-fed flush in her cheeks. You pulled her into an abrupt hug, squeezing tightly, relief cocooning you both. When you pulled away you grinned and said, “Would it be inappropriate to say ‘I told you so’?”

“Yes,” she whined, slapping you playfully. She turned away from you and bowed her head at Mark, “Thank you very much.” He reached up and squeezed her arm.

“We’ve all been there,” he said sympathetically, “I completely understand. It was...nice, meeting you.” Mina’s hair fell in front of her face like a veil, hiding her embarrassed expression. You wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

“Let’s get outta here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, turning and bowing once more to Mark, “Thank you again.”

“Feel better,” he said, turning smoothly on his heel and walking towards the showers. You both turned as a unit towards the door, your leg brushing Jackson’s softly as you passed him. He jolted at the sensation, standing suddenly.

“So you’re not going to tell me your name?”

Mina chuckled and whispered in your ear, “Fire in his blood.”

“Shut up,” you whispered to her before turning to smirk at him. “I don’t think I will tell you.”

“But,” Jackson stuttered, his cheeks flushing with the fire-infused blood Mina was so obsessed with, “But what if I want to see you again?”

Your smirk grew and you tucked your hair behind your ear smartly, “Then I guess fate will have to intervene.”

author’s note— this is my first time doing fantasy in awhile...there’s a crap ton of twilight vibes in this lol 

for more of my works check out my m.list

[imaginetonyandbucky]

All I Need is the Air

Winter might die, but at least he wasn’t going to die hungry. And he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Tony led him down in his nest, an elaborately hollowed tree with a half dozen interior flets, all the way down until the floor under Winter’s talons was dirt. He couldn’t resist the urge to tear at the floor, to feel the earth crumbling under his feet.

Tony gave him a quick grin. “Need to scratch, a bit? Feel free, but there’s not much to forage down here. We can go out later, if you want. I remember how bad I needed to get my talons in the earth, back… well, I’ll tell you about that later, maybe. Let’s get those off you, okay?”

Winter hadn’t noticed the room, really. Hadn’t noticed the heat and the black and the red light thrown up on the walls. He didn’t know what it was; he’d never seen anything like it.

Fire.

He knew fire. Every avian knew fire and feared it, but here, Tony kept it like a pet, contained inside walls that glinted and glittered and shone dark red in places.

“What is this?”

“Welcome to my evil lair,” Tony said, grinning. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Tony pulled out devices the likes of which Winter had never seen before and, after some coaxing, Winter put his leg up on a cold, oddly shaped, strange-smooth rock. Tony raised the tool and brought it down on a frozen gray stick and there was a ringing clang. After a few good hits, the shackle fell away.

Winter only vaguely remembered fire being involved, when the Hydra put the thrice-damned thing on him in the first place, being terrified and in pain, they’d wrapped it around his leg and seared it into place.

“What…”

“Metal,” Tony said. “Rocks with special properties. They become liquid under intense heat, and I can shape and change them to my needs.”

Winter blinked owlishly. “You do… this?” The Hydra in the mines had sometimes called the rocks that Winter and the other slaves scratched out of the rock “metal.” A dreadful suspicion rose in Winter’s heart. “Where do you get it?”

“I trade for it. Blacksmithing -- that’s what metalworking is called -- for raw stone. It’s dug up from the earth.”

“You… you did this to me?”

“What?”

“Hydra,” Winter spat. “Hydra plucked me from my nest, put these… things on me--” he gestured violently at the broken shackle “-- forced us to work in their mines, for ore. Or we didn’t eat. And they… they tore off my wing and you did this to us?”

“No,” Tony whispered. He looked so stricken, so horrified, that Winter was convinced he meant it. Or didn’t know. “No, no, I wouldn’t…” his voice dropped. “I don’t know. If… if that’s what’s happened, what’s happening. I… I’ll find out. I’ll fix it, I swear, I… I just trade, I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’ll make it right.”

“Yeah?” Winter grabbed Tony’s chin and stared into those brown eyes, so remorseful. “You’ll take me with you when you do.”

“Yeah, you got it, sunshine,” Tony said.

(more under the cut, including additional art)

There were two kinds of problems in the world, Tony thought. The ones he could solve and the ones he could not solve. It was usually a matter of figuring out which ones were which, and then he could do what he did best. Ignore the things he didn’t know how to fix and work on the ones that he could.

He sent messengers -- Friday and Wasp and Marvel -- out. There were people he needed to speak with and materials that he needed. And information. He needed information more than anything else.

The forge glowed red for most of four days. He went through at least half of his remaining paper supply, designing, reworking, and configuring. He spent six precious hours working up a test-model from thin-carved wood. It would work, he thought. If the design held. If he could fix the controls. If he could lighten the power source a little.

He’d almost forgotten that he’d sent Marvel out to see if Bruce could spare some time for a consultation.

Tony had been trying to avoid Winter, which was harder to do than he might have guessed, but he didn’t usually have other people in his living space for long. He’d come across the other avian a few times, usually in Tony’s kitchen. The first time, Winter had bolted, leaving the seed cakes behind. It had taken Tony the better part of two hours to find him, curled up and hiding, single wing spread over his head to protect himself, in one of the far storage rooms.

“Hey, no,” Tony had said. “No, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He had laid the seed cakes out, along with a small basket of fresh berries. “You can eat, all you want. It’s fine.”

Tony had never seen anything quite so beautiful, and yet achingly tragic, as the way Winter had peeked around his tattered wing to stare at Tony, full of fear and doubt and gratitude all at the same time.

Rather than deal with any of it, Tony had fled back to his workshop with renewed determination.

Aaaand, he was distracted again; brought back to the present by Bruce’s thundering wingclaps as he fluttered around the base of the Tower.

Storms! He’d forgotten to tell Winter they were expecting a guest. Tony cursed again, threw himself up -- he’d been walking, for the most part, since Winter’s arrival, not wanting to upset his guest, but he could move faster if he flew. “Marvel, tell Bruce to settle down, okay? He’s not a hurricane. I’ll be right out with him, okay? Thank you. J, have you seen Winter recently? Oh, thank you, I owe you a fresh draw of nectar, remind me, you know I’ll forget.”

He swooped up through the center of the Tower and landed neatly on the nesting floors. Finding Winter was easy enough; he was pressed into the furthest corner of the nest space Tony had given him. Since his arrival, Winter had been venturing into the Tower and its multitude of storage rooms, selecting branches and decorations to adorn his nest, and what he’d built was an enormous pendant nest that dangled securely from a high branch, ribboned with colorful bits of cloth in a pattern that Tony could almost, but not quite, understand.

Tony folded his wings against his back. “Hey there,” he said, cautious. “I know, that was big, and terrifying, and… look, can you at least come over to the entrance? I feel like I’m talking to your nest and that’s just rude. I’d feel a lot better if I could see you? Yeah? Oh, okay, good, there you are. Hey… that’s my friend. Bruce. I know, he’s very loud. But it’s okay. He can’t come up in the tree, he’s too big, but… I was wondering if you’d come out to meet him? I told him a little about you, and… Look, I’m good with machinery. I build things, that’s what I do. But he knows more about people. I want him to take a look at your shoulder, and your wing-stump here, to see if my idea will work. Can you do that? Can you come say hello? And just let him look?”

Winter crept out, dropping gracefully to the platform. He nodded, but his face was pale and every bit of him trembled.

“It’s all right. Bruce won’t hurt you either,” Tony promised, and that was a promise he could absolutely keep. The worst danger Bruce presented was accidentally knocking someone over by turning around too fast. Usually. Tony tried hard not to remember the times Bruce had gotten angry, and the sort of juggernaut he turned into. But this was just a simple medical inspection, everything would be fine, right?

“Now, just to warn you, Bruce is pretty big,” Tony said. He put one hand on Winter’s arm, for comfort, in case it was needed. “So, don’t be scared, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Brucie, poppet, darling,” Tony said.

Truth, Tony wasn’t pushing, or dragging, but Winter felt propelled out of the Tower and into open ground, where anything could attack them from the sky, from the land, and Winter’s gaze darted around, nervously. He scratched once or twice at the ground, feeling the earth crumbling under his talons.

The smell… reptilian. Set all his nerves on end; nagas? Not one he’d met before, but…

And then Tony turned around the larger root-wall. “Oh, there you are!”

Winter stared. At first, all he saw was a giant… green and purple… boulder? Maybe twice as tall as Tony, and more than double his height long.

And then it moved. Slow, ponderous, but sinuously. Like a great ball python uncurling from a nap.

The creature kept moving until it unwrapped itself. Like the naga, Bruce was human from the navel up, a belt of golden scales moved into a long, graceful tail, adorned with a double row of jagged bone plates. He had broad, powerful shoulders and despite the snake-like body and tail, was coated with colorful plumage. The tail split near the end into two end-prongs.

Couatl. He didn’t even know they were real.

Winter couldn’t breathe.

“Brucie,” Tony said again. “You’re lookin’ good.”

Bruce finished uncoiling, lazy, but still full of arrested movement, as deadly as a cobra. The ultimate predator, one that didn’t need to be perpetually ready to strike, because its prey could never escape. He unfurled two enormous, feathery wings and flapped them, sending great gales of wind swirling around Tony. It was impossible that those wings could possibly lift something as large and unwieldy as Bruce would be into the air.

The human part of him was… friendly-looking, at least. He had a shy smile and curly hair that flopped in his face. A tuft of feathers stood up from his brow, like a gaudy crown. “Tony. Good to see you.”

“So, this --” Tony turned all the way around, looking for Winter. “Oh, there you are, honeybun. Come on, come over here and say hi to Bruce.”

“Tony, not everyone is as accepting as you are,” Bruce said. Green eyes gave Winter a searching glance and something in the couatl’s expression was kind.

“Nonsense,” Tony said. “Winter doesn’t think you’re going to hurt him, because Winter is very brave and intelligent, and you, my friend, are a giant cuddlemuffin.”

“Who just happens to be almost eighteen feet long, and can breathe fire,” Bruce pointed out.

But when Tony said it, Winter thought maybe he could be brave. Tony was still all right, wasn’t he? After what seemed to be enough of a friendship that he could address the feathered serpent in such a casual manner.

Winter took a few steps forward, and then a few more. There was something very regal about the couatl, a creature who deserved respect. Winter engaged in a formal greeting, mantling his wing as much as he could, shaking the feathers out, and bowing his head. “Fair skies,” Winter said.

“Safe landing,” Bruce said, raising up to his full height and returning Winter’s bow. Despite the man now towering over him, Winter was less afraid, not more.

At full stretch, Bruce was gorgeous, graceful. His belly down was a pale green and the stripe down the center of his back was a dull purple. He coiled his tail around him until he’d sunk down into an almost seated position, which put him still quite a bit taller than Tony, or Winter.

Winter lost track of the conversation for some time, as Bruce and Tony shot back and forth words about craft, core metal temperatures, wind and air resistance, weight, and bone capacity, tensile strength. Things Winter knew nothing about. He found himself restless, in Bruce’s protective shadow -- what predator would be fool enough to attack here, with the couatl standing guard?

He scratched, turning up a number of small insects, which he greedily devoured. It had been some time -- he couldn’t remember…

He couldn’t remember.

Was that right? How could that be right? Surely, he’d been free at one point. He’d spoken of a nest, of being taken. He knew the sun, knew the powerful feel of air beneath his wings. Like a dream, not a memory.

Strange.

He scratched more. Someone must have taught him this, at one point. He had a mother, right? Nest-mates? He wasn’t born in the mines, surely he would have known that. There were no nests in the mines, but he’d known how to craft his, as soon as Tony had given him space to do so, had woven lovely patterns on the inside to look at and enjoy.

How old was he, when he’d been taken? He remembered fear, and the shackles going on around his legs.

What… what had happened before that?

There had to have been a before that. He was an adult, he…

Hydra had a new weapon; the nagas were usually kept out of the trees.

They could slither up ramps, or if the tree was narrow enough, they could coil around it, yanking themselves upward, but in either of those cases, the avians could fight them off, flying around and throwing spears.

But Hydra had developed a rock-thrower.

They hauled their creaking wooden machines to the trees, loaded them, and the trees crumbled under the impact.

Avians were crushed by the huge stones, and even a glancing blow could knock one out of the air.

The siege wasn’t fast; not like the raids the nagas sometimes staged, grabbing one or two chicks, and fleeing into the tunnels.

The siege lasted for weeks, while the avians tried to destroy the machines.

Finally, under Howard Stark’s direction, with a whole group of others, Steve and Bucky had launched a daring raid, hauling a net full of stones, and flown directly over the rock-thrower. They’d flown high, well out of range of the machine, up where the air was thin, and then dropped their load of stone.  

The wind was cold in Bucky’s hair, pushing it off his face. He was grateful: hauling the stone was hard work, and flying in concert was even harder. “Remember that time when I talked you into flying near that cyclone, Stevie?”

“Yeah, and I got caught in the downdraft and spun around until I threw up? I remember.”

“This isn’t payback, is it?”

“Now, why would I do that?” Steve said, laughing. “We’re coming up on the drop point.”

The drop had been successful.

Mostly.

When they circled the battlefield, to get a closer look, was when it had all gone wrong.

Slings and spears had greeted them, and Bucky’d been wounded.

“I’m gettin’ you off the field, pal,” Steve said, flying over him and grabbing hold of Bucky’s harness. “You need a medic.”

“I can fly, y’punk, lemme go,” Bucky scoffed.

And then he’d been struck, a hard stone in the middle of his back. Bucky’d flipped, gotten his tailfeathers crossed, fallen. Grabbed out, gotten hold of a branch. Wings useless as his shoulder went numb.

“Hang on, hang on!” Steve yelled.

But he couldn’t hold on. He reached for Steve’s hand…

Reached.

And missed.