#i had to fiddle around with the scaling of the pieces so they were the same size as the actual map pieces in the game and tbh it's not 100%

[poptartmochi]

gnu image manipulation program i will never doubt you again in my life 😭💞

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, abduction, violence, intense gore, death, swords & firearms, angst, hurt/comfort, nakedness, etc.

A/N: Guys, whatever you do, don't imagine Price in a white tunic holding Mermaid you in one arm and weilding a sword in the other. I'm frothing at the mouth.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You sit on your black rocks once more, the darkening sky warning of an oncoming storm that you can feel seeping into your bones. In your loose grip, you fiddle with John’s necklace. 

He’d given it to you only recently as a gift, seeing as you enjoyed the shininess of it so much, and you’d taken great pleasure in keeping it around your neck. Out of all of your treasures and trinkets, somehow these measly metal discs had become your favorite. The necklace is smooth under your caress, and you look down at it adoringly, eyes soft and lips curved with delicate affection. 

The cove, as always, was quiet above the call of seagulls and the lapping of waves; the whispering ripples from your tail as it sways under the water. You had gotten content with this—the silence. Because you knew it would be filled by the low gravel of an accented voice soon enough; would be swept away by the chuckles you could wring from beard-hidden lips. 

John was something to look forward to, and you loved the way he looked at you. 

Water hits the top of your head. 

Blinking out of your honeyed thoughts you look up to the crying sky as small slaps of droplets slide across your cheeks. Lashes flinch at every motion, and you glance back to the empty cove before lowering the necklace to your scaled lap. 

Confusion slithers in like an eel to your heart as your eyes slide over the growing waves. The yawning mouth of the entrance sits abandoned of any small fishing ship. 

For three, beautiful, sand-covered, months, John had never missed a day to come and see you. Rain or Sun.

A prick of a sharp fish's spine enters your brain. The rain comes down now in sheets. Lightning and thunder fight, and if you look close enough, the remnants of ancient lightning birds battle overhead with a flurry of black wings and their insatiable need for blood. Yet, still, your eyes stay frozen on the cove entrance as the water rises and rises. 

With a thinning of your lips and the violent pushing from the torrent as it swallows your rocks, you clench your hands over John’s necklace and push off your perch with a shove of your palms. 

Water encompasses you, scales dull, and fins limp as the general calmness from the encompassing water holds you in a constant sway. Your brows furrow.

Why wasn’t he here? You ask yourself, sinking among the seaweed and the schools of quick fish. Concern mingles with hurt. Do…do you think he’s alright? 

Human ways were still confusing to you, even if John had been helping you understand them and giving little clam-shells of information. But they seemed…like violent folk. Angry and selfish, from what John had said about their wars and squabbles. The thought of your fisherman potentially being in danger on land was terrifying to you. 

There wouldn’t be anything you could do if that happened.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of his necklace as you stare at the surface, back lightly hitting the bottom of the cove with a puff of sand. Crabs scatter as your tail twitches, your lungs sighing in their own special way. 

John can take care of himself, you reason. He’s just a little late is all. 

John’s never late. Your face creases, but you stuff the thought down, twisting on your side and bridging the piece of jewelry to your lip—kissing it once as sand digs into your skin. Holding the fisherman's property to your pounding heart, you close your eyes and wait as any lonely and loyal Merwoman would; tail held in close and the reverberations of a rabid downpour above you.

—

You wake up to the darkness of night. Blinking, you sigh to yourself and move a slow hand to rub at your eyes. After a moment of fatigued confusion as to why you weren’t in your cave, you realized why you had been out here in the first place.

John. 

Arms pushing you up, your mind fights to wake itself, laced with algae and fatigue. How long have you been asleep? Has the storm stopped? Surely you hadn’t slept the entire day away. You pull the fisherman's necklace over your head as you stare at the sand below you. No fish were slipping past besides one that brushes your tail, which you found odd, but didn’t think much of it. 

Shaking your head, you feel sluggish and put the necklace back on with a huff. You worry what John will think of you perhaps missing his late visit and smile slightly in humor. 

The fish brushes your tail again. 

Scales shimmering, you turn with an annoyed pull to your lips, fins scraping something hard and rough even as it’s saturated by the water of your cove. When you spot it, not only the rope but the shadow of the large hunting ship above you, your body drains of any life that had once lived in your lungs. It wasn’t nighttime. 

Eyes widening at the loop that was parading around your tail, you don’t have time to move before it tightens with a force that leaves your mouth opening in a bubbled scream; ruthlessly jerking your body along the seafloor. 

Desperately, your hands rip along the rocks and weeds of the bottom of the cove, getting torn and shredded in their soft nature as easily as paper. Your body smacks into every little object with a rattling to your bones that makes you sob. Red saturates the water as you’re manhandled in long and steady intervals back and up. 

No amount of rampaging your tail does can break the rope, and with a last-ditch effort as the sandy floor gets farther and farther away, you twist around and tear at the woven cord with sharp nails. Adrenaline pumps, pupils tiny and panicked. 

No! No, not like this! You can imagine the pain of it now—the hooks and the ripping of scales from your supple flesh. Even now the tiny ones under the dig of the vice are peeling away in long strings of red to disappear behind you as you’re thrust upward. They’re delicate, don’t these monsters understand? They’re beautiful and treasured and they’re destroying them!

You scream in pain at the pulling of your spine; a large creaking in your muscles. 

But as you gain a small sense of feral hope when the rope begins to fray from your grip, the iron net squashes any belief of surviving. 

It slams into you as John would cast his own for his prey—but this one is larger and full of cruel, curved, spikes. Is this what your parents endured? What the harpies had meant? The iron sinks far quicker than rope, and it traps you in a dome of hell before you can mutilate yourself out of the maw.

Oh, Gods, it was going to peel your skin away.

True fear pounded in your breast, and with a cry of John’s name from under the water, you watched with horror as the net descended onto you and your bloody wounds.

They drag you above waves and the first thing you do is thrash and wail so loud the seagulls shriek in surprise. There’s crimson staining the waters sloshing at you with combative ease, the violent storm from before now a light slapping at add to your fear. In the wake of open air, the curved spikes dig into your flesh as easily as a unicorn’s horn can penetrate a wyvern’s armor. Skin everywhere is assaulted and peeled to a tautness of bodily torture. 

Oh, and your precious tail. 

It hurt so badly, like nothing you had ever experienced before. 

“John!” You scream as your body strikes the side of the large ship, voice cutting out and leaving a bawling yell behind. Your form was being pulled by steady hoists and barked orders. 

All around you can hear laughing—joking. Loud exclamations of approval. 

You’re sure they’ve dislocated your tail right at the joint, how could they not have? The ream of their strong arms and ruthless greed. Oh, your tail, your precious, beautiful tail.

Long streams of salty tears fly down your dripping face; arms pushing the spikes away from your neck and face with futile action. The net and rope were your earthly graves. 

They slam you to the deck like a fish. 

Jerking and slapping around, your arms hit the wood with a bird-paced heart. The iron rattles and keeps you down like a weight. 

Brokenly gasping through loud cries, the sudden jeering faces from all around leave your fear all-consuming. 

They were ugly—broken teeth and sun-destroyed skin. Eyes that bugged and scars that could be from either a sword or a Strix’s claws. More than likely it was from meager squabbles with crewmates. But you balk back nonetheless, terrified and bleeding profusely. 

They were going to rip you to pieces. 

Inside your chest, your lungs are rising and falling quickly, and the hands that glide along your form make you want to burn your skin off. They grip at you, yanking you around as your hair gets caught in the gaps between the iron. With nail and tooth your bite and claw, but how many were there? Ten? Twenty? 

There’s uproar and more jokes as you fight back; body lifted and spikes torn out of skin as you arch your back and howl in agony. Their hands are not John’s. They don’t caress your smooth skin with reverence or holiness—this is cruelty. This is a sadistic pleasure. 

“Isn’t it our lucky day, Lads?!” A high and grating voice bellows out, and finally free of the net, all you can do is cry and flip your tail uselessly along the polished wood as they throw you down. Your vision blacks and slowly comes back—hair matted and skin slick with more than water.

It hurts to breathe too much. Whimpering, your cheek presses itself into the deck as footsteps take someone closer.

“Holy God, would ya look at that down there, eh? A true maiden of the sea,” A thunderous belt of achievement from everyone leaves you flinching, eyes tight shut to try and focus on anything but the excruciating way your skin throbs and gushes blood. “Though we’d have gotten all of them by now!” 

Haggard laughs and rotted smiles. 

A hand snaps to wrench your face upward, and you yowl and grasp at your head as your delicate strands go tight.

“Now who’s the little beauty we have here?” Whoever this man was, he had no standing on John. On your Fisherman. 

Loose skin and an age-rotted tunic, a belt at his waist holding a scabbard with a gold sword and twin pistols. He had only one eye��brown as a pile of mud—with a black eyepatch over the other. 

Your fluttering lashes took in a cracked-lipped grin of approval; whether at your battered appearance or the nature of your species, you knew not. But you didn’t like the way he was glancing at your tail as if it was made of gold one bit.

“Lords above, did ya have to be so brash, Lads?” Spittle slaps your face and you fight again with the hands in your locks to get away. The man’s hold jerks your face back and forth until you stop with bile building in your throat. “Wrecked her silky skin, you did!”

Being thrown back, your skull slams the deck before you hurl your guts in a sputtering of air and crimson. Many laugh and kick at your already broken scales. You grit your teeth and refuse to cry out.

“Get ‘er tied up and in the Hold for storage. If the scales are good enough, we’ll peel ‘em tomorrow.”

“Peel?!” Your face whips into a twisted glare, and pain leads to fast anger; wrath, even. The men grow gradually silent at your outburst and the leader comes to a slow stop—his back to you. “How dare you?” You gasp out, hands pushing your body slightly backward until the agony makes you stop with a lip-bitten whine. “How dare you do this to me? What have I done to you and your men? You’re nothing but senseless cowards who shy at something that lives its life differently! Am I only a pile of coin for you?!”

Your blood runs over the deck and seeps into the grain. Staining it with your memory and presence like a ghost that’s not yet dead. Loose scales shimmer and drip red. They were damaged and dull—your flesh was mangled. 

The leader turns back and smirks with blackened teeth. “More than a pile, Little Dearie. Far more. And if those hooks had been kinder, the King would have loved a beauty like you in his collection.” A look is slid down your body with a knowing chuckle.

He stalks off and you peel back your lips to say more, but a stained rag is shoved into your mouth instead, shutting up your rageful screeches and any hope of a peep of potent song despite not knowing these devils’ names.

By the time they chuck you in the Hold, body bouncing along the wood, and shut the hatch with a reverberation of wood, you had managed to rip someone’s ear clean off and break another’s arm; but there was only so much you could do. They had bound your hands behind you with a blow to your spine.

Curled up and longing for the sea, for John, you hold the only thing you have left. 

Silver discs on a chain, the metal smooth and the only thing now shining. You feel it hit your breastbone and sob as the headache of blood loss begins to set in. Laughter echoes from above your dark prison.

—

John saw the blood in the water before he saw the scales being pushed back and forth on the beach. Caught in that gentle push and pull now that the storm had ceased beyond a light drizzle—bright and reflecting the misty sun; far more vibrant than a fish or a sea serpent. But the blood. 

Christ, there was blood in the water. 

Blue eyes stare blankly at the sea-foam at the shoreline, red and bubbling, John’s pupils small and the lashes held back even as a salty breeze hits them with a burn. At his sides, his hands slowly close into fists. 

Jumping off the side of his ship, the man lands in thigh-deep water, gritting his teeth before he shoves his way to the sand and black rocks of land. He doesn’t know what drives his actions, or why he’s doing this, but with quick hands, he snatches up what scales he can find and keeps them in his palm; mind on fire. 

Anyone could see the fury in John’s gaze—a growing hatred for what was just beyond sight. When he has all he’s able to carry, he wades back through the water and gets himself back atop his boat easily with one hand. 

Walking quickly and soaked, he pushes aside a small cloth atop a barrel; seeing a gold box hidden under it. He opens it deftly, and while he puts the damaged and torn scales inside, John glances at the expensive and elegant twin cuff bracelets that sit in blue velvet. 

When he had been away buying them for you, he should have already been here. Wasted time.

I left her here alone. Knowing what could happen if I did. A growl bounces under his beard, face going red with anger. The two of you had quickly become enraptured with each other—drunk off flesh and touch like non-sentient animals. 

And something had taken place while he was away. You were gone, the fisherman knew. The water wasn’t as clear, the fish were terrified, and the blood alone proved this—the scales. This wasn’t an accident.

And it had something to do with that ship he’d seen on the horizon with his narrowed eyes not minutes prior. The Captain was slowly re-taking over the man.

“Fuck!” John curses, teeth bared as he spins and readies his sails. With violent pulls at the ropes, letting the mainsail shift down in a flurry of white sheets, he turns the vessel around in no time at all. It was as if Poseidon himself was pushing the ship forward to that small dot on the ocean line, far, far away. 

Deadly purpose bled into his heart, and the early afternoon sun forced him onward with hellfire following at his heels. He re-wraps his gift in the meantime, only taking a single scale from inside and putting it in a small pouch on his belt before walking to another barrel and pausing. This one was older, more sun-bleached. 

John deserted the service years ago, but not long enough to forget how the world of men can be. With a grunt on his thinned lips, the brunette rips the top off and grasps inside. 

With an experienced hand out came a sheathed Cutlass, the leather of the handle worn and indented to his very grip. It found a place on his belt, and John wasted no time in making the Flintlock pistol follow. 

A fisherman he may be, but in his blood John would always be a killer. He knew how to fight dirty and fight well—carve skin and not flinch at the sparks of gunpowder. There was no hesitation as to what he would do to get you back. 

In his chest, there was a weight of rage and concern as he glared at the far-off Hunter’s ship.

“What the hell have you done to her?” He growls, beard back and eyes narrowed. His hands clenched and unclenched with loathing. 

John’s thoughts go to the horror stories he’d heard about Merfolk and them getting caught in the open ocean, when he’d found you he had been surprised. He felt his heart beat faster when you were around, his blood would spike with love and affection. 

It was strange, unheard of, but he can’t stop it now that it’s happened. 

No one touched you with their cruel hands and lived. 

John didn’t like it, but he hung far enough away from the Hunter’s ship so that the cover of night hid him. Dark stars hung at his head, tunic blowing in the chilled breeze when the waves took him close enough—all was silent. Asleep. 

Lantern light slid along the waves, and with deft fingers, John anchored his ship with measured efficiency a small distance away. Looking over the side, the fisherman grunts under his breath and sets his shoulders. Without a single glance in hesitation, he slips silently off the deck into the water. 

Immediately, John kicks his legs and resurfaces with a puff from his nostrils, whipping his head to the side to dispel water. Making no sound, the man swims the distance between vessels, hearing the creak of the still and bulky form of the Hunter’s ship ten times his own sitting above him. 

“Fuckin’ bastards,” he grumbles to himself and thinks of your condition intensely. His heart hammers even in the clutches of the frigid waters. But beyond the insult, no other words needed to be spoken—the prior Captain was a man of action.

Violent Action.

John wades to the side of the wooden structure, the waves threatening to smash him tight into the hull and skin him against the barnacles, but he braces himself and grabs ahold of the knife at his belt, next to his cutlass. In his stupor to get to you quickly, he’d forgotten that his Flintlock would be completely useless now that it had been submerged in water. 

Grunting and trying to remain as quiet as possible, the man sets his blade into the side of the ship into the thin slits available. In his free hand, he takes up his cutlass and does the same. In a feat of impressive upper-body strength that leaves his muscles bunching and tensing—veins visible from the side of his neck—John huffs breaths as he climbs the ship one panel at a time. 

He groans and sends the blades back in at opposite intervals, the firm thunk-plunk, thunk-plunk, bouncing off the dark air as the moon shines bright. But no one awakens.

The Fisherman pulls himself up the side of the ship and swiftly ducts behind a pile of large crates on deck to gather himself, wiping his forehead with his arm.

“C’mon Sweetheart,” he mutters, “hold on just a little longer.” Duel wielding both weapons, narrowed eyes look across the open area—the stain of blood all along the wood. Glimmering in the low light catches John’s fiery gaze. 

Scales. Your scales. Littering the deck and scattered all over. 

If possible, the man becomes even more enraged, knuckles going white over his blades. The man stationed on deck was asleep across the way; leaning back and snoring. John locks eyes on him and hides back a vicious smirk. Quickly sneaking over and staying near the edge of the lantern’s lights, the ragged-looking man awakens to a blade at the base of his throat and a voice in his ear.

“The woman,” John speaks slowly and deeply, accent rolling out. The watchman tenses in his grip, but John grits his teeth and grits out, “Where the fuck is she?” 

“W-woman?” Usually, the brunette could paint himself a patient man, like a flag fluttering in a breeze waiting for the next bout of heavy winds without care or concern. But this was different. 

By God, if these pathetic fortune-seekers had hurt you even in the slightest bit…

John presses the blade harder to the man’s throat, thighs shifting in agitation, glaring at the far-off water beyond this stranger’s shoulder.

“The woman.” Blood falls down the blade edge, crimson. A tiny whimper. “The one that you stole away like an fucking animal.” 

“The fish?” The tone was incredulous but with a snarl the voice continues, whispering pitifully out in fear over the night’s silence. “She’s in the Hold! I swear it, Sir, on God’s green earth I do—”

John slits the man’s throat and takes his leave before the body drops, blood spraying into the air with a garbled cry.

—

You don’t sleep so much as you fall unconscious from the lack of blood. Inside your head, your brain is fuzzy and light—everything swirling like a jewel’s many faces reflected onto a wall. The rocking of the Hunter’s ship, while something you should be used and accustomed to, made you sick at times until only the watery bile that fell from your lips hit the wood. 

At some point, you’d given into the call of nothingness at the lack of seawater and the violent shivering of your shoulders. Your tail had gone completely numb. 

Everyone knew that Merfolk needed the sea to survive—you couldn’t live without feeling its loose arms around you for long periods, pulling you in and filling your airways. 

This was torture. 

But whoever was ripping up cloth at your limp side was muttering you back into the darkness of the Hold. 

“I’m right ‘ere, c’mon, Love. Open your bloody eyes.” Hands pressed to your face, tilting it and hissing before a thumb slid along the swollen skin of a cut. “I’ll rip them to pieces…mark my word. They’ll not live through this.” 

It sounded like…

Gripping at your binds and gag, both items slipped away right before the larger cuts on your body were suddenly packed with strips of rough material. Occasional whispers of words and curses wafted out. 

“...J-John?” Your voice is rough, shattered, but at the same time you manage to force open an eye. 

Tight blue eyes meet yours immediately, and his voice softens to a painful degree as he addresses you. “That’s it, atta girl. Just keep focusing on my voice, then, yeah? Come back to me, Sweetheart.” 

Tears well your ducts, lips quivering. 

John was curled over you and had ripped up the bottom of his tunic to make strips of bandages to try and stop the bleeding. He came for you, gruff voice and large frame, all.

“How are you—” Your voice breaks into body-shaking coughs, but that doesn't deter the man. He carefully puts a hand forward and tilts you into his arms; head resting on his chest. Your ears twitch to the sound of his heartbeat, loud and fast. You cling to it like a lifeline as those calluses graze your skin once more.

How was he here? 

“What have they fucking done?” John’s voice is dark and volatile, his hand stroking your matted hair. “What did they do?” 

He’s not so much asking you as he’s asking himself. You breathe in a wheeze, not noticing the crimson staining John’s clothes—none of it his or yours in the slightest. The other men on the ship weren’t the Fisherman’s priority, only you; always you. But whoever had been in his path had met the unfortunate end of being on the opposite side of his blade. 

When he’d found you like this….it was like his entire chest had fallen still. His eyes wide with horror and fear. 

John had never felt something that visceral before, except when you hadn’t been in your cove. 

“Oh, my Beauty.” Chapped lips press to your forehead, breathing you in as arms curl around you. “Let me bring you home.” 

You shake and cry silently into his neck, weak hands coming to grasp at his neck. 

“They’re going to take my tail.” 

“No,” John’s answer is immediate and firm, pulling you closer until you might slip into his skin. “No, they’re not doing a damn thing to you. I promise, Love, not a single person will ever touch you again, you hear?” 

You burrow into his neck, this fisherman’s flesh soft under your force. Hands keep you to him, and with another kiss on your cheek, they tighten and gently move you into the clutch of his arm. 

John looks down at you with great distress, eyes flickering over every sign of abuse and hurt. The men whose throats he’d slit in their sleep deserved to be awake and see the blade descending for their neck, he thought. 

“I’m going to lift you, Sweetheart, eh?” He grunts to push aside the hatred in his tone, not wanting to scare you. He gazes around the Hold and at the low ceiling—the insistent rocking from the waves just outside. 

You suck down greedy breaths and nod slightly, shaking in his arms. John’s eyes crease in sorrow but has no option but to continue; the both of you can’t be here when the remaining men wake or discover the bodies. 

Your Fisherman frowns but does what he’s able to both quickly and effectively lift you, your tail hanging limp and dripping blood from the fins. When you tense and whine, John shushes you quietly.

“Hush, now, it’s alright. It’ll all be over soon, I’ve got you. I’m taking you back home if it’s the last thing I damn-well do.” Your teeth grit with held-back pain, every movement was agony and to think made it worse. 

Home? Home wasn’t safe anymore. Like taking a knife to the heart, the thought makes the torment all the worse. 

John holds you in one arm, head under his ear and rubbing against his beard as his muscles strain to keep you right to him with his torn tunic and blood-freckled skin. In his free hand, he wields his Cutlass and exits the Hold slowly, eyes surveying the scene. 

The scores of bodies were only a fraction of the men of this ship—only one side of the crew’s quarters that ascended up to the deck. John knew the anatomy of a ship well, certainly one like this. 

His only question was why such an unsavory bunch was living on a King issued hunting vessel in perfect condition. Was the bastard hiring pirates for his extermination game?

“If I ever get my hands on him…” John shuts himself up as someone groans in their sleep from the far wall. 

He glares in the general direction and puts his body between yours and the straight direction that he walks—sword parallel to the ground and knife at his belt as a backup. Ready and wound for a fight. 

“You..you came for me?” You ask softly as John carries on, your blood leaving a crimson trail behind the two of you; your mind is loose to all except the way your Fisherman’s thumbs run circles in your rent scales, fingers gripping under your tail joint which aches and hurts. His bicep is curled at the small of your back. 

John carries you like you weigh nothing.

“‘Course,” the brunette's eyes slide to yours, true honesty and firmness behind his words. You flutter your lashes at the fatigue in your body and his feet speed up, speaking into your scalp and nuzzling his beard into you. “No one messes with my girl.” 

“I’m not a…girl, John,” you remind, softly.

The smirk on your head gives you strength, fear steadily draining like contaminated liquid.

“No,” he whispers, “no, not quite. You’re something far more lovely, aren’t you?”

Your heart swells, tears dripping down your cheeks once more before lips slide them away with brushes of a kiss. He carries you up the stairs quickly, sword at the ready. 

Lantern light makes you squint, hands tightening around John’s neck. 

He hums to you, a small melody that you can latch onto to help focus—it keeps your mind working as everything else falls away. John’s warm flesh and his lungs, the sound of his pulse. 

He came for you. No man would do that besides him—no specimen of any species. No one except John. 

Your Fisherman. 

You’re halfway to freedom, feeling the sea air on your flesh and longing for the depths of untouchable waves. You peek from John’s neck and blink delicately, what little scales still intact shimmering, and fins aching for water. 

“John,” he begins to pick up his pace, but still glances in attentive question. “I need to be in the water. I can’t go long without it.” You already felt a bit stronger by just being by the open sea. The man nods and you smile deeply, face twisted. You kiss his cheek deeply. “You have my thanks, Fisherman.” 

His tight expression gradually loosens with care and love. “Doubted me, then?”

“Perhaps only a little,” he kisses your lips, cheeky smiles peeling his beard. 

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, eh?” The man’s face is lit by lanterns, stars like a crown above his head that illuminate the small scars and the sheen of sweat like a portrait of a good man. 

Perhaps humans were truly more magical than you had been taught to believe, for no mortal man would do this for anybody. 

In the midst of him carrying you over to the edge of the ship, he’s only three feet from the drop when the familiar sound of a Flintlock hammer being clicked back hits his ears. You feel John lock up, and your eyebrows crease in confusion; not common to the model of metal and wood. 

Looking over his shoulder, you strangle down a raspy gasp.

“John—”

“I know, Love.” He whispers, turning slowly with his sword at his hip. The stranger with the eyepatch has his weapon leveled with the brunette’s chest. “Easy, let me handle it. Keep focusing on me.”

“A thief in the night!” The leader calls, and alarm from below deck start to rise in question at the noise. John grits his teeth and his stance widens. “Thought to make off with my prize, did ya? I’ve not seen you before on this ship.”

“Hell,” John grits out, loudly now that he’s caught. You burrow deeper into him and he shields you, voice hot with rage. “Save me the fuckin’ monologue. She isn’t yours—to own or bloody take.” 

As he speaks he points his cutlass in the leader’s general direction, holding it aloft with a strong and pale arm. The leader smirks, and soon the pound of rushing feet enter the deck—men holding weapons and clubs. You make a noise of tension and John tries to shift you farther into his grip even more. 

Your tail hangs and brushes the deck, gaining some feeling back to it gradually. 

The leader laughs. “What that creature is, Mate, is enough gold for a whole moon’s time in rum and pleasure.” His single eye falls on you as the crew gets closer, crowding in and yelling. 

John shuffles back and snarls like a boar, pointing his sword’s tip from one chest to another. 

“Keep your bastard eye off of ‘er, you prick. Find your score elsewhere. She’s coming with me.” So sure he sounds that you yourself believe it. Your chest swims with pride.  

The crew closes in, but jumping at this stage was dangerous. The ones with firearms could aim in the water before you both could get away and John didn’t know if you could swim still. Your fins were torn and tail flinching with damaged nerves.

Eyepatch barks a vile laugh, “...I think he loves the beast!” John’s body winds even farther and your eyes slip to the side of his red face. He grunts stiffly, hair damp. Everyone follows in their amusement, mocking the two of you. “I knew that necklace around her neck meant something.” Your body stills and you glance down at John’s gifted silver. Blue eyes flash to the same, but as if suddenly realizing the nakedness of your top surrounded by such brutes, your Fisherman pushes on the back of your spine to shove your chest into his own with a panicked look. You grunt in surprise, but let him. “No greedy Mermaid would bother with a trinket like that! A piece of rubbish metal. It means something to her—and I’ll bet that something is you, Thief.” 

Me, greedy? Your eyes narrowed into slits. If you knew his name, you’d sing his death song in an instant. Your Fisherman’s face goes stiff, knowing the predicament the two of you were in. There was no way he was giving you up. 

But himself…

Tiny lids narrow on the arrogant leader.

“Do you trust me?” John whispers to you, suddenly, as all sides were surrounded and the water just as dangerous as the deck. 

Face creasing, you say, confused and worried, “Of course.” 

“...Then forgive me.” 

He throws you from the side of the deck, and whirs to run his blade through the nearest man. 

TAGS:

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[willowsnook]

Heeeey ❤️ Would you do an imagine where Y/N is Buckys girlfriend and also part of the team but one time it happens she get accidentally shot by John Walker and nearly dies and Bucky gets furious about that, so Sam has to keep him back from hurting him as well. Then they stay by your side and take care of you. Maybe Sam offers you both to stay in Louisiana with him and Sarah for your recovery and it's just all fluffy ? Hope this is fine 🥰

Bucky Barnes x gf!reader

a/n: i haven't watched falcon winter soldier in so long so this is going to be an original scene lol

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You hummed along to a song that was stuck in your head as you scrolled through twitter while on the jet. Your bf Bucky was locked in for the mission and staring straight ahead. He always tried to disassociate for these missions mostly so he didn't get distracted being overprotective of you even though you could handle yourself just fine.

Sam sat next to you fiddling with his hands before going over the objective once again.

"Okay so we think that Hydra has a secret office here with classified files on the US government," he said for the millionth time. "Y/n, you sweep the perimeter, I'll break inside with Bucky covering me."

"Yes sir," you said saluting him. He rolled his eyes as Bucky gave you a warning look. He was always annoyed at you for not taking this seriously. But you found that being confident was more efficient for your work style and caused fewer mistakes. When you lost Natasha a year ago the world ended. You wanted out of the game but your healing process ended up including a certain winter soldier. He had given you the spark of life back so your new viewpoint was that life was too short to not be happy.

The jet landed in a field near the target zone and the three of you stalked your way closer to the building. Sam gave me the hand signal I was waiting for and I slipped off from the boys to make sure no one was hiding in the perimeter. As I continued on I could hear Bucky and Sam in my ear piece, it sounded like the building was clear and they were inside now.

I came to a halt when I saw a familiar red, white, and blue number peering out of a window. Fucking John Walker. This dude was a pain in the ass. He hadn't spotted me yet so I scaled the side of the building before slipping into the same room as him. He was still looking out the window as I cleared my throat. He whirled around pulling his gun.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I asked irritably. He lowered his weapon when he realized it was me.

"Probably the same thing as you sweetheart," he said with his stupid charming smile. I could hear Bucky growl through my earpiece at his term of endearment.

"Still playing make-believe superhero?" I taunted and his smile dropped. He started to say something else but we heard a crashing noise come from above. Both of us had our weapons drawn immediately. I held my finger to my lips before creeping out the door of the room. There was nothing there. I turned around to come back in and heard another big crash and then a gunshot. I looked down to my stomach to see blood starting to pool out and back up at John whose face paled.

"Shit shit shit, i'm sorry I panicked," he said coming towards me. I sunk back against a wall and to the floor breathing heavy.

"Y/n! Are you hurt? Where are you? We are coming" Bucky said through the earpiece.

John put his hands on your wound holding down pressure but after a minute he was ripped off of you and flying into the opposite wall. Through hazy eyes you could see Bucky pounding into him while Sam was trying to hold you back. The last thing you saw was Bucky's bloody face looking over at you before everything went black.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Your eyes fluttered open and you felt a warm summer breeze brush against your skin. You were in an unfamiliar bedroom with windows drawn open overlooking a grassy field leading up to water. You tried to sit up but your lower abdomen jolted with pain and you took a deep breath. You were wearing sweatpants with a big tshirt that you knew to be your boyfriend's. Speaking of him, your eyes found him sprawled out on a couch at the end of the room.

"Bucky," you whispered and he sprang up. He looked like shit. He had bags under his eyes and clearly hadn't brushed his hair in days. "You look like shit." He laughed weakly as he slowly walked towards you. You could see he was trying to keep it together as he got closer to you.

"Where are we?" You asked him. He sat down on the bed next to you.

"Louisiana doll, at Sam's sister's place," he replied, He brought his hand up to your cheek stroking it lightly like you would break. You reached up and took his hand in yours.

"I'm okay," you told him and he let out a shaky breath.

"You almost died," he choked out and you pulled his head into your chest. He breathed deeply and you ran your fingers through his hair.

"But I didn't," you pointed out and he grumbled. You noticed his hand that was wrapped around you was bruised and you remembered back him and John.

"Did you kill him?" You asked quietly. Bucky rose his head to look at you.

"I wanted to, but no," he said. You patted the spot next to you and he lay there not letting you go. "I will kill him the next time I see him." You rolled your eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine." Bucky started to argue but you held your finger to his lips. "I love you."

"I love you too, doll."

[dazzling-raven]

This got way out of hand. 'Oh, I should write a little drabble to go along with the drawing I'm working on! Ittl be fun!' 6,000 words later and here we are. It was fun, I don't have regrets, but oh my gosh. Massive thank you to Inky Clawz on wofa for being my beta reader/editor. If anyone actually reads through the whole thing thank you for reading about my little guys ^^

It all started with a letter. A single letter. It was a pale yellow in color. Small, and unassuming. It didn’t even have a wax seal. “It’s from your mother. She understands if you don’t open it, but in my opinion it would be best if you did.” The messenger had said, then backed away. At first Chip had been confused as to how she had even found his address, but then he remembered that he and his husband ran what could probably be considered two of the most popular shops in the SkyWing kingdom. Dragons came from all over to try Chip’s wonderfully unique pastries or get cleverly crafted tattoos done by his husband’s talons. Some just came to look at them and talk. It wasn’t every day you saw a SeaWing in the Sky Kingdom, much less an ivory white and orange one. His husband was no different- he was an ‘illusive’ NightWing, and a good looking one at that. If they weren’t head turners already, jaws would drop to the ground once dragons caught sight of their wedding bands. Word of mouth travels faster than any advertisement could, after all. 

Chip found himself avoiding the letter for days- he had even considered tearing the letter into little shreds on more than one occasion. However, his husband, Voyant, had noticed that Chip had been acting off as of late. Because of course he did. He had known ever since meeting him that fateful day that NightWing powers were all a lie, but he might as well have been a mind reader with how quickly he was able to catch on to Chip’s emotions. After tucking their adorable little dragonet into bed (and reading ‘The Ten Little Scavengers’ to him for the tenth time) he had trotted into the living room where a fire was already waiting for him. His heart melted at the sight of his husband, who had been curled upon their rug. He had been sketching out a new design, his black, forked tongue poked out between his fangs in concentration. 

His black scales gleamed in the firelight, and if you angled your head just right you could see a faint purple shine dance across them. His pearl white underbelly rose and fell with each breath, and the dual crescent shaped silver scales behind his eyes glimmered softly. “See something you like?” His husband asked with a coy smile, stretching out slightly and resting the pencil on the floor. 

“Just admiring a work of art.” Chip replied smoothly, walking over to him with a grin. He bent down and gently bonked his husband’s head with his own, then curled into his side. Voyant’s tail immediately intertwined with his, and Chip felt his husband drape his wing over his smaller form. The two sat there for a while, and for a moment Chip let himself go. He felt so comfortable and safe in his husband’s embrace, and he never wanted this moment to end. He listened to his husband talk about his day, but he felt his gaze wandering back to the piece of paper sitting on their countertop. Still unopened. 

“Is it about the letter?” Voyant asked abruptly, having followed Chip’s stare. The SeaWing immediately felt like trash for not giving his husband his full attention, but he nodded. 

“Yeah. M’sorry about not saying anything sooner, but…” he hesitated, his claws fiddling with the red bandanna still tied around his husband’s neck. 

“It’s been hard? Scary, even? Not knowing what’s inside?” Bingo. Voyant always knew how to word things better than he ever could have. The SeaWing nodded, almost wishing he could curl up into a ball and disappear. He didn’t though, instead focusing on his husband’s slow, even breaths as he steadied his nerves. 

“I know, it’s silly. We fought in countless battles, rescued Solaris from the talons of Scarlet herself, and I got my legs *burnt by lava* and I can’t even handle a few words written on a scroll.” Chip growled, clenching his talons in anger. 

“I don’t think so. We both know what she did and how she treated you. Sometimes words can hurt more than the sharpest of swords or the hottest fires. It’s ultimately your choice, but running away from the ink on that paper and not knowing what she wrote could eat away at you later down the line.” The NightWing said, taking Chip’s talons in his own and rubbed them to get them to relax. 

Chip felt the rage seep away from his scales as he took in Voyant’s words. Then he smiled. “Wow, I never knew you were a wordsmith. Hey, which ghost in the room possessed my husband this time? I'd like him back, please! We’re trying to have a serious and emotional conversation here!” Chip said, grinning as his husband’s face went from serious, to confused, and finally mock offense as the SeaWing looked around the room, smiling like an idiot. 

“Well Ex-CUSE me, your majesty. If you don’t want my help I'll just pack my things and take our son for a nice vacation. I think the SandWing kingdom is looking for some new visitors. I’ve heard that they fancy poetry that you simply don’t appreciate.” The NightWing said in a faux snobby voice, standing up in a semi graceful movement and walking a few paces away.

“Wait, I- pfft- I’m sorry-” Chip said, his quick apology interrupted by gasps of laughter as he stumbled to his feet like a drunken idiot. 

“Nope! You’ve officially missed your chance, Mr. Seastar. Come back next year when the almighty and powerful Voyant is back in town. Then, and only then, you may even THINK kissing his talons and winning back his heart.” The NightWing said, smiling as he lifted a paw into the air and pretended to admire the imaginary jewelry on his claws. 

“Mr. Voyant, please! Just one more chance? I promise I’ll make it up to you!” Chip pleaded with a grin, finally steadying himself as he giggled to himself. 

Voyant paused as if considering Chip’s plea, then nodded. “All right, SeaWing. What’s in it for me?” 

“This,” Chip said, closing the gap between them. He held a talon to Voyant’s face, and guided him in for a kiss. It was clunky and awkward with how the both of them were giggling, but that’s what made it special. “That work for you, Voyant the great and powerful?” He smirked, relishing in his husband’s surprise. 

Voyant snorted and rolled his eyes, but nodded all the same. “Fine, I could get used to this.” He said definitively. “Consider yourself forgiven,” Chip grinned, giving him a quick kiss as a little bonus for putting up with his tomfoolery. 

The two of them quieted their giggles and sobered up after a bit, sitting right there on their polished wooden floor. They lingered in the comfortable silence for a while, before Chip decided to break it. “I’m going to read it. Do you think you could… stay with me?” He asked, looking at his husband with hope.  

“Of course. Let’s go back to the rug.” The NightWing said, standing up and trotting over to their previous spot. Chip nodded, grabbing the letter and following after him. He easily snuggled into his husband’s side, resuming the position they had been in previously. Chip paused as he looked at the scroll in his talons, but unraveled it as his husband gently nudged him with his head. 

“My dearest dragonet

Dear Seastar, 

I apologize that this letter has only been spurred on by recent events. As your mother, I should have done more to try and reach out to you sooner to rekindle our decaying relationship. I would also like to take this moment to apologize for everything I have ever done to wrong you. As a parent, It should have been my duty to protect and guide you through life. Instead, you ended up taking care of me. I snapped, and you were banished with me by my own fault. It wasn’t right. I have no idea where you are in life. Are you happy? Are you sad? Are you married? Do I have grandchildren? I may never know the answers to those questions, and you have all the rights to keep that knowledge from me. However, as stated above, I am writing to you now to inform you that I don’t have very much time left on this continent. I am fading due to an injury I received near the end of the war. I hadn’t realized how bad it was until it was too late, and I’ve been using my final months to reflect on past events. Funny, how dying makes you think. I would like to talk and apologize to you in person. I’m aware that apologizing to you via scroll isn’t the best way to handle things, but I doubt you’re ready to see my face and I don’t think I could make the journey anyways. If you are willing to visit, I am staying at The Hearthstone Haven in the SandWing Kingdom. It’s in a quaint little village near the coast. I understand if you’d rather stay as far away as possible, however. It is entirely your choice. 

Wishing you all the best in your future years, your mother”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, digesting what they had just read. Chip hadn’t realized he had been shaking or crying until his talons began to crease the page and his tears dropped onto the paper. Voyant’s eyes widened in surprise and he gently took the note from him. “She makes me so *angry*, Voyant. And the worst part is that I know she’s being completely genuine.” He growled, snuggling further into Voyant’s side and hiding his face in the crook of his husband’s shoulder. He hated when Voyant saw him cry, but he didn’t know what to feel. He was angry. Sad. Regretful. Hopeful. Did he want to even see her again? Yes! …No. It was complicated. Chip was thankful that Voyant let him hide away until he was ready to look at him again. When he was, he took a shuddering breath and gave his husband a gentle nudge. “Can we leave this for another day? It’s late and we both need rest.” 

His husband’s eyes widened a bit, clearly expecting him to say something else, but agreed nonetheless. “Let’s. You look exhausted, and I bet I don’t look much better.” 

Chip snorted, agreeing with that statement. They both stood up and stretched, then walked off to their shared bedroom. Voyant placed the scroll on the simple nightstand that was next to their bed, and they both snuggled up for the third time that night. This time, however, they both managed to drift into dreamland.

-

Chip hummed to himself as he made everyone breakfast. He had purchased salmon for himself and Voyant that morning, and was now cooking it over their fire. It wasn’t very often that he was able to have fish, and he had jumped at the chance when he found a traveling SeaWing merchant that had been selling them. Keeping an eye on Voyant’s fish (he preferred his raw), he trotted back over to their open kitchen. He wandered around their island to get to their water basin, dipping his talons in to wash them. Once he finished, he plodded over to where he had left his son’s breakfast. He picked up the knife from the cutting board and began chopping up grapes, strawberries, cantaloupe, and other various fruits and scraped it into a smooth wooden bowl. Fruit was also fairly uncommon, but he was friends with one of the few SkyWings that sold it in the sky kingdom. He was always willing (and thankfully able) to pay a little extra to give his son the food he preferred, though he usually got his at a cheeky little discount.  

“Daddy!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. His son bounded over to him, his scales a bright, vibrant gold mixed in with his usual forest green. “OOh, what’s that? OHMYGOSH, is it FRUIT?!” He asked, spotting the colorful food as he jumped onto Chip’s back. 

“Woah! Hey, Morning to you, too, kid! Careful, I’ve got a knife. Hey, why don’t you go wake up your Pappa for me? Sneak attack style, like how I taught you.” Chip said, laughing as he put the knife back onto the cutting board. “Once you’ve done that, I’ve got a special question for you. Ok?” He asked, grinning as he tried to turn around and look at his kid. 

“Ooo, Ok! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” the little RainWing nodded, orange and purple now bursting through his scales like fireworks. He began to breathe calmly, the color sliding from his scales like water as he faded seamlessly into the background. His feet were even the colors of Chip’s scales. “Like this?” He whispered, and Chip grinned and nodded. Gold burst through random patches of air before they disappeared again, and Chip felt a weight lift from his back. The only thing that gave him away was the quiet sounds of giggling. Chip felt a strong sense of pride and adoration as he looked at where he thought his son was, then remembered the now quite done salmon on the fire and quickly rushed to get it on a plate. It wasn’t burnt, but it was definitely quite smokey. Chip sighed in relief, walking over to the low mahogany table and set Voyant’s plate down. He’d forgive him for what was about to happen after he saw what was for breakfast.  

“BOO!” 

“YEOWCH! Ok, message received! I’m up, I’m up! No claws, you little monster. Hey! Ohh, I’m gonna get you for that one!” Chip heard Voyant shout, quickly followed by a streak of gold-yellow as the little RainWing shot out of their bedroom. “You’ve awakened the big, bad Darkstalker! He’s come for you and your soul! He’s going to put you in a stew and gobble you up! ROARGH!” Voyant shouted, grinning as he stampeded over to their son. 

“NO! Go ‘way! Can’t catch me!” Their son yelled gleefully, flapping his little wings to gain momentum as he leapt onto the countertop. 

“Watermelon, no countertops!” Chip chided, smiling as he watched his free morning entertainment.

“No! I have the high ground!” His son retorted, balancing on his hind legs to make himself look taller. “Go back to the darkness from where you came, you evil beast!” he commanded, stumbling slightly as he pointed at his husband with a small, light gray claw. 

“Never! Simple words do not work on the Darkstalker, little boy! Only a true hero can defeat him! ROAR!” Voyant shouted again, grabbing his son by the underarms and bringing him close with a quick movement. “Prepare to be stew!” 

“No! Pappa- Staph-” Watermelon said, shrieking with laughter as he tried to push Voyant’s head away from him to no avail. Voyant made an ‘om nom nom’ kind of noise as he pretended to feast on their son, his shoulders shaking with barely concealed laughter. 

“Ok, you two. Before The Darkstalker gets full on little RainWing, does he perhaps want to see what’s actually for breakfast?” Chip asked, gesturing to the table with his wing.

“Perhaps he does. Alright, little child. Consider yourself spared and the victory yours. I’ve tortured you enough.” Voyant said, laughing as he settled their son down. 

“HA! That’s right! Now go back and give me back my Papa!” Their son ordered, spreading his red wings and puffing out his light gray underbelly with pride. Voyant, a good natured father, rolled his eyes. He followed his son's demands and retreated to his bedroom once more. As he did, Chip snuck around their son’s small frame and grabbed their breakfasts. His husband stayed in their room just long enough for him to be able to set them on the table. “What happened?” He asked, faking being delirious as he looked around the room.

“Pappa! You were possessed by the Darkstalker! You were going to turn me into stew, but me an’ Daddy saved you before you could eat me!” Watermelon cried, running over to the NightWing and doing his best to hug his forearm. 

“Did you now? Well, aren’t you a brave little hero?” He asked, rubbing his son’s back before looking over to Chip with a fond smile.

“Yeah! The bestest ever! I’m gonna save the world one day!” The RainWing proclaimed, grinning proudly. 

“Well, heroes can’t survive on moxie and pride alone, can they? They need nutrition to get themselves through battles. Like Ironheart, remember? He would want you to let go of your Papa’s leg and get big and strong.” Chip said, chuckling as his son’s eyes sparkled at the mention of his favorite NightWing hero. 

“Ohmygosh, yeah! Fruit for breakfast!” His son cheered, releasing Voyant’s leg and scrambling over to the table. He was just barely tall enough to peek his head over the wooden surface, so Voyant went and retrieved the dragonet’s stool for him to sit on. He hopped onto the stool with glee, then dragged the bowl close to him. As the two adults sat down at the head and tail of the table, Watermelon began to do his best to organize the fruit in the bowl before eating it. Chip smiled at this, thankful that his son remembered not to put the sticky fruit on the wood this time. He shouldn’t have been playing with his food at all, but at least this was an improvement. 

He looked at Voyant, who just smiled and rolled his eyes before eating his salmon. Chip, though previously excited for this meal, could only poke and pick at it as his thoughts began to wander back to the letter. Noticing this, Chip’s husband looked concerned and tilted his head. “Letter.” Chip mouthed to him, and Voyant nodded in understanding. Chip hesitated before nodding to his son, who was happily sticking the blueberries onto his claws and eating them off one by one. Voyant gave him an uncertain look, but shrugged as if to say ‘up to you.’ Chip sat for a few moments, eyeing his son as he began to pretend his fruit was a bunch of tiny scavengers that he was going to eat and destroy. “Watermelon” he said, his son’s head snapping towards him with wide eyes. “Do you remember the special question that I wanted to ask you?” 

The dragonet relaxed immediately before an orange purple mix burst through his scales again. “Yeah! I do!” He exclaimed, nodding vigorously. 

“If you had a family member that you had never heard of or seen before, would you still want to meet them? Even if they have no knowledge of you, either?” Chip asked, getting straight to the point. He knew that Watermelon was young, but he was a perceptive little dragonet. He would always surprise Chip and his husband with thoughtful answers or observations when they thought he wasn’t even paying attention. 

Watermelon looked thoughtful, humming briefly and forgetting the fruit on the table. “I think so. I could get to know them and we could be best friends!” He chirped happily, then went quiet. “Is this about Nanna?” He asked, blue and a darkish purple overtaking most of his scales. “I heard you talking about her last night.” He clarified when he and Voyant shared surprised glances. 

“Yes, this is about Nanna. It’s ok that you heard us, I’m sorry if we woke you. Would you still like to see her? You can say no if you really don’t want to.” Chip said after a brief hesitation. 

“I wanna meet her. Even if it won’t be for very long, I still want her to know me.” His dragonet said quietly, suddenly finding the table to be very interesting. 

“All right. We’ll figure something out. Why don’t you finish your breakfast? Then we can go play with Tor once you’re done.” Chip said, smiling as gold overtook the unhappy colors on his son’s scales. 

“YAY! Ok!” His son agreed heartily, gobbling up the remainder of the fruit before dashing into his room. 

“Are you sure about this?” Voyant asked simply, finishing his breakfast. 

“Yes. Even if I don’t really want to see her myself, I want to show her you two and what a family should actually look like. Not whatever the hell my childhood was.” Chip said, finishing his own breakfast. Even if he wasn’t hungry anymore, it was still good food that he didn’t want to waste. 

Voyant sighed, but relented. “Ok. I’ll be with you every step of the way”

- 

The odd little family stood at the entrance of The Hearthstone Haven. It had taken them a while to get here, with Chip leaving his bakery in the trustworthy talons of one of his squadmates and Voyant’s head manager taking over his shop. They didn’t really know how long they were going to stay - weeks? A day? An hour? So they had taken preparations to make sure everything was taken care of back home. Chip had written to his mother to let her know that they indeed were coming to visit, but not for how long. It was a terse letter, but it had gotten his point across. “All right. Let’s do this.” Chip said, using the pushing open the large twin doors. 

The three of them walked the short distance to the receptionist’s desk, coming face to face with a bored looking SandWing.“Hi, we’re here to see Acropora?” Chip said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

The SandWing’s eyes narrowed as he took the group in, his black, soulless eyes staring each of them down. Chip could feel Voyant step closer to him, and his son stayed firmly behind him. “Seastar?” The SandWing eventually asked, his voice sounding slow and nasally as he worded out each syllable of his name.

“Yes, that’s me.” Chip said, nodding.

“The others?” The SandWing asked, his gaze flickering to the two unannounced dragons. 

“My son, Watermelon, and my husband, Voyant.” Chip said, giving the dragon the most winning smile he could. 

The older dragon only sighed, rolling his eyes. “Down the hall and to the left. Her room will have a nameplate. If you need anything from me, no you don’t.” The SandWing stated firmly, promptly going back to his work. 

‘Squid brain’ Chip thought, frowning at the dragon before realizing what he was doing. “Yes, thank you!” he said, switching to his much more polite customer service voice before ushering his family in the direction the receptionist had vaguely given them.  

“If I ever get like that, please force me into a home and don’t look back. Ever.” Voyant said once they were out of earshot, and Chip let out a surprised laugh. 

“Voyant!” He scolded, smacking him over the head with his wing.

“Yeah, Pappa! Stop being mean!” Their son chimed in, his previously light green scales fading back to forest green and the occasional random bursts of gold. 

“Me? He looked like he was going to stab us with his eyes! And you think I’m being mean?” Voyant squawked, groaning as his son just laughed at him. “All right, fine. You win! You always win.” The Nightwing said, smiling as he scooped his giggling son up and put him on his back. Chip and his son shared twin grins before he noticed his mother’s nameplate on one of the doors. His smile faded as he took in the sight of the simple oak. It wasn’t anything impressive, but he still felt intimidated by it. He hadn’t thought of what he was going to say until now. Would they cry? Would she sweep him into her wings and never let go? Or would he snap at her, ask her why she betrayed the trust of him? Their Ex-Queen? If it weren’t for him, she would have gotten herself and the two guards just trying to do their jobs killed that night. “Do you need us to go in with you?” his husband asked, standing beside him and brushing his wing with Chip’s own. 

Chip jumped a little, having forgotten that they were there, but shook his head. “Knowing you two are out here is enough for me.” He said, smiling as he leaned his head against Voyant’s before taking a deep breath. “Wish me luck?” He asked, claw on the doorknob. 

“Good luck Daddy!” His son chimed, scrambling off his husband’s back to give Chip a hug. Chip hugged him back, and Voyant joined them. 

After a beat or two, Chip backed out of the hug to take another breath. “Stay out here with your Papa, ok? I’ll let you know if you can come in.” His son nodded, stepping back as Chip finally opened the door. He had to blink to get his eyes to adjust to the light of the room, but when he did one of the first things he saw was his mother. She had her back turned to him, so he hadn’t been noticed yet. The room she was staying in was small, but three medium sized dragons could move about comfortably if they kept their wings and tails to themselves. The room was mostly bare aside from the black carpeted floor and the white walls. His mother was standing at a desk facing the window, reading something on a scroll. Some plants hung on the walls in an attempt to bring some energy to the place, and it did help a little. They were bright and vibrant with life. “Mother?” Chip called, stepping through and closing the door behind him. 

His mother jumped in surprise, nearly knocking the scroll off of her desk as she turned around. “By all the whales, does no one know how to knock in this moons-blasted building? Who the- ah.” She said, cutting herself off once she realized who it was. The two of them stood quietly for a moment, neither really sure what to say. For the most part, his mother looked the same as the day he had left her. Same light blue scales. Her underbelly was still the same color of finely ground, pure sand. Her wings were still a quiet shade of gray-blue. Her aquatic markings were slightly darker than the rest of her scales, and her horns were still the color of a cloudy day. The only noticeably different things about her were the blue glasses that rested on her snout, curling elegantly around her horns, and the bandages that were wrapped around her chest, protecting her heart. It wasn’t much, but still something to keep things from getting any worse. “I’m surprised you actually showed up. I know you wrote back, but still. It’s… nice to see you in person.” She said, moving closer before stopping herself. Chip said nothing. 

“You’re right. I should not have done what I did, nor said what I spoke. I am owed nothing from you. I was not in the best of places that day, though that is not an excuse. Then you stepped in and threw everything away for me. I should have died in that throne room, but you defended me. You could have just stood by and let it happen, but you didn’t. Ever since he left us, it was a downward spiral for me. I miss him every day, and he makes me angry for your sake. Then we were in the desert. You were handling everything better than most would have, despite everything. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It was all just too much, and I wrongly lashed out at you. For that, Seastar, I am truly sorry.” His mother said, sitting down. Her tail curled around her talons, and they were both quiet as Chip processed what his mother had said. 

“It’s Chip.” He finally said, stepping away from the door and closer to her. 

“What?” She asked, looking incredibly confused.

“What I prefer to be called. I haven’t used the name Seastar since getting put into my squad.” He informed her, smiling a little. He moved to sit down next to her. 

“Oh. Ok, Chip.” She nodded, accepting the change as it came. 

“I don’t forgive you. At least, not yet. You made everything incredibly difficult. I never wanted to fight for Burn. I wanted to fight for Coral and my tribe. But I do have to thank you. I realize that if everything was perfect, I would have never achieved all my accomplishments. I would have never met my husband, or adopted my dragonet. I’m only here because they wanted to know you. If not for them, I would have torn that letter to shreds without opening it. It will take time, but maybe, just maybe, we can at least make things work.” Chip said, watching his mother’s expression change from understanding to surprise and joy as she processed what she had just heard. 

“Husband? Dragonet? Sea- Chip, when did this happen?” She asked, excitedly grabbing his talons before she realized what she was doing. 

Chip grunted in surprise as all of his weight was suddenly shifted onto his bad legs, but he quickly masked the strained expression he had made with a laugh and a smile. His mother quickly apologized to him, setting his talons down again. “A while ago. Would you like to meet them? I think it would be best if they heard everything from you and if we shared our story together.”

“That would be wonderful.” His mother said, her dark blue eyes bright with excitement. 

Chip stood up with a smile, then walked over to the door to let his family in. “Ok, It’s go time.” He said, and Voyant walked in, their son close behind him. “This is Voyant, and this kiddo here is Watermelon.” He said, introducing both dragons in turn. 

“A NightWing! And a good looking one at that. How did you manage to snatch this one up?” His mother asked, a teasing grin on her snout. 

“His charm.” Voyant answered simply, sitting down next to him. 

“Um. Hi Nanna! I’m Watermelon!” His son introduced himself again, his scales a combination of light green and gold as he bounded up to her. 

“Watermelon! Hey, kiddo! You’re so big! How old are you?” His mother asked excitedly, easily matching his enthusiasm. 

“I’m two an’ a half!” He squeaked, grinning proudly.

“Wow, that’s amazing! I know where you got your good looks from, too.” Chip’s mother said, gleefully watching her grandson’s scales quickly turn to a light violet. 

“Oh! Nanna, look what I can do! It’s really cool!” he said enthusiastically, then concentrated as he studied Chip’s mother for a brief moment. Suddenly, light blue scales washed over their son like a waterfall, and a miniature version of Chip’s mother was standing before them. He was an exact copy of her. 

“That’s incredible! A little freaky, but incredible.” Chip’s mother said, sending a stunned glance to Chip and his husband. Both parents just looked proudly at their son.

After a few minutes of watching the two of them interact, Chip finally decided to clear his throat to get their attention. “All right, we can pick this up at a later time. Why don’t I get us something to eat and we’ll talk over dinner?” He asked,and his mother nodded. 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” His mother said, nodding. “I know the cutest little places to eat, but I was thinking that I could treat the three of you. You came all this way, after all. Is that all right?” She asked, tilting her head. 

Chip perked up in surprise, and after sharing a glance with his husband, nodded. “All right, show us the way”

-

The four of them talked throughout dinner. Then some more. Then they got kicked out by the grouchy restaurant owner who just wanted to close up for the night and head home. Chip and Voyant talked, and both of them decided it would be good for them and his mother to stay and help take care of her. There were high days, and there were low days. But Chip could tell that his mother really was trying, and he genuinely appreciated it. In turn, Chip tried as well. While it would never be the same as it was before, it was something new. Maybe that was for the better.

He could tell, however, that she didn’t have much left in her. They all could, even Watermelon. That’s why they made every day an adventure. Something fun. Even when it rained and no one wanted to go out, there they were. A family of oddballs dancing in the rain and splashing in puddles. Then they would all go back and dry off, curl up together, and read a cozy book. 

“Chip,” His mother said one day, when it was just him and her. When he looked at her, she continued. “I want to thank you. You’ve made the past few months amazing for me. Some part of me was afraid that I would have no one in the end, but here you are. You’ve given me the chance to have a family again. I thought I had lost that forever when we were separated by Burn. I am eternally thankful that you decided to give me a second chance and not give up on me.” 

“I definitely had to sit on your letter for a while. But Voyant and Watermelon convinced me to see you, so you should really be thanking them. But I am glad to be here, and I can tell everyone else is, too. What’s this about?” He asked, tilting his head. 

“The drawer. Open it, and you’ll find your answer.” Chip did as he was told, and his heat sank. But then he kind of chuckled to himself as he continued. 

“I see. Are you sure you want to be set on fire though?” Chip asked with a grin, and his mother nodded. 

“Going out in a blaze of glory. I think the dragons of old had some pretty neat traditions, and that’s how I want to be remembered. Forget being buried, this is way cooler.” Chip’s mother said, matching her son’s smile. 

“Ok, I’ll see what I can do.” 

-

Chip sat on the beach, tears dripping down his snout. His mother had passed away hours prior, and his heart was tearing itself to shreds. He had forgiven her a long time ago, but he had only told her on her deathbed. He watched the ‘boat’ sail away, Voyant’s flames blazing brightly. His mother had wanted a warrior’s burial. She had read in old scrolls that there was once a tradition amongst one of the tribes to send their dragons out to sea and a family member would light the boat on fire. Their soul would rise with the flames, and their body would reunite with the ocean. Obviously Chip was unable to do so, but Voyant had complied at his mother’s request. 

Even though he had known this would happen, it still hurt. Perhaps it would have hurt less if he hadn’t showed up at all, instead choosing to stay home and continue running his business like there was nothing wrong. But Voyant would have been right. The letter would have eaten him up from the inside if he hadn’t even touched it. His son would have never gotten to meet his Nanna. Even though he hated seeing the blue on his son’s scales, he could still see patches of gold in them. He was upset, but enamored by the sight in front of them and comforted by the memories they had made. Voyant was sitting beside him, watching the flames eat away at the odd structure. 

Ultimately, Chip was glad he had opened the letter. 

[raainberry]

Record and Rewind - II

« Photographic film is a chemically reactive material that records a fixed or still image when the film is exposed to light. »

fem!idol x gn!reader

Fluff

synopsis - while on one of your many solo adventures, your signature scent unexpectedly draws in the love of your life to you

word count - 2.2K words

TW - Light Cussing (censored)

A/N - Decided I’d make this into a series, I’m having too much fun writing it. Thank you to everyone who read part.1, I really appreciate it and I hope you like it. Also, the perfume in question in this story is heavily inspired by Wakeheart perfumes, check them out. They discontinued the perfumes, but they make nice candles now.

“Do you carry your own perfume around often?”

The woman asked as you came back from the igloo, bottle in hand and the piece of paper in the other.

“Always. You never know.” You simply answered, taking the place you occupied earlier.

“If you ever get asked about it?” She guessed, searching for your eyes as you motioned for her to give you her wrist.

“Exactly.” You smiled.

Not to her, but to yourself.

Or at least that’s what it looked like. Either way, she had caught it, and the sight pleased her enough for her to do the same.

“Is this the first time someone asked you for a sample?” She wondered as you sprayed her skin with the fragrance that had pulled her to you.

“The third.” You answered simply yet again before diverting the attention away from you and to the sample. “So what do you think?”

The woman chuckled, almost amused by your bluntness.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” She pointed out, glancing at your hands as they folded a piece of paper around.

“Not really.” You affirmed, staring at the ground after a soft chuckle slipped past your lips.

“What a shame. Your voice is really nice.” She said truthfully.

She usually wasn’t a fan of deep voices, but the tone of your voice simply sounded pretty to her ears. The way you were so calm and took your time with your words, it seemed to act as a softener. It was almost calming if her heart wouldn’t pick up the pace in anticipation of said words.

“Thank you.” You said, a shy smile making its way to your lips before you continued, against her expectations. “Better than yours?”

You’d think she’d be surprised by either your comment or the fact that you flirted back despite your attention seemingly being elsewhere—if not by both.

Well, she was.

Everyone has a way with words—whether it be bad or excellent, or fighting somewhere around average— and while your words were scarce… your level was starting to manifest in the better half of the scale, to the woman’s delight.

She was loving it.

“Could be. All I’m gonna say is I’m glad we’re not co-workers.” She joked, unknowingly leaving the person beside her confused.

You had no clue as to what she was possibly referring to, but you didn’t want to ruin whatever was going on.

As ironic as it sounds, you knew when to shut up.

So you simply went with the flow, as you’ve done all your life, and spoke what was certainly the most words she’d heard you say at once so far.

“Then would it be okay for me to address you by name?”

Her eyes snapped up, and her breath caught in her throat when they actually met your gaze.

Seemed like you had let go of the fiddling for further effect.

The quiet ones, she thought. Always all or nothing.

It worked wonderfully.

“You’d have to talk to me a bit more.”

You smiled. You liked a bit of challenge.

“What do you want to know?” You complied, making her smile.

“What did you put in your perfume?” She asked, curious.

“Vanilla, coffee blossom, almond and pink pepper.” You revealed with a smile.

The woman raised her eyebrows at the last ingredient.

It was surprising, but after the last couple exchanges? Its presence made perfect sense. This whole confection made perfect sense, no wonder you considered it as your signature scent.

She brought her wrist to her nose, identifying each of the notes you’d mentioned.

“Have you named it?” She asked.

“The fragrance?” You said and she nodded, humming.

“Conscience Conversations.”

The woman smiled, “Very pretty. Any meaning behind it?”

You shrugged, your gaze now becoming evasive. “Just… the connection to your inner voice.”

“That’s what inspired it?” She guessed, trying to keep your focus on her, and you nodded. “How?”

She sure was curious.

Usually, this was the part where you would tap out of the conversations your perfume usually issued, as it touched on something quite dear to you.

This time though, you didn’t feel that urge to run away. Instead, you felt somewhat happy to open up, although still feeling shy.

Judging on your conversation so far, she seemed like she’d appreciate what you had to say on a deeper level than simply “discovering the secret” behind your choice of scent.

So you tried to put your work into words.

“I just think it’s important to stay in touch with our conscience, our inner voice while going through life, and self-discovery.” You explained, your eyes and focus having returned to the piece of paper in your hands. “This scent is just my way to not only stay in touch with mine, but for the one of those around me to get an idea too.”

Well, it certainly was speaking to her, unlike someone else…

That d*** piece of paper. It was going so well…

Never had she thought she would ever feel jealous of such a ridiculous thing. Yet there she was, glaring at your hands as frustration built up in the back of her mind.

The front was too busy figuring this stranger out.

“What’s your consience telling you right now?” She tried to get your attention back.

Let’s try speaking your language, she thought.

It startled her.

For what?

At that point she wasn’t even sure what she was seeking anymore.

All these wonders she kept voicing out… They seemed to be caught up in between far too complicated feelings for someone she’d met a mere moment ago.

All she wanted at first was your perfume. Now it was as though she was looking for answers to questions she hadn’t even asked.

Your muted gaze, along with the power your few words could hold triggered a part of her she never knew about. One that felt too curious for her own sanity.

She was slowly losing her mind every time it was your turn to speak.

Just like now.

You stayed silent as she looked for your eyes once more, daring you to answer as if she knew exactly what you were thinking.

You would think they were any help with how much she looked for them, but as much as she found them attractive, that was about all she could get out of them.

“Are you going to listen to it?” She spoke up after a while.

If you’d lost interest, her question seemed to have gotten it back despite your defying silence.

You finally looked at her again, that grin of yours making a long awaited appearance.

“I already have.”

She nearly whined in frustration.

How were you so secretive yet so open at the same time?

She could feel the tension building despite your seemingly careless attitude. Or was it within herself? Was she going crazy?

So many questions left unanswered, yet her mind remained after one thing and one thing only.

She couldn’t name it for the life of her, yet she could bet her life that it would feel liberating to discover what it was; more than anything else at that moment.

“What do you mean you already have?”

You took a breath in, glancing back down at your hands to place one last neat fold before finally giving her all your attention.

Now that she had gotten what she wanted, she didn’t really know what to do. She felt hypnotised, unable to look away in fear of you taking it all back.

She almost couldn’t handle it.

“I like to think our inner voice expresses our deepest desires.” Your started, and her mind held onto your words to keep her from fainting out of frustration. She knew by now that she’d get the answers to her questions. She just desperately wished she didn’t have to concentrate so hard to get them.

“Giving into them or not is what builds us as a person. My best memories come from listening to it. Not questioning it.”

The woman’s eyebrows had never been so furrowed, her mind experiencing levels of confusion she had never even approached prior to that night.

Not because of your words.

No.

It was because of the piece of paper you handed her once you’d gotten them all out.

The same one she had been envying for the past few minutes.

It was a rose. A paper rose. A really well done one.

An origami, she chuckled mentally. You were making an origami this whole time.

For her.

It all suddenly made her feel a bit stupid. Feeling jealous over something that inherently was about her… It definitely was in the top ten of the most ridiculous moments of her life.

She would probably feel embarrassed if the urge to ask another question didn’t overpower the feeling.

“What kind of memories?” She managed to get out, completely ignoring the last of your words as her eyes found yours again.

You let out a soft chuckle, “Is that what you want to find out?”

This time, she was the one to stay silent.

Her gaze dropped to the origami sitting on your palm.

She wondered, finally taking it into her own.

What does it mean?

She met your gaze once more.

That faint, innocent smile tugged on your lips again. She could feel it taunting her, but even that wasn’t enough to distract her.

A small, yet freezing breeze softly carried a few strands of your hair along as it brushed past the two of you.

The sudden cold sent shivers across your bodies, the feeling jolting you awake and preventing you from getting lost in the other’s eyes.

She was thankful for it, as she refused to break the contact, desperately searching for the answer you seemed to hide from her.

“Just give in.”

You were temptation itself.

She could feel what she was looking for.

It was within reach.

“Or would your conscience only be at ease knowing my name first?”

She felt her eyes slip down to your lips.

Finally.

So why the sigh in defeat?

“I can’t.”

Your faint smile turned into a true grin.

Quite the sight to see in her opinion. She would have appreciated it far more if she wasn’t feeling so… dazed?

“As you wish.” You accepted.

She scoffed at how little this all seemed to affect you.

“You’re something else.” She mumbled.

That only made you laugh, further proving her point.

“I hear that a lot.” You shrugged. “Mostly from my mom.”

She couldn’t help but laugh with you. At least it ended on a lighter note.

Otherwise she didn’t know if she could have handled processing the emotional weight she’d just experienced in such a short amount of time.

“I’m not even gonna follow up on that.” She said.

“It’s nothing crazy, but it is a smart choice.” You shrugged. “A bit of mystery never hurt.”

“You have too much, that’s the problem. I still don’t know your name!” She vented.

“I don’t know yours either and I asked first.” You argued, causing her to bite her lip as she took a second to rewind your conversation.

That’s when she realised you might have no idea who she was after all…

“Right.” She admitted. “My name is idol!name.”

You smiled.

It’s a pretty name, you thought.

“I’m Y/N.” You revealed, making her smile.

“It’s a pretty name.” She complimented.

“Thank you.” You smiled back, a bit shy.

The sight surprised her more than it amused her this time.

It was quite the contrast to what she had just witnessed to say the least…

It was almost endearing.

“Well, it was nice meeting you.” You said, breaking the small silence that had settled as she briefly studied your features.

“What, that’s it?” She asked, a bit taken aback by your words, and quite frankly, a bit offended by the fist bump you were offering. “You’re not even going to try to keep in touch?”

“What?”

You hesitantly brought your hand back down to your side, confused.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

She sent you a warm smile, which was quickly contrasted by her words.

“I know I said I can’t, but I didn’t say I didn’t want to…” She trailed off. “Can I have your number?”

You smiled at her question.

“You already have it.”

Cue the roles reversing yet again.

She squinted her eyes at you in confusion, and you nodded to the flower in her hand.

Her gaze dropped down to look at it, studying it before noticing the numbers in black ink on the flat base.

Her jaw dropped. Not to the ground, but enough to make you laugh and the sound made her look back up at you.

“Your friends aren’t very slick, but tell them I say thank you. If it weren’t for them I probably wouldn’t have noticed you staring.” You explained.

She was speechless. A blushing mess as a familiar flutter made itself known in her chest, all while feeling embarrassed about her and her friends’ behavior over dinner.

However, that didn’t compare to how mindblown she was. The whole time she thought she was making the first move. Fighting for your attention when she had it before she even spoke to you…

“Wait, here.”

Your voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and she watched as you grabbed the bottle from your pocket, spraying the paper flower with your perfume.

“Since you seem to like it so much.” You smiled, a hint of shyness adorning your crinkled eyes.

She could only stare at you, still struggling to even think properly, and only managing to process your words.

She had to fight for them just minutes ago, and now you just kept throwing them at her, somehow swaying her everytime.

“You don’t have to use my number. Just think of this as me giving you what you wanted when you came to me.” You said, not wanting her to feel any pressure.

As much as you enjoyed it, yourself was a bit stunned by this encounter. It would probably take you days to recover.

You liked to imagine it was the same for her.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just give me the bottle?” She finally spoke up, and you laughed.

“Sure. But it wouldn’t be as cute. Do you want it though?” You asked, handing it to her, but she shook her head, gently pushing it down.

“I think I’ll stick to the classic and use your number. Seeing you might last me longer than the bottle.”

[awakenthemusic]

Trick or Treat

Jack had insisted on dressing ‘like his dads’ for Halloween. He wore a pair of jeans and a buttoned-up flannel that matched the one Dean wore with a solid blue tie and a smaller version of Cas’ trench coat over top of the whole thing. Sam had had a bit of a bitch fit that the only things Jack wore that represented him were a pair of moose slippers and a cheap Party City wig, but screw him; if he wanted to be a bigger part of the costume he should have been the one scouring the internet for a child’s size trench coat and matching flannels. Besides, it’s not like he was the one out here freezing his nuts off taking the kid door to door.

Tags: Short fic, ~1,100 words, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Child!Jack

For Suptober 2023 Day 31 - Trick or Treat

Under the cut or on Ao3

ETA: This is best read as a sequel to Pumpkin Patch, my fill for Day 2.

“Hold up, kiddo.” Dean snagged Jack as the kid zoomed circles around Dean, apparently still too excited to walk. He fiddled with one of Jack’s wings, which had started to droop, adjusting the brace he’d jury-rigged to support all three pairs of them. He fixed the collar of Jack’s tiny trench coat with a fond pat, then let him rush off again.

Jack had insisted on dressing ‘like his dads’ for Halloween. He wore a pair of jeans and a buttoned-up flannel that matched the one Dean wore, with a solid blue tie and a smaller version of Cas’ trench coat over top of it. Sam had had a bit of a bitch fit that the only things Jack wore that represented him were a pair of moose slippers and a cheap Party City wig, but screw him; if he wanted to be a bigger part of the costume he should have been the one scouring the internet for a child’s size trench coat and matching flannels. Besides, it’s not like he was the one out here freezing his nuts off taking the kid door to door.

The costume would have been weird enough, but Jack had also insisted on no less than three sets of feathered wings with paper ‘eyes’ that he’d colored the correct shade of blue himself, the closest they could come to representing Cas’ actual wings. He was also carrying two (hidden) plastic weapons that looked like eerily-accurate scale replicas of the demon knife and Cas’ angel blade, even though they’d started life as a couple of pirate-costume daggers.

Jack zoomed up to the next house and bounced excitedly on the top step, waiting for Dean to catch up and ring the doorbell.

Dean chuckled and took the steps two at a time.

“Trick or treat!” Jack yelled with enthusiasm as the door swung open.

The woman who answered the door dressed as a stereotypical witch, green skin and all, looked vaguely familiar. “Hi Jack, don’t you look... handsome,” She said with barely a pause as she held out a bowl of candy.

The voice was finally enough to place her and Dean shuffled awkwardly. What were the odds that Lydia lived on this random residential street that Dean had picked for candy-gathering purposes?

“What are you dressed as?” She asked, her tone surprisingly non-judgmental.

“I’m dressed like my dads!” Jack proclaimed, spinning around to make sure Lydia got the full effect. He pointed out each item he was wearing (minus the plastic weapons; thankfully they’d convinced Jack that not telling the whole truth was different than lying) telling Lydia which pieces represented which person. “And the coat and wings are for my Dad,” He finished proudly.

Dean caught Lydia’s confused look and shrugged. “I call him angel” He said, then gave Lydia his best ‘kids, what are ya gonna do?’ grin, which he’d had a chance to perfect over the half hour or so they’d been out here already.

“Oh,” Lydia said, playing along. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of angels with six wings before.”

“I’m dressed as a seraph,” Jack informed her solemnly.

“I see,” Lydia replied, just as solemnly as she squatted down to look Jack in the eye. “Seraphs have six wings, huh?”

Jack nodded, then corrected, “Seraphim have three pairs of wings covered in eyes.” He glanced over his shoulder with all the scathing disdain of an art critic and said, “It really doesn’t look anything like this, but we were forced to work in only three dimensions…”

Dean stiffened, ready to distract Lydia and move the conversation away from its current course, but she rolled with the weird turn with admirable calm. “That would limit your abilities to represent metaphysical forms, wouldn’t it?”

Jack beamed at her, eagerly telling her all about the problems he’d had getting the eyes just the right shade of blue without the presence of grace, and trying to find glue that would stick to the fake feathers, talking so fast Dean was barely able to keep up and he’d been there for all of it.

At least his motor mouth meant that all the weirdness was flying right over Lydia’s head. Just as Dean was about to have pity on her and try to nudge Jack to head to the next house, he heard the welcome sound of Baby pulling up behind them.

“Dad!” Jack shouted and shot off Lydia’s front porch like he was strapped to a rocket, arriving at the car just in time to open the driver’s door for Cas as Cas stared at him with a confused grin, their matching trench coats just as cute as Dean had thought they would be.

Dean turned back to thank Lydia, unable to wipe the sappy grin from his face. “Uh, thanks for that. You’re the first one who’s asked him questions like that, most of the parents just shove the candy at him and bolt.”

Lydia smiled. “No need to thank me, he’s a great kid. Any time you want to bring him with you to the bakery, he’s more than welcome…” She glanced over Dean’s shoulder with a wistful look. “I used to be a teacher, loved working with the kids, but…” She shook herself. “Well, baking pies pays the bills a lot better anyway, especially since you moved into town.” She held the candy dish out to Dean with a teasing smile.

“Oh, no, that’s okay, I don’t need…”

“Go on,” She said. “Jack forgot to take some. Why don’t you grab one for both of your angels?”

Despite how long he and Cas had been together, he still had to fight down a blush as he faked a pout. “What? None for your best customer?”

Lydia laughed and shoved the bowl at him again. “Oh, go ahead, you charmer.”

Dean took the offered candy and turned away with a little wave, grinning as he loped down the steps, heading over to Cas as Jack swooped up and down the sidewalk.

“Sorry I’m late, things took longer than expected.” Cas called, careful to obscure the fact that he’d been helping Sam and Eileen on a hunt.

Dean frowned in concern but, before he could even ask, Cas reassured, “Everyone’s fine, it was just more complicated than we thought.”

Cas folded Dean into the warmest hug ever, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was because they hadn’t seen each other in several days or because the weather had just gotten that cold.

Dean shivered a bit and Cas made a little noise before leaning back into the car and pulling out a thermos full of hot cocoa.

The tiny plastic mug transferred all the heat directly to Dean’s hands, biting at his frozen fingers and making him hiss, but the cocoa slid down his throat, warming him from the inside out.

“Marry me,” Dean groaned in appreciation for the warmth.

Cas smiled, one of his happiest, gummiest grins, as he brought his hand up to cradle Dean’s face, his ring a spot of cold on Dean’s cheek. He pulled Dean in for a kiss as he whispered, “Too late, I already did.”

[goodfish-bowl]

Until Dawn Breaks

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 20: Danse Macabre

AO3 Link

Summary: "La danse macabre" by Camille Saint Saens was written in 1874, and depicts a legend where on Halloween at midnight, Death would play the fiddle, summoning the dead from their graves to dance with him until the rooster crows at dawn.

There’s someone playing the violin in the cemetery, and despite the six feet of earth separating Danny from the surface, he can hear them clearly. 

Warnings: angst

Words: 2612

Danny awoke to the sound of the soft cries of a violin. The melody was winding and minor, clamoring up and down the scales, clearly audible despite the six feet of earth that separated his resting place from the surface. He wondered who the hell was playing the violin in a cemetery in the middle of the night. It was a bit of a stupid idea, but… they at least played quite well. You could win consolation prizes for that sort of skill. Danny slipped from his resting place, phasing through the earth and maintaining his invisibility. He didn’t want to scare the player off after all. 

Rising from the surface, the first thing Danny did was note the location and shift of the stars from the last time he had been awake. It was autumn now, and at least 20 years since the last time he had woken up, and the arc of the moon put it just around midnight... That trio of ghost hunters must be adults now.

Danny found the player not too far from his grave, dressed darkly, in fashion that wouldn’t look out of place a century and a half ago if not for the spiders decorating the lace in her dress, and the careful, complex addition of layers. It looked heavy, but not nearly as heavy as clothing from that time period actually was. Despite the darkness of the night, she had a hat on her head, decorated with a matching spider-lace veil and rhinestone that glistened like raindrops caught in a web, carefully tucked away so as to not get in the way of the violin that was tucked gently under her chin. Danny thought she was lovely and matched quite nicely with the scenery she surrounded herself with. 

On a small device Danny couldn’t name, a tinney replication of a piano played under her solo, adding chords and texture to the piece. He would’ve loved to hear it with an actual piano instead of a recording. He sat himself upon his own headstone, resting weightlessly on his knees as he watched her sway to her own song. 

She finished on a chord that didn’t quite leave the piece feeling completed, but was satisfying all the same. Danny clapped without much thought to the action. The player startled nearly immediately, eyes wide as they snapped to him as he flickered into visibility. She took a quick step back, tripping over the hem of her dress. Danny was quick enough to catch both the violin that flew from her hands, and her own hand, stopping her from hitting the ground. 

“Y-you! You’re… you’re-!” She stuttered, frozen in shock as Danny pulled her to her feet. 

“A ghost, yes,” Danny smiled, handing her the instrument back. 

She finally looked sheepish at her actions, glancing between her hand and his own, completely confused and unbearably nervous. “I’m… sorry if I… bothered you.”

Danny let out a light laugh, “Not at all, you play quite nicely.”

Her face flushed at the compliment. 

“If anything, I’m glad I woke up to a violin this time. Last time someone woke me up, it was with the intent of actually bothering a ghost. I definitely prefer the music,” Danny joked. “I’m Danny by the way, but you might also know me as Phantom,” he said, gesturing to his own grave. 

The girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “You’re a local myth, a legend even. I never thought they were real.”

“They’re a lot more merits to legends than you might think. After all, you’re the one playing a violin at midnight so close to Halloween.”

She flushed. “My name’s Sam, by the way. And I’m hardly fit for the role of Death in that legend.”

Danny took her hand and placed a soft kiss upon it through the smile on his lips. “You’re right, Miss Sam, you’re far lovelier.” 

Sam clearly wasn’t used to compliments, the way she sputtered and her face flushed so deeply like she had eaten something spicy. Danny couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What are you laughing at?!” Sam exclaimed, failing to puff up under the tension of her corset. Danny laughed harder. 

Danny laughed long enough that he felt out of breath, despite not needing to breathe and his diaphragm hurt, and Sam had begun to pout. 

“I’m sorry, you’re just tomato-colored. Clashes horribly with the rest of your outfit,” Danny apologized insincerely. Danny glanced around the cemetery, noticing the lack of a trail, animal or otherwise. “I can’t imagine it was easy to get to this overgrown spot in that dress. 

Sam huffed. “I got here just fine,” and hiked up her dress just far enough to show off her combat boots. 

“Hmm, practical,” Danny acknowledged. “Say, would you mind telling me about the current era? I don’t get out much,” Danny asked, sitting down on an old log. 

Sam joined him after testing her weight, crossing her legs under her dress after setting the violin down in its case sitting just under another tree. 

“Not exactly sure what you want to hear about. I’m sure you’ve probably seen more interesting things,” Sam dismissed. 

“I wouldn't say that,” Danny countered. “For example, what’s that device you were using as an accompaniment?”

Sam held up the small, rectangular device. Its screen lit up brightly in the night. “Oh, this is a cell phone. Mostly just used to make and receive calls, but there are a whole bunch of other functions it can do too. Here.” Sam leaned in, and tapped on the small device's glass screen, interacting with it. 

Sam went through the different “apps” on the phone, explaining them to him in general terms, then going on a tangent about something called “video games”, then around to a show she enjoyed, then back to games. Danny paid attention for the most part, listening to her voice even if he wasn’t always hearing the words. He was mostly enjoying the closeness of a living person, the warmth she radiated in the night, despite the layers of clothing. He felt it every time she shifted, throwing her arms about in passion, and in the heat of her breath. While he had been awake 20 years ago, it had been long since someone had allowed him to get this close. It reminded him of something long ago…

In the distance, an old church bell chimed five times, and the dawn tinted the horizon. Sam was startled at the sudden noise, and Danny let out a soft sigh of disappointment. He guessed it was about time. He got up from the log, and Sam followed his actions, stretching out her stiff limbs and brushing the forest litter off her clothes.  

“Oh wow, it’s morning already,” Sam gasped, watching the colors of dawn slowly begin to bleed into the sky. 

“Yeah… it is,” Danny added absently. “Sam, you should come play for me again.”

Sam looked back at him, and Danny glanced at his own translucent hands, knowing he was getting paler by the minute. 

“You’ll still be here?” She asked. 

“Danny laughed, “It’s the living that changes, not the dead. I’ll probably still be here for another century at this point.”

Sam smiled sadly. “Then sure. I’ll come play for you again.”

“Thank you,” Danny said honestly. 

“Anyways, I’ve got to go before someone notices I’ve been gone all night. See you later, ghost boy.” Sam gave a light wave, picked up her case, and pushed her way through the undergrowth. 

He waved back. “Bye, Sam.”

Danny floated back to his grave, and let his boot actually touch the earth. He could feel the cold ground calling to him, and his own sense of self fading as the sun rose higher. He thought about the warmth that Sam had emitted, feeling it through himself as their shoulders had brushed, despite hers passing clearly through his. It had been so nice. 

With the break of dawn, Danny felt himself fade, and be pulled back into a deep slumber in his grave. Time passed quickly while asleep, and he quickly found himself waking to the sound of a violin once more. This tune was different, softer and kinder than the previous song had been. Lyrical and elegant, beckoning him from his sleep, Danny obliged.

Out of habit, Danny checked the sky to see how long it had been. Only a few days at most, the moon hadn’t even had time to move on from its current phase. Sam had come back much sooner than he would’ve expected. 

Danny didn’t wait invisibly this time and caught Sam’s eyes as he passed through the earth, watching her play. She gave a small curtsey when she finished playing, and he politely clapped. She was dressed much more practically than last time, in black jeans with a collared shirt and a long coat covered in various patches and metal studs.  

“Good evening, Miss Sam, nice of you to come to charm the dead once more,” Danny greeted. 

“Hello again to you too, Mr. Ghost. I brought you something.” Sam reached into a bag she had brought with her this time and pulled out a bouquet of white lilies.

Danny watched in stunned awe as Sam gently placed the flowers on top of his grave. It… had been a long time since anyone had left him flowers and it honestly left him choked up. 

“Thank you,” Danny just barely managed to get out. 

“Of course,” Sam smiled back and then took her place on the log from the time before. 

From her bag, Sam pulled out more new things to show him. Danny relished each one, both because of his curiosity and her passion for each thing. He asked her to explain each of the numerous patches on her jacket, and it ended in long rants about conservation and dietary topics that Danny had to admit he didn’t understand. He had known about space exploration before, but Sam had indulged him by reciprocating his question about his own passions and then using her cell phone to look up all of the new discoveries about space. He was stuck in wonder, and the topic didn’t stray away from the stars for the rest of the night. Sam left at dawn once more with a  promise to come back and play for him again. 

On the third night, Danny awoke to a quick and delightful dance, he couldn’t help but fly from his grave and spin around Sam in a mockery of the dances that nobles of long ago had once relished in. It had only been one night since she had visited him. She finished the song, and he dragged her into the dance with him, humming a complimentary melody of his own. It had been a song someone close to him had once loved, and he was filled with the desire to share it. 

Sam was lost in her laughter, and once they finished with the dance, went through her bag, and showed him new things once more. She told him all about her current education, how irritating the people there were, and about her struggles with her parents, who she felt could never understand her. Danny ended up sharing bits and pieces of his own past and family, none of which he could linger on for long, both due to them being long since buried in the past, and his own memory blurring. 

Sam couldn’t stay until dawn this time, she apparently had a test tomorrow morning and wanted to get a good night’s rest before it. Danny wished her luck, and yet again, she promised to come back. He was looking forward to it once more.  

Since dawn was still a ways off, Danny let his feet leave the ground to go meet the stars. Amity was much larger and brighter than it used to be, nearly double the size of the small town he once knew. He remembered when it barely used to give off any light at all, and the stars once shone a lot brighter than they currently did. 

It all hit Danny with the sudden force of a freight engine, now that he was both alone and awake. He could fall back into a deep sleep any day now, or Sam could simply not return. Time would continue to pass without him and he would be forgotten once more. With the way Amity Park kept expanding, they might as well demolish the park where the cemetery lay, and bury him even deeper beneath the earth than he already was, beneath concrete and buildings. If he was only a legend now, how much longer would it be before he wasn’t even that?

Danny let himself drift back down to the earth, lying on his back on the overgrown surface of his grave, right next to the flowers Sam had gifted him. He let out a humorless laugh and picked up the wilted bouquet and held it over his chest. He wondered how long Sam would remember him. He wondered if she would get tired of him, and forget to come back, and he would fade from her mind like he did from the rest of Amity Park. It filled him with dread. 

It was getting harder to wake up too, and Danny hadn’t had the time to think about that in a long time either. It was a wonder Sam’s playing had been able to consistently wake him up, intentional or not. It likely had more to do with the timing and season than not. It had taken that trio of ghost hunters 20 minutes of “summonings”, loud rituals, and burning weird things before he groggily managed to climb out of his grave. Halloween was due to pass in a week, and Danny wondered if even Sam’s playing would be able to wake him after that. Her forgetting him was one thing, but Danny didn’t want to be the one to leave her behind. She was lovely, and kind, and told him about all sorts of things, and about her life, and how she wished she could live it. Danny wanted to be there to see it. 

The dawn had begun to creep up on him, and he felt the flowers slowly drift through him from their place on his chest back to the surface of his resting place. It might become a more permanent rest soon, and Danny hated that more than anything. The thought of not waking up scared him more than anything. He could see clearly through his hands, and a panic he hadn’t felt in the time he had come to accept his nocturnal existence set in. 

Danny recklessly dug deep within himself in a fit of passion, trying to find even a hint of that warmth he had come to associate with the living. The warmth he associated with Sam, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and holding her hand while they spun around the abandoned cemetery that lay beneath her skin and in her breath. He yearned desperately to feel it from himself once more. Danny yearned for life in a way he wasn’t sure he ever had. 

Then Danny found it, deeply sleeping just at the base of his core, hidden by the familiar chill of death. He latched onto it, clinging to it in a desperate, silly hope fueled by an instinctual fear. 

There was a burst of light as the sun finally broke over the horizon and painted the sky gold, and an equally bright burst of light within the cemetery. And for the first time in centuries, Danny felt the warmth of dawn hit his skin.

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Master Post

[reversemoon255]

SSSS.GRIDMAN THE GATTAI Full Powered Girdknight

Missed the preorder window on this one, but managed to snag the second one that popped up on Mandarake. And I'm glad I did, because this thing is great. This should be the same mold as the upcoming THE GATTAI FP Gridman, and it is a startling improvement. This isn't just some simple retool; it's an entirely new mold. Not even Gridknight is the same, overhauling him to better fit his role as the center of this robot, something the original Gridman failed to do.

The Good: Gone is the flimsy DX Full Powered Gridman. To start, Gridknight has been fitted almost entirely with ratcheted joints, meaning he can now much more easily hold the weight of all his machines. Not only that, but they took a page out of the Moderoid's book and made a stronger, more posable replacement torso, but also fixed the issue I had with it by giving it its own head, so you can display both Gridknight and FP Gridknight at the same time. But even if you choose to forgo it, Gridknight is perfectly capable of holding everything up.

Onto everyone else, this set actually comes with two Calibers of different sizes, and a handle so you can use the larger one's chest piece as a shield. Max, Borr, and Sky are functionally the same as vehicles, but Max's cannons now stop at the appropriate height so you don't have to fiddle with that during transformation.

Powered Knight Zenon may not look much different from the original, but has quite a few new tricks going on under the hood. For starters, it requires no adapters; everything is designed into the vehicles themselves, including the very impressive neck joint they added (which just blows my mind how they pulled that off). They also gave it a much better A-stance, actual ankles to accommodate it, and you can use Sky's transformation joints to give it some inward arm motion.

And Full Powered Gridknight is an impressive feat, being both taller than the original and around its scale to Dynazenon seen in the film. The transformation is also so much cleaner. Everything feels better, connects better, is much more solid, even more so than Dynazenon. They even made the cuts in Sky's wings the actual transformation joint, which several of the releases haven't done. And he is ridiculously posable. It has every joint; I don't know what else to tell you. It also comes with open and posable alternative hand. They even added dedicated engineering into Borr that allows for a brand new combination with Goldburn.

The Bad: Not everything is exactly perfect, though. While you can get the new Gridknight to work as Rouge Kaiser, the elbows are too long, meaning you have to twist the arms in a weird way to get them to fit, and Dynasoldier is less stable.

And both Zenon and FP have mediocre ankles. Like, they work, but Zenon's require a bit of fidgeting and you often have to display them on their toes. FP on the other hand just doesn't have enough rock, making more wide-legged, dynamic poses an issue. I recommend using the included stand to help with those (...which I did not take pictures of).

Overall, the difference is quality between this and the original DX are dirt and stratosphere. If you were disappointed by the original, or if you liked the Moderoid, then I highly recommend this one, or just waiting a few months for the V2 to come out.

[justaduckarts]

What if ideas for a story!

Sun didn't get possessed by Afton or drop the star

Eclipse wasn't blamed for Luna's death and exiled

Pluto didn't go all crazy on Moon

Lunar's family & village didn't die of lead poisoning

Solaris was proud of both of his sons

Luna died naturally

Star Holder was raised in Eclipse's temple.

We never became the Star Holder....

Hello!

Sorry for the delay <3

I must confess, I've been planning a story where we get adopted by Moon instead of going to Sun's temple, and some of your story ideas will be involved in that alternate timeline (I can't say which ones because that'd spoil the fun).

So I will choose one that DOESN'T coincide with this future story...

That being said:

What if we never became the Star Holder?

:)

Birdsong carried across the fields. A cool breeze rushed across the seemingly endless sea of red poppies, sending their sweet smell rushing over you. Smiling, you adjusted the sack on your shoulder and carried on along the long dirt path that cut through the countryside.

Spring was in full swing. As you passed, you saw your neighbors out hanging sheets to dry or working in their gardens. Planting seeds that would become fruits and vegetables to be harvested in the fall.

Once more, you checked the list your mother had given you. Even though you were nearly twenty-five now, you were still living with her. Mostly to look after her health. Your brother had remained at home, too, taking to tending the farm to support the household. Though your sister had kindled a flame and left your village to marry the woman she'd fallen for while away for school.

Life was peaceful. Warm.

But sometimes, you felt... as if you should be elsewhere. Doing something important. What that thing might be, you couldn't imagine.

Still, the feeling nagged at you. You had these strange dreams of another life. One where you served at the sides of the gods and experienced all kinds of marvelous things. Cosmic entities. Magics. Strange creatures. Demons, even.

So, you'd become an artist. Painting all the things that plagued your subconscious onto canvas. Your works were pretty popular, too! Especially your depictions of the gods. Once, you'd even been commissioned to paint a piece for a temple. Your mother was so proud!

Life was good.

Finally, you could see the bazaar in the distance. The outdoor market was pleasantly uncrowded this early in the day. Vendors milled about, arranging their displays and preparing for the likely busy afternoon ahead. Usually, you'd be right alongside them, paintings on display while you worked on your latest piece.

Today, however, was your brother's birthday. And you and your mother had conspired to surprise him for all his hard work.

As you were approaching a table with a large scale and bags of grain all around, you noticed a pair strolling through the bazaar. Tall, dressed in elegant silks.

Your mouth fell open as you recognized them.

The gods. Here?

Why?

"Excuse me," Sun approached one of the vendors. A baker. She immediately perked.

"Oh, hello, your graces! It's an honor. What may I do for you?" The baker bowed her head.

"There's usually a painter here, isn't there?" Sun's smile was nearly as bright as the star he was named for.

"Ah, yes," the baker nodded, your name rolling off her tongue, "but I don't think they're coming today, I heard- Oh. There you are!" She spotted you behind the two towering gods and waved energetically.

Sun and Moon turned immediately.

You felt an overwhelming urge to turn and flee. A quiet war started in your head over leaving or staying. But as the two approached, you found your legs unwilling to cooperate with you.

"Good afternoon," you bowed your head, "your graces."

"Afternoon? You're mistaken, it's barely after sunrise," Moon tilted his head. Sun chuckled, patting his dear friend on the shoulder.

"Oh, Moon," he shook his head, "they're just nervous. Right?" He looked back at you. You nodded, unconsciously fiddling with your tunic.

"How may I help you?" You fidgeted. "Uh, your grace."

"There's no need to be so tense! You aren't in trouble!" Sun's milky eyes shone in the morning light, "I recently visited a temple nearby and saw the most beautiful painting. The priest there tells me you were the one to make it!"

Oh.

Relief washed over you.

"It was so lovely," Sun sighed, "Moon and I thought you'd be the perfect person to paint something for us."

"Truly?" Your eyes widened, "it'd be an honor!" You couldn't help the smile on your face.

"Wonderful!" Sun clapped, "I'm sure you'll make a lovely portrait of the Star Holder. Ordina will look so lovely, don't you think, Moon?"

"Oh, yes," Moon nodded, "if you're the one to paint it, I think it will look incredible."

"You wish for me to paint the Star Holder?" You felt a little stunned. Something inside you stirred, just saying those words out loud. And hearing Sun say them... It made you feel uneasy.

You'd heard of Star Holder Ordina. The woman chosen to protect the star from those who would use it for wrong. Hand-chosen by the gods.

You couldn't imagine how her life must be.

"But of course!" Sun nodded eagerly.

Well. Who were you to pass up the opportunity to work for actual gods? It... felt right, in some ways. And wrong, in others.

But this time, it was your choice. And maybe that's what mattered.

"I'd be honored," you nodded.

"Wonderful!" Sun practically bounced with excitement. He was so... different from how you'd imagined him. Bouncy, happy, warm. For some reason, you'd always imagined him being more reserved and distant.

"Walk with us," Moon smiled shyly, "we'll sort the details." He gestured you forward. Smiling in turn, you followed the gods further into the marketplace.

Life was good.

[pancakemake]

Hey, I'm making my friend a Kim Kitsuragi jacket for Christmas, and I was wondering where you got the design for the patches? Yours looked amazing!

Thank you!!

Also made them! Here's a link to files for all three. I didn't do the canon shape for the shoulder patch cause I couldn't get it proportioned right and gave up though... Also if google drive shows the bunch of text in the file preview just ignore it. It randomly forgets how to interpret SVG files.

If you plan to use a cutting machine like a silhouette or a cricut to make your patches, before cutting the map I would HIGHLY recommend cropping it down to just "martinaise" and test cutting that text alone. Depending how small you scale the patch, the text can get super tiny and uncuttable. I personally had to fiddle with scaling a bit before letters with small holes like A and R would actually cut rather than getting pulled around and ripped up.

If you have issues with cuts a brand new blade can help. The problem as I experienced it wasn't so much that my machine couldn't cut detail that small, it was more that the letter pieces were tiny enough that they didn't have enough surface area to hold onto the plastic backing, which meant a mildly dull blade peeled them off and then ran them over.

[astteriskk]

An old and random Saiouma oneshot

One Month Ago…

“Saihara, have you read the latest paper?” Shuichi perked up to see his coworker standing in front of him, holding a stack of newspapers. “No, is there something I should see?” He asked. The coworker balanced the stack in one hand and took a paper off of the top with her other. Setting it on his desk, she backed away quickly. “We recently got a call about it. They want us on the case.” She said. Shuichi glanced down at the paper for a moment. The headline read out, “New criminal organization, D.I.C.E, performs heist on high scale bank!” D.I.C.E… A name that Shuichi never wanted to see again. Although he was told that that god-awful killing game was only a simulation and that everyone was alive, he just couldn’t believe it. Some of his friends didn’t even have bodies left. He had witnessed so many deaths that felt so real. So, when he was told that it was all fake? No way. He simply left the building and went off to be alone. And after that, he never saw anyone again. Not even Maki and Himiko. And the last person he wanted to see was Kokichi. Shuichi didn’t care about whatever he did to end the killing game. That boy was the embodiment of a lie. A specimen never to be trusted. A pathetic creature who would never have anyone to trust in. Trust works both ways. To believe in someone, you must believe in them. He gave up on believing in Kokichi a long time ago.  It doesn’t matter if his intentions were pure.

Current Time…

After a month of searching, Kokichi and his goons were finally brought in. And though Shuichi had thought of a million things he could say to Kokichi when he caught him, his throat was drier than the Sahara desert as he stood face to face with his old adversary. “What? Can’t talk? You know, I thought being caught by you would be more interesting.” Kokichi rolled his eyes as he talked, fiddling with the handcuffs that kept his hands stuck to the table. “Shut up,” was all Shuichi could say. “Come on, Shuichi. Aren’t you excited to see me? We haven’t met face-to-face like this in a year!” Kokichi giggled and stood, his hands still on the table. Shuichi walked around the table and glared at him. “What are you gonna do? Kiss me?” The shorter boy joked. But it was then that the two of them truly studied each other. Both of them had changed in different ways. Shuichi became more confident in himself and his work, and Kokichi was influenced by his friends enough to change his style. The group had stopped wearing uniforms but still dressed in the same colors black, white, and purple. Kokichi blushed as Saihara’s gaze flickered over his body. Today he wore black skinny jeans, platform checkered vans (due to getting teased by his gang about his height,) a white t-shirt, a chain necklace, and fishnet gloves. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a few pieces falling in the front.

Shuichi was stuck in a trance as he picked apart the differences between the Kokichi he knew and this one. Their personalities seemed to be the same. Though, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. But after a bit, he realized Kokichi was staring him down too. Shuichi was a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t dressed up as much as Kokichi did. He only wore black jeans, a black button-up, rings and crap, and sneakers. At least he didn’t look awful. But, for some reason, to Kokichi, the taller boy looked perfect. “Are you going to speak or are we just going to keep eye-f***ing each other?” Shuichi’s eyes widened at Kokichi’s words. He wasn’t… no… Shuichi was simply noticing how much he had changed. Yep. That was it. Shuichi sighed and went back around the table. “Listen, Kokichi. You’re going to be put in prison. And I probably won’t ever see you again. So, is there anything you would like to say to me?” Kokichi smiled and leaned forward over the table. “Sure. I love you, Shuichi. Is that what you were looking for?” He tilted his head with a lopsided grin. Shuichi growled and set his own hands on the table. “Shut up. You and I both know that’s a lie. You don’t love anyone.” As if a pin had pricked Kokichi’s heart, he retracted slightly and stood frozen in place. Did Shuichi truly believe that he was heartless? Sure, he may have lied quite a bit during the killing game but he did it for the greater good. He wasn’t a monster. At least, he didn’t think he was.

“It’s not a lie. Here, I’ll prove it. Uncuff me.” I held out his wrists, well sort of held out since they were cuffed to the table. Shuichi raised an eyebrow, scoffing a moment later. “And why would I do that?” Shuichi asked. Kokichi giggled and grinned. “Because I want to kiss you and it’s easier when I have my hands free.”  Shuichi’s eyes stretched as he frantically looked back over his shoulder to the sheet of glass that separated him and his coworkers. The three that sat behind the screen were just as shocked as he was, one of them covering their eyes in case they did kiss. “No. I’m not giving you what you want, Kokichi. I’m done.” Kokichi faltered, his eyes darkening for a second. The shorter boy sighed and chuckled a bit. “You are smart, Shuichi. But not as smart as you think you are.” Kokichi said no more, simply smiling at his old friend. Shuichi seemed confused but he did not ask questions, simply because Kokichi was exhausting and he wanted to be done with this interrogation. The worst part about this entire situation was that Shuichi felt a small urge to kiss Kokichi. Show him that he wasn’t as much of a coward as he was before. Shuichi leaned across the table, only a couple of inches away from Kokichi’s lips. “Don’t tell me what I am and what I am not. Only I know that.” Shuichi mumbled, internally smiling at the blush that spread across the shorter boy's cheeks. Kokichi shivered and silently prayed that Shuichi would inch just a little bit closer. He was almost there. And when he looked behind the tall boy, his coworkers had left. “No one’s watching us anymore,” Kokichi whispered, his breath ghosting over Shuichi’s lips. And all of a sudden, he heard a click. His handcuffs. Shuichi had undone them. Now, Kokichi could use this chance to escape. That thought had crossed his mind. But he was stuck in the trance that was Saihara’s gaze. Shuichi took hold of Kokichi’s cheek and pulled him closer until their lips connected. Kokichi was starstruck. Their lips moved together like clockwork. Shuichi reached over the table and grasped the shorter boy’s body, pulling him on top of it. Eventually, they pulled apart, panting. “I’m sorry,” Kokichi muttered. Shuichi was confused for a moment and didn’t realize what exactly the purple-haired boy meant until he was rushing out of the room with tears streaming down his face.

[querical-equinox]

I've had this DCA Magic/Dragon AU in my head for a good minute now. And I don't know that I'll ever get this fully written out in a way that I'm satisfied with, but I've been wanting share the idea so bad!!

So in an act of whimsy and self love imma just jot down my thoughts here and throw em out to the world!

So as things start out, you live in an old barn you'd long since fixed up and turned into a home. It's nestled away in a mountain forest, out of sight of the village that rests in the valley below, but not out of reach.

Magic has a natural flow in this world. Some people or creatures may be more intuned, but anyone can learn and wield it if they try. While some places are gearing towards an academic understanding of it, most people still learn by pure trial and error. All feeling and emotion and ritual.

You do the latter.

You're a Mender, by Trade and Title. Always had an uncanny knack for fixing things up, and as you've fiddled and fumbled your way through figuring out magic all these years, you've only gotten better at it.

Anything you need is either made or grown at home, forged from the wilderness, or received from villagers who make their way out to your little loft. You pay and are payed in trades and favors, and are on good terms with most of the folk who live down below you.

They often come out seeking your help with repairs, most often knick knacks, or important tools. Sometimes treasured and sentimental pieces. And more and more as of late, mending of a medical variety.

This is something you still struggling with, but you're learning.

You also tend to keep close to your home. Mostly because it's where you're the most comfortable, you're really not seeking any grand adventure or fortune. You have most everything you need right here! But it's also in no small part due to your Delicate Constitution.

It's not so bad some days. Buzzing around your home and gardens, steady energy and a bright heart. Taking breaks when you need, but otherwise left unhindered.

Most commonly you get around with the aid of one of your canes or walking sticks (a good few are gifts/trades with folks from the valley.) Sometimes needing to wear compression braces. Definitely resting more in between activities, and usually relying on your magic a lil more than might be healthy.

At your worst though you're lucky to get around your house. Using magic is intensely detrimental in this state, and something you opt only to do under dire circumstances.

You're grateful to the folk who pop in and help when you're like this, even if the embarrassment/shame never fully fades, despite their gentle insistence. Even more grateful still that they'll leave if really ask them to.

-

On the flip side of things, are Sun and Moon! Living, Dragonoid Marionettes. Though one wouldn't guess them to be puppets at all, as they keep their true forms hidden under physical illusions.

Sun is all glittering gold and scarlet scales. A large, fluffy spiked mane the color of sunlight, and an adornment of flashy red frills around his neck and wrists.

Moon is all midnight hues, with a speckling of shining scales (are they silver or a muted gold, who's to say as they twinkle like stars.) A silvery mane trails more down his back than his counterparts. And he has two long, dark blue whiskers, that wink and glow a soft yellow at the ends.

Both can choose to keep closer to their original size, or take on a much larger form at will. They're wingless dragons, long and serpentine. All muscle with wicked sharp claws at the ends of their hands and feet.

Their true form are more akin to a child's wooden slither snake toy, just done up all fancy. They sill have their marks and fur and frills, but look decidedly more handmade. And those magically inclinde may just be able to spot pale, shimmering strings, fading off into an ethereal distance.

Who made them, and what for, is unclear. IF they were made for a purpose at all of course they were, but it's been so long, do they remember?

Their main concern at the present date however, is helping their dear friend Music Man. Also known as The Music of the Mountain, or on the occasion someone happens to spot him, oh goOD LORD THAT"S A REALLY BIG SPIDER.

He likes Music Man just fine.

He'd been acting strange as of late, and the final straw for them to intervene was one of his darling Minis seeking them for help so far from home.

This ends with them caught in an ambush at the mouth of his cave home (not the fault of the Mini seeking help mind you!) And the two are separated. With Sun flying down the Mountain, struggling to fend off the Minis swarming him as gently as he can. And Moon facing the Music Man himself, getting backed further and further into the cave.

-

This leads to your first meeting with Sun! He crash lands in a meadow you frequent for herbs and the like. Having shaken all the Minis off along the flight down the Mountain, but left horribly tangled in their incredibly strong spider silk.

It takes a lot of coaxing and gentle words to even get near him. But he seems desperate enough to accept your cautious help.

So you sit and carefully unwind him from this painful mess. You talk to him the whole way through, explaining the work you do (especially when he cant see you), but also just making idle chatter in the interim.

You can feel a powerful magic rolling over and through him, and would nearly be mesmerized by such a beast if it weren't for the serious task at hand.

Despite his rush to get back up and go help Moon, he's incredibly patient with you. Even as you insist on rubbing some ointment on his wounds once you've finished, not knowing the hurry he's in.

When he leaves, it's with a burst of warmth and intense gratitude, as he's seemingly carried off on a breeze.

You head home feeling lighter than you have in years. Cane loose in hand, with coils of spider silk wrapped around it, that you'd keep for a project of some sort.

The field sees a sudden, unexpected bloom over the next week or so after.

-

You meet Moon a little later after that. Again in the field, though it's raining this time. You were out hunting some storm only blooms for an upcoming potion, things like Gator's Tears, and Froggs Foot.

You catch a glimmer of gold, heart picking up in elation at the return of your sunny dragon friend. Though it quickly drops at your sight clears through the rain.

He's carrying a badly injured Moon. You become acutely aware of the anxious, roiling energy trickling down from them.

He brought Moon to you, entirely uncertain, but desperately hoping you could help. He didn't know quite what else to do.

And so you do what you always do. Help as best you can.

This is leads you to guiding Sun back down to your barn, where you thankfully have enough room to squeeze them both in on the ground floor. You set to work on fixing up a barely conscious lunar dragon, who gets hissy in his brief moments of lucidity.

You don't talk during most of this endeavor. More focused on the task, and channeling your magic as best you can the mend the poor dear. Sun is pure anxious energy coiled protectively nearby.

When you're done and Moon is stable, your watch with a startled awe as he seems to shift and dustily dissolve into his small dragon form. Sun follows suit, in what feels to you as sigh of relief.

Only then do you gently bubble with idle chatter, as you get them blankets and pillows to help them be more comfortable. You tell Sun that Moon will need to rest for a while. And that you'd like them to stay a bit to watch over how he heals.

You've expended entirely too much magic during his care , and end up out of commission for a while after yourself.

As so it goes, you have two Ethereal Dragons as house guest for a short while.

-

I have more loose thread for things I'd like to see later on. Like them seeking your help with Music Man, and possibly some other fnaf crew.

Funny moments of them being appalled by how you channel your magic. (Some spells and the like have very physical channelings, and you can get the same results from different methods if you're creative enough.) As beings soaked and strung with magic, they take to it a lot more naturally than you, like second nature it seems. They try teaching you easier/safer ways of harnessing it.

As well as some other fun things, soft visits and hijinks, their Marionette reveal to the reader, interacting with some of the villagers, and so on so forth.

This is all I have to share for now though, and if you made it this far thank you for taking the time to read!!!

[yami-the-outcast]

Atlas does a better nom

Soooo big guy is a gentle giant, a softie at heart, but even the softest have their moments, especially when the people they love are potentially in danger.  Sooo warning, this contains some fatal noms, though not on anyone who don’t deserve it. 

Atlas had never actually caught a human before… Thanks to the help from the assorted smalls he’d gotten used to having something resting in his upper belly, but had never actually done anything beyond that. He knew the other nagas, particularly Jotaro, had actually eaten hunters and trappers and assorted humans before, mostly those who attempted to cause harm to his family and friends or those who tried to take the arrow, but the thought of it had made his stomach turn. Until now, that was. He’d been playing with the smalls and the kids outside, daring to face the blue abyss above his head to experience a nice warm day outside in the soft grass with the breeze in the trees. It had been going well, he’d been gaining some experience sniffing out the others, putting his own skills of hiding to good use as well, when some shift in the wind sent a scent his way that dropped a block of ice into his stomach. An unfamiliar human, one he knew for certain he didn’t know. He only caught a glimpse of their back, but he knew for certain this was a stranger. They hadn’t seen him yet, crouched in the brush fiddling with something, but it was clear they meant trouble if the rifle across their back was anything… Atlas wanted nothing more than to hide, run, that was what the heavy weight in his gut said, but… he knew the others were around, and they were so small compared to him… If he fled, gave in to that nagging panic in the back of his head, then he’d never be trusted with them again. He had to do something, keep them safe… For a moment all he could do was stare, hidden behind a tree, his heart pounding in his ears. He could see the human stand, see them grin as they started rearranging some grass and twigs. What were they…? His thoughts were cut off by the short scream of a rabbit to his left, and both him and the human’s eyes darted towards the sound, though it was the stranger who cursed in apparent annoyance. The small creature had been hoisted from the ground by its neck, a metal line wrapped tight around its still-twitching body, something that clearly upset the human. Atlas could hear them curse and draw a knife to get it down, mutterings of “damn critters” and.. “Possible bait maybe” and the most damning of all… “eh, won’t be too bad if the little ones get messed up, ‘long as they don’t die I can still get somethin’ for ‘em… Always someone looking to get a new guard snake.”

The very notion… the very idea of any of the little ones ending up like him… being locked up, chained and made into some sick twisted creature to guard someone’s things, made into a sick sort of pet… The ice in his stomach was starting to melt, quickly enveloped by hot anger as a growl rose in his chest. Nobody, no damn human piece of shit was going to be touching anyone around here… and they sure as hell weren’t going to be taking any children from this land! He was in motion before he realized it, charging forward with a snarl as the human whipped around with their knife still in hand. Clearly they hadn’t expected to be caught like this out in the open, much less by a naga as large as him, and soon found themself wrapped tight in those pale coils. Atlas snarled, the picture of a pissed-off naga as he stared down at the pathetic thing he’d caught. What was he supposed to do with them? He could always kill them with ease, but then he’d have to worry about the kids or anyone else finding the body… Did he just scare them off? They might come back with more people, with more weapons… His mind was whirling with ideas, though abruptly he was pulled out of his head by a stabbing pain in his tail, the naga hissing as he squeezed the human tighter. They’d taken that knife and found a spot between his scales to drive it in, twisting the blade in hopes that the pain would convince the naga to drop him, spouting something about how he wasn’t alone and he’d have company coming real soon. Something that Atlas was very doubtful of. A hunter, maybe, but a trapper like this was sneaky and worked alone. The injury did little but anger the naga, and cause him to tighten his grip, the voice of long-buried instinct roaring at him. He knew what someone like this deserved… and for once his fear was only a distant afterthought. His jaws parted and the human’s scream was quickly muffled by slick warm flesh as Atlas closed his mouth around their upper body, pulling them free from the grasp of his coils only to toss his head back and gulp hard. Their kicking legs stuck from his mouth and could feel their hands scramble against his teeth, desperate to find some purchase to pull themself free. Though despite their thrashing and fighting, they were absolutely no match for Atlas's powerful throat muscles which were quick to latch on to the human to drag them down with another heavy swallow. Atlas felt at the squirming lump slowly sliding down his throat, his eyes watering slightly as he got his first real taste of an unwilling prey. Before, he'd only been given the ones already dead, nothing but meat, but this one was fighting for their life… The naga grimaced when that heavy struggling weight settled onto his upper belly, his gut visibly quaking with each kick and punch, the organ gurgling out a sickly sound as a wave of nausea hit him with all the struggling. He pressed a hand against his middle, hoping to still the movements before shuddering as he felt his prey's hands pushing against the tight ring of muscle that had shut behind them. If they kept this up, he wouldn't be able to keep them down… ugh, Jotaro made this look so easy… Again came that whisper in the back of his head, instincts buried by years of "training", actions he wanted to take beaten down by strike after strike… His body knew just what to do and with hardly a thought those internal muscles squeezed again. In their haste to try and force themself out, the human had failed to realize they'd slid into the perfect pose to be dragged out of the safety of the first stomach and into the second. Quickly those crushing lower esophageal muscles clamped down on their legs to pull them down in a swift motion, arms soon unable to be pulled to their sides, leaving them no chance to jam themself into place as they were squeezed through the much tighter and rougher second throat and into the larger but far more dangerous space of the digestive stomach. Atlas sighed at this new feeling, a soft coo slipping from his lips before he could stop it. It was such a relief to not have that angry thrashing in his soft upper belly… though he paused at an odd feeling in his lower. He'd.. never had something alive in there before… at least, not in his fuzzy memory. That coo of relief turned into an unhappy growl as he ran his hands over the still-kicking lump in his lower belly, wishing he'd had the foresight to remove the heavy boots he could feel digging into his stomach. At a time like this he wanted nothing more than one of those amazing belly rubs from a pair of small hands, but the idea of going anywhere to find them was certainly not an option. Atlas could make out faint shouts, curses and screams, though as time went on they slowly grew weaker. What kind of hell the trapper-turned food was facing was beyond the naga's comprehension, all he could really do was knead against that angry form and let those threats melt away as his gut burbled and groaned in apparent confusion over this active meal. The white-haired naga glanced around, frowning at the dead rabbit, before making sure the poor creature didn't go to waste, snapping it up and smirking slightly to himself when his rowdy meal screamed at the sudden roommate. Maybe that would distract them and let him clean up these traps before any of the little ones came around and got themselves hurt. By the time he'd picked apart all the wires and thrown dirt back into the few pit traps he'd found, Atlas was pleased to discover the thrashing had gone quiet, leaving only the pleasant gurgling and groaning of a satisfied stomach. He'd have to tell Jotaro about the trapper later, he was sure there was some vehicle he'd have to find and dispose of, but at the moment he was eager to simply go back inside and find the warmest, darkest spot he could fit himself into and sleep. He knew for certain there'd be some internal bruising, but he could handle that so long as he knew everyone else would be safe. Hm.. was this what Jotaro felt when he did this? He could understand why the big guardian naga did that after this experience… he'd do anything to keep this new family of his safe.

[enteroctopusdarkysilis]

✨Trade space station !✨

<Previous< [2/4] >Next>

Today’s gonna be about the progress of the build in time, which allows me to ramble about the building process. Yay !

Before actually commenting the build. You may notice chocolate and my (empty) tea mug. They should be apparent in most of the earliest pictures (there was not enough space on the table for them at the end of the project, sadly~

So, here, you can see that my first step was to see the scale of my project. The template of the large ring to see how much space it would take, and the small ring to see how round I could make it (and at the bottom, you can see the white curved pieces. Enjoy this view, it won’t last.)

You can also notice above that I already stared making some small ships.

The next day ! You can see on the left my long rod. This was the ideal height for the central cylinder. I also created the first core of the build (replaced later because too fragile), and the first arms to hold the ring (too fragile too).

Progress ! This is the moment I realised my original color scheme would not work (you can see orange and bright green on the side, which I tried before the sand green).

I had half of the big cylinder added (you can see the slots left for the additional details) and another naked half on the right side. And my collection of boxes on the table is growing. It’s only getting worse after that.

See ? More boxes (and pieces) scattered all around. And a hammer, too. I at this point mostly finished the big cylinder (or so I thought, some reinforcements were necessary), started the smaller cylinder, and realised white pieces were running out. I also still haven’t touch the ring yet, as I wanted to stay focused on one bit.

Mostly done with the cylinders at the point (you can even see the start of the smallest one on the right side). Agin the boxes grow ominously.

Since it was time to start the ring, I created a replica of a sixth of it. Given that there were twelve sections, I wanted to be sure of the design before starting to build them all, starting with the facade. It took some fiddling around (you can see these aren’t symmetrical, as I was trying out different designs). Really, if you have this kind of things to do, try to make it in a vacuum first, you’ll gain a lot of time later, once the prototype has every problem answered (mine were mostly the curve, and the link between each plates (solved with mod 1*2 black plates).

See ? After the prototype was done, I simply built all of the facades and attached them (you can see my 1*4 curved pieces were all missing at the time though).

I kept the prototype on the side, because I’ll still need it later. I also am missing half of the ring (the part above, since there is only a structure below), because I was not sure of how everything would fit, and I waited until these parts were assembled before making it, in case adjustments were needed.

Here is the top part ! And all the hangars done, too. It took me a surprising amount of time to do all twelve of them…

Huge progress ! There is no more room on the table for the boxes, but you can see them…on the floor, on the left…Lot was done, from the bottom cylinder now finished along with its ring, the covering pieces of the big ring (except the internal faces), the hat of the station, and a huge reinforcement for the six arms, which was done separately). At this point, except for a few details, the station itself is finished.

And there is a picture taken moments before disaster. The station is done (ignoring the transitions between cylinders) the arm…supposedly, too.

Sadly, the arm wasn’t, in fact, finished. If you read the first post, you will notice it isn’t as bulky, and isn’t attached on baseplates yet.

Well, guess what ? When I finally tried to see if the arm would hold onto the station, it broke. Rather, two pieces broke, then the rest came down, and so did the station, which shattered on the floor below. Luckily for me, the main cylinder was so dense it practically completely survived. Most of the hangars of the rings only broke section per section, so it only took a few hours to get it back together, but much more time to make the arm solid. And now, it can hold the station for ten hours without flinching ! So, here is a lesson. If something you do fails when you do it with your heart, let the rage flow through you and build it back out of spite. It works* !

*don’t hold me accountable for any failure using that method

[casspurrjoybell-32]

Taken - Blue Moon Series - Chapter 8b

*Warning Adult Content*

Lakota Bateman

We had been traveling for a good two days straight now as we came to a rest for the night by a stream.

It was a pretty silent trip with the occasional irritant from constantly being around each other all the time.

I watched Teagan and Connor slip off somewhere while the three of us sat to rest as was a typical thing for them to escape for alone periods of time.

I walked over towards the stream and lapped at the cool water.

Laying my exhausted body down I was listening to the peaceful sounds of the creek rushing by, almost falling asleep when I jumped up suddenly as a fish was dropped in front of my face.

I looked over towards Gale who had made himself comfortable against a tree, he was fiddling with a piece of wood.

Glancing up I watched as a drenched Cyrus pushed the food closer to me with his nose before shaking and splattering water everywhere.

'Eat,' he told me through our bond.

My chest suddenly felt heavy as I stared at the bloody scaled creature.

It was considered one of the ultimate intimacy when you provided sustenance for your mate.

It proved that you were forever in his care and he would make sure you were safe and healthy.

Living as I have, I haven't felt much love in my life and being fed something my mate had caught for me had set my emotions off.

'Thank you,' I said roughly as I leant down piercing my teeth into the flesh.

"Oh, that looks delicious," Gale's voice sounded from above me as I heard him kneel down next to us.

"So is everyone staying in their wolf form and leaving me the only talking being around here?" he gave us his charming smile.

I heard Cyrus growl slightly as he gave Gale a sideways glare.

Shaking my head I finished my fish and shifted, Cyrus reluctantly followed suit.

"Ah there you are," Gale joked.

Something large was thrown over me from behind, a blanket, peeking over my shoulder I saw Cyrus's grim face as he stood naked above me.

I snapped my head back, a blush flooding my cheeks as I gripped the edges of the blanket closer.

"Well damn I feel like I should be going in the buff as well," Gale said grinning.

"I feel left out," and reached down to pull his shirt above his head.

"How about you don't," Cyrus growled sitting beside me, unashamed.

"I'm just joining the pack is all," Gale shrugged.

"We don't want you in the pack."

I glanced up frowning at Cyrus's rude comment.

"Cyrus," I said softly but I was ignored of course.

I watched Gale's usual playful brown eyes were staring at Cyrus hard now.

'Oh No.'

"I believe you mean 'you' don't want me in the pack or mated to Lakota," Gale retorted.

"You're right," Cyrus stood now.

"I don't and I don't want you anywhere near 'my' mate."

I could see Cyrus's canines extending and none to my surprise I found Gale's sharp fangs elongating as well.

'This isn't good at all.'

"Guys," I warned, coming to my feet.

"Lakota has been with me for years and you think it's fine for you to just swoop in and have the rights to take what doesn't belong to you?"

"You have some nerve wolf."

"Excuse me?"

"If you wanted him so much you should have marked him a long time ago," Gale snarled in Cyrus's face as he stepped up to him.

"Don't think I didn't notice that your essence was no-where to be found on him, when we first met."

In that moment Cyrus growled and pushed Gale out of his face... I knew this wasn't going to end well.

Gale staggered back abruptly, his head down and his hair obscuring our view of his face from us.

"Gale," I whispered calmly, stepping closer to him when he snapped his head up and I had to step away as his gentle brown eyes were a deep silver and his lips pulled back over his glistening fangs.

Then he was airborne, his body slamming into Cyrus's snarling form as they rolled together.

"No," I screamed running towards them.

I could smell blood and my own ran cold.

"Stop."

I heard the growls as Cyrus must have shifted biting any place he could get his canines into.

Gale was under him suddenly holding Cyrus' head from getting any closer to his own before he balled up his fist and punched him, causing him to fall over.

They rolled and rolled, each unable to get a good grip of the other.

When I saw Gale finally push forward and sink his fangs into Cyrus' furry neck.

I watched in horror as Cyrus seized up, his eyes squeezing tight and I heard a whimper escape his mouth.

"Oh Goddess," Connor's voice said from behind me as both Connor and Teagan ran forward.

Teagan quickly grabbed Gale and tossed him aside and I ran over to him to find his mouth red and glazed silver eyes.

Clenching my teeth I quickly turned towards Cyrus dropping to my knees beside him.

"Cyrus?" I said reaching out to pet his sable colored fur.

But the moment I touched him he flinched.

I snapped my hand back in surprise as he shot to his feet suddenly running into the forest.

"Cyrus?" I exclaimed.

"What the hell did you do?" Connor demanded as he came to stand in front of Gale's immobile body.

I glanced towards them curious of the answer myself.

Cyrus had never been defeated in a fight before and he didn't easily run from one either.

"Hey," Connor yelled yanking Gale's shirt only to get an intense glare and a deadly growl.

"Let go," Gale warned.

Connor was snatched away as Teagan came to shield him from Gale.

"Do not threaten him," he snarled.

Frowning I walked forward mimicking Teagan's move as I stood protectively in front of my mate.

"Can you please just give us a moment?" I asked Teagan, staring him in the eyes.

I watched as his dark eyes softened slightly before turning, placing his hand on Connors lower back guiding him away. 

Once they were gone, I turned to face my motionless mate.

On the ground he lay with his arms spread out and his legs spread apart slightly as he stared blankly up at the night sky.

The moon was eliminating the sky with it's bright light.

I could see that it was almost a full and for some reason it gave me a nagging feeling like I was forgetting something important.

But I couldn't remember at the moment.

"Gale," I said softly lowering myself to the floor next to him.

"Gale?" I placed my hand on the other side of his head and leant over his body to get in his face.

Finally his glassy silver eyes focused on me and I gave him a patient expression.

His mouth was still cover in blood when I saw him smile up at me and reach his hand out towards my face.

His cold fingers gently caress my face.

"What did you do?" I asked him softly.

"I didn't mean to but..." he stops.

"What?"

He sighed closing his eyes before leaning up and lightly touching his lips to mine.

I felt the wet transfer of blood smearing on my mouth and I instinctually licked it away from both of us.

Cyrus's taste exploded on my tongue and I gasped.

My shocked eyes met his calm ones and he smiled.

A while later I sat next to Gale as we waited for Cyrus to finally come out of hiding.

I would have followed after him but he was the type of person that when he needed space it was best to give it to him.

Gale was playing with my hand, caressing my fingers and palm but kept his gaze set intently out onto the tree line.

I knew what was wrong with him but kept silent about it.

I also knew Cyrus was not going to be too happy about all this but to be honest it helped me understand our group a lot more.

I have marked both Cyrus and Gale and Gale had just bitten Cyrus... meaning the only thing left to do was for Cyrus to sink his canines into Gale now and we would all be mated.

But the problem is, even though we were all supposed to be together Cyrus was not a big fan of Gale.

There was no way in hell that he'd willingly mark Gale without a fight.

[connorumodeling]

Update Post 3

I am back again, with an update. I have been busy, but I have had to change slight priority of when things get done. For example; some accessory items will need to be pushed back so I can deliver my vision of the Judgement Hall scene. Setting The Scene: First off, I have found a reference image that gives a feel for what I am going for the renders of the scene. This reference image is this:

I want to add a roof of some kind and connect the pillar with an arch. This takes priority. I want to deliver this big, grand, ominous judgement hall. This has made me change priorities of the order of things. A future update has also help with this as well, but I will explain what that is at the end of the post, with other future update plans. What Have I Done Between Updates? I have made the floor checkered, a table, a cloth,and fiddled around with the color wheel, of Maya, to get certain color to apply, as basic textures, to make the scene look more like what I pictured it to look like. This will be shown in the renders of the hallway section. I have also made two different versions of Undyne's spear, as the first item, a gold version, and a blue version, both with glowing textures. I started with a mood board for the spear, and even some bones , that represent Papyrus and Sans.

After I went to make the models of the different versions of the spear and rendered images. Here are the renders of them:

As you all can see I went with this design as a base for the spears.

I just really liked the look and shape of this take of spears, so I took inspiration for my models. Working On The Hall Scene: I also made a sort of basic reference, mood board, for the hallway layout as well.

Render Tests: I had managed to take some test renders of my current hallway piece. I did run into some issues, like floating pillars, but I did fix those issue and took more renders. Here are all the test renders I took. First one is an overhead view:

This is an angled view, next is a side view(Keep this because it is a good shot even though pillars are floating):

And here is the final test render.

Getting Darker: When I was taking shots, to render, to test what it would look like, what lighting could be used, etcetera, I decided to try a render or 2 without the sky dome lighting and the results were actually pretty good/cool looking. I decided to take some renders and honestly, by messing with lighting a little more, I can have myself some more ominous looking renders that fight the mood I am going for conveying. It is interesting how a simple shift in lighting can change a whole mood of a scene. Here are the 2 renders:

Now a little bit of lighting is diffidently needed to make things a little more seeable. Going Forward: The next thing I will focus on is making the hallway bigger and laying out the direction it will go, lighting and building the ceiling. This reasoning is to help me see hall's shape more, and to have a more to scale hall to do a fly through play blast for my upcoming draft Demo Reel. I will update this if I get more stuff done before the end of the day. I am excited to work on getting more renders, a play blast, etc., for my draft of a demo reel for this project.