#on top of previously being made out of glowing metal and not like fire like a lot of other spirits / demons we see

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Alright, I'm curious:

[bigskydreaming]

@hood-ex

Okay but re: the subject of wingfic.....picture this....His Dark Materials style AU where instead of kids having daemons who shapeshift until they settle, kids have wings that are constantly shifting and trying out new forms until they settle.

And maybe Dick’s generation is the first one to have this.....like, the DC multiverse is constantly having these universe-altering Crises, that are all metaphysical and unleash and reshape cosmic and universal creation energies....and early in Dick’s tenure as Robin, let’s say the DC multiverse undergoes a Crisis whose resolution has an unexpected side-effect.....at that point forward, teens begin manifesting their like, soul or whatever, in physical or metaphysical form, in the shape of wings.

They first pop up around when kids start entering puberty, and tend to settle around them kinda ‘finding themselves’ as adults....and we’re not talking just bird-type wings. Wings of any kind, any shape, any material. They’re described as ‘metanatomy’ not in the sense of metas having altered anatomy but more in the sense of how metaphysical relates to physical.....these wings don’t have to prescribe to any biological or anatomical rules because they’re not biological in nature. Kory’s people describe the wings as a child’s ‘over-soul’ - a manifestation of their fundamental, individualized essence that’s overlaid on top of their physical self.

So, many wings are bird-like in nature, physically capable of being touched, damaged, healed, etc....but just as many are batlike or dragon-like, they can be just wing-shaped and made of fire, they can be mechanical appearing or insectoid or pretty much anything. There was a period when Dick was around fourteen when his wings were just wispy wing-shaped stormclouds behind him, lightning constantly flickering up and down their lengths as though it were the wings’ veins.....another period where they were just giant sweeping shadows behind him that he could nevertheless fly with, and while he was Robin, they most consistently manifested as bright, gleaming swaths of luminescence that glowed as though they constantly had spotlights trained on them. 

(Which had Bruce paranoid it would just make Dick an easy target, until they realized that a ‘side-effect’ of Dick’s wings when they looked like this was instead of making it easier for the bad guys to train their weapons on him, even the most hardened villains would find themselves hesitating to pull the trigger. Some kind of pulsating, emotion-laced effect of those wings drawing their attention was it was more like moths drawn to a flame....they were so busy being momentarily entranced or hypnotized by the spectacle of them that they were usually a second too late in actually firing....by which time Dick was in a position to strike them first. Well, at least that’s how it went until the Joker managed a lucky shot anyway. But then, when isn’t that asshole an exception to the rules?)

Some wings had little quirks or fringe effects that went with them taking on a certain form or appearance....though those didn’t tend to stick around when the wings shifted to a different appearance, unless a person’s wings settled in the shape a particular fringe effect was associated with. Like when Roy hit adulthood, his wings settled in the appearance of bright red feathered wings with black accents......his wings are fairly small and not suited for long range flight, or even flight in general, as they tend to be more useful in helping him glide in short, quick spurts. But they also come with a perk unique to him....when Roy uses his own feathers to fletch his arrows, those arrows never ever miss. 

In adulthood, Donna’s wings settle as giant bird-like wings, all black feathers with silver specks of stars scattered all across them, same as her Troia costume. They’re like patches of night sky sliced straight out of the heavens, and when Donna’s in costume she’s impossible to see cutting through the dark. Her huge sweeping wings would cast an easily noticed shadow over the ground if not for the silver specks dotting her feathers, but thanks to those, by the time she’s close enough for you to make out her features, distinct from the night sky, its far too late to do anything but go oh fuck.

Wally’s wings are more of a presence than a visual. Hummingbird type things that match his speed but never manage his stillness. Beating at the air a furious several hundred wingflaps per second, so even when he’s standing still he’s far from motionless....the air around him thrumming with movement, humming with vibrations that make it look like he’s constantly surrounded by shimmering ribbons of heat baking off an asphalt pavement. And again, that’s when he’s just standing still. When he actually gets agitated, they hit the air like a thunderclap. Sparks shooting up from the points of contact as the friction of them is so fast and furious it ionizes the atmosphere around him all on its own.

Garth’s can be a bit unwieldy when on the surface, but in the water they make him glide faster and smoother than any Atlantean before him. Stretching out from torso to underarms like the wings of a manta ray, they’re black and gray and streaked with purple like his eyes and the tattoo around it, just inverted. The material of them thick and coarse enough that when he flings his arms out or wrapped around himself just so, the folds of his wings draped around him create a dense barrier capable of shrugging off any number of projectile impacts.

Vic’s are mechanical marvels, smooth and sleek metallic expanses that aren’t dissimilar to Marvel’s Archangel, but where Warren’s feathers are knife-like flechettes, Vic’s host a variety of sensory arrays and feed him all sorts of data. Gar’s never fully settle....they shift as often as he does, sometimes vast and feathered, sometimes batlike and leathery....always green though, and always there no matter what animal he shifts into. He’s never a snake so much as a feathered serpent, a pegasus instead of a horse, a manticore instead of a mere lion, and well, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Beast Boy take to the streets of Manhattan as a T-Rex with giant pterodactyl wings. Why his wings never fully settle could be due to his shape-shifting or it could just be in his nature.....Gar’s the original Lost Boy who’ll never FULLY grow up.

Raven’s are purple and black on the outside but bone-white on the inside.....like her empathy, they cut both ways. When she pulls her wings tight around her and someone else like a protective shroud, they can shield her and those in her care from prying eyes and scrying magic....when she throws them wide and strikes out with them at enemies on either side, the touch of her feathers is like feeling the cold of the grave. Kory’s are a deeper, royal purple juxtaposed beside Raven’s shadowed inky violets.....but rather than feathered, Kory’s are tall and draconian, imperious and imposing canvases adorned with swirls of red and green like nebulas painted across a cosmic backdrop. Curling emerald flames lick around the edges of them just like her starfire sometimes dances through her hair.....even when ‘ablaze’ her wings are cool to the touch if she invites you to touch them, but touch them uninvited and you’re going to get burned. Badly.

Lilith’s are four enormous feathered wings of green and gold and black spread behind her like the many layered wings of a seraph. They’re decorated in various places with dark concentric circles like those found on peacock feathers....until those circles flare and open wide and you realize you’re staring at dozens of eyes that are all looking back at you.....each a window to your own soul, freezing you in place with a glimpse of your own darkest secrets or possible destiny.

Joey’s are many-hued mosaics, like wings made of stained-glass windows. Hazy and indistinct shafts of rainbow light slanting through his varied ‘feathers’ when he spreads his wings in the air behind him.....like viewing screens or windows they show glimpses, afterimages of everyone he’s ever joined his soul to when riding shotgun in their bodies.....making them forever a part of him, a link he can tap into at will and rendering his power less about possession and more about connection, a forever-door that lets him merge with one of his previously tethered-to teammates, no matter where they are in relation to him. But with the slight change that now what he makes up for in range, he loses in stealth, as his wings show up behind the body of his ‘host’ for as long as he remains merged with them.

And Dick’s wings finally settle in adulthood to sweeping feathered wings of blue and indigo banded with gold.....but where his presence is less attention-commanding than in his younger years, his impact is definitely felt. As his settled wings act as an epicenter for a kind of gravitational bubble around him that’s keyed to his mood.....when he’s lighthearted and in high spirits, everyone around him feels a little bit lighter, purely in a physical sense, gravity within his sphere of influence being a little less heavy, leaving his friends and teammates a little lighter on their feet, quicker in their reactions, etc, etc. When he’s feeling heavy though, his immediate environs feel it with him - though that’s not always the worst result when surrounded by enemies he’s better off having feel overburdened, weighed down, like they’re struggling to get to their feet and the air itself is sitting a little heavier in their lungs every time they take a breath.

[yelenasdog]

ribbons & flames (peter parker x fem!avenger!reader)

REQUEST BY @lokivision​ : hehehehe peter parker request: just fluffy cuddles :D idk if this is descriptive enough for a request oops

genre: fluff!

summary: two avengers that love to cuddle :D

words: 1.11k

warnings: none tbh, just them being dorks.

a/n: cass, ur request was cute and i luv u!!! if u sent a peter request, i’m workin’ on it!! this was kinda rushed and kinda weird but i hope u like it anyway!!! mwah enjoy <3  also, i didn’t use y/n, so if u wanted, u could read this as an o/c or fem character x peter.

·。·。·。

“Pete?”

His name echoed through the apartment just above the bustling New York streets, with nothing coming in response. So, she only shook her head and sighed, turning back to the copy of Fahrenheit 451 she had laying in her comfily clothed lap. 

You see, her and MJ had decided to conquer all the greats together, this most recent being Bradbury’s masterpiece, which had grown to be her favorite by far. She had begun to finally get back in the “zone” of her reading, when she heard four rythmic knocks on the window to their bedroom. She smiled to herself giddily and bit her lip, making her way up from where she sat on the sofa.

Her grin only grew as she saw a masked up Peter sitting on the fire escape railing, legs swinging and fingers tapping the frosted metal on either side of him. When he saw arguably his favorite person, standing in front of him like an angel to save him from the cold, he jumped from his perch. 

He rubbed his hands together, jumping two times in his place. She paused where she stood, knowing that although he may have been a tad bit chilly, the heater in his suit was keeping him toasty. She tilted her head, taking her bottom lip between her teeth and crossing her arms in front of her. Through the glass, Peter groaned, pleading her to “just open up!” to which she giggled and complied, lavender bursts of energy falling from her fingers, enveloping the window and pulling it up from where she stood, several feet away.

“Took you long enough, bookworm. Thought you were gonna let me freeze to death out there.”

She scoffed in false offense, putting a hand over her heart and turning to face him, walking backwards towards where her book was resting. Peter reached his arms out, and she reached hers up, pulling off the mask as he rather pulled her towards his chest. Her walking didn’t cease, and the pair backed up a few inches to where she ended up with the lower of her back pressed against the couch. She looked up at his face, moving one of her hands to run a finger through his sweaty locks.

“You should go shower and get changed. You smell, bug boy.” She said in a half-joking manner, some truth in her words.

He slanted his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Really? Is that so?” He asked innocently, crossing his arms, mirroring how she had been posed previously. She nodded and shrugged, to which Peter quickly pushed her onto the couch from behind, taking care in doing so.

“Peter Benjamin Parker! I am going to kill you!” She exclaimed, picking herself up from where she had fallen, blowing her hair from her eyes. She conjured back up the sparkling ardor, this time having it reside in her palms and creeping its way through up her arms and to her fingers. Peter looked back over his shoulder as he went, finally making it to the bathroom with her hot on his heels. He slammed the door, and mere seconds later, she easily flung it back open. He smiled, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry?”

She chuckled, her eyes fading back to their normal hue (that Peter adored), and the rest of the energy faded as well, minus a small strand still dancing about on the tips of her fingers, like sugar plum fairies would. She hummed, another smile gracing her face. She turned, closing the door using the aforementioned strand, and walked away.

She made it to the fireplace, grateful that Tony had agreed to let herself and Peter spend the extra money in order to stay especially warm in the colder months. The orange glow of the flames had grown to become one of her favorite things, she had decided. 

She loved to sit in front of the brick appliance, to send a flow of violet in the pit, watching fondly as the embers and the energy hesitantly mixed, having an intricate waltz. Every time, it seemed that the spark of her own power nearly overtook the fire, but instead, it showed mercy. It would continue to surround and mingle with the possible inferno, until ultimately the fire went out, but her energy remained, dancing by itself.

After 15 minutes of peaceful observation, her trance was broken by Peter, who had just stepped out of the shower. The water still rolled off his shoulders, his curly hair releasing droplets from his head. He let her know that he was going to go get changed and would be right back, his glance only leaving his phone screen once. 

And just as promised, he appeared soon after, and she smiled at the regular Adonis before her, all wrapped up in his old Star Wars tee and black sweats. He walked over to her, gesturing for her to scoot over and make room for him to sit.

“Hey.” He had said when he finally settled in, a boyish smile stuck on his freckled face.

“Hey, yourself.” She had responded, looking at where their two forms were basically connected at the hip.

“That close enough for you, cowboy?” She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the edges. He grabbed her by her shoulders, making her squeal in a surprised delight. He pulled her so that her thigh was resting on his, his lips forming into a devilish smirk. She only rolled her eyes and scoffed in a way that could only be described as melodramatic, nestling further into his chest. 

The Star Wars shirt was soft from years of use, the worn material making her feel at home, serene. She inhaled, taking in Peter’s scent and doing her best to commit it to memory (even the dreadful 2 in 1 hair wash he used, because truthfully, it was still all him).

“This is nice”. He stated, his eyes shifting from the whirlwind of energy surrounding the angry fire that threatened to lick at their toes, to where she had her head resting upon his chest, his heartbeat lulling her to rest. The proximity to the fire never really concerned them all that much, the awareness that if need be she could easily subdue it being what diminished their worry.

“Yeah. It is.” She muttered, entangling her limbs with Peter’s, cuddling into his side even more, however that was possible. He smiled down at her, resting his head on top of her’s, the sensation of her being so close bringing him great joy.

And even when the two Avengers had long fallen into a deep slumber, full of dreams, and nightmares, and things that most feeble minds couldn’t understand, long after the fire had been reduced down to nothing but burnt ash and wood, effervescent ribbons of her lavender remained, just as they always would.

·。·。·。

tagging moot who might be interested: @kelieah​

i hope u liked that!! if u did make sure to rb :D mwah go drink water and eat protein if u can <3

xx hj

[midnightmoonkiss]

Summer Nights.

Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Summary: Sweet summer nights paired with some free time with your cute boyfriend always seem to lead to something more.

WARNINGS!: Hand job, slight exhibitionism??

Category: Fluff / Smut

Word Count: 3k

A/N: It is summer time let me indulge in the classics,,

Just To Clarify:

You’re third years

This summer camp is by a river in a forest and not in the mountains

Though it’s not mentioned, summer camp lasts 7 days not 4

Perm. Tag List:

@coupsieddori​ @desia2​ @strwbrry-lia​

Ragged breaths echoed in your ear as a toned body leaned back in your secure embrace,

wiggling as his sweaty palms gripped your forearms to stabilize himself.

“(Y-Y/N), wait..!” He gasped, mind filled with dirty thoughts and anticipation as your palms smoothed down his shirt covered belly, fingers tracing the outline of his abs as they inched their way towards the waistband of his black gym shorts with a noticeable bulge.

“Hmm? Why’s that, Izuku?” You drawled out, hot breath fanning over his sensitive ear, adoring the way a whimper slipped past his lips.

“B-because- guah..!”

You nipped at his ear lobe, nuzzling your nose against his hot neck.

“Be a good boy, use your words. Because what?” You purred, kissing down his nape, licking a trail to his sweet spot, latching on and lathering it in attention that had shivers falling down his body, head flopping to the side to give you more room to do as you pleased as if you didn’t have enough room already.

You had barely even begun and yet here he was, sounding wrecked and sporting a cute wet spot on his shorts. The sight of it made you lick your lips, how adorable.

It was strange how this all began, neither of you quite expecting alone time to relax together to take such a lewd turn so quickly, but it was clear neither of you were complaining. In fact, it seemed more like the two of you were wishing for it to happen.

The fourth day of summer camp down by the river during your third year at U.A was coming to a close, hot, blistering day turning into a cool, relaxing night.

Most students were exhausted after such a strenuous day working on their quirks yet again. Some even went straight to bed after dinner was finished and cleaned up, but some, like you, werent tired at all.

It wasn’t that the few left hadn’t worked hard, in fact, some could say that out of the seven of you still sitting around the campfire, three had worked the hardest out of everyone in the class.

But yet, they were still filled with joy, laughter filling the air as crickets chirped all around, the scent of warm vanilla in the air as you all made ‘smores with the crackling heat in front of you.

Ghost stories were passed around, some scary and some eccentric, but each and every one told brought a reaction out of the people who listened to it.

Your hand clutched a much larger and rougher one, warm, scarred fingers encasing your own as you leaned against your curly, green-haired boyfriend who looked scared shitless.

“They’re just stories,” you had whispered in his ear, your words comforting him ever so slightly.

“Scary ones..” he sighed out, never one to be too good at handling anything remotely scary, fictional or not.

“Mmm.. we could go somewhere else?” though you were having fun surrounded by your close friends, the thought of being alone with your sweet boyfriend lit up your soul better than anyone else ever could. After all, who wouldnt want to spend some alone time with their darling after a day of being apart?

Unlike the camp two years ago, this one didnt have any strict regulations. Be in your cabin by midnight, and wake up when the siren goes off.

Simple enough, right? Perhaps it was the fact that it was the last summer camp of highschool that granted students more freedom, no one really knew, and no one was complaining at all.

Villains were out of your mind, fear replaced by fun, relaxation, and throwing up from working too hard and not hydrating enough as the sun beat down on you.

Finding his answer in the shifting of his green eyes lit up by the fire, still far too shy to admit he would love to go somewhere else, you stood up, pulling him with you. “We’re going to head out now. You guys have a good time!”

As you left, you could hear the onslaught of whispers and snickers behind you, no doubt gossiping about what you were leaving for.

But who really cared? Certainly not you, and not your boyfriend either.

No, he was too entranced with that loveable look in your eyes as you gazed up at him to even notice.

Dots of yellow flew around you, glowing brightly just for a split moment before disappearing, fireflies.

The bugs that shone like stars twinkling in the night sky.

Hair messy and heads filled with dreams, the two of you ran around, giggling like little children as a silent game of tag went on between the two of you the deeper you went into the woods surrounding the camp.

There were no security cameras, no lights, no technology for miles.

A way to keep villains off your tracks.

And it was working well enough so far, and it allowed everyone to be themselves in ways previously not allowed.

For you and Izuku, that meant being together in a simple way, basking in each other’s presence as your legs ran faster and faster through the woods, grass whipping against bare ankles as you narrowly avoided running into a tree.

Heavy breaths fell from you as you squealed whenever he would almost touch you, determined to stand your ground as long as possible before the inevitability of being ‘it’ came into play and you had to chase the speedy ball of energy with a mop of green, bouncing curls.

But you were foolish to think you could ever last so long, for before you knew it, you were being tackled to the ground by your sweaty boyfriend, his arms protecting you from a heavy fall as you both tumbled to the grassy ground, rolling down a small hill together before coming to a stop.

Propping himself up on his forearms, his bright eyes bore into your own, noses brushing as you both took a moment to catch your breaths, stray giggles mingling together.

Fireflies flew up from the ground, seemingly circling around the two of you if just for one magical moment, encasing the two of you in a warm glow that outshined the full moons own silvery one trickling through tree leaves.

You were completely and utterly in love with this freckled man above you who smiled victoriously, and you couldnt help but show it by leaning up, placing a kiss onto his cheek, feeling him go still as his face heated up.

This only led to you peppering his face in kisses, teasing him just to see his face scrunch up in frustration until he whined for a kiss on the lips, to which you eagerly gave him. With each kiss, heat passed between the two of you on that soft, grassy forest floor, your arms wrapping around his neck, his hands pulling you closer as your tongues intertwined.

Wet smacks echoed in the back of your mind as your lips continuously met, the sweetness of marshmallow and chocolate flooding your tastebuds, leaving you desiring more and more.

A small moan in the back of his throat was what set that night off, starting with you threading your fingers in his hair, pulling at his locks just to hear him moan once more, his hips pressing into yours instinctively, which is what lead you both to where you were now. Your back pressed against a locked bathroom's metal stall door, and your boyfriend back pressed against your chest as crickets drowned out any outside noises from the campers not too far away.

“B-because..” it seemed like his argument was dying on his tongue, your thumbs circling over his hips catching all of his attention despite the teeth nibbling on his skin, “i-it’s.. wrong..”

He audibly gulped when your fingers passed over the tops of his thighs, knee wedging in between his perfectly toned, tanned legs just to spread them wide open, giving him something to just barely grind against, much to his internal frustration, as you traced his inner thigh, teasing him enough for his hips to jerk the moment your touch went too close to his twitching boner.

You knew he liked this.

You knew he adored the prospect of being caught.

He was such a perv at times, desiring the kinkiest of things in wrong and right places, but you couldnt help but love that side of him as much as you loved him shy and sweet side. Afterall, he was still your baby boy, and that would never change, no matter what.

“Don’t you think it would be even more wrong to go back to your cabin sporting an erection for all those awake to see?” you questioned innocently, popping wetly off his neck just to gauge his reaction.

His spit-slicked red lips pressed into a wobbly thin line, slowly shaking his head up and down.

“Why don’t you let me help you out, love?” you kissed his cheek, humming lightly to calm his nerves.

He always was a nervous boy when it came to these things, even if he liked it and even if you had helped him out multiple times throughout the two years you’d been together. 

“Please..” he pleaded, voice just barely breaking through the air as his eyes squeezed closed.

“Hm? What was that?” though you had heard his response, you wanted him to speak louder, to gain that fraction of confidence, to understand he didnt have to be so shy, not around you.

“Please.. (Y/N).. please help me..” he whimpered, hips shimmying, grinding down onto your thigh, hesitant eyes fluttering open to gaze into your own (E/C) ones, seeking encouragement, something you were all too willing to give in the form of a reassuring kiss on the lips.

He immediately fell into the rhythm of your lips meeting hotly with his again, helping him relax against you.

Your tongue invaded his hot mouth once more, running along the side of his own before exploring every crevice, brushing against spots that made his breath hitch in the back of his throat, causing him to desperately lean in for more.

A loud gasp tore from his throat as you grabbed the waistband of his shorts again, yanking them down so that his large member could be freed, slapping up against his tummy as you stared down in awe. He pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva momentarily connecting your tongues, hissing as the cool night air hit his heated flesh.

It was embarrassing for him to see just how hard he had got in such a short amount of time, and from kisses alone no less.

But he had no time to be embarrassed or ashamed. After you lowered your leg, removing that sweet friction, your hand was quick to wrap around his thick shaft, eliciting a soft groan from him at such intimate contact.

His tip was already flushed red and oozing with precum, a bead of it trailing down his throbbing cock.

“Mm~ Already so hard for me,” your thumb ran up the underside of his dick, collecting that drip of precum, “my good boy.” you praised, eyes sparkling with excitement as his thighs twitched at being called such a name.

Your voice always had such an effect on him, only bringing out a more dominant side of yourself whenever you got to witness it, which was quite often.

You chewed at your lips as you thought of all the fun you could have with your sweet boyfriend, an action that his ever-observant green gaze picked up and made his dick twitch in anticipation for what was surely to come.

You always left him guessing.

He adored that.

Never being able to read you just right. Never being able to predict your actions, you were an enigma in these moments, and he wasnt afraid to admit that it was a huge turn on.

Slowly, your hand began to glide up and down his hardened member, careful to avoid stimulating his glans or going too fast, wanting to drag this out until he was begging for more.

He always did.

And it was always such a joy to listen to.

His hands pressed against the walls on both sides of you, unsure of where else to put them as he breathed heavily, eyes closing as he let himself bask in the pleasure your touch brought him, despite it being too slow for his current liking.

His hair tickled the skin of your neck as his head rested back on your shoulder, his jaw slack, eyebrows pinched with concentration, pants and small whimpers right next to your eagerly awaiting ear.

He was always so cute, it was hard not to flush as his hips jerk with every few pumps, subconsciously begging you to go faster without the words falling from his parted lips.

You complied with a smile, speeding up just enough to rip a stuttered moan from deep in his chest, body squirming against you at the sudden change in pace, the wet squelch of excessive precum coating your hand as it traveled up and down his length echoing in the bathroom.

“A-ahh.. hahh.. f-feels.. feels s-so nngh.. so nice..” he spoke breathlessly, as honest as always.

It filled you with glee to know you were doing well at pleasuring your man, even sparking that fire of cockiness deep within you.

“Is that so, darling?” Though it was more of a question to be left unanswered, he replied automatically, “Y-Ye- ah! H-hah! Oh! Mmmng! Ooohhh, fuck!” only for your pace to increase tenfold, twisting your hand up and down his length, fingers brushing over his leaking tip, making his hips jut forward for a mere second.

Though the thought of teasing him until he was weeping sparked your interest, you knew you had to be asleep soon, and honestly, it didnt hurt to spoil the man you loved rotten every once in a while, right?

With a clear mindset, you freely let him thrust his hips into your hand, matching the pace he was setting himself as his loud moans bounced off the pristine, white cinderblock walls, making it seem like he was much louder than he actually was, but only fueling the heal swirling in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re such a good boy for me.” you mumbled, eyes trained on his cock fucking into your hand like the horny teen he was, his arms falling down to grip at your shirt, body hunching forward as you only sped your pace up.

“G-g-od! Ah! O-oh f-fuck! A-ahhnn… g-ghhuwaahh! (Y/N)! P-princess..! H-hah-hah..! M-more..! More ple- hahh.. please!” he begged you, back arched yet head thrown blissfully back as moans flowed from his mouth like prayers, cheeks burning and thighs spreading even wider to let you move as freely as you wanted, not caring how loud or exposed he was.

He loved exposing himself completely to you.

He didnt even care that he was so turned on and leaking so much that his precum dripped messily onto the floor, all he cared about was you.

You.

You.

You.

Your scent.

Your touch.

Your voice.

Your breath.

You, solely you.

You always had his attention.

He was in a constant state of euphoria whenever around you, intoxication muddling his thoughts whenever he smelled your sweet scent.

“Please..!” he gasped, tummy and thighs tightening up in that familiar way they always did before his orgasm took control over his body.

Eager to oblige to his request, your other hand finally joined the party, using your palm to circle around his bulbous head best you could.

Shlick. Shlick. Shlick.

He screamed out in ecstasy, green sparks cascading around his body as his hips thrust forwards at an inhuman pace, fucking your hand that felt so good and small wrapped around him, desperate to cum, to take as much as he could while you still let him.

“My sweet baby.. You’re doing so good~ you’re so close, arent you..”

You spoke out, being met with moans that got louder and more high-pitched with each passing second, no doubt loud enough to breach the thin barrier of protection around this bath house, seeping out into the woods surrounding it.

“S-so good! So good! G-gahh.!

Ah!

 So! So! G-good! 

Fuck..! 

F-fuck!

Fuck~! 

Oh, fuck!” he chanted, broken words stuttered by his own moans of pleasure, drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth as his tongue flopped out, dripping onto the exposed skin of your neck, but you were too focused on the way he cutely got himself off with your hands alone.

He was such a big boy, you couldnt even fully wrap your fingers around him, and you knew that only made him hornier each time he noticed it.

“Aaah! (Y/N)! (Y-Y/N)! I-i! Mmghnmn! Ahh-ahh! I’m g-gonna!!” 

“Cum for me, Izuku.”

The second you allowed him two, his back was arching, body stilling as a silent scream flew from his vocal chords, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

A heavenly moan, louder than the ones youve heard all night, thrashed its way from his throat, shaking your very soul as thick ropes of thick, hot cum spurted from the tip of his flushed cock, spilling into the toilet you had aimed him for below, hand continuously pumping him to milk him dry, the last bit of cum falling onto your fingers wrapped below his head.

His body relaxed, slumping against you as he fought to control his breath from such a mind-numbing orgasm.

Pleased at his performance, you sweetly kissed his temple, nuzzling your cheek against his sweaty head as he slowly calmed down.

“Thank you…” he wheezed out, voice cracking as his eyes opened just barely to look over at you, a small smile on his plump lips.

“Of course.” You’d do anything for the man who lit up your life like the stars in the sky, but that’s not to say he wouldnt do the same. Before you knew it, he was on his knees and eager to please.

Who were you to say no?

[bcbii]

Deception

(Leonardo x reader)

Warnings // angst, blood, character death mention.

———————————————————————————————————

          Ruins, all of it           Within what felt like only days but had progressed in months. The previous lively city of New York had fallen into a downward spiral at the hands of Shredder himself. Streets flooded with the black clothed soldiers patrolling them, looking for any reason to leave civilians scared or slaughtered on the open streets as toxic fumes blackening the previously blue or star filled sky. New York was becoming a waste land and Shredders playground, so everyone was under the impression of at least. All everyone knew as a fact is that normal life had been gone for good. Along with the previous fearless blue clad leader, Leonardo.           Once all hell began to break loose, the turtles had been the first to answer the call. The fight that called upon them was the hardest and came at the highest cost. The cost being their father Splinter’s life and to the brothers and your knowledge, their eldest brothers as well. Not all fights could be won, and they came to such a realization once they faced it themselves. All four entered confidently, planned and ready. After engaging, their hopes for victory began to diminish. They were out numbered and overwhelmed and were given no other choice but to retreat before they got themselves killed. when doing so they waited a bit of ways off for their fellow terrapin brother to follow up as he said he was going to do. Hours of waiting, hours of searching passed and he never did return to his brothers.            You hid in the lair from all the chaos, directives from you former blue clad lover and he basically begged you to stay hidden and out of harms way before they left. You had sat anxiously and in fear for hours, watching the chaos unfold in Donnie’s lab, the multiple monitors displaying multiple news channels, each one going off air into static with each attack, you were horrified, wanting nothing more than this to simply be a nightmare. The nightmare got even worse when only the three turtles returned to the lair, beaten and bruised severely, blood of both themselves and their enemies covering multiple parts of their body.            “W-what happened?! W-Wheres Leo?!”          The question left the youngest of the four eyes welling up with tears that you’re sure he’s been holding back since this all had begun. Their heads hang low before Donnie’s raised, his expression unreadable, “we...we don’t know..”. You felt numb, scared, so many emotions at once and you could barely describe any of them or understand them. You were sure the turtles were just as distraught as you were. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW?!”

That had been months ago, after failed attempts of attack and searching to no avail, adapting had been the only viable option left for them and yourself. Numbness had become a familiar feeling amongst all of you as you all attempted to find some normality in the new world. Some of this normality consisted of scavenging for any food or materials that you could find. And tonight was a scavenging night since you guys have been running low on materials. Getting ready, you dressed yourself in all black, baggy black pants, a black t shirt and mask to cover most of your face as you pull on your black leather boots. Throwing a backpack over your shoulder, you headed out.

After you finished getting ready for the trip you went to the brothers, ask if they’d want you to look for anything in specific. Raph hadn’t really requested much of anything, Mikey just wanted decent food and Donnie just wanted computer or any electronical parts. “Be careful, you have your phone if anything happens. Call us”, The large red clad turtle said in a rough stern tone as you started to leave the sewers. “I will”, you reassured him as you left. Since Leo’s disappearance, Raphael had stepped up, doing his best to protect and help his brothers as much as possible. The large terrapin didn’t realize how much Leo was doing until he began to do it himself.

Climbing out of the manhole, you glanced around the alley way quietly, making sure the coast had been clear. Once confirmed, you headed to the abandoned apartments a few blocks down the way, a fellow scavenger hiding out there in which you’d trade with for some pretty good items that would cost quiet a lot from anyone else. The cold breeze of the night nipped at your skin as your cheeks and tip of your nose stung with the cold, but you’d shrug it off.

Climbing the fire escape, you found the shattered window you would use as the entrance all the time. As you climbed through you were careful with the shards of glass that littered the floor. It was dark in the abandoned apartment, the only light being the faint glow of the moon through any openings from the outside in. “Max”, you whisper yelled for the man as you began to step around the apartment, getting no response. The sound of heavy foot steps made you freeze in place, the floor boards creaking loudly under the persons weight. Before you could move on to the next empty room you were halted by a large form as you stumbled back and looked up, it was to dark and you quickly stumbled back, falling back on your behind as you proceeded to scoot back. The large figure before you followed, closing the distance you tried to make each time.

“Who are yo!-“, you were frozen, sharp sapphire hues that glowed in the moon light staring down at you. The faint light from the moon outline his familiar large frame, accentuating the curves and indents of his large muscular form along with the scars that littered his thick skin. A lump in your throat left you breathless as you stared in horror and felt a sick sense of relief for some odd reason.

“L-Leo....”, the name that slipped past your lips felt foreign, it didn’t match the terrapin standing in front of you. That name belong to a fearless leader, wise, strong and caring with a calm exterior. Who stood before you was a stranger, a worn black bandana in place of the old signature bright blue, tired and emotionless eyes with what seemed like an almost permanent scowl. Scarred fist gripping large sharp katanas, the metal being a special kind with a sleek black color. The foot clan insignia etched into the metal that was now dirtied with the blood of her scavenger friend.

Hearing his name slip past your lips now made him freeze, his grip tightening on the handle of his katanas. That voice was all to familiar, your gentle voice sounded scared and broken as you said it. Beneath the shell he created around who he used to be, it broke him to hear. He stared and hard, almost to see if it had been a hallucination. “......(y/n).....”, his voice was rough and deeper than usual since the lack of using it so much, only to bark orders and the puny foot soldiers he led. When your name fell from his lips emotions rushed through you as memories hit you like a freight train, it was Leo but not your Leo. Overwhelming tears began to fill your eyes as you forced yourself up and stared into his eyes. “Where have you been?!” You snapped, he stayed silent and stoic and you despised it.

Stepping back you took in fully who he had become now, pulling down your mask you pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek as a tear ran down, you stared at the branded insignia of the foot clan on the top left of his plastron. “You joined them didn’t you?.... you never disappeared or died...” you began as Leo’s lips parted to speak, “I can explain—“

“You just joined the foot and became a damn traitor!” You yelled as tears of disappointment, anger and sadness now spilled freely. The words hurt Leo to hear, especially coming from you, he cringed internally as he swallowed thickly and tried to step closer but you only backed up further. “(Y/n) please let me explain... I’m doing what needs to be done” he tried to explain. “Abandoning us? Joining the people who caused all of this?! THE ONES WHO KILLED SPLINTER! YOURE A TRAITOR LEONARDO!” You shouted ruthlessly as you stepped forward a bit and stood your ground. The now black clad turtle put himself in a position he knew would be unforgivable and he would never forgive himself either, but god how he wished he could grab you and let you know how sorry he was and how much he missed you and his brothers. Leo wanted to hold you, he wanted to break down too through all of this but he was the cold blooded assassin that led the foot clan, he couldn’t let himself break.

“I’m doing this for your guys saftey! It was either this or I lost you guys too!” Leo shouted back a bit, overwhelmed by his own feelings as well. The answer left you baffled as you stared at him in shock, “d-did you.... did you consider any of our feelings when you decided to leave us Leo?...when you left me?...”, you asked, searching for an answer as you stared into his dull eyes. You watched his gaze shift shamefully almost as if intimidated by yours. “Of course I did... and you know I did” Leo responded almost as if he seemed offended by the question, “it was the only way....”. Leo felt guilt wash over him as you scoffed and looked around in disbelief as if looking for someone to confirm it. Returning you attention back to him you were silent, somewhat silently remenising about who he used to be. You missed him, you missed the comfort, the smiles, the laughter and happiness your former lover brought you, his brave and protective ways, his arms around you and his lips on yours as comfort or in the most intimate moments. You missed Leo, but this wasn’t him.

Tears proceeded to roll down your cheeks, eyes becoming red “...how could you do this?...”, you said, voice quiet and shaky. Your tone left Leo wishing he could take you in his arms and hide you from all the bad that’s become of the world, that he helped cause which he hated himself for it.

“I’m sorry (y/n)...” Leo spoke, a bit choked up himself. You stepped back a bit as you shook your head quietly. “I-I have to go” you spoke quickly before rushing back to the window you entered through, “wait! (Y/n)-”. You didn't want to go, in fact you wanted to stay beside Leo and have him in your life again but right now, it was all too much, seeing him was only pain. 

Leo stood now in eerie silence as he stared at the window you exited, silently hoping you would come back through, come back to him. He knew you wouldn't though and he had to accept that. It was the price he paid for his decision and his families safety, but had it really be worth it?

// kind of out of the blue and for fun, hope you enjoy :) 

[kinsurou]

OOOO 92 and 60 with dabi please!!!!

92. “I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

60. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

I’m in the mood for more Incubus!Dabi, so why not take advantage to make reader get some payback? 👀

“Y’know, little one. When you said you were in the mood for something different, I didn’t think you meant this…” 

Dabi’s sitting in the middle of the bed, pulling slightly at the shackles holding his wrists back against the headboard, he looks at the steel handcuffs with an amused look on his face. 

Do you seriously believe that something as insignificant as this, would be able to hold him back? Because they wouldn’t, but he is willing to entertain you for a bit if it meant he could have a taste of you without being spritzed with holy water for once.

He realizes why you’re trusty about the handcuffs when you walk into the room wearing a brand new lingerie set that nearly makes the demon burst into flames. 

The moment he attempts to move, the handcuffs don’t budge one bit which seems to be a problem by the way he glares at the restrains with a vicious glare.

“Hey, what did you do to these things?” He pulls again with a growl, trying to break free of his restraints to no avail, and when he tries to use his flames to break free, his wrists begin burning until his flames go out. Judging from the way you laugh at him, it can’t be that good….at least for him.

“Watch closely~” Your voice is closer than before, when Dabi turns his attention back, you’re sitting right closer than before and lean forwards to kiss his jaw softly, just like that time he wouldn’t stop bothering you, his breath catches in his throat when you nibble softly on his skin just to stop as quickly to look at the handcuffs.

When he gives them another look, there’s something engraved on the metal, something that makes the demon’s eyes go wide.

Somehow, you had managed to engrave a chant into the handcuffs that prevented Dabi from escaping, or breaking them like he had been planning all along.

Had he known about this little trap, he would have hidden them just like the time he hid the spritzer.

“I knew you would try to break free.” You start crawling over him, sitting over the demon’s chest with a smug smile and arms crossed over your chest. “So I decided to give this a try and would you look at that? It actually worked!” 

Leaning down again you whisper on his ear, for the first time since you’ve both met, Dabi’s the one that has shivers running down his spine that make him hiss dangerously, eyes shining faintly in the dim room. 

“I’m gonna get you back for all those times you left me sore right before a shift. That time I had to apologize to Yuki because she could hear just how loud you made me scream until my throat hurt...and for the time you gave me THIS.” A hand goes up to your throat, delicate fingers tracing the mark he gave you.

He never thought the day would come where he’d be intimidated by the little mouse sitting on top of him...but maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad, right…?

--

He’s growling, kicking and struggling against the handcuff rubbing his wrists raw, desperate to be freed and be able to fuck you properly. Make you scream, beg, and cry until you’re an overstimulated mess underneath him.

But that seems impossible at the moment, when you have his cock in between both of your hands, pumping him with a steady pace so you grind against him slowly, moaning at the friction of each piercing against your clit, but even with the desperation to sink down on that throbbing cock, there’s not a single attempt at taking him in, despite how soaked you feel and how much your sex throbs, begging to be filled. 

Right as Dabi gets closed to cum in those nice hands of yours, his length is immediately released as you move away only a little bit, enough to make him snarl for the fourth time that night as you prevent him from getting the much-needed release he yearns.

He growls one more time, glaring at you with glowing eyes almost as fierce as they were during the first meeting with the devil. There’s drool coming out through the corner of his lips and the blanket underneath is starting to get scorched by his fire.

“What’s wrong, master? Do you need to cum?” Oh, you’re so going to get it once he gets free from his cursed restrains, but at least it’s worth getting revenge on the demon. “Do you want this?”

Two fingers spread your wet folds, the sweet scent of your arousal riles up Dabi. His wrists are raw, aching from each time he keeps pulling against the cuffs.

“You know the rule, master.” Pulling your fingers away to lean over Dabi, he can’t help but enjoy how your soft chest feels pressed down against his own “I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

He groans when the hand previously playing with your lower regions goes up to touch his face, slick covered fingers touching his lower lip, dragging the soft muscle along with them.

“Would you like a taste?” 

There’s no need to ask twice, he lets you plunge the digits into his eager mouth to tangle with his tongue, purring happily as he savors the taste of your essence like it was the last supper itself.

Fuck dignity, he needed you….NOW

“Little one….please. I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking about you and everything you do to me.” 

You blink twice, not expecting him to give in so quickly. 

Then he continues, and it’s almost like your whole body turns into mush because of his hoarse cries.

“You have no idea how much I want you.”

You pause, gulping nervously, embarrassed from witnessing this unexpected side of Dabi you didn’t know that existed in the first place. 

“W-Woah..I…didn’t really take you for the begging type.” Coughing into your fist and looking away for a minute with a deep flush in your face. Eventually, the nerves are finally calmed down and you turn back to the Demon, who’s giving you a small frown.

“Okay, I guess you can have a small treat~” 

Leaning forwards again, you give the immortal pest a kiss, in response, he tilts his head to the side and deepens the gesture. Your whole body is burning up with each second spent this close to Dabi. Pleased moans and groans fill the room the more your lips stay locked together in a sinful dance.

Pulling away with hazed eyes, you give him another small peck before angling yourself over him, a hand follows in between your burning bodies to latch on his erect member. 

“I want you so badly.” 

Finally, Dabi gets what he wants and hisses between gritted fangs once you sink down on him. The pleasure is such that it feels like your very souls are being pulled into each other. Maybe because of the mark, maybe because you’ve both grown desperate for it.

But neither of you care.

“Fuck, why do you feel so good?” 

It’s the sudden, thunderous crack of wood that snaps you out of the daze. When you look up the sight nearly makes your blood run cold.

Dabi may not be able to break free from the handcuffs, but he can break free with them.

“D-Did you just break t-the head-” There’s little you can say when he traps you into his bound arms with a vicious grin on his face.

“You really thought you had the upper hand, little one?” He gives a deep thrust that takes your breath away “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll need to take a whole week off.”

The moment he flips you both on the mattress, you know you’re in for one hell of a night.

[amethystpath-writes]

Secret Caretaking

Tumblr is acting extremely dumb so there's a high possibility that this will post twice now.

@badthingshappenbingo

Original Work

Secret Caretaking

Angel and demon whump, anyone?

@whatwhumpcomments

******

The halls changed as Angel walked through them. She did this often, walked, and watched what her Holy Land provided her with- what she desired. It was such a delicate system, one always so soft and comforting, but one that only ever served as a happiness while you explored it.

Usually she saw Earth's puppies and baby alligators- goodness she loved the alligators. All of the other angels disliked them- didn't hate them, but weren't particularly fond either. In any case, Angel loved them.

There were other rooms, of course.

Another room she loved passing through was the cloud rooms. Sometimes the clouds were painted with an early sunrise. Other times they were sunset. And the remainder of the times were solid colours that made the clouds look like something the humans would make with cotton and the coloured bulbs they created.

The Holy Land knew her well. Of course it did. It knew every angel inside and out.

Today, the land brought Angel something it never did before. As she walked through the ever changing hall and forever open doors of glorious joy, she spotted a closed door, one black and with a slit at the top with thick metal bars.

Angel stopped, peering at it from a few feet away. She...well, she didn't really like that door. It kind of frightened her. Why was the Holy Land giving her such a dark door? Angel didn't understand. But the Holy Land always knew what she wanted. Surely whatever was inside could be deemed relevant to herself.

With a deep breath, she collected herself, straightening her spine, lifting her chin until it was parallel with ground. This was how Angel walked when things were normal, and this- this completely normal door- was normal. Normal, normal, normal.

There was a handle, one that looked like old, rusting iron. This is normal. This is meant for me. Angel gripped the handle and pushed it forward until she was stepping and sliding through the crack. She watched her feet, careful not to trip over them.

When the door shut, she looked up to see her own light illuminating the room- more than that, she was illuminating a-a form. She didn't dare think the real word, even as she squealed in a sudden fear and let her back slam against the door she'd just slipped through.

"Ah, another of you."

Angel's light dimmed to almost match the pitch black the room had been before. But her light could never be dimmed all the way, especially in her silky white hair which glowed with a faint yellow-orange. Angels couldn't shave their hair, or else they lost their purity. It's why the man in front of Angel terrified her so. His hair was cut short- previously shaved, but now fuzzy, and no longer white or glowing. His skin was the colour of ash- grey, black, and white, like a fire burnt out. He was Fallen.

"You shouldn't be here, y'know?" His voice was barely a whisper. It made Angel wonder how it was so deep, how it penetrated her absent mind so easily. She was usually so good at blocking things out around her. Right now, Angel couldn't even think passed the fallen man's voice, the way he was stretched out before her, wings spread with rings punched into the thick leather and then attached to the walls on either side. She imagined those rings in her own wings and let out an involuntary whimper.

Her hand reached for the handle. She would pull herself up and then open the door and walk out. Simple. But it wasn't so easy as that. Her whole body trembled, shook like when Earth's tectonic plates shifted over one another.

"Come now. Won't you say anything?" The fallen man paused, waiting for a response of any kind. Then, when he received none, he said, "I may be in no position to tell you to leave, but maybe I could scare you out. That is, if you don't give me proper company. You did intrude. It's only polite that you give me your name."

His voice pinned Angel where she was. She wouldn't look up at him, not again. He seemed so large. Was it because she was cowered on the floor or was he really so big as that? She swallowed, still trying to clutch and pull herself to her feet.

"Alright, then."

Angel screamed and hid her head behind her clutched knees as the fallen jerked his wings forward. There was a persistent, but not quite repetitive, sound of something being pulled tight- a chain maybe. He was flapping his wings wildly and with each thrum and pull of it, Angel's body clenched tight like she was preparing for the man-thing to break free and hold a hand against her throat.

She didn't realize she was crying until the fallen stopped moving and told her, "You shouldn't be crying. I'm the one shredding myself over here."

"Shredding yourself?" Her voice was quiet. She hardly even heard herself. With closed eyes, Angel focused on her breaths. When she felt her limbs finally relaxing just a bit, she opened her eyes and looked at the wings before her. She didn't dare look at his face; she was too afraid of what she might find there, but his wings- his wings were destroyed, a torn line down each one from the rings he just hurt himself with. Angel stood in an instant.

"Why would you do that to yourself!" She clamped a hand against her own mouth. Angel spoke to the fallen man. She said something to him. There was no rule against it, per say, but- well, angels didn't talk to the fallen. Maybe it was a fear that, despite there being no rule, if they talked to one of the fallen, they would fall themselves. Maybe they would accidentally introduce themselves to the fallen- and therefore doom themselves.

Even with this terror in mind, Angel touched the bat-like, membranous wing in front of her. She stood at the right wing, shaking her head when her finger made contact and as a shudder traveled through her. Angel breathed shakily with the shudder, stiffening with eyes rolling back for a moment. She withdrew her hand.

"Will you heal?" Angel croaked.

"Of course I will." His voice was louder than a whisper now, but still quieter than his regular volume, Angel could tell. "Just not as quickly without your light."

"I won't give you my light," Angel said, dead-panned.

The fallen man laughed, and Angel watched the wing in front of her bounce as he did so. Her legs were still tensed as she stood. Damn him- literally- for getting her to speak by hurting himself.

"Oh no, no, no, no, dear angel. You would never give your light to my kind. But you would lend it, wouldn't you? Lend it if it were put to good use?"

Swallowing, Angel turned her head towards his own. Her tongue was pushed against the roof of her mouth.

His eyes were like fresh embers.

"You can still be saved," she observed by the glow of his eyes. Without herself realizing it, she took steps closer to his center mass, reaching a hand towards his face. His teeth snapped at her fingers and she yelped, retreating her hand. "You seem perfectly demonic to me. The Holy Land can't possibly see any angelic qualities in you."

"Now, if that were true, you wouldn't be here."

"And how would you know?"

He chuckled at Angel, and she hated the way his eyes glowed brighter when he did. She hated the beauty they portrayed. His eyes were the equivalent to Angel's hair.

"Did you forget I was an angel once, too? The Holy Land led you here. I take it it's because you desire to feel helpful." His eyes dimmed; he was manipulating her and she knew it. Still, he was right. All she ever did was wander around her halls and rooms. She was useless. But- "You could heal me, y'know? It's about the only way you'll feel any fulfillment in this hellhole you call heaven."

Angel thought about it, disregarding his aversion to her home. He had no right to be calling the Holy Land a- a...the word he said.

"Healing you might cause me to fall." Her voice was quiet, but seeing as she was directly in front of the fallen man, he heard her.

"The Holy Land would lure you into a trap?" He smirked, and she knew what he was implying. How holy could the Land truly be if it deceived its own angels?

"Well, yeah. You were tempted, weren't you? The Land is testing me. You- you're a test to me." Which also meant-

"If you walk out of here now without doing anything to help, I'll be hurt worse for attempting to escape." His eyes flared with an orange-red colour again. "I have a feeling they won't make you my tormentor. So, walk out and forever know you're a failure to yourself. Or, satisfy your one and only desire and heal me. Help someone real, even if it's a Fallen One."

He's right. You know he's right, she said to herself. As lovely as the puppy rooms, alligator rooms, and rooms of colourful clouds were...they would never be enough for her. Because she did want to help. It was all she ever wanted, to be a true angel, not just an emergency one- one that stepped in only when there weren't enough angels to help with a catastrophy on Earth with the humans.

"What if-" Angel turned her gaze down, ashamed that she was even thinking about doing this. But...but it was the only way she could feel eternally happy. She needed to be useful. "If I just heal you and leave, they'll know. Because if this is a test, they'll be waiting for me to come out of this room. And if you're healed, they'll know. They'll see my light in the once damaged parts of your wings."

The fallen man hummed as she spoke, agreeing with eyes burning something hot. He didn't feel it, of course, but his vision was always clearer when his foolery and trickery were in play- and succeeding.

"I'll heal you, and you can use the same light to make an illusion that the light is gone. A cloak. The fallen can still use light if they can still be saved. Your eyes reveal your cunningness, which means the Holy Land still accepts you enough that at least one angel will know to help. And I will. I'll help you, if you help me, too."

"You'll have yourself a deal if-" The fallen's lips curled and split to reveal yellowed and dirtied teeth. Four of them were sharpened, like a wolf's. Two on top. Two on bottom. The other angels said the Fallen used them to feed on their light so that they could return. It was terrifying to say the least, but even with teeth like his, the Fallen were beautiful creatures. Angel hated them- hated him, but he was her ticket to true happiness. "-you give me your name."

"What?"

His shoulders lifted and relaxed. "You heard me. I want your name."

"No." She shook her head. "No. No, you know I can't do that."

"It's the only word I'll trust of yours. Your promise, your word...it comes with your name. It's the only way I can trust you'll come back and heal me when the others inevitably torture me again."

Angel felt a fury she never felt before. Holy Land, she didn't even know what fury was. Melancholy, yes. Anger, no. "You don't need my name," Angel seethed. "The only thing you could ever use it for would be to- to return to Holy Land as an angel yourself and- and damn me in the end. Angels aren't allowed to give their names to the fallen. But you know that."

There were too many conflictions in this all. If she left the near-demon here without healing him, she'd never be content. But if she healed him and walked out without giving him her name, he wouldn't cast the illusion to save her skin. And if she did give her name, well he could use it at any point against her, to condemn her to Hell.

"How do I know you won't use my name the moment you learn it?"

The fallen man rose a brow, slid his jaw askew. "You think I want to be an angel even after they casted me away. No. But if I have to choose between being an angel and being tortured by them, I'll take the former unless I can escape- which you are going to help me do."

"But you didn't say-"

"It should have been a given, dear angel."

"I'll damn us both," she said, crossing her arms. It was cute. Wrath and cunning didn't match her features or personality. "I'll heal you for my satisfaction and if you won't cast an illusion to save me then your one chance at escaping will be gone because they'll take my feathered wings. I'll be fallen like you and you'll still be in this room being tortured."

The Fallen One sighed in a dreamily way. "You won't let yourself fall. It terrifies you. I wouldn't know it as well as I do lest you had reacted differently when you realized what was behind that door when you walked in. And again when I flapped my wings. You. Flinched. Every. Time." He laughed. "But here's the thing. You aren't afraid of me. No, you're afraid of becoming me. You're going to give me your name. And you're going to hope with all your angelic being that I'm an honest 'near-demon', as your kind likes to call my own, wishing for God or the Devil's good grace."

Angel blew her nose like a bull, a huff more-like. "I shouldn't," she whispered to herself. "I can't." But the Holy Land says he can be saved. You have to try, Angel.

With a deep breath, she got to work. The glow in her hair gathered into her scalp before sinking into her blood. "My teeth aren't sharp enough to pierce flesh," she said, and swallowed like so many times before while she'd been in this room. She needed to wipe her light on his wings to heal him, but she couldn't get to her light on her own. "I- I need you to..."

"To bite." The Fallen One smiled, on corner of his upper lip lifting further than the rest. "Gladly," he said, and licked his teeth, lip curling a little too long on his sharpest ones.

Angel shook her head, took a shuddering breath, and hovered her index finger in front of the near-demon's mouth. He bit, closing his lips against her finger. Angel gasped, feeling the way his tongue lapped against her skin. "No. No, please! Stop!" But he wasn't stopping. He was going to steal all of her light. "My name is Angel!" His mouth opened. She stole her hand back, clutching it to her chest with her other. Angel nearly sobbed with relief, and also dread as she had just exposed herself to the Fallen One.

"You thought you were clever." His tongue wiped across his teeth where a bit of Angel's blood remained. "You thought with your little ramblings, I'd forget you never told me your name. Angel," he drawled. "Almost as delicious of a name as is your light. No matter. I have the light I need. You'll come back every week to give me more, or else I'll introduce you to Dear Ole Luci."

Angel took a step back, nose scrunched. "You can't be saved," she spat at him.

He sighed. "Didn't I already tell you I didn't want to be saved?" The Fallen One hummed. "Is that more light I see coming through the slits in the door? Looks like you're running out of time to leave my cell, Angel. I'd be scurrying along now."

She had to suppress the urge to scream and tear into him, not only because she might be caught, but because thoughts like that would earn her a ticket to Hell more quickly than what the other angels could tear her wings and throw her there themselves. "If," Angel stressed this word. "If you trick another angel into this evil bidding, I will sacrifice my wings in order to rip your own to pieces."

"Feisty," he mused in return. "Go on, now. I'll look forward to our next visit."

One last huff and she rushed out of the door. Damn him, she thought. And damn me for being fooled so easily.

******

If this weren't for a prompt, I would have split it into two 😬

[cherrywoes]

ichi. (acanthus.)

SAKURA GENTLY RAN HER fingers across the soft, barely there pinpricks of hair at the back of her head. The knots had been too large to untangle without time and copious amounts of conditioner, and while she lamented the loss of growth, she found she quite liked the style. There was enough hair left on the top of her head that it could easily cover the uneven lengths of hair clinging to the bottom half of her scalp. She peered at herself through a small hand mirror Tsunade had provided her and didn’t like what she found. She looked too pale, malnourished, and the once healthy glow she had when she was free had vanished. She looked every bit the prisoner they had made her to be.

Any hope she had previously shriveled up and died when she looked at the crimson mark upon her forehead. When she touched it experimentally, it zinged! into the back of her brain where she felt strange bolts of electricity bounce back and forth within and route back to the mark. It was a very harsh reminder that she was no longer Sakura Haruno—she was someone else, someone who killed her teammates because her pride wouldn’t let her admit to her own weakness.

She gave Tsunade the mirror and pointedly ignored the curious look the Hokage sent her out of the corner of her eye.

“Your trial will be as straightforward as it can be, given the circumstances.” Tsunade tucked the mirror into her pocket with a sigh. She looked tired, as well, as she always did since she had become Hokage. Using sake as her coping mechanism didn’t do her any good, either, despite her younger appearance; Sakura could see it weighing on her, the drag of age and idleness. “I don’t think there’s much you can do in your own defense except to be honest; if you’re lucky, the elders might put you in for an extended prison stay—or they could also execute you outright.”

“Isn’t that what everyone wants though?” Sakura pulled her knees to her chest and squeezed them in an attempt to comfort herself. She didn’t have Naruto to reassure her that everything was okay; he was outside of the village, tracking down an errant Sasuke—his life had boiled down into an endless chase of their former teammate. It was all he could think about the last time she had seen him, his mind focused on dragging him back to Konoha even if it was the last thing the Uchiha wanted for himself. He would hate her, too, for this. “For me to be executed?”

Tsunade frowned. “They want answers, Sakura. The families of the men and women you killed, the wives and husbands and sons and daughters—they all want to know why you did it.”

She closed her eyes, faces flashing through her mind in a quick succession. Yamanaka eyes; Hyuuga eyes; the large frame of an Akamichi, smiling, offering her slices of fruit. “I guess they’ll be disappointed when they learn it was because I lost my abilities and killed them instead because of my own stupidity.”

“You underestimate them, Sakura.” The blonde woman shook her head slowly and gathered up the worn and dirty clothes she had left hanging on the side of the basin. “They’re going to hate you for it. It’s your decision whether or not you give them further reason to hate you even more, or prove them wrong and make up for your mistakes.”

Sakura opened her eyes and stared obstinately at the wall, listening to the words unsaid: if they even accept your apology to begin with.

She didn’t expect acceptance at all.

When Sakura took her first step outside in months, the sun made her eyes water uncontrollably. It was no longer winter within Konoha—not that she had ever favored it to begin with—but autumn, the trees turning from green to a myriad of shades between orange, red, and yellow hues. The grass beneath her shoes was crisp, on the verge of decaying and preparing for the next winter, and filled the air with a familiar scent she hadn’t been sure she would ever experience ever again. The sun was comforting and warm as it surrounded her in a suffocating embrace, her skin already starting to turn rusty red with a sunburn. She didn’t mind it, though—it was almost a reminder of the life she had lied to keep and lost.

“Sakura.” Kakashi stood, waiting for her outside the doors of the prison complex. He was early and nearly on time, Icha Icha Paradise’s sienna cover just barely visible from behind his back, tucked away into his pocket. He looked as tired as Sakura felt, dark eye bags highly visible against his skin, so much so that it looked as if he had earned two right hooks to both eyes. “Are you ready? Or do you want to bask in the sun some more?”

Once, she might have thought he was teasing. But the look in his eye, the tone of his voice, all denoted that he was serious, that he would risk being late if she wanted to sit in the sun and burn just a little bit longer, to feel the freedom that had been taken from her by her own actions. She considered it, momentarily, looking to the sky. The light burned her eyes and a single teardrop fell from her right eye and slid down her cheek. “No.”

“Alright then.” He looked unsure, then, eyeing the ANBU guards that stood behind her in their respective Raccoon and Panda masks. She had never seen them before until now, but she knew that Kakashi didn’t recognize them, either, and it was most likely a deliberate move on the council’s part. “Let’s go then.”

The walk to the Hokage tower and, consequently, the council chambers where her trial would be held, was not a peaceful procession. People, ninja and civilians alike—faces she didn’t recognize, she thought with some relief, even though guilt gnawed at her heart—screamed at her, got so close that spittle flew in her face when they yelled obscenities at her. When words failed, they began throwing rotten fruit, vegetables, and even pots of molding and old food. Several slices of sour cantaloupe slid down her cheek, juices clinging to her skin, gnats flocking to the scent. Her ANBU did nothing to prevent them from chucking a pot of scalding chicken broth on her, either. They were for the public’s safety, not hers; and even so, they wouldn’t have stopped them even if they had been ordered to, she figured.

When it touched her skin, burned like acid and lit her body on fire, she didn’t scream. Burnt, acrid flesh was not a pleasant odor, and combined with the chicken broth, it sent several civilians away with nausea. She could hear them exclaiming over the stench with their faces pulled into looks of disgust, both at the people who had thrown it (fondly, because it was ‘justified’, however bad it smelled) and at Sakura as she trudged by, her skin livid red and breaking into fever. The flesh of her arm, some of her neck, and flecks on her cheek would scar, if the agonizing pain sending her brain into a white fog was any indication.

Kakashi, walking ahead of her at a leisurely pace, was forced to remain impartial. She could understand him, of course, in that aspect. The village would turn on him, too, and then he would truly have nothing left. His team was disbanded, Naruto had devolved into a man on an impossible mission and false hopes, Sasuke had left the village and become Orochimaru’s apprentice and, afterwards, his killer, and Sakura, his final remaining student, had become his protege, his perfect copy—a friend killer, a ninja killer, just as he was.

Perhaps, Sakura thought as she fixed her gaze on Kakashi’s shoes, fate worked in very obvious, very deliberate ways, and was not as mysterious as anyone ever said it was.

Sakura arrived at the Hokage tower dripping with steaming chicken broth, mold clinging to her clothes from various entrees of old food, and reeking of weeks old tea that was just on the verge of becoming kombucha. Shizune waited for them, her face harsh and pale and completely emotionless. If she had any opinion on her former friend’s crimes, she gave no indication of it, her mouth pulled into a straight, thin line, her lips as white as her face.

“They have already convened and arrived at a verdict.” Shizune’s dark eyes darted to Sakura momentarily, the pain there deep and unfathomable, and then back to Kakashi, flicking over the ANBU guards and the growing crowd rioting around the entrance of the building. “Her presence wasn’t necessary.”

Her. As if she was a thing to be spoken of, an object. Once that might have angered Sakura, might have forced her into an enraged spiel, but the only emotion she could muster up at the derogatory tone was faint irritation that was suffused by the harsh throb of the burns on her arm.

“Tsunade’s orders.” Kakashi shrugged. He glanced back at her, then at her burns, and sighed. “At least heal her. Those burns could get infected—”

“I am under order not to provide care to Sakura Haruno under any circumstances.” Shizune shifted uncomfortably at that. “As is the rest of the village. Basic necessities, and nothing more.”

Her former sensei said nothing else and Sakura refused to open her mouth and beg Shizune of all people to heal her. She should have been able to heal herself, yet she had not even a scrap of medical chakra to speak of and risked cutting off her own arm in the process. It would probably be preferable to the festering, infected blisters she would gain in the coming days—if she was even alive to experience it.

She suffered in her own silence, closing her eyes against the pinpricks of hot white light that threatened to send her into unconsciousness. It was easy to block out the pain when she was stuck in her head; her pain tolerance was high, but without the help of her seal, of Tsunade’s healing advice and her medical chakra, she was reduced to biting her lips to stop herself from squalling and collapsing onto the wooden floor beneath her feet. Blood flowed into her mouth, metallic and bitter, like the blood that flowed from her teammates’ veins.

Sakura didn’t know how long she stood there in a half daze, flanked by her ANBU and Shizune and Kakashi talking quietly in front of her in short, stilted sentences. Their opposing affections for her prevented them from talking casually; Kakashi’s guilt prevented him from hating her and Shizune’s righteous sense of justice prevented her from offering her even a shred of pity. They spoke in whispers, so she could barely make out what they were saying, but she could read lips as well as any ninja; mentions of war, famine, disease—which made no sense to her, for what could have happened in the span of five months?

“Shizune. Kakashi.” Tsunade’s descent down the staircase, assisted by the wooden handrail, was slow and awkward. She was a little too hunched over, favoring her right hip and leaning heavily on the wall to support herself. Her gaze darted to Sakura. “Sakura. You came here for nothing. The decision has been made. I’m sorry.”

Kakashi stilled to the point that she wondered if he was even breathing. “They’re going to execute her?”

“Execution… would be a mercy at this point.” Tsunade produced a scroll from her pocket. Shizune’s strangled gasp was loud enough that it caught the attention of the ANBU. It was a thin scroll, no bigger than an index finger, and lined with gold and red trim. Sakura had never seen such a scroll in all her life, but with the way Kakashi went pale and Tsunade looked so defeated, she had to wonder what fate could be so awful, so terrible that even her nonchalant, uncaring teacher would appear to be frightened and disgusted. “The orders are clear and the vote was unanimous. Sakura Haruno will be given to ANBU, given a rank within the War Operations party, and shipped to the frontlines by dawn tomorrow.”

Shizune inhaled sharply. “It’s a death sentence in its own right.”

“Sakura isn’t suited for war,” Kakashi advised, voice breaking slightly. “They couldn’t agree on anything else? Not even execution?”

Tsunade shook her head slowly, guiltily. “Execution was too clean for them. A prison sentence was a slap on the wrist. The people wanted blood—so they gave it to them. Let her spill it for the name of the village, for the people they lost, they said.”

“And what if she survives?” Sakura couldn’t ignore the thread of concern that wove through Shizune’s question. “What about after the war?”

Tsunade looked at Sakura, then, her mouth turned downwards into a deep frown. “Then she may be free; but she can never return to Konoha.”

Nothing else needed to be said. Tsunade passed the scroll to Kakashi and vanished back up the stairs to her office, Shizune following without a glance back. The ANBU removed the chakra cuffs on her wrists, and while it might have felt like a cooling sensation when it returned to her system, all she felt was pins and needles, her nodes brimming to life with malicious energy. She rubbed her wrists tenderly, avoiding the burns as much as she could, and felt Kakashi’s hand land on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Come on.” He veered her towards the back exit, where the crowd wouldn’t be able to see her. “We’ll go to my apartment, fix you up, and grab some supplies. Then… Then we wait.”

Wait for her inevitable departure and then, most likely, her death, of which Kakashi would probably never hear about.

“Kakashi-sensei?” She croaked. She could feel tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, burning her lash line and a knot forming in her throat. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

He paused, hand reaching for the knob of the exit. “Of course, Sakura.”

“Take care of my parents for me, please.” Sakura blinked rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes, the pain in her arm dulled to a numb sensation. If she hadn’t lost all of the nerves in it, she would count it as a blessing, even if she deserved it. “Without me, I don’t think they…”

“Don’t worry.” Kakashi ruffled her hair with a playful hand. It wasn’t quite as effective as it had been when it was shorter, but she could feel the affection within it besides. “I’ll watch over them, Sakura, I promise you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he pushed open the door, sunlight spearing through the crack and enveloping her in its oppressive warmth once more.

That night, if Kakashi had any complaints about Sakura sneaking into his room and hugging him tightly, sobs wracking her lithe frame for the first time in months, he didn’t say anything. If she noticed him hug her back, tears running delicate rivers down the striped pillowcase he laid his head on, she gave no indication, pouring her soul out for possibly the last time in the safety of the arms of someone she loved.

Dawn broke, and with it, so did the remnants of Kakashi’s heart.

prologue | masterlist | 二 (ni)

[imagine-nation20]

Mutants, and Magic, and Stones, Oh My

Summary: After the fighting stops, and everyone returns to the mansion to get back to their semi-normal lives, they meet an unexpected guest.

Requested: No? But also yes, by an anon

Request:Wild card! write whatever you hell you want to read! (or don't, if you don't feel like it)

Pairing: Sean Cassidy X Reader (Sort of. Its hinted at)

A/N: I’ve had this idea in my head for a very long time, but I haven’t seen to First Class movie since… like it came out? So excuse my weird lack of information. This was just a fun idea that I felt like writing, and thank you to the anon for giving me the means to do so! Also, reader is hinted more towards being female, so sorry.

~~~

Stephen Strange stared at you from across his desk. “I’m not angry,” He started.

You groaned in response, “Please don’t do that, ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed’ speech, okay? I get it, I screwed up-”

“By almost destroying the New York Sanctum,” He grumbled back.

“But I didn’t,” You insisted, crossing your arms in a huff.

“(Y/N),” He tilted his head, hands clasping in front of him on the desk. “You’re a smart kid, but I took you on as my personal apprentice under the assumption that you would set an example.”

You threw your hands up, “I have, Doctor Strange,” you insisted, “I’m the best in the entire sanctum, maybe even every sanctum! I never lose a sparring match, I practise every spell given to me until I’ve perfected it, and yet, I make one little mistake, and suddenly I’m a disappointment?”

“I never said-”

“What do I have to do to prove to you I’m taking this seriously?” You asked, eyes wide in an earnest plea.

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, and you could have sworn you saw three new grey hairs sprout from his head. He was silent, staring down at his hands, which were now rested flat on his desk. His eyes trailed to you. 

He had taken you in as his apprentice on a whim. A car crash, which should have been fatal, instead left you paralyzed from the waist down. He had come to you in the hospital, clad in strange robes and a bright red cape, talking of magic and giving you back you ability to walk. You had thought he was crazy, if not for the demonstration he gave in the middle of your scramble to call a nurse or doctor.

You had accepted without any further fight. If you could get your freedom back, you would take it. So, you studied. Harder than any other apprentice. You weren’t going to take this miracle opportunity for granted. If Stephen told you to jump from a cliff, you would, with the faith that he knew what he was doing, and it would better your training.

So when he pulled the Eye of Agamotto from his neck, you tried not to let your jaw drop to the floor.

“There are disturbances, I can feel it through the eye,” He mumbled. “Something, or someone, is messing with the timeline.”

“And?”

He took a deep breath, sliding the eye across the desk to you, “And I want you to go back and fix it.”

“You-” You stuttered. “You want me to use the eye to go back and stop someone from messing up the past?”

“Yes,” He shrugged. “I would do it, but I have to look after the Sanctum, make sure we can recover from this recent setback,’ He leveled you with a look.

“Are you sure you want me to do it?” You asked, reaching out hesitantly.

“Weren’t you the one just grovelling for forgiveness?” He quirked a brow.

With that, you snatched up the eye, pulling it over your head and letting hang from your neck. The old, brassy metal and glowing green of the amulet contrasted with the white and grey of your robes.

“Take the staff with you,” Was his last fleeting comment, waving you from the room. “When you are ready, come find me in the training arena.”

You walked away, moving to prepare. Your robes, you switched out for more moveable, mission-like clothes. Black pants, tucked tight into brown, wrapped boot. Next came the long sleeved, brown undershirt, which had arm guards wrapped over top, then a darker, short sleeve top. A cloth, which looked like a long strip of bright red material with a hole dead center for her head. You slipped it over, each part hanging down past your knees. A thick, black belt held it all together, with a paler, brown cloth wrapped over top to hide a dagger sheath.

It was a lot of layers, and took you awhile to get on. The final touches consisted of the eye, which was tucked under the red cloth, and the brown straps to hold your staff. At your waist hung a small spellbook.

Stephen was meditating when you showed up.

“Good, you grabbed the book,” He never opened his eyes. “You will need it, seeing as you wont have access to the Sanctums where you are going.”

“Which was going to be my first question,” You said. “Where am I going?”

“1962, New York,” He said. “What do you know about mutants?”

~~~

“Come on, Alex,” Sean smirked.

The blonde shook his head, “I am not helping you push Hank off the roof as payback,” Alex pushed the redhead away.

“But he deserves a taste of his own medicine,” Sean was adamant that this was fair play, despite the slight flaw to his plan.

“Hank doesn’t have the ability to fly, Cassidy,” Alex stood from his spot on the couch, moving towards the exit to the sitting room.

“So? I couldn’t fly when he pushed me,” Sean snarked.

They walked through the almost empty halls of the mansion. Despite Charles’ claims that they would soon have students wandering the halls, it was still quiet even weeks after the incident on the beach. Charles hadn’t quite recovered yet, and those who still remained in the mansion were hesitant in thinking he ever really would.

From down the hallway, Hank turned the corner, Charles beside him in his wheelchair. Sean was about to open his mouth to snark at the tall brunette in a lab coat, when a commotion outside hit his ears. A glance out the window from the four pairs of eyes left them all speechless.

In the gravel of the driveway, to the right of the fountain, was carved out by a large crater. It looked like a meteor had hit, despite no previous signs, and no fire. From within the crater, a green glow spread out.

The four glanced at each other.

“Uh, Professor…” Alex whispered.

“I don’t know,” Was Charles' answer to the unasked question. “Let us find out, shall we?”

Outside, there was no scent of smoke or fire. Instead, a metallic tang on electricity hung in the air, the tingle setting everyone’s arm hairs on end. The light from within the crater faded.

A hand appeared, grasped onto the ledge of the crater. Their palms were caked in dirt, but the back of their hand was surprisingly clean.

From within the crater, you grunted, cursing out Stephen in whatever language came to mind--even the more ancient ones. With great effort, and the use of already sore muscles, you pulled yourself from the hole your impact into the year made.

Upon rising from with depths, you locked eyes witha group of very shocked men. You must’ve looked crazy, with your old-looking robes and metal-tippedstaff. The glowing green necklace probably didn’t help.

“Hi,” You said awkwardly, “One of you wouldn’t happen to be Charles Xavier, would you?”

One of the older members of the group, who was in a metallic wheelchair, raised a hesitant hand. You smiled, sighing.

“Great, that makes my job way easier,” You joked. “I’ll be quick, but I’m from the future, someone from my time is trying to change this past, and I’m here to stop it.”

The redhead, standing stock still in the front, choked out an odd noise. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, as he collapsed.

“...oops,” You shrugged.

When Sean Cassidy came too, he could’ve sworn he had died and gone to heaven. You hovered over him, a pale yellow light emitting from the sigils you created over him. You smiled, hesitant and almost guilty.

“Sorry about all that,” You said. “Didn’t realize how shocking it would be if I just unloaded all of that.”

You were in one of the many sitting rooms, Sean sprawled out on the ugly, floral print couch. His head hurt, but the pain was quickly subsiding with every pulse of light from the sigils.

“What…” He trailed off.

You followed his eyes, seeing the confusion, “Oh, I guess I explain to the others, but not to you. I’m a… magician, of sorts. These are healing spells, I hoped they would help.”

“Magic,” Sean whispered, eyes wide.

You nodded.

“Are you a mutant?” He asked.

With a laugh, you shook your head, “No, I was human, up until about a year ago,” You explained.

The symbols disappeared, a smile stretching onto your face, you mumbled an ‘all better’, before helping him sit up.

“I feel bad that I made you pass out though,” You said.

“It’s fine,” Sean smiled. “At least I have a good nurse.”

Alex came strolling in at that moment, the calm mood rupturing with his loud steps. His blonde hair, which had previously been combed and well kept, was now sticking up in odd places.

“Professor wants to speak with you,” Alex said to you.

You nodded, shooting one last smile to Sean, before getting up to leave. As you rounded the corner out of the room, Sean spoke up.

“Am I hallucinating?” He asked his friend.

Alex chuckled, patting him on the back harshly, “No,” He sent him a sly look. “You really did pass out in front of the pretty girl from the future.”

“God dammit.”

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 9 | Toss a Coin to Your Witcher

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 4,339

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡          

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven​ , I always say it, but I’m going to say it again, thanks for listening to all my plot rambling as I try and piece together all my strange plot / chapter ideas! 💕

Visenya’s eyes shoot open. Her breathing is heavy and erratic with her heart beating rapidly against her chest. A cool sweat coats her forehead and brows with a slight tremble in her body, like a leaf shaking in the wind. Amber eyes dart from left to right, attempting to take in her surroundings. Everything is hazy and out of focus, like a thick fog hangs in the room, translucent enough to not be immediately noticeable, but still there. She’s in a bed, larger than the small lumpy ones in the inns she and Jaskier inhabit and certainly plusher than the hard floor she swears she fell asleep on last night. 

Heavy furs cover her body, keeping out any potential chill, the hairs on her body stand up straight due to the cold air. Directly across from her is a small table pushed up against the wall with a small mirror resting on top of it. The window to her right is shut firmly, and adorned with loosely hanging curtains made from a thick navy blue fabric. On the left side of the room, a long wardrobe crafted from dark wood, and beside it a dresser crafted from similar materials. Visenya pushes the heavy furs and sits up. Her back pops at the movement, her neck and shoulders stiff from a restless sleep. In the back of her mind something feels off, but for the life of her, Visenya can’t put her finger on it. A part of her that’s buried deep in her hazy thoughts is screaming at the top of its lungs, but she doesn’t know why. 

Winterfell, she’s in Winterfell. But she's always been here, so why does it seem so wrong?

She slips out of the bed, her left and then right foot touching the cold floor, it’s dark stone color matching with the rest of the room's decor. The cold air bites at her bare legs, the light nightgown doing nothing against the cold. Only silence fills the room, not even the sound of her feet lightly tapping against the stone floor is heard. For some reason, this unnerves Visenya, but once again she doesn’t know why. She approaches the vanity table, sitting in a wooden chair in front of it. the legs of the chair scrape against the ground, the sound echoing in Visenya’s mind. It’s the first noise she’s heard since she awoke. She sits in the chair, the wooden backing not soothing the stiffness she feels. 

Looking into the small mirror, she stares at her reflection. Tangled silver hair delicately frames her pale skin that nearly glows in the dark room. Purple eyes glimmer in the reflection, staring at Visenya with a hint of mirth she’s familiar with but also seems almost like a distant dream. For some reason it seems wrong, the reflection staring back at her, but Visenya can’t place why. Targaryens are known to have silver hair and purple eyes, so why do her own features feel foreign? Another shiver overcomes her body, the sensation mildly confusing. She outstretches a hand towards the mirror --.

Knock. Knock. 

The sound echoes around the room. Visenya turns her gaze to the heavy wooden door and her arm retracts. She stares at the source of the booming noise, not sure how to react. A moment passes and another knock, this time with a voice attached. 

“My lady, I’m here to make sure you’re awake,” a voice calls out, the soft voice barely registering in Visenya’s mind. She blankly stares at the door, before remembering how to speak. 

“Come in,” she replies, attempting to project her voice. A moment passes before it opens and a woman hardly younger than Visenya enters the room. Her hair is mousy brown, pulled into a tight bun without a strand out of place, a plain dress that’s as dark and dreary as the room limply hangs from her small body, the fabric drowning her. She nervously bows in Visenya’s direction before scurrying to the wardrobe. She flings open the doors and begins rifling through the dresses hanging inside. Visenya watches the woman, not sure what to make of the scene. She’s seen her before, that much she is sure of, so why doesn’t she know her name? 

She pulls out  a pale blue, with delicate embroidery near the bottom, a garment much more intricate than the one she is wearing herself, and yet she turns to Visenya with a satisfied expression on her otherwise somber face. The woman turns to Visenya, a satisfied expression on her otherwise somber face. The dress is familiar and evokes an emotional response, her eyes dampening, a sharp pain in her heart. And she’s confused, more so than before. 

“This dress Lady Sansa made for you will look lovely.” the woman remarks. She begins rifling through the drawers, pulling out various pieces of fabric. Visenya turns her gaze back to her mirror, staring at her reflection with a blank expression.

Flashes of Visenya in that dress, hair braided back as she stands in line with Theon and Jon, uncomfortably waiting for the King and Queen, along with their company to arrive. But that can’t be right, Robert Baratheon hasn’t been to Winterfell since she was eight years old.  

 The woman begins humming a soft tune under her breath. The sound amplifies in Visenya’s mind until the melody is all she can hear and it clouds her thoughts and further muffles the distant screaming in her head. It intoxicates her like a strong northern ale, pulling her further and further away from sober thoughts and into a dream-like state. Soon the humming turns into outright singing, the hauntingly sweet words dancing around Visenya’s mind and while the woman’s voice is lovely and soft, something about it’s grating, like scraping a knife against a plate.

Visenya continues to stare at her reflection, her expression unchanging and eyes unmoving as they stare into the mirror. All the while, the woman continues singing the eerily beautiful song while rifling through the drawers filled with clothes. Everything is unchanging in the room, feeling as though time itself is still until Visenya notices a few slight changes. The metal framing around the mirror begins to rust, the once bright metal turning dark. The mirror portion starts to discolor and is blotched with dark spots and the entirety of the mirror covered in a hazy fog, obscuring Visenya from her own reflection. The vanity table shows signs of aging as well, no longing feeling as sturdy as it was a moment ago with random parts of it looking rotted. But the most obvious change is the air. The crisp morning air that’s normal in the North turns stale, the cold in the air burning deep in Visenya’s bones rather than leaving her skin cold. But the woman continues singing, weaving her hands through Visenya hair like it’s threads of silver, either not noticing the sudden change or unbothered by it.

“You seem warm, My Lady. Shall I get a maester to check on your health?” the woman says, pausing her singing. 

“N-no I’m fine, just a bad dream is all,” Visenya says, staring at her reflection in the old mirror. 

“Did you dream of fire and dragons?” she asks. Visenya’s heart stops as all the thoughts in her mind cease. She whips around to face the woman, the hair she previously held pulling Visenya’s scalp. 

“Wha - what did you just say?” Visenya asks, her eyes piercing into the woman. She doesn’t look startled by Visenya’s sudden change in mood, in fact, her face is completely emotionless. Rather than a real, breathing, living person, she looks like a life-sized doll, eyes dull and dead, with nothing behind them.

“There’s no need to be afraid, my lady. The Lord of Light smiles down upon his chosen champions. From fire and ash you were reborn, to bring a world thrust into darkness into the light.” she says, speaking as if she were a dead person brought to life - monotone with no inflection - weaving her hands into the locks of Visenya hair, meticulously braiding each strand. 

“What are you talking about? I demand you tell me.” Visenya says, her voice getting louder with each word spoken as her temper begins to flare. She stands from the chair, pushing the woman’s hands away from her face. 

“Remember the words, remember what was said. With Fire and Blood.” the woman speaks, this time her tone has a sense of urgency in it, but for the life of her, Visenya can’t think why. But before she can question her further, the ground beneath Visenya is ripped away, and she feels herself free-falling in darkness, unable to make heads or tails of her surroundings. All she knows is it’s cold and dark. She tries to scream but nothing comes out, leaving her mouth open with silent screams. Her hair whips around her face and she watches the silver locks darkening until the shining silver is a dull brown.

Then she hits the ground. It’s sudden, unexpected, and very painful. But feeling solid ground around her is somewhat comforting. 

And when her eyes flutter open, apprehensive and scared of what she might see, she breathes out a sigh of relief. Tall trees, emerald leaves, a fire that’s been smothered, and a sleeping figure. She’s in the camp again, if she ever even left. She places a hand over her chest as she sits up, the other one reaching to wipe away the dampness on her face. Birds softly chirp high on the branches, singing in tune with the gentle breeze that rustles the forest. The sun is rising, the faint rays of morning light hitting the trees, the leaves fanning the light out below them, and with a final heavy breath, Visenya pushes her body up to stand.

Stumbling through the small camp, past the sleeping bard, she breaks into the thick of the forest. Her hand rests on one of her silver daggers, eyes keenly looking around the thick greenery for any movement. She crouches low to the ground in an attempt to obscure herself from future prey and stalks forward. To her left, she notices the tall grass shifting, and with the grace of a cat pouncing onto its prey, she pulls out her dagger and flings it. The dagger flies through the air but instead of striking her target, it embeds itself into the tree nearby. A moment later, a fat rabbit with beady black eyes rushes out of the grass and disappears into the forest. A frustrated groan leaves Visenya’s mouth and she trudges towards her dagger and pulls it out of the wood with just enough force.

Absentmindedly wandering through the forest, her thoughts return to the dream. It’s odd, she’s had dreams before but never so...life like. She’d felt every emotion, smell every scent, and feel every surface as she would’ve in reality. The phantom feeling of ash clinging to her skin is still there and she catches herself shaking her head, attempting to get the ash out before remembering it’s not actually there. Perhaps it’s merely her mind playing games, a trick the mind was playing on itself to coax out her best-kept and well hidden fears, even the ones that had been buried so deep that she'd forgotten about them. However, the chill in her body as she remembers the madness buried in the eyes of her reflection makes it difficult to convince herself. 

And that second...dream, if it was even that. The woman’s words echo in her head, on repeat over and over, growing louder each time she hears them again.

Fire and Blood. 

She knows the words well, the words of House Targaryen. The only comfort she had during her darkest nights. An assurance that even if she was physically by herself, isolated from her only chance of ever knowing her family, she was never truly alone. And some nights she’d even convince herself Queen Visenya I was with her, watching over her, guiding her every step of the way. That she was there, when Visenya first started training to fight, guiding her swings with the wooden sword, coaxing her into a  proper battle stance. And even though they were foolish tales and fantasies dreamed up by a small child too sad for her age, they were comforting as she maneuvered through this new strange world. 

With a huff, she sinks down to the ground, leaning her back against the tree. A hysterical laugh escapes her mouth, the sound dancing away in the mellow breeze rushing through the forest. 

“I’m going insane,” she mutters to herself, and she rests her forehead against the palms of her hands. Her thoughts wander as she absentmindedly scapes her hairline with the tips of her fingers. Her nails are unkempt and longer than preferred, strands of hair getting stuck in the corners of her nails. 

“There you are!” Jaskier’s voice breaks Visenya from her thoughts. Her head snaps up in his direction, watching as his form swiftly approaches her spot. He’s wearing the same ensemble from the night before and his floppy brown hair is as well managed as it can be on the road. Her face twists into a look of confusion, her eyes following his nonchalant movements. However, Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge her and instead opts to sit on her left, only part of his body resting against the tree. 

“Now I was going to leave you to do your…well whatever it is you were doing,” Jaskier continues waving his hand vaguely in Visenya direction. “But, then it sounded like you were having a real crisis. So I thought to myself ‘Oh better make sure she’s okay.’ You are my source of protection after all.” Jaskier muses, a lopsided grin resting on his face. The teasing tone in his voice is a stark contrast to the worry swirling in his eyes. A small grin creeps its way up onto Visenya's mouth, a warm feeling filling her chest. The harsh lines that were forming on her forehead immediately softened, the anxiety and hint of fear barely hidden behind her eyes swiftly disappearing. 

“I’m fine,” she replies. Jaskier raises his eyebrows at her response, clearly not buying the lie. “Well, I’m not fine, but I will be,” she corrects herself before Jaskier has a chance to verbalize his doubts. Seemingly satisfied, he nods once at her words but makes no move to stand. Instead, he wiggles towards Visenya until their legs are touching and leans his head closer towards hers so it’s resting against the tree. Always one for personal space, Visenya normally would’ve either physically or verbally lashed at him - demanding the bard keep his distance. However, the scathing remarks never come. Instead, Visenya moves over slightly to allow Jaskier more room, watching the leaves delicately blow in the wind, the faint sound of birds singing echoing in the distance.

“If you ever need to talk to someone...” Jaskier’s voice interrupts the quiet atmosphere surrounding them. Visenya turns to face him, raising a single brow with her lips tilted upwards. 

“You’ll be the first person who knows. Considering you’re the only person I talk to.” Visenya replies. At her reply the serious expression that Jaskier wore immediately dissipated. His eyes sparkling with mischief and his lips were pulling into an amused smirk. 

“And what about our mighty Witcher! How would our dastardly hero feel about not being included in this list?” Jaskier exclaims, dramatically emphasizes his words. Visenya simply rolls her eyes at him. 

Everything with him always comes back to Geralt. 

Jaskier then leans forward, eyebrows raised so high they nearly touch his hairline. When he quickly moistens his lips with his tongue, Jaskier more closely resembles a cat that got into the canary rather than a man. 

“Could it possibly be because you and Geralt don’t do much…” his eyes flit to the left and right before landing on Visenya again. “Talking?” he asks. Visenya brings a hand up and smacks Jaskier on his left shoulder. He immediately moves away from her, rubbing the spot she’d struck. “That’s not very nice!” he exclaims, moving until there is sufficient space in between them. 

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Visenya replies. She stands from her sitting position and holds a hand out for Jaskier to take. Always one for theatrics, Jaskier moves backward and throws one of his hands across his forehead. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, an exaggerated gasp escaping his mouth. 

“Time and time again, my fair maiden has abused and used me. When will this insanity end, giving me sweet release from her beguiling aura? I pray to the gods every night that it will change” Jaskier exclaims. After he finishes his words, he waits a moment and then opens one of his eyes only to quickly close it and sigh again, louder than the first time and far more dramatic. 

“Ha ha ha, very funny. Now let's go before the sun is gone, we’ve got places to go.” Visenya says, her expression hiding any amusement she got from his antics. A defeated sigh leaves Jaskier's mouth, and a moment later he places his hand in Visenya’s as she pulls his body from the ground. 

“As my lady commands,” he says. And with a single bump against his shoulder from Visenya, the two of them begin walking back to camp. 

                                                  o0o0o0o0o

“When are you going to finally admit that you enjoy those novels more than you let on?” Jaskier asks, pulling out one of his quills, scratching it against a piece of parchment. Two tankards full of ale rest in front of them, neither of them drunk from. The ale here is watery and weak, yet still managing to taste worse than rotting fungus. 

Flick, the thin parchment page of the book nearly rips from how quickly it’s flipped. Visenya glances at him out of the corner of her eyes, raising a single brow at him before returning her gaze to the trashy romance novel. It’s sickeningly sweet, the dialogue almost as unrealistic as the premise of the book itself, but it’s something to read when she needs to stave off boredom.  

“Do you want me to hit you? Because I will hit you.”

Flick, another page. The heroine of the story finally meets up with the main love interest, practically throwing herself into his arms, that the author took time to describe every detail of. Visenya's face crunches up into a grimace, quickly turning the page. 

“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind. I think I’m still bruised from where you hit me when we first met.” He runs his hand over the spot on his abdomen she elbowed him all those months ago, after the whole situation with elves resolved itself. And she can’t help the small self satisfied smirk that slowly creeps onto her face. 

Flick. 

 The soft sun rays of dawn creep through the windows, the thick layer of dirt and grime that covers them dispersing the light. The rays shoot through the tavern, randomly choosing the next victim to blind with their radiance. The room is loud with town folk who gather around the old creaky tables, with drinks in hand, muttering quietly amongst themselves. Tension is thick in the air, everyone seemingly on edge, and it has nothing to do with the newcomers. This tension is different, almost like the whole village is slowly sinking into their fears with only the tops of their heads above the water. 

“Why can’t you be nice to me, Jane? I really thought after our conversation around the fire three nights ago we were growing closer?” Jaskier asks, feigning offense in his tone, placing his hand over his heart with eyes wide and innocent looking.

Visenya snorts. 

“Maybe you should try--”

The front door swings open, silencing any noise in the room. A figure rushes through them, it’s an older man, chubbier than most with a short beard and balding hair. His clothes are nicer than most other people in the room, besides the putrid smelling goo that clings to it, seemingly a mixture of blood and black ooze. His whole body is trembling like a leaf in a storm, clutching a fabric hat in his hands as he rushes towards the center of the tavern.

“Eustace, what is this?” the barkeep calls out, scrunching his nose as he passes. 

“I-I saw it!” he exclaims as he drops his hat on a table, the room gasping at his proclamation. Visenya glances at him for a second before looking back to her book, scanning the words with mild interest. It seems the author is still going on and on about the hero’s rippling muscles. 

Like a swarm of rats skittering towards their next meal, the entirety of the room gravitates towards him and by association, Visenya and Jaskier, since he stands closest to their table. Jaskier flips his journal to a blank page, eagerly waiting for his next grand tale. 

“I tell you no lie, it swallowed the whole village it did. Not a bone to be found,” he starts, making sure his uneven and shaky voice carries throughout the entire room. 

“Oh don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” he pauses, allowing the words to ring in the air before continuing, “The White Wolf.” Everyone around them dramatically gasps, completely enraptured by the story. Visenya eyes flick up from the book in her hand, leveling a hard stare at Jaskier, her gaze enough to turn him into stone if he dares to look in her direction. Noticeably, he does everything to not look at her. 

The White Wolf, of course Geralt is here. No wonder Jaskier was so eager to settle in this tavern for the day.

“And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a selkimore shot out! Oh you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil's teeth!” the man exclaims, waving his arms around like a mad man. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher...whole!” he finishes. 

Visenya’s head shoots up like a bolt of lightning, narrowing her eyes at the man. 

‘No, there’s no way Geralt’s dead, he wouldn’t just...let himself get eaten like that.’

The words do little to comfort the small bit of anxiety inside her. Witchers hunt monsters and monsters are deadly, tearing apart people and destroying their homes as easily as Visenya breathes air. But Geralt isn’t normal, this is what he’s trained to do. She dares to glance at Jaskier out of the corner of her eyes, seeing him nonchalantly scribbling away and that does more to quell her worries than any half assed words she could concoct. 

“Oh, this is brilliant!” Jaskier says, quickly diffusing the tight and tense atmosphere that surrounds the inn. In perfect synch, the patrons snap their attention towards Jaskier, staring at him in disbelief, as an amused smirk plays on Visenya’s face. Feeling a million glares piercing his skin like knives, Jaskier looks up from his writings, eyes wide and his mouth open. “Oh sorry. It’s just Geralt is usually so stingy with the details.”

“For good reason,” Visenya mutters under her breath. 

Flick. Now the hero is dueling his rival so he can marry the heroine.  

“Uh- and then what happened?” Jaskier asks. 

“He died.” 

“Eh...he’s fine.” Jaskier replies, his voice nonchalant and relaxed.

“Look, I was there. I know what I saw with my own--” heat builds in his voice, face as red as a ripe tomato, aggressively shoving a pudgy finger towards Jaskier. Visenya slowly rises from the chair, hand ghosting over the pommel of the dagger strapped to her leg, eyes in slits as they level a glare on the man. 

Before he gets the chance to escalate the situation and force Visenya to end it entirely, the door slams open, metal handle clashing against the wooden walls. 

In walks a hulking figure that is drenched head to toe in the same grotesque smelling foreign goo the pudgy man is coated in. Everyone’s attention turns towards the door, frantically covering their noses as the stench is stronger and fouler than what the rounder man emanates. With his sword in hand, Geralt walks towards Jaskier and Visenya, eyes set on the man before them and the people part, granting him a wide berth.

“See,” Jaskier says, nonchalantly writing in his book.  

“What’s that stench?” the man asks Geralt as he approaches the table. 

“Selkimore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.” Geralt says, his voice rougher than it usually is. Jaskier immediately jumps up, quill still in hand and begins singing that gods awful song.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher oh valley of plenty oh oh oh.” The man tosses a coin pouch as the entire tavern begins singing along, hesitantly at first, but as the song continues, people grow more enthusiastic. Geralt side steps the crowd and moves straight for the bar, bag of gold in hand. Jaskier rushes after him, rambling on about one thing or another. A sigh of exasperation and mild relief leaves Visenya's mouth as she thumbs through the book again, despite having completely lost interest in it by this point.

‘It keeps my muse fresh and exciting!’ Jaskier always says about his large collection of frilly books, but to Visenya they’re just dead weight only useful to pass the time. But it doesn’t even do that.

“Food, woman, and wine, Geralt!” Visenya hears Jaskier exclaim. She looks up to find Geralt a few steps away from their table, still covered in guts with no drink in hand. 

Wordlessly, Visenya grabs her waterskin that’s filled with Cintran ale and tosses it to Geralt. She then returns her attention back to the romance novel. 

“The drinks here are shit,” she said.

                                                 o0o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

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[everwizard]

In the Eye of the Beholder

Chapter Two: In the Forest

Word count: 2,295

Warnings: Violence, theft

Chapter summary: Dream embarks on his journey to the Antarctic Empire.

AO3 Link

Dream's group traveled for a day and a half without incident. It would be another half day to reach the border where they had planned to meet Philza.

Dream was sat upon his horse, Spirit, listening to the sounds of the forest and the babbling of his friends, when a sudden noise caught his attention. 

"Hey! Be quiet for a second," he said.

"Don't tell me what to do, Dream," Sapnap retorted.

"Seriously. Just shut up for a second."

Sapnap crossed his arms with a frown as he stopped talking. Not a moment after, an arrow whizzed past his head and stuck in a tree behind him with a thunk.

"Sapnap!" Dream cried out, "George! Get down!" Dream jumped off his horse and drew his blade. He could hear his companions dismounting behind him as another arrow flew past.

Dream stood in a fighting stance as he honed his hearing on anything out of place. He could hear birds chirping, the wind rustling the trees, the horses tails flicking, and to his left, the sound of a crossbow being loaded.

He made a dash in the direction of the noise, dodging trees and branches through the sound of their blowing leaves. George followed after, just a few paces behind Dream as Sapnap stealthily snuck through the brush.

Dream sprinted through the forest until he came to a small clearing not too far from where they left their horses. Stood in the clearing was a man holding a loaded crossbow. It was aimed at Dream.

The unknown archer released the bolt just in time to be tackled by Dream. It grazed his shoulder but Dream paid it no mind as he pinned their assailant, the crossbow clattering a short distance away. He brought his sword to the attacker's neck and rested it against his Adam's apple.

"Who are you? Why are you shooting at us?" Dream demanded.

"We were hired to despoil anyone who comes through here. It's nothing personal, just business."

"Wait," George started, "We?"

As he spoke, a second attacker emerged from the brush and lunged for the knight. The man wielded an axe and swung it haphazardly in a desperate attempt to make contact.

George blocked the attacks with his own blade. He was a skilled swordsman and was holding his own quite well against the goon.

Dream turned his attention to the scuffle, listening for any signs that his friend may be losing. He didn't notice when the man pinned below him reached out and grabbed ahold of his crossbow. He didn't notice when the man aimed the weapon at George's head. He didn't notice when the archer pulled the trigger.

The sound of metal piercing metal rang out as a second crossbow bolt rammed into the first. Sapnap emerged from his hiding spot, wielding his own crossbow. He quickly reloaded it and aimed it at the axe-wielding assailant. "Stop or I'll shoot," he declared. The tip of his bolt glowed blue as enchanted fire danced upon it. Sapnap could feel the heat radiating from it but ignored it as he stared down George's combat partner.

The man hesitated for a moment and lowered his axe.

"Good," said Sapnap, "now drop it and we can talk about this like grown ups."

The attacker bent over in a show to gently set the axe down as Sapnap kept the crossbow trained on him. As he reached the ground, he made a swing for George's leg. George jumped out of the way as Sapnap released the bolt. The crossbow bolt embedded into the attacker's shoulder as the axe cut into George's ankle, not deep enough to cause lasting damage but still deep enough to be painful. He let out a hiss as he fell to the ground, holding his injury. 

Dream looked up just in time for the attacker's shirt to burst into flames. The man cried out in pain as he desperately tried to extinguish the flames. Dream stood from where he pinned the man with the crossbow and stepped on his chest to keep him down, keeping his sword pointed at the man's neck.

"George!" he called out. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine! Can we just deal with these guys?"

"Got it!" Dream responded as he pushed his sword into his hostage's neck, just deep enough to draw blood. "Now, I'm sure you gentlemen know that attacking a member of the royal family is treason, a crime punishable by death. I can be reasonable. We can make a deal. Either you give me all your stuff and we never see you again or we kill you and take your things anyway. Your choice."

The flaming man shared a look with his accomplice and dropped his weapon. "You won't hurt us if we leave?"

Dream nodded. "That is correct. However, I want you to empty your pockets right here, right now. The only thing you may keep is the clothes on your back."

The man hastily began dumping his pockets. Out spilled gold, jewelry, miscellaneous weapons and other small assorted items. 

Dream helped his captive to his feet, keeping his sword trained on the other at all times. "You too," he prompted.

Similar items cascaded from the other man's many pockets. There was a small pile of loot on the forest floor when the two had finished.

Dream lowered his weapon. "Okay. You can leave. Now go before I change my mind." 

The two men made a mad dash into the forest, not daring to look back.

"I'll take care of George," Dream offered. "You can have the bolts for your crossbow if you want."

Metal rods clattered together as Sapnap gathered the man's bolts. He then collected all the valuables from the floor and put them in a pouch.

Dream fished bandages from his satchel along with a healing potion. Handing the potion to George, he began wrapping his friend's ankle.

George took a drink of the potion and felt the healing effect rush through him almost instantly. He set the bottle down with a refreshed sigh. "Thanks, Dream," he said.

Dream continued wrapping George's ankle without a word. When he was finished, he returned the remaining bandages to his satchel and helped George to his feet. Only after he was sure George could stand on his own did he say, "You're welcome, George."

"All done?" Sapnap asked.

"I think so," Dream replied. "You ready, George?"

"Whenever you are."

Dream nodded, "Lead the way then."

They returned to their trusted equines and mounted their respective horses. 

"By the way," Sapnap enquired, "why did you want their stuff? You have the entire kingdom's vault at home."

"Honestly?" Dream laughed, "I thought it would be funny."

Dream spurred his horse and they continued on the path to the Antarctic Empire.

They could tell they were close to their destination due to the rapidly dropping temperature. It wouldn't be long until they reached Philza.

They had stopped a short while ago to change into warmer clothes. Dream wore a thick dark green hooded cloak that wrapped around his entire body. It was trimmed with brown fur at the hood and along the edges. He had also put on a thicker blouse and pair of trousers. George was adorned in a capelet of pastel blues. He had multiple layers of clothes underneath with varying thicknesses and shades of blue. Sapnap wore the least, depending on only a mid-length cape made of red and white fur in addition to his usual clothing and armor.

As they made their way through the chilly Surmup forest, they could hear the echoes of a shouting child. 

"What do you suppose that is?" George pondered. 

"I don't know," Dream said, straining his ears in the direction of the sound, "want to go check it out?"

"Couldn't hurt," George shrugged as he steered his horse off the path. "It doesn't seem that far, we should be able to help and not lose too much time."

The trio and their horses wandered in the direction of the noise. As they got closer, the shouting got louder. Soon they could hear additional voices mixed in, though it seemed like the child was leading the conversation.

Dream tried to listen to the conversation but could not understand everything with all the overlapping voices.

"I...to bring…bo," the child with the high voice complained. Dream noted how the voice sounded like drawings made of crayon and chalk.

"...just a few days," said an older voice. It was more distinguished and sounded like chestnuts and fire and all things warm and safe.

"...dy got to come!" the child retorted.

"Fundy is family," a new voice chimed in. This one--a smooth tenor--reminded Dream of hot chocolate by the fireplace, topped with marshmallows, whipped cream, and cinnamon.

"Boys!" the second voice reprimanded. Everyone stopped talking as if they'd just noticed something they hadn't previously seen. "Sorry about them," he continued, "they can get pretty heated."

It was then that Dream realized this man was talking to him. "Oh! Uh, it's fine. Did you all need any help with something? It's a bit cold to be out here this late."

It was clear that this group could see Dream but he couldn't say the same about them. He decided to continue to be courteous to them despite not knowing who they are or what they were doing out in the cold.

"Wait! Dad, are these the guys you were going on about?" the whining child from earlier asked.

"That depends who's asking," Sapnap countered.

"Sapnap, please," Dream scolded, "not right now."

"Oh it's alright," the man cut in, "I'm Emperor Philza of the Antarctic Empire and these are my boys." He made a dramatic gesture to his own group before turning back to Dream's. "You must be Prince Dream of Surmup along with Sirs George and Sapnap."

Dream quickly dismounted his horse and performed a deep bow out of respect. "I'm so sorry, your Majesty. I didn't realize--"

Philza scoffed, cutting the prince off, "You don't need to be so formal. You can just call me Phil."

"Right. Okay. Phil," Dream stammered out.

"And these young men," Phil continued, "are my family." He gestured to a group of four, starting with the oldest, a half-pig wearing a deep red cloak lined with white fur as well as a golden crown. "You've met Technoblade."

It was true. Technoblade, or Techno as he preferred, had spent time training in Surmup Techno was the only person Dream had met whose combat skills rivaled his own. He was still looking forward to their eventual rematch.

"Hello," Techno waved, a man of few words. His voice was low, steady, and firm, like a boulder standing strong against the elements.

Phil moved on to the next son. He wore a yellow sweater paired with a maroon sash and a blue winter cloak. Various potions littered his clothes for easy access. "This is Wilbur."

"How's it going?" he greeted. Dream noted that this was the man that had the hot chocolate voice. 

Dream nodded in response, both to Wilbur's question and Phil's statement.

Phil then gestured to a very tall child donned in all white with the exception of a bright red cape draped over one shoulder. "This is Tommy, the problem child."

"Oi!" he retorted, "I'm not a problem child, I'm awesome." This was clearly the loud one from earlier.

"Sure," Phil smirked as he moved to an orange-haired man with fox ears. He wore a black hat and jacket with four different blues accenting. There was orange fur peeking out from under the jacket at the neck and wrists. "And this is my grandson, Fundy."

"Nice to meet you," he said in a voice that sounded like salted caramel and something else Dream couldn't quite place. It was clear from the lower pitch that this man was fully grown and definitely older than the child, Tommy. He couldn't have been much younger than Techno and Wilbur.

"How does that work?" George cut in.

Phil laughed. "Care to explain, Wil?"

Wilbur sighed. "He's my son. I accidentally spilled an aging potion on him a few months ago."

"And I wouldn't let him turn me back," Fundy finished. "So I've been nineteen for three months."

"But the dickhead has only existed for like a year and a half," Tommy whined.

"Don't call your nephew a dickhead," Phil admonished.

Dream laughed at the exchange. It was a very different atmosphere from the rigid and formal structure of the castle. It reminded him of when he was a child. Before he lost his eyesight. When he, George, and Sapnap could run around without the responsibility of an entire nation on their shoulders. He smiled sadly at the thought.

"You already know who we are so it doesn't look like introductions are necessary."

"You could still introduce yourselves if you want," Phil said warmly.

Dream cleared his throat. "Right. I am Prince Dream of Surmup but you can just call me Dream."

George spoke up next. "I'm George, First Knight to the Prince of Surmup."

"And I'm Sapnap, Dark Knight to the Prince of Surmup," Sapnap concluded.

"Lovely to meet you all," Phil smiled. "Now I'm sure you're all very tired from your trip so I would like to invite you to join us at the inn we're staying in. You can rest for the night and we'll help at the border in the morning. How does that sound?"

Dream considered his options, and an inn was definitely nicer than setting up a camp in the middle of the cold forest. "That sounds great," he agreed. "Lead the way?"

"Sure."

Dream remounted his horse and followed the sound of five sets of feet in the direction of an inn.

[brax-was-here]

Scarlet Briar: The Seeds of Life Chapter 4

Written by: Braxxus

Chapter 4: This Just Got More Interesting

Sometimes help arrives in the strangest ways

“Well, it sure would be nice to have some centaurs helping us right now.” Ceara complained as the savannah quickly gave way to the lush jungle of Maguuma. It had been hours since the duo had left the Pact forward camp. The air was heavy and humid, and the sounds of the jungle’s inhabitants could be heard all around them.

“We’re being watched.” Liathlas muttered, an uneasy feeling that everything in the jungle was watching them washed over her. “It feels as if the very jungle is tracking us.”

“I feel it too.” Ceara responded, as they carefully moved through the brush. “We need to be very cautious. We don’t know what we are going to face here.”

“More mordrem, I’m sure.” Liathlas replied.

“Well, yes. But not just them. Look.” Ceara held her hand up in front of Liathlas, stopping her. She pointed into the distance. Liathlas spied a large lumbering lizard moving through the trees, its giant head, forming into a sharp point. She nodded lightly.

“Let’s go around.” Ceara motioned, taking them through a wide arc away from the lumbering beast. Their trek took them along a path previously cut through the jungle by Pact soldiers. It took them through the heavy vegetation, which at times was broken up by rocky terrain.

“I never imagined the jungle being so beautiful.” Liathlas spoke, as she looked over a plant full of flowers not far from the trail.

“Just be careful. We don’t know what any of these plants do or are capable of. They could uproot themselves and attack us for all we know.” Ceara cautioned as they made their way over the broken terrain.

“I know.” They slowly climbed a ridge on a cliff side, making note of various large vines weaving in through the limestone. Some of them cut away to make room for the path.

“Mordremoth.” Ceara said as she placed her hand on one of the vines. A tinge of anger appeared in her chest as she gritted her teeth.

“Because of you…” she thought to herself. “You almost destroyed me.” She seethed as she dragged her hand across the tendril, her fingers digging into the fragile skin, scraping away a large section that crumbled to the ground.

Liathlas knelt and picked up a piece, snapping it with her fingers. “Dry as the fall leaves. He definitely is dead.”

“Indeed, he had better be.” Ceara snarled as she stared up the ridge. The duo continued along the pathway carved into the rock wall. Reaching the crest of the cliffside, they paused in astonishment at what they saw.

“By the pale tree…” Liathlas gasped, her eyes wide as she stood in shock.

               “It’s…it’s…this is…worse than we were told…” Ceara was shocked at the wreckage that lay before them strewn across the valley. Gigantic tendrils and vines, covered in thorns too many to count, towered into the sky, wrapping around the crushed remains of what was the pact airship fleet, as far as they could see.

“It’s as if the very ground came alive and attacked them.” Ceara choked, as an emptiness started filling her chest. “Mordremoth…” she gasped. Liathlas looked at her, noticing the estranged look on her face.

“Hey…” Liathlas nudged her shoulder. Ceara turned her head slightly towards her. “Remember, this was the dragons doing. Not yours. Stay focused.” Ceara looked to the ground, nodding lightly.

“I…I know.” She breathed in deep. “Let’s get going.” They continued forward, into the broken terrain of the jungle floor. The ground upheaved and every direction with Mordremoth’s giant tendrils looming everywhere overhead. It wasn’t long before the found the remains of a makeshift camp along the route.

“This was a pact camp.” Ceara said, noticing the scattered remains of equipment strewn around the area.  “They must have…” Ceara paused, looking at Liathlas. She was standing near numerous rocks, neatly lined in a row. Ceara slowly walked up next to her.

“Cairn?” Ceara asked softly, noticing some of them with roughly carved names in them. Liathlas nodded lightly.

“These must be the names of warriors who fell in battle here.” Liathlas said.

“From what I understand they burned the bodies so that Mordremoth couldn’t raise them as his minions.” Ceara knelt and slowly reached out and gently touched the top of one of the stones. She tilted her head slightly as she recognized the name.

“Cian” Liathlas spoke the name.

Ceara nodded slightly. “He was a secondborn, like me. I remember him. He was quiet and gentle.” Ceara paused a moment as the memories from long ago when she was a sapling danced through her mind. “I would have never imagined him being a member of the Pact.” She stared at the stone.

“Are you alright?” Liathlas asked softly.

“Sometimes he would accompany me when I made trips outside the Grove. I was interested in finding more strange machinery, studying how things worked together. He was interested in watching the birds, dreaming of what it was like to fly.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “I always dismissed him, never really paid him any attention.” She traced her fingers over the roughly chiseled lettering.

“He seemed rather timid. Never raised his hand against anyone. I took him to be a coward.” She paused. “But seeing this here…he found the strength to fight.”

She slowly raised her hand away the stone. “I’m sorry.” She whispered before standing.

“We need to…” Liathlas stopped suddenly. Voices could be heard closeby. “Someone’s coming.”

“Quickly, get under cover and be ready.” Ceara ordered in a hushed tone. The duo ducked behind a large piece of wreckage as the sounds of plodding footsteps could be heard approaching the area.

“I heard voices.” A deep female voice spoke.

Peering through holes in the metal panel, the sylvari could see a group of mordrem approaching, one of them riding a two-legged creature, all of them brandishing weapons of some kind.

“Someone was here. Find them!” The one riding the creature commanded, bringing his lance to bear. They watched as the mordrem started searching through the debris, checking behind boulders and under large pieces of wreckage.

“Do you think they are friendly, like the others at the camp?” Liathlas asked.

“We’ll drag them back to our grove and deal with them as Mordremoth would have it.” One of them growled.

Ceara shook her head. “No.”

Liathlas’ eyes grew wide as a doglike creature came into view. It raised its skeletal face in the air sniffing for a few moments before starting to growl in their direction, slowly approaching their hiding spot.

“Oh no!” she gasped.

“Thorns!” Ceara spat.

“Check there!” the rider pointed his spear towards their direction.

“Get ready!” Ceara whispered unholstering her pistol.

Just as one of the mordrem rushed over and pulled the plate away, Liathlas cast her stealth field, rendering the duo invisible.

“We have y-“ He paused as he saw nothing, tossing the plate to the side. The sylvari duo froze as the plant covered hound continued to growl. Ceara slowly raised her pistol, steadily aiming it at the mordrem’s head. The plant like hound leapt at Liathlas, who instinctively teleported backwards, leaving a clone of herself in her place, causing the duo to be revealed.

“There th-“ The mordrem was cut off as Ceara shot him in the face, before quickly rolling out of the way of the hound as its skeletal jaws tried to bite down on her arm.  

“You won’t escape!” the female mordrem shouted. She quickly ducked behind a nearby boulder, drawing her bow. She stood to take aim at Liathlas from behind the rock but paused as she saw multiple versions of her enemy on the battlefield. One started racing towards the bewildered mordrem.

“RRraaaah!” it screamed as it quickly pulled back it’s arrow and letting it fly at the approaching sylvari, but its shot passed through the illusion with no effect.

“What...” it gasped as the illusion reached its location and exploded in a blinding light, knocking the mordrem from behind the rock. Liathlas waved her hand placing an eldritch field underneath it, pinning it to the ground.  She then instructed her illusions to attack it as it struggled to get to its feet.

Meanwhile, Ceara rolled to one knee and brought her pistol to bear down on the dog creature. She didn’t have time to pull the trigger as the beast was upon her. It leapt at her, knocking her on her back as it locked its jaws on her gauntlet. She struck the beast on the side of its head, unleashing an electrical charge from her other hand. The creature fell limp, on top of her, convulsing from the jolt. She quickly pushed it off and fired a shot into its head. No sooner did she pull the trigger was she kicked in the torso. Flying several yards through the air before hitting the ground, she rolled up to one knee, grimacing from the pain.

“That’s going to leave a bruise.” She thought as she looked at the oncoming mordrem. It was brandishing a large battle hammer as it charged her. She fired multiple rounds from her pistol, which pierced the creatures heavy plated skin, but did little to slow it down. She quickly opened a panel on her gauntlet and pressed the small buttons within. The crystals of her armor glowed as she dodged the creatures’ attack. Multiple holograms of herself appeared next to her, which wasted no time attacking her assailant.

Liathlas had the archer locked down in her field when she heard heavy footsteps approaching fast. She teleported out of the way just in time as the rider’s spear narrowly missed her as his steed charged by.

“You will submit!” he roared as he brought the creature around.

“You master is dead!” Liathlas shouted as she directed some of her illusions to attack him. Once again, he charged her, but she dodged easily out of the way. Her illusions rushed him, each exploding in a brilliance. The blinding blasts startled the rider’s mount, causing it to rear up wildly before rushing away from the area. Liathlas then turned her attention to the archer, just in time to see her unleash an arrow, which pierced Liathlas arm. She cried out as the searing pain caused her arm to go numb. She glanced at the mordrem, who was readying another shot. Liathlas managed to raise a shield as the archer fired, the arrow bouncing harmlessly away.

Ceara heard Liathlas scream in pain. She quickly cut her eyes to her, seeing the arrow lodged in her arm. She looked back just in time to see the great hammer coming towards her. She felt the wind sweep past her as she barely ducked out of its way. The mordrem pressed the attack, seemingly oblvious to the holograms attacking him.

“You will be ours!” he commanded.

“Not anymore!” she shouted her reply. She brought her pistol around, but it was knocked from her hand by the creature’s weapon, which was followed by a swift kick knocking her to the ground. She rolled out of the way as the mordrem tried to bring his foot down on her chest, unslinging her rifle at the same time. Not taking any time to aim, she fired the weapon wildly, catching her attacker in the hip, separating one of his legs from the rest of him. Not braced for the recoil of the weapon, Ceara found herself flat on her back. Scrambling to her feet, she quickly assessed what was happening.

Liathlas’ shield faded as she noticed the mordrem rider returning at full gallop. The archer was also taking aim at her. Her vision started to become hazy, as a burning sensation started around the wound.

“Poison…” she gasped. She mustered enough strength to teleport out of the way, calling forth a single illusion. Ceara commanded her holograms to attack the archer, distracting it, while she aimed her rifle at the rider. Pulling the trigger, the round not only pierced through the neck of the creature, but also knocked the rider off his steed. She quickly grabbed her pistol from where it lay in the dirt and rushed to Liathlas, who was faltering, leaning against her staff. Ceara looked towards the archer, who was being attacked repeatedly by her holograms. Ceara took aim at the creature as it lashed out at her holograms. It looked at Ceara and growled one last time as she pulled the trigger, dropping it to the ground. She dispersed her clones and tended to Liathlas, who had started breathing heavily.

“It’s…it’s…poison…” Liathlas gasped. Ceara grabbed her staff and slung it over her shoulder. She then placed Liathlas’ arm around her to support her.

“It’s too far to get back to camp.” Ceara said looking around.

“Leave me if you must…” Liathlas spoke, her voice raspy.

“No…that’s not an option.” Ceara replied, as they started walking. “Come on. There are pact outposts out here. There has to be. All the supplies they were bringing. There must be one nearby. We’ll find it.”  

Time seemed to stand still as Ceara carried Liathlas through the jungle, taking great care not to agitate any of the local wildlife. Liathlas vision was fading, as was her strength.

“I…don’t…I don’t think… I’m going to make it…” she stammered. She lost her footing and collapsed, dragging Ceara down with her.

“Stay with me!” Ceara told her, lightly slapping her the side of her face. Liathlas’ eyes rolled back as she slipped into unconsciousness.  “Come on, stay with me.” Ceara shouted.

“It smells like mordrem poison.” A gentle voice spoke nearby. Ceara quickly drew her pistol and frantically pointed at the trees.

“Who’s there!?” She yelled. A frog like creature slowly emerged from the brush, dressed in simple garb. She took aim at it. “What in Tyria are you!?”

“I am Zuma.” It spoke. “And you do not need to be frightened.” Its voice soft and soothing. “I believe we can help.”

“We?” Ceara asked, as she kept her weapon pointed at him.

“Yes, we...” he gestured upward towards the trees. Ceara looked around and saw numerous of his kind standing on the branches, surrounding the area, some with bows drawn. She turned back to him, keeping her pistol pointed towards him.

“How do we know we can trust you?” she asked sternly.

“The jungle provides. We have helped many of your kind during the battles with the mordrem and the jungle dragon. If we had wanted you dead, you would already be dead.”

Ceara glanced around the trees again quickly. “I suppose you’re right.” She slowly lowered her pisto, placing it in its holster. Zuma quickly approached LIathlas and knelt by her side. He swiped his fingers at the wound in her arm and sniffed.

“Indeed, poison used by the mordrem. We can cure your friend, but we have to be quick. We have to get her back to my village as fast as possible.” Ceara nodded at him. He carefully picked Liathlas up and ran into the trees. Ceara ran behind him. It wasn’t long before they came to a rope bridge leading over a small chasm that inclined into a grove of giant trees. Looking to the branches high above, Ceara could make out a village built in the canopy of the jungle. They raced across the bridge into the village. Ceara took in the surroundings, seeing many of Zuma’s kind. Some approached when they arrived.

“Zuma! What have you brought us?”

“A wounded plant being, like the others. She has been poisoned by the mordrem. We need Mabli, quickly.” They stood aside as Zuma passed through, rushing to a nearby hut nestled between a trio of thick branches. Ceara could smell the sweet scent of jungle flowers coming from the hut, mixed in with a scent she couldn’t recognize.

“Mabli, we have one that needs help.” A member of Zuma’s race slowly turned from scribing on a block of wood. Her face showed she was older than most of the members of the village Ceara had seen so far. She walked slowly to Mabli.

“Set her down gently.” She ordered as she knelt down.

“It’s the mordrem.” Zuma spoke.

“I see.” Mabli snapped off the tail of the arrow, pulling the rest through Liathlas’ arm swiftly. “You brought her just in time. I have to work swiftly.” She turned and grabbed a variety of gourds and containers from nearby, mixing various ingredients together.

Zuma exited the hut, standing next to Ceara.

“Will she be ok?” Ceara asked, staring at the aged creature as she tended to Liathlas’ wound.

“Mabli is our medicine caretaker. Many of us have experienced this poison from the mordrem before. They use it to subdue their prey.” Zuma explained to her. He started walking away from the hut.

“May I ask what is your kind here? You kind of remind me of the hylek back home.” Ceara asked turning to him.

“We are itzel. We know of the hylek. There is a tribe to the north west that worships the sun. They are our enemies. They see anyone that intrudes on their lands as tresspassers and will kill them.”

“I see.” Ceara remembered the tribe that lives to the north of Amaranda’s home, and how she nearly single-handedly wiped them out after they had attacked herself and her sister. She smirked slightly at the thought.

“Your friend will survive.” Mabli called from the hut. “She will need time to rest, to recover from the poison.”

“How long?” Ceara turned back to the hut.

“As long as it takes.” Mabli replied as she lightly brushed a paste onto the wound.

Ceara sighed. “I don’t know if I have time to wait. This has taken longer than I thought it would already.”

“Why have you come to the jungle?” Zuma asked inquisitively.

“I’m searching for something, or someone.”

“Relics of the jungle dragon?” he asked. Ceara looked at him inquisitively.

“Relics?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“A group of your kind passed through here a few days ago, asking questions about the jungle dragon.” He replied.

“My kind? Where did they go? What did they look like!?”

“They looked like your kind. Plant beings. Their skin was various colors. Their armor and weapons made of plants.” Zuma stated.

“Liathlas said she was following a group of Nightmare Courtiers. I bet that is the group.” Ceara thought for a moment. “Which way did they leave?”

“They headed towards the west.” Zuma pointed into the distance. “Travelled beyond the canyon. They seemed rather distant, very direct with their questions.”

“I need to find them. They will cause much trouble being here.”

“And your friend?”

“I’ll return for her.”

“If you plan to travel farther into the jungle, you will need help.”

“No. I’ll be ok travelling alone.”

“I wasn’t talking about going with you.” Zuma replied. Ceara looked at him, a little confused. “Come with me.” He ordered. They travelled through the treetop village to a somewhat large hut. Zuma stepped inside momentarily before emerging carrying a large item made of tree branches, leaves, and feathers.

“You will need one of these.” He held it out to her.

“What is it?” she asked in return, looking at it.

“It’s a glider. It will help you navigate the canyons.”

Ceara stared at him blankly. “A…glider?” she asked hesitantly. She looked over the contraption, seemingly a mess of lacquered tree branches and leaves. “I don’t think I’ll need it.” She waved her hand lightly.

“The terrain west of here is very unforgiving. Made much more so by the attack of the jungle dragon. It will help you.”

“I have a teleportation device. I’m sure it will be enough.” she replied confidently.

“To get you through the whole jungle?” he asked.

Ceara sighed and grabbed the apparatus from him. She was amazed at how light it weighed. “So how does this thing work?” she asked.

Unslinging her rifle, he helped her secure the glider as best they could as it sat haphazardly on top of the power pack to her armor. “Use the lever here to open the wings. Just be sure you are in a clear area.” He pointed at a small wooden lever that sat on the lower part of the device.

Ceara stepped out into the middle of the platform, and slowly moved the level up. The wings of the glider slowly opened. Ceara looked over the makeshift wings.

“You fly with this thing?” she asked, disbelievingly.

“It’s not flying. We glide on the wind. And by shifting our weight, we can control how fast or how slow we go as well as change direction.”

“Hmm…” Ceara thought for a moment about the glider designs she saw at the Asuran lab months prior. “Interesting.”

Zuma walked to edge of the platform. “Here. Jump from here and see if you can glide to that landing over there.” He pointed to a lower platform not far away. “If you fall, it won’t be far.”

Ceara looked over the edge and saw netting strewn through the trees.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Of course. This is where we test newly built gliders.”

Ceara took a deep breath. Made sure the lever was locked and jump off the edge. She dropped like a rock into the net below.

“This is ridiculous.” She said out loud, showing her frustration.

“Come back and try again.” Zuma yelled from above as she clamored across the net to the closest platform.

Climbing a rope bridge back to the platform, Ceara once again leapt from the edge, and again she plummeted.

“Again” Zuma yelled.

Ceara tried again multiple times, each time falling.

“Watch.” Zuma said, securing a glider to himself. He leapt from the edge, gently gliding to the landing not far away.

Ceara cocked her head sideways watching him. “What in Tyria…wait…” Ceara paused for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “I was just jumping off the ledge and trying to fly.” She thought to herself. Stepping back, she ran to edge and leapt. She found herself gliding over the net, but she descended quickly, not reaching the far platform. She quickly returned to the starting point and again launched herself. This time gliding a little farther, but still fell short.

“I got this.” She muttered to herself, a smile across her face. She ran back again and launched herself one more time, gliding to the far platform. The landing was rather rough as she fell to the floor. Zuma helped her up.

“I can fly…” she smiled.

“There! You’ve got it!”

“Zuma!” another Itzel came running up.

“What is it?”

“Mabli requires you and this one to her hut!”

“Liathlas!” Ceara closed the wings to the glider and followed Zuma back to the caretakers’ hut.

“Mabli, we are here. What is it?” Zuma asked, entering. Ceara looked in and saw Liathlas laying on a mat, a bandage on her arm.

“I am dangerously low of the lily extract. We need to find more.”

“We will send a group out right away.”

“Lily extract?” Ceara asked.

“Yes, the nector of the phlox lily, when mixed with herbal leaves, produces the medicine needed to combat the poison used by the mordrem. The lily is rare, and only grows in moss covered areas.”

Ceara tilted her head to one side slightly, somewhat taken aback.

“It is also a favorite food of the small animals that reside here in the jungle so we must act quickly.”

“I… I see… Where can I find these flowers? What do they look like?”

“Green in color, like your skin. They grow in the canyons, where the sun rarely shines. You should concentrate on finding the others like yourself. We’ll send out others from the village to retrieve the plant for your friend.”

“Ok…” Ceara looked at Liathlas. “If I manage to find some, I’ll be sure to return them here.” She turned and looked out into the distance. “To the west you say. Then I’m heading off.”

“Very well. Safe travels in your journeys.” Zuma exited the hut and called to a group of Itzel nearby.

Ceara ran through the tree village, picking up her rifle along the way. “The Nightmare Court. Relics. Phlox Lilies. This just got more interesting.” She thought to herself as she quickly descending another rope bridge and headed out into the jungle.

[shit-lets-be-dungeons]

Ever wanted to put more Wild Magic into your campaign? Do you like the idea of punching somebody and they turn into cake? Wanna mix martial arts and luck manipulation? To you then, I bring my first homebrew: The Way of the WILDSTYLE! Monks that make use of sources of Wild Magic, including an extensive Table to make things happen with your Ki Points!

I made this with the help of the Homebrewery, a browser-based program that can convert text to a document in that fancy Wizards of the Coast style! Click here to get started, or support the creator on Patreon! 

Full text of this Homebrew below the cut:

Monk: Way of the WILDSTYLE

Monks of the Way of WILDSTYLE follow a tradition that embraces madness so intimately as to make one blush.

The origins of the tradition are multifarious and mysterious. Some monks of the WILDSTYLE (sometimes called “Way of the Crazy Hands”) lay claim to the Githzerai of Limbo, who could not only resist the impact of the chaotic realm but harness it. Other monasteries of WILDSTYLE hang above reservoirs of potent, unstable magics, volatile places for all but they. Still others serve at the behest of those rare deities ascribing to the Chaotic and Neutral, such as the Seldarine deity Fenmarel Mestarine.

These monks are capricious, often with no 2 monasteries taking the same role in their society. In some places, they are the last line of defense against volatile and unpredictable threats. In others, they are ruffians and rebels, quick to dismiss authorities. There are many mysteries about these monasteries, with some going so far as to distrust and fear them. Those in the know of the WILDSTYLE know that, for good or for ill, Monks of this way always promise excitement.

And yes, "WILDSTYLE" has to be all-caps.

WILDSTYLE Surge

Starting when you choose this tradition at 3rd level, you can use your ki to impart a certain Wild power into your strikes. As an action, you can spend 1 ki point to roll for a Wild Magic Surge. As a monk of the Way of WILDSTYLE, you surge on a roll of 20, upon which you roll a d20 on the WILDSTYLE Table (see below). For effects requiring saving throws, the DC will be equal to 10 + your Wisdom modifier + the number of ki points expended (in this case, 1). At this level, you can only do this for 1 action per turn.

Chaos Tide

Once you pick this tradition at 3rd level, you gain an innate sense for the magic about you. If you are not already proficient, you gain Proficiency in the Arcana skill. You can also automatically “sense” magical effects and auras within a 60 ft radius. These areas of effect glow and ripple with light, faint or bright depending on the strength or age of the effect placed. You can even discern from the colors of the aura observed what School of magic the effect may belong to.

In addition, you gain advantage on Saves against magical effects that have been identified in this way.

Improved WILDSTYLE

At 6th level, you begin to harness the true magical potential of WILDSTYLE.

As your attacks now count as magical, when you roll for WILDSTYLE Surge, you can now add your attack bonus to the d20 roll. What’s more, you can roll on the WILDSTYLE Table upon a successful Surge for each Attack, spending at least one ki point each time. You can spend up to 3 ki points per turn in this way.

For effects requiring saving throws, the DC will be equal to 10 + your Wisdom modifier + the number of ki points expended (1-3).

Chaos Check

By 11th level, you can harness the magical underpinnings of the universe to aid you in given scenarios.

You may replace any check made since your previous turn with a “Chaos Check” roll, either as an action to replace your own roll or a reaction against (and replacing) an enemy’s roll. That Luck Check will take the raw dice roll only, no modifiers or advantages/disadvantages. However, you have to take the roll that’s given, even if lower than the initial check. What’s more, any Chaos Check roll also counts as a WILDSTYLE Surge roll.

You can perform this a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier, after which you must take a Short Rest to regain use of this.

Master WILDSTYLE

By 17th level, you’ve become well-acquainted with the power of the WILDSTYLE.

Every time you use a Ki point, that will count as a roll for a WILDSTYLE Surge. However, when you purposefully roll for a Wild Magic Surge, you may expend an additional ki point to roll with “advantage” - that is, the DM will roll twice on the WILDSTYLE Table, and ask you to pick which effect you would like to initiate.

Note they can be as vague as humanly possible with what effect exactly will happen.

Chaos Reflect

At 17th level, you can take advantage of the chaos you’ve experienced and deflect it towards enemies.

As an Bonus Action on top of an Attack, you may spend anywhere between 1 to 10 ki points and force a previously-experienced WILDSTYLE effect on that creature.

For effects requiring saving throws, the DC will be equal to 10 + your Wisdom modifier + the number of ki points expended. You will also have advantage on any effect that would include yourself.

WILDSTYLE Table

1. You turn into a potted plant upon landing your hit. You cannot move, you cannot take Actions or Bonus Actions, all attacks have advantage against you, and your HP is reduced to 8 + your Constitution modifier. If your HP is reduced to 0, you transform back, but must start making death saves. You also transform back at the end of your next turn.

2. You give 2d8 additional damage. Roll the 2nd d8 to determine the damage type - Acid, Cold, Fire, Force, Lightning, Poison, Psychic, or Thunder.

3. A Giant Frog appears in a spot within 30 feet of you. This Giant Frog is completely neutral, and does not vanish but may bound away after a while.

4. You force the enemy to make a Constitution saving throw, to avoid transmogrifying into an inanimate material. As they roll, consult one of your damage die to determine the material - Stone, Wood, Metal, Clay, Paper, Cake, Dirt, Molasses, Water, or Smoke. If the enemy fails, they become a statue of this material, effectively Paralyzed and with attacks having advantage against them. If they succeed, they instead transform into a living construct of that material - immune to Bludgeoning, Piercing, and/or Slashing damages depending on their make. This effect can be removed with Greater Restoration, or when you succeed another WILDSTYLE surge.

5. Upon a successful hit, roll another of your damage die. This die determines how many tens of feet the enemy is pushed backwards - and if they hit something before making that distance, how many d6 of Bludgeoning damage they take from the force.

6. A Weasel appears in a spot within 5 feet. This Weasel has advantage on its Initiative, as it is antagonistic towards you, and will wish to attack as soon as possible.

7. Roll a d6, and record that number. At the beginning of every subsequent turn, a d6 will be rolled. If someone rolls a d6 matching yours, you immediately swap locations and Initiatives with that person. Hopefully this won’t put anyone in harm’s way.

8. Your last hit immediately causes your enemy’s head to spin completely around 180 degrees. This does not kill them, however; instead, any movement they make will be backwards, and attacks not behind them will have disadvantage. They have to use their action to set their head back on straight.

9. You initiate a similar effect to the Sleep spell. Upon a successful hit, roll all of your hit dice. This will determine what hit-points’ worth of creatures can be put immediately to sleep within range. Instead of dealing damage, your attacks have this power until the start of an enemy’s turn.

10. Voluminous soap bubbles burst from your mouth. You are unable to speak Command Words or other words until the start of an enemy’s next turn.

11. You turn into a “Real Boy”. Any racial traits vanish, and all of your stats are assumed to have a +1 modifier. You are restored upon another successful WILDSTYLE Surge.

12. Roll a d20. On 10 or higher, any of your hits cause a harmless squeaking noise instead of dealing damage. That enemy which squeaks will be vulnerable to Bludgeoning, Slashing, or Piercing damage. On a 9 or lower, any enemy that hits you causes a harmless squeaking sound to come out of you instead of dealing damage. However, you will be vulnerable to Bludgeoning, Slashing, or Piercing damage. All effects end at the start of your next turn.

13. Your hands turn into snapping serpents. Your Unarmed Strikes now deal Piercing instead of Bludgeoning damage, with a Constitution saving throw for someone to avoid taking Poison damage (equal to 1 damage die) and being Poisoned. However, these Unarmed Strikes will be essentially Animal Handling checks, as your arms are now literally 2 snakes. Were you to cut these heads off, your own hands will reappear. This effect may also end upon another successful Wild Magic Surge.

14. On hit, with a loud “KA-CHING!” money flies out of your enemy. You can collect as much Gold as XP that enemy normally produces. However, any hit landed on you causes 1d8 Gold Piece’s worth of your own money to fly out.

15. You turn into a Yakman. You count as one size larger for the purposes of Strength checks, and your Dexterity, Strength, and Constitution stats go up by 3 (up to 20). However, your Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma go down by 3, and you have disadvantage on checks related to these. All racial Traits are disabled while being a Yakman. This effect goes away after a long, deep shave. This effect may also go away upon another successful Wild Magic Surge.

16. A number of Flumph equal to your Monk level appear within 30 feet of you, controlled by the DM. They may roll Initiative to help.

17. The next successful hit causes 2d100 beans to fly out of your opponent in a 30-foot radius. Everyone in that 30-foot radius must make an Intelligence saving throw, or they will be compelled to begin counting the beans. An affected creature may use their Action to count beans, at a rate of 180 BPM (Beans Per Minute), or they may attempt the Intelligence save again. They may also opt to retain their major Action, and use their Bonus Action to count beans, at a rate of 90 BPM; this may prolong the effect depending on how many beans have been produced. An individual with Stillness of Mind may use this to end the effect. The effect ends once all the beans are counted.

18. You suddenly become aware of a sizable, expectant audience that’s watching your every move. All of your attacks are now based on Performance, with Inspiration granted if you put on a good show. However, at least your first turn would be at disadvantage, given the stage fright. To stop this effect, roll a successful Wisdom saving throw to ignore the crowd. If you have Stillness of Mind, you may also use that to end this effect.

19. A Tyrannosaurus Rex appears within 120 feet of you, controlled by the DM. Good luck.

20. All of your Ki Points are restored, and you get to roll for another WILDSTYLE Surge.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Sorahiko is a jealous dad with his sunflower son's friends and Nana is trying to calm him down, I'm completely sure that happened 👀👀

/rubs hands slowly/ This might necessitate Sorahiko wanting to bond with Toshinori, anon. For all we know, he might have approved Toshinori lone-wolfing it at the beginning. He certainly doesn’t think that way by the time we reach the Shie Hassaikai Arc — he was, I think, a factor in Izuku’s internship?? Don’t quote me on that — but I wouldn’t put it past Sorahiko to think that teenager Toshinori shouldn’t drag people into his ‘delusions of grandeur.’

Anyway! This is yet another entry into the NanaLives!AU. For the last bit, just know that Nana survives All for One, fled to the States with Toshinori, and Sorahiko found and adopted Kotarou before joining them.

//

This is the third week in a row that Sorahiko’s found the dumb dandelion-haired brat underfoot at his and Nana’s agency. Yagi is still dressed in his black uniform, the one that clearly marks him as a junior high student, and he looks like any bright, diligent kid. Kenta, the agency’s hapless receptionist, sends Sorahiko a pleading look.

Sorahiko knows it’s not a ‘please get him out of here’ look, because it didn’t even take Yagi a goddamn day to charm the civilian staffers. No, what Kenta is mentally begging Sorahiko for is to not make a snarky comment. 

So what if there aren’t any official rules against civilians in agencies? What if Yagi has wormed his way into Nana’s good graces, to the point where she’s already considering making him her successor?

Doesn’t explain why a student has so much time to spend at a small pro-hero agency. 

“Torino-san!” says the brat cheerfully. He’s carrying a stack of files in his twiggy arms, looking ready to drop it all and assist Sorahiko. “Hi! Oshishou said you were coming in late today!”

Sorahiko squints, bleary. It’s just too many exclamation points for someone who’s just woken up from an afternoon nap. The front door swings shut behind him. Sorahiko hasn’t changed into his gear yet, he’s kinda hungry, and he’s being overwhelmed by a kid who’s taken Nana’s philosophy to heart.

“It’s not a training day for you,” he grunts, and moves forward, brushing unceremoniously past Yagi.

“Every day is training!” Undeterred by Sorahiko’s grouchiness, the brat trails behind and lectures Sorahiko about dedication of all things, and new things oshishou tells me about, I’m learning all the time, I’m so grateful to be here—Sorahiko lets the chatter wash over him, unwilling to cross the line of bullying a child just yet.

“Sky Drop,” Sorahiko says, opening the door into his and Nana’s private office. They used to keep their workspaces separate, and then a month into that, caught each other sneaking out the window (Nana) and snoozing over the paperwork (Sorahiko).

“Oshishou, I have the files!”

Nana looks up from her desk, looking frazzled. “Oh, thank you, Yagi-shonen. Gran Torino, hey, how was the nap?”

“Too short.” Sorahiko watches Yagi bounce to Nana’s desk, hand her the files, and vibrate expectantly in place. Youthful eagerness. It tires Sorahiko just witnessing it, and he makes eye contact with Nana, trying to communicate, ‘I can’t believe this kid.’ She glares at him for a brief second, then turns to Yagi.

“Do you have anything you need to study?” she asks.

“Tests are easy,” the brat says. He scuffs the heel of one sneaker. “I can test, oshishou, but I just don’t like, um…”

“Paperwork?”

Yagi brightens. Ugh, they’re kindred spirits, these two. Sorahiko can’t believe Nana’s letting him get away with the idea that a Pillar of Society isn’t going to have to deal with all the generated paperwork. “Yeah! It’s all in my head, so I’m free to do whatever, oshishou.”

“All in your head,” Sorahiko mimics. Look at that, he is willing to bully a child. Nana can kick his ass later, when the ball of sunshine isn’t setting fire to his dignity. “I can guarantee you, you aren’t ready for the written exam for U.A. Go. Shoo. Come back in five minutes.”

He only adds that last part because Yagi had wilted, drooping at the order to leave like Sorahiko had been responsible for sucking up all the nutrients and will to live, and Sorahiko doesn’t need to be guilt-tripped by a thirteen-year-old child.

In any case, Yagi perks up. “Okay! What can I do?”

Fortunately, Nana intervenes. Maybe she could predict that Sorahiko was going to send Yagi out to fetch taiyaki. “There’s a table tennis set in the backroom. It’s at the top of the metal shelves, you can’t miss it. Bring it back here, and I’ll show you a trick for improving hand-eye coordination, okay?”

“Okay!” And off he goes, shooting past where Sorahiko is still lounging against the doorframe. There’s a draft of cold air, and then Sorahiko is finally stepping inside and closing the door. The room isn’t sound-proofed, but they’ve got a solid minute before Toshinori scrounges up the paddles and the elusive white ball. 

Their desks are technically on opposite sides of the room. Sorahiko likes to sit by the door, and terrorize visitors (mostly Commission agents) by standing up when they enter, startling them backwards and unnerving them into honesty. Nana sits in plain-view of the door.

He approaches her desk and leans his hip against the edge. “Why is here,” he asks plaintively. “Doesn’t he have friends?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Nana chides. “You can connect the dots yourself.”

“He had the confidence to pester you.”

“Sorahiko,” she says, stern.

“Nana,” he whines. Sorahiko might be losing heart in this argument, because he can connect the dots. The dots are telling him that he’s being an asshole to a previously Quirkless teenager. “I can only deal with one extrovert at a time.”

“You’ll get attached to him,” Nana says with great confidence. She’s been saying this for the past three weeks; the novelty of Nana having an apprentice has worn off, and now Sorahiko is even more confused as to why Recovery Girl took the position as U.A.’s school nurse. Nana leans forward and pokes his elbow. “You got attached to me, after all.”

“Hm.”

“I think he’ll make lots of friends at U.A.,” she adds, with less confidence.

“Hm,” Sorahiko hums again. It’s likely. U.A. usually feels like the chance to start over a social life; the influx of students outside of Musutafu meant new faces. But Sorahiko knew better than most that old habits died hard; years after graduation, his closest friend is still Shimura Nana, and everyone else (save for Chiyo, who was more willing to ally with Nana and force him into socializing) remains at arms’ length.

“Found you!” Yagi’s exultant cry travels through the whole agency. Sorahiko resigns himself to Yagi’s effusively loud existence, and Nana pats his wrist.

“If you needle him about overstaying his welcome, I’ll kick your ass,” she reminds him pleasantly.

“When you go on full maternity leave, I’m the one stuck with him,” Sorahiko shoots back.

“I will make Yagi-shonen run so many errands…” She sounds wistful, as if the prescribed rest from work hasn’t been haunting her for days. “When I can’t bend over and get the tea from the bottom shelf, I’ll just tell Yagi-shonen to help this poor pregnant lady, oh, her gigantic stomach…”

The joke works; Sorahiko doubles over in laughter.

//

Yagi Toshinori does not make any close friends through high school. Instead, he spends more and more time at the agency, helping with the reports and patrols, desperate to ease the burdens weighing Nana and Sorahiko down.

“He’s supposed to have a childhood,” Nana mutters. They’ve made a stop at the rooftop, and she is staring blackly at the blue and pink neon glow of the city. “He’s—supposed to be irresponsible, and goofing off with friends, and getting terrible grades as a consequence for not studying.”

Sorahiko studies the passing cars, and he keeps his mouth shut.

Toshinori’s constant presence at the office helps. He’s a quick study at paperwork, for all that he professes to hate it, and just having him there lightens the mood. They’ve tried kicking him out for his own good, pointedly reminding him about the necessity of networking and downtime. And like clockwork, he shows up the next day.

It soothes something in Nana to see her successor, hale and hearty. Sorahiko can appreciate Toshinori for that.

“He does talk to his classmates, right? You’d know if he was being bullied?”

Sorahiko rolls his eyes. “You think I would keep that from you? His classmates worship the ground he walks on. He’s just standoffish, I guess.”

“Oh no,” Nana grieves. “Of all the things he learned from you, Sorahiko.”

“From me?” he says, outraged.

“I know I told him to make friends!” she continues. “God, maybe if we weren’t operating outside the Hero Association’s purview, he’d bring them to the agency, and he could finally brag about his experiences working with us…”

“He’s fine, Nana. I think—” his throat seizes for a second. I think he knows he has to be All Might alone. It’s true, but Sorahiko doesn’t need to rub the fact in Nana’s face. If entering U.A. is like wiping your social slate clean, then entering the pro-hero workforce is like exchanging your life for an entirely new tablet. Sorahiko’s luckier than most that Nana was willing to cling right back, and that Chiyo demanded to be their GP.

“You think,” Nana prompts.

“Toshinori’s as emotionally-balanced as any teenager can be,” Sorahiko says. “Don’t mess with his social life until we’re out of the clear.”

//

This isn’t a conversation Nana thought she’d be having with Sorahiko, of all people. But he’d been biting poor David Shield’s head off during dinner, and even Kotarou has caught onto the inexplicable animosity. Fortunately, Kotarou takes his cues towards strangers more from his adopted big brother than Sorahiko.

Toshinori is looking at her in askance, when Nana decides David’s suffered enough and politely excuses herself and Sorahiko from the table.

“We’ll be back with dessert,” she reassures the kids. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No kissing,” says Kotarou petulantly. “You always forget the time when you’re kissing tou-chan.”

Nana fake-gasps, smiling even as she scolds. “Kota! Not in front of guests. You wouldn’t want me telling Dave what happened the first time I took you flying, would you?” Kotarou reddens like a tomato, and mimes zipping his mouth. Ah, a Sorahiko-tic. Her heart warms.

“It’s okay,” Dave says.

“Yes, it would be nice to gain information, wouldn’t it, Dave?”

She grabs Sorahiko’s wrist and marches him to the kitchen. He goes willingly, but Nana knows he’s just shot one more suspicious glare over his shoulder. And when they’re standing in the kitchen, ostensibly retrieving the ice cream bucket and assorted bowls and spoons, Sorahiko crosses his arms and scrunches his face into a scowl.

“What is with you?” she whispers.

“Look at him!” Sorahiko whispers back, gesturing at his face. “He’s a smarmy little prick trying to figure out what’s behind All Might!”

“He’s asking very normal things, as expected from very normal engineering students,” says Nana. “You remember the Support students. David isn’t being any more invasive than they are.”

“He’s Californian.” The disdain drips from Sorahiko’s voice. “He’s obsessed with bodybuilders in the spotlight, like that, that one governor they had—”

“What, was he eyeing you too?”

Sorahiko dismisses her attempted derailing. “The boy’s ogling Toshinori like a piece of meat, he’s not going to look at some old-timer.”

“It’s a mutual attraction,” says Nana, certain of this, at least. “I think Toshinori likes nerds.”

He makes a face.

“He gets that from me,” adds Nana mischievously, and she leans in to kiss the affectionate outrage off Sorahiko’s face.

[heli0s-writes]

VI. In for Life*

Summary: The final installment of his enormous dumpster fire :’) Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N:  NSFW! It has arrived along with a short epilogue at the end. Thanks everyone for all your love for these three bastards (and Buckeye, too!) 

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

It’s hot.

It’s so damn hot and your back is slick with sweat.

Your eyes fly open to the stifling humidity of the dark room. A heavy hand is on your hip, lazily draped over and brushing against the soft skin of your tummy. A back is pressed against your chest, heavy breaths drawing in and out, slightly wheezing. Even atop of your feet, there is a weight.

Jesus (Steve), Mary (Bucky), and Joseph (Buckeye).

You are completely smothered by all of them. When any of you fell asleep—and when Buckeye found it appropriate to flop himself on top of it all is bewildering.

There’s not even a sheet or comforter on top anymore, both things piled on the floor like a lumpy mountain. Buckeye stirs the same time you do, opening his mouth in a squelching yawn and tipping his head back. You glare at him in the dark and uselessly wiggle your toes. “Get off!”

“Buck!” You hiss. He lolls his head sideways and flops his tongue out at you before nuzzling back down onto your ankles, setting his chin on what is probably Bucky. His butt wiggles around, trying to find a new comfortable position, legs kicking yours.

“Your fucking goblin nails! Ouch, Buck!”

Steve stirs with a moan, turning over and throwing his heavy arm over your shoulder, pressing his face into your chest with a contented sigh. It could be sexy, you think, but you’re sure that your boob-sweat is being inhaled right now straight into his lungs.

Bucky grumbles into your back, shuffling until he’s squeezing you too tightly between him and Steve.

“Are you guys awake?” You whisper, “Are you doing this on purpose?”

You release a long-suffering groan when all that responds is another one of Buckeye’s squealing yawns. You slowly pick up Steve’s arm to move it back, but it’s heavy as hell and he keeps grunting into your chest. Somnambulist pervert.

Bucky’s arm moves down, fingers slowly coming to rest on your hip and then slowly—oh hell.

“Dude.” You mutter. His fingers dig into your ass as his shoulders begin to shake behind you. This motherfucker had been awake this whole time, just watching you suffer in-between two human and one canine heater. You swat him away, but he shoves his face deeper into your neck until his breath begins to tickle. Your hands slap harder and faster, “Fuck! Stop! I’m gonna scream!”

“What time is it?” Bucky asks, pulling away with a pant, blowing his hair from his face.

“Way past when we were supposed to wake up. Steve is out, Buck.”

“Yeah he doesn’t really have a middle ground. He’s either awake or he’s dead.”

A silence passes before Bucky’s hand finds the waistband of your romper again.

“You wanna fuck?”

You slap him away with what a shriek might be if someone could do it with their mouth closed. He’s awfully bold and unfiltered now that you’ve shown him your hand and you think he’s probably not bluffing. Bucky laughs again behind you, pulling on the back of your outfit, tugging it a few times and letting it flap. You realize, with a little bit of fondness, that he’s trying to cool you off.

“C’mon.” He slips his legs out from under Buckeye, who whines in betrayal, but watches him with interest anyway. Bucky tugs you out of bed, moving Steve’s arm and pushing his face away from your chest. “Kid’s always been a tits guy.”

“Yeah. Yours are like a B-cup, huh?”

Bucky ignores you, “I like ass. You’re a pain in my ass sometimes… but I bet one of these days, I’ll be a pain in yours. Literally.”

You turn red as a beet, sputter a few times, and then just shut up for your own damn good.

“Just kidding.” Bucky continues, leading you out of the room, “It’ll be mostly pleasure. We’ll find a good balance, sweetheart.”

He traipses into the kitchen, entirely content to strut around as you close your eyes and count to a million because Bucky Barnes has just one-upped your comment so hard you have absolutely nothing else to fire back at him. You think you might swoon; you’re both proud and devastated.

It’s the middle of the night and Bucky is preparing to brew a pot of coffee. You tap him on the shoulder to suggest that it would be a bad idea, but he bites your pointer and snarls like a wild dog.

“God. Once you crack the surface, there’s so much of…this…” You gesture vaguely up and down, “Wha—wait a minute.” Your eyes narrow, “Did you just snarl at me? You don’t snarl at me; I snarl at you!”

He spends another few minutes repeating the same noise, just to get on your nerves because he knows there’s not much you can do but give him lip. Frankly, the tables have turned, and Bucky is giving you quite a run for your money when it comes to sass.

It’s kind of hot.

You watch the way his arm flexes when he reaches forward to turn the knob on the stove top. The other one rests loosely on his hip where the band of his sweatpants hang, string untied. His shirt is crumpled unevenly, one hem lower than the other as his metal fingers play with the edge absentmindedly. It’s a bit of a shock for you to realize that Bucky Barnes putting the kettle on is what gets you going.

You’ll take it, though.

You grab a glass of water and down it in three seconds flat before you do anything stupid, but when you turn around you catch him staring at your ass. So, you stare blatantly back at his tush, eyes comically wide.

“Those your bedroom eyes?” He asks, grinding the coffee beans and dumping them into the press. When the kettle begins to screech, he takes it off and fills up the carafe, tapping out five minutes on the microwave timer.

“Buck,” you call seriously, hopping up to sit on the counter, “It’s almost three—neither of us should be drinking coffee.”

“No.” He corrects, “You shouldn’t be drinking coffee. It doesn’t affect me. I just like the taste.”

“I’m gonna drink some if you drink some.”

“What are you, a lemming?”

“Yes. If you jump, I jump. If you sip the chocolate bean juice, I sip the chocolate bean juice.”

He laughs, and you do too, finding the sound of it more charming each time you hear it. God, he’s so stupidly handsome. You kick your foot out, poking his side with your toe until he shifts and slyly nestles himself in between your legs. “Stevie’s gonna get jealous.”

You seriously doubt there is any merit to that statement. If anything, you think, Steve is probably creeping around in the shadows with your dog, cheering Bucky on silently. He’s a motherfucker like that, orchestrating all of this like a horny puppeteer.

But no, really, he’s very sweet. They both are.

Leaning in, you tug Bucky forward by the collar of his shirt, wrapping your legs around his torso and pulling him in for a kiss. He smiles against your lips, and you’re half tempted to pull away just to get another look at it on his face; it’s something you’ll never get enough of.

His cold hand runs up the length of your spine while the other slips beneath the opening of your romper, tugging playfully on the fabric of your underwear. “You---mmmf—pervy old fuck.” He keeps on, slipping his tongue into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip when you try to pull away for air. He could smother you, and you’d let him. He’s acting like it’s his intention, anyway.

A part of you feels alleviated, as if the new intimacy has stripped everything else away. You move naturally with Bucky, running your hand through his hair, trailing your fingers over his shoulder and arm—something you were previously concerned about even bringing up. Another part of you is a bit more grounded, too.

The questions you have for them keep getting brushed off. Some things aren’t as easy as they make them seem. Certainly, this relationship won’t be?

“Don’t start this again.” Bucky murmurs, as if reading your thoughts.

“I can’t help it!” You whine. “I’ve never done this before! Nor will it ever happen again—the two of you aren’t exactly regular people, you know?”

“It better never happen again.” Bucky places both his hands on your waist, “Once you’re in, you’re in for life, kid.”

Your eyes widen when you look at him, jaw set firmly, eyes searing into yours. “We’re serious about you. So, what’s it gonna be?”

The timer beeps and he turns around to carefully push the plunger into the press, leaving you staring at the dark tresses of his head. Your heart beats in your chest like a collapsing drum, crashing down and falling apart at Bucky’s bare feet.

He pours two mugs and empties the rest into a thermos for later.

Behind the thin cover of the steam, you avert your eyes. “Y-yeah.” You mutter.

“Yeah?” Bucky takes a sip. You’re not made of super soldier, so you wait for the coffee to cool.

“Yeah. Yes.”

Bucky licks his lips and tilts his chin at you, smiling, “Drink your coffee, sweetheart. Let’s go fuck.”

--

It’s … you can’t even. That’s what being with Bucky is like.

In the cool chamber of the guest room you’ve been sleeping in, he lays you down on the mattress and taps his fingers up and down your arms until your skin crawls with goosebumps. His touches are feather-light, deliberately gentle, teasing and tugging on every last one of your stretched nerves.

No, you would have never guessed upon meeting him that he could be capable of this kind of tenderness. He was joking when he said fuck, because you are certain no part of what he will do to you is as indelicate as that word. Fuck can be reserved for another time— but this, this feels remarkably close to love.

He’s stripped down and sitting up, letting you see him as he is under the soft lamplight glow. Bucky tucks his hair behind his left ear and waits for you.

“Yeah?” He asks quietly, timid smile forming on his lips.

You sit up too, face him, and pull the straps of your outfit down until it pools around your waist. Then you lift yourself up out of it and crawl into his lap, pressing your body flush onto his.

“Yeah.” You sigh, “Yes, Bucky.” And then you can’t help but laugh just a little as you bury your face into his neck. It’s silly. “God—who would have thought?” You ask, “Us? Right now?”

He grins too, kissing your shoulder, “Thought I was going to murder you that night.”

“Yeah. I would have been fine with it as long as you took care of my dog.”

He bites the same place he just kissed. “Don’t ever. Again. Never.” The finality of his statement shuts you right up with a quick yelp with his teeth clamped down on you.

“Okay, sorry.”

“Shit sucks, but now you got us.”

“Okay.”

He nips at your neck, hand rearranging your legs until they lock in behind him. He is warm and hard, your own hands travel over the plane of his chest and around to trace the muscles of his back.

The door squeaks open slightly. Both of you turn to see Steve entering with a lazy smile, flushed pink and shirtless.

“You sleep good?” Bucky asks before he returns to your collarbone, making a trail down to your sternum.

“Mhm. See you got started without me.”

“Sorry.” Bucky responds, not sounding like it at all, “Couldn’t get ya to wake up.”

He rocks his hips up, pushing against your underwear, and you let out what sounds like a balloon on its last squeak of deflation. Steve chuckles and finds a seat behind you, flattening his palm on your lower back, urging you forward.

You should probably be nervous, but for some reason you aren’t. Steve’s hand anchors you, holds you against Bucky carefully. The three of you balance on this tightrope wire, looking over the edge down into shadows.

But there’s a net there. And when you all fall together the love will catch you.

It’s all love.

Steve kisses your back and scoots forward until his chest is pressing into your spine. His other hand pulls your panties to the side and Bucky takes the opportunity to slowly press in.

You arch forward into him, your breasts to his mouth. They’re one and the same, guiding each other, murmuring in low tones and whispers. Slowly, as they move and touch and consume you, you become the same, too, until all three of you melt into the darkness.

--

Morning arrives and pulls you awake in a jarring grip. Your back is sweaty again, completely drenched and slippery as you wiggle your way out from two naked bodies.

Steve stirs slightly, nuzzling his nose into your cheek. “Mm-uh. Stay.” He tries to convince you by pressing his torso to your side, rubbing himself against your thigh. “We can do it right here.”

Your face burns hot as Bucky groans on the other side.

“I gotta get up and do some work, Steve.” You run your hand through his hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp, “I’ll be back to wake you two. We gotta go to King’s Island today.”

He kisses the top of your head sweetly, but you have to get up or else the work will be so piled on you’ll never resurface from it.

You slip from them, leaving Steve’s grumbling behind.

 Furious clicking finds Bucky and Steve when they rise an hour later. You sit in the living room with your tablet balanced in your lap, the thermos from last night empty. They watch proudly as you flip through an enormous journal full of notes and then turn to another binder full of print-outs.

“Hey.” You say distractedly, “Pancakes and sausages’re in the oven keeping warm, I got three more exams and then we can get started.”

Buckeye is faithfully by your knee, tail tapping against the cushion at the two men in the hallway.

When they don’t move, you turn and look at them, “What’s up?”

Steve’s arms are crossed as he leans against Bucky. They share silly smiles because you’re crosslegged again and surrounded by paper and books and your fingers are moving even too fast for super soldiers to keep up with.

“Lookit her, Stevie.” Bucky grins, “Smart girl.”

You make another charming ppppffftptbbblblbppttt and roll your eyes. You know he means it but the compliment is so strange escaping his lips. It’s still new, his affection. Steve’s too, you suppose. Your cheeks flare anyway as they pad into the kitchen for breakfast.

You were sure to make precisely a bajillion blueberry pancakes this morning and a tray full of sausage links, saving just a few of each for yourself. Between reading a book and taking notes, cooking on a giant griddle and sticking sausages in an oven made the tasks relatively simple. You’ll also read and grade on the way to the park.

In the corner of your eye, Steve pokes at a fluffy stack with his fork. Bucky bites into a sausage and waggles his eyebrows. They both snort and start flicking each other off. You have to focus, but damn if they don’t make it hard to stay on track.

Spending the last two months in their presence has made little changes to your routine that you’re now thankful for. Before them, it was nothing but school and Buckeye. Hardly any time to cook or to enjoy yourself. There was nothing but monotony and the proclamation of your dog being the only tether to this world.

Your poor therapist, worrying her lip each time you came by in a rush between your classes, words tumbling so fast she had to make you stop and literally breathe each time.

 Now, there’s so much laughter. So much silliness.

Your cheeks continue to burn.

There is so much love.

 Steve plants a syrupy kiss to your lips. Bucky presses a berry onto your tongue soon afterwards.

The tablet is pulled away, books too. Even Buckeye is picked up and placed onto another chair. Your disagreeing voice is smothered by two mouths, taking turns overwhelming yours.

“I gotta--”

“Nope,” Bucky hushes.

“Not right now.” Steve confirms.  “Gonna do you on the couch.”

“It’s a nice couch,” Bucky states plainly, “Real nice. Soft leather.”

“Your parents’ couch.” Steve adds.

Bucky laughs in your ear, pressing your chest down until your back hits the soft cushion, “That’s direct action, baby.”

--

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no oh no-ohnonononono…” And then finally, “FUCK NO!”

The shriek flings itself back behind your shoulder as the rollercoaster drops down and takes your stomach right out of your throat along with your words.

Bucky is cackling madly to your left, Steve on the other side of him whooping. He’s yelling something that is making Bucky laugh harder, but you can’t hear it for the whips of wind tearing through your ears.

“Technically!” You yell, “King’s Island is an expansion of Coney— but no one really remembers—- Ah FUCK!”

The loop slams your head into the cushioned rest, and you bite down on your cheek. You’re going to vomit. You scream again when the next drop throws your stomach up into your diaphragm.

As the ride slows, you blink the tears away and sniffle.

“Aw, baby. It wasn’t that bad.”

“It’s the wind you jerk! I’m not actually crying!”

“Are you gonna throw up?” Steve wonders, thinking on the memory of the Cyclone.

“No! Don’t get your hopes up, Rogers. You’re the only one here who’s a bitch.”

Bucky laughs and tugs you against his side. The three of you trek onward to the next destination, caps pulled low on your heads so that neither of them are recognized. Luckily, it’s overcast again so Bucky wearing a long sleeve isn’t so strange.

The only strange thing is that three of you are full grown adults at the park without any children. Either way, there are occasional stares.

A frozen banana is shared and devoured in three bites from three different mouths. Five more rides are taken and when you take them into the line for Flight of Fear, Steve peers around curiously at the very X-Files décor. Real Roswell, you share, pretending to be that guy from the History Channel, Aliens!

At the loading station, Steve bristles and you’re not sure why until you see the cryotube props. Bucky pats him on the shoulder, “Don’t get offended for my sake.” He climbs into the seat behind you and Steve and plays with your hair when the shuttle clatters forward into the dark.

“I didn’t realize.” You whisper in Steve’s ear.

“I can hear you.” Bucky replies.

 When the rain hits as you’re buying your second frozen banana, Steve is ready to go home. He’s not spending another day sopping wet on an outdoor excursion. The white of his shirt turns peach like his skin.

-

You take them to a bar, instead, even though you promised that you were just showing them the scenic route before heading home. In the car, Bucky grew suspicious when you began to drive in the opposite direction, but you distracted Steve with more threats of Skyline, and he was quick to reel Bucky to his side.

It’s still somewhat early, only around eight or so, and the bar is barely half-full, mostly couples who are at the end of their day-drinking and want to relax with video games.

“Knock yourself out. All arcade games are free.” You grin happily, “This place is awesome. And the drinks are--” You kiss your fingertips and blow it into the air, “Be back in a sec.”

They watch you prance over to the bar and wait in line, bouncing on your feet. Steve shrugs and begins to wander while Bucky lingers by the table, eyes fixed on you. When you arrive at the bar, you smile cheerily at the bartender and show him your ID.

You’re much nicer to strangers than you are to… Bucky scoffs inwardly, superheroes, apparently. The more Bucky watches, the bigger his smile grows. You’re leaned forward, listening intently as the guy points to each item on the menu. It’s cute how your nose scrunches up at something you don’t like, or the way you nod enthusiastically when something catches your fancy.

Then, suddenly, Bucky begins to grow apprehensive because why are you spending so long at the bar? And why are you leaning forward so far and smiling so much? You have never smiled for that prolonged of a time at anything other than your dog.

You catch his eye a few seconds later and wink at his scowl. Upon returning with three drinks in your hands and a wrapper of something in your mouth, he understands now.

“That dude gave me free drinks and a popsy.”

You slide one glass to him and keep the others. Then, you tear open the plain package and reveal a bomb pop—red white and blue. “Popsicle!” Then you stick it in your mouth and swirl the ice around until it turns a muted purple, staining your tongue.

Distractedly, you look around for Steve who is standing at a pinball machine, tapping furiously on the paddles.

Bucky sends you a withering look.

“Don’t be a wet blanket. I got the drink for you. It only cost me five minutes and a smile.” Then you dunk the popsicle in his cocktail and give him a cold kiss on the cheek. He shakes his head, glares back at the bar where the guy is looking over and stands up so that he’s blocking the view to your back.

 Next to Steve, Bucky tattles.

“Oh, be quiet!” You cry, hand coming up to cover his face, “Mom and Daaaaad!” You whine nasally, “Can I go out to plaaaaaay?”

“You were flirting for a free drink!” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Excuse me, there are three?” You steal the popsicle back and crunch through it.

Steve huffs, crosses his arms, and lets his pinball fall straight in-between the immobile paddles. The machine warbles sadly before honking out game over sirens. Lights flash around the rectangle of its frame.

“Well—” Steve pauses, “Well, good for you, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” You smile. Two girls to your side giggle at the conversation and you turn and curtsy to them. “Jonathan with the eyes is a sucker, ladies.”

Bucky grumbles and throws his drink down, snaps the wooden stick in half with his teeth. Everyone has fucking eyes, he thinks.

 An hour later and all arcade games exhausted, Bucky drives home in silence, fuming. He’s still not over the fact that you saddled up next to some guy, but he just has to get over it. It’s really not a big deal. Steve winks at you from the front seat, catching your eye in the mirror.

-

“Funny movie?” You ask, kicking your feet onto the top of the coffee table, remote in hand and clicking mindlessly.

“Rom-com.” Steve requests, pointing to a title above two generic white actors giving each other enamored glances. Lame.

“Zombies.” Bucky deadpans.

They both turn to look at each other, shaking their heads in disappointment at what’s been thrown out. You sigh, trying to find something that fits all three.

“Tucker and Dale, it is.”

-

When another college kid gets impaled, Steve pauses the movie.

He is not a fan. “I don’t get it!” He keeps saying, “Just call the cops!”

You throw your head back, “It’s bumfuck nowhere!”

He picks the next one.

-

“I hate this.” You stab the red button on the remote and shut off another mistletoe kiss. How does he even find Christmas Lifetime movies in the middle of the summer?

Bucky snatches it from the couch and clicks the screen back on.

“Zombies.” He proclaims again.

“It’s just not logical!” Steve cries, “They’re dead!” His voice rises until you think it could crack the chandelier in the living room, “What—why would they even be eating anything? They’re dead!”

“Zombies!” Bucky shouts.

“No!” You scream in reply, stomping your foot. In the background, Steve continues his rant—something about Banner finding a cure, something else about the sun, another thing about regardless of how the world is terribly messed up, God will not blight the Earth with zombies, of all creatures.

“Zom-bies.” Bucky hisses, glaring at you, as if you are the point of origin for his ire.

Buckeye hops off the couch and plods over under the coffee table. He snorts and shuffles around and scratches the rug before lying down and staring at the three of you like you all share one single braincell.

When Bucky hollers ZOMBIES for the final time, you lock eyes with your dog, who whines pathetically and turns away, as if he is embarrassed by the humans.

-

Cillian Murphy is twenty-something and gorgeous. You are obviously drooling over those enormous blue eyes and pouty, swollen lips, even if he is wind-chafed and underweight, running around in a flapping hospital gown.

Steve gets an idea when you lick your lips distractedly, reaching over the back of Bucky’s neck to twist a lock of your hair in his finger. Bucky shrugs him off, but he continues. 28 Days Later or not, Steve’s on a mission; fuck the zombies.

Obviously, you have a type.

But if he voices it, Bucky might go slash Jonathan’s tires and find Cillian Murphy somewhere in Ireland and do the same thing to him, too. New love, Steve muses, such a delicate thing.

He gets up and sits on your other side, pulling until you are resting on his chest. “Is it scary?” He asks.

“Ooooh, so scary,” you squeal, and then suddenly jump when one of the undead shrieks and tears down the road, “Fuck! These are runners!?”

“Eat him.” Bucky goads, “Eat him, goddamn it.”

Steve pulls your chin away from pointing at the screen and kisses you slowly, tugging you back each time you continue to turn, fixed on the scene. “Mmm, baby.” He sighs, “C’mere.”

“Dude, Steve, I— he’s mmmhm.. okay, wait…would you—- mm!” His tongue slides into your mouth as one hand grips your head. Okay, this fucker knows what he’s doing. “Buck,” you gasp, “fill me in on the deets because—”

“Because you have a crush on this guy, too?” Bucky glares, crossing his arms. You pull away from Steve and weave each attempt he makes at devouring your face.

“Are you serious?” You ask, “You are sipping hella dumbass juice right now.”

“Jealous juice.” Steve corrects, and you smirk at him because the two of you combined are a lethal dose of one-hundred-percent pure bastard straight into the bloodstream. Leaning over, still strapped in on Steve, you clasp your hand over Bucky’s jaw, pinching his cheeks together with a glare.

“You said in for life, you brat.” You mutter, “I’m in a relationship—not dead. Not ungrateful or unfaithful, either. Handle the fact that I’m a person, or get out.”

His eyes widen the same time Steve’s does because you’ve never been this serious with them before. Your tone is grave and your stare is fiery. In the middle of four-hundred solid pounds of serum-injected mass, you are a stark contrast, but somehow holding all the cards.

Something prods your inner thigh and you narrow your eyes, turning to Steve. “Really, Stevie? This is what does it for you?”

He only grins back, licking the corner of his mouth, “Can you blame me? Guess I’ve got a type too. Bossy. Mouthy.”

Bucky groans and smacks the back of his head into the cushion. “I guess I do too. Fuck.”

It’s as close to an apology as you’ll get, and you love that stupid, stubborn boy so you’ll take it. Steve smiles at him and then at you before pulling you closer by your hip bones, letting the heat of him burn past the layers of your clothes.

Bucky is content to watch, waiting for your permission.

Linking your fingers through his, you place both entwined hands on his thigh and kiss Steve, letting your tongue touch his in a slow, teasing lick. He chuckles into your mouth, grips the back of your head in a blistering passion and pushes his chest into yours until it feels like he’s crushing your rib cage. If this is how you die, flattened between two searing-hot (literally and otherwise) men who—Christ, love you for whatever reason—it’d be a death you look forward to.

Steve pulls away suddenly, eyes twinkling with some secret knowledge.

“What?”

“You called me Stevie.”

“Did I?”

Bucky grins, “Ooooh, Stevie…” he doesn’t know how to squeal so he says it in a low, husky tone instead and you swear Steve moans a little before he breaks out into a wide smile, so bright you have to squint. Jesus, Captain America should be on T.V.--- wait, he already is. You are so completely lost in that look he’s got on, like you’ve presented him with a puppy or something that you hardly notice Bucky to your side, humming a low throaty tune.

“So…” he sings, gesturing to the space where you have leaned away from Steve and then down to the tent in Steve’s jeans, “You guys fuckin’ or what?”

 ____________

The end of summer break nears and you’re ready for two years of writing your dissertation before you can fuck off out of the program with a diploma and a J-O-B. It’s both exciting and terrifying at the same time, but if you’re good at anything, it’s putting on a front. This semester you are working as a TA for one of your favorite professors and juggling an off-campus job at the local coffee shop.

Three more days left until the start of the semester and you’ve already met early with your professor and created your email list.

Buckeye is well, drooling all over the place, flopping down and staring out the window. Same as ever. Manhattan assholes still glare at him when you walk him down the street but it sure helps when Steve or Bucky are by your side and glare right back.

It’s cute.

Two boyfriends.

Who the heckin’ would have thought that the night your life flashed before your eyes twice (unnamed goon and Bucky Barnes’ fist nearly in your face) that you’d come out of it with two semi-retired Avengers attached to your hip?

Three days left and you’ve convinced them to jet off on a tiny mini-cation. You wrestled the wheel from Bucky and drove an hour east from the DFW airport with Steve singing along to Sad n’ Sexy Santa while Bucky kicks his seat repeatedly. It makes your heart swell because damn, how’d you get so lucky?

The interstate reaches cropped green plains as the metroplex skyscrapers sink further away into the horizon behind you. From the backseat, Bucky sits up, leaning on Steve’s chair as he stares out the front windshield at a cartoonish yellow sign.

“What… is… it?”

You smirk. “It’s why we’re here. That, and brisket.”

“It’s a gas station?” Steve is confused, too. You’ve been tight-lipped about the entire thing. But his eyes widen before fearfully glancing back and forth across the colossal parking lot and the stretch of what looks like fifty gas-pumps. “Or is it an airport…?”

You lead them in and it’s like their whole world has turned upside down. Steve and Bucky stare at the expanse of seemingly never-ending aisles. People rush about, enormous bags of popcorn under their arms. Chips, candy, kolaches, bear claws, stuffed animals, clothing, Texas-shaped cutting boards, and blinged out purses. There is even an aisle dedicated to pebbles. What does it mean?

“It’s a Buc-ees.” You state, waving your hand in a wide circle, palm flat. “Whatdya think, Bucky?”

The pun is not lost on him and he grumbles.

“You dragged me all the way out here for this?”

“And brisket.”

“There’s brisket in Manhattan, baby.” Steve suggests, but you whip around and hiss at him, “Don’t you dare. Heathen. Ain’t no beef like Texas beef. Grade A, one-hundred-percent beef.” Then you pause and with an exaggerated raise of your eyebrow, pinch his bottom. “And you too, I guess.”

Steve yelps with a slight jump, turning redder than Buc-ee Beaver’s cap as the eyes of strangers find him.

Your Bucky doesn’t notice, only staring on mesmerized by the bustle of foot traffic and the smells of jerky, candy, and the fresh, burning scent of Pine-Sol cleaner. Ahhhh… a perfect combination.

“What is this.” Bucky mutters, “It looks like hell.”

With a clap on his arm and a proud puffing of your chest, you pick up a nearby orange shirt with the slogan You can go to hell. I’m going to Texas.

“Welcome to Texas, baby. Everything’s bigger.” With a perverted leering at his groin, you wink. "You’ll fit right in.”

[dc81600]

SCP-REDD

In a dark room a bank of monitor screens illuminated a pale face. The rusted brown glow of the video feeds gave Roger Little more color than the sun had cared to give him in the past few months. Half a kilometer north and two hundred meters down, an automated surveillance drone slowly made its way through a series of corroded metal hallways.

It was oddly silent, beyond the whine of computers and the whir of fans. Roger fiddled with his volume before checking the system audio. Nothing but the noises of the drone itself. No groaning, no creaking, no screaming. Just the soft click clack of the drone.

Roger checked the timing. The drone should have reached it by now. He squinted into the glare and overrode the drone. Nothing but flakes of rusted metal scattered across a floor of rusted metal, fallen from the walls and ceiling of rusted metal.

After several minutes of searching, Roger rubbed his temples. He drummed his fingers on his little metal desk and took a few deep breaths. He reached over and picked up the bulky plastic phone sitting on the edge of his work space. He dialed the number and only had to wait a few seconds before it was answered.

"Sir? It's Roger Little, from Surveillance. We may have a problem."

In the cold reaches of space, a satellite continued to do what it had done for over a decade. It hung in the weaker clutches of the Earth's gravity and watched a man wander about.

The man it was watching, however, was doing something a ways away from his status quo. He was running. Through the sweltering heat of the American Southwest in the middle of its summer, over the scorched earth, under a blazing sun, Mister Lost ran.

In hot pursuit was a man with fiery red hair. His black jacket left unbuttoned, it snapped behind him like shadows cast by a fire, the red trimming a much duller affair than his hair. He was gaining on Lost, who continued to make the mistake of looking over his shoulder. Each glance seemed to give the red-haired man more speed.

The eventual collision left Lost sprawled on the ground for a moment before he tried crawling away. The second man was up in a near instant. He brushed himself off and waited a moment before continuing his pursuit. He walked just behind Lost for a time, until he tried to get up. The pursuer kicked his target back onto the ground. This repeated itself for some time, until the red-haired main simply grabbed the man in the green jacket and dragged him in the opposite direction.

They eventually came upon a third man, who had been sitting on a rock outcropping. Blood and rust clung to every inch of his body. With what seemed to be considerable effort, the man stood. He took two steps before falling.

The red man grabbed the rusted man by the shirt and hauled him up onto his shoulder in a way that was quick but not unkind. All the while Mister Lost remained gripped in his opposite hand. After what looked like a satisfied sigh, the red man walked east.

An O5 rolled an unlit cigar back and forth over the sleek top of his desk. In front of him, the video feed on his monitor ended. Beyond that, his secretary stood at attention.

The secretary took a brief glance at his clipboard. "As you can see, sir, the unknown humanoid has captured both 2933 and 920. Further surveillance from multiple sources show it is now heading for one of our facilities."

The Overseer idly flicked the cigar, sending it spinning. "Given the context, I'm guessing it can be safely assumed who the entity is?"

"It's attacked two of the three Little Mister anomalies we don't have properly contained and now seems to be heading for the Site where we contain the other seventeen. Combined with its general appearance, yes. The list's designation number fourteen, Mr. Redd."

"Lock the Site down. We don't know what Redd is capable of. Considering it was able to escape 2933-1 and has been able to transport 920 for over a hundred miles without stopping, it's not something we want to discover first hand in the midst of an active facility."

The secretary nodded and departed for his own desk. Left alone, the Overseer plucked the cigar up and spun it between his fingers. He replayed the submitted videos and quietly thought to himself.

Eventually his secretary returned, and after a brief wait hustled back out with a freshly stamped order. Alone again, O5-4 slid the silver lighter off his desk and thumbed it several times before it sparked.

A group of people sat in a room full of monitors. Not quite like the one previously described, which was merely a one man obligation simply for the principle of the thing. As the door so boldly claimed, reading Site-██1 Security, this was a security station for a Foundation site, full of attentive individuals, with live feeds covering nearly every hallway and the ability to stream feeds from various containment cells if forwarded from the cell's own containment team.

One attentive individual sat up in her chair, more so than her already perfect posture had allowed. She began squinting at one of the monitors showing a feed of a camera deep within the facility, well away from any of the entrances.

Within the frame was a trio of men. One was dressed in a black and red jacket, one in a coat of metal, and one in a green hoodie. The first was carrying the second and dragging the third, the former of which was groaning and screeching like rusted clockwork and the latter was attempting to crawl away despite appearing to be unconscious.

She wondered how they arrived in the site despite it being locked down, when no one else had made any sort of comment. The worker flagged down her superior as quick as she could and explained what she had seen. But when she pointed to the group of monitors of the area the men had just been spotted in, they were nowhere to be seen. Now one of her coworkers, who had been monitoring an entirely different Wing, was reporting about them.

By the time attention arrived on the monitor in question the men were nowhere to be seen, and further examination showed they had disappeared from surveillance entirely.

O5-4 snubbed out his cheap cigar in one hand and thumbed one of the buttons on his monitor with the other. A round woman with sharp eyes snapped into view.

After a smokey exhale the O5 sat up and meshed his fingers together, if only for himself. His outgoing calls only showed a generic silhouette. "Dziekan. I hope all is well."

The Site Director fidgeted. To her credit, it was only slightly. "Not as such, sir. Redd has somehow breached the site with both Lost and Scary. More than that, he broadcasted a video message from somewhere in the facility. And he's made demands."

The weight of the silence from her superior stayed Dziekan. After several seconds O5-4 took a slow breath and said, "Somewhere in the facility?"

"Well. Sir. I don't recognize the area. It appeared to be a medical bay, but it definitely isn't any I'm aware of. With him was a little girl with a swollen stomach. He called her Katherine but we don't have any subjects on file with that name."

The name pressed down on the Overseer's chest. He took slow, deep breaths in an effort to calm himself but every inhale became more and more difficult. On autopilot, his hands opened his cigar case. The lighter sparked on the first flick and he took a deep drag. On exhale he realized what he was doing, but decided he may as well enjoy it while he could. How in the world could Redd have known about 231—

"O5-4? Are you still there?"

He shifted out of his daze, if only slightly. "Dziekan. Right. Yes. What were his demands?"

"For you to personally come in to see him, or he would kill the girl."

The next pull turned half the cigar to ash. "And?"

"Nothing else. Just for you to see him in person."

O5-4 watched his hand shake, smoke from the cigar zigzagging. "What did you tell him?"

"That I would notify you."

"You didn't say anything about that being against protocol, it being unlikely of happening, anything like that?"

"Seemed unwise to do so, given the context."

He finished his cigar. "If we're both alive tomorrow, remind me to give you a pay raise."

"Sir?"

He terminated the connection.

One door creaked open only to reveal another. O5-4 stepped through and stared down at the man leaning against the wall, an IV sticking into his arm. Mister Scary looked at him and smiled. The contraction chipped away some rust and blood flowed from the edges of his mouth. Neither said anything as the Overseer stepped past the Little Mister, glanced at the bag of morphine, and went through the second door, this one rusted open.

He considered breaking into a run down the hallway and settled on a stiff jog. Some of the tiles cracked under his feet and when he arrived at the double doors they were open, the joints rusting them in place. "I: 1-7 Os: Ker" was all that was visible of the plaque beside the doors.

Rust began to cling to some of the machinery, but the video feed of SCP-231-7's room was still functioning. Overseer Four steeled himself before looking.

A little girl lay in a hospital bed, her pregnant belly covered by her surgical gown. She seemed quite calm given the circumstances, but given her general situation there likely wasn't much that would upset her anymore.

Next to her bed was a man in a red vest, his jacket draped over the back of his seat. In one hand he held the ankle of a rusting man who was attempting to crawl away, and in the other he held a children's book.

The only sounds in the room were Lost groaning as his body rusted as he scrabbled against the decaying tiles and Redd reading in a warm voice.

O5-4 found the intercom and pressed the button. Katherine winced at the squealing as the system turned on and Redd cocked his head at the noise.

"Alright, Mister Redd. I'm here."

Redd released Lost and slowly turned in his seat to reach into his jacket pocket, removing a piece of paper. He marked his place in the story and shut it, setting the book on the bed. As Redd looked into the camera O5-4 saw flakes of brown and black on Redd's skin, red lightning sparking against it and revealing smooth skin.

Redd smiled. "Please, no need for the 'Mister' formality. We're all friends here. I'm Redd open parenthesis discontinued closed parenthesis. My friends just call me Redd. How are you, Four?"

Geniality was not what O5-4 was expecting. A few moments passed, filled only with the sound of Lost banging on the door, before Redd tilted his head and waved at the camera. O5-4 cleared his throat and said, "I've been better, Redd. You've been causing a lot of problems lately. Now what is it you want?"

Redd shrugged theatrically, splaying his palms. "Sorry about that. Though I do believe I was clear with my video earlier. I'd like to see you, face to face. No cameras, no PA systems. No tricks, no body doubles."

Was that a knife in Redd's hand? No, nothing. A trick of the light, a video oddity.

"Before that, I have one question. How did you get here?"

"Walked."

"The site has been on lockdown and you were able to avoid surveillance for most of your trek despite us having a satellite meant to track Mister Lost. And you somehow not only knew of this Wing, but how to access it."

"Like I said, I walked. As for why I knew, call it insider information. Now, please do get in here."

Again, a glimpse of black in his palm. A jagged shadow that played hell with the lighting of the room.

With great trepidation O5-4 unlocked the blast door and dodged Lost as he darted past. After watching the Little Mister run down the hall, the Overseer stepped into the room. It smelled of disinfectant and lilac, thanks to the small aromatizer next to the bed. He felt his heart hammer away at his throat as he looked to Redd, and clench slightly when the child gave him a little wave.

Redd gestured to the armchair on the opposite side of the bed. Once they were both seated Redd cupped his hands together and sighed.

"So, this is it," Redd said. "The finale. The brief period after a long sentence that drips with the taste of freedom. How long have you been doing this job?"

The Overseer was silent.

Redd smiled. Four would have sworn the overhead lights took on a slightly bloody hue.

"I," Redd finally said, "have been a Little Mister for… what is it, almost twenty years? Something like that. It's been difficult, let me tell you."

Redd looked down at the dagger in his hand, which was now all too real. With something akin to reverence he lifted it up and dragged the shadow across his own throat, cutting so deep his exposed trachea whistled softly. Red ran down his shirt. But it clung at odd places, depicting runes that sat at the edge of the Overseer's memory. Lightning lanced out and into the damage, the blood draining as red sparks healed the wound.

The Little Mister took another breath, "And there's no getting away from it. It won't let me go. As long as this stupid dirt ball keeps spinning, I'm going to be here. Unchanging. Undying. Unable to feel much beyond blinding rage."

He smiled again. "But what if I stopped the spinning? What if I could stop it all? What if I could stop hurting? I'd have to try, right?"

"If that's your intention, why bring me here? Why drag the other two around?"

"I guess I needed some kind of... closure," Redd said, his eyes distant.

I walked. I don't know how long, but I did. I know that much. I somehow ended up at the Wonderworks, the place that had eluded me for so bloody long. And it was running. No old man, but the place was bustling all the same. It was the gods damned child! The oh, so lovely Isabel! But what could I do to her? She was in the same sort as me, in a way. She asked me why you pricks hadn't collected me yet. I didn't really have an answer, but I figured, why not? Not like I had anything else to do. Suicide wasn't the option, as you can plainly fucking see!

But as I got closer, I got this feeling. This itching, burning sensation digging into my soul— if I even have one anymore. There was a thing, locked deep in the hole my brothers were buried. It spoke to me in ways I'll never be able to convey to you. Just. Fuck. It felt good. And I knew. I knew! I always thought I was just subject to anger issues, but all along I was a subject to the King!

Did you know gods can't die? They just… fade, waiting for their time to come again. But they still leave corpses. Something to jam a spigot into and tap into whatever power might be left lying around. The old man must have gotten desperate. Brass wasn't enough, even as big as the corpse he got pulled from is. A Broken universe still yields a Broken power, and a sliver of a fragment isn't worth much of anything. So he tried something a bit more intact, and…

...

What was I talking about? …Wait. Wait, no…

...

I used to say I have these… lucid moments. It's like— Do you wear glasses? You look the type. That brief time when you put them on, when your eyes see both through and around the lens. And everything just seems to warp around you as the glass rushes forward, the world shifts as the filter expands. You wear them long enough and you stop seeing the frames in your vision, don't feel the arms on your ears anymore.

...

I can't tell if my humanity is the prescription or the astigmatism anymore.

And I don't care. I'm so, so sick of it all. My eyes are strained to the point of bleeding and I can't close them. But at least that means I get to watch the end.

Redd eventually stirred from his trance. "Here, I want you to have this." He removed the bookmark from its spot and unfolded it before handing it over.

O5-4 stared at the list. One line in particular drew his eye.

14. Mr. Redd (discontinued) ✔

The man stood there for a moment, eyes unfocused. Somewhere in his mind the twentieth slot was filled. He leaned to the right, his hand out as if ready for a cane to take the weight. After a moment he caught his balance and examined his right hand, then the left, flexing and clenching them. He straightened back up and examined the room.

The former body of O5-4 took a breath.

Mister Collector let it out.

Collector reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp piece of paper, uncrumpled despite its confines.

He let out a small chuckle. The paper between his thumb and middle finger, he snapped, and a bubble formed around the parchment. It floated just above his palm, bounced when he tapped it. He gave the top of the bubble a light pat and it collapsed into itself, away for him to take out later.

"How you feeling?" Redd asked from his seat.

"Better than I have in years," Collector responded. When he spoke, Redd sat up. Squinted. "And yourself?"

"You—!" Redd flew forward, knife in hand.

Collector slapped it away into a bubble, which soared just out of Redd's flailing grasp. Redd drew another from his sleeve and threw it, only for it to be caught in another bubble. Red in the face, Redd swung a fist while simply producing a dagger from his palm. Collector caught the punch and a silky bubble wrapped itself around Redd's hand. He pulled and yanked and was only able to free himself when he released his grip on the third shadow knife.

"How?!" Redd demanded. "You should be dead! The girl said you were dead!"

"I likely am. The me you are speaking to is merely a copy, made prior to Mister Forgetful erasing 'me' from my old body. Whatever was left in the body of Isiah Crawford after that was Doctor Wondertainment, though with a bit too much Factory mixed in for my taste. I suppose I remember all that because Forgetful couldn't get to me as I was merely in potentia. You remember Mister Mad?"

"He was a fucking— were we all just tests? A fucking training ground?"

"Not all of you, no." Mister Collector, née Doctor Wondertainment smiled. It lacked its old rainbow glow but it shined all the same. "Forgetful and Stripes to cover my tracks, the latter's brother to get you all here…" The smile faded. "…Scary. Ahem. Truth be told, this whole Collector concept was done fairly late into the project's development. I mostly wanted to see how things would turn out. How is Isabel doing?"

Redd glowered. "So then why was I made?"

The old man narrowed the eyes that weren't really his. "Hmm. You were a gamble, I suppose. Of course, I made a grave error— as they say, always bet on black."

Redd grabbed Collector by the collar. "Do you think this is a fucking joke? That I am somehow funny?"

"Not as such. My apologies, I was trying to lighten the mood. What would you like me to say? That you were a defect? That I condensed a power that was much more destructive than I could have imagined and pumped it into some young man's veins? I tried to change you, but you just wouldn't take much. So Redd you became."

Redd released his grip, his face expressionless. "So I'm a mistake."

Collector straightened his tie. "I would more say… an unfortunate surprise. But who doesn't like surprises?"

"Ha…" Redd reeled back, smiling. It took another few seconds for his face to move again. "I'll show you a surprise."

"And what's that?"

The grin in Redd's mouth was almost as sharp as the knives in Collector's bubbles. "That would be telling, dear father. Can't spoil the surprise."

Redd sidled next to the child's bed and smiled down at her. Katherine smiled back up at him, her gaze occasionally edging toward the other Mister. Redd sat down, the impact bouncing the book up and off of the bed. A chuckle left him as he bent over to get it.

Redd set the book down in the center of the bed. He traced out a curved knife on the cover. A spark of red followed his fingertip, outlining the weapon. Once completed the red flickered and was filled with black. Redd slipped the knife off the book as one would a playing card and held it for Collector to see. When Redd turned it so that the blade faced Collector, it appeared to merely be a wispy black line flickering in the light.

"Are you ready?" Redd asked Katherine in a soft voice.

The child took a few breaths. "Are you sure you can? I don't want Him getting hurt."

Redd twirled the knife in one hand and brushed back her hair with the other. "These people may have locked him away, but I just so happen to have the key."

With trembling fingers she lifted up her gown to expose her belly. Brands marked the swollen skin, dull and dark. They crackled like coal when Redd touched them. Katherine laid flat and squeezed her eyes shut.

The twisted scalpel slipped into her, the blade so fine she didn't wince. But as Redd ran the knife across her, she began to scream. The runes on her skin sizzled as Redd cut through them, vapor rising into the air. Within the girl, red and purple pulsed and writhed, her womb mangled and distended. It squished and squelched as her yelling became racking sobs.

All the while, Collector stood impassively at the foot of the bed. He had seen as bad, caused worse, but a twinge of guilt struck him as he thought of Sweetie. Hopefully she would at least speak to him when he found her. Collector stirred from his thoughts when Redd cleared his throat, knife hanging over the mess.

"Don't lose focus, old man. You're about to witness the birth of a new era. Or, at least, the death of this one."

The knife dropped.

Rather than cut or tear into the tissue, the dagger simply sank into it. Black into a mottled red. But as it was swallowed, a pinprick of bright red showed itself. There was a moment of stillness, even within the girl, as the shadows cast across her intestines swirled to the red.

The room was suddenly all too full. The smell of iron was nearly palpable, a loud ripping sound the only thing accompanying Katherine's now-resumed screams. Hardened flesh that matched the color of a dying sun dripped with blood and placenta. It pressed everywhere within the room, on the walls, under the bed, even within the inhabitants. The ceiling began to crack, and then the tearing sound intensified enough to drown out the sobs.

The ceiling exploded. The earth and concrete above it was obliterated as the thing rose, level after level was leveled by the growing expanse. It grew as it rose, each rising floor destroyed in a greater capacity. Eventually Site-██ was exposed to the open air, where dark clouds were beat about by a pair of reverse wings. Eleven mouths creaked open to take their first breaths.

Foundation personnel stared up in slack-jaw awe. At a distance, civilians who could spot at least the crown of horns began to panic. Down in the medical room, the trio remained. A thin umbilical cord connecting Katherine to her son. Redd cackled and pointed the monstrosity out to the spent child. Collector tapped the side of his head and a bubble formed around it.

The Seventh Son spoke. Clouds broke and the sky cracked under the weight of his words. The air itself tasted of blood. All those within the range of His mighty voice felt crimson run out their ears, with the exception of a single man standing in the center of it all. His bubble vibrated rainbows against the onslaught, but held.

"Do you see?!" Redd yelled, none hearing him over the din. He touched the blood coming from his ear and showed Collector. "It's over! I can finally be over!"

Once the bubble stopped shaking, Collector popped it. The world was silent, waiting for the Son's next words. He took the umbilical cord in his hand and proffered it to Redd. A crack of a smile broke Redd's face. From nowhere he produced another dagger and with no amount of ceremony separated mother and child.

Knowing this, the Seventh Son drew another breath. When He spoke again, His words fell on deaf ears. The air around him shimmered slightly, reflecting a rainbow in places.

Collector lowered his hand from where he had touched the Scarlet King's spawn. Something stuck to his hand, which he wiped off on the bed sheet. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie again.

After a moment he turned to Redd, a small smile on his lips. "I'm so sorry, I'm afraid I couldn't hear you over all the noise. What were you saying?"

Redd said nothing. He did nothing, for a short time. Then his eye twitched. He looked at the shimmer of the bubble around the Seventh Son, at the stain on the bed sheet. Bony palms dug into his eyes as he tried to rub whatever nonsense was clouding his vision. When he looked again, the scene was the same.

"…No," Redd finally said, a full sword in his hand. He slashed at the bubble, the blade digging into the film. Then it flew out of his hand as the bubble pushed back. "No."

Collector watched Redd attack the bubble over and over again with a variety of shadow weapons. After a dozen or so weapons were embedded in the wall behind him, Redd slashed at his own hands and thrust the scarlet lightning into the bubble. It did nothing but catch the light.

"No!" Redd repeated, turning on Collector. "No."

"Sorry, is this distracting you?" Collector said. He raised a palm and snatched away the Seventh Son, now the size of a newt contained within the ball in the Little Mister's hand. "I'll put it away."

Redd watched his savior vanish with a whimsical pop! Mouth agape, he turned to his Queen. She couldn't look back, her eyes glazed over. Her breaths came in short, ragged bursts. Redd ground his teeth together and turned back to Collector.

With a mouth full of blood and darkness, Redd yelled, "No!"

He stumbled forward, knife in hand without the usual motion. It buried itself in Collector's chest.

"No!" Redd screamed, spraying blood in Collector's face. He pulled the knife out of his brother/father and continued stabbing him. "No. No! NO!"

Blood flew from the knife with each stab. Droplets froze in midair, catching other sprays and sloshing together into hovering bubbles of blood. Color drained from Collector's face as Redd's gained more and more.

"No…" Redd whispered, losing breath. His arm fell, opening a large gash across Collector's stomach. The knife fell and disintegrated, merging with the shadow cast by the last blood orb. A tear droplet met it. "No…"

Collector/Isiah hugged his brother/son. Redd sobbed against the offered shoulder. When the cries weakened in strength, Collector led Redd back to his seat. Redd fell into it and wrapped himself in his jacket. With a flick of his wrist Collector brought the crimson orbs into himself. By the time he finished collecting what shadow weapons remained he regained his color, though he moved slowly. He went about pop!ing the armaments away save for one. He took it out of its bubble and sat on the arm of the chair, between Redd and Katherine.

"I can't say this is how I envisioned the family reunion," Collector mused. "But I think I can afford you at least one gift."

Redd almost laughed. "What could you possibly give me?"

"Less give." Collector tapped Redd's forehead. "More take."

Redd blinked. He stared at the swirling hate bubbled in front of him. He winced when it vanished with a light tap from Collector. Emptiness filled him. Wonderful, calming emptiness. Tranquil, simple serenity.

Redd felt where Collector had prodded him. "It… it's gone?"

"Simply somewhere else."

Redd nearly sprang from his chair. "The girl! You could… take whatever they did to her out? Make her right?"

"I don't believe they made her wrong," Collector said, turning his gaze to Katherine. "If the Scarlet King could enter this world without humanity's help, he would have done it already. She chose this life for him. There is nothing for me to take from her, except…"

The black dagger seemed to try to catch the light in his hand.

"At least let me do it," Redd urged.

"I didn't wash your hands of blood just for you to dirty them again, Redd," Collector replied. "What's a few more drops on mine?"

He was silent for a moment, and then Redd said, "I don't think I really want that name anymore."

"Oh?"

He closed his eyes. The roiling red sea of his mind was now a calm blue. "I'm thinking Bluee."

"Blue?"

"With two E's."

Collector wheezed a laugh. "So be it. Excuse me one moment, Bluee."

It was over quick. Bluee found it hard to look at her, so he covered her up.

"So… what now?" Bluee asked.

"Now you enter one of the Foundation's little boxes, like your siblings," Collector said.

"What? That's it?" Bluee stood. "No, that isn't fair, it can't just end like-"

Collector held up a hand, and Bluee went silent. Collector reached into his pocket slowly, like the old man he looked to be. "You may be free of the Scarlet King's branding, but not of Wondertainment's. I'm in the body of a Foundation Overseer now. We have to act our parts."

Collector finally retrieved the paper he had pulled from his pocket earlier. He offered it to Bluee, who took it gingerly.

Wow! You've found them all and became Mr. Collector!!

But the fun isn't over yet, because now a whole new set of Misters will soon be in development, brought to you by our own Ms. Heir!

00. Mr. Collector ✔ 01. Mr. Chameleon ✔ 02. Mr. Headless ✔ 03. Mr. Laugh ✔ 04. Mr. Forgetful ✔ 05. Mr. Shapey ✔ 06. Mr. Soap ✔ 07. Mr. Hungry ✔ 08. Mr. Brass ✔ 09. Mr. Hot ✔ 10. Ms. Sweetie ✔ 11. Mr. Life and Mr. Death ✔ 12. Mr. Fish ✔ 13. Mr. Moon ✔ 14. Mr. Redd (discontinued) ✔ 15. Mr. Money ✔ 16. Mr. Lost ✔ 17. Mr. Lie ✔ 18. Mr. Mad ✔ 19. Mr. Scary ✔ 20. Mr. Stripes ✔

Bluee made a double take.

But the fun isn't over yet, because now a whole new set of Misters will soon be in development, brought to you by our own Ms. Heir!

Bluee looked up.

Collector's smile had more strength than the rest of his body combined. "Because we're not done yet."