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punkshort · 4 months ago

Text

First Impressions

Thanks anon for this request!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: When your heater breaks in the dead of winter, you get more than you bargained for when Joel Miller arrives to fix it.

Warnings: language, some fluff, the stress and fear that comes with living in the wilderness during a zombie apocalypse, competency kink (a little), smut (18+ MDNI), dirty talk

WC: 4.2K

Adjusting to life in Jackson was tough. You had been on your own for so long, you found it nearly impossible to ever fully relax. You were grateful Tommy and Maria took you in after one of their patrols stumbled across you freezing in the thick Wyoming wilderness, but to be yanked from the brink of death and dropped into some thriving community that seemingly even managed to still celebrate the holidays was too jarring.

So, you kept to yourself for a while. You pitched in around the stables. It was where you felt most comfortable: less people, more animals. You didn't go to the dining hall to eat and you didn't visit the bar for a drink. You had a clear cut path from your house to the stables and back, and you rarely ever strayed.

Unfortunately, while Jackson had a lot to offer and did incredibly well at reviving civilization, things still did break. Like your space heater.

You piled on extra blankets for a week, and then you moved to the living room to sleep on the tiny sofa in front of the fireplace, but eventually your back was screaming at you for it and the cold weather wouldn't let up for at least another two months, so you had no choice but to ask for help.

Tommy was shocked you hadn't said something sooner and apologized for making you feel like you couldn't ask for help, even though it wasn't at all his fault or anyone else's except your own, and promised to have his brother stop by that afternoon to take a look at it.

While you kept to yourself and hardly socialized at all, that didn't stop you from overhearing things at the stables. You knew of Tommy's brother. How people whispered rumors behind his back and fell silent whenever he stepped foot inside the building.

Did you know he slit a raider's throat and made the guy's girlfriend watch?

He beat the shit out of Seth the other night just for looking at him wrong.

Back in Boston, I heard he knocked some guy's teeth down his throat for taking the last of the beef jerky.

Someone told me he only sleeps two hours a night.

He fixed Greg's shower and told him not to fuck it up again or else he'll be taking baths in the kitchen sink.

Were you intimidated? Maybe a little. But you had been on your own for so long, fighting and scratching and clawing to stay alive. Some asshole wasn't going to shake you up.

Then you saw him.

Well, you'd seen him before, sure. But just glimpses in the barn or passing by him on the street. Never up close.

When you opened your front door later that afternoon, you were a little taken aback. He was so much more handsome than you had thought. He was built like a refrigerator; broad and strong. His cheeks and chin were dusted in a patchy, greying beard, growing right below a hooked nose and deep, velvety brown eyes. There were a few scars littering his bronzed skin but what drew your attention more was his hair. His fucking hair. Loose, mostly grey curls that fell past his ear and down the back of his neck. Not long enough to pull into a ponytail, like Tommy, but give it a few more months and he might. He had them pushed back from his face, making the silken locks look like a cascading river so enticing, you had to hold yourself back from touching them.

He said your name and readjusted the toolbox in his hand and you blinked yourself back to life before stepping aside to let him in. When he passed you, you were hit with the strong scent of wood shavings and coffee, an intoxicating combination that had your brain buffering once again.

"Tommy said you needed your heater looked at?"

You nodded and pointed up the stairs. "It's in my bedroom. Can I, uh, get you something to drink? Coffee?"

He perked up at that once he slid off his jacket and shoes. "You got coffee?"

You nodded and walked toward the kitchen, rummaging through your meager belongings until you found the precious tin can. "That's the one thing I always made sure I grabbed if I ever saw it out there. If we have to live like this, at least I'm still having my coffee."

Joel grinned and set the toolbox down on your counter, watching as you filled up a kettle with water. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest. He couldn't believe how lucky he was that your stupid heater broke, giving him the perfect excuse to finally meet you so he could stop pining from afar. "You don't like it much here, then?"

You startled at that, giving him a look of surprise before lighting your stove.

"No, I didn't mean here, I just meant... you know... the world in general."

"I know, I'm just teasin' you," he said a little awkwardly with a soft chuckle. You turned around, leaning against your counter and crossing your arms over your chest. You had just spoken a few words but so far, nothing about this man screamed scary. In fact, he seemed rather... sweet.

"How long have you been here?" you asked while you waited for the water to boil.

"'Bout five years," he said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "You're new, though."

You nodded, your fingers fidgeting underneath your bicep. "Yeah. I think it's been almost a month. I'm not really sure, never bothered keeping track of the days out there."

Joel studied you up for a moment, picking up on your eyes shifting over your surroundings, your foot tapping anxiously on the floor, and the way you kept your back protected when you spoke to him.

"I remember when we first got here," Joel said. Your fidgeting paused and you looked at him again. "It was tough. Acclimatin' to this kind of life. Hard to sleep. Hard to trust anyone. It took time but eventually, you start sleepin' soundly again and that guard comes down. You'll see."

A slow smile spread across your face and you looked down shyly at your feet. "Am I that obvious?"

Joel laughed and strolled over to the two mugs and can of instant coffee you had sitting out. "Wouldn't say it's obvious but I haven't seen you at the dining hall one time. In fact, pretty sure this is the first time I've heard your voice." Your cheeks warmed up behind his back and you bit your lower lip. So he's noticed you enough to realize you never went to the dining hall.

"It's a pretty one," he said over his shoulder, focusing on scooping the correct amount of coffee into each mug. "Your voice, I mean. Shame you been keepin' it hidden all this time."

"O-oh," you stuttered, completely flustered by his compliments. This was not at all the man everyone made him out to be. "Thank you."

Joel carefully poured the boiling water into each mug before giving them each a stir, then handed you one. "You're welcome, darlin'. Now why don't you show me to your bedroom?"

Your eyes must have bugged out of your head because at first, he frowned, then after he realized what he said, turned a shade of pink you didn't know he was capable of.

"I mean, for the heater."

"Yeah, oh Christ, I know," you said, waving him off and heading for the stairs, your mug clutched so tightly in one hand you thought it might break. You lead Joel to the first door on the left and stepped back so he had room to swing his toolbox through the narrow door with him.

"I don't know what happened," you said, trailing in after him while he began to set out some tools on the ground. When he knelt down, he groaned at the creak in his knees and you quickly grabbed a spare pillow. "Here, kneel on this," you offered. He looked up at the pillow, then at you, and shook his head.

"I ain't kneelin' on your pillow."

"It's a spare. I only use the one. And honestly, even that seems too much sometimes."

He sighed and hesitated for only a moment longer before taking the pillow from your hand. "Thank you," he said softly. You smiled and sat down on the edge of your bed after putting your coffee on the end table with his.

"Anyway. As I was saying, I don't know what happened. It was working fine and then one day it just wouldn't turn on. I tried other outlets and I didn't see any issues with the cord, so I just gave up."

Joel began to unscrew the back of the heater while he listened. "So you gave up and slept in the cold for two weeks?"

"Nothing I wasn't used to."

He couldn't argue with that.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence while he worked until he began to hum some old country song under his breath, making you smile again. You couldn't remember the last time you smiled so much.

"What're you smilin' for?" he asked with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

"You aren't at all the way people say you are," you said boldly.

He quirked an eyebrow and turned his attention back to his work. "And what have you heard?"

You shrugged and leaned back on your hands. "Threatened a man after breaking his shower. Knocked out some guy named Seth. That you only sleep two hours a night," you chuckled at the last one when you heard how silly it sounded.

"Well," Joel said with a heavy sigh. "I didn't threaten anyone about their shower. Just reminded him he's gotta take care of the pipes or else the whole place'll rot."

You grinned to yourself as he continued to explain the rumors.

"I did punch Seth but he said somethin' real nasty 'bout my girl and, well, that just don't sit right with me."

Your grin slid right off your face. "Your girl?"

He stopped what he was doing and swiveled around to face you. "My - Ellie. Her name's Ellie. She's, uh, well... she ain't my daughter, but..."

Relief flooded your veins. "Oh. I thought you meant -"

"No, no," Joel said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "No, not like that." He twirled a wrench around in between his fingers as he nervously bit the inside of his cheek before adding, "Don't got anyone like that."

Your mouth formed a silent oh. Message received.

Joel cleared his throat again and turned back to the heater. "And the sleep thing, well, they got me there," he chuckled with a shake of his head. "Although some nights are better than others."

"I know what you mean," you said with a nod. After a moment of silence, Joel smiled to himself.

"Imagine y'do if you ain't got any heat at night."

You giggled and he smiled again, this time his chest swelling when he heard you laugh.

Joel continued to work on the heater while you studied him quietly. He took you by complete surprise. The last thing you expected was to make a friend out of the fearsome Joel Miller. It didn't hurt that he was so easy on the eyes, either. How old was he? Your gaze roamed over his greying hair and the crinkles next to his eyes. Older than you, definitely, but it was hard to tell by how much.

You couldn't even remember the last time you were interested in anyone. It must have been when you were in the Atlanta QZ, and that was years ago.

"Alright, let's give her a run," Joel suddenly said. When you refocused on him, you saw he had put the heater back together and was fixing it upright. He plugged it into the wall and hovered his finger over the power button before glancing back at you. "Ready?"

You nodded and swung your legs back and forth over the edge of your bed, then he winked at you, sending warmth all over your body. Jesus, if Joel kept giving you little looks like that, you wouldn't have much need for a heater anymore.

He pressed the button and sure enough, the coils inside the heater began to glow orange and heat started to fill the room.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, jumping off the bed in excitement. "Thank you!" you added, kneeling on the floor as well so you could warm your hands in front of the heater.

"Anytime," Joel murmured, and it wasn't until you heard the deep timber of his voice next to you that you realized he was so close. You tilted your face, smiling shyly at him next to you. Up close, you could see the fine lines in his face in much more detail, each one calling out to you to trace with your fingertip. When you met his gaze, you found he had been examining you, as well. Quickly, you looked away and stood up.

"Is there anythin' else?" Joel asked as he began to pack up his toolbox. You shook your head.

"No, I think that'll do it."

"You sure? Thought I saw that faucet drippin' in the kitchen."

You frowned. "No, I didn't notice that," you said slowly.

"What 'bout those windows?" he asked, standing up with a grunt and gesturing to the two bedroom windows on the other side of the room. "Need help hangin' curtains?"

You looked where he was pointing. "No, never really bothered me. Besides, it faces the backyard. No one can see in."

He laughed softly and rubbed his chin before shooting you a sheepish look. "I'm tryin' to find a reason to stay, sweetheart."

Your eyes widened and once again, you felt your cheeks heat up.

"Oh," you said, shyly dropping your gaze to the floor to hide your smile. "I would like that."

"Yeah?" he asked, and you nodded.

"Yeah. You're, um," you shifted your weight nervously, "you're sweet. And nice."

Joel huffed and set his toolbox back down. "I ain't nice all the time," he warned. "But you ain't gotta worry 'bout that."

"No?" you questioned, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he began to close the distance between you.

He sighed and cupped your face with both hands. Your body instantly melted at his touch, your knees practically giving out when he dragged his thumb across your lip, saving it from your teeth. "Am I readin' this wrong?" he asked, his eyes darting all over your face. You quickly shook your head and stepped even closer.

"Thank Christ," he breathed before capturing your lips in a deep kiss. It had been several years and you were a little rusty, but you quickly found it was like riding a bike.

Joel's kiss lit a fire in you, one that had gone dormant for so long. Your fingers curled around the lapels of his flannel, the material warm and soft, just like him, and with the confidence boost that came from his hands dropping to grab excitedly at your hips, you walked him backwards until he bumped against the edge of your mattress.

He sat down on your bed with an oomph and you crawled into his lap, not once breaking the kiss.

"Wish I got to know you sooner," he whispered, tipping his head back when your lips traveled down his neck. Fuck, even his neck was sexy. "Always so skittish and shy," he continued, his palms gliding up and down your back.

You laughed softly against his skin and leaned back. "You still don't really know me."

He grinned and shrugged. "I'd like to, if you're willin'," he said, his vulnerability making your chest ache. You sunk your teeth into your lower lip again and nodded.

"Good," he said, his hands roaming further past your waist to cup your ass. "'Cause I like what I know so far."

"You're full of surprises," you told him, giggling when he gave your ass a firm squeeze. "You're so much more... you're more gentle and sweet than I expected."

Joel smirked and tugged you closer so you felt his erection trapped within his jeans. "I can be gentle," he told you, nipping at your jaw. "Or I can be rough. Whatever you like."

You swallowed when you caught the mischievous glint in his dark eyes. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhmm," he said, and before you could blink he had spun you around so your back was pressed into the mattress while he hovered above you. You had to admit, he was adorable. He had to be pushing sixty but he was talking like a man half his age. After you heard the way his knees creaked when he was fixing your heater, you figured he was all talk, or maybe he just needed the ego boost to hype himself up.

But the speed in which he removed your clothes should have been the first sign that your impression of him was wrong. When he buried himself inside you, his surprisingly thick length stretching you open and nudging the furthest depths of you, you got the message.

When you gasped and tipped your head back, his big hand immediately rose to cup the side of your face and tilt it back down so he could watch your face as you unraveled beneath him. Each little noise and moan seemed to egg him on, like he fed off your sounds and the way your face twisted in pleasure when his coarse hair rubbed against your clit with each roll of his hips.

"Wanna see you," he explained, eyes scanning all over your face. "Wanna watch you take it. You'll keep your eyes on me, won't you? Hm? You'll be good for me, yeah?"

You nodded, your mind a muddled mess. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the slow and deliberate drag of his heavy cock in and out of you. Joel pressed your knees back against your chest as far as you could handle and pushed inside you further with a rough grunt. He managed to get so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach and the sensation left you breathless.

"So fuckin' pretty, y'know that?" he groaned, gazing down at you without breaking rhythm. His long locks loosened and hung past his eyes, tempting you to smooth them back. "Wanted to get to know you f'so long but I couldn't ever catch your eye," he admitted with a little smirk. You moaned when his hips began to swirl, switching the angle ever so slightly and setting your nerves alight.

"I-I... oh, god," you whined, already struggling to keep your eyes on him like he asked. "I didn't know."

He lunged forward and crashed his mouth against yours hungrily, his exhale fanning over your cheek. Then just as suddenly as he kissed you, he leaned back and pulled out.

"Turn over," he instructed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he dragged in air. You did as you were told and shakily held yourself up on your hands and knees.

"Fuck," he muttered behind you. Your face went hot and you tucked your chin into your shoulder as you waited for him to enter you again, but he chose to take an extra minute to glide his hand over the curves of your hips and ass. If you had been able to see him, you would have seen a look of awe and appreciation on his face.

"Always wondered what you had hidden under all those clothes," he said as he lined himself up at your entrance. You cried out his name when he finally slid back inside, the angle already too intense and he hadn't even begun to move. "Goddamn, wanna run my tongue over every fuckin' inch of you, baby," he growled, fingers gripping your sides as he tried to ground himself.

He gave you a few gentle thrusts to get used to it before he couldn't hold back any longer. He pounded into you, his eyes fixed on your ass and the way it bounced with every snap of his hips. One hand slowly reached down to trace your spine, marveling at the way your body welcomed him. Then you arched your back and you both moaned at the slight change and he could feel his stomach begin to tense in anticipation of his release.

"So fuckin' tight," he said through clenched teeth. You could hear him breathing heavily as his thrusts grew sloppy and you began to panic, sensing he was about to come before you were ready. But then as if he read your mind, one of his hands snaked around your front to draw fast circles over your clit.

"C'mon, give it t'me," he said with a grunt. "Wanna feel this perfect pussy squeeze me, want you to be feelin' me for fuckin' days, sweetheart."

"Oh, shit," you gasped, mouth hanging open in a mixture of ecstasy and surprise. You wondered how on earth everyone in town had so much to say about Joel's reputation but somehow managed to leave out how mind-blowing he happened to be in bed.

"Christ, honey. Ain't gonna last much longer," he groaned, his fingers working even faster between your legs. He pounded into you harder, punching the air from your lungs and pushing you closer and closer to your peak. Your breaths were coming in shallow pants and you could feel the swell building deep inside you, threatening to unleash at any second. You reached behind you frantically, searching for some part of him to hold onto when you found his hand pressed firmly onto your hip. Your fingers clasped over his as you felt the pressure build up quickly and you knew in that moment this one encounter was going to single-handedly ruin you.

The moment you fell apart while practically screaming his name, your cunt pulsing around him and your body shaking, he almost made a huge mistake. Finally getting to witness what you looked like when you came was more than enough, but hearing his name over and over while your body shook with pleasure? It was too much and he was only just a man who was holding on by his goddamn fingernails as it was. But fortunately, he managed to pull out just in time to paint your lower back with his cum. He knew he was making some ungodly sounds as relief flooded his veins, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had been daydreaming about taking you apart like that for weeks and now that he finally had you, there was no turning back.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, lifting his chin towards the ceiling while dragging in deep lungfuls of air. You collapsed flat onto your stomach with a grunt and he tilted his face back down to grin as how spent you looked.

Still got it.

"I'll be right back, darlin'," he told you. You mumbled something tiredly in response before he slipped out of your room to get a washcloth from your bathroom and returned quickly to clean you up.

"Thank you," you said, turning your face so you could watch him gently wipe up his mess. His eyes flickered to yours and he smirked.

"You thankin' me for fixin' the heater, for fuckin' you, or for cleanin' you up?"

You giggled, your voice a little hoarse when you replied, "All of the above."

You flipped over onto your back and his eyes immediately drifted down your naked body, his breath catching in the back of his throat at how perfect you were. Even better than he ever imagined.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, letting the rag fall to the floor so he could glide his hand up your thigh, over your hips and stomach to one of your breasts which, he realized far too late, had gone neglected. Next time.

"So are you," you whispered back, bringing a hand up to play with the long curls resting on the back of his neck. He shook his head shyly and looked away.

"I need a haircut."

"I like it just the way it is," you told him, twisting a lock of hair around one finger and watching as it loosely bounced back when you let it go. "Gives me something to grab onto," you joked. A wide smile stretched across his face and his eyes looked like he was staring at the tree on Christmas morning.

"So, uh," Joel began when the silence stretched on for too long. "I meant it earlier. 'Bout gettin' to know you better." He couldn't remember the last time he felt so nervous. He could feel his face heating up and he prayed you didn't notice. "I know you don't like goin' to the dining hall but I'd really like to have dinner with you. I can't make much but I can make stew, if y'wanna-"

"I would go to the dining hall with you," you said, cutting him off. His eyes snapped back up to yours and he shot you a nervous smile.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said with a little shrug before sitting up and draping your arms around his shoulders. "As long as you're there, I'll go."

He grinned and leaned forward to kiss you, still in complete disbelief his wildest fantasy actually came true.

"How 'bout tomorrow, then?" he asked a little breathlessly when he broke the kiss.

Your eyes lit up and you nodded. "It's a date."

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller the last of us #joel x reader smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #fic request

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bonefall · 1 year ago

Note

I know you talked about Crowfeather's abuse to Breezepelt, but are you keeping Nightcloud's physical abuse against Crowfeather? In all their arguments, Nightcloud is the only one who ever gets physical with Crow. In the books, she rakes her claws against him a few times drawing blood. If I had been young Breeze and had seen that it'd be one of the things that would make me do my best to be and stay in my mother's good graces. Yeah, my dad may smack me but he never cuts me, never leaves me open for death by infection.

When?

Have you read the books you're confidently citing right now? Or did you hear this from some amoeba and then didn't check it before coming into my house

POWER OF THREE:

The Sight: 13 mentions. Takes Breezepaw's side in a small verbal argument, then scolds him for xenophobia. Is scared her only child almost died and insists on carrying him alone. Upset when Leafpool makes a flirtatious comment to her husband, soothes two kids to sleep

Dark River: 4 mentions. Exists on a patrol and Leafpool is jealous of her.

Outcast: 1 mention. Nicely says goodbye to Crowfeather as he stares off into the distance thinking about Feathertail.

Eclipse: 1 mention. Takes part in the eclipse battle with the rest of WindClan.

Long Shadows: Unmentioned.

Sunrise: 4 mentions. Hears the reveal at the gathering and looks "bewildered and angry." Crowfeather tells her that he, "Has no kits other than Breezepelt" and she pins her ears against her head.

Was it here? In one of these 23 mentions across 6 books? PLEASE point out the "Cuts Me, Leaving Me Open For Death By Infection." I'm SO curious.

OMEN OF THE STARS:

The Fourth Apprentice: Unmentioned.

Fading Echoes: 1 mention. Thinks Dovepaw disguised her scent.

Night Whispers: 6 mentions. Argues with Crowfeather at Gatherings. Leafpool comes across a fight between Breezepelt and Lionblaze and pleads to Crowfeather, "How can you watch your sons fight?!" Nightcloud jumps forward glaring, repeats that her husband has no kits other than Breezepelt. Leafpool jumps in front of a Breezepelt lunge. Crowfeather jumps in, grabs his son, and "throws him aside like prey" before bitterly mocking another love confession from Leafpool. Nightcloud drags Crowfeather off. Crowfeather turns on Nightcloud, hissing, and Breezepelt jumps between them and says, "leave my mother alone." Warns them, "Next time, we'll shred you!" Later says something rude about RiverClan at a Gathering.

Sign of the Moon: Unmentioned.

The Forgotten Warrior: 2 mentions. Glares at Hollyleaf twice.

The Last Hope: 6 mentions. Is on a patrol that finds Jayfeather in a thornbush and glares at him. Then Crowfeather says it was all actually HER fault that Breezepelt turned out to be such a little brat.

Which one of these 9 MENTIONS ACROSS 6 BOOKS are we going for, today? Was it the part in Night Whispers? Is THAT where she Cuts His Life Into Pieces This Is Her Last Resort?

Let's play I-Spy 🔎! Highlight all the places Nightcloud "draws blood!"

Which of the following characters in this passage are bleeding? Is Crowfeather any of them 🤔? No?

Is it here? Is it this part? Which of these cats are bleeding? Is it Crowfeather🪶? Is it Lionblaze🦁? Is it beloved Character Actress Margot Martindale💃?

Oh? You mean to tell me that you were misrepresenting a cat dragging away another cat as "RAKING HER CLAWS AGAINST HIM DRAWING BLOOD AND LEAVING HIM OPEN FOR INFECTIONS TO DIE"?

In other words, a lie?

Pulling a big lever and sending you down into The Nightcloud Derangement Pit. I will be further woobifying her unencumbered. The Nightcloud Agenda will spread. Soon we will take the west coast.

#Yes okay Crowfeather is abusive. But what about the nearest woman #what ABOUT the nearest woman.#If you ask me about the nearest woman I will already have her number and you will NOT be getting it #Nightcloud #warrior cats analysis #Nightcloud wc #And no. Being listed in the allegiances does not count as a mention.

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sun-snatcher · 5 days ago

Text

( credits to @winterswake for this phenomenal gifset ! )

3/? | SEAWARDS, TO YOU. ; REPENTANT!AU

summ. A continuation. Sauron learns what it means to be human— and what it takes to be one. or: Sauron experiences the best & worst of mortality. pairing. (Repentant!Mairon/Sauron) Halbrand / f!reader , ( established in #SEAWARDSTOYOU ) w.count. 4k a/n. Important tags in first chapter ! Warnings for implications to PTSD & slight horror , including Non-graphically implied Animal Death.

THE BARNACLES STARE.

They’re overgrown; marrow-white and clinging onto the cracks of the salt-licked rockface, breathing and blinking at him like the thousand, ever-watchful eyes of the Ainur.

In his dreams, every single one turns to blazing stars that wink out in an instant as he passes them. The shadow of Morgoth is a powerful darkness: it can dim them into lightlessness and nothingness. He tells them he is neither Morgoth nor Melkor nor Sauron nor Mairon, that he is something new; something different— but they can’t hear him under the sheet of waves crashing like a tempest on the shores, pulling him down, down, down, and under.

(He drowns. Rarely does he choose to fight the currents.)

In other vivid dreams, the barnacles don’t listen. They don’t because they can’t listen; because they’re dead and lifeless and the colour of their shells look eerily vertebral and bone-faced. They’re skulls, he later realises. A thousand of them. Endless. Both young and old. Their missing teeth and gaping maws, frozen in terror, roll in masses that wash in from the bloody tides and take up the shore beneath his feet. They fracture and splinter and cry out in pain when he walks on where soft sands ought to be, begging for mercy with every black step he takes.

He wakes up restless. He wakes up mortified.

A forest fire rips through Eldalondë.

It dies out as quick as it had come, however; by the grace of the Valar and their blessed storms! The Faithful cry.

“Blessed,” Galadriel hears Halbrand scoff underneath his breath. They’d both sailed down the river Nunduinë with the other locals to help with clearing out whatever the blaze had left in its wake, and the very air now is clogged with residual smoke and the stench of death. She doesn’t comment on his muttering. (He had yet to heal completely from the rope burns in his palms from when they’d been stranded at sea, after all.)

“You think it’s a sign?” asks one of the arborists.

A grave weight seemed to have sunken into Galadriel when the scent of the Mellyrn had greeted her, and she’d been brought to the heart of the massive grove, where she lay a hand on the now-sundered tree.

“These very trees were brought as seeds from Aman by the Eldar of Tol Erresëa. Elros Tar-Minyatur himself had hand in planting these.” She remembers Elrond, too, had come to sail and plant a tree of his own here. The forest had been so young then, in the early years of the Second Age. Now the woods seem unsettled— even the very winds that blow between its spaces.

“Not idly do the trees of Valinor burn,” she finally warns. “Even when ensnared by lightning.”

Halbrand had seen it from afar, coming downwind from the riverbank: the tree’s colossal trunk— thick as a Dwarven-hewn mountain pillar— torn in its center from the high canopies of branches, snaking all the way down to the spindly stretch of roots. The bolt of light had rent an ugly, gaping wound into its silver bole, hollowing out the wood and carving it out to look like a glaring crack into the Unseen World.

He can still see the gleam of red embers between the bark of the tunnelled tree.

He can still hear it crackling in its seams, even.

Or… no. That isn’t the fire—

“Galadriel!”

Mallorn branches grow great and wide, so it takes out an entire stable when it crashes down.

One of the horses get caught underneath.

They cannot move the branch. (It wouldn’t do any good, even if they did.)

Abârzî, the sea-cadet weeps, stroking the mare before he went to braid the hairs of her tail and cut it off. He chants it like a prayer.

Abârzî. Abârzî. Abârzî.

(No one has the heart to finish the job.

Halbrand does not exactly offer— but they don’t stop him either when he begrudgingly enters the stables for them.)

“What was he saying?” Sauron asks, after, in some poorly attempt to clear his mind.

“Her name,” Galadriel translates, solemn. “Abâr holds several meanings. It stands for strength, might, endurance. ‘One of Valiance’, even. Perhaps: ‘Admirable one’—”

It’s the first time Mairon ever experiences throwing up.

Galadriel sits beside him, and doesn’t say a word more.

He’s glad.

Or, maybe he isn’t.

He doesn’t understand what he feels these days.

The wine Sauron pours to the raven-haired elf in his dreams is thick.

Too thick to be wine— but just as deceptively sweet.

On other nights, he pours and it keeps going, and going, and going. It gushes down his palms and down the nameless peak he’s standing in, and cascades down the cliff- like a thundering waterfall— no, an open wound. Sometimes the elf pushes him forward from the back, and it stings like a stabbing betrayal. (Other times, Mairon simply chooses to fall.)

When he plummets, it’s into red seas. It feels like wading through molasses; exhausting a pain into his limbs more than the dull ache at his nape and the throb of his suffocating lungs. Then there’s the twinkle of starlight throwing him off every time he swims. He always mistakes them for the night sky, and he blindly reaches towards the surface— until they turn out to be the white-faces of barnacles instead, attached to the maws of a sea-wyrm deep in the ocean.

Tonight, however, he swims in the right direction.

The raven-haired elf pulls him out with a trusting, helping hand wrapped in a gauntlet; and when Sauron breaches ashore, he’s not kneeling at his feet on sands or bones, but instead on the all-too familiar cracked, black stones of his old fortress up in the bleak frigidness of Forodwaith.

Mairon is garbed in soaking red robes.

This time, Adar coronates Sauron not with Morgoth’s crown, but with a rotting horse skull named Abârz—

“You have a strange shadow, ‘Maril,” Eärien tells you, not long after you’d come down to Nísimaldar to assist in the clean-up effort. “It’s shaped like… a funny-looking man who always seems to look as if he’s rolled around in the dirt for ten hours.”

You blink, puzzled, then turn to where she’s peering over your shoulder.

Halbrand’s eyes dart away just as you meet his gaze.

“Friend,” you correct, levelling an unimpressed glare back at your table of teasing looks. “Halbrand is a friend.”

Isildur raises his brows once you begin gathering another fresh bowl of seafood. “Don’t forget the oysters. I hear they’re great for men’s libid—”

“Shut your mouth when you eat,” comes your sharp flick at his ear, going to leave as the rest of the cadets break into laughter. “Even Berek has better manners than you, airhead.”

Halbrand, shaded under a temporary forge set up by the treeline near the half-constructed stables, senses you long before he hears your voice. You’re appraising him again. He can feel it. It reminds him of the barnacles staring, and he has to actively remember not to be instinctively beset.

You’ve been kind, after all.

Frustratingly so.

And Sauron, as uncertain as he has been of everything (and by everything, he means his entire simulacrum of an existence— or, reincarnation? Re-embodiment?) of late, is smart enough to know not to bite the hand that feeds him. You’d made it clear that night in the forge, after all, that you’re a friend. And if not that, then at the very least— an ally.

So it’s no surprise he sets the horseshoes he’s working on aside, and relents to your plate of food. It is a surprise, however, when a few minutes later you go:

“Thank you, by the way.”

He shuts your train of thought down before it can take off.

“Don’t start,” Sauron says, voice a low rasp. He knows where you’re going with this: You’ll thank Halbrand for going out of his way to help, for lending a hand with the rebuilding, for putting down a boy’s dying horse. He wants nothing to do with it.

“Then I want to—”

“Don’t apologise either,” he interjects, failing to hold back the mild bite. (So much for biting the hand, huh?)

Sauron had chosen, anyway, to take it upon himself to toil away in the forge, from sunrise to sundown; Dedicating himself to aiding the reconstruction by crafting everything from bridles, stirrups and bits, to metal brackets, hinges, and nails. He’d toiled because it focused him; because he’s utilitarian at heart and so despises uselessness; because it helps blur the waking haunts of horses and the seas under the hissing and clanging of working metal.

(Besides, there’s plenty to improve in this part of the island, and Sauron is the type to not count flaws and cracks but to instead step up and fix them.)

So there’s no place for you to apologise.

“You work quickly,” you redirect instead, avoiding the urge to bicker with him. “Some might say almost tirelessly. Seems you’re getting into our good graces, from what I hear.”

“Well, you ought to listen closer.” Local gossip is difficult to not earwig, especially if the topic is about a low-man from the South; even more so that they don’t expect said low-man to have a passable fluency in Adûnaic.

You don’t bother to hide the amused look on your face. “Right. Well. They do say eavesdroppers never hear but ill of themselves. What have you gathered, jailbird?”

“That I would be their downfall,” he says, then after a mouthful, goes: “That I would squander their resources and drain their waters and steal their women,” which makes you laugh.

“Númenórean women are not so easily taken.”

He hums at that. “And are you?”

“…Am I what?”

“Númenorean.”

You blink. Halbrand levels a gaze you suddenly can’t meet. It’s a game he plays, you guess right then, between the crawl of heat up your cheeks. Of sharpening ulterior meanings into both sides of his words like one would a sword’s edge.

(“The low-man said that?” Isildur titters, much later. “What a smooth advance! I ought to give him a—”

“Beheading,” Eärien overrides, “You do know he also effectively implied your sister may be easy?”

Isildur cheers. “And he’s honest? Outstanding!”)

“I believe I am one, and that’s enough for me,” you lie. The thought has crossed your mind before— that you may very well be an orphan descendant of those who had sided with the Enemy, once upon a time. That it’s likely you’ll die long before your own foster family does.

“And if you’re wrong?” asks Halbrand. He enjoys making you squirm. “Shall that be enough?”

“Then so be it,” you wrinkle your nose, displeased yet matter-of-fact. “It doesn’t matter what type of life we’ve been chanced to be given, jailbird, so long as we live it doing the right thing.”

Until it becomes part of your nature, Sauron abruptly remembers Diarmid; of his words; the necklace he’d cruelly taken from the old man that stormy night. The advice had been unwelcome then, and now it seems to haunt him still.

“Is that your heraldry?”

Halbrand loosens his grip. His hand has been flying to the pouch out of habit, lately. “No.” Then, after you scrutinise him, cocks his head and says, “Is it so hard to believe we might quite be the same— Lost and found at sea?”

“You have a past,” you point out, the same way Elendil had chivvied you then. (If you had noticed him blink away in a flinch, he’s grateful you don’t mention it.) “But no, not so hard to believe, considering that’s precisely how my father found you too. It’s just hard for me to believe someone would be so willing to sever ties with their history.”

“I found this on a dead man.”

“Then why keep it?”

“Thought it looked fancy,” he dodges.

“A pearl is fancy,” you reflect, unconsciously flexing your fingers. The ring he’d caught the first day you two met lustres now at certain angles of the setting sun, beyond the horses grazing lazily in half-barren pastures.

Your answer is hardly a surprise to him. A bereft orphan would likely covet something as insignificant as a worn-out emblem if it meant a potential link to their true heritage, no matter how thin or nonsensical. Yours just happens to be a pearl.

“Beauty is subjective, seabird,” he comments sagely, before letting curiosity get the better of him to ask, “Is that from the tidepool, too?”

No, you want to say. I like to think my mother gave it to me. “Yes. It was in my grasp when my father found me; so came my name.”

Halbrand finishes his bowl, and doesn’t say a word more.

You’re glad.

“You know, I meant to say earlier, before you interrupted me,” you begin out of the blue, voice possessing that Nienna-esque lilt that makes him unconsciously want to shrink into himself. “…You shouldn’t have had to be the one.”

He follows your gaze to one of the Bay horses being herded away. Its body gleams; a vibrant, rich red-brown in the dusk that needles a strange grief into him. The colour reminds Mairon of his old form.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he agrees distastefully. Needless suffering also falls under the realm of uselessness, however. Perhaps, in a twisted, roundabout way, Sauron had chosen to put down Abârzî. “…But I’ve done far worse things.”

You watch him tuck the necklace away beneath his collar, and he wonders, briefly, if you’d caught his shudder; his waver.

“To survive,” you emphasise. Surely.

He laughs under his breath. It’s neither sad nor sordid, just empty.

“Not all of it.”

Sauron opens his eyes to a crowned shadow and a blade.

Do not fear, it says. And when its hand had come away with a fistful of his long, braided hair, cut from his blazing red head— it repeats itself to him again, though this time in the commanding tongue of Black Speech.

Do not fret.

(He frets, and begs. He disobeys because he’s terrified— but it’s all happening under his skin. Black Speech cannot completely overpower the mind, you see, but it can command and seed an intent in it; a sliver of power over the flesh, if willed so. He can fret and beg all he likes; it will never translate to his body.

Now he’s just a vessel, still as a Bay horse caught neath a great tree, watching and waiting; helpless and paralysed.)

He catches the glint of the dagger but he cannot scream.

Do not fret, Morgoth commands, in that divinely, beautiful way only a Valar can make all guttural words sound. Do not fret, Abârzî.

Mairon startles awake.

When the candlelight flickers with the moon, he mistakes them for blood on his hands and a stable floo—

“Y’alright, brother?” Someone claps him on the back.

It’s noon, now. It feels like he’s woken up for the third time today.

The stables are coming up nicely (Quickly, because Halbrand works when everyone else is asleep). The clouds are thick, so the day isn’t beating down on the horses as they feed on bran and alfalfa, and there aren’t any damning signs of coming rain to hinder what little is left of the reconstruction today.

“Never better,” Halbrand says, after steadying his heavy breathing. The perfectly delivered lie is somehow miraculously seen through, however, and promptly called out, via: an insistent pint of ale into his calloused hands that’s supposedly the ‘cure to all ailments’.

He learns the old drunkard’s name is Seamus.

He learns a bit of everything to nothing, really; until the sun had sunken too far beneath the canopies of the Mellyrn, and the dappled light faded into drifting spots, and all that was left of their drinks was a final sip. Sauron had found himself both inexplicably refreshed and exhausted between the overload that managed to distract him from the cavernous feeling in his chest.

“It’s a swallow bird. We sailors tattoo it as belief it’ll lead us back home when we get out at sea,” says the old man, between a tangent on island customs and traditions beyond the primly ‘Nobody kneels in Númenor’ ones. “Why? Lookin’ to get inked yourself?”

Halbrand blinks.

He had composed as Mairon among the other Ainur in the Timeless Halls for the Ainulindalë, once upon a time; and then served, much, much later, as Sauron alongside Morgoth in the Iron mountains of Thangorodrim. Neither exactly had been something anybody would call a home— One was simply a state of Being far beyond Eä, and the other had been both a fortress and a prison.

“Don’t have a home to return to,” is all he decides.

It sounds a lot like a realisation.

“Aye, well…” The drunkard flails his hand to the chilly winds. “Swallows mate for life.”

Halbrand frowns in confusion. Seamus just laughs, mad.

He doesn’t understand what the crazy old shrimp had meant, until two days later (of which Sauron still had only understood half of what was told to him, if he’s being honest) when the stables had at last been completed and the locals put together a small feast for everyone who had come together to help.

Crab legs had been the catalyst, oddly enough.

Or, rather, how you seemed to move amongst the people-who-may-not-be-your-people, and spoke to your family-who-isn’t-actually-your-family.

“Here,” you say, and idly lay skillfully de-shelled crab legs and a lobster tail on your bright-eyed sister’s plate. Then onto your even-more-bright-eyed brother’s plate, before doing the same to those within your reach at the table, including Halbrand— sitting adjacent and at a length, because nobody quite fancied sitting next to a brooding stranger.

“I can de-shell my crabs on my own,” he had wanted to huff, put out by the way he suddenly felt impeccably small by your limitless grace and social-butterfly-ness, but one of the cadets had beaten him to it.

Your answer is a smile that’d made Mairon think of Nienna again, followed by a winsome, “I know you can.”

He lingers on what you’d told him ere a week ago, at the forge when you’d come to him saying he looked most at home with a hammer and tongs in hand, and drafts in his head something he tells you much later, which is:

“You looked different around your not-people.”

You’re wrapped in a pelerine cloak that seems to do little with the cold Mallorn-fragrant winds, here at the Bay of Eldanna, where you’ve somehow convinced him to follow you down to at the crack of dawn. (It’s not like he could sleep through the night, anyway, now that the stables are complete and there’s nothing left to busy himself with for the time being.)

It’s early enough that the carpet of stars in the sky shines the rocky shoreline a blinding silver, and only the lantern-lit trawlers far out at sea are awake to fish for teeming shoals of shrimps in season beyond the reef.

“My not-people?” you yawn, gathering up your cloak and shift dress to toe between the rocks. “Ah. I get it. Because I’m an outsider.”

He raises a tolerant eyebrow. “I’m the outsider, seabird.” To which you answer, breezily, as if it’s a simple equation:

“Not to me. If it helps though, we can both be outsiders together.”

He barely has time to wrap his head around together when you begin skipping across the tidepools.

“I meant,” he trails after you, ungainly and tender-footed to the shallows compared to your well-versed steps. He had not been raised by the sea like you. “That you looked at home; with your people. And tha— Eärmaril, why did you bring me out here with a bucket?”

You peer at the crevices of the outcrops, turning over black slabs with a trained eye. “Have you ever had soft-shell crabs? They’re active around this time of night, so watch your step. If you’re not getting pinched by their claws, you’ll get stabbed by an urchin.”

“You loon!” he exclaims. “You brought me here for a hunting trip?”

“Hush, now! Or you’ll scare the fur seals further down the coast,” you hiss over your shoulder. “And no. I brought you here because I know you won’t be sleeping, anyway.”

The blatant accusation has him slipping from a jutting rock face.

You catch his hand to steady him.

(He’s warm. Some part of you wants to pull him close.)

“I overheard the farriers. They say the only reason the stables got put up that quickly is because you worked through the night.” You inform him as delicately as you can, because there’s a recognisable, vestigial haunt in his eyes you’ve seen in your father’s, under the shimmer of Eärendil’s starlight. “Is it nightmares, Halbrand?”

“See, Amm— Mother saved Isildur when he was a child.” Nobody in the family prefers to say drowned except your father, because the word is bitter to the taste. “I was there when it happened. Couldn’t sleep for weeks after. Do you dream of the waters too?”

The defensive frown he’d put up melts away, but you can see Halbrand steel himself, still, in order to answer.

“I dream of barnacles,” Sauron allows, brusque so as to cut the conversation short as he regains his footing.

You let go and narrow your eyes at him.

After a long moment, you conclude, resolutely: “Valar, you’re a terrible liar, jailbird.”

And Mairon couldn’t help it—

He laughed.

(It sends your heart stumbling.)

“Believe me when I say, seabird, that if I were to deceive you, you would never know.”

“…Right,” you scoff, quick to turn away to hide the budding smile on your face as you carve his laugh and awfully handsome grin into memory. “Now, come and be useful, will you? Before the tide runs in with daybreak.”

He can do that. He likes to be useful.

So he does.

Sauron, however, gathers alarmingly quickly that he’s as helpful as an infant grappling the ways of the water for the first time. Some distant part of him enjoys it, though— learning. It reminds him of his long gone time with Aulë.

Learning to follow your effortless sea-nymph dance across the jagged shallows, memorising how to identify which rocks to flip and the right ways to harvest mollusks or crabs without risking a fingertip, all while unconsciously committing to mind the shanties you hum under your breath.

You tell Halbrand stories and Mairon listens despite the general inanity of it; because he’s a quiet sort, and because he likes the diluting distraction of it all.

Little things, like how your mother had bequeathed the craft of pottery to you, or that your father had preferred to teach you to fight instead of fish (“I can hardly imagine that,” Sauron muses, which earns him a sharp look and a: “Well, you don’t seem the imaginative type, anyway.”); that Eärien’s artistic strength is adapted from her uncanny skill of observation, and that Isildur is often wayward because he’s as free-spirited as the sun.

The conversation whiles and goes until the sky slowly pales awake, and the fur seals begin to bark and bay at the shorebirds and skimmers diving close to the rolling surfs. When the stretch of Eldanna’s shoreline finally raises, peaks and tidepools drowning back below the cresting of blue seas, the both of you make headway back inland.

“I was telling the truth,” he says, abruptly, which made you stop in your tracks at the beach. Your cloak is billowing from the salt gusts, edges sticking to the wet of your ankles.

“You don’t have to tell me,” comes your honest answer.

But he wants to. It feels right to. Here Mairon stands bearing witness to the intimacies of your life, while he had nothing to offer you in return beneath the veneer of Halbrand. It’s only fair to do the same. An exchange, if you will. It’s all he’s ever known.

He sets the bucket of skittering crabs on to the wet sand, and dips his feet at the lap of the tide. “I dream of the Dark,” Sauron admits. “Of a light I cannot reach. The ocean is always red— red as my hands— and the rock-faces are always white and blinking.”

Barnacles. You understand now.

“When I wake up, I feel like I’m bracing for something, but I don’t know what,” he says, which he’s quick to realise had been an instinctive lie, and so he amends it with an explanation. “Like I’m charging headfirst into the abyss, and I’m bracing myself for the impact. For a fight or a— punishment.”

Halbrand kicks at a bubbling bump in the water and out pops a shell. (It’s a whelk. Lightning whelk, if Sauron is being precise. He’d listened to you listing the different kinds an hour ago.)

“Anybody home?” you peer.

“Mh.” Sauron assents and tosses the hermit back to the waves.

He looks at where the open sky meets the sea, thinks of the knee-high swathes of sea oats growing at the coastlines of Valinor if he’d set sail Westwards from Eldanna and choose not to look back. He entertains idly on the idea of home for a beast such as himself— if it’s even possible to tame savagery into such domestications.

Then he resists on asking you if there’s a difference between making a home and inventing one (those are questions for another sleepless night, he supposes), and instead glances down to where you’ve stepped into one of the remaining tidepools and back out.

A smooth pebble with a perfectly circular hole in its centre, still damp from its discovery, sits in your palm.

“What in Eru’s name is that?” he furrows, watching you wink at him through the gap.

“A hagstone,” you say, unoffended. “My other brother Anárion has one, though he prefers calling it an adder stone. Ammê told us they were naturally-occurring talismans. They ward off anything evil and protects its keeper. Catch.”

He does so with attractive ease.

(…You commit that to memory, too.)

“You don’t actually believe this little thing, do you, seabird?” he asks, tossing the piece up in his hands.

His snort makes you roll your eyes. “See! You are the unimaginative type. Halbrand, it’s the nature of a thing that matters, not its form.”

Right. He’d forgotten you are You; who built a home in the people; whose wound is your geography and history— or lack thereof— and who’s chosen to anchor to Númenor, because your foster family is where you found your true port of call.

“You Númenóreans are an odd lot,” he settles candidly, and curls his fingers around the hagstone.

“Odd?”

“Superstitious,” he clarifies.

“I prefer traditional,” you volley.

“Try paranoid.”

Your warm laugh breaks with the surf of the shore, makes him tarry on the sight and sound of you.

“Red sky in the morning; sailor’s warning…”

“Red sky at night; sailor’s delight,” Halbrand recites Seamus, scoffing humorously. “I mean… Boarding a ship right foot first? Nailing a horseshoe under the mast, laying a silver coin for Uinen or tattooing swallows to lead the way home? And no whistling on board, lest it’ll challenge the winds; Or so Isildur claims of Manwë.”

“Ah, but don’t forget—”

“—Never rename a ship,” he says in unison.

Halbrand shakes his head, but the fond look on his face is undeniable as you break out into another merry smile. Your plan to chase away his night-terrors seem to have worked perfectly. If you’d thought him handsome before, then he looks utterly divine now.

“Well, I suppose you’re right. There’s another one, though,” you hum, eyes fixated at the gulls taking wing to and fro their nests, the trawlers sailing home with their morning catch. “Never ever bring harm to a seabird.”

He cocks his head. “If I didn't know any better, seabird, I’d say you were making a threat.”

“And?” you smile. “Do you, jailbird?”

“Do I what?”

“Know better.”

Halbrand laughs again. A charming peal of a sound, canine-wide and punched out. It makes your heart sing— makes you wonder when was the last time he laughed this freely.

“You!” he exclaims once more, but there’s a thunderdrum in his ribs to reckon with all of a sudden, from the way the first break of light begins to dawn on your face and the charming, affectionate grin flowering across it, and so he couldn’t finish his insult after all.

You offer him wine in his dreams.

Soot blackens your fingers as he takes it, but the stains don’t seem to bother you.

Weighty is a hagstone in his palm.

The sea is blue and quiet—

And barnacles are just barnacles, now.

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b00kdiary · 11 months ago

Text

A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

Alex was falling between worlds- falling through worlds- until she landed with Bryce someplace that was definitely not Hel.

And now there was a male before her, the most beautiful male she had ever seen and something other than fear sparked in her heart.

Wattpad & Ao3

CHAPTER ONE:

One moment Bryce and I were running toward the Gate, leaping through the Gate into the chasm of darkness beyond, Rigelus screaming at our backs.

And then the next we were falling.

Not through the worlds but across – as if some God had gripped us by our hair and yanked us sideways, pulling, pulling, pulling, our screams greeting nothing but stars and darkness and emptiness.

There was a pressure in my brain like someone had wrapped their hands around my throat and squeezed, a tightening that felt like fingers pressing down on my eyes to cave them in.

And so much screaming.

And then... grass.

I panted, a burst of pain lancing through my right shoulder as it collided with the ground, as it collided with the green grass below me. Though my head spun so wildly that for a second, I wondered if it was even real.

But I felt it, under my hands, beyond the Harpy's blood coating my palms and fingers, crusting under my nails- grass, dense and damp with condensation.

Hel had grass.

"Hel," I breathed, and it was pure panic that overrode the spinning in my mind, the pain in my body. Pure and undiluted panic as I realised where we had appeared, what likely prowled these lands. "Bryce-Bryce!"

My knees shook as I rose onto them, and I could feel my body begging me to stop- stop moving, stop fighting, just stop. But I didn't, couldn't, not as flashes of Hel's pets passed my mind's eye, those horrific creatures that had attacked Lunathion that day.

Deathstalkers, Kristallos demons- they would rip us to shreds before we even found Aidas.

"Bryce!" I called again- not too loud. I lifted my chin and I saw the Starsword, a few feet in front of me and then I glanced back- to where Bryce lay groaning on the floor. "Shit, shit-"

The air felt different here, thinner, and as I scrambled over to Bryce, half-crawling, half-stumbling, it took all my strength to make it those few feet before I dropped to my knees at her side.

"Alex," Bryce gritted her teeth as I rolled her onto her back, her tan skin ashen her body convulsing. Running from Rigelus's power, opening the Gate with the Horn, getting us both through to Hel- it was all too much for her.

"We need to go," Her amber eyes darted frantically, to and from my face to the darkening sky above. But even her hand clasping mine felt weak, and I knew that she was on the verge of passing out. "Death-deathstalkers, they'll kill us, Alex, we need to go."

"I know, I know," I rasped and something helpless burned behind my eyes as I held her hand, and watched her sneakers dig into the ground for leverage before giving out a second later. "We're not going to make it far with you like this Bryce, we need shelter, we need-"

The mists before us parted and the words died on my tongue as I beheld the land before me- beheld a sight of beauty. A flowing, crystal blue river, a lawn of verdant green grass, kept green grass, and beyond.

"A city," I gasped, and Bryce must not have heard me, not as she tried and failed to bend her knees under her. But I saw it, saw a city of stars and moonlight and prosperity, the kind that Ruhn had shown me pictures of when he had travelled across the Continents.

But there, through the mystified fog and past that winding river- movement. Demons of Hel.

"Bryce, I know you're tired, but you need to get up," I grab her limpening arm, tucking it against me and something twists in my gut at the wet feel of the Harpy's blood on her clothes and mine, the smell that thickened as I grabbed Bryce by the waist to haul her to her feet.

Her amber eyes opened; her head tilted back against my forearm blinking up at my face. And then her eyes widened.

"Alex-"

Too late.

Steel slid against my throat, cold and sharp and I froze.

A male spoke, like death incarnate against the shell of my ear, so close that I felt a tremor ripple across my skin. I didn't recognise the language, but with the hushed tone and the press of that blade against my carotid, I knew not to move.

I didn't even dare breathe.

Bryce grunted as she slipped from my grip and back to the grass, and as her eyes flashed to whatever demon stood behind me, I saw it in her face- her calling to her powers, just as I did now. But it splintered and cracked, shards slipping through my fingers.

I had nothing left to defend with, and if the dull star at Bryce's chest told me anything, it seemed we were out of luck.

That male voice spoke again, demanded something in that foreign tongue and when I still knelt on the ground, palms exposed, begging any who listened for even a flicker of magic to ignite in me, he growled.

Bryce gasped as his large hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I saw her fighting to rise as he hauled me up and twisted me to face him. "Don't fucking touch her."

But I didn't react. Not as I was met with something, unlike any demon I knew existed.

A male- the most beautiful male I had ever seen before. Golden skin, carved bone structure, raven hair. And those eyes were hazel, a sunburst of honey and whiskey, even if they seemed to gleam with violence.

The sight of him surprised me enough that I stumbled back a step and like the warrior he seemed to be, he reacted, his hand falling to my curved waist and gripping me. Something sparked, like a match being lit, at the touch.

And for a second, I think he felt it too, it seemed like those hazel eyes cleared and his tall, muscular form shivered at that spark. Just for a second and then it was gone.

He released my waist, instead wrapping his hand around my wrist, a glint of a blade shining in my peripheral. He spoke again, a quiet voice that seemed to hold no mercy. But I was dumbfounded as I stared at him.

The scale-like obsidian armour, crafted over acres of lean, corded muscle, and so tall I craned my neck to meet his eyes. And those wings, nothing like Hunt's, no, these were vast, black, leathery, tipped with talons that peered over his broad shoulders.

Hunt.

Ruhn.

Something squeezed in my chest and that beautiful face twisted, brows knitting and soft lips tilting down as tears filled my eyes.

"Take us to Aidas," I begged, and I couldn't stop how my body was shaking now. I glanced back at Bryce, braced on her palms and mascara running down her face- as if she too remembered all we had left behind. "Take us to Aidas, Prince Aidas!"

I couldn't stop the tears as they fell and when I jolted forward, curling my hands into the solid, intricate armour he wore, his eyes flashed in warning. But he didn't pull away. I leaned against him, knees near giving out and he seemed to recognise how desperate I was.

He spoke again, softer this time, that rough hand still holding my wrist.

"What the fuck is he saying?" Bryce choked, and I could hear rustling as if she was fighting with everything, she had in her to get up. I could practically hear her screaming in her mind get the fuck up.

"I don't understand, please, just take us to Prince Aidas. We came to Hel; we came for his help-"

"Hel?" He echoed the word sounding jumbled on his lips. I nodded frantically, my nails breaking against his armour, half my body flush against him now and he held my weight up with ease.

"Yes, yes, Hel!" I looked around, gesturing at the misty surroundings, the sky-scrapping trees, the darkening night sky, "What level? What Pit? What Chasm?" But my words seemed to just confuse him even more, dark brows furrowing.

My eyes screwed shut with frustration and I opened my mouth again, to repeat those same words, hoping this time something would click- and then I felt it, felt them.

"Fuck," I gasped, launching back, my fingers untangling from the male before me as I scrambled away. His hand- brutally scarred, I realised- squeezed, but when he saw the fear and panic sullying my eyes, he reluctantly let go.

And I inched back and back and back until I felt Bryce beside me- and she was shaking just as much as I was. Because stood behind that male, were three more... demons? No, no, Fae, two of them were Fae.

We were surrounded now, outnumbered.

"Shit, shit," Bryce hissed and when my eyes met hers, half-risen, legs knocking together as she tried to stand, I saw it on her face- we were fucked, royally fucked. "We can't fucking take them all."

I sucked in a shallow breath and with it, I steeled my spine and forced the alarm to clear from my face. The first male's eyes scrutinised me, observed as I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, refusing to cower- and I swear his lip tilted at the corner.

"Prince Aidas, we're looking for Prince Aidas," I looked past him, to the two Fae females, beautiful Fae females and another handsome male with wings standing beside them. "Is this Hel?"

One of the females stepped forward, petite in every sense of the word, her dark, cropped hair so at odds with the gleaming silver in her angular eyes- eyes that seemed to look over me, over Bryce, and narrow.

I didn't blame them. We were covered in blood, seeping through our clothes, sticking to our skin, coating our hands and neck, and speckled against our faces. Blood that was not ours.

The other male spoke, just as tall, if not taller than the first with those same hazel eyes and those dark, foreboding wings. He shook his head, long raven hair shifting from his bun, and I watched as the female beside him, pretty and fawn-haired, pursed her lips.

Bryce bared her teeth, red hair swinging in her ponytail as she stepped forward and I fought against my instinct to help, to grab onto her to stop her tumbling over. But we were the prey here, they were the predators and we had to do everything in our power to not become food.

"Is this world Hel?" Bryce asked and something shifted in the air at the sound of the Old Fae Language on her tongue, that petite female flinching at the words. "We need to see Prince Aidas."

The others gaped at the smaller female as if her shock was the most alarming thing about this situation. But I sagged in relief- finally, someone who fucking understood us. But that seemed secondary to her, as that female glanced from the Starsword on the floor at her feet to the first male's dagger at his side.

He slid it free, and it was as if someone had ripped the ground out from under our feet.

"Oh my fucking Gods," It was a twin to the Starsword, a mirror with its dark hilt and engraved blade. And Bryce's hand found mine, tugged me back with her as the Starsword began to glow, vibrating with white magic.

And almost as if in answer the dagger pulsed black.

It fell from the male's hand, alarm breaking through the pure ice hardening his eyes and I would have laughed under different circumstances- laughed at seeing these fully grown, powerful creatures flinching from these weapons.

Except I was fucking terrified too.

"Gwydion," The dark-haired female gasped, red-painted lips parting in shock as she stared down at the Starsword- known by a different name here, a name I had never heard before.

"Please, is this Hel?" I stumbled slightly over the language, unused to the mother tongue of the Old Fae, but still, I locked my intreating gaze onto that female and demanded again, "Is this Hel? We need to find Prince Aidas."

She pursed her lips and Bryce's nails dug into the skin of my palm, her body stiffening under that stare. She looked over us- the mess of make-up smeared across our faces, the clothes and shoes caked in blood, and the bruises and cuts looming over our skin.

So at odds with them, with their outdated attire. For some reason, I thought back to the old fantasy movies Danika used to drag me and Bryce to, just so she could laugh and throw popcorn kernels at the screen.

My heart burned in memory of her.

I saw a blare of blue, bright enough that it had me blinking through the tears that lined my eyes in memory of my friend. As the haze cleared, I locked onto that beautiful male and saw something solemn in his face- like he had felt my grief at that moment.

I didn't have the time to contemplate how.

"No one has spoken that language here in over fifteen thousand years," She spoke, tone clipped and chin high, "I do not know any Aidas here."

"Apollion then," I swallowed, and I felt Bryce sway beside me, hands rubbing at her face, muttering incoherently under her breath. "You must know the Prince of the Pit."

"I do not know of such people," She shook her head, her eyes weary and something in my chest caved, "This is not Hel."

This is not Hel.

Not Hel.

Where the fuck where we?

"Oh Gods," Bryce gasped and this time when she swayed again, I did hold onto her, wrapping her arm over my shoulder and baring her weight. I didn't let the calm mask I donned slip, didn't let them see me as anything other than strong. I couldn't afford to.

"Then where are we?" I asked, voice shaking as I looked between the two females, then the other swaggering male and then finally to the first. And my eyes now noticed the blue jewels embedded into his armour, blazing like sirens.

I locked my gaze on him and for some reason, whatever reason, I felt like he of all of them might take pity on us, have mercy on us. And I let him see that in me, that hope, strong enough that something unreadable whirled through his eyes.

"What world is this?" I breathed, just looking at him and I saw his throat work, that powerful body going unnaturally still. His lips parted as if to speak, but then something happened. I felt it again, that shift in time and space and air.

And then there were two more of them, two more Fae as if they had just appeared- from thin fucking air.

"How fucking many of them are there?" Bryce scoffed, and something like a chuckle rose in me, at how ridiculous this was, how unbelievable. Did the Gods truly hate us so fucking much?

I eyed the female first and watched her wade through the others to the front- lovely, fawn-haired, and her eyes a cloudy blue. They widened slightly at the sight of us, but they held little threat, only weariness.

And then two black, ominous wings erected high behind her, and the breath ripped from my lungs as a third male stepped out- midnight hair, and violet eyes, breathtakingly lovely.

"Ruhn?" My voice broke, and it was Bryce who had to hold me up now, had to keep me from falling to my knees at the sight of that male, so much like the Prince I had left behind on Midgard.

He blinked at me, likely as confused as I was.

And then he turned to the first male, the one with the scarred hands, and they spoke between them. Something almost akin to worry flickering through those hazel eyes as he watched me, the tears now leaking down my face, the haunted expression I wore.

"He-he looks like Ruhn," Bryce gasped, voice barely above a mutter and I heard the emotion clogging her words- for her brother, in the hands of the Asteri, so similar to this male that it physically made us hurt. "Why does he look Ruhn?"

"I don't know, I don't know-" Once the tears started it became hard to stop and Bryce, was beginning to sag in my arms, she was starting to drift in and out of consciousness now and I couldn't hold her for much longer I knew that.

"Please," I looked to the dark-haired female again, and I would be the prey, I would be food, I would chattel if it meant getting them to help us. "My sister is weak, she needs help and-and our world, our home... Midgard, it's in grave danger-"

Hunt, Bryce's mate. My friend.

Ruhn, Bryce's brother. My family and yet so much more.

"Don't- don't tell them anything, Alex," Bryce rasped into my ear, and I was starting to buckle now, teeth gritting as her body got heavier and heavier. "Don't tell-"

"Bryce!" She crumpled to the floor, and I fell with her, knees giving out, slamming into the grass hard enough that I felt the pain through every inch of my body. The Fae before us seemed to startle, but only the first male stepped forward, grass crunching under his boots.

Scarred hands reaching out as if to catch us. Catch me.

"I don't have any magic left, it's-it's depleted, more than depleted," Bryce rested her sweating forehead against my shoulder, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste metal as her eyes fluttered.

"Mine too," I whispered back, and the muttering amongst the others told me they were confused, that us speaking in our native tongue did not sit well with them. They didn't like not knowing what we were saying. "It's going to take a long time for it to come back, we need them to not kill us before then."

"C'mon Alex," Bryce lifted her eyes to mine, dry amusement in them, "Flutter those lashes and throw them a pretty smile, works with the males back home."

Their muttering got louder, and more voices joined in.

"These definitely aren't the males from home," I scoff- only Bryce could make a snarky quip at a time like this. "We don't have this kind of eye candy back home."

"Speak for yourself," Bryce's lip tilted. "Hunt Athalar happens to be my mate."

Her mate. I felt her chest seize in memory of him.

And it's that, that awful hurt in her eyes that makes me exhale with resolve. I draw on every ounce of exhaustion and pain and suffering we had endured these last few days, these last years- and I look back to those Fae with unveiled desperation.

"Please," I say again, and when I picture Ruhn and Hunt, when I picture our parents and our friends, my tears become real, "You have to help us."

The dark-haired female seemed to translate my words to the others, and something almost softened across their faces- kind, these people, they seemed kind. The fawn-haired female, who I noticed had a tapestry of dark whirls tattooed up her right arm, smiled sadly at me and spoke.

"She wants to know your name," the petite one relayed.

I could taste the salt of my tears in my mouth and my throat worked as I searched across all those lovely faces. I stopped at the first male, something tugging at me, an incessant throb that only settled when my eyes found him again.

There was a tense silence as we stared at each other, my arms wrapped around Bryce, holding her weak body to mine, no longer able to open her eyes much less speak. The male saw that, saw that we weren't a threat, at least not right now, and he dipped his head in the barest nod.

As if to say- we won't harm you.

"I'm Alexis Quinlan," I met those violet eyes and tried not to shudder at the thought of Ruhn. I cleared my throat, looking down at Bryce in my embrace, her chest rising and falling- just barely. "This is my sister, Bryce Quinlan."

"Hello, Alexis Quinlan," He stepped forward, a small smile tilting at his gorgeous face and the sound of the Old Language on his tongue was as glorious as night and space itself. "I'm Rhysand."

One moment, Rhysand was smiling and then the next something wholly dark and terrifying eclipsed us.

And then there was nothing but oblivion.

***

Alexis Quinlan- that's what Rhysand said she introduced herself as.

Even the sound of her name made something in my chest spark, a call in answer to her.

I felt as if I knew her somehow, felt as if we had met before- it was that feeling that stopped me from sliding Truth-teller into the junction of her throat when I found her earlier. It was the shiver that ran down me when I grabbed her waist that made me stop.

Made it impossible for me to harm her despite every instinct in me screaming that she was a stranger, a threat against this Court, against my family, against everything I held dear.

Even if another instinct in me whispered that she was anything but.

"Azriel," Rhysand's voice broke through the wall of confusion and intrigue that had erected the moment I laid eyes on her, and it took all my power to slide my gaze to his and look unfazed. "What are you thinking?"

I glanced at where the two females lay, nestled together on the small cot, faces calm as they slumbered. My lips pursed at the first female, Alexis, and the blood that caked her- matted in her long, chocolate hair, crusting against her tawny skin, staining the tight, unusual clothes she wore.

Not a threat and yet she was covered in blood that was not hers.

"They said they came from another world- Midgard- how?" I forced away the incessant thoughts of her, jaw locking as my shadows danced across my form- whispering, whispering, whispering, just about her. "They possess Gwydion but seemed surprised by Truth-Teller."

My hands clenched at my sides; the dagger sheathed at my hip no longer pulsing with that dark, unnatural energy in answer to Gwydion. It was alarming, seeing the blade I had cherished and wielded for so many years suddenly become unfamiliar to me, become other.

"She said their world was in grave danger, that they needed help," Amren mused, her slender arms folding over her chest as she stood beside me and Rhysand, her eyes assessing those females with lethal scrutiny. "Who's to say whatever they fear hasn't followed them straight to us, if the danger even exists."

I thought back to first discovering them- weak, no power left in them, if they had any at all and she had cried- amber eyes welling with tears as she held onto me. I felt it as sure as if it were my own, her grief, her desperation.

It had felt real.

"They did not seem disingenuous," Rhysand's violet eyes moved between Amren and me, the cavernous walls so at odds with the stars in his eyes but seemed to match perfectly with his deep-set frown. "And if they were going to attack, would they not have taken their chances against Azriel, before reinforcements arrived?"

"Whatever they endured has left them defenceless, they couldn't have taken Azriel even if they wanted to," Amren examined her sharp, glistening nails, her tone almost bored, "Wake them Rhysand, all these assumptions are pointless. We need them to tell us the truth."

It seemed unlikely they would tell us anything, not willingly, not if the way Alexis had steeled her spine and raised her chin as my court surrounded her was any indication. And her sister, Bryce, had bared her teeth, enough ire in her eyes to translate the curses that fell from her lips.

These were not weak females, not feeble by any account. My power seemed to rally at that reminder, that they were the enemy until proven otherwise. And as Rhysand let a wave of his magic brush over them, pulling them free from their unconscious- I let my mask slip back into place.

Shadowsinger. Spymaster. Darkness incarnate.

The females stirred, dark lashes fluttering and the three of us braced ourselves as they both sucked in sharp, lungfuls of air and shot up. Bryce, red hair swinging violently, and teeth bared, reached back- for Gwydion- and her painted nails met nothing but air.

But the other female, Alexis, sprung out of the cot and to her feet- but she didn't reach for a weapon. No, my brows rose as her hands curled, palms exposing and- nothing. Nothing came from it.

"She reached for her magic, but there isn't anything left," Rhysand muttered, interest lacing his tone and I nodded gravely in agreement, watching her breath stutter from her in realisation. "They have power, enough that it's her first instinct to call for it."

"And they're trained," I said lowly, watching their eyes flicker over themselves, over each other, and the cavernous walls that surrounded them. "The sister went for Gwydion first, and now they're assessing the space- these are no novices."

Their eyes slid to us as if knowing we spoke about them. And rightfully so fear crept up their faces as they took in the scene, the three of us, the cell they were trapped in and not a weapon or a speck of magic left in them.

The grate behind us hissed and Alexis groaned, muttering something in her language, amusing enough that the female behind her cracked a dry smile. They shifted to stand before the cot, their eyes unflinching upon us.

Rhysand stepped forward and I didn't miss how Alexis stiffened and shifted in front of Bryce- her protector perhaps? Or maybe whatever they were, she thought her sister's life more valuable than her own.

Rhysand spoke in that Old Fae language, translating mind to mind. His hand extended, wreathed in stars and moonlight, two small beans lying in his palm. "Here, swallow this and it will translate our mother tongue to you, allow you to speak it too."

Bryce scoffed, looking at the bean as if it were a vial of poison. My head cocked when Alexis folded her arms across her chest, her dark brow raising at Rhys and she spoke, something sardonic crossing her lovely face.

Rhys laughed- and I glanced at him in surprise. Even Amren's lip quirked at the corner.

"She said," Rhysand's eyes met mine and danced with enough amusement that my shadows hushed, "That she doesn't swallow- no matter how nicely a pretty male may ask."

I chuckled quietly at that, and something akin to approval hummed in my chest as my gaze shifted to hers. And it blared brighter when she tilted her chin in challenge, every inch of her soft body turning still at my attention.

"If we were going to kill you, we wouldn't need to use poison," Amren drawled, Rhysand translating again. The females met each other's eyes and Bryce said something, something that made Alexis flash her a smile- a devastating smile.

Bryce's hand trembled barely as she plucked the beans from Rhysand's palm, careful not to touch him and there was silence as they slipped it between their parted lips, grimacing as they swallowed it dry.

They gasped- in pain I realised, and it became increasingly difficult to stay rooted in place as they bucked, as she writhed, body convulsing, eyes screwed shut. I gritted my teeth as Bryce slumped back onto the bed, reeling, Alexis now bracing her palms against the cave walls to keep herself steady.

"If you were trying to hurt us a fucking knife would have done the job just as well," Alexis scowled, panting as she held the wall. My shadows skittered at the sound of her voice- soft and melodic to my ears.

"Poison might have been better than... whatever the fuck that was," Bryce said, husky voice half-muffled by the hand at her mouth as if she was forcing down bile - an answer to the pain that had thrashed her insides apart moments before.

"My apologies," Rhysand smiled, sounding anything but apologetic and their eyes narrowed as if they knew that. "But the language barrier was growing tedious, wouldn't you say?"

Bryce mumbled something incoherent, and we watched as she rose to her feet again, both their faces tight with discomfort as they steadied themselves, standing side by side as they had before and faced us.

They wanted answers as much as we did it seemed.

"You said your names were Alexis and Bryce Quinlan," Amren took a step forward, and her gaze slid over them, unimpressed. But to their credit they didn't baulk, if anything Alexis mirrored that look, taking in Amren's clothes with veiled humour. "You say you came from another world- if you are to be believed, how did you come here? Why?"

"Where is here?" Bryce swallowed, gaze flickering over the space again, "What world is this?"

"Why do you speak the Old Language?" Amren argued, eyes narrowing.

"Why do you?" Bryce countered, jerking her chin and Alexis rolled her pretty eyes, already tired of the back and forth- it nearly made me smile.

"Why are you covered in blood that is not your own?" Amren's red lips tilted into a cruel smile and- silence. They didn't speak for several moments.

And then something else overtook them. Panic overtook them. They looked down at the blood, covering them and whatever had happened, whatever they endured at home, those memories came back with a vengeance.

Bryce began to hyperventilate, her breath sawing in and out and she looked around the room, eyes wide, as if the walls were beginning to close in.

"Bryce," Alexis grabbed her sister's hand, silver-lined her eyes as she looked at her, "Bryce, don't think about it, don't think about them, please Bryce-"

"We won't harm you," Rhysand frowned, and they seemed to realise the comfort in the words, and the warning too. My throat worked, my head spinning with so many thoughts as she grabbed her sister's hand, anchoring her, and met our eyes again.

"What world is this?" Alexis demanded, and I could see it, as she looked at us one by one, the power she might wield, the magic lying dormant in her veins. She looked to Amren, unafraid. "You said no one has spoken the Old Language here in fifteen thousand years. Why?"

"How did you come to be in possession of the lost sword Gwydion?" Amren countered and this time Alexis bared her teeth, sharp canines exposing with a soft snarl. That sound glided down my spine and over my wings.

"I thought we agreed that we didn't want to have tedious conversations?" She said, and Amren's smile broadened- as if recognising a worthy opponent. "Or should we keep asking each other questions while giving no fucking answers?"

"You mean the Starsword?" Bryce rasped, giving a hint of an answer- but none of us spoke. Her eyes rolled, a mirror to the face her sister had made minutes ago, and she sighed. "It's a family heirloom, It's been in our world since our ancestors brought it over...fifteen thousand years ago."

Alexis met Amren's eyes, and something whirled in them, something sarcastic- as if to say see, that's called answering the fucking question.

My shadows crooned at that look.

"How did you find this world?" Rhysand asked, and rightfully so, they both seemed uneasy in his presence, seemed to recognise that he was in charge.

"We didn't," Alexis sighed, "Like we said: we wanted to go to Hel. We landed here instead."

"How?" Rhysand's voice sharpened and they both grimaced at the sound that came hissing from the grate, as if sensing their High Lord's anger and pleading for a taste.

"How much do you wanna bet they're gonna feed us to whatever the fucks hissing in there?" Bryce mused, wincing at the sound and Alexis nodded, looking at the grate with dread.

"We're not exactly the most palatable females, Bryce," Alexis tucked her long, dark hair behind an arched ear and chuckled wryly, talking as if we weren't even here, "Maybe it'll taste the sarcasm in our blood and be uninterested?"

She quirked a brow, teasing her sister- at a time like this they were teasing each other.

"I can assure you that that they don't discriminate," I flashed my teeth in a wicked smile, and Alexis's eyes locked with mine at the sound of my quiet tone, hands clenching at the cruel amusement in my eyes. "They like the taste of a pretty female, sarcastic or not."

She sucked in a shallow breath at that, her shapely chest rising and falling in waves as she stared at me. There was silence, and I knew the others were looking at us, between us, sensing the battle of wills that raged.

"Look, I just watched my mate and my brother get captured by a group of intergalactic parasites," Bryce snarled, and I straightened at the anger in her voice. "We have no interest in doing anything except finding a way to help them."

Her brother. Not our brother.

I narrowed my eyes and looked between them then- they didn't look remotely alike that much was obvious, nor did they smell alike, their blood completely different. Sisters, but not by blood, sisters in the same way that Rhysand and Cassian were my brothers.

"Explain." That's all Amren said. And they looked at each other, seemed to read the words on each other's faces and then turned back to us and said nothing. Amren sighed, "Just look into their minds already, Rhys."

"Don't even think about it," Alexis hissed, angling herself before her sister again and she glared at Rhysand with true terror in her eyes. A mirror to how Bryce looked at him.

"I do not pry where I am not willingly invited," Rhysand said quietly, his face not yielding even an inch of how he felt. Bryce's eyes narrowed, and Alexis showed another sarcastic smile.

"Gods be good, there are some decent males left in this galaxy," She drawled, utterly unimpressed, "However may we thank you for not invading our minds and rifling through them. Should we bow in the face of such virtue, Bryce?"

"It's definitely something to revere," Bryce looked at her sister, and chuckled, "A male with a code of mind-speaking ethics."

Rhysand paused, entertained if the constellations in his eyes told me anything. And even I fought back my astonishment, my smile, surprised by these females.

"Then we'll have to rely on your words," Rhysand grinned, snapped his fingers, and then settled onto one of the three chairs that appeared behind us, crossing an ankle over a knee.

"I was wrong before Bryce, these males are just like the ones back home," Alexis muttered, rolling her eyes at Rhysand's dramatics, before dropping onto the cot behind her with a sigh. "Beauty and arrogance, nothing new here."

Bryce fought a smile, sitting beside her sister, so close their thighs brushed, as if needing the other for comfort, for support.

"Amren," Rhysand smiled lazily at the frowning female, gesturing to the chair and then to me, "Azriel." I dropped onto the chair, tucking my wings behind me, and bracing my arms on my knees.

Her eyes were on me. As if hearing my name had the same effect as when I had heard hers.

"You say your sword has been in your world for fifteen thousand years?" Rhysand asked, and if I knew Rhys then he was more than pleased that she thought him beautiful, liked that she considered him arrogant.

My stomach lurched at the thought for some reason, her thinking him beautiful. I shoved it down, deep within me, not daring to think of it again. Think of why I even cared.

"Brought by our ancestors- Queen Theia or Prince Pelias, depending on what propaganda you hear." Bryce said a shade hesitantly, but upon seeing Amren stiffen, seeing her react, her brow rose, "You know of them?"

"No one has spoken those names here in a very, very long time," Amren swallowed, and Rhysand had gone still- if Amren was worried, then we all should be. "They once dwelled here."

"So, this is it, this is where we- the Midgard Fae- came from," Alexis was breathless, like the piece of the puzzle they had been missing slid into place. "Our ancestors left this world and went to Midgard, but we forgot where we came from."

Rhysand looked at me and I shook my head, lips pursing, never before heard of such stories involving our people migrating through worlds. But then he looked to Amren- and Cauldron, she looked shaken.

"It's murky, I went in before-" Amren glanced to the girls and didn't continue that sentence, "But when I came out there were rumours- many people vanishing, some said to another world, others said they'd moved to distant lands, rumours that they had been chosen by the Cauldron and spirited away."

Something cold lit through me at her words, getting colder still when Amren lifted her eyes and sharpened them upon the females. "What I want to know is why you came here when you meant to go elsewhere?"

"Join the line, Amren," Alexis said, biting down on her name sharply. She wasn't afraid, stupid, or brave, I couldn't tell but my shadows seemed to enjoy it all the same. "We want to know the same thing- we have no desire to be here."

"You wish to go to Hel," Rhysand said, not a shift in his tone, "To find this Prince Aidas."

At his question, they again glanced at each other and knew just from each other's faces, their eyes, what to do. It was intrinsic, just as I was with my brothers, on killing fields, in council meetings, in situations of peril, I could see exactly what my brothers thought just from something as simple as a blink.

"Allow me to lay out the situation for you, Bryce and Alexis Quinlan," Rhysand leaned forward, and they both met his stare- warriors, fighters, survivors, that's what I saw in them. "We will not torture you or pry into your mind. If you choose to talk or not, is indeed your choice."

"Let me guess," Alexis cocked her head, silken hair sliding over her shoulder as she met those star-flecked eyes, "Just like it's your choice to leave us down here to rot. Until these four walls drive us fucking crazy and we have no choice but to tell you whatever you want."

"That's torture, isn't it, Alex?" Bryce mused sarcastically, her brows furrowing in faux perplexion.

"Yes, it is, Bryce," Alexis drawled, locking her ankles and meeting Rhysand's gaze again, "Chivalrous torture though- because you know, they have a code to follow after all."

Cauldron, under different circumstances these females, I think I would rather like them. Rhys seems to share my sentiment, a rumble of laughter dancing through my mind. Rhys smiled- and snapped his fingers. In an instant, they were clean- of blood, of gore, of whatever else they had been coated in.

Beautiful. That's the word that sprang to me first at the sight of her, just beautiful.

"To incentivise you," Rhys gave a half smile, more menacing than anything else. Another shared glance between the girls and then a defeated sigh.

"The Asteri are ancient, tens of thousands of years old and they arrived in our world fifteen thousand years ago," Bryce said, and something sullen flashed through her eyes, as if in memory.

"What do you mean by arrived?" Rhysand pushed.

"Honestly, we have no idea how they first got to Midgard." Bryce shrugged and Rhysand's face softened at the agony in her eyes, her scent turning cold, as if she could still feel them, whatever they were.

"The history has spun them as liberators, they found Midgard little more than a backwater planet inhabited by humans and animals and they created a perfect empire- a place where creatures and races from other worlds came to through a giant hole called the Northern Rift." Alexis continued, frowning, "It now only opens to Hel, but it used to open to everywhere, anywhere."

"What happened when these creatures arrived from other worlds?" Rhysand asked, his voice tight now.

"The official history is that Hel tried to invade Midgard but the Asteri in all their glory unified these people under one banner and banished the Princes back to Hel. The Northern Rift was fixed, with its destination set on Hel. A massive wall was built to keep out any demons that come through the cracks and the Asteri's indomitable empire lives happily ever after."

"And the unofficial history?" Rhysand asked, a shade more quietly.

Alexis looked at her sister, saw the question in those eyes- and then nodded, solemnly. Bryce turned back to us, bracing herself with a shaky inhale and exhale.

"The Asteri are ancient, immortal beings who harvest off the magic of a world, of its people and then eat it. We call it firstlight, it fuels our world. We're required to hand it over when we reach immortality, we seize our full power through a ritual called the drop and they siphon off pieces of it- like a tax on our magic."

"A tithe," Amren gasps- I've never heard Amren gasp before, even Rhysand looks alarmed by the soft sound. They furrow their brow but when Amren doesn't continue, Alexis swallows, continuing the tale.

"Midgard is one of many in a long line of worlds invaded by the Asteri. They have an entire archive full of planets they've conquered or tried to conquer- we saw it before we came here." Alexis clenched her eyes shut, haunted by the memory, "There were only three planets that managed to kick their asses to the curb- Hel, a planet called Iphraxia, and a world occupied by Fae, the original Starborn Fae."

"My sword- you know it by a different name," Bryce looked to Amren, who nodded slowly, "I think it came from this world- was forged here. It was a part of your history and then vanished, right? Hasn't been seen in fifteen thousand years? It lines up with the timeline of the Starborn Fae arriving in Midgard."

Worry- it bloomed over us, all of us like a phantom touch. And something uneasy furled in my gut, the way these females had appeared, the light and dark call and answer between Gwydion and Truth-teller- it was not right.

"We learned that long before the Asteri found Midgard, they were here- but you kicked them out, you defeated them," Alexis's face turned pleading then, desperate, "How? How did you defeat them?"

"Our history doesn't include any such event like that," Rhysand said- but the look he gave Amren, spoke of something more.

"The Asteri remember you- and they're pissed off," Alexis scoffed, and my shadows lurched at her words, at the threat these Asteri posed. "Rigelus, their leader, basically said it's his personal mission to find this place and fucking destroy it. You're number one on his list."

Alexis trembled as she said his name- Rigelus, and her scent darkened in fear, in repulsion. And something awful rose in me at the smell, at whatever he had done to make her shake that way- something dark and terrible and deadly.

"It is our history, Rhysand," Amren said gravely, and we both went still, "But the Asteri were not known by that name- we called them the Daglan." I jolted, wings rustling, and Rhysand's face turned ashen, golden skin leeching of colour.

Cauldron fucking spare us, the Asteri are the Daglan.

"How did you defeat them?" Alexis tried again, hope beaming in her eyes now, "Do you have any record about how they fell?"

"Nothing beyond old songs of bloody battles and tremendous losses," Amren frowned, and that hope, fuck, it dimmed and dimmed and then completely vanished from her eyes.

"You think that these Asteri want to come back here for revenge?" Rhys asked, shaking his head like he didn't quite believe it. "After fifteen thousand years?"

"These are petty, arrogant bastards, fifteen thousand years is like five minutes when it comes to Rigelus when it comes to his revenge," Alexis said, her face twisting with ice, "He has infinite time and resources to-"

"What resources?" Rhysand cut in, and now, there was not an inch of amusement to be seen on his face. No, his High Lord's instinct had taken over.

"I don't even know where to start explaining it," Alexis shook her head, looked at her sister, frowned and then turned back to us, reaching out a small, shaking hand to Rhys. "I'll show you."

That darkness twisted in my gut again, at the thought of his hand touching hers. I thrust it down with the other ludicrous emotions and thoughts that plagued me.

"One moment," Rhys frowned, knowing better than to fall so easily into a trap. He vanished, and an emotion akin to relief filled me, as she lowered her hand back to her lap with a dazed blink.

"You can teleport here?" Bryce asked, but not really asking.

"We call it winnowing," Amren said, and my lip tilted at their reactions. "Can you two, do it?"

Another short glance- and two heads shaking no. My smirk widened.

"No," Alexis squared her shoulders, meeting my eyes and raising a brow at me, "There are only two Fae who can."

"On your entire planet?" Amren started, "Only two?"

Liar- I let her see that word in my eyes, even as she bared her teeth slightly at me, before turning away, dismissing me.

"Let me guess," Bryce smiled barely, "You have more?"

"Only the most powerful, but yes. Many can here." Amren's words cut off as Rhysand appeared between us again and I lifted a brow at what he held between his hands. "The Veritas Orb?"

"Hold it, think of what you want to show us, and the memories shall be captured within for us to view." Rhysand nodded to the orb at his feet. The girls frowned, muttered something, a word I didn't understand- camera- I think and then nodded in resolve.

Alexis rose on stiff legs, tugging at her clothes almost subconsciously, and no one spoke as she waded forward on silent feet. She paused before it, glanced at Rhysand, then Amren and then me- I tried not to appear like I wanted to kill her.

She bent down, short fingers curling around the orb and my throat worked at the slip of flesh that was revealed as she leaned forward, my eyes averting away from the display of golden skin and full breasts.

She rose, top mercifully slipping back into place and my eyes met hers- they danced with humour, knowing what I had seen, knowing that I had chosen to look away. My shadows flanked me excitedly, even as my face remained a sheet of darkness.

"Here goes nothing," She muttered, stepping back and then she closed her eyes and held that ball. It was a few seconds, if not more, before she fluttered her dark lashes, and then rolled the ball back to Rhysand.

He picked it up, touched the top and everything, all the horrors within began to play out.

Dread, pure fucking dread lined us all.

"Guns," Bryce said pointing to a human man holding some sort of weapon in his hands, hitting a target from miles away. "Brimstone missiles." A furious explosion, a flash of blinding white light and then... everything was in ruin, rubble. "Omega-boats." Some sort of underwater ship, with more of those weapons within.

"Asteri." Alexis breathed and when the male came onto the screen, dark-haired and gangly, she looked away, couldn't face him even in her own memories. And as a white-hot power blasted from him, shattering stone and glass and everything in his way, I could see why.

"You live in such a world?" Rhysand swallowed thickly, and they just nodded. "And they wish to bring all those things here?" Another grim nod.

Her eyes were on me, observing me but I didn't meet them, pushed the feel of them away. I stared at that orb, at the horror shown within and I knew that we were fucked, that against those monstrosities, Prythian would stand little chance.

Guns, missiles, omega-boats, the Asteri- it would be a catastrophe beyond anything that the Hybern war had seen.

"Bryce-" Her voice shook suddenly, panicked and my gaze tore from that orb. To where the other female hunched and groaned- to where her back glowed- "Bryce- Bryce, stop!"

Rhysand's magic pulsed and so did mine- and before they could strike, I lunged.

"Stay the fuck away from her!" Alexis snarled as I stood before them, Truth-teller in my hand, poised to attack. I inched closer- but then that darkness began to leak from the blade again, and I stopped at the sight.

"Put it away," Amren hissed, "It sings for her, and by bringing it close-" It was gone whisked away by my shadows within a blink.

Alexis glowered at me but then she turned and met her sister's pale face and concern softened her expression. But that light still pulsed- bright, shimmering, iridescent- and the panic in both their eyes, told us everything they had tried to hide.

"The glowing letters inked on her back," Amren muttered, Rhys stood by my side now, watching those closely, "They're the same as those in the Book of Breathings."

They seemed to notice the shift in the air, the power rumbling through the stone and the way they stared back, the way she stared back, told me that they wouldn't go down easy.

"Explain or die."

____________________________

A/N:

HERE WE HAVE IT, CHAPTER ONE OF MY AZRIEL FANFIC!

This is a little sneak peek into what's to come but if you want to read the rest of this fanfic I am uploading it on Wattpad and AO3 (linked) My Wattpad handle is @itzwhatever and my ao3 handle is @b00kdiary

So excited to continue this story, I've been thinking about it for MONTHS.

@hellodarling1357 @charlineraven @starrystarkey93 @mockingjaytributes @nelapeach14 @alessiazeni @bishhh2003 @impossibelle @firebreathingbishqueen @lovely-susie @sarawritestories @hellowinterlane @minnieoo @charlineraven @acotarfics-mharmie009

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nebulablakemurphy · 2 years ago

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Moves & Countermoves (Part 13)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Trigger warning: discussions of trauma surrounding ‘desirable victors’ and mentions of sex.

The tribute parade is a glimmer of hope after a losing streak. Capitol citizens screaming and chanting for Katniss as the chariots are drawn out for display. Even the elites are vying to sponsor the star crossed lovers, who saved their mentors and the sweet little baby in Y/N’s womb.

There is no waving or smiling this year, at Cinna’s request.

“Way to make friends out there, you two.” Haymitch waves over Peeta and Katniss once they dismount the carriage.

“Well, we learned from the best,” Katniss shoots back.

“I want to introduce you to some special friends of mine, this is Chaff and Seeder.”

Seeder smiles in acknowledgment.

While Chaff closes the distance between them, giving Katniss a kiss on each cheek; then pulling away in a fit of laughter.

She is caught off guard, dismay painted across her features.

“He’s very friendly.” Haymitch chuckles, clapping his friend once on the back. “But don’t invite him over, he’ll drink up all your liquor.”

Y/N approaches with Cashmere and Gloss in tow, as if Finnick introducing himself with the sugar cube, before the parade, hadn’t been enough.

“There she is,” Chaff opens his arms, “come here.”

Y/N smiles, slinking around the side to greet him, for what might be the last time.

“It’s good to see you, baby.” He tells her, in earnest. For a minute there, I thought you were coming in with us.

“Good to see you.” She pulls away, giving Seeder a quick hug. Tears welling up in her eyes, without permission.

The older woman taps her chin, when they break apart. “Don’t you cry.”

“We wanted to come introduce ourselves,” Cashmere explains. “I’m Cashmere, this is my brother, Gloss.”

“We’ve heard nothing but good things.” Peeta says, truthfully.

“Pleasure,” Gloss grins, extending a hand to Peeta, allowing his sister to mirror the gesture with Katniss. Moving in perfect synchronization, like a well oiled machine.

“And to thank you,” Cashmere squeezes Katniss’ hand.

“For what?” Katniss wonders.

“Saving my friend.”

You love her too. The realization sits heavy in Katniss’ chest.

“Alright, let’s go get some of that makeup off you.” Haymitch spares Katniss from farther floundering.

They move into the elevator, just the victors of district twelve, until a hand slips in to stop the doors from closing.

Johanna she struts in with a heavy sigh, pressing the button for the seventh floor. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Katniss responds, under her breath.

“My stylist is an idiot.” Johanna tosses her bracelets to the ground. “District seven, lumber…I’d love to bury my axe in her face.” She shuffles closer to Peeta, moving her, long, red, ponytail over her shoulder. “Unzip?”

“Sure.” Peeta stammers, earning him a death glare from Katniss.

Johanna does not look away as she strips down to nothing, without preamble.

Katniss’ mouth is slightly ajar, Peeta’s lips set in a nervous smile.

“Not in front of the children,” Y/N gasps, rushing to hold a hand over both sets of eyes.

“Come on, you know you like this.” Johanna chirps, playfully.

“I remember when mine used to sit up like that.” Y/N cranes her neck to meet Johanna’s gaze, “enjoy it.”

“Cry me a river, you’re a walking wet dream.” Johanna rolls her eyes.

Haymitch is strangely silent, enjoying their banter.

Whether they are fighting or flirting, Katniss cannot tell. In any event, she’s glad when the elevator dings on the seventh floor.

“That was fun, let’s do it again sometime.” Johanna grins, quite pleased with herself as she exits.

“Johanna Mason, district seven.”

————————————————————————

“Explain to me exactly how this is going to work.” Y/N whispers, beneath the spray of the water.

Whoever is tasked with monitoring the audio from their room, in the tribute center, must think they have the highest libidos in Panem. Though they are here to exchange information, they are also in the shower, nude, at very close proximity.

“Plutarch has access to the trackers, he can override the information.” Haymitch allows his eyes to close, at the feel of familiar fingers in his hair. “Cannon goes off while the tribute is still alive. They are extracted by the crane, from the hovercraft, same as always. One by one. Ideally, Katniss and Peeta near the end, Snow will want to see their bodies for himself. By the time he realizes what’s happened, everybody is safe, underground, in thirteen.”

“What about twelve? First thing he’ll do is retaliate.”

“We have open lines of communication, we’ll be able to warn them.”

Y/N nods, in understanding. His lips are on hers then and they are no longer pretending.

————————————————————————

Keeping this secret from Katniss and Peeta is easier than Y/N anticipated. They assume she is distancing herself out of self preservation, reverting to the calculated woman they’d met on the train last year. Neither of them blame her.

They score twelves during individual assessment, painting even larger targets on their backs. And tonight, the last night before the games, they are prepping for their interviews with Caesar.

Katniss is almost certain that the master of ceremonies will ask about her volunteering. She does not regret it, even now, she would do it again in a heartbeat. No one deserves a happy ending more than you. Katniss hates that she is being laced back into Y/N’s wedding dress.

“I think you’re going to be happy with the alterations.” Cinna fluffs up the layers of fabric.

Haymitch downs his drink, drowning the vision of his sweet girl in the dress; squeezing his fingers when it hurt too much. The way she shook like a leaf beneath him, “it’s just you and me.” She is still after that, steady; allowing him to bring her pleasure she has never known.

Crying when it is finished, because he locked himself in the bathroom to vomit. Sick over what he had done to keep her safe, while she thought he was disgusted by something she’d done.

Apologizing profusely when he returns. “Haymitch, I- I was just nervous. Not because of you…I’m sorry it wasn’t, I’m sorry you didn’t like it. I’ll do better next time.”

His heart seizes, thrumming to an unbearable ache. “It’s nothing you did. Please never think that I-” Haymitch stumbles over the words. Evidence of his ‘enjoyment’ is mixed with her blood on the sheets, rolling forth a fresh wave of nausea. “Like you said, it’s not because of you. It’s everything else.” Snow and the cameras and-

Y/N knows how much he’s already given up, the deals he made for her. “I still want it to be real someday.”

Their marriage, their love story.

“You tell me when it’s real, and I’ll ask you to marry me again.” No more rushing, no more bullshit.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Haymitch swears. I’m getting you out of here. No matter how long it takes, I’m getting you out.

They are no longer in that room, trapped beneath the mechanical whirl of the cameras. They are here, with Y/N’s arms around his waist, one hand resting over his heart. Holding him where it hurts, because she understands him better at thirty than she could at nineteen. This dress is a prison, he hopes the girl on fire lights it up.

“These victors are angry, Katniss. They’ll say anything to try and stop the games, I suggest you do the same.”

When it is her turn to be interviewed, the audience is enamored at the sight.

“Welcome, Katniss Everdeen!” Caesar is humming with excitement. “Look at you, absolutely stunning.”

“Don’t go crying on me now, Caesar.” Katniss retorts.

“Oh, you know I can’t help it.”

“You know I wouldn’t believe you even if you did.”

“Ah ha ha, the girl on fire, so cheeky. I love it. Now, Katniss…on a more serious note, we’re all here a little disappointed, well more than a little, that a certain wedding will not be taking place.” Caesar laments, sharing his sorrow with the nation. “But here you are, in Y/N’s dress, the dress you would have worn. How do you think she feels, seeing you on stage tonight?”

“I hope that…” Katniss exhales. “I hope that she’s proud of me.” She searches beyond the blinding stage lights for Y/N, finding her in the sea of faces. She looks at Katniss the same way she always has, with love, sadness; something more. Perhaps it is pride.

“Awww.”

“I know she is,” Caesar nods. “It has been so beautiful to watch your story, to see this family you found. How you volunteered, first for your little sister and then to save your mentor. You are incredible. Would you do us the honor?”

The twirling.

Katniss finds Cinna, beside Y/N and Haymitch, catching his eye. He gives the go ahead and she begins to turn. The skirt of her dress igniting into flames, leaving a black and gray design in its wake. As fire reaches the top, it has transformed completely. Feathers at her shoulders spread with her arms. Wings.

The crowd rises from their seats, her mentors and stylist among them. Cinna has an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, “for both of you.”

“Thank you,” she leans into him.

“It’s like….it’s like a-a bird! Like a-” Caesar racks his brain.

“Like a mockingjay,” Katniss finishes for him.

“Your stylist has certainly outdone himself. Cinna, take a bow.” Caesar turns the camera’s focus to the audience.

Cinna kisses his hand and holds it up, sending all his love to Katniss. When the applause has died down, she joins the other tributes, on the risers near the back of the stage.

Peeta is last, in a pristine white suit, designed to match his wife-to-be.

“So, Peeta, the wedding.” Caesar gets right down to business. “The marriage, never to be.”

“Actually, we got married. In secret.” Peeta says, captivating the crowd to a stunned silence.

“A secret wedding? Tell us more.”

“We want our love to be eternal, Katniss and I. We’ve been luckier than most and I wouldn’t have any regrets at all if-” Peeta breaks off. “If it weren’t…”

“If it weren’t for what, Peeta?” Caesar is all but holding his breath. “What?”

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Once again viewers are out of their seats.

“Baby!?!”

“Tell us more.”

“Well we knew that Y/N would be too far along and we all agreed that Katniss would have a better chance.” Peeta explains.

“Stop the games!” The cry heard around the Capitol, is resurgent and in full force. The victors of district twelve have not one baby at stake, but two.

“Alright now, this is news to all of us.” Caesar reminds the audience.

Their outrage echoes off the walls. “Stop the games!”

“We’re going to find out what we do about this.” Caesars attempts to stop the riot. He leans in to Peeta, asking him to go stand with the others. “It’s a great night.”

Peeta trots up the stairs to Katniss, embracing when they meet.

“Oh, my heart.” The woman behind Y/N leans over the seat. “That’s why you tried to stop her from volunteering. Because of the baby.”

Y/N nods, sniffling for effect. “I just can’t stop thinking about the babies.”

“Don’t worry, President Snow is a good man. He’ll get this figured out.” She rubs at her back.

The victors joining hands only serves to further rally the crowd. Together they watch as the lights cut off. Leaving them all in darkness.

————————————————————————

The deliberation is long, or Snow makes it out to be. Y/N, Haymitch and Effie wait, impatiently, on the bench with the other mentors. It was a good show, with a response better than they could’ve asked for. But in the end, the games are still on.

This is more or less the outcome Peeta and Katniss were expecting. Somehow that doesn’t make it any easier to deliver the news.

Haymitch has to hand it to Peeta, “baby bomb was a stroke of genius. Unfortunately, the games are still on.”

The room is still.

“This is goodbye for now.”

“Presents,” Effie reminds them, their tokens. “Bracelets for you two.”

Y/N opens her box, revealing a slightly thinner version of the bangle her husband’s been gifted.

“And for Peeta, the medallion we talked about.”

“Thank you, Effie.” Peeta hugs her, in parting.

This year is different. Mentors will not be seeing tributes to the hovercraft, only stylists. Presumably for the districts that only had two victors to begin with.

“Thank you, Y/N.” The boy finds her next and she squishes him to her properly.

“You’re welcome,” she sighs. Stay safe.

When it is Katniss’ turn to say goodbye, the girl on fire is struck by the realization that she cannot. Instead she buries her face in the woman’s shoulder.

“You can do this, Katniss.” Y/N passes a hand over her hair, “I believe in you.”

Katniss nods, “thank you.”

The five of them remain together for a while. Katniss and Peeta splinter off first, sending them all in different directions. Effie to her room, Y/N and Haymitch to opposite floors of the tribute center.

Y/N reaches the last level before ground. Cashmere is waiting, wringing her hands. “We almost did it,” stopped the games.

“This isn’t over yet,” Y/N reminds her. “I have something for you.”

Cashmere sighs, the rebel plan is a wild one and there’s no guarantee it will work in time.

Y/N turns over the gold bangle, “Katniss knows it’s mine. As long as she sees it, she’ll honor the alliance.”

“I’ll do what I can to keep her alive…the boy too.” Cashmere assures her.

“Keep you alive too, while you’re at it.” Please.

The blonde gives her a sad smile, “you know me.”

Part 14

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109

#the hunger games fanfiction #thg haymitch #the hunger games #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x yn #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #johanna mason

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asmallpinkfan3 · 2 years ago

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Request:

Can I request some death x life! Reader? She's the opposite of death and married to him? (Y/n) is a friend to Perrito as she would protect that pup and she was very happy that Perrito was able to find new friends. (Y/n) was the one who saved Perrito from getting drowned as she sees all life as her “children” and it pained to see Perrito nearly die.(Y/n) came across death in the last part of the movie as she was apologizing at Puss on her husband’s behalf.

I actually think this is a cute idea and I find the idea of y/n thinking of all life forms as her kids is amazing. Also it’s Kinda of gonna go along with y/n just being in the movie? Like she follows along by team friendship but they don’t know she’s there and just spy’s on them to make sure that perrito is in good hands.

Death with a wife who is the embodiment of life!

Fem! Reader she/her pronouns.

Warnings: a little bit of angst, spoilers to perrito’s past. Also it’s gonna be a bit long. And some fighting.

You had lived for over a million years, you graced the earth with life while your husband was the one to end the timer of their limited life. You both have done your jobs for all your immortal lives. You appreciated all life form on the earth and soon you thought of them as your own children.

You were walking down a river with a small smile at the beautiful landscape. You heard a noise not to far from you and your eyes widened rushing towards the noise. As you got closer you saw a sock and some movement. Reaching out for the sock you then saw a head of a puppy looking happy but also confused. “Hello”! The puppy piped, your eyes went wide. “You can talk”? You asked and he nodded. You soon came to realize that he chewed a hole in to the sock but there was a couple rocks still in the bottom.

“Here let me get that for you my child”. You said softly pulling the rocks out. He shook the water off his fur. Smiling softly you rubbed his head,”what happened to you, why are in a sock with rocks?” You asked the naïve puppy in your arms as you pet him. “I’m it all the time In hide and seek, my litter mates always tired putting me in dumpsters, crates, but I always found them”! He says and your eyes went wide realizing what he was going through. “Today they got creative and so they put me in a sock with rocks in it and threw me in the river”!

You swore you felt your heart ache at that. “Oh my, how could they do that”? You felt slightly angry at his owners for nearly killing an innocent puppy. “Oh well I gotta go thank you for helping me out of the river after all I’m still it”! He yells jumping from your lap and running off.

Upon arriving home you were greeted with your husband, “hello darling how was your day”? You asked him always interested in how his day was even after millions of years. “It was actually a slow day today, what about yours”? He asked your eyes slightly averted from his. “It was a little sad”. You stated and his eyes softened. “Oh how so”.? “I was walking Down the river and I saw a sock”. Your husband could only nod and his ears were slightly perked. “When I got closer to the sock I saw a head pop out and their big eyes staring into to mine”.

Death slowly rubbed a paw against your back in a way to still show he was still listening. “When I took them completely out of the water I saw that there were a few rocks in the bottom of the sock”. “Then when I asked him what happened to him and why he was in there he said it was a game of hide and seek”. Your husband saw some tears form in your eyes and he gently wiped them away. “At least you saved him from drowning right”? He told you with a gentle smile as he cupped your cheek. You smiled at that and took note that you would do anything for the puppy.

About a year later you had heard of the infamous puss in boots, and how he wasted his lives. One day you had heard you husband grumble at how he finally got to go after the cat who thought he was immortal. “Hey muerte does he not have 1 life left”? You stated as you folded some laundry. “Yes but mi vida he didn’t value any of them”. “True but I say let him live his life I mean since he’s on his last life he might just settle down”. You simply stated folding one of your shirts. “I figured I’d take it now so he doesn’t die of accidentally falling off a cliff”. You laughed at that. “He claimed to be immortal and I want him to know that he’s not, and cause I’ve been following him for years”.

You sighed at your husband’s words and put the folded laundry up. “Hey I’m gonna head into town do you need anything”? You asked while grabbing your cloak. “No I don’t think so”. He responded from the other room.

About an hour later after visiting the market for some stuff for dinner. As your walking back you her a noise from below you and you see what seems to be an orange cat running for his life. “Huh he looked like puss in boots”. You say to yourself.

A couple months later you see your own husband go to the dark forest and out of curiosity you followed. ‘Oh lord what is he gonna do now’. You mentally asked yourself. Stepping inside you saw colorful hills and some big blue flowers in the distance they seem to have caught your attention. Making your way over you saw two cats and one small dog. You felt as though you knew the dog. “What’s your story”? Kitty soft paws asked the dog. “My story? Oh it’s actually a funny story”. You listened silently wondering why he was so familiar. “Back when I was a pup me and my litter mates lived with a family”. “A family full of pranksters who liked to play hide and seek and I was always it”. Your eyes widened as you thought of how could you meet the puppy you saved, but then he continued. “Pick on the little guy am I right”? “They tried putting me in a packing crate, a dumpster, no matter how hard they tried I’d always find them”. You could feel the familiar heart ache creep up on you. “So one day they got creative and they put me in a sock with rocks in it and threw me in the river”. You saw how kitty’s and puss’s eyes widened. “I somehow started above the water cause I saw a very pretty lady pick me up and take the rocks out”.

You smiled and realized that this was the puppy you saved just the year before. You saw how happy he looked with puss and kitty. You felt relieved at the fact that he found some people who would also protect him. You spied on them more then your husband because you wanted to make sure they were ok. Puss threw his stick sword out after receiving the blade from kitty, but then peritto jumped out to grab the stick. “Perrito”! Puss yelled, you had a bad feeling about what was going to happen.

You watched as jack horner came out from the bushes and had Perrito in his hand. “Hand over the wish or we can see what the unicorn horn can do”. “Put him down little jack Horner”! You yelled jumping down from the hill you were recently watching them from. Landing behinds kitty and puss you glared at jack. “Put him down little jack”. He glared right back at you, “oh what are you gonna do about it”? He now pointed the horn to you, “if you don’t want the puppy getting hurt why don’t I hit you with it instead”? He offered to which you smiled cause I mean you literally the embodiment of life he could hurt you with a single horn.

“Shoot away little jack”. You said, shooting the horn at you easily dodged and went straight for perrito. As all hell broke lose of fighting over the wish you grabbed perrito and caught a glimpse at puss being visibly uncomfortable and when you looked behind him you saw none other then your husband. Puss ran off and perrito jumped out of your arms and ran after puss.

About two hours later you caught up with team friendship and the others on the wishing star. There you saw puss and your husband fighting. “I know I can never defeat you Lobo but I will never stop fighting for this life”. Puss said aiming at death. Death growled as he picked up his sickles and slowly walked closer towards puss. You ran to the fire wall and stood beside kitty and perrito. Puss still holding his sword up as the giant wolf lowered his face to puss’s he growled for then turned away angrily. Slashing his sickles against the star, “por qué diablos fui a jugar con comida”?! “Your ruining this for me”. Turning back to puss he put a sickle under puss, “I came here for an arrogant little legend who thought he was immortal”. Death then sighed, “but I don’t see him anymore”.

Spinning the sickles he put them back in his belt,”live your life puss in boots live it well”. He said walking to the barrier. He turned his head back one last time and simply asked “you know we will meet again right”? “Si hasta la muerte”. Puss responded back, turning back to the barrier a whistle came from death before he entered it.

The fire wall ceased, perrito ran over to puss. Puss have him a hug with a small chuckle, kitty and you started to walk closer. “You know when you said death was after you I thought you were just being melodramatic”. You laughed at that, “no my husband is straight death, just like I’m life”. You told them to which the three looked at you. “Your married to death”?! Puss exclaimed, “yes and I’m sorry for all the trouble he caused you my child”. You apologized to him and now he was even more confused, “why did you call me your child”? Puss asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Just like how my husband is the embodiment of death, I’m the opposite I’m the embodiment of life, and I think of all living beings as my children”. You stated while you petted parrito’s head. “I’m the lady that saved parrito that day in the river”. And perrito’s eyes widened. “Please take care of him, and don’t throw him into a river or else”. You said narrowing your eyes at both puss and kitty. They both nodded and smiled nervously. “Though I wish you appreciated all of your lives puss, please make sure you appreciate this one for as long until you have to meet my husband again”. You said while standing up and turning to the barrier.

“Si señorita vida”. Puss responded hugging perrito again. “Bye miss life thank you for getting me out of the river”! Perrito yelled as you walked closer to the barrier. “No problem my child”! You yelled back as you entered the colorful wall.

Sorry This took longer then I wanted and if there is any bad Spanish translation please tell me. I actually liked writing this one. It’s actually my longest fic yet.

#death x reader #death puss in boots x reader #pib x reader #puss in boots the last wish x reader #puss in boots death x reader #pib:tlw #puss in boots x reader

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sheawritesstuff · 11 months ago

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Sorry Mama

[Pre-Sam Darlin and Marie Greer - mentioned Quinn]

[Angst - Hurt/Comfort - 1347 words]

[TW: Violence, Brief Thoughts of Death]

It didn't start as anything too out of the ordinary. Tank was upset Quinn wouldn’t let them spend any time with other people. He always claimed their friends were bad news and only stuck around to try and split up their relationship. None of them cared for them like he did. No one else could understand them as he did. And even though they were not allowed to spend any sort of time with people he didn’t approve of, he would be gone for hours at a time doing who knows what with any number of people Tank didn’t even know.

It was a standard argument that followed them out into the park and toward wherever Quinn planned on running off to…Then it escalated.

There was screaming and pushing that led to threats and full-on fighting. Teeth, fists, fangs, claws. They both came out of it pretty beat up, but Quinn played dirtier. When they saw the chance to shove his “lover” head first into the ground and run into the night, he took it.

So Tank laid face-down in the mud, feeling the blood seep into their clothes. They considered just closing their eyes and letting go - letting the pain win and float them down the river of death. They felt their ribs ache as they took a deep breath in. Slowly, they moved their arms up and pushed against the ground. Whole body shaking, they lifted their torso out of the mud and rolled over. Their back hit the ground with a thud, causing another jolt of pain to run up their spine. Staring up at the stars reminded them of everyone waiting for them, the whole pack wondering where they’d gone and when they were coming back.

They pulled their knees up and grabbed at their legs to sit themself up. They winced and clenched their teeth. Once they were upright, they pressed their palms back down in the mud. “Alrighty,” they groaned. “Up we go.”

Their whole body screamed as they pushed upward but after an agonizing minute, they were on their feet. They swayed back and forth uneasily as they reoriented themself. With a deep breath, they shifted into their wolf form and began the slow, painful journey.

The route was so familiar it was practically second nature. Going from Quinn’s place to Marie’s after one of their fights was a disappointingly frequent occurrence so their body almost moved on instinct.

Tank’s muscles burned as they finally approached the quaint little house. Once they reached the porch, they shifted back and forced their way to the door. They rang the doorbell and knocked in the same pattern they’d made up to identify themself years ago. As they waited for an answer, they looked down at their ripped-up clothes. Dirt and blood almost completely covered their body. “God, I’m disgusting.”

The door peeked open a second later as Marie stared out at them. She sighed quietly as she opened it the rest of the way, ushering them into her home. She pulled them into the front room and quickly looked them over.

“Oh, honey, you’re a mess.” Her voice was soaked in concern with a tinge of sadness that they were back in this situation. Tank stared at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. She carefully pulled at the outermost layers of their clothes and set them on the floor. The silence was almost more painful than the actual wounds.

“Would it make it better if I said not all the blood was mine?” they tried to joke, lip quivering. Marie huffed and held their hands gently in hers. They finally lifted their head and looked at her. She looked at them with kindness and compassion they’d never experienced from anyone else. They didn’t know how to handle it, so they just stared at her.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.” They walked together to the bathroom. Tank sat on the toilet while Marie set up a little fold-up chair in the shower for them. She slowly helped to undress them and sat them down. Her hands gently roamed over their body, switching back and forth from healing their wounds to washing the grime from their skin.

A warm tingle filled their body as the overwhelming pain melted off their skin. After about half an hour, they were clean and without their more major injuries. Their whole body was still sore and a little bruised, but they were a far cry from death’s front door. Marie gently dried them off and wrapped the towel around their shoulders.

“Thank you,” Tank whimpered. They looked up at her and pulled the towel tighter around themself. She touched the side of their face and pushed some of their hair out of their eyes. She looked sad for just a moment before smiling meekly. She kissed their forehead and helped them up to their feet.

“Let’s get you dressed, alright?” They nodded in response and followed her out to the guest room. She pulled out some of the clothes they’d left there and set them on the bed. Marie took the towel from their shoulders and dried their hair again before laying it on the bed too. She helped them into their clothes, conscious to avoid the bruises. It was slow and tedious, but she didn’t mind. Doing this was better than the alternative. Once they were dressed, she sat them down at the foot of the bed and stood in front of them.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” It was the same question she asked every time this happened. She knew there wouldn’t always be a response - that was ok too. Tank looked down at their newly clothed form and thought about it. They remembered the look in Quinn’s eyes and the things he said. It was the same as it was every time they fought. Did they really want to tell Marie all of that that again? Especially after they kept going back to him again and again?

“Tank, it’s ok if-” she cut herself off. They squeezed her hands and looked up at her through misty eyes. They sniffled and took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” they mumbled as tears fell down their cheeks. She held their hands tight and smiled the same sad smile she always did. Marie sat down next to them and wiped the tears away. They held tight to her arms and shook as they tried to hold back their tears. She held their head softly and nodded. It was ok. Everything was gonna be ok.

They collapsed in on themself and sobbed. Ragged breaths echoed through the almost empty room as they struggled to keep air in their lungs. She pulled them into a hug as their body shook with sadness, regret, and anger. Marie held them close against her chest and waited. They babbled barely audible apologies as they gripped onto her for dear life.

Eventually, their breathing slowed and evened out and they were able to pull away. Marie wiped away the tears and snot with her sleeve and pushed the hair out of their face again. Tank gazed at her with half-opened eyes and sniffled again. They looked absolutely exhausted.

“You need some sleep, honey. We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she cooed. “You need to tell your family about this too y’know- and probably David.” They knew that. They could pretend it wasn’t a big deal all they liked, but Marie knew when to put her foot down. Most things dealing with Quinn qualified as times to put her foot down.

Tank nodded and took a deep breath. They rubbed their eyes before crawling up into bed and snuggling under the blankets. She kissed their forehead and ran her fingers through their hair.

“You don’t deserve any of his shit, baby,” she whispered. “I wish you could see that.” She pulled away and turned off the light. She went to walk out back to her room and paused in the doorway.

“Good night, Tank. Sweet dreams.” “Good night, Marie.”

#Mama Greer to the rescue #Tank calls Marie mama because their family is shit send tweet #I'm not the best at writing angsty type stuff #but I tried #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted quinn #redacted marie #redacted marie greer #redacted fanfic #she writes

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queenofmoons67 · 2 months ago

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Star of the General: A Warriors Fic (2/?)

Summary:

One minute, Link is fighting a wizzrobe, and the next, he has four hooves and a mane. When Impa comes looking for him, all she finds is the stallion he’s been turned into. A year later, Zelda gifts Link to eight strangers as one of the best warhorses in Hyrule’s stables, with her hope and blessing that he’ll keep them safe. Link will do his best, even if they do all think he’s just a horse.

First / Previous / Next

Having had the chance to see his boys again, Link allows Twilight to wrangle him and plods along peacefully once more.

The path they’re on cuts through a long field. Once full of farmland, it became a battleground in the middle years of the war, when Cia and Ganon pushed the Hyrulian forces almost all the way back to Castle Town.

The months before they reclaimed the area were probably the darkest of the war. The farmland was razed by the opposing army and Hyrulian soldiers alike—the former to prevent food from being harvested, and the latter so they couldn’t be ambushed by the enemy hiding in the tall stalks. By the time the fighting was done, blood had soaked deep into the earth.

It will likely be years before anything but scraggly meadow grows there again.

While the field’s history is full of death, the traveling group gradually becomes more full of life. It is as though the joking about Twilight and Hoshi has broken the flow of sadness built by the news of Link’s “death.”

In the openness of the field, Link walks side by side with Epona, and the morning sun covers him in her shadow.

Link was not a small Hylian, and he is not a small horse. Judging from glances he has seen of himself in rivers and water troughs, Link knows he is a Kiso* horse, which are bred to be sturdy and quick on their feet, adept at both carrying armored warriors and dodging opponents’ weapons. Impa herself remarked that Link is tall for a Kiso at thirteen and a half hands high.

Epona, however, is a Ban’ei** draft horse, and Link wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she’s a solid seventeen hands. She’s built for heavy lifting, and the heroes have utilized her well, outfitting her with saddlebags and hanging some of their heavier weapons among them.

It makes Link wonder what use the heroes will find for him. The grooms kitted him in armor and dressed his golden mane and tail for battle, but no one has moved to ride him.

Up ahead at the front of the group, Time raises a hand and calls everyone to a stop. They circle up around each other, letting packs slide to the ground and stretching out tired limbs, and Wild passes out what looks like a mid-morning snack of apples, celery, and nut butter.

Epona yawns, then bends her head to start picking through the grass for the healthier, tastier bits. Link follows her lead—

But then Twilight pulls his reins back, stopping him from grazing. Link blinks crossly at him with half a mind to go back to eating anyway. Twilight just smiles, and his fingers start to nimbly pick at the fastenings keeping the bamen on Link’s face.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” Twilight says, pulling the bamen away and smoothing a hand down the star on his forehead. “You’re a handsome boy, did you know that?”

Link blows air in Twilight’s face. Yes, he knows. Twilight is just the latest in a long line of people to tell him so, though admittedly his comment is much more welcome than Cia’s cooing or a traitor’s scoffing. It feels more like his mother cupping his cheeks in her hands and touching her forehead to his.

Link hasn’t had much of a family since Tune and Mask both went home, but now his brothers are back and quadrupled in number.

It’ll take time to get to know them all, especially considering Link’s current physical state, but he might actually enjoy this.

Just as he thinks this, a glowing portal shimmers into the air over the trail. Link startles and sidesteps. Epona warned him about the portals, but he didn’t expect one so soon—and neither did the heroes, if the loud cursing from Legend is any sign.

“Whoa, Hoshi,” Twilight murmurs, and the hero’s hand winds its way into his reins and pulls him back to Twilight’s side. But the portal also tugs at him, as if there is a tether between it and his stomach, and between that tether and his reins, Link feels like he might split in two.

He tosses his head, then bucks, unsure what exactly he wants and therefore unsure what to do next.

All his action seems to do is make Twilight pull the reins over his head so they lie on his neck. Then the hero sets his left boot in the stirrups, and Link locks his knees to steady himself.

Weight pulls at Link’s left side, then Twilight settles in the saddle and his weight redistributes across Link’s back. Hands gather up the reins, keeping them short but comfortable, and knees squeeze at Link’s side to urge him on.

Link walks, Twilight on his back and Epona following behind.

The other heroes turn to look at them when they approach the group. They had been gathering their things together, not that there was much when it had only been a short break.

Now, Sky squints up at Link’s rider and asks, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s his first time through a portal; who knows how he might react to it?”

Link huffs, offended on his own behalf even as the leader in him knows it’s a good point, but Twilight just pats his neck and says, “He settled the moment I was in the saddle. He’s a trained warhorse, he’ll do fine.”

Twilight does keep an excellent seat. He knows what he’s doing in the saddle, and his steady calm radiates from him, through the reins, to Link himself.

But the portal continues to pull at Link, and it’s true that everyone reacts to magic in different ways. They won’t know how it affects him until he steps through.

Time studies Link and Twilight, his one eye narrowed, and then he nods and says, “Wild, Epona, and Sky will go through first, just in case. I’m with the rancher. Everyone else, pairs as always.”

The rancher? Link twists his ears, trying to keep track of everyone’s movements, then remembers Epona mentioning nicknames. He assumed those were just the names they used instead of Link, but did they have other nicknames, too? Twilight being a rancher explains why he’s attached himself to Link.

No one has to explain Time’s inclusion in the trio: When he approaches and stretches his hand out for Link to nose, Epona’s meadow-light scent is so strong it almost overpowers Time’s own strange, lightning-infused smell.

Epona is Time’s horse, which makes him suited for helping Link if anything goes wrong in the portal. Not to mention the calming effect of having his younger brother at his side again, Link thinks, and noses at Time’s head affectionately, lipping at his hair before huffing to blow it away.

Time grins at him and his eye crinkles at the corners even as he pushes Link’s head away and, ahead of them, Sky, Wild, and Epona step through the portal. Time wraps his hand around Link’s reins, up close under his chin, and leads him on.

Tether and rein pull him in the same direction, and the closer they get to the portal, the calmer Link feels.

Then he steps through. The heroes had been worried, but Link feels no worse for wear as he exits into a small, sunlit clearing surrounded by trees.

Link sees the bokoblin running up behind him before he hears Sky shout, and he bows and kicks back with both hind legs, praying that Twilight manages to keep his seat.

When he lands on all fours again, the ‘blin lays splayed out on the ground and Time has let go of his reins, leaving them to be gathered back by someone who can only be Twilight.

“Atta boy, Hoshi!” his rider laughs. “Time to see what else you can do!”

Link’s heart gallops in his chest at the challenge, and he screams his readiness around the bit even as he wheels at the slightest touch of Twilight’s heel to his right side, neck arched, ears pinned back, and eyes rolling to take in the fight they unknowingly walked into.

There are four bokoblins, four moblins, and four lizalfos. There’s no sign of a monster camp, but there is a path that cuts through the clearing. The portal must have dropped them right in the middle of a roving monster band.

The lizalfos have surrounded Sky and Wild, but the two heroes are back-to-back and seem uninjured. Epona stands at the tree line, hooves kicking out at any monster that dares get too close.

Time makes a stand in front of the portal, drawing his sword to face-off two of the bokoblins and one of the moblins. The other monsters have started to converge on Link and Twilight, but Twilight drives Link towards them and the ‘blins scatter, shouting, under the half-a-ton weight of an armored horse. Most of their weapons glance off Link’s armor or don’t come close to him, but a few are deflected by Twilight’s sword.

One weapon makes contact, a searing line of heat drawn by a spear that makes it past his armor to his vulnerable belly before the wood handle snaps under Link’s hooves.

If the heroes are going to ride him into battle, they’re going to have to get the proper weapons. Link refuses to get up close and personal with spears again just because the longest weapon his rider carries is a sword.

For now, Link focuses on the path to the portal. Four and Wind have already emerged into the half-circle of grass right at Time’s back, but while Wind immediately draws his own sword and leaps to Time’s side, Four sinks to the ground clutching his head.

The standoff at the portal is two against three, and there are still two more unsuspecting heroes to come through.

Link cuts to the side of the moblin, and Twilight takes the opportunity to slit its throat as they ride by. Link makes note of the kill even while he digs his hooves into the dirt and turns, galloping around the portal’s back edge to rush the monsters regrouping from their first collision with Link and Twilight.

Ahead of them, Sky and Wild have managed to stay back-to-back and killed two of the lizalfos. Four staggers to his feet, still holding his head but now also holding his sword, and Time and Wind stab their blades into the hearts of their opponents in unison.

Then Hyrule and Legend stagger out of the portal, Hyrule collapses, and the portal winks out of sight—but Link barely notices, busy once more using his own body as a battering ram against the regrouping ‘blins.

One of the bokoblins falls under his hooves and doesn’t rise again. The other, along with the three remaining moblins, runs away from him and toward the larger collection of heroes. Twilight curses and guides him in a tight turn.

“After them, Hoshi! Hya!”

Boot heels dig into Link’s sides, the reins go loose, and Twilight leans forward, giving Link his head and urging him to thunder after the monsters. Time and Wind don’t look tired, but they’ve been fighting at a disadvantage the entire time. Legend is battle-fresh, but he’s got an unsteady Four taking care of the fallen Hyrule right behind him.

With Link and Twilight coming up behind the monsters, though, the ‘blins have effectively cornered themselves in a pincer maneuver. It doesn’t take much for the heroes to win the battle as, on the other side of the clearing, Sky and Wild dispatch the remaining lizalfos.

When the last of the moblins disappears, Link lets his head hang, too tired to do much else. This was his first real battle as a horse. He’d been trained in his own world, but never actually seen combat.

It’s different, he thinks, to fight on four legs instead of two. No one looks to a horse for orders. No one expects elegant swordplay, either. Instead, Twilight used his greater height, weight, and speed to his own advantage.

“Good boy,” Twilight murmurs. His rider shifts, leaning forward in the saddle, and a hand pats his neck. “You did incredible, Hoshi.”

Link arches his neck into the hand, happy to take in the praise. He keeps his eyes on the other heroes, though, as they pick their way around the clearing and check on one another.

Hyrule is awake and walking, albeit with his arms slung across the shoulders of Legend and Time. Four and Wind lean against one another for support; the former seems to be unsteady from the portal still, while the latter has a cut across his thigh that’s oozing blood. Neither of them are hurrying, so Link assumes the injury isn’t serious.

Twilight nudges his sides with his heels. Link sighs, but starts to follow the others. His own wound stings anew with the movement, fresh, hot blood trailing across his stomach. Link had forgotten about it in the rush of battle, but now, he wonders how much blood he’s lost. He thought his tiredness was from adjusting to battle as a horse, but how much blood can a horse lose?

Link snorts and picks up speed. On his back, Twilight makes a surprised noise, but ahead, Epona looks up from Wild and trots toward him instead. In seconds, she’s at his side, sticking her huge nose into his wound. He sidesteps and snaps his teeth at her in warning, not appreciating someone being so close to a weak point.

Epona doesn’t move away, though, instead tossing her head and striking the ground twice with a pointed hoof. The commotion draws the attention of the heroes, and it’s a mere moment before they’re all next to him and Epona trying to soothe them. Link tenses, tempted to snap at them as well—don’t they know not to crowd an upset horse?—but if he accidentally makes contact, they won’t be able to shake it off like Epona would. Twilight has a tight hold on the reins now anyway, one fist keeping them down at the base of Link’s mane while his other hand rubs circles over Link’s withers.

“What’s up with them?” Legend complains. He’s stationed himself smack dab between Link and Epona, both hands outstretched so he can scratch both their haunches at once. “They got along fine earlier.”

The two horses share an eye roll, and then Link shifts, purposefully angling his side so the trail of blood is in the heroes’ direct line of sight. It’s probably hidden under all his armor, but red stands out against white-gold, and it’s only a moment before Wild’s eyes widen and he squats to get a better look at the wound.

“Wild?” Twilight asks, saddle creaking.

“Hoshi’s hurt,” Wild signs, body angled into Twilight’s view but eyes still focused on Link’s injury. “Maybe a spear?”

Twilight curses, then says mournfully, “We don’t have the proper weapons to fight from horseback. I had to get up close and Hoshi—“

Wild stands, taps at a strange mechanized box on his hip, and pulls out not just a saber, but also various types of spears and lances.

Link stares at the pile that’s formed at his feet. Well. It would have been useful to know Wild had the proper weapons before he and Twilight charged in with nothing more than a longsword, but the fight had been sudden. They’d have the weapons for next time, at least.

Link gets distracted when Time steps up to his head, fingers grasping him by the bridle.

“How bad is the wound, Wild?” Time asks.

Link has a second to brace himself—then a cloth wipes along the injury, and the pressure burns.

Intellectually, Link knows he’s safe, but the horse instincts flowing through his body insist that pain means danger, danger means run, but he can’t run, he’s trapped—

Link rears the best he can with Time holding him still. He doesn’t go far, hooves stomping the ground instead of lashing out, his stomach and the injury it bears still well within Wild’s reach. Twilight’s weight doesn’t even shift on his back.

Then, suddenly, Wild’s hands are gone, and most of the pain with them. The wound still throbs, but Link manages to steady himself against it in time to catch the flash of Wild signing, “It’s long, but shallow. One potion?”

Twilight heaves a breath out, and his hands—which had held the reins firm and tight while Wild investigated the wound—scratch at Link’s withers.

“Thank Hylia,” he says. “If we lost ya just because I didn’t have the right weapon… and right after…”

Twilight trails off, but the words he doesn’t say are easy to guess. All at once, the ease the group found again disappears at the reminder of Link’s believed death. His ghost stands among them, even when Link himself is right there.

But his presence doesn’t matter. He might as well not be there, for all the good his horse self can do.

* Kiso horses are native to Japan. Once ridden by samurai into battle, they’re now endangered. They typically average about 13 hands in height, ranging from 12 to 14, so Warriors is right that he's tall for a Kiso horse—but he's totally lying to himself about not being a short Hylian or a short horse, lol.

Hoshi is technically in the range for being a pony (10 to 14 hands) and taller horse breeds go all the way to 17 hands. That doesn't even include draft horses, which can reach 19 hands, or Sampson/Mammoth, the largest horse ever recorded who stood at a solid 21 hands. In terms of Warriors' regular Hylian height, I'm basing everyone off @pinkittwice's excellent Linked Universe research.

** Whether or not Ban’ei is a breed depends on who you ask. Japan has a sport called Ban’ei in which draft horses race while pulling weighed-down sleds over small hills.

I hope chapter two lived up to expectation! Any reblogs and comments are much appreciated and will fuel more writing.

While you wait for chapter three, I also want to advertise my new Linked Universe fic, "Bound":

Warriors only joined the Chain a week ago, but Hyrule knows something is wrong. “I’m the Hero, bound by law, just as Artemis is bound by law as Queen. When the Hero breaks the law, the Queen is bound to punish him. Do you understand?”

First / Previous / Next

#linked universe #linked universe fic #lu chain #lu warriors #lu twilight #fanfic #fanfic update #Star of the General

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dark-twist-fairytales · 2 months ago

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I actually want to go on and talk about this weird connected soul AU thing for Icebound (I finished episode 3 and partway through episode 4, by the way. Something about this life-or-death style of campaigns really keeps me interested.)

It is really Skrimm-Centric, but that's because of the nature of the AU. However, I am not opposed to the idea of the others being soul-connected, and now thinking about it, I have a more present idea to it.

So, it does center around Skrimm, but that's because he gained his powers much later in life than the others in their respective elements, and explores the brutality of it, in a way. He runs, finds his way to swindle his coin, but as it attaches to him, it sort of, well....

At first, he starts seeing the souls of people as this drift-y/wisp-y sort of smoke. Reds and purples, sometimes blue, and he doesn't understand it. Why would the souls be red instead of blue? Does it have to do with those red eyes? The coin?

Even without the coin on him/in his grasp, he still sees the souls. Then it turns to more: He starts seeing time ticking on those blue souls, sometimes hours, sometimes seconds. These shades are starting to vary from deep and dark to light and bright. What does it mean?

Seemingly stronger around graveyards and burial sites, he avoids them like the plague, only to be horrified by just the sheer amount of considered burial sites around Avantris. His anxiety is raised, constantly scanning the world and over his shoulder, he never stays in more than one place, unless he's compelled to. Even then, he tries to fight it.

At random moments, jolting in the dark of night or freezing in the middle of the day, he feels this sort of pull to go somewhere with an unnatural calm and sense of needing or wanting to comfort. Again, stronger near those graveyards.

Stronger towards those that grieve.

He doesn't get used to it, that anxiety staying with him forever basically, but telling anyone about it would get him locked up. So he keeps it tucked away.

However, he is not the only one. He is just the way of death and despair. A comfort to a soul passing through the graveyard on the side of living.

Queenie's, Jornir's, and Barnabos' are all connected to their environments, how they were raised, and just themselves overall.

Respectfully, Queenie has a connection to the forests, beasts, hunting. She is life in the forest, the plains, and the deserts, to a degree.

Jornir has a connection to the wastes, traveling, surviving. He is the life that dwells in the harshest of places with what they can, how they can, when they can.

Barnabos has a connection to the sea, pirating, the depths. He is the life in the oceans, rivers, and lakes, no matter how deep.

And Taishen... Well, he isn't unfamiliar with the way that lives travel, seeing people come and go. He was sheltered, yes, but he is still a way of life itself. The way of people, to find joys in the little things of life, to find happiness after pain, to keep on even on the dreariest of days. Him and Skrimm are the opposite in that way.

And to say that scares Skrimm is an understatement. To suddenly find these people, all with their own connections, and yet still not be understood is.. Well, downright terrifying. Why was he roped in? What is the point of being this darkness of all this light?

He finds the answer in a way he doesn't want to. And to say he pleaded until there were no words left, screamed until his voice gave out, and used every single bit of magic he had possessed in him to the point he used more than he could carry...

He understood why. Why he was this darkness in the light. Why he was chosen.

He hated it, but at least he understood. And they were all still breathing after his soul stopped screaming.

#anyways hows everyone tonight?#im thinking about this au thats what were doing.#legends of avantris #icebound #avantris au #icebound au #connection au #<- its at least a placeholder name #skrimm stabbaskotch #queenie march #barnabos the dreadwake #jornir #taishen fireblossom

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moon-heart22 · 7 months ago

Text

The passion part 1

Warning: Minors do Not interact, mention of death, slapp!ng, insults, not realistic body proportions, k!dnapping

All you feel is the forest around you.

It gives you peace, the fresh air in your lungs, the chirping of the birds and the wind that brushes through your hair. Thats what you need right now after you had a fight with your family. You fought with them about your life, what you want to do with it and everything. When you said you wouldn't know, a whole fight crashed down because your parents said that you should know what you do with your life.

You already felt a headache returning when you think about it and let out a sigh. You shake your head and enjoy the peacefull atmosphere that the forest gives you. You walk towards your usual spot and sit down next to a small river. The forest is full of life and you hear and feel it. Next to the river is a tree and you sit down infront of it and lean against it.

A deep breath later, you close your eyes and listen to the ripple of the stream. You feel a soothing feeling going through your body and start to feel watched. It's not uncomfortable and you feel totaly safe. A tempting smell touches your nose, it makes you hungry and you open your eyes. It smells like cake or something else, but defenitly something sweet, something delicous.

Slowly you stand up and walk towards the direction where the smell is coming from. It makes you dizzy, hungry and you feel like you are in trance. The feeling of being watched intensefies, but you still feel safe and calm. When you finally reach the place where the sweet tempting smell came from, you look around confused. You stand on a glade.

There, not far appart from you, stands a graceful and other wordly creature. It's body is full of jewelry made out of leave, wood, skelletons and more. It looks so beautiful and handmade, it seems like from another world. The creature turns it's head to look at you, green orbs look into yours, the being has human like features. The ears are pointed and the skin is grey white. In its hand is a fruit that looks like a chery.

The being smiles and turns to move towards you, finally you snap out of your trance and get a little scared. You feel terrefied beccause you never saw somethinng like this and step back. It raises its hands to show me its not dangerous and moves towards me. "What are you? What do you want from me?," you ask the creature.

A smile spreads across the creatures face and shows me the cheery. "Eat" a soft and tender voice comes out of the creatures mouth. It sounds a little like a male but you can't quite figure that out. "Why?," you ask and stand still. Now its standing infront of you and slowly puts the chery in your hand. "It solves your problem," it whispers in a honeyed voice and moves closer to you.

Now only a few inches away from you, the beautiful appearnce is breathtaking and you gasp when you feel its thumb brushing over your lips. It lifts the chery with your hand to your mouth and its eyes shine because they reflect the sunlight. The chery touches your lips and it urges you to eat it. You can't resist it and open your lips, the chery entering your mouth and you feel your heart jumping in your chest.

The sweet taste makes you dizzy and you feel that you lose your consciousness. You start to panik and the creature presses you against it and strokes your hair whispering to you, but you can't understand a thing and soon everything is dark.

Voices that seem to be cheery, singing and laughing is the first thing you here when you slowly start to wake up. The moment i open my eyes i stare into blue orbs, the creature looks exactly like the one i saw before in the forest. But the creature now has more feminine features and blue eyes. "She is awake...still don't understand why you would want to be with a human, Tariel," the female says disapproving. She grabs your face and pulls you towards her inspecting you further.

You struggle against her grib and try to free yourself. Then you feel a warm pain on your cheek, the female slapped you because you tried to free yourself. "Loarna!," you hear someone scream angrily. She gets off of you and the creature that you saw in the forest, comes in your sight. It or he runs towards you, you're still not sure what it is but it touches your cheek and kisses it. "You hurt her, i want you to apologize. We are gentle not brutal," Tariel whispers angrily.

When his lips touch your cheek you start to feel lightly, like no weight is on you and the pain on your cheek soon disappears. It like he kisses the pain away. You suddenly feel overwhelmed with all kinds of emotions and can't figure out why you fell this way. "It's alright, everything is alright," Tariel murmurs against your cheek. He starts to stroke your hair and holds you close.

"Ughh you digust me. Fine i am sorry stinky human," Loarna growls and walks away angrily. Tariel ingnores her and his attention is now on you. His hand travels up your thighs and he stops showering you with kisses to look into your eyes. "Why are you doing this?," you ask him. You move so you're sitting on his lap and your hands reach to touch his jewelry. He smiles at you and let's out a soft chuckle, while he kisses your nose. "It's beautiful isn't it? I am glad you like it," he whispers.

You look into his green eyes, they shine like emeralds and heavy with a lot of life experiences, but there was also a deep kindness in them. Slowly you nod agreeing that the jewelry he wears is indeed beautiful. "I want to officially intruduce myself to you. My name is Tariel and i am a forest spirit. Just like Loarna, who well doesn't like humans very much...," he looks at you apologetically. His hand that rested at your thigh goes away and leaves an empty feeling.

Why he suddenly puts you off of his lap and stands up, is unkown to you, however you don't seem to mind and stand up what gives yourself the opportunity to look surroundings. A big waterfall is the first thing that catches your eye, the waterfall flows down the big tree, that you find out now that you are on, and crashes down into a lake. The lake is hidden, everywhere are trees where you look and big mountains. Suddenly a small being flys around you, it seems like a fairy. The fairy smiles at you before flying to her destination. You seem to be in a spiritual like place, all kind of other spiritual beings are gathered around here and seem to enjoy the peace.

You find yourself confronted with a different reality, a different world and the world that you knew crashes down. As a child you secretly hoped that you would be a fairy or befriend a fairy but it never happend, now that you are around spirituel beings or better said paranormal beings you feel your head falling off. You feel someone touch your shoulder and feel a warm breath on your ear before it imidiatly disapears. "It's fantastic here, you will love it. And after a while i am sure the others that aren't liking your pressence now will exept it," Tariel tells you and squeezes your shoulder.

He lets go of your shoulder and interwines your fingers with his, pulling you with him down the tree. Stairs out of wood go down around the tree to the ground. You notice more Fairies fly around, they carrie nuts, wood, fruits and a lot of other things. The you notice small wholes with doors in the tree where the Fairies propaply live and from the branches are also hanging small little houses. Other beings are here as well, like a being that is fully covered in branches and seems to have skin out of wood, another being that has blue scales and seem like a fish and a lot more.

You feel eyes burning into your back and start to feel uneasy. They stare. You don't belong here, it's their world and a human is not allowed in it at all. Only the Fairies and Tariel seem to enjoy that you are here. You reached the last stair and you are now on the ground. The ground feels so soft and Tariel guides you to the lake, only now you realize you don't have any shoes and socks on. You had a slight feeling that somebody had stole them, no you knew it, but when and who, that was something you didn't know.

When Tariel pulled you into the water with him, a mermaid appeard next to you, she smiled but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Humans not allowed.," she groweld and dived back into the water. Her tail splashing you and Tariel. He held you close and seemed to ignore everyone that told him you should go and are not allowed to be here. You started to wonder why and question if it wouldn't be better if you left. Tariel started to swim and you followed him because you had no other choice. "Tariel i don't think this is a good idea...what if something happen?," you ask him worriedly.

He shakes his head and stops swimming to look into your eyes. "Don't worry. As long as i am here, nobody will hurt you," he promises. You both continue to swim, while you do so, something touches your foot but pulls imiditaly away like it was never there. You get scared and try to stay close as posible to Tariel, who seems complitly unaware of the threat that lurks in the lake.

Then you scream from the top of your lungs. Something bit into your leg and before Tariel could ask whats wrong you got pulled under the surface. You kick with your foot against the hand that holds you other one and realize its the creepy mermaid that pulls you down. She is fast and the pressure your body is in, gets worse and worse. No sight of Tariel, lets you believe you are going to die. What if he lied? What if this is all a dream? You feel the air leaving your lungs but still don't give up. You manage to grab the mermaids hair and pull on it wich makes her scream and let you go for a short moment.

You try to swim up, but the leg she bit you hurts so much and you start to feel so weak. Air, you need air. The mermaid seemed to have gather herself together again and swam fastly towards you again. Her sharp teeth showing and you tried to swim up with the last life in your bones. Sadly she reached you and bit you into your arm, wich made you scream underwater and the last air in your lungs was gone.

You started to cough and your vision got blurry, you tried to breath for air but choked on the water that you sucked in instead. But then the pain in your arm was gone. As you feel yourself slowly drift away you see the mermaids head swim down into the deep. Everything went black after that. Your body empty with nothing, not even a fought in your head left. Everything was empty.

All you felt, all you heard and all you saw was dark. You don't now how much time has passed, out of nowhere you start to hear the voices of your family members. It was really all just a dream...right? But when you tried to open your eyes you couldn't, they were already open. First you saw nothing but then you saw your mothers angry face starring at you. You were sitting on the table and didn't wanted to eat you food anymore. You knew why, the scene felt strangely familier like it already had happend before.

Your father angrily raised his voice at you and threatend to throw you out of the house if you didn't answer him. But all your tries to talk and answer failed. It was like you had no controll, like you were only hear to watch what happend. Then you remember, it was the fight you had with you parents before you decided to leave before it escaleted more. Before the whole rolercoaster ride happend. The angry voices get louder and louder till you get a big headache and start to scream. It doesn't matter how loud you scream nobody hears it, your mouth doesn't even move.

A sharp pain starts to spread through your arm and leg, like someone stabbed you. It was so painfull and you wanted to cry but once again your body didn't show any reaction. You wanted to crawl into the darkest whole to hide away from the pain, when you felt something soft and comfortable touching your soul, something that gave you peace. You didn't know where this feeling came from but it was there. Strong and you decided to grab this feeling and hold onto it with all your might. It eased your pain and it blocked out your parents screaming at you over and over again.

Bright lighty fell into your aching eyes, you cough and groan in pain. What had happend? So many thoughts raced through your head and then you heard it. Somebody cries. "I am so sorry...this is all my fault...i should have looked after you better," a male voices cries. You move your head, which hurts a lot, to make out where the voice comes from and see Tariel crying his eyes out. He hasn't even noticed that you are awake and is to focused on plaming himself. His hand holds yours tightly and tears drop onto them.

"I was so stupid to believe i could...," he stops himself and only continues more to cry. The leaves on his head that are wovern in his hair seem to hang down or turn brown, like they are bond to his emotions. You gather all your strenght together and try to speak, but no matter how hard you try you can't. The only thing that you manage to do is to squeeze his hand. His eyes go wide and he looks at you like the stars fell from the sky. "You're alive," he crys and pulls you into a tight hug.

You hug him back and feel the warmth of his body spreading through yours. Its comfortable and you love it. Loarna clears her throat to get your attention and Tariel releases you from his tight hug. "I guess you have to thank me for saving your love, Tariel," she says and looks apologetic at your direction when Tariel stands up and walks over to her. They both walk out of the room that you are in and leave you alone.

You don't know how much time has passed but when Tariel returns he seems worried and sad. You sit up and smile at him in hope it will lighten up his mood, but he doesn't return the smile. "I can't let you stay here anymore...it's to dangerous, my flower...how much i wish you could stay," he whispers pained and pulls you up.

It feels like your world has crashed down once again. You don't understand anything anymore and look at him confused and lost. "What? But...how? I thought you want me to stay with you?," you whisper. Tears start to build in your eyes and Tariel sighs.

He takes your hand and walks towards a table. On the table is a glas of water. "Drink. You will be fine," he demands. You don't know why but you drink and all of a suden you feel dizzy. "When you wake up it will be like i never excisted.," he murmurs. You see him trying to look away but it's no use. Before you black out you see tears running down his cheeks.

Part 1 is finished! God i am proud of myself, because it took me so long. Well as always ignore spelling mistakes. Hope you have a great day.

#monster kink #monster romance #monster #monster smut #smut #magic #forest #forest beings #forest creature #forest lovers

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howlsnteeth · 11 months ago

Note

hi, just wanted you to know that if you ever wanted to like. interest-dump about cotl and your thoughts about the lore/storyline and stuff as ive seen you show in your art, id read PARAGRAPHS. im so curious and love to hear about people's interest in game/story/media lore and the interpersonal relationships within the universe!!! - from an autistic system who has loved your art since like. forever. (u can call us moss)

okay hi moss :3

i'm kind of due for an infodump on my cotl headcanons, so! i'll try be somewhat concise because this is going to be a long post anyway rip. i drew some pictures :D

(i can't really think of any warnings to give outside of usual cotl themes/killed race/dying/blood/etc but let me know)

obviously watching the destruction of your entire race is traumatic as fuck, also because it likely took a few weeks or months to achieve. so they died pretty underweight/weak bodied/pretty shut down. the bishops are gone by the time lamb is revived by toww, and their body hadn't quite made it to a 'body pit' (or food pit). still, they get Their Bell from another of their race on the way out. probably weren't thinking about it too hard and just desperately wanted to grab something while their eyes burned in their sockets and this red crown fit like molded clay in their hand. my lamb has a little notch out of their left ear which was caused while escaping, which ends up never healing because of a few reasons but mostly because i like it.

over the course of the game/story they start to slowly physically change. after revival it takes scars a Long time to fade, considering lamb is technically a walking corpse, and also because of their affiliation with Death (narinder, who has similar i'll mention later). they get dark marked lines under their eyes from that classic 'bleeding eyes' action during rituals/etc. their ears but especially horns get longer and sharper. their way of coping is similar to most lambs, jokes and pulled punches.

by the end of the 'main game/toww fight,' they've already made their choice, and start flexing their control/communication with the red crown itself. it gets harder for toww to view through it, and lamb gets somewhat intoxicated with the idea of an ultimate revenge, having killed all the other bishops. they've done everything they can to stop their cult members noticing signs of weakness, but as things get more stressful this kind of rubberbands around to them seeming extremely unstable. by the time they go to fight toww they're muttering nonstop, barely aware, and also they let their wool get longer and basically end up with a mullet. <3 because it's funny to me

they obviously beat toww and for them it's like a smashing of clarity, like a gripped handle let go, standing up from the river of blood. it's freeing but also the most pain they've ever been in. and instead of killing toww this pit in their stomach spares him. lamb went from a corpse to a god and now, in some sick way, they want to watch a god turn into a living corpse, just like them. because with every other sheep dead, narinder is the only one with a connection to that genocide, the cause of the other bishops doing it.

narinder hates their fucking guts. obvs. he thinks, or knows, that lamb is doing it on purpose. but narinder's body hasn't been normal for far, far too long. even before he was made death (as in artworks i've done with him), his body turned skeletal and rotted away. lacerations open all over his body, but especially down his front torso. when he's first brought to the cult, lamb gives him red robes, also because of this 'problem'. but narinder does every single thing he can against them. he gets white robes and lets them turn bloodied and disturbing to everyone around him.

even washing them stops working, and lamb does resign slightly to letting him sit in his dirty stupid robes. it's the pettiest shit. narinder also keeps his veil, and lamb can't bother with a reason to take it away. let that dumbass keep his yuck robes and veil. you can only stick him the stockade for a week before your other followers get too concerned.

over time, they do end up getting closer, but it comes from a place from both being touched and changed by Death, the red crown, and the choices of the other bishops. it takes a really long time and only after all the other bishops have been recruited (another whole thing). both of them catch themselves enjoying little things, and then having moments of all the pain bleeding through. an example is over time narinder does end up wearing darker robes, but it's fairly gradual. in this piece, it's lamb getting too deep in the countless lives that were taken from their race, triggered by blood (a whole little story thing), and narinder does make the (semi subconscious) choice to wear dark robes.

anyway you're probably looking at that giant shadow in the picture huh. it takes a long time but lamb Does end up truly becoming a bishop.

not 100% done with this design, but it has the basics. their main horns end up breaking off (thinking of a story behind that still). the main thing with them that i really like is they have multiple strings of bells on them. so everyone starts associating the sound of ringing bells as Death. so if you hear them, they're coming for you. that being said, they also have the ability to move completely silently, despite being covered in bells. which adds to the scaring-the-fuck-out-of-everyone factor.

there's a ton more i could get into with the other bishops, ratau, the duck siblings, the crowns themselves, more aym and baal, but i'm probably gonna do more artworks with them so i can talk more then :3 this is already too long lmao

thanks for the ask though!! it's nice knowing people are interested in my stuff :D (it's also worth mentioning that i am also a system and have alters of lamb, narinder, and aym and baal, who all contribute to this stuff)

#barks #cotl #cult of the lamb #long post under cut

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parafic · 2 months ago

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Happy Halloween! Go write 100 words of (fantastic communication, guys) and typhoon island~☆

And, if not too much, maybe trick or treat - kagami demands rescuing?

Thank you!

fantastic communication, guys:

When he finds him, Tobirama is standing on a river, arms folded and glaring at him. It’s not the Naka, only a much smaller tributary, but the threat is still very clear. Hikaku drops out of the trees and walks slowly to the bank of the river. “Tobirama-san,” he calls. Tobirama’s eyes narrow. Not very open to being persuaded, then. Still, Hikaku has to try. “Can we talk?” The glare weakens, but Tobirama remains on the water. “Talk all you want.” “I was hoping for a conversation,” Hikaku says, and Tobirama’s eyes narrow again. Hikaku would really prefer not to drown, but he’s fairly confident that Tobirama won’t kill him on purpose. Certainly not outside of a fight. Instinctive reactions, misjudging Hikaku’s ability to dodge or defend, that might happen, but Tobirama probably won’t attack unprompted. So, despite Hikaku’s better instincts, he makes his way slowly out to a rock in the middle of the river and sits down. It’s still a bit far to be called a conversational distance, but close enough he won’t have to raise his voice.

Typhoon Island:

“I’m going to check the bodies,” Izuna says. “Hikaku?” “We’ll help,” Hikaku says. “Ruri, Kagami, can you work together to collect their weapons? Make sure not to cut yourself.” “Their weapons aren’t very good,” Ruri says. “It’s still best to collect them,” Hikaku says. “Lower quality weapons can still be used, and it will keep the weapons out of enemy hands.” Ruri glances in Tobirama’s direction and nods quickly. She grabs Kagami’s hand and pulls him along with her. Going over the bodies is much slower with Kagami and Ruri’s “help” than if Hikaku were working on his own, but this is as much about keeping the kids busy while they wait for Tobirama as anything. It’s not as though it’s a mystery why bloodline thieves targeted Uchiha children.

Trick or Treat: Kagami demands rescuing:

Oh I have so much to ramble about this one, you definitely get to decide if a textwall is a trick or a treat. So it's kind of like... my thing, going all the way back to when I was 15 and writing Death Note fic, to take a Fandom Standard trope/premise and dig into it. Really obsessively think about how it would work, and the consequences and consequences-of-consequences, and so on. I didn't get to do it much in Girl Genius fandom, partly because that fandom was small enough there weren't so many Fandom Standards that had been done many times like that, but BSAU blessed Tobirama is a good example of me doing this with the blessed Tobirama/blessed red eyes trope, and (fantastic communication, guys) is this with marriage hunts. So obviously Kagami Demands Rescuing is this, for the 'Tobirama rescues Kagami/an Uchiha child, thus ending the war' premise. Because I love those fics, but at the same time, I feel like it's not something he'd be very likely to actually do. Tobirama as a character is very... like, what he's Supposed To Do (and Be) is pretty crucial to him, if that makes sense. Hashirama is the Senju Clan Head, but that's just like, his day job. It puts some limits on what he can do but mostly they're practical limits like 'can't run away to the other side of the continent because I have to be here.' Tobirama builds a lot more of himself and his decisions around what's Expected Of Him as a Senju (and later Konoha) shinobi, and what he considers the ideal for a Senju/Konoha shinobi. All of which adds up to: I really don't think that, while they're at war, he'd be likely to save any Uchiha no strings attached. He might want to, walking away from an endangered (Uchiha) child might give him trauma and years of nightmares, but I think he'd still do it, because that's what's Best For The Senju Clan. It is possible for him to think he should do something and not be able to actually bring himself to do it when the time comes, but I feel like he'd still be more likely to just walk away from the situation than to go out of his way to help. (To be clear: I still love fics where he does rescues an Uchiha anyway, there are so many amazing fics with that premise. I just push a little mental 'AU where Tobirama will choose his morals (Save The Child) over his principles (Do What's Best For The Senju)' button in my head. Also shoutout to A Soft Green Glow for pulling off Tobirama rescuing Izuna so well that I didn't even need the button, without even being from Tobirama's POV, it's such an amazing fic.) But he's also very, very smart. And we probably all know that tidbit about conspiracy theories and cults and how smart people can be really, really good at justifying a decision they want to make. So the question becomes how Tobirama would justify saving an Uchiha while they're enemies. One option is for him to save them, then take them home as a prisoner and make the Uchiha ransom them back. The Uchiha owe him for rescuing whoever, the Senju at minimum make a profit, and maybe he can learn some useful information along the way, so saving an enemy is justified. But I like that better with him rescuing an adult Uchiha; when he's rescuing Kagami part of the appeal is them bonding, which is probably not going to happen if Tobirama is also kidnapping Kagami. (Although a fic about them figuring out how to be teacher and student in Konoha afterward would be fun.) So to write a fic about Tobirama rescuing Kagami I needed a different justification. "Hashirama would want it" and "the Uchiha will owe us" both help, as does "we're in a general lull in hostilities right now and I don't want to make the war re-escalate" but I wanted a bit more to nudge Tobirama from 'I will leave the Uchiha alone' to 'I will actively help the Uchiha'. And that's why Kagami is demanding the rescuing.

And while we're at it: boop

#fantastic communication #Typhoon Island #Kagami demands rescuing

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weeb-polls-with-pip · 1 year ago

Text

Autistic Anime Boys Side A Round 2 Match 7

Propaganda:

Near -

"He's my favorite traumatized autistic character of all time!! I'm autistic and he's just like me frfr!!! Not ONLY does he have the most autistic swag (almost constant on-screen stimming, special interest in toys, menace to society, does not Know Or Care For social rules, my semi-verbal son) but he ALSO has trans swag (if you don't believe me look up his design in the 2020 one-shot or in the 2015 TV Drama) AND he's incredibly controversial amongst Allistic fans so I consider that an autistic win. Anyways, vote for Near or else you hate autistic trans ppl /j (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡"

Mash -

"Mash has an extreme flat affect, his tone of voice barely changes no matter what happens and his facial expression never changes. That's not to say he doesn't feel emotions, he's just hard to read, but he does very much feel emotions. When he breaks a door because he doesn't know whether it's push or pull, he feels bad about it and offers to fix it. When he messes up, he plays cool until he realizes the consequences, and then panics. When he needs to fight someone, it's go time, and when he's fighting for a friend, he gets mad. He's dumb, but has a good heart, and his core motivation is to live in peace and happiness with his adoptive grandpa. Mash is a himbo: dumb, kind, and buff.

Mash has two Special Interests, and he's equally obsessed and knowledgeable about both: working out and cream puffs. He's so obsessed with working out that he sticks to a strict schedule of specific exercises throughout the day, even exercising in the middle of a conversation. He also drinks regular protein shakes and gave his individual muscles names, and he talks to his muscles and pretends they talk back to give himself a pep talk when he's feeling down.

As for cream puffs, they are his all-time favorite food and he is excellent at baking them (though terrible at making anything else). He always carries a cream puff around in his pocket (unsanitary!), and is constantly eating them, even in tense scenes. His cream puff being damaged is one of the few ways he'll express shock on his otherwise deadpan face. He loves cream puffs so much that taking one from him triggers an unconscious nerve reaction to take it back.

The following bits of propaganda are minor spoilers for Mashle:

It's later revealed that Mash's true dream in life is to become a patissier and run a pastry shop that sells cream puffs.

There's one scene near the end of the manga where he smiles, and it gave me intense feels in exactly the same way that Mob laughing at the end of Mob Psycho 100 does."

#tumblr polls #autistic anime boys poll #original poll #near #death note #death note near #near death note #nate river #mash burnedead #mashle #mashle: magic and muscles #dn #near dn #dn near

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chopper-base · 1 year ago

Text

Plan 99

Day 7 of @tbb-appreciation-week

I will be posting the days I missed. I just need to get my shit together.

MAJOR SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS

Summary: Tech finds himself alive but in the empires hands. Extremely injured and alone, he can only hope his brothers managed to escape as he fights to escape with the help of a brother long lost.

Prompts: Fix-it, nightmare

Warnings: A lot of blood, body disfiguration, nightmare, graphic character death in nightmare, non-consensual body modification, trauma, major injury

(Pls let me know if there are other tags I need to add!!!)

Chpt1 | Chpt2

Chapter 1

"Plan 99."

Tech had calculated every possible outcome to his current situation, and in every one, his team, his brothers plummeted to their death. He knew there wasn't a scenario that he made it back up to the rail car. He knew one way or another, he was going to fall. He made his decision without a second thought; he wasn't going to let his family fall with him. The fear in Wrecker and Omega's voices was prominent, weighing heavily on him.

"Don'tchu do it, Tech,"

Tech knew under Wrecker's helmet, he was watching him, his eyes pleading. He knew the realization was setting in on his brother as Tech raised his blaster, "When have we ever followed orders?"

Everything seemed to slow as he pulled the trigger, the blast hitting its mark, severing the connection between the railcars. The line kept him tethered to the plummeting car, Tech now free falling, his eyes glued to his brother's armored form growing smaller and smaller as he disappeared into the fog below. Wrecker's devastated scream burned into his mind as the wind whistled past him, the reality of his situation finally fully hitting him. He reached up, turning off his com, not wanting to hear Omega's desperate cries.

Tech always knew death followed the batch everywhere they went. Always sitting in wait, ready to take them and yet, they always found a way back. They always found each other again and they never let the fear of death stop them from completing what they started. But as the ground below grew ever closer, Tech found himself fighting the fate he had accepted merely seconds ago.

The rail car above him was just waiting for the solid ground, waiting to crush the pilot under tons of metal and machinery. Tech reached down, disconnecting his line, trying to position himself away from the car. It was then that Tech finally looked towards the ground, the fog clearing enough for him to see the dense forest below him. Through the mess of branches, he noticed a river, flowing heavily between the thick canopy. He managed to change his trajectory enough to put the river below him but between him and the water was still a whole lot of tree.

He didn't have time to think of how to slow himself down before he hit the first branch, snapping harshly against his thigh. There wasn't time to regret not having armor on his thighs before he was hit by another branch crashing into his side. He never felt the third as his consciousness was ripped from him, leaving his limp body to crash through branch after branch.

Tech awoke seconds later to a burning in his throat, a freezing blanket seemingly wrapped tightly around him. He realized in fear that the burning was water, forcing its way down his throat, filling his aching lungs. The rushing river around him made it almost impossible to tell which was up. He began to kick, swim as hard as he could, hoping to reach the surface. Excruciating pain shot down his right leg the moment he tried to move it. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from inhaling more water, he continued to kick through the pain. His hand broke the surface first, his head quickly following. He coughed, trying to force the water from his lungs and trying his best to keep more out as the rapids pushed his head below the waves once more. He fought to get his head above the water once more, spotting the edge of the river over the white water rapids that continued to beat down on his already aching body.

His foot brushed against what he assumed was the river bed, trying to use it to push himself towards the shore. The river's rapids began to calm, making it easier for the pilot to swim closer to the edge. He finally began to feel the solid dirt of the river bed as he half crawled half dragged his way out of the river, collapsing in a heap of drenched armor.

He pried his broken helmet off his head, unable to stop the agonizing scream at the burning in his eyes and the sharp pain shooting down his arms. His limited vision was swimming, white spots dancing across what he could see. He started to notice the lack of vision on his right side and it wasn't long before he realized he couldn't see anything out of that eye. He slowly reached up, his finger brushing over his goggles. He let out a pained hiss as his finger met the broken lense, finally realizing his problem. The lenses had shattered and had pierced into his eye.

He pulled the goggle strap over his head, carefully pulling the broken goggles away from his face. He let his arm fall, dropping the goggles falling beside him, trying to breathe through the burn in his chest.

"Well isn't this interesting," a voice called, bringing Tech to turn his head lightly to where it had come from. "Here I thought we were coming to collect a body. This is quite the surprise.”

The next few hours became an unintelligible blur as what Tech assumed to be TK troopers moved him from the river bank onto a transport. His chest burned with every shaky breath he stole of the ship's recycled air. He wasn't sure when it happened but eventually, a mask was placed over his face, breathing becoming ever so slightly easier. Every shaky breath left a painful rattle in his chest, his own wheezing echoing in his mind. There wasn't a single word spoken around him that made sense in his head. The voices sounded as if they were underwater, the slight rocking of the ship causing more nausea to set in. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, every movement causing blinding white pain to stab through his eyes. He opted to focus on his breathing, trying to steady the painful intake of oxygen to his burning lungs. He had long forgotten about the pain in his limbs, all his focus on trying to stay awake; to stay alive.

The noise around faded to almost nothing. The hum of the engine vibrating through the ship was the only thing that kept Tech from slipping into the darkness that called to him. Tech didn't know how long he lay there, unable to feel anything but the stinging in his lungs and the cool air that he forced in. Tech couldn't even flinch when a hand landed on his shoulder ever so briefly, his body refusing to respond to any command. The engine must have been shut off at that soothing vibration Tech had been holding onto so tightly vanished. The stretcher he was on began to move, and Tech wished so badly to know where. The air around him became colder, leaving the pilot to hold on to that chilly sensation as he fought to keep that sliver of consciousness. He wasn't sure if he was truly conscious. He couldn't hear a single thing, his eyes refused to open, his burning lungs were the only thing he knew to be true. That question was quickly answered as several hands appeared over his body, moving him. The stretcher beneath him disappeared only to be replaced with a hard surface. Something touched his neck, something he couldn't place. He felt as his last remaining sliver of consciousness began to be torn away from him. As much as he tried to fight it, the darkness enveloped him, swallowing him whole.

"Don'tchu do it, Tech."

Wrecker? Tech looking around him, greeted only by darkness.

"TECH!"

Omega? Her screamed echoed in his head. He turned again, searching for his sister but all he was met with was her terrified screams. He called out to her, his own voice all too loud. He turned one last time to be met with a sight that left him biting back the bike in his throat. Omega's small body lay before him, blood pooling beneath her, staining her blonde hair a dreadful shade of red. He ran towards her, only to realize he wasn't moving. No matter how fast he forced his legs to go, she never got closer. Her eyes were locked on his, terror written on her young features. He couldn't do a thing as he watched that bright light leave her eyes. He watched her body fade away as her name escape his lips in the form of a broken scream.

"Tech."

Another voice echoed around him. He whipped around only to be met with a pair of broken eyes. Crosshair stared at him, unmoving. Blood was streaked across his black imperial armor. A shattered helmet lay discarded at his face.

"I thought we never left our own behind?" Crosshair's voice cracked, broken as he stared at his younger brother. "...why? Why did I get left behind?"

Tech's voice caught in his throat, any hope of an explanation was left to the wind.

Crosshair stared at him, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, leaving it to dribble off his chin. "You abandoned me."

Tech couldn't even bring himself to cry, watching as his brother broke before him. Those once sharp eyes now held nothing but pain. He too began to fade, leaving Tech to reach out for him, his mouth open in a silent scream that never came.

The ground beneath him seemed to fade, leaving Tech to plummet down. A painted sky of red formed above him as he fell. Clouds of a sickly gray dotted the bloody sky, staring down at him as he fell. His back hit something solid, leaving him trying to scramble back to his feet. He froze as he noticed the scene that surrounded him. His squad, his brothers lay scattered around him. Their bodies bloodied, disfigured in all the worst ways. Their glazed eyes were all pointed at him, driving daggers into his soul.

He fell back to his knees, blood soaking through his blacks, staining his white armor red. His eyes fell on the small body between his brothers. Omega's limbs were bent in directions they should have never been able to, blood flowing freely out of her mouth. Her eyes. Those young innocent eyes stared right back at him. Her mouth was open in a terrified scream that never came. The scene around him began to vanish, leaving Tech to stare at where his Vod'ika once lay. He opened his mouth, a broken screaming echoing around him. He screamed until he couldn't, leaving him to curl in on himself, sobs wracking his body.

Why couldn't he have saved them? Why wasn't he able to save his family?!

Tech's eyes flew open only to be squeezed shut immediately at the pain that flared through his entire body. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, only that he felt too much all too quickly. His entire body seemed to spasm as pain ripple through his chest leaving him wanting to scream only to choke. Something had been shoved down his throat, forcing him to breathe. Tech was able to force his eyes open again just enough to see light. He was floating. Something was suspending him from above and it was then Tech recognized the cool liquid that was surrounding him. He forced his eyes open a little farther, recognizing the transparisteel of a bacta tank surrounding him. He stared at the blurry room before him, unable to place how he ended up here. His vision was limited, leaving Tech to focus on the confusion of his whereabouts. His vision on his right side seemed… wrong. Colors seemed to register differently on his right side which led to more confusion. He attempted to move his hand towards his face only to be met with pain rippling up his body in excruciating waves. His entire body felt as if liquid fire had been pumped through his veins. He choked around the tube in his throat, wanting nothing more in that moment than to be able to scream. His chin fell against his chest, his eyes screwed shut. He fell limp, letting that karking tube push and pull air from his burning lungs. He pried his eyes back only to wish he didn't. He had been stripped of his blacks, leaving him feeling exposed. But what had him forcing back the bile in his throat was his leg. His right leg was gone, leaving a metal prosthetic in its place. The skin around the prosthetic was red and swollen, the tortured nerve endings leaving him to stare in what could only be described as horror. He forced his gaze away, trying to assess the rest of his body. His entire body was littered with scars, some he recognized from previous missions, and some that clearly were still healing. The pain slowly subsided as did what consciousness he had. He only caught a glimpse of a person entering the room before he found himself fully enveloped in the darkness.

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