#the dynamic is just *chef's kiss*

[naaaafam]

Oooh, this is so delicious!!! gjkdkvjd I have so many thoughts and they're all ricocheting off the walls of my skull and colliding in massive explosions (pos)

kfmvjsknvkd The tantrum (the way everyone knows how to fix it, but Felix is the only one willing to try)- the way Felix views dissection (dissection/vivisection can only be done if you have power over something weaker, but to Felix it make him feel like a small part of the world??? fascinating, i love it, i am foaming at the mouth)- the fact that getting back in Vortex is both selfish and a sacrifice- kkgkwkodkvihooekwjvibkeknvj❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Felix. Felix Anwyl.” He smiled at them, still breathing heavily from his nose.

ajmcnvjksnn! How many people know? how many people know Felix isn't a pilot? something something need to know basis something something how many people saw this and got filled with dread? something something what was going through the instructor's head when they heard his name? something something He said the thing! (the thoughts are colliding too fast for me to catch them 😭)

Vortex going "Mine" in front of all in sundry kckgjjdbsnxkkbkgof

I love this

More TexAid Mecha AU-AU stuff!

In this chapter - Vortex continues to be an oversized blender, First Aid has Quite Enough of it.

Pls excuse any errors, the tuxedo cat LOVES to sit on my lap and explore my keyboard when I write and I don't always catch everything.

The schedule board was a large, digital board that could be found in almost every major area. It was also available on their phones, easily viewed by all. The medics had one of the deepest levels of access to assess lone workers, and to track who should be where in emergencies.

And the schedule board was wrong.

PILOT: FELIX ANWYL

First Aid groggily rubbed his eyes at the bright light of the phone being shoved into his half-asleep face.

“Whuh?” He sleepily mumbled. His hand flopped around blindly for his glasses before he gave up and grabbed the phone, pulling it closer.

“You’re scheduled on as a pilot today?” Ambulon asked.

“I’m not a pilot.” First Aid pushed the phone away and flopped back down. “I was on the night shift.” He pointedly said.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Ambulon sighed. “I just can’t figure out why you’re on the list!”

“Someone must have made a mistake.”

It was not a mistake.

It was sabotage.

Red Alert glared hotly at them all as the announcement was made. The schedule had been hacked. Anyone with any information was to step forwards immediately.

The only reason First Aid had gotten away with just twenty minutes of grilling was because he’d been in the medical bay for the night shift, and then immediately gone straight to bed – the cameras showed him yawning as he clocked out at the time when the system was apparently compromised.

It couldn’t have been him, and there wasn’t anyone he could have asked.

First Aid felt the cameras trained onto him burning a hole through him, and tried his best to ignore it.

It kept happening. Every morning, his name would be right there on the schedule. They’d tried to remove it only for it to appear again moments later. Whatever it was, whoever it was, were sitting waiting in the system totally undetected. They couldn’t scrub them out. The mysterious morning memos changed too – songs about wanton longing were quoted instead.

A compromised system was unacceptable. In lieu of a functional digital system, they made the switch back to paper. Every morning, a thick ringbound stack of papers would be dumped in the main areas showing everyones shift patterns at precisely 5:30am. First Aids name had finally been scrubbed – but he’d seen correction tape on the pages by Vortex’s name. He was still managing to infiltrate the system.

Pilots feeling brave or lucky volunteered to pilot Vortex, to prove they were made of the right stuff. First Aid watched and winced every time Vortex staggered back into the hangar, doing that grinding tremble that he did when he was laughing, and having the smell of a corpse hit him even from the wrong end of the catwalk.

He’s consuming them, First Aid thought. They’re offering themselves as sacrifices, he’s an altar to them.

Pharma hadn’t allowed First Aid to go back into Vortex to extract the previous pilot (shovelling into a bucket was more apt now) since he’d been stuck inside. He’d not been caught when he’d sneaked into him that evening, but Pharma knew. Somehow, he knew – he’d changed the positioning of cameras in the medics quarters, he’d changed how the doors logged entry and exits. He’d know in an instant if he went. So, he stayed and had to hope that Vortex could see his expression from where he stood behind the gate.

Instead of being the one to extract them, he was often involved in assisting the autopsy. Pharma lead them alongside Ratchet – a way to keep him under watch and on his best behaviour. First Aid never let Ratchet see him step out of line – his disappointment would kill him. Pharma would look at him each time as he catalogued each part, every chunk and shard and unidentifiable puddle, as if to say ‘this is a warning’. As if to check that he was paying attention, that he would see that this would be what became of him if he went near the mech again.

Only First Aid didn’t believe it for a second. They had a deal. Vortex wanted his expertise, and First Aid wanted his body. His expertise was worth nothing if he was dead, if he were rendered to nothing more than mush that soaked into the fabric of the pilots chair and ran into the gaps between the plating.

The day that Vortex’s visor opened and sprayed the remnants of the pilot on the catwalk and the approaching trauma medics was the day that First Aid snapped.

“For fucks sake I don’t care - he keeps killing them!” He swiftly evaded the grabbing hands trying to restrain him. “Look, that cadet’s been scattered all over the catwalk! How are we supposed to autopsy that?!”

“Leave the worrying about that to the pathologists, Felix.”

“I don’t know about your conscience, but I can’t stand it on mine when I know I can do something about it. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Do you want to die? He’ll kill you.”

“He won’t, he promised.”

“And you trust it?” Disgust blended with disbelief. “That AI is rogue, Felix. It’s… it’s broken. I don’t think it will listen to a single word anyone has to say.” First Aid didn’t reply.

“Let me through.” He politely said to the guard. The guard looked between First Aid and the simmering Pharma behind him.

“I don’t think-“

“Let me through.”

“No can do, Felix.”

Pharma had a smugness about him. “See? Now, let’s behave-“

First Aid took a step back, assessing the height of the barrier. He could make that, right?

“Hey-!” The guards arms flew out to catch him as he jumped over, his foot catching and flipping him over. First Aid grunted as his jaw smacked the floor with a crack.

“Stupid boy!” Pharma scolded. “You’re still healing from the last time you got inside that mech! Don’t add to your injuries!”

“I don’t care!” First Aid snapped. “People are dying! We’re medics! Why aren’t you doing what you can to help?!”

“By climbing into death traps? Don’t be silly, Felix.” Pharma roughly tugged him up to his feet. “You’ll achieve nothing if you’re dead.”

“I’ll do a damn sight better if I go see the mech throwing a tantrum because I’m not in it.”

Pharma’s eyes were hard. “Your potential is not to be wasted on some hare-brained scheme. Do not test my patience again.”

First Aid swallowed hard, feeling his legs go numb. Maybe he’d pushed his luck too far - Pharma looked very serious indeed. He relented, relaxing as best he could into his hold, and mumbled an apology.

It seemed to please Pharma. He apologised to the guard for the trouble his charge had caused, and trotted him straight back to the medical bay.

Pharma made a mistake in thinking that was the end of it. First Aid had made the mistake in going to Vortex when he was still full of a disembowelled corpse.

Nobody minded the medic walking with purpose through the pilots quarters. His heart was in his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears, as he hoped nobody recognised him as the medic who kept ending up on the pilots list. Pretend you’re meant to be here.

Pretend.

His target was a supply cupboard that held spare suits. It was still three hallways away when someone noticed him.

“What are you doing?” Their voice was sharp, piercing. “You’re not meant to be here.”

Perceptor. Of course he would pissing notice.

First Aid silently held up a blister package of paracetamol. He didn’t trust his voice to hold.

Perceptor was someone whom he had looked up to when he was younger - a member of The Wreckers, children far and wide knew their names, their faces, their stats on their Top Trump cards. First Aid knew he should have been more starstruck, that he should have asked for an autograph, but the adrenaline was gripping him so tightly he couldn’t think past the now.

Perceptor wasn’t buying it.

He opened his mouth to challenge him, frowning and folding his arms, cocking his hip to the side-

And the klaxon went off.

They both immediately turned to look at the nearest signboard.

FELIX ANWYL stared back at First Aid, glaring and red and flashing next to Vortex’s name.

Giving him a look that promised it wasn’t the end of it, Perceptor rushed off to answer the call. First Aid took a moment to recollect himself before utilising the chaos to plunder the stores and nab himself a god damn uniform. Passing through the crowds was strangely easy – he blended right in to the mass of bodies, and just his luck – another pilot was already rummaging in the cupboard when he had arrived.

“Can you pass me an S?” He asked. They didn’t even look at him as they grabbed it and shoved it into his hands, flicking through the carefully packaged uniforms as they hunted. First Aid quickly thanked him and shoved it into his bag before swiftly walking out.

It was all on camera. He felt them trained on him, watching his every move.

But he felt somehow assured that nobody would know. Vortex was watching. He’d make sure he left no tracks.

Vortex’s response time had tanked. It had never been so low, even when they were struggling to find seasoned pilots willing to enter his jaws. The brass were starting to sweat. Their sponsors and investors didn’t like mechs that inexplicably failed, especially when the mech was supposed to be the best.

Engineers and the maintenance crew confirmed that he was passing all of his tests – there was nothing mechanically wrong with him. His AI was responding as intended. There were no bugs, no faults, nothing out of the ordinary with him.

But First Aid knew what the problem was. Vortex was throwing a tantrum, and it was only the thought of letting anyone else get their teeth into the quintesson invaders before he did that got him out of the hangar doors. His need for blood always won out when it came down to it – and he’d make a show of it if he needed to.

First Aid wore the thin under-layer of the pilots suit under his medics uniform, and carried the thicker armour in his backpack. He stowed it under his bench, always within easy reach - he’d grab it and sprint as soon as the siren went off.

Vortex was always one of the last to launch. Finding a willing pilot to get inside of him was getting harder, and they’d had to start using new recruits. Fresh, green, and who didn’t have a damn clue who he was or about the rumours of his supposed haunting. And new recruits needed showing the ropes, needed to be shown how the helmet worked, needed to have the reason why his name was on the screen explained away.

So he had about three minutes to get to him whilst they plucked someone from the academy. The medbay was a three minute sprint away if you were an athlete. He could do it in five. It would have to do.

The first klaxon since he’d stolen the suit was a night time alarm. He was dead asleep in his quarters a good twenty minutes away – he was only aware that they’d launched when the alarm in the medics building went off alerting them to incoming casualties. He’d shrugged on his uniform and hopped onto the transport, ready to jet off to the medical bay, and silently cursed his bad luck. Vortex would be so mad.

And mad he was. Apparently, the pilot had been mauled before they’d even left the hangar, the mech continuing on with just a slowly dying nervous system connected to it. Blood had oozed from the visor, loudly splattering down Vortex’s chest. The instructor who had brought the cadet up had cried.

First Aid felt the cameras on him. It felt like Vortex was accusing him of something, but surely he was just imagining that. The cameras looked no different.

Perceptor hadn’t said a thing to him. He also hadn’t said anything to anyone – if he did, First Aid knew he’d have been frogmarched up to the top brass, chewed out until he was but a smear on the floor, and kicked out into the cold unforgiving world outside. Pharma had been the one to protect him when he’d been caught with the infant quintesson – he’d been the one to catch him, to pretend nothing had happened and handled his discipline internally. There wasn’t anything he could do when it came to him stealing a pilots suit.

Especially when one considered that Pharma had explicitly told him to not do this. He’d be watching his downfall with a glass of wine and canapés.

It ate away at him, clawing at his insides. What was Perceptor thinking? What was he planning? Was he waiting to see what he would do?

Relief came in the form of a distraction and of stars aligning. It had taken three alarms, three incidents, three deployments of their mechs, before First Aid was able to make it to Vortex. He had always been too far, off shift or dead in sleep in a building where they weren’t alerted to quintessons.

In the chaos of an attack, nobody paid much notice to the pilot who jumped the barrier. Overzealous, over excited. The guards shook their heads at him. First Aid didn’t catch his foot this time, and was audibly wheezing by the time he got to Vortex. He’d said it was a five minute sprint, but he didn’t say a thing about what state it would be leaving him in. He felt dishevelled. His hair was sticking to him. He’d never felt more awake.

The new recruit was there, bright eyed and excitedly drinking in the atmosphere. The instructor had a guilty look on her face as she let them take one last look at the facility, their last look at life.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m here!” First Aid called as he slid to a stop. “I’m so late!” He gasped for breath, trying not to laugh in how giddy he felt. Pharma would murder him. Ratchet would be so upset. But Vortex had visibly shuddered, his canopy trembling, and he couldn’t suppress his giggle.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” The instructor looked perplexed. “I wasn’t aware the mech had a pilot assigned to them?”

“Felix. Felix Anwyl.” He smiled at them, still breathing heavily from his nose. Was he sweaty? He felt sweaty. He felt hot. He couldn’t wait to sit down.

“But-“

“Thank you for your diligence! Your service will be appreciated, cadet!” First Aid said as he jumped into Vortex, the visor snapping down behind him with a sound of finality. The lock loudly slammed into place, and First Aid threw himself into the seat as Vortex remotely began the start up procedures. The harness seemed to buckle itself around him, holding him firmly into the seat as Vortex roughly shoved off the dock and began to sprint.

“Woah- wait wait wait I’m not ready-!” His hands were scrambling for purchase on anything, hands slipping from the sweat of his earlier exertion.

Vortex shook with laughter.

[WELCOME ABOARD, DARLING~ <3]

First Aid lost himself laughing. “I can’t believe I did that! Look at what you’ve got me doing!”

[YOU’VE GOT BIGGER BALLS THAN I THOUGHT, I WAS STARTING TO THINK YOU’D NEVER COME BACK]

[DON’T WORRY ME LIKE THAT AGAIN~]

He was pressed firmly back against the seat as Vortex left the hangar, speeding up now that he was clear. In the distance, First Aid could see smoke.

The quintessons had arrived. They were closer than he thought they’d be – he’d never realised how close they got…

The adrenaline slowly wore off and the reality of the situation quickly sunk in.

He had disobeyed direct orders. He had stolen a pilots uniform, he had impersonated one, and he was currently in a mech he was not trained or cleared to operate.

“Pharma is going to kill me!” First Aid panicked. “Oh, I’m so dead, I’m so dead!” He pulled his hair in despair. “Oh!” He moaned, burying his face into his hands. “What is Ultra Magnus going to say?!”

[RELAX]

“Easy for you to say! You’re already dead! You don’t get court marshalled!”

[JUST PUT THE HELMET ON, I WANT YOU TO FEEL THIS TOO]

Bright blue blood splashed up onto the visor. First Aid scrambled for the helmet.

Pain shot through him and he cried out, tightly gripping the seats. It had been easier to handle when Vortex wasn’t moving, when he wasn’t busy twirling and slashing and slicing and running around, but there was so much data. So much information he had to take in, and he didn’t have the hardware required to filter it for him. He didn’t need to know that the panel on Vortex’s left foot right by the heel was slightly loose because of how hard he’d started to sprint, but it felt as if something were out of place on his own body and it was all that he could think about.

“Sorry about that, babe. I forget it’s a bit much for you squishies.”

Suddenly, the pressure crushing his head lifted. He breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to his chest as if to hold his heart in place.

“How many did I miss?”

“Three.” He carved through another, the scream loud and cutting off with a wet gargle. “Four, if you count that one. Pay close attention – you’re telling me what to do to the next one.”

He was horrified, but he couldn’t look away. His words had stumbled and tripped, unclear and garbled, instructions lost in translation. He couldn’t think straight and Vortex was moving faster than he could keep up with – he had to. There were so many. It suddenly made sense why their pilots always came back exhausted, why their mechs always needed repairs. It didn’t stop.

But he was learning.

“Come on, honey, don’t make me regret sticking my neck out for you.”

“Can I take control?” His hands hovered over the controls, a joystick nudging itself into his palm.

“If it’s you I’ll allow it.”

The next kill was more like a dissection. The quintesson felt squishier than he thought it would, clasped in his hand. He held it up as he carefully inserted the sword with scientific precision, the blade slowly gliding down to reveal the peritoneum – it shone like an oil slick in the light of the slowly setting sun, and he could see one of its pulsing hearts straining against it. He was sure it was screaming, but he couldn’t hear over the thunderous beat of his own heart in his ears and the endless praise pouring out of Vortex.

“It’s got multiple hearts. That’s fascinating.” First Aid commented. “Okay, carefully does it…” he thought back to his first dissection. His little hamster, Lucky. The feeling of joy and wonder that he had had, the quiet worship that came when one engaged with the natural world around them in a way that left them feeling much smaller than when they had begun.

His hands hadn’t been as skilled back then. He’d struggled to get hold of a knife sharp enough without his parents noticing and taking it from him, he wasn’t even tall enough to climb up onto the counter top – he’d seen a documentary on TV about the palaeolithic and flint knapping, and a few days later had noticed a piece of stray flint on the beach. His parents had been happy for him to take it, thinking he was just excited to find an interesting rock. They never found out that he’d whacked it against the boulder that marked the end of their driveway to break off a piece sharp enough to cut flesh. He buried it with the hamster.

The quintesson dropped with a wet squelch, the peritoneum breaking and its internals spilling out over the fields. First aid tutted.

“Damn it, I didn’t mean to cut that deep.”

“There will be more to practice on. Look, the next one’s headed our way~”

“Am I in trouble?”

First Aid staggered out of the mech, exhausted and giddy and dizzy and bleeding. They hadn’t suffered a single hit – they were fast but Vortex was much faster – but the strain of the connection had proven too much again. Red dripped from his nose to the floor, splashing up onto his boots and the shoes of the opposing officer waiting for them to return.

“Yes.” Prowl said. “Yes, you are.”

Pharma didn’t look angry. Somehow, that made it even worse. He couldn’t look at him as he walked by - he couldn’t look at anyone.

He’d saved the life of the cadet, he told himself. He would saved the lives of countless more – if they let him, that was. The silence was heavy and oppressive.

The walkie talkie on Prowls hip crackled loudly. He slipped it from its holder and held it up to his ear, brow creased in a frown.

A series of short and long beeps proceeded to play. First Aid didn’t understand what the hell they meant, but he recognised it from documentaries on the war.

Morse code. Four letters repeated over and over.

Prowl stopped to turn and stare at Vortex. Water was starting to be sprayed on his exterior, glowing blue running down over his visor. A singular red dot pierced through it – a camera inside of his cockpit. He was watching them.

“What’re they saying?” First Aid asked.

“… Mine.” Prowl quickly turned and resumed a brisk pace. First Aid stumbled after him, Pharma catching him in a firm hand. Blood dripped onto his pristine white lab coat, blooming like flowers.

[toastyyjams]

rarepair hell...

[tlou-obsessed]

Siblings actually feeling like siblings is my absolute favourite thing in shows:

siblings sharing one braincell:

The same crooked smile:

And in the first 10 minutes or so you already know the dynamic between these two, Joel knows Tommy will tease him endlessly about the t-shirt being inside out, being an older sibling, when making a mistake I look at my younger siblings first because I just know they are gonna be insufferable about it. But Tommy respects the hell out of Joel, he immidiately puts out the cigarette when told so, this is responsible older brother Joel, who will bail him out of jail...

He's also the person he looks to, to make the decisions que 'What are we doin', Joel':

also the fact that they got two guys with patchy beards is dedication to me, they wanted these two to be genetically brothers:

These two walking in sync never fails to get me, they are walking the exact same way:

Also haven't seen each other in quite a while and doesn't miss the chance to tease little brother:

all I have to say is Gabriel and Pedro were dedicated to show us they were brothers and I love them for that.

[mikuyuuss]

“You'll see my face in every place

But you can't catch me now”

[lambmotifz]

sam isn’t an alpha, he’s a feral, rebellious omega. you know this stereotype that all omegas are sexually passive and naturally submissive? sam never fitted into the ideal omega image and he only willingly submits to his mate (dean), no one else

[russell-crowe]

S08E10: runaways

[s0fter-sin]

You are so real for your tags on the Nikpriceghost. JFC. Excuse the shriek of chair legs as I pull a seat up at that buffet table. Need me 30k slow burn poly omegaverse of Simon thinking he's just a bit of fun to them, and it's all good because it is bloody fun, innit? But really they're both very fuckin' in love with him, and trying to communicate that in a way it can't be miscommunicated is hard. So hold him while his mind melts out his ears is where they've got to. They're workin' on the words. (Need me* I'm trying, I'm writing, I'm chewing the skirting boards, writing some more.)

i’m shrieking right along with the chair this is t a s t y

simon seeing price and nik and immediately seeing how perfect they are for each other; it’s right there in their scent and how perfectly they meld together- they smell like a dream. they support each other in a way he’s only seen in relationships from movies. they’re even an alpha/omega pair but they’re not held back by traditionalist prejudice. they compliment and complete each other so fully it’s a wonder they’ve let him into their nest all

simon with his traumatised scent, letting everyone who comes near him know just how damaged he is (as if looking at him wouldn’t give it away). simon the alpha who craves an omega’s orders; who longs to submit to an alpha

simon who wishes the sweet words they whisper to him were real

wishes their scenting would extend outside the nest, that they didn’t make him wash them it off afterwards. (they just want to give him aftercare, something he’s never been offered.) that the hickeys and sweet bites left oh so gently would drift that much closer to his mating gland. (he never got the proper schooling, was never taught that marks left near a mating gland were an offer as much as a question.) that they wouldn’t see him as just some pup hauled in from the rain when they press him tight between their chests

(he is their pup and they have taken him in. they just don’t know what they’re doing wrong that he won’t stay.)

imagining the first time simon was brought into their nest was the first time he’s been in any nest and it’s bc he’s so disregulated that he’s having a breakdown; maybe gaz or soap got hurt under his watch and his inner alpha can’t handle having failed them so spectacularly and nothing they say, no platitude or reassurance, can reach him

so price does what any pack leading omega would do

he scruffs simon, waits for his eyelids to droop and knees to go weak, and drags him into his nest; pushing him into the deepest well of it with the highest buildup of safe-sleep-pack-happy scent until simon’s inner alpha calms itself enough that he falls into a stress induced sleep

price watches over him the entire time, vigilant against any threat both internal and external, and it’s in his diligence that he notices how perfectly simon’s scent blends with his and nik’s; notices how happy his omega is at having the alpha in his nest

and how much he wants to keep him there

(simon wakes up disoriented; more than a little worried about nik’s reaction to another alpha in his mate’s nest and is quick to leave the second price lets him. he misses the quiet rumble of contentment nik gives when he smells their combined scent, when he hears how long simon slept and the safety he must’ve felt with price. he misses the conversation about how right it felt and the agreement that he should stay there)

[mi---amor]

been having lots of Feelings and i think i'm gonna start drawing Amor more like this now <3 feels insanely Right and personally comforting. she still goes by any pronouns ^^

they might revert to their old design for Plot reasons, which might include some rare solid lore between them because the Gender Exploration Concept definitely would happen

[5ftboy]

Hunch Curio & The Fix = Best Friends(?)

[gophergal]

SubScorp Week 2023 - Day 5: Mortal Kombat Legends

"Such sloppy footwork, Sub-Zero. Get up and try again! Unless, that is, you'd rather stay down here..."

@subscorp-week

[tender-traps]

GOD i am such a sucker for cinderella whump

all the possibilities for an awful home life. forced to work, vilified, beaten, starved, locked in isolation, you name it. and of course being denied a blanket and having to huddle close to the fire in winter.

then they're free for just one night, or maybe three. just a short little step into a world where all of it goes away.

and then there’s the stranger. god this perfect stranger, beautiful and kind, who sees something worthwhile in whumpee. when they catch whumpee looking sad, they actually care.

and then they go back. and that taste of freedom makes it all the more painful. and when they think of the rest of their miserable life their spirit starts to break.

but the stranger!!!!! dropping everything, maybe making a personal sacrifice of their own, just to find their missing friend, because they CARE. someone finally cares enough to make it stop. and they do.

and that's where the story ends a lot of the time but we don't do that here. the aftermath. the scars, all of the toxic shit whumpee believes about themself, the feeling of being indebted to their savior. i'll take all of it thank you <3

[thymeskip]

silly drawing of my sona wearing ink’s fit because i think it’s pretty :D

also for practice drawing humans since i don’t draw them very often-

[raven--stag]

oh avery's surgery episode my beloved

[galaghiel]

fic so good it got me shaking (inspired). yall have got to check it out for bc holy shit.

[roseetube]

Been playing around with some aus!!! Magical girl aus are good for the soul!!! ALSO! ALSO!! IM ATTENDING NY COMIC CON ON SATURDAY!!! I swear if the 7 train isn't running, im gonna spontaneously combust!!!!!! And now it's time my mandated 100 tags (well 30, actually)

[rosesradio]

"Hey!" Percy slashed downwards, and though Leo threw up his blade, the force was too strong. Percy's sword slipped, tearing into Leo's shirt and slicing his arm.

Percy's eyes were wide, watching as Leo placed a hand over the wound. "Oh, gods, I'm sorry, Leo—you okay?"

Leo pulled his hand away, the familiar sensation of blood against his fingers like an old friend. Heated and wet, the pungent smell of iron, so dark it was hard to believe he could possibly have godly blood in his veins. His stomach turned as he met Percy's eyes. Flames broke out from the wound, drying the blood and sealing his skin, much like the stories of phoenixes his mother would tell him when he was young.

They rise from the ashes, she had told him. Just like you will, time and time again, mijo.

chapter five of the ivory rain is out now !! 🔥💀