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kalixora · 1 month ago

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In every universe

Spawned on an city island, you shook your head and blinked furiously, disoriented by the sudden shift. The last thing you remembered was strolling through the city with Natasha, the two of you laughing about how weirdly quiet things had been lately. It was supposed to be a normal day—coffee, maybe lunch. Now, the sun was harsh above you, the air sticky with humidity, and your body was wrapped in your full hero suit like you’d been yanked into a mission mid-briefing.

“Tasha?” you called out, voice edged with confusion.

Her head whipped around, eyes narrowing. “You okay?”

You nodded, but the shock still clung to you. You both rushed toward each other across the uneven sand, boots kicking up wet clumps of earth and shattered webbing that stuck to the ground like old gum.

“What’s going on?” you asked, heart pounding.

“Not sure,” Natasha muttered, frowning as she scanned the eerie skyline. Tall, unfamiliar structures loomed in the distance—half skyscraper, half webbed nest—twisting into the clouds like something out of a nightmare. “Where the hell is this place?”

You turned slowly with her. The landscape was a chaotic fusion of nature and something else entirely—mutated. Hulking spider webs spanned between trees like bridges. Strange, twitching cocoons hung from branches. The skyline of what once looked like a city was warped—buildings overtaken by vines, spires crowned with chitinous webbed domes.

“Wait…” you breathed. “Is this Tokyo?"

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “But it so full of... glowing webs?"

“Maybe Tony made Peter his own island?" you muttered, your eyes catching something moving just beyond giant glass window—a flash of red and blue swinging from one web to the next.

And just like that, a distant thwip echoed in the room.

You and Natasha both turned sharply, instincts kicking in.

Spawning in again—just a few feet away from where you and Natasha stood—another figure shimmered into existence with a faint ripple of blue light and static crackle. The flooring beneath her boots shifted as she stumbled slightly, arms flailing to steady herself.

You blinked.

There, standing under the glare of the sun, was a face you didn’t know personally, but you definitely knew from somewhere else.

"Is that…" you pointed, eyes widening. "Luna Snow?"

"Who?" Nat raised an eyebrow, still in full spy-mode, though her stance eased just a little. "That supposed to mean something?"

You turned to her, half shocked. "Seriously? She’s a global Kpop star. Also has cryo powers... Tony's ringtone."

Before Natasha could answer, the woman in question turned to face the two of you, visibly confused but trying her best to smile through it. She brushed a loose lock of silvery-blue hair behind her ear, her stage outfit gleaming slightly under the sun’s harsh light.

"Oh! Hey there!" Luna called out, her voice melodic even when confused. "Um—do you guys know what’s going on? One minute I was rehearsing backstage, and then poof… now I’m here. And this is definitely not Seoul."

You stepped forward slightly, offering a hand. "No clue. Same thing happened to us. We were just walking through the city and then suddenly... here. In costume. On this really pretty city filled with golden webs..."

Luna hesitated for a moment, then accepted your hand with a firm but friendly grip. Her touch was cool—like holding polished glass.

“I’m [your name],” you said. “This is Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you,” Luna replied, then squinted at the horizon. “Wait a second, I think I know you guys."

Natasha crossed her arms. “You do?"

"Yeah, Y/N L/N right? With [your powers], and Black widow. You guys saved New York from those gooey monsters from another planet."

"Gooey monsters?" Nat tilted her head. "We fought in an alien invasion. Maybe were diffrent people in your universe or something?"

Just then, a sharp screech echoed from somewhere deeper in the jungle—high-pitched, fast, and definitely not human. You, Natasha, and Luna spun around at the sound, instincts flaring.

Something came barreling out of the tangled underbrush, weaving through web-wrapped trees like a missile.

It was… a shark.

Correction: a small, land shark, bounding full-speed on stubby legs, tail wagging behind him, and mouth open in a wide, toothy grin. His little fins flapped like arms as he zigzagged across the sand.

“Is can’t be happening…?” you blinked.

The shark spun in a circle, then sprinted toward your group—straight for you.

“Oh no—nope—no thank you—”

But it was too late.

The land shark launched into your arms like a missile, knocking you back a step before nuzzling against your chest like an overexcited puppy. You staggered, caught completely off-guard.

“He's licking my face—Nat, he's licking my—"

Natasha lowered her weapons, blinking. “Seriously, what the hell is going on?” She smiled as the shark calmly jumped from you to her.

Luna cooed softly at the little creature. "Aww, so cute! What’s your name, little sharky?"

Around the shark’s neck was a collar. Natasha gently grabbed the tag and read the name aloud.

"Jeff."

Spawning with a low hiss… and in walked a man with silver hair, a sweeping deep-red cloak, and a helmet that gleamed like it had never known dust.

Magneto.

He stepped out like he’d been expected, his eyes cool as he surveyed the group. The energy in the room shifted instantly — heavy, electric, reverent. Even the lights seemed to dim slightly around him.

"Ah," he said, his voice smooth but commanding. "Hello?"

"Hi there!" Luna smiled brightly. "The actual Magneto! Wow!"

"Yes, er—should I know who you are?" he asked, giving her a puzzled look.

"No," Luna shrugged. "But you should know that magnetism doesn’t work on super-cooled materials. Guess what I can do?"

"Be impertinent, it seems," he replied casually, looking past her toward you and Natasha.

"Ah. If it isn’t the Avengers — how wonderful."

“Magneto…” you hummed thoughtfully. “Y’know, I’ve actually never met him before,” you said to Nat. “Do you think Wanda would know him?”

Before Natasha could respond, Magneto turned toward you, chin lifting ever so slightly.

“Wanda is my daughter. Of course she would know me,” he said, his voice laced with pride. “For I am.”

He let the silence hang dramatically, cape shifting behind him like it had its own gravity.

Natasha gave you a look. “Well… that answers that.”

Magneto moved to the window, studying the glowing sprawl below. “Spider-Islands… a game, a trap, or perhaps a crucible. Regardless, something powerful is waiting at its center.”

Then — a pulse.

Soft, warm green light glowed from the far wall. A panel hissed open.

Everyone turned again, weapons halfway drawn… only to pause as a cluster of vines pushed through, growing rapidly from the base of the wall. Bioluminescent spores floated in the air, casting soft lights across your faces.

From the vines stepped a small, familiar figure — bark-skinned, with wide glowing eyes and a gentle hum of nature in his steps.

“I am Groot,” he said.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. "A talking tree.."

Jeff barked joyfully and ran straight to him, wagging his tail like crazy. Groot giggled and gave him a hug, vines wrapping around the little shark like old friends reunited after lifetimes apart.

Luna laughed softly. “Okay, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Even Natasha’s stoic expression cracked into a small smile.

Magneto observed Groot silently, then nodded. “Odd."

“Okay—are there any more people that are gonna show up, or is it just us?” Luna asked with a nervous laugh.

“Hey there!”

“AH!” Luna screamed, nearly jumping out of her boots.

A woman’s voice giggled in response. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you there, Luna.”

Luna blinked. “How do you know my name?”

“Oh, I know all your names,” the voice replied cheerfully. “Duh! I’m in charge of the multiverse. Like, the coolest job ever.”

You glanced at Natasha, who mouthed What the hell?

“Anyway,” the mystery girl continued, her voice practically sparkling, “I’ll keep it short! When the doors open, there’ll be objectives for you to complete. You’ll be facing off against familiar and unfamiliar faces.”

The room’s lights flickered in time with her words, casting an eerie glow across the floor.

“Each side that wins gets bumped higher in rank,” she added, chipper as ever. “And once you hit that mark? You’re free to go!”

Then silence.

As if she’d never been there at all.

Jeff growled lowly.

“…Did anyone else get Hunger Games flashbacks, or just me?” you muttered.

A low rumble filled the floor beneath you, followed by the mechanical clank of massive doors unlocking.

“But there’s a catch,” she continued. “You have to stay near the vehicle to keep it moving. If you wander too far, it’ll slow down… and eventually roll backwards.”

A beat passed.

“And if that happens? The other team wins, ranks up, and you—well, you stay stuck.”

A loud buzz signaled the end of the announcement, followed by flashing arrows pointing toward the now-open exit.

“Doors opening in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1!”

The doors slammed open with a mechanical whoosh, revealing the path ahead. Beyond the threshold, the island stretched out before you—vast, full of winding paths and towering obstacles.

And there, sitting in the distance, was the vehicle: a massive, sleek, futuristic transport, humming with low, pulsing energy.

The six of you stepped out the doors, all of you unsure of what to actually do. The moment you hesitated, a flash of light shot toward you.

You gasped and quickly stepped back, just as the light slammed into the wall behind you with a resounding crack.

Charging forward, you caught a glimpse of a young woman with yellow-blonde hair, her black outfit sleek and aerodynamic, like it was made for speed. She moved with precision, her eyes locked on your group, exuding confidence and power.

“Illyana,” Magneto warned, his voice steady but commanding. Without hesitation, he raised his hand, and an invisible force knocked her back, sending her stumbling.

“Get to the vehicle,” he ordered, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her. “I’ll handle the Darkchild.”

Running ahead, you were suddenly shoved to the side, your body slamming into the side of a nearby building with a harsh thud. You grunted, dazed for a moment, your head spinning as you tried to steady yourself. The sound of footsteps echoed nearby, and you quickly snapped your gaze up to meet your attacker.

Standing in front of you, arms crossed and eyes sharp, was Bucky Barnes. His face was hard, eyes narrowed with a familiar intensity, but something about him seemed different. Your breath hitched, lips parting as you took a step back, unsure whether to brace yourself for a fight or try to talk your way out of it.

"Is it... you?" you muttered under your breath, fingers flexing at your sides, wondering if he was the Bucky you knew or someone from another universe, a version of him twisted by a different fate. The memories of your Bucky flashed in your mind—his smirks, his soft side that only you got to see, his pain that mirrored your own at times. But now, there was nothing soft about him. Was this Bucky still capable of those quiet moments of warmth, or was he lost to something far darker?

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at you with that familiar gaze—yet colder now, as if you were a stranger to him.

"Y/N?"

You nodded, your heart pounding as you took a tentative step closer. Without thinking, your hand reached out, fingers trembling, as if you could bridge the gap between you and the version of him standing in front of you.

But the moment your fingers neared his arm, he pulled back swiftly, stepping out of your reach like an instinctive reaction. His eyes flickered with something unreadable—anger? Fear? Regret?

"Don’t," he said, his voice low, barely a whisper, but filled with weight. "You don’t know me."

The words hit harder than you expected. It wasn’t just a warning—it felt like a barrier he was building, keeping you at a distance. His eyes softened for a second, and you saw the familiar pain in them.

You let out a bitter chuckle, the sound carrying a mix of pain and disbelief. "You sought me out before I could reach the real fight," you said, your words laced with a sharp irony. "My Bucky always did that too."

A brief flicker of something—recognition, maybe, or even a hint of guilt—flashed across his face. He took a step back, eyes shifting uneasily, as if your words had hit too close to something he'd buried. The Bucky you knew, the one you had once loved and fought alongside, always had a way of showing up at the most unexpected times, protecting you before you could make your own move. Always trying to keep you safe from the dangers that loomed ahead.

He exhaled sharply, as if your words had caught him off guard. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he glanced down at the ground.

"When you're low, come here. I'll guard you," Bucky said, his voice low but steady, as he gently reached out and touched the side of your face. His touch was soft, almost tentative, like he was afraid you'd pull away—or maybe like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be this close to you again.

For a moment, the world around you seemed to stop, the air between you thick with unspoken emotions. His hand, warm and familiar, lingered on your cheek, the simple gesture bringing back memories of all the times he had done the same, when everything felt easier, when you both knew where you stood. But now, with everything that had changed, it was different. There was a tension in the air, like both of you were trying to figure out if there was still a place for that tenderness in this new reality.

Your heart skipped a beat at the feeling of his touch—this Bucky, from whatever universe or path he had come, was still the one you knew in some way, the one you remembered. And yet, the distance between you was greater than ever before.

His thumb gently brushed over your skin, his eyes searching yours for something—maybe a sign that it was okay, that it was still you he was touching. And maybe it was—maybe the Bucky you knew still existed somewhere beneath the hardened surface, just waiting to be reached.

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bestducky · 8 days ago

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Master Chief x Fem! Reader

Chapter 6: The voice in the static

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Summary:

Separated by necessity, (Y/N) is ordered to hold a vantage point while Chief pushes forward into hostile ground. As the battle rages below, she must find new ways to help—using numbers, logic, and instinct to guide him through the storm. But distance doesn't mean safety. When Cortana falters and the enemy finds her alone, (Y/N) is forced to act on instinct, facing her deepest fear: being truly alone in a war she barely understands. And somewhere beneath the surface, something ancient still watches... waiting.

The portal released them in a quiet shudder of energy, not a burst—more like slipping between pages of an old book. (Y/N) stumbled slightly on landing, the soles of her boots crunching into loose grit and obsidian-black stone. Her thigh ached from where the plasma bolt had grazed her—sharp, hot pain that pulsed just beneath the skin. But she stayed upright, just barely.

The air was cold here. Thin. Requiem’s sun barely reached past the jagged black peaks surrounding them. The terrain was raw, unfinished—a chasm of volcanic rock and towering spires of Forerunner alloy threaded into the cliffs. The land itself felt hostile, not through malice but sheer indifference. This place didn’t care about her. Or anyone, for that matter.

Chief stood beside her, already scanning the ridge. Above them, the second pylon loomed—a skeletal giant of white stone and metal anchored into the cliffside. And in the distance, faint flashes of blue and purple plasma stitched through the haze.

“Is that it?” she asked quietly, adjusting the makeshift bandage she’d tied around her thigh.

Chief gave a curt nod.

“Not far. But it’s active. Covenant presence confirmed. ”Cortana’s voice crackled through her earpiece, brittle and sharp around the edges. “They must have gotten here before us. Drop pods all over the slope. I’m reading Wraiths, maybe Banshees in the air. Not ideal.”

(Y/N) sighed. “When is it ever?”

Chief started moving, rifle raised, and (Y/N) followed, slower but determined. Every few steps, pain lanced through her leg, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward. If she focused too hard on the ache, she’d stop. And if she stopped, she’d fall behind. That wasn’t an option anymore.

They took a sloped path carved between two jagged ridges. Around them, the cliffs twisted upward into blackened thorns, like the bones of a forgotten beast. Ahead, the path opened slightly into a wide overlook, strewn with Covenant wreckage.

Then came the drop pods.

The first slammed down ahead of them with a shriek of metal and fire, embedding deep in the earth. Another landed farther back, disgorging a squad of Elites and Grunts that scrambled into formation with unnerving precision.

Chief moved smoothly like liquid, rushing forward, drawing fire. Plasma lit up the sky in sharp bursts of light. (Y/N) ducked behind a fractured stone, breathing hard. She could hear the shrill warble of Grunt voices and the deep, guttural orders of Elites.

She checked her pistol—low charge, but enough.

Her ears rang as she popped up from cover and fired. A Grunt dropped. Another panicked and flailed wildly before Chief put it down. She moved with him, shooting where she could, staying in cover where she couldn’t.

(Y/N)’s lungs burned as she ducked behind a half-shattered pillar—just in time to watch her last cover get obliterated. A burst of glowing blue plasma detonated against the rocks where she’d been crouched seconds ago, sending shards of molten stone scattering like shrapnel. Heat washed over her, searing the edge of her sleeve. She gasped, rolling hard to the side, instincts taking over before her brain could catch up.

Everything was chaos. The air stank of scorched metal and ozone. Fire bloomed against the canyon wall in irregular pulses as Crawlers leapt across the higher ledges, chattering and howling. Somewhere behind her, Chief’s rifle cracked rhythmically—measured, unfaltering. Holding the line.

She couldn’t stay exposed.

Her eyes scanned frantically—then she saw it. A hollow beneath a wide curved wall, where a piece of fallen debris had lodged itself perfectly between the platform and the floor. A natural pocket of protection.

She moved before she could talk herself out of it.

Her thigh throbbed in protest as she half-crawled, half-dragged herself across the open ground. Each breath felt too loud. Her heart pounded in her ears like a warning drumbeat. Crawlers shrieked nearby. She kept low. Didn’t look back. One foot in front of the other.

The moment she slid into cover, she nearly collapsed with relief. The heat of battle dulled slightly here—muted by the sloping wall. She pressed her back to the cold metal, let herself breathe.

Only then did she see the console.

It was nestled in the wall just beside her shoulder, half hidden by the jutting metal. At first, it looked dead—dull and smooth, like everything else in this place. But now that she was this close, she noticed the faint lines etched across its surface. Like veins. Or circuitry.

She turned toward it slowly, as if afraid even her breath might wake it. “What the hell is this?” she whispered under her breath, more to herself than anything.

Then the Crawlers screamed again—closer this time. She flinched, backing up against the wall without thinking, her foot slipped as she backed against it. Her palm hit the surface, and the console flared to life beneath her hand.

(Y/N) froze.

A soft vibration thrummed beneath her fingers—deep, low, and… warm. Not mechanical. Not cold. It wasn’t just reacting to touch. It was reacting to her.

The lines across the console lit up all at once—sharp golden light flooding the carved grooves, blooming outward in a perfect ring around her hand. It was like touching the surface of a frozen lake and watching it melt outward in radiant cracks. The hum grew louder, deeper, filling the space like a heartbeat.

Her breath got caught in her throat.

She tried to pull her hand away—but she couldn’t. Not yet. It felt as though the console held her there, not physically, but by some pull she didn’t understand. Something familiar. Like the static she’d heard before. Like the artifact.

Gunfire tore through the air—sharp, screaming bursts of plasma and the thunder of Chief’s rifle returning fire. The entire world was noise and heat and motion, explosions painting the edges of her vision in blinding light. The ground shook beneath her as something heavy crashed behind the walls. Prometheans shrieked like distorted animals through the chaos.

And then the console beneath her hand pulsed.

She flinched, her breath catching mid-gasp as a faint flicker of blue arced across its surface. Not the same pattern as before. This was tighter. Frantic. And wrong.

“Cortana?” she said, breathless, her voice nearly lost in the storm around her. “Did I just—?”

Static.

That was all that answered her at first—just crackling, sharp and broken, bleeding through her comms like an electrical scream. Her heart stuttered. She pressed her hand harder against the console.

“Cortana?”

The AI’s voice came back in pieces—fractured, overlapping itself, like broken glass tumbling through a grinder.

“–can’t hold–Chief–error stack–I’m–I’m—”

Then a high, piercing tone cut through it. No words. Just raw panic threaded through synthetic speech.

“–let me out–let me out–too many voices–they’re too fast–!”

(Y/N)’s blood went cold.

She grabbed the console edge with both hands, knuckles white. Plasma flashed nearby—too close—but she didn’t duck. Couldn’t. Cortana’s voice was unraveling in her ear, each word more tangled than the last, static howling like wind between them.

“Cortana, please—hey—” (Y/N) shouted, trying to cut through it. “Cortana, breathe—think—come on!”

But AIs didn’t breathe. And this wasn’t thinking. This was collapsing.

A fresh, brutal noise crashed nearby—Chief throwing something heavy, maybe a body—and it made the ground tremble beneath her boots. Her ears rang. Her eyes stung with sweat and panic.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t built for this. No weapons training. No combat instincts. She wasn’t even supposed to know Cortana. She was just—

Just a girl who fixed broken things.

And broken was still broken.

Her hands flew across the edge of the console, searching for anything—an access panel, an input port, anything that looked familiar. Cortana’s data thread glitched into view—just a spark of blue light, flickering erratically like a dying star.

A heartbeat too fast to survive.

“No no no—don’t you dare,” (Y/N) whispered, more to herself than anyone, voice shaking as she reached for it. “I don’t know what you are. I don’t know how you work, but I know this.”

She felt along the crystalline edge of the console, found where the blue light webbed out into the surrounding alloy—too fast, too hot, feedback loop sparking with uncontrolled surges.

“You’re short-circuiting. You’re running too many processes at once. You’re—” her voice hitched, “you’re going to burn out.”

Another screech of static ripped through her earpiece—Cortana sobbing now, incoherent.

“—can’t hold them—Chief—let me out—don’t leave me—”

(Y/N) bit down on the panic clawing up her throat. Her eyes stung.

“Cortana,” she said firmly, pressing her palm down against the light. “I don’t care what’s happening—I need you to slow down. One thread. One line. You’re spiraling.”

Nothing answered her.

Only the sound of static, the battlefield, and her own heart trying to beat its way out of her ribs.

“Listen to me,” she choked out, voice cracking. “I’m not a soldier, I’m not a Spartan—I don’t know how to fix… you. But if you burn yourself out now, we lose. Chief loses. I lose.”

She leaned closer, forehead nearly resting against the console.

“But I know how to listen. So slow it down. One voice at a time.”

The data stream flickered. One spark calmed, then two.

The screaming receded—slowly, not completely, but enough. The static dimmed, replaced by the ragged edge of breathing that wasn’t real—but felt real. Felt alive.

“…Y/N?”

Cortana’s voice was still strained. Faint. But it was hers again.

(Y/N) let out a broken laugh, more from shock than relief, her fingers still pressed to the dimming console. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably.

“Yeah,” she whispered, barely able to get the word out. “I’m here.”

And around her, the battle kept raging. But in that moment—one thread at a time—she held on.

The ringing in her ears hadn’t faded yet—not completely. Even as the last gunfire quieted and the air stilled, the pressure of adrenaline still sat behind her eyes, pulsing like a second heartbeat. The battlefield behind them was a broken mess of scorched earth and twitching metal—Promethean bodies, shards of hardlight, splintered rock. The air stank of ozone and charred synthetic, and her thigh burned with each step, though she kept pace behind Chief without complaint.

They moved through a narrow canyon of carved stone and Forerunner metal, the path winding lower and darker beneath the towering cliffs. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around herself loosely, sidearm still held low in one hand. Her grip ached from the way she’d clutched it during the fight, but she didn’t relax. Not yet. Not until they stopped.

Her eyes flicked upward.

The sky was wrong.

The air shimmered faintly—thin, too clean, too quiet. Even with the fight over, there were no birds, no wind, no rustle of life. Only the distant, electric hum of Forerunner power pulsing through the mountain itself, like blood in the veins of some ancient slumbering god.

Then Cortana’s voice crackled through the comms, still faint but clearer than before. “I’m detecting a vault tucked into the rock face just ahead—there might be supplies inside. Ammunition, maybe residual energy stores.”

(Y/N) perked up slightly at the word ‘supplies.’ Chief nodded once and increased his pace. She followed, limping more from tension than injury.

The vault door was recessed into the cliff wall, unmarked but unmistakably Forerunner in design—tall, smooth, seamless, its surface like frosted silver. No handles. No visible console. Just a monolith of metal pressed into the earth, dead and silent.

Chief approached it first, standing close and reaching for the small chip slot at the back of his armor. “Cortana,” he said simply.

“I’ll try,” she replied. “But I’m not detecting a functioning interface. The door’s locked into passive mode.”

He hesitated. But before he could move further, (Y/N) stepped to the side, scanning the wall for any kind of access panel. It wasn’t that she knew what she was looking for. It was instinct. The same urge that had pulled her toward every broken radio, every circuit board and antique device she’d ever picked apart on her apartment floor.

She placed her hand against the alloy. Just to steady herself.

And the vault lit up.

Her breath hitched.

The glow pulsed beneath her palm like veins of light—thin, golden lines spidering outward, outlining seams that hadn’t been there a second ago. The whole door seemed to exhale, a soft chime rising from the wall as the metal responded not with force, but with recognition.

It peeled open in a single fluid motion, splitting at the center and vanishing into the walls on either side with a whisper like silk drawn over stone.

(Y/N) jerked her hand back and stepped away like it had burned her. “I didn’t—” she started. Then stopped.

Behind her, Chief had paused mid-motion, brushing Cortana’s chip on the back of his head with his fingers, about to pull it out, but stopped when he saw what happened.

“You opened it,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to,” she answered quickly. “I didn’t do anything. I just touched it.”

The words felt paper-thin in her mouth. Insufficient.

She held up both hands slightly. “Maybe I’ve already lost it,” she added with a forced breath of laughter. “Maybe this is all in my head. Doors opening. Ancient voices and artifacts. Convenient glowing walls.”

No one replied.

Her attempt at humor faded into the quiet. She glanced at Chief, but his face—his expression—was hidden behind that golden visor, impossible to read. His head tilted slightly toward her. Assessing.

Measuring.

Judging?

Then Chief’s helmet tilted toward her. His voice was low but pointed.

“Voices?”

(Y/N) froze, a breath catching in her chest. Her smile faltered—only slightly—but she turned away before it could finish collapsing. “Figure of speech,” she said quickly, already stepping past the threshold. “Just stress. Not sleeping well. You know, the usual.”

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and stepped into the vault without another word. The moment she crossed the threshold, the temperature dipped. The air inside was cold and clean, still somehow untouched by the battle just outside.

It was a small room, hexagonal in shape, with curved walls and softly glowing panels that traced lines along the floor and ceiling like the inside of a breathing machine. Crates were stacked neatly to the left—some open and partially looted, others still sealed. One wall was occupied by a curved rack of weapons similar in design to the one she was holding, to the one Chief gave her.

(Y/N) moved toward the nearest crate, trying to stay busy. To stay useful. Her hands felt numb as she lifted the lid and began checking through the contents—energy packs, spare magazines, a few glowing modules she didn’t dare touch.

Behind her, Chief stepped into the vault, and she felt his presence again, tall and solid and silent like some immovable anchor.

But it was Cortana’s voice that came next, softer than before, spoken only to her.

“Back there… thank you. I don’t know what you did, but… it helped.”

(Y/N) froze.

Her hands hovered above the crate, fingers curled slightly.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said quickly, almost reflexively. “I didn’t fix anything. You probably stabilized on your own.”

Even to her own ears, the words sounded weak.

“You stabilized me,” Cortana repeated gently. “Even if you didn’t mean to. Even if you don’t know how.”

The comms fell quiet again.

(Y/N) stared down into the crate.Her heart thumped uncomfortably hard.

What if they thought she was a risk?

What if they realized she didn’t belong here—not just physically, but fundamentally.She didn’t have training. She didn’t have anything but herself. She was barely staying on her feet, and the voice that whispered in the back of her mind was getting louder every time she touched something alien.

She wasn’t a warrior. She wasn’t special.

She was just a girl from a crumbling apartment who liked fixing things.

And now the doors of a forgotten civilization opened when she got too close.

She felt her throat tighten.

Cortana’s voice came softly over the comms, careful and precise: “Earlier—you said something about an artifact. What artifact?”

(Y/N)’s fingers froze against the edge of the crate.

Her pulse stuttered. The room dimmed at the edges, the echo of the word artifact pressing in on her like a weight. She stared down at the half-sorted gear in front of her—ammo clips, power cells, pieces of tech she didn’t recognize—and her mind went blank.

Damn it.

She hadn’t meant to say that. The words had slipped out, tossed in half-joking to cover a crack she hadn't noticed forming. And now it hung in the air like a live wire.

She could feel Chief behind her, unmoving, listening.

“I…” she started, but the words died in her throat.

Her heartbeat thudded louder in her ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the Forerunner vault. Her body went cold despite the slight warmth in the air. The lighting in the chamber glowed low and gold, too soft, too alien. The silence behind her wasn't hostile—but it felt expectant. Like she was standing at the edge of something, and one wrong word might push her off.

Don’t say too much. If you sound unhinged, they’ll leave you behind. You’re a risk. You don’t belong here.

(Y/N) forced her breathing to even out. She picked up a battery from the crate, turning it over slowly in her hands like it might anchor her.

“I don’t know if it was an artifact,” she said finally, low and vague. “It was… something old. Something I found. Back home.”

Don’t tell them about the shop. Don’t tell them about the way it felt warm under your hands. Don’t tell them about the hum, or the light, or how it cracked the world open.

“I tinker with things. Used to,” she added. Her voice was dry, trying too hard to sound casual. “Machines. Old junk. It was probably nothing. Some kind of malfunction, or I touched the wrong wire, or—”

Her throat closed for a second.

“Next thing I knew, I woke up on that ship. You know the rest.”

She didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. If she saw Chief’s helmet tilted toward her—if she heard judgment or suspicion in his voice—she didn’t know what she’d do. The air in the vault felt thinner now, like her lungs had to work harder for it.

Cortana’s smart. She’s not saying anything yet, but she’s calculating. Chief is a soldier. He follows orders. What if one day the order is to get rid of me?

“I’ve been trying not to think about it,” she said, softer now. “Because thinking about it just… makes it worse.”

Still silence behind her. A second stretched. Two.

Then Cortana’s voice came through again—gentler this time.

“That might explain the way the systems react to you. This planet responds to certain bio-encoded signals. Yours isn’t typical. But it’s not entirely foreign either.”

Not a threat. Not yet.

(Y/N) swallowed tightly and nodded once, mostly to herself.

“Guess that makes me special,” she muttered, trying for humor but hearing the thinness in her own voice.

Chief hadn’t spoken at all.

He didn’t need to. The silence said plenty.

She could feel his attention, focused and unreadable, behind the mirrored gold of his visor. It wasn’t cold… but it wasn’t comfort, either.

(Y/N) bit her cheek hard, just to ground herself. She wasn’t crazy. Not yet. But if she was going to hold onto whatever thread of trust she’d earned, she’d have to be careful.

Careful with what she said. Careful with what she remembered. And careful with the truth—until it stopped feeling like a weapon aimed at her own head.

She still didn’t have the courage to turn around.

Not until the silence shifted—soft, but distinct. Chief’s boots on the smooth alloy floor. One step, then another.

Her shoulders stiffened reflexively, expecting a question, a challenge, a quiet judgment she wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of. She focused instead on the supplies—grabbing a few things that could come in handy later, or so she thought, nothing was familiar after all.

Then she heard the faint mechanical click of a magazine being loaded. Something slid across the edge of the crate.

She blinked.

A sidearm. Compact. Familiar. The same type she’d been handling earlier—but this one had been checked, cleaned, reloaded. Its matte surface gleamed faintly in the vault’s amber light. Chief had placed it down without a word. The barrel pointed away. The grip faced her.

He was offering it to her. Not ordering. Not testing.

Offering.

She looked up, slowly. Chief stood a few feet away, his massive form blocking part of the light strip on the ceiling. The gold of his visor caught her reflection—small, fragile, holding the weight of a thousand unspoken fears. But he said nothing. No questions. No interrogation.

Just: “It’s charged.”

That was it.

(Y/N) blinked again, the motion quick. A little heat stung the backs of her eyes, and she looked away before it could build into anything.

Her throat tightened as she reached for the weapon. Her fingers curled around the grip with familiar caution. Cool metal. Good weight. Her hands steadied a little.

“Thanks,” she said softly, unable to meet his gaze.

He nodded once, then turned back toward the doorway without another word. A quiet sort of trust. One she hadn’t realized how badly she needed until it settled on her like a breath she’d been holding too long.

Cortana’s voice returned to the channel, as if sensing the weight of the moment and gently moving past it. “Second pylon is just half a mile away, let’s start moving so we have a chance of warning Infinity.”

“Understood,” Chief said.

(Y/N) put the few supplies she had found into the back pocket of her jeans. Her leg throbbed with dull insistence, but she ignored it, following a few steps behind him as they left the vault behind. Her fingers curled tighter around the sidearm, knuckles whitening.

They didn’t question me. Not really. They could’ve. They still might. But not today.

She caught herself staring at the way Chief walked—his pace steady, unfaltering. A force of nature in armor. The kind of man who didn’t waste time on things he didn’t trust.

And he’d trusted her enough to put a gun in her hands.

She swallowed hard and focused forward.

Outside, the path narrowed between walls of black volcanic rock, heat rising in shimmering waves across the slope. The horizon still burned violet, and ahead, the pylon loomed larger. Their destination. Another fight waiting. Another climb.

The wind caught her hair and lifted it slightly. She tasted metal and ozone on her tongue. Somewhere beneath them, the planet breathed slow and ancient, the hum of its core pulsing faintly in her bones.

They reached the second pylon on foot, the earth beneath their boots shifting from scorched stone to fragmented alloy. The terrain had grown sharper the farther they moved from the last firefight—narrower paths, jagged cliffs, strange formations of metal and rock fused as if the planet itself had been welded together by ancient hands.

The sky had dulled to a dim grey-blue, choked with low clouds that roiled silently overhead. Every few minutes, a gust of wind would sweep across the ledges, carrying the acrid scent of plasma and burning metal. In the distance, the second pylon towered like a blade plunged into the mountain’s heart—taller and darker than the last, with jagged antennae and pulsing light at its crown. Covenant drop ships buzzed like insects near its base, their blue trails glowing against the haze.

(Y/N)’s thigh still burned with every step, but she kept pace. She hadn’t spoken much since the vault. Neither had Chief. And Cortana… well, her voice had come through quieter than usual, fragmented here and there—like the edges of her were fraying.

As they crested a rise, the path split.

The main route dipped down toward a narrow canyon funnelling directly to the base of the pylon, while another trail—thin and crumbling at the edges—twisted upward toward an outcropping that overlooked the battlefield below. A good vantage point. She knew it the second she saw it.

Chief stopped.

(Y/N) halted beside him, breathing heavier than she wanted to admit.

He looked down toward the pylon, then back at the outcrop above.

“You’re staying up there,” he said, voice even, but firm.

She blinked. “What?”

“You’ll have a clear line of sight. Use the cliff to mark enemy movement. We’ll draw their fire below.”

We?

She frowned, stepping half into his path. “Wait, you want me to just… sit up there while you run into a death trap?”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“I can help,” she snapped, frustration bubbling under the fatigue. “I’m not—useless-”

He didn’t flinch. Just turned his helmet toward her, that mirrored visor swallowing her reflection.

She opened her mouth again, ready to argue—then stopped.

There was no malice in his stance. No condescension. Just calculation. Protection. That steady, immovable wall that had kept her alive this long.

She exhaled slowly, something deflating in her chest. “Fine,” she muttered, stepping aside. “But if you die down there, I swear to God, I’m going to haunt you.”

If he heard the quip, he gave no sign. Just nodded once before continuing down the slope.

(Y/N) turned toward the cliff path, dragging herself up the steeper incline. Her muscles screamed the whole way, her hands brushing the cliff wall now and then to steady herself. But when she reached the top, the view hit her all at once.

The battlefield below was sprawling and chaotic. Covenant drop pods littered the canyon, their twisted frames still hissing with heat. Promethean crawlers skittered like insects between fractured metal, weaving through the ruins of ancient metal and shattered crates. In the distance, elites barked orders in garbled growls, their energy swords flashing through the smoke.

Chief moved like a shadow through it all—calm, precise, never stopping. Plasma fire chased his heels, but he never faltered.

(Y/N) dropped to one knee behind a metal ridge, keeping her body low. Her hand hovered near the pistol at her hip—not because she thought she could do much with it from this range, but because she felt better with something solid in her grip.

“Alright,” she muttered to herself, scanning the terrain. “Let’s make myself useful.”

That was when it happened.

Cortana’s voice stuttered in her earpiece—mid-sentence, her tone fragmented like a corrupted file.

“–niform patrols south quadrant—Chief, I—whitespace echo—loop—”

(Y/N) jerked upright, heart skipping.

“Cortana?” she whispered.

No response.

Then she saw it—out of the smoke, a Promethean knight was closing fast behind Chief, its energy bladez raised high, red eyes fixed on his unprotected back. He hadn’t seen it. Cortana hadn’t warned him.

(Y/N)’s pulse slammed into her throat. She leapt to her feet, bracing against the edge of the cliff, and shouted into the comms, “Behind you! Knight! Six o’clock!”

Chief pivoted instantly.

The blade missed by inches.

He drove his elbow into the Knight’s chest, turned, and fired twice. The thing exploded in a blossom of orange light, scattering its armor in molten shards.

For a second, the battlefield froze.

Then the smoke thickened. A grenade—plasma or otherwise—detonated near the center of the canyon, sending a cloud of ash and grit billowing across the field. Chief vanished into the haze.

(Y/N) pressed closer to the edge, squinting, trying to follow his silhouette. Nothing.

Damn it.

“Chief!” she hissed into the comms. “I can’t see you!”

No reply.

She dropped to her stomach, pulled a fractured scope from her belt—something she’d scavenged earlier—and scanned the smoke. No good. Too thick. Too fast.

Think. Come on, think.

She saw the shadow of a Wraith just past the rockfall—Covenant turret, half-embedded in rubble, shielded by a cluster of crates. A group of grunts were flanking him, moving with practiced precision. They were going to corner him in the smoke. He wouldn’t see them coming until they were right on top of him.

Unless—

She flicked her eyes across the terrain. Estimated the angle. The slope. The spread. Her mind shifted into the gear she hadn’t used since school—calculus, arcs, projection.

“Chief,” she said quickly, breathless. “Throw a grenade two meters west of your last position—hard left, forty-five degree angle, upper trajectory. Trust me!”

No answer.

But then—

Boom.

The explosion rocked the canyon.

The smoke parted just enough for her to see two grunts launched into the air, their weapons flailing.

Chief moved through the gap like a ghost, reloading mid-stride.

She grinned, adrenaline surging with the burn in her thigh. “Math still works,” she muttered.

Yet something still felt very wrong…

It started as a feeling—an itch at the base of her skull, the kind of prickling awareness that came only when something was watching you. (Y/N)’s breath caught. She turned slightly, gaze scanning the ridge behind her, but saw only the hazy smoke curling from the battle below. Her hands tightened on her pistol. Her ears strained.

Then—scrape.

Soft, almost delicate. Like claws dragging lightly over stone.

Her body snapped into motion before her brain could catch up. She pivoted hard just as something lunged out of the mist—too fast, too low, too alien. A flash of orange light, a blur of chrome limbs and whirring joints. A Promethean Crawler burst from the shadows, jaws yawning open in a hiss that sounded more machine than animal.

She barely managed to duck.

It soared over her head, skidding on the gravel with a shriek of metal. She hit the ground hard, rolled, and scrambled upright. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. The ridge beneath her feet dipped slightly—she was dangerously close to the cliff’s edge. The drop wasn’t far, but one bad step and her ankle would snap like a twig. She couldn’t outrun it.

The Crawler turned with a low growl, hunched low, eyes glowing like embers. A hunter. Stalking prey.

It was just her.

No Chief.

No cover.

And it was fast.

Too fast.

She bolted left—toward a narrow crevice in the rocks—but the Crawler leapt again, claws slashing toward her ribs. She flung herself sideways with a choked cry, landed painfully on her hip and shoulder, and skidded past a half-buried control panel—its casing torn open from prior damage, wires coiling like veins from its exposed innards. Blue sparks crackled across the metal.

She lifted her pistol.

But the thing was too close. She wouldn’t have time to line up a clean shot. Her arms were shaking. Her fingers slick with sweat.

Her eyes flicked to the panel.A cluster of power lines, fused at an angle. Charging nodes exposed.

Circuits. Voltage regulators. Feedback channels.

She didn’t think—she just aimed and fired.

The bullet tore into the wiring.

The panel exploded.

A wave of blinding blue light surged outward, catching the Crawler mid-pounce. Its screech fractured into static as electricity coursed through its limbs, locking joints, boiling circuits. Its whole frame convulsed before collapsing in a smoking, twitching heap just meters from her boots.

Silence.

Only her ragged breathing filled the space.

She didn’t move.

Her pistol hung limply in her hand, still warm from the shot. She stared at the downed machine, chest heaving, eyes wide. Her palm throbbed where she’d scraped it against the gravel. The scent of scorched ozone filled the air.

Her whole body shook.

She was alone up here. The world below, where Chief fought his battle, was muffled by distance and gunfire. No one had seen it. No one had saved her.

Her fingers clenched around the pistol grip. She hadn’t dropped it. Somehow. Her only weapon—and her only proof that she wasn’t helpless.

A burst of static flickered in her ear. “—Y/N?” Cortana’s voice filtered through the comms, tight with concern. “Are you alright? Your vitals just spiked.”

She swallowed, hard. Her mouth was dry.

“I…” Her voice cracked. She coughed, steadied it. “I got it. I think I got it.”

A pause. The comm line shifted. Chief’s voice followed—low and even. “Report.”

Her eyes didn’t leave the charred remains of the Crawler. “One of those things snuck up on me. I used a power junction. Shot it. Fried it.”

She waited.

No judgment came.

Only a beat of silence, then Chief: “Good work.”

She closed her eyes, sucking in a long breath as the adrenaline slowly began to ebb from her blood. Her hands still trembled. She clenched them tighter.

It had nearly killed her.

But she hadn’t frozen. She hadn’t screamed.

She had survived.

Alone.

A breeze stirred the ash and dust around her boots. Smoke curled up from the ruined Crawler. The battlefield beyond was still raging—plasma bolts lighting the dark in rapid bursts. Chief was still down there, cutting through Covenant and Prometheans alike.

And she was still here. Alive.

Shaking, bruised, scared—but alive.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, she wasn’t sure that made her the weak one.

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cowboyemeritus · 2 months ago

Note

I dont know if you actually accept requests or if you ever written about him but...

Could you write something about mountain with reader?

Ps: i love your writing style, it's fresh air honestly, read the one of Aether predator and even if it's a already seen prompt i liked reading yours! ✨✨

hey! thanks for the request! i've written one thing for Mountain before (kinda criminal i haven't written more), day 12 for Ghostober 2024. i don't get a lot of requests, so when they do come along, i always try to put something together, even if it takes me a while.

also, i'm so glad you enjoy my writing! sometimes i feel like it lacks sophistication compared to some of the absolutely amazing writers in this community, so it's really nice to hear that. thank you bestie <3

have a silly little blurb about going on a date with Mounty. hope you enjoy!

small cw for marijuana use

“…So the least he can do is replace the ones he chews on, right?” When you fail to respond, Mountain stops and turns, looking back down the trail to find that you’re lagging significantly behind. “You okay, darl?”

“Yeah,” you pant. “Just peachy.” Not paying attention, you step on a loose rock and it wobbles, throwing you off balance. Arms flailing, you let out a strangled cry as you fight to stay upright. The hill is decently steep; a fall could send you tumbling all the way back down. Fortunately, you’re able to remain on two feet, heaving a relieved sigh as you find equilibrium once more. “Fuck, I’m out of shape.”

Mountain laughs, watching as you take a few steadying breaths. In turn, you glare up at him, thinking about how this had been his idea. Still, you can’t be angry with him. He gets so stir-crazy on that damn bus, and with the next tour cycle rapidly approaching, he needs this time to commune with nature… or whatever.

“We’re almost there,” he says, taking your much smaller hand when you finally manage to catch up. “I promise it’ll be worth it.” You force a smile and nod, using every ounce of willpower to not let out the snark. He sees this, and laughs, leaning over to give you a quick peck on the lips. “You’re a real trooper.”

“Anything for you,” you wheeze, heart now fluttering for an entirely different reason.

Mountain is merciful, and you finish the rest of the hike hand-in-hand, at a much slower pace. As you approach the top of the hill the trees thin out, transitioning into a grassy clearing studded with boulders. Tiny wildflowers, the first of the season, speckle the ground in an array of pastel colors. They seem to turn towards the large ghoul as he passes by, as if in acknowledgment. He guides you over to a soft-looking patch of grass, fishes a blanket out of his backpack, and spreads it over the ground. You toss your bag down and go full starfish on the old quilt, letting out a pleasured groan as you finally get to rest your weary legs. Chuckling, Mountain takes a seat next you, gently brushing away a few strands of hair that have adhered to your sweaty forehead.

“Well,” he asks, “what do you think?” It takes some effort, but you’re able to sit up just enough to get a better look around. It’s a completely clear day, the first you’ve had in weeks, and from up here, you have an immaculate view of the forest, stretching for miles in every direction like an evergreen sea. To the east, you can just barely make out the location of the Abbey, the chapel spire poking out between the trees. The woods are alive with the sounds of early spring, birdsong and the breeze, and the sun has warmed the ground just enough that it’s not wet after yesterday’s storm. You may be sweaty and already exhausted, but it really is a perfect day.

“I think,” you say, “that I should be a lizard, and live under a heat lamp.” You stretch back out on the blanket, grunting as the tension in your muscles subsides. “Sometimes I forget the sun is, like, good for you.” Mountain laughs. Still flat on your back, you reach blindly for your pack, grunting with the exertion it takes to lift onto your stomach. The ghoul’s nostrils flare involuntarily as you root around inside.

“I brought treats,” you announce, pulling out a ziplock bag. Mountain’s eyes go wide at the sight, seeing that the plastic pouch contains a few of the cookies Cumulus and Aurora baked last night. “Snagged the last few before the boys got ‘em.”

“Sathanas, you’re amazing.” He leans in for another kiss before turning to his own bag, pulling a mint tin out of a side pocket. “I brought a little something, too.” Cracking it open, he produces a small joint and a lighter. It’s maybe half a gram, but from the smell alone, you can tell it’s going to pack a wallop.

Mountain, at least, will be fine.

You crack into a devious grin. “Ugh, look at us! So in sync!” Mountain rolls his eyes playfully, snickering when you lightly punch him on the shoulder. “You’re the best.” He just smiles, quietly lighting the joint and taking the first few puffs to get it going. When he offers, you accept without hesitation, taking it between two fingers and bringing it to your lips.

You’re well-acquainted with Mountain’s stash by now, but your lungs are tired from the hike. The first breath hits you like a truck, and suddenly you’re hacking and wheezing like you’ve just been water-boarded. Pawing at your bag, you’re able to free your water bottle from the mesh pocket, and you pass the joint to him as you sit up, unscrew the cap, and force yourself not to choke as you take a sip. Mountain takes another few hits once he’s sure you’re not dying, and then passes it back. You quickly fall into a rhythm — puff, puff, pass — and before you know it, only the butt remains. Mountain puts it out on a rock before stowing it away in the tin, while you sit there, blinking.

“Are you alive?” He sounds a little more mellowed-out, but that’s about it. You nod slowly, though his words don’t fully process until you’re done moving.

“Yeah.” You lay back down on the blanket. “Fuck.” The sun has never felt so good on your skin. Everything feels fuzzy, like fleece, and you sigh. “You’re gonna have to carry me back down this hill.” There’s a moment of silence as Mountain tries to determine if you’re actually alright, and then you’re both laughing. It’s a full-bellied, side-splitting kind of laughter, nearly as potent as the joint itself. As the fit ends, the large ghoul flops down on his side next to you, a large hand finding the small of your back and pulling you into him.

“This is great,” you murmur, scooting a few inches closer, so that your noses are touching. “Really life affirming.”

He chuckles again, the skin crinkling at the corners of those deep brown eyes. “I’m glad. Thanks for coming out here with me.”

Ugh, he’s so fucking cute.

“Of course. Wanna spend every last second I can with you.” It’s bittersweet. You swallow, feeling the dryness in your mouth. “Excited to get back out there? What’s the new guy like?”

“He has his quirks, but we said that about Copia, too. Must run in the family.”

“The Bloodline…” You laugh through your nose. A beat passes. “I’ll miss you.”

He sighs. “I’ll miss you, too. But I’ll be back before you know it.” Then he kisses you. It quickly turns into another, and then another, and then another. You hum, his affections causing a warmth to bloom in your chest, your whole body vibrating with bliss. Mountain falls forward, rolling somewhat on top of you. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and inhales, a contented noise rumbling deep in his chest. His tail swishes happily behind him, thumping against the blanket.

You giggle. “What are you doing?” He licks a stripe up your sweaty skin and you squeal, thrashing beneath him. “Gross!” Soon, though, your cries become soft moans as he kisses the tender flesh, nipping at it with his teeth. Mountain quickly finds that one spot, the good one right on your jugular, and sucks on it, lathing his forked tongue up and down. Combined with the buzz of the high, it’s absolutely diabolical. “Mounty!” He just groans at the taste of you, grinding his hips against your thigh.

By the time he’s done with you, you’re sweatier than before and your legs are shaking like you’ve run a marathon. Your prediction comes to pass, though, and Mountain carries you all the way home, a satisfied grin plastered across his face.

#my writing #the band ghost #the band ghost x reader #mountain ghoul x reader #thanks for the request!#shorts

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merchant-wizard-and-jerry · 9 months ago

Text

“Shop is open”

1 - Necklace of the watching spire - 40 currency

2 - Skull of Tarnook - 50 currency

3 - Wooden shield - 21 currency

4 - Potion of Monsterfication - 45 currency

5 - Arrows - 8 currency per Arrow

6 - 2x flails of madness - 40 currency ( @dragons-den-forging‘s item )

————————

"Wizard Essentials"

————————

Staff - teacup - 25 currency

Orb - Turkey - 10 currency

Robes - green - 1 currency per robe

————

"Consumables"

————

1 - Health Rune - 10 currency

2 - 10x vials of transformation - 10 currency per vial ( @aitobutmagic’s item )

3 - Blood stone - 10 currency

4 - Rune potion - 15 currency

——-

"Salt"

@ignisuadaroleplay @bi-gender-sorcerer @damnable-druid @crickled-thorn-thug @serious-tabaxi @song-de-lune @the-mighty-dalob @cleric-posting @sorcererest-sorcerer @yeast-wizard

#wizard island island #wizard tumblr #wizard posting #wizard #wizardposting #wizard shit #wizard blogging #magic shop #wizardblr

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kaihuntrr · 7 months ago

Text

part twenty-nine/epilogue: cheaters never prosper.

A sea prince searches for her prey.

Pearl dove into the water and let her body swell. The freeing feeling of returning to her true form almost made up for the irritation of having to chase those stupid humans all the way to the port. Did those humans really think they could escape from her island? From her?

If Pearl’s stomach wasn’t rumbling from the chase through the forest and the streets, then maybe she’d have felt a small ounce of pity. Just a little.

She burst up from the waves, letting out a glorious shriek as the storm sang in her. Violent winds brushed her sides, the storm growing stronger with her presence in it.

Then she turned her eyes towards the ships scattered across her bay.

So these irritating hunters thought they could escape in a crowd? Not a chance.

She didn’t know which belonged to those humans, since none of the ships had turned on their offensive growling machinery, but she’d find them eventually. She always did.

Pearl dove under the waves and swam to the nearest large ship, snatching it from the surface of the water and crushing it in her grip. She stared at the ship with fire in her eyes as her fingers dug into the wood and metal, the loud creaks and screeches of steel echoing. The ship crumbled into nothing but a mess as she dragged it under water. But-

There were no humans.

There were no flailing, wretched creatures struggling in the water.

Pearl raked her gaze over the ships scattered across her bay, all the sails down and none of the growling machinery grating at her ears. So they’d cut all the ships loose as a distraction? Clever… but ultimately useless.

Pearl swung her tail around and toppled three empty ships with a mighty wave. She grinned. So useless.

She slammed her fists down on another of the ships, tall waves flying out as more of those stupid wooden eyesores sank with the water.

She didn’t know how many ships she destroyed, but what was most important was that there were no humans in any of them.

Before Pearl could scream out in frustration, she caught a glimpse of Hunter’s dorsal fin slinking through the waves, near the rock forest.

Pearl dove under the water.

She swam up to Hunter, but the other prince paid her no mind, keeping her gaze focused. Fixated. Stalking.

Pearl knew better than to interrupt her.

She watched as Hunter swerved through the rocks, a feat she couldn’t do, and stopped before sneaking through the gaps. Hunter turned to look at Pearl, her gaze sharp. Hunter somehow always knew if she was being followed… though, she was the best at hunting out of all of them.

Hunter glanced away from Pearl, but tilted her head and swam through the gap.

The pests were this way, were they?

But how did they get to the rocks so soon…?

Whatever.

As soon as Hunter’s tail disappeared through the rocks, Pearl burst out of the water.

One of her hands slammed down on the stone spire, gripping the rock to hoist herself above the water as the rain grew more and more violent. She surveyed the narrow channels of water below, straining her ears to listen for any growling machinery that those hunters tended to use.

She couldn’t hear the machine, but she saw something instead.

Bright white clashing against a light brown– sails on a ship.

There you are.

Pearl climbed over the rocks, trailing the hunters as they attempted to flee. The rumble and crash of thunder and lightning only fueled her hunger as she slammed her legs into the rocks around her, throwing herself over them and towards the ship. She chuckled to herself as the ship swerved around the rock spires desperately, trying to outrun someone who couldn’t be outran.

They couldn’t play this game forever though. Pearl was getting hungrier by the second.

Pearl narrowed her eyes at the small stream the hunting ship was on. There was no way she could get in the water- she’d only end up either trapping or hurting herself- and she couldn’t let the hunters slip through the rocks!

She looked to the side and saw a hefty looking rock spire leaning at a precarious angle. An idea sparked in her mind, and she started pushing the rock spires down, creating a bigger space for herself. No human would leave this island alive, Pearl would make sure of it.

She toppled more of the rock spires over, leaning over to watch as the ship continued to move through them, slipping under an overhang so she couldn’t see it anymore. They were still moving?! Pearl growled. They wouldn’t be moving for too much longer.

A quick snack would be just fine. The satisfaction of destroying these humans in particular would outweigh any satisfaction of her stomach.

The rock spires were moved just enough for Pearl to squeeze herself in. She couldn’t fully submerge herself, but that was fine. She wanted to get this done and over with, anyway.

Those hunters were trouble enough. Their stupid schemes, their outright insulting attacks on her, and….

Pearl growled, the thought too infuriating to deal with currently. But she shook her head and took in a deep breath, a vicious smile plastered over her face.

“Come out, little ones!”

Her throat always felt so sore after forcing this form to speak in human tongue, but it was worth it.

Humans had to learn their place in the ocean, after all.

Pearl sniffed the air, attempting to smell the foul stench of humans or the repulsive scent of their machines. She couldn’t smell much other than the seawater and rain, but she knew they had to be around here somewhere.

She lowered her head, scanning the waters for anything out of place. Something bright and white, something dark and brown, or even the faintest sound of a human’s squeal.

Then, she smelled something.

A murderous grin crept up her face as she slunk lower, prowling over the water’s surface as she crept up to one of the crevices. The faint smell of human began to linger in the air as she grew closer and closer, her hands twitching in anticipation.

There, beyond the small waterfall, Pearl could smell something foul.

She dipped her head, pressing it against the rocks as she breathed.

She could smell the stench of humans beyond the water.

“Hunters don’t belong here.” She whispered, though she was sure that no matter how low she spoke she still sounded loud and overwhelming.

Pearl lowered her arm under the water, slowly reaching for the ship from the depths. She could feel the tips of her fingers touch the cold wood and–

“PEARL!”

Pearl quickly jerked back at the sound of her name being called in the distance.

Who–

“Pearl!” the voice shouted again. “Where are you?!”

Pearl froze as she registered the voice. Chromia. He was awake. And he was looking for her. He sounded… panicked-?

Pearl’s fins flicked as she glanced between the waterfall and where she’d heard Chromia’s voice come from. The humans were right there, maybe she could snatch it before–

“I need you, Pearl!”

Hunter was still around, she could deal with the humans. She still had to be stalking them. Pearl was actually a little surprised that she’d gotten to them first.

“I’m in the rock spires!” Pearl shouted back, lifting her body from her crouching position, “I’ll come to you!”

Make it quick, Hunter.

Pearl hoisted herself out of the water again, climbing over the rock spires until she could slip back into deeper waters. She was out for just a moment, but the feeling of entering the chill waters always gave her a shiver of comfort.

She looked around the dark waters, trying to spot something colorful in all the murky blues. As soon as she saw the glimpse of her friend’s serpentine tail, she swam forward hurriedly.

“Chromia!” Pearl swam in front of her friend, worry written all over her face. “Chromia, I’m here, what’s wrong?”

Chromia blinked when he saw her, tilting his head with his red fins flicking in the water. He had sounded so worried earlier, but Pearl noticed the small, cheery smile of his tugging at the side of his face.

He… looked fine.

When he was panicking, the stripes on his body would pulse a million colors a second, and his long tail would thrash around left and right, hitting whatever was nearby. But Chromia looked as relaxed as ever, his coral orange and cerulean blue eyes looking at her like everything was alright.

Chromia bumped his head against Pearl’s affectionately, locking their crowns for a short moment before he moved away. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said nonchalantly. He pushed his hands in front of Pearl, her mind only just now registering the screecher carcass in his hands. Pearl could see the clear bite mark on the screecher’s neck, its long tail curled in on itself. “I just thought it’d be good if I caught you breakfast.”

Screechers were a filling meal, but did Chromia really need to get food for her?

“I was in the middle of catching my own food,” Pearl grumbled, but took the carcass from him anyway, “you didn’t need to do it for me.”

“Well I just thought I'd take advantage of the storm to do some hunting,” Chromia shrugged, “and I just happened to catch enough for you too....”

“But I didn’t cause it this time.”

“Maybe Hunter did?”

Pearl shook her head. “No, she and I went out around the same time.” She glanced back at the rocky waters, her eyes narrowed and her voice became a low hiss. “She wanted to play human a little longer.”

Hunter had wanted to play longer than Pearl had expected her to. Something about seeing her friend in the midst of all those annoying humans bothered her so much. It was the same thing that it was with Chromia, but…

She wanted those humans dead immediately. A more than annoying swarm of humans coming to not only ruin her day, but get friendly with Hunter and become parasitic with Chromia.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Chromia’s voice snapped Pearl out of her thoughts.

Right. Chromia played the long game when it came to humans too.

Though, as far as she knew, he was only studying those things rather than just… eating them outright.

That part always confused her.

But she knew better than to question her best friend. He was still Chromia. He was still… sensitive.

“...Nothing, I suppose,” Pearl relented, “just a bad mood. I am hungry. Thanks for the food.” She hesitated before biting into it, savoring the taste of the screecher as she chewed and swallowed. She could feel the groans in her gut lessen as she filled her stomach.

“It’s no big deal,” Chromia shrugged as he watched her eat, “I hope your bad mood goes away with some food, then. Have you not eaten yet?”

Pearl looked up at Chromia. “No, I’ve been… busy,” she sighed before taking another bite. “Running around an island can be exhausting.”

“The atmosphere is pretty dreadful, too,” Chromia snarked, crossing his arms. He looked a little unimpressed as he tilted his head to his side. “The flowers are growing well, at least.”

“I’ve been doing my best to keep those alive,” Pearl said quietly, “Those were your gifts, after all.”

They were one of the first gifts given to Pearl when she first tried getting used to her human form. Chromia had talked about the pretty flowers that grew only on land, so small and delicate compared to the huge coral spires and reefs she was used to seeing with him. They were like little sprouts of coral, only they couldn’t grow past the size of Pearl’s human palm. There were always small anemones and corals around, of course, but those didn’t feel as dainty as the flowers he could grow on land.

All the colors seemed to go on the small things while all the bigger plants were just greens and browns. Supposedly the colors could change from green to orange, but Pearl had never seen it. It was incredibly dull.

“And it seems like I need to give you more of them,” Chromia hummed playfully, “more color can make the island a lot prettier to look at.”

Pearl rolled her eyes and pushed Chromia away with a smile. “I like to think the forest is a little pretty…,” she chuckled. “I can’t make anything as colorful as your reefs, Chromia.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” Chromia shrugged, then his eyes widened as a thought came into mind. “But… if you want… I could teach you how to grow them properly.” He smiled, and Pearl felt a smile creeping onto her own face in response.

“I’d like that.”

They enjoyed the small silence, listening to the swift waves overhead and the faint thunder far above them. Pearl finished the screecher in a few more bites, patting her stomach with a relieved sigh.

“We could head up and start now, if you’d like,” Chromia glanced up at the surface then back at Pearl. “I don’t think any humans on your island will come out in the next few hours.”

“Yeah,” Pearl agreed, “Oh wait–!” Her eyes widened. Humans. Right. She almost forgot about them. “Hunter was off doing some… hunting. I think we should wait for her.”

“You don’t have to.”

Almost as if on cue, Hunter swam up to them with an eerily calm look to her.

Hunter’s name described her perfectly, if Pearl was being honest. She excelled in hunts and would often make light competition with the other princes just to rob them of their victories with her stealthy abilities. In contrast to Chromia’s multitude of colors and Pearl’s bright red carapace, Hunter was a sleek black and white, the only bright parts to her being the pink cloth around her chest and her pink eyes. She also had a bit of fun decorating herself- adorning a spiky collar and bracelets of ships she took down with pride. Her claws were an obsidian black, like Pearl’s crown, with smooth black skin extending to her forearms where knife sharp fins curved over her elbows.

Hunter glanced behind herself, looking at the distant rocks for a short moment, then looked forward and dipped her head in greeting. “Chromia, glad to see you awake.”

“Hunter! How are you?” Chromia gave Hunter a small hug. Pearl swam back a little for Hunter to give Chromia a hug back. Pearl did not want to get a cut from those elbow fins of hers.

“Sorry I caught you napping earlier,” Hunter patted Chromia’s back and broke the hug. “But I’m doing fine. A little tired, but that’s it.”

“How goes the hunting?” Pearl asked. Hunter met Pearl’s gaze and tilted her head, as if thinking about what to say next.

“...It went alright,” Hunter said after a long pause, “nothing for either of you to worry about.”

Pearl wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about that answer, but if those humans were dead, they were dead. It was probably why Hunter was so casual about it in the first place. Though it did feel a little interesting, as Hunter spent quite a bit of time with those humans recently.

And those humans shouldn’t be regarded as anything more than snacks.

“What were you two hunting, anyway?” Chromia asked, tilting his head in curiosity. “It must’ve been a pretty tricky beast if you had to go into the rock forest.…”

Pearl froze up.

Chromia couldn’t know what happened. He couldn’t know Pearl was after his humans– he probably didn’t know they tried to escape! He’d been asleep for the past few hours, save for the time he stopped her from killing one of them. That was embarrassing.

Gods, it would’ve been so much easier if those humans had stayed put on the island until she had the chance to hunt them all down. No more annoying hunting. No more irritating boasts. Plus, Pearl could deal with them, keep them away from Chromia. None of them could put their sick little ideas in her best friend’s head.

Especially that blonde one.

“It was one of those crawling things,” Hunter spoke up rather quickly, probably attempting to hide the truth along with Pearl. Pearl internally sighed in relief. At least she wouldn’t be alone. “...I forget the name.”

“You’re sure?” Chromia asked, an oddly knowing smirk tugging on his lips. “I didn’t see any on my way here….”

“I’m sure, but they’re easy to miss in the rocks, and you know Pearl is pretty bad at catching those things.”

Pearl froze as a small giggle escaped Chromia, his tail swishing back and forth as he attempted to hide his amusement.

Pearl rolled her eyes. That seemed to get Chromia off their tails, but did Hunter really need to embarrass her like that? “Very funny, Hunter.”

“Just be glad I caught it. Those things can multiply and ruin an ecosystem so quickly,” Hunter snarked. And in came all the gloating. If there was one thing Pearl couldn’t stand about her, it was that. “I mean, seriously, why even have all those rocks if you can’t even fit in them? It’s like you’re asking to get yourself trapped like a beached–”

“Hunter.” Chromia hissed, the tip of his tail twitching in agitation.

Hunter swam back a little, smiling awkwardly as she lowered her shoulders. “Sorry, sorry. I got a bit too prideful there,” she scratched the back of her neck. “I’m just so glad to be me again.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been in your true form?”

“Days,” Hunter replied wearily. “You wouldn’t believe how much I wished for a storm to break so badly, I missed the feeling of seawater on me.”

Chromia nodded in agreement. “I missed it too.” He looked at his body with an almost nostalgic look on his face that made Pearl’s heart feel soft. He was home. This was his home. “Though… there’s something coming up soon that I wanted to go to.” He looked away, wringing his hands as Pearl narrowed her eyes.

“Another one of your playdates?” Pearl asked, attempting to hide her discontentment, since she knew what he used that tone for.

“There’s a festival Warden and I were planning on going to,” Chromia smiled sheepishly. He looked at Hunter and tilted his head. “She’s also wondering if you wanted to go or not, Hunter.”

“Gods, yes!” Hunter exclaimed gleefully. “I haven’t seen her in weeks!”

“You’re going too…?” Pearl muttered, sounding a little more bitter than she wanted to.

“Why would I say no to spending some time with my girlfriend?” Hunter replied immediately, her fins actively twitching in excitement. “We have so much catching up to do!”

Hunter giggled to herself, seemingly losing the ability to keep still as she thought about her girlfriend. It seemed nice to have someone that you adored so much, and someone that you adored right back.

Sure, she had Chromia, but they were… different.

Chromia smiled brightly at Hunter’s enthusiasm, but it dropped when he locked eyes with Pearl. Pearl bit her lip, feeling a sudden and unnerving chill in the ocean. Then Chromia tapped her shoulder, his soft hands causing her to flinch.

“...Pearl, I’m not asking you to go,” Chromia said softly, sweetly. “I understand how you feel about humans. You can stay in the sea. I’ll be fine.”

“What if you get hurt?” Pearl winced at how low and pained she sounded, unable to look at him. She could feel his gaze on her, the familiar reassuring smile on his face that she knew too well. She hovered her hand over her scar, the ugly mark on her face that was caused by those… creatures.

“Hunter and Warden will be with me, won’t they?” Chromia moved closer, his arms slowly wrapping around Pearl’s neck. “And who knows, Sanctuary and Parrot might turn up too.”

“That’s making me feel worse, Chro.”

Chromia paused for a moment, fins flicking in thought. Finally, he sighed. “I still come back to see you every few months, don’t I?” Pearl looked at him, seeing the look of wonder and love in his eyes that she adored so much. It hurt to know he’d be leaving so soon. “This won’t be any different. I just…,” his eyes shifted around, then he looked back at Pearl. “I just want to see what their festivals are like! I always miss them!”

What’s there to see on a human island, anyway? Pearl had this island, and apart from the humans that plagued it, there was nothing special to see. She knew Chromia’s island had a lot more people and a lot more irritating noise– she couldn’t imagine being there and tolerating it for so long. She preferred the serene silence of the ocean, not some loud human ritual.

It hurt that she wanted to go, she wanted to be with her friends, but it hurt to leave the sea. She’d get hurt. She’d been hurt.

Was it really worth going up there?

“...Do you want to go, Pearl?”

Chromia asked so nicely, so warmly, so much so she would have let him stab her with his crown if he asked. She knew he wouldn’t, though.

Pearl felt her heart twist under Chromia’s gentle gaze.

If Chromia and the others were planning on being in one place together, something could happen– something would happen. She needed to be there. Maybe she couldn’t be in the- the festival with them, but she needed to make sure they were all safe.

She needed to make sure Chromia was safe.

Humans don’t deserve him.

“No,” Pearl lied, trying not to break her composure. “I’d rather be here, where we’re meant to be.”

Chromia looked… sad. It was like he’d wanted her to say yes. It was like he wanted her to go with him, to let him show her what good there was in the human world.

But he was wrong. And that meant she had to lie to keep him safe.

“Alright, if that’s what you want….” Chromia bit his lip, holding back a sigh. Pearl felt her heart drop at that, then flinched when Chromia reached forward, fully wrapping his arms around Pearl to give her a warm hug. “I love you, Pearl. You’re my best friend. You always will be.” He rested his head on Pearl’s shoulder, fully allowing himself to release the tension in his shoulders.

Pearl’s hands trembled as she hugged him back, feeling awful, like it was the last time she’d hold him so close to her heart.

“I love you too, Chromia.”

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chashupak · 1 month ago

Text

That one BG3 fanfic deleted scene where pre-orb Gale falls physically instead of metaphorically

Ongoing Fanfiction Link: [The Starfall Gambit]

Why Scrapped: CPR cliche included in final scene with more fear and mortality applied. Tone shift from humorous to grit with beauty

Chapter I.6 Surface Tensions (Alternate)

Gale broke the surface with a gasp, water burning his lungs as he thrashed toward the air. Strands of his once-immaculate hair clung to his face like seaweed, dignity drowned somewhere beneath them.

“By Mystra’s weave, what madness was that?!” His voice cracked, composure shattered.

Lyanna treaded water a few feet away, already measuring distance to shore Moonlight caught in the pearl droplets streaming down her face, transforming rage into something almost ethereal. Almost.

“That,” she spat between controlled breaths, “was me not dying. Until you got involved.”

The pond water between them glowed faintly with industrial runoff, magical waste from Upper Sharn’s elegant spires staining Lower Sharn’s waters with prismatic toxicity. Beautiful poison. Just like everything else in this city.

“Or more accurately some sort of suicidal stunt.” Gale flailed. Waterlogged silk robes dragged him down—his finery, his anchor. “I couldn’t just let you—“

He cut himself off. Realizing midway how such sentiments might sound. He groaned.

“Tell me, Miss Lyanna. Are all your survival instincts this catastrophically flawed?”

“I had a plan.” She threw out her arms, water splashing in angry arcs that caught the moonlight. “And it didn’t involve getting tackled mid-air by some invisible lunatic!”

Gale narrowed his eyes, slapping her arms away. Water scattered like broken spells. “Well, pardon me for assuming the reasonable response.”

Their voices echoed through the garden, scattering birds from nearby trees. They took flight in panicked formations, shadows cutting across the face of Sharn’s dimmed landscape.

“Oh, and what would your grand plan have been, oh wise and mystical one?” She asked, treading water with the ease of someone who’d survived worse. “Politely ask them to let me go? Summon a chair and start negotiations?”

“A TELEPORTATION SPELL!” Gale practically shrieked. His voice bounced off ornate stonework, designed to carry music through the garden, now amplifying his indignation instead. “A perfectly rational, safe, magical solution instead of—of that!”

“Not everyone has teleportation at the ready!” She turned away, swimming toward shore with powerful strokes.

“Then perhaps don’t tail dangerous crime syndicates!”

“What I do is none of your business. I didn’t need some invisible hero helping me!”

“Oh, by all means, let’s do it again, then!” Gale followed, his wet robes now a prison weighing him down. “Just spring back up there and take another go at it. I’ll wait.”

Lyanna smirked, heaving herself onto the muddy shore. Water streamed from her clothes, pooling beneath her like shed armor. “Maybe net time I’ll just let you handle it all, huh?”

“Oh yes, what a privilege,” Gale muttered, dripping and miserable as he dragged himself to solid ground. His waterlogged boots squelched with each step, the undignified sound of a dignified man undone.

The Central Garden stretched around them. A public space created back when the city still pretended to care about uniting its stratified citizens. Now, it served as neutral territory—somewhere the upper classes could admire nature without venturing too far down, somewhere the lower classes could glimpse beauty without climbing too high.

Lyanna collapsed on the grass, eyes fixed skyward. Water pooled beneath her, reflecting fractured starlight. Nearby flowers released their sweet perfume, intensified by moisture in the air. Arcane motes drifted between exotic blooms—maintenance enchantments responding to their presence with confused patterns, brightening and dimming as if unsure what to make of these unexpected visitors.

Night insects resumed their chorus after being briefly silenced by the splash. Their humming created a strange percussion to accompany the distant laughter from a pavilion where late revelers gathered, oblivious to the drama unfolding in their scenic backdrop.

Gale plopped beside her. Every breath stabbed through newly-bruised ribs. The immaculate Chosen reduced to something human, something breakable. Real.

His gaze drifted back to her.

Her chest heaved with every breath. Brown curls framed her flushed cheeks, her usual braid undone by violence and water. Survival looked different on her than on him—familiar, worn-in, like a coat she’d donned too many times before. Wet clothes, of earthy shades and leather accents, clung to her figure. Slivers of exposed skin revealed a map of old scars, hints of stories untold.

“What?” she snapped, eyes still on the stars.

Gale paused, pushing down the flush that crept up his neck. “You know… I had a perfectly good Teleportation spell.”

The water hit his face before he saw her move, a rough splash that caught him mid-smirk.

"How mature," he muttered, wiping droplets from his eyes with exaggerated dignity.

Her expression flickered with brief satisfaction—a small victory claimed in a night of defeats. She watched as he peeled away his outer robes with theatrical care, the soaked fabric releasing its hold reluctantly.

His undershirt clung to him, rendered nearly transparent now. Gale was acutely aware of how he looked—another kind of armor he’d cultivated as carefully as his spellcraft. The moonlight was kind to him, catching the defined lines of his physique in ways that weren’t entirely accidental in their display.

Her gaze flickered over him, assessing or perhaps appreciating. He pretended not to notice, though a knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“What?” He echoed, feigning an innocence that fooled no one.

Lyanna pushed herself upright, taking her time to wring water from her hair instead of answering his question immediately. She met his eyes as if that had always been the destination. “Just thinking that for someone so clever, you make remarkably poor decisions.”

“And yet.” He smoothed back wet hair with one hand. “We both survived. One might even call

"And, yet," he replied, smoothing back his wet hair with one hand, "we both survived. One might even call that rescue a rousing success."

She scoffed, but there was less bite than before. "Don't flatter yourself. I've fallen from higher."

Gale arched an eyebrow. "I don't doubt it for a moment."

A momentary silence settled between them—not comfortable, exactly, but no longer crackling with hostility. The arcane motes of light drifted closer, drawn to the magical residue that clung to them. They circled them briefly before dispersing, their programmed behavior confused by him: his all-powerful magical signature at odds with his shattered decorum.

The distant chaos of the warehouse seemed impossibly far away.

"Malcolm," he said finally, the name falling between them like a stone. "He's more dangerous than I anticipated."

Her expression sobered. "Yes, He is."

“However, that doesn’t exactly explain your involvement tonight.”

Her fingers paused. Lips pursed as if weighing the cost of indulging him. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

He leaned back, resting his arm on his knee. “Neither does it explain your presence at Tibbles’ workshop today.”

“Nope, doesn’t explain that one either.” She shrugged.

A coolness settled between them as Lyanna stared up at the stars, deliberately avoiding his gaze. She flicked a wet strand of hair from her face. Her fingers trailed over one of her many pouches—checking, cataloging what remained after their impromptu dive.

"You know," she said finally, her voice almost too casual, "for someone obsessed with finding a Netherese tome, you've been looking in all the wrong places."

Gale went still. He turned toward her slowly, his studied nonchalance betrayed by the sudden intensity in his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Netherese tome. The one with all those fancy sigils you were drooling over at Tibbles' place." She met his gaze then, a challenge in her storm-gray eyes. "That's what you're here for, isn't it? Probably some sacred mission from Mystra?"

His expression hardened. "And how exactly would you know about that?"

"The books you read, the people you talk to. People have their ways." She pursed her lips and peeled off a pouch. With a quick shake, she poured out its contents: broken glass and blood red liquid. A potion shattered in the dive.

"Just like how I know the merchant who purchased it three days ago from a very nervous artificer who probably had no idea what he was selling."

"Three days—" Gale stopped himself, recalibrating. "You've been tracking it."

"It’s a useful hobby. But either way, I know where it is."

"Why?" His voice dropped, sharp with suspicion. "What possible interest could you have in Netherese magic?"

Lyanna sat up fully now, drawing her knees to her chest. She seemed to debate with herself, weighing options against risks. When she spoke again, there was none of her usual flippant charm.

"Not the tome itself," she said. "What I need is information about the Whispering Blades."

Recognition flickered across Gale’s face. The same question from the balcony, where fine wine had temporarily softened their edges.

"Ah, so we return to this," he said, his voice measured. "Your mysterious blades with a mind of their own."

"Not just a mind," she said, her fingers curling against her palm as if holding something precious. "A soul."

Despite himself, Gale's scholarly interest stirred. "Soul binding is dangerous magic. Far beyond mere sentience in a blade."

"Which is exactly why I need someone who understands it," she countered, leaning forward. "Someone with access to knowledge beyond ordinary reach. Someone like Mystra's Chosen."

Her last words carried the faintest hint of mockery, but there was something else beneath it. Desperation, perhaps. Or determination.

Gale's eyes narrowed. "So that's your game. Information for information. The tome's location for what I know of these blades."

"Is it really that unreasonable of a deal?" Her gaze held his.

"I could simply extract the location from your mind," he said, his fingers tracing a small arcane pattern in the air between them. "A simple spell would suffice."

To his surprise, Lyanna laughed—a sharp, genuine sound that cut through the tension. She caught his hand and pushed it aside.

"Could you? You couldn't even spot that your devoted student was an assassin trailing your every move for two tendays." She gestured vaguely toward the warehouse looming in the distance. "Not exactly inspiring confidence in your powers of perception, Wizard."

The barb struck home. Gale’s jaw clenched, pride warring with pragmatism. "A momentary oversight," he said stiffly. "One I won't repeat."

"Of course not." Her smirk returned, knowing and sharp. "Just like I'm sure you've already located the tome on your own and are just humoring me now."

Silence stretched between them. Finally, Gale sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant acceptance.

"Very well," he said. "Let's assume, for the moment, that your information is valuable—"

"It is."

"—and accurate—"

"Also true."

He shot her a quelling look. "Then I would be willing to consider an exchange. But not simply a location for what I know of the Whispering Blades. That's hardly equitable."

Lyanna tilted her head. "What are you proposing?"

"Your assistance." Gale's eyes gleamed with calculation. "Not just the location, but your help in acquiring the tome. Your... particular talents may prove useful in retrieving it without unnecessary complications."

"You want me to help you steal it," she translated, amusement dancing across her features.

"I prefer 'recover,' given that it rightfully belongs to Mystra." He adjusted his still-damp sleeve with practiced dignity. "But semantics aside, yes."

She considered this, her fingers absently tapping against her knee. "And in return?"

"After we've secured the tome, I'll share what I know of the Whispering Blades." He met her gaze, his expression serious. "But understand this: I won't be manipulated or deceived. One false step, one hint that you're not dealing honestly, and our arrangement ends. Immediately."

The threat hung in the air between them. Lyanna's expression remained carefully neutral, but something shifted in her eyes—a flicker of respect, perhaps, at his firm boundaries.

"Fair enough," she said finally. "Though the same applies to you, Chosen. I'm not one of your adoring followers, hanging on your every word. We work together as equals, or not at all."

Gale inclined his head, a gesture both gracious and reserved. "I believe I can accommodate that."

"Then it’s a deal." She extended her hand, water still dripping from her sleeve.

Gale hesitated only briefly before taking it. Her grip was firm, her palm calloused where his was smooth. A study in contrasts, yet in that moment, strangely complementary.

"So," he said as they released the handshake, "where is this tome?"

Lyanna's smile widened to something genuine and mischievous. "The Midnight Market. And you, Chosen One, are going to need a better disguise than those fancy robes if you want to blend in there."

"The Midnight Market," Gale repeated, his voice a mix of intrigue and wariness. "Of course it would be there. Nothing is ever simple, is it?"

"Where's the fun in simple?" She rose to her feet, wringing her coat one last time for good measure. "Besides, I thought you enjoyed a challenge. Wasn't that what you said in Elturel? Something about 'true mastery requiring worthy obstacles, approached properly and methodically'? Who lectures a stranger for helping close a portal anyway?"

"You remember my words with surprising accuracy," Gale observed, standing as well.

"Only the particularly pompous ones," she replied with a wink. "They're just too good to forget."

Despite himself, Gale felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Whatever complications lay ahead—and there would undoubtedly be many—at least the journey wouldn't be dull.

"The Midnight Market it is, then," he said. "Though I warn you—if this proves to be another of your games, you'll find I'm not nearly as accommodating the second time around."

Lyanna's smile didn't falter. "Of course, you’ve got a reputation to uphold after all. Mystra’s Golden Boy and what not."

Around them, the garden hummed with night insects and the gentle rustle of leaves. Above, the towers of Sharn loomed like sentinels, impartial to the unlikely alliance formed in their shadow.

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 fanfic writers #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 oc #gale x tav #thestarfallgambit #the starfall gambit #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #galemance #baldurs gate gale

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mousetoe-wc · 2 years ago

Text

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 years ago

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Just a thought here but since alpha trion adopted optimus when he was Orion what would be the other original 13 (dead or alive) reactions to having a nephew?

Assuming this is set in a universe where Optimus isn't the Thirteenth, this will be interesting indeed.

A New Prime?

Alpha Trion had exactly one function, that being to serve as Primus's recorder and prophesier. He was to watch, he was to quietly direct the flow of events, and he was to wait for the day when it would come time for his brother to make his return. That was his purpose, and he was content in it.

However one stormy night, things changed.

Alpha Trion hardly left his archives, but when he did it was always with purpose. He never expected for a storm to blow in and viciously tear across Cybertron's surface. He was forced to abandon his task and seek shelter in among the towering spires that made up Cybertron's wilds. There he waited out the acidic rains and the howling winds that made even the largest mecha struggle. It was unexpected, but it was a momentary setback in his mind... right up until as if sent by some sort of divine power, a young mech emerged from the foliage.

Even though his huge optics and the remnant sensory panels lining his helm spoke of the mech hardly being a vorn into younglinghood, he was large for his age, coming up to roughly Alpha Trion's waist. His frame was slim and heavily armored, his denta were sharp and fanged, and he had claws deadly enough to shred most creatures adorning his digits. He was a dull gray, but his optics were so wide, so full of life. However most notably was the face that the mech had a face and an aura that caused Alpha Trion to pause in consideration.

He looked exactly like Thirteen. He wasn't Thirteen, his spark was too youthful and didn't possess the same touch of ancient power, but Alpha Trion knew him for what he was. This mech was meant to be Thirteen's vessel, his chosen child meant to house him when the time was right. That was all Alpha Trion needed to know to have a good reason to collect the mech and begin dragging him back to Iacon even as he snarled and flailed like a wild animal.

He brought the mech back to his archives and didn't hesitate to begin taming the wild youngling. It was not easy by any means though.

The youngling who he affectionately named Orion Pax was nothing short of a monstrosity. He was downright feral in every aspect and even with the Covenant offering slight insight into the future it didn't make managing him any easier. Orion needed to be kept away from others for over a vorn while Alpha Trion training him out of chewing on everything. He needed to get Orion some frame alterations to make him more presentable and he more often than not emerged from meeting with Orion covered in claw marks and bites. It was even harder trying to convince the youngling to consume his energon in a civil manner and not eat it like an animal. He was covered in energon more times than he cared to admit as he tried to assist Orion in figuring out how things worked.

It was tiring and all the kept Alpha Trion going was the promise of his brother's return in the frame of the youngling some day. He just needed to make sure the youngling was worthy and then when the time was right, the Matrix could be given and Thirteen could take control. That was the plan, that was all it was. There was no reason to care more than necessary for the feral little thing. He needed to ensure the youngling was educated in all that was related to their history and skilled in all matter of things so that Thirteen could absorb those abilities when it came time. He was not required to be loving or affectionate.

But as with all things, time took its toll and eventually Orion began to calm while at the same time Alpha Trion got attached. It started small, that with Orion uttering his first garbled glyphs in the old tongue as Alpha Trion had taught him. It warmed something in his spark to have Orion call out his designation in a staticky mess alongside hisses and whistles. He found it... endearing. Even as he worked to correct Orion's speech and help him adapt to better speak the old tongue and then later the modern, he always loved the little calls of "Sire" Orion was so fond of crying out to him once the youngling learned the meaning of the word.

He tried to tell the youngling that he wasn't his Sire, but Alpha Trion's spark thought otherwise as a fledgling bond between Orion and him formed. The youngling, as soon as he was somewhat civil, followed Alpha Trion everywhere. Like a loyal guardian he would stay as close as possible, often clinging to Alpha Trion's cape and growling at any who came too near. He was dutiful, watching and keeping an optic out for threats at all times. It was honestly adorable considering his size and his wide optics. He thankfully never attacked anyone, he would always listen to Alpha Trion in that regard.

Of course then Orion had to go and show himself to be curious and only get Alpha Trion more invested in the youngling. He always peeked over Alpha Trion's shoulder when he was reading with little wonderings of "What that Sire?" and so on. Eventually Alpha Trion had no choice but to begin teaching Orion reading and writing, a set of lessons that managed to civilize Orion more than simple instructions did. The youngling was quick to read and write, learning every dialect and sub-class of language in record time. His ability to speak skyrocketed and before Alpha Trion knew it, he saw the youngling as his sparkling more than a ward, especially as he began speaking clearly and expressing greater interest in the archives.

Many a cycle was spent with Orion buried in datapads discussing the past and going over history together. Those were good times, filled with smiles and eager enthusiasm. Alpha Trion grew to truly love his sparkling as Orion grew in knowledge and showed himself to be just like Thirteen in mentality. He was kind, he was soft-sparked, he was intelligent, empathetic, dutiful, and so much more. Thus when Orion was grown and the time came to take him to receive the Matrix.... Alpha Trion waited. He told himself it was because Orion wasn't ready, that he needed further training. As such he sent Orion on trips to study, had him dig into old mysteries, anything to keep him learning and working.

He practically threw Orion down to the pits to get him working with Megatronus and very nearly forced Orion to go meet with Ratchet to learn from him. Perhaps a Prime wouldn't even be needed if his sparkling could stop things before they grew to large... at least that was his hope. He missed his brother, yes. But Orion... Orion was his sparkling who he had raised and forged into the mech he was. He knew based on how he had raised Orion that if asked the mech would gladly give himself to the Matrix and Thirteen. However Alpha Trion didn't want to lose the one good thing he had gained since his brothers scattered.

He tried. He tried so hard to keep it from happening, but with how Cybertron was deteriorating... they needed a Prime. Alpha Trion hated every moment when he took Orion a day before his meeting with the high council and dragged him to Primus's core. He hated himself when Orion screamed out for him as the Matrix was offered. He hated how cruel it all was when his dear and precious sparkling was left to fade away, his spark locked within the Matrix so that Thirteen could take his place.

However, Thirteen never took control. He could sense his brother was within Orion's frame, but Thirteen did nothing, merely pulsing within the Matrix in curiosity. Orion, or rather Optimus was confused but took to his position well. Unbeknownst to the living, the Primes were conflicted and joyous at the same time.

When Thirteen connected to his chosen vessel, the first thing he sensed was the mech's connection to Alpha Trion. It startled him so much that he did not try to force control over the frame offered to him. He instead sat back within the Matrix, watching as the youngling who had been modeled after him fulfilled the purpose set before him without Thirteen even needing to be involved. This one was loved, this one was deeply connected to his brother. Thirteen could never in good conscience ever take his brother's only sparkling from him. Thus he instead opted to serve as a guide, directing Optimus and offering him the wisdom within the Matrix as needed. He was there to bear the brunt of the woes Optimus experienced and he came to quickly care deeply for the youngling.

Optimus was pure, Optimus was just like him. His new Prime was loved, he was kind, he was everything Thirteen was and more. Thirteen didn't need to take control, Alpha Trion had raised Optimus so well it was unnecessary. Instead he came to care for Optimus, watching and guiding as a mentor. He couldn't leave his nephew alone after all.

Solus from within the realm of the Primes did a complete double take when she saw the one Alpha Trion had taken as his own through the Matrix. Her first instinct was to call slag on it, Alpha Trion didn't care for others like that. However upon seeing Optimus she conceded and agreed that Optimus was indeed worthy of her brother's affection. Thus when possible she would speak through the Matrix to Optimus, smothering him in affection through emotional waves. He was so sweet and lovely, a baby Prime indeed. He needed an Aunt there to play a more maternal role throughout everything. She would gladly take on that role.

Prima was skeptical of the new Prime, but those worries disappeared when he saw Alpha Trion of all mecha care for the newly named Optimus Prime. He was marveled even more when Thirteen didn't try to take control of the new Prime and instead served as a guide. Thus not to be outdone, he joined his brother and his sister in teaching, quickly coming to care for Optimus as well. The baby Prime was young but wise. He embodied everything Prima sought in a true Prime, a perfect leader for the damaged world above.

Vector cared very little for the birth of a new Prime. He saw it amidst the push and pull of time that passed him by, however he gave it little thought. If nothing else, Optimus was a chance for Alpha Trion to grow and for Cybertron to change. However he was just one spark among a sea of others, not worth too much attention in the grand scheme of things.

Micronus was confused above all else when it came to Optimus. Why was Thirteen not taking control? Optimus wouldn't fight back, he was too good for that. If he believed it to be for the greater good, he would gladly give himself willingly. So why wait? Why not take what was offered and fix things? Micronus got his answer when he decided to watch the newest Prime and saw how much Alpha Trion cared and how he very nearly cried when Optimus was not locked away and instead allowed to continue living. He did not love Optimus, but he saw how much he meant to Alpha Trion and thus endeavored to teach if only so that Optimus could fulfill his duties.

Alchemist for his part knew about Orion long before he was a Prime and quietly supported Alpha Trion from afar. He was pleased that his most isolated brother aside from the fallen was finally getting some interaction. He was also so very pleased when Orion began wandering to his bar once he got older. Alchemist was perfectly happy to offer Orion some low charged drinks on exchange for a few stories. Orion was such a sweet young mech, he was perfectly content to be a kind listening audial and an uncle to the little mech Trion loved so much. He still remained at his bar offering drinks when Orion became the Prime, nothing changes about how he treated him and Optimus appreciated it.

Nexus had optics everywhere with so many of his component parts running around. He was well aware of Orion and played a role in getting him from point A to point B. He thought it was great fun luring Orion into new situations to try and get the youngling to have fun. He also tended to keep close watch on his nephew at Alpha Trion's behest. Orion was a good mech, but he got himself into all sorts of trouble, especially after becoming Prime. He didn't like intervening too much, but if only to calm his brother, he would drop in at times to make things happen. Optimus never knew it was him, but Nexus knew Optimus and he was fond of the little Prime. Still so very young and worth protecting.

Onyx Prime was not enraptured with Optimus once he claimed the Matrix at first. It took him time to determine Optimus's worth, but once he did, he was willing to offer much needed spiritual guidance. Thirteen offered wisdom, Solus offered love, Micronus offered wits, Prima offered skill, and Onyx brought his understanding of sparks to the table. He was there to direct Optimus to places of interest and helped to protect him from the EM attacks of others that could rattle his spark. The young Prime needed guidance, it wouldn't do to sit back and watch while Optimus dealt with the fallout of millennia of abuse and corruption alone.

Amalgamous thought Optimus was the best thing since processed energon the moment he saw him from within the Matrix. He was just so very pure and so hopeful. Amalgamous adored that about him and was so very pleased when Optimus allowed himself to enjoy life a little bit. Where other Primes guided Optimus to perform better, Amalgamous preferred to instead convince Optimus to rest and relax, to take care of himself after long days. He was also there to feed the little Prime good memories and happy feelings after everything. Optimus needed joy just as much as he needed everything else. And Amalgamous couldn't possible leave his dear nephew to wallow could he?

Quintus for his part didn't care much for Optimus. He preferred creating over watching growth. He would offer bits and pieces of knowledge and come forward to watch when something of interest happened, but beyond that he was content to remain largely uninvolved. Although when Optimus deviated too hard, he would fight bitterly to force Optimus back onto track. It got him scoldings from all his siblings, but to Quintus it was worth it. Sometimes young Primes needed reminders of why they fought. Being allowed only support could lead to imperfections.

Liege was for his part denied any and all access to Optimus when possible. The Primes didn't trust him, they didn't want him whispering lies and other cruel things into their baby Prime and nephew's audials. Thus they fought bitterly to keep him away, however even with their efforts there were times where his influence managed to sneak through. He was not a kind mech, but he did care for his kin to a degree. When he was allowed access, he guided Optimus on how best to use his words to manipulate in quiet ways. He always whispered sweetly, never too loudly and never too boldly. He always made sure to sound as though he were loving and caring, and often, much to his glee, Optimus took his advice.

Then there was the Fallen. Simply put, he felt the shift around him as a new Prime was born, but other than that he knew nothing. He was temped to return to Cybertron to greet his newest brother, but he abstained. It wasn't his place, not after all he had done.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #the thirteen primes #alpha trion #orion pax #parental alpha trion #he loves his crazy little youngling very dearly #tried hard not to get attached and had it backfire horribly #but somehow it all worked out and now all the primes are playing parent to a degree

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