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puttingfingerstokeys · 3 years

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A little something I whipped up for @heamatic with her Shinnok in mind.

No timeline alignment stuff here, just pure gift work based on a thread we’ve got on my RP account @bastardsunlight. Ft. Shinnok being creepy because that’s kind of his thing. Shinlao, because we haven’t come up with a ship name and I am appalled at our laxity.

Also like, I can’t believe I’m saying this but neither writer is in any way under some fucked up impression that this is a good, safe, or non-toxic ship. We use the term to describe people who are involved IN SOME WAY. That way is not necessarily healthy.

This story features no NSFW instances.

The dimly lit corridors of the Bone Temple are familiar passageways to Kung Lao as he moves effortlessly toward the audience chamber where he will soon be needed. Shinnok does not often offer his time, but today, he evidently feels generous. It is therefore his favorite creature’s duty to attend as well. Lao has long since stopped thinking of himself as a monk or even a former one, though his spiritual power is still formidable. That life is behind him. Netherrealm is—if not his home—his territory.

Emerging from a massive double door at one side of the infernal hall, he surveys the emptiness of it, the cavernous opulence of the mad god’s particular tastes. Deeper, under vents in the floor—Shinnok appreciates the screams of his captives—is the dungeon proper, though the audience hall very much resembles it. The high pillars are of dark reds, shining obsidian, and shot through with veins of other colors difficult to distinguish in the Stygian light of the realm of dishonored dead. Everything is bone and sinew and suffering here, fire and brimstone and ugly deception.

“You have kept me waiting, little one,” purrs the Elder God of Chaos from his throne. It is, naturally, constructed of bones—not all humanoid. He leans to one side and regards Kung Lao with those inscrutable eyes characteristic of his kind. “Do you wish to bring punishment down on yourself?”

“No, master,” responds Kung Lao, approaching the dais and then ascending to within reach of the massive entity’s long arms. If Shinnok wishes to pull his guts out and toss him back down like a used doll, he may do so from anywhere; why inconvenience him?

“Yet you offer no explanation…” The Elder God’s finger came out and lifted Kung Lao’s chin before sliding down his neck, over the pretty young man’s Adam’s apple, and down to collar bone and chest. He has left this one alive, appreciating the responsive heat and goose flesh of living skin. It bruises so prettily.

“I offer no excuse, my lord.” Kung Lao meets his eyes with an impertinence he loves and hates and oh he has made the right choice in this one. He had known the moment they met upon the field of kombat that Kung Lao would, indeed, make an excellent addition to his collection.

“You are wise beyond your years, it seems, if a bit pert.” Shinnok retracts his hand and waves it about. “Well, get on with it. I’ve better things to do.”

Quan-Chi materializes presently, late as well, though his arrival receives no acknowledgement whatsoever. His dark lord spares not a glance, instead watching the retreating back of the foolish monk who exchanged his own freedom for the life of his friend. Sentiment is worthless in Netherrealm and soon, the arrogant boy will learn this, if the old soul sorcerer must show him the way with his own two hands. His fists clench with the thought, imagining themselves about Kung Lao’s throat, squeezing until something breaks. The pleasure that arises from the thought sends a shudder down his spine.

Meanwhile, Kung Lao, unaware of this contemplation—or if he is aware, he cares so little, he doesn’t bother sparing the man, if a thing like Quan-Chi can be called a man, a single glance—turns to descend the dais. An oversized bone arm which has sprouted from the stone and bone floor of the mad god’s receiving hall offers itself, open-palmed, to the fallen monk. Kung Lao accepts it gracefully, laying his hand in the much larger one, knowing he has not displeased his lord on this day. The dry, brittle-feeling digits wrap gently about the young man’s hand as he makes his graceful retreat to discharge his duties.

Quan-Chi scowls at Kung Lao’s back until Shinnok actually turns his attention on his favored sorcerer—really the only sorcerer who will competently serve him with true, deep loyalty. It really is pathetic to watch, but sometimes a whipped dog is better than no dog. Shinnok has not even had to whip this one. He’s done it of his own accord.

A strange Netherrealm native (as native as anyone can be in a realm of dishonored souls and demonic constructs born of the mad god’s fits of rage), it had been he who had approached the Elder God of rot and chaos to serve him. If Lord Shinnok could be said to be grateful for anything, he might have chosen that moment when Quan-Chi’s power had drawn him to his lord and master’s prison and set about events which would eventually free and embody him. Of course they have greater plans, but for the time being, this will do.

This will do very nicely indeed, he considers, regarding his little pet’s taut backside as Kung Lao makes his way through the hall, the bone arm now sliding along with him, digging a furrow in the ground which seems to knit itself together just a few feet behind the abomination which now has its hand on the curve of Kung Lao’s lower back. Every sensation the bone arm feels, he also feels and the warmth of living flesh is delightful; he wants to grasp it hard, make the boy squeal with pain, make him bleed a little. Just a little.

Perhaps later.

“You have some… news?” Quan-Chi has been scheming—he is always scheming—to manifest his dark, mad god in Earthrealm and he clearly believes he has hit upon something. Shinnok can see it in the sparkle of the man’s eyes. Oh how he loves me, contemplates the Elder God with absolutely no reciprocity of that feeling.

“I do, my lord,” responds the sorcerer, bowing to one knee and standing to deliver his findings. Shinnok listens patiently, mind elsewhere as it must always be. He is chaos incarnate. There is little order to be had in Netherrealm beyond his absolute rule. Not much can hold the attention of an Elder God, in general, but Shinnok in particular has always allowed his mind to wander where it will. Aside from grand machinations of upset and overthrow which delight him endlessly, there is almost nothing of such magnitude in all of existence—no single object or concept which can so fascinate him. What could possibly be of such import that he, a deity, might need to focus his energies on it for any length of time? The boy, some part of his thoughts remind him sweetly. You’re quite captivated with your new toy, aren’t you? Ah but toys come and go. He will tire of this one… eventually.

That boy is now crossing the threshold of the temple’s audience hall, the doors gliding open before him. The dry heat of Netherrealm has ceased to move him and he walks out into it, ushering in the first petitioner, wondering if his lord and master will listen to this one, or slay it on sight. Any creature, demon, or lost soul who is bold enough to approach the Bone Temple and beg favors of the lord of the Realm is desperate, addled, or too cocksure for their own good. An obliteration by the death god is permanent, it is nothingness, non-existence. Somehow, that void is more terrifying by far than the screaming, burning, howling dimness of Netherrealm.

The first demon in line—he is first by virtue of having killed his way up the queue; the corpses of those before him are littered in pieces here and there as a testament to this, all still twitching and flailing as the death he grants is only pain—is a truly imposing figure, easily ten feet in height, with massive, twisted horns like a ram and a maw full of jagged teeth. His eyes ablaze with contempt. This expression does not soften when it lays its burning gaze (with all four eyes) upon the pretty, behatted monk—Kung Lao may not think of himself as a monk, but they do—but rather hardens to something bordering on obscene. The thing licks slavering lips with an exaggerated motion, clearly aiming to upset the small, soft-looking mortal, who does not respond, only gestures to the hall.

“The master will see you now,” he says in a neutral tone that betrays nothing. “Please, follow me.”

As they enter, the beast’s three-toed feet hit the ground much harder with each step than might actually be necessary, as if to emphasize his weight. Shinnok leans back upon his throne and assumes a semi-attentive posture. There is no real reason for him to pretend he cares; even the pretense is worthless, but for now, it entertains him. Some of the denizens of his realm wait the Netherrealm equivalent of months, even years, if Shinnok is indisposed and simply does not care. Lately, he has been taking more audiences, but then he has only lately had a… secretary. Kung Lao moves swiftly ahead of the demon, braid swinging tantalizingly behind his shapely back. The boy is an hourglass, upon close inspection, broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and thick of hip and rear-end. The demon is inspecting.

“This is far enough,” instructs Kung Lao. “What are you called?”

The demon splutters with indignation. How could they not know him, the greatest general of the northern armies of Khadul, the god-king of the demons, the true creatures of Netherrealm! He has severely overestimated his importance, a grave error in the Bone Temple. The silent hall rings with its silence. An audience chamber ought necessarily to have an audience, but Shinnok prefers the cavernous immensity. It reiterates just how small his petitioners truly are. He eyes the demon, but has yet to speak. A bone arm sprouts near Kung Lao and it makes a twirling motion with its forefinger.

“Lord Shinnok bids you speak,” says the shapely boy through plump lips that look like they ought to be bruised and bloodied and used, in the creature’s foul opinion.

“I will speak,” he snarls, reaching out toward Kung Lao with the intent to brush past, “but with the lord of this Realm, he in whose temple we stand, not you, little slut. There are things I would do with you, yes, but speaking… it is not one of them.” The demon’s laughter rings out boldly into the hall, bouncing off the skulls and femurs and ribs and myriad other bones which make the walls, floor, and ceiling. Quan-Chi flinches minutely, though more at the brazenness of it than the sound. Shinnok is a statue. The bone arm has dissipated, crumbling like ash and ruin, leaving Lao alone. His lord is watching.

“No,” says Kung Lao, the syllable sharp and clear as a pretty bell rung in a mausoleum—and equally as incongruous next to the obscene, guttural speech of the demon. “No,” he repeats, “you do not speak. You bark like a mangy cur begging for scraps. Heel.”

He rushes the demon with lightning speed as it swings for him. There is a brief moment when it seems he might make a try for the beast’s sizeable testes, which swing visibly behind the scant loincloth one might say he is “wearing”. The idea occurs to him and a strange flash of melancholic amusement jolts Kung Lao’s spine before he disappears beneath his hat in a flash of red light and lotus petals. The creature, having never encountered this particular mortal, looks baffled and squats to examine the hat. Quan-Chi’s mouth opens to warn the beast of its insolence in his master’s presence, but a sharp gesture from said master silences him. His face heats with rage. How dare the boy show off this way? He will be punished—perhaps disemboweled or flayed. How delicious that would be!

As the as yet unnamed demon reaches toward the object to pick it up, the flash occurs once more and the deadly piece of headwear flips upward, turning vertically, its far edge held by the owner, the only man in any realm able to master such a strange weapon. The creature barely has time to cry out as Kung Lao draws the hat up its entirety, bisecting the thing and spilling its steaming insides along the floor. Midair, Kung Lao flings the hat, hard, toward Shinnok. Once more, Quan-Chi blanches, but the mad god catches it easily and holds it, bottom facing downward, toward his knees where he sits. This, he thinks, is the most fun I have had in millennia.

Kung Lao’s form plummets toward the gory mess he has made and for a brief, shining moment, Quan-Chi thinks perhaps he will fall and snap his neck and that will be that, one last escape attempt with the final spark of the monk’s spirit left to him. Lord Shinnok has no need of a broken doll. Of course this is a flight of pure fancy. Shinnok will find a use for that beautiful body, even broken.

Alas, rather than crashing to his death—or maiming, at least—Kung Lao’s body dives into a circle of blood, red light, once more accompanied by a flash and flurry of lotus petals. It takes only half a moment for him to repeat the trick, falling out of the hat and into his lord and master’s waiting lap. Shinnok allows the hat to settle upon Kung Lao’s head and once more tilts his chin upward so that their eyes meet.

“Far too impertinent,” he scolds, shaking his head, running his thumb over his little doll’s full, perfect, soft lower lip. Kung Lao is flushed with the pleasure of his accomplishment and hasn’t a spot of blood on his person. “Who are you to decide who I do and do not address, hmm? Is this not my domain?”

“His master would pretend it is not. One cannot serve two lords and you rule this Realm.” This is not a question, nor is it simpering. Kung Lao speaks cold, hard facts. “I merely saved you the trouble of hearing a dog bark.”

So bold, Shinnok thinks. I must curb this. But he does not punish his little favorite. The unpredictability delights him. Quan-Chi senses this misplaced delight and recedes from the receiving hall unseen, glowering over his shoulder and now hellbent on perfecting his machinations to bring his master to Earthrealm.

#violence #cc #cw #mortal kombat #kung lao #shinnok #shinlao #gift work

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wolfmage553 · 3 years

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Dsmp Sona: Elbinia Wolfmage

Elbinia Wolfmage (Wolf Hybrid) and her sister Raven (Raven Hybrid) arrived in the DreamSMP on the day of elections. They had no clue what was going on but they decided to vote anyway. The sisters voted for Coconut 2020, believing them to be the best candidates for the job, unaware of the voting fraud going on.

They were informed on who won when they returned to L'manburg from a mining expedition to see ex president Soot and ex vice Tommy being chased out of L'manburg by president Jschlatt. Jschlatt saw the potential in the sisters and offered them positions in the cabinet but they refused on the grounds of being uninterested and unfamiliar with politics.

Life in L'manburg (now Manburg) became uncomfortable. The sisters, due to their mining expeditions, were sent higher taxes than the average citizen. They paid their taxes on time though so no conflict arose between the sisters and the cabinet.

One day, Elbinia noticed that her and Raven's taxes were lower than they normally paid. She paid it no mind, figuring it was a error in tax handouts and it would be corrected.

It wasn't, in fact she and Raven had lower taxes than the average citizen in Manburg. Confused, Elbinia went to the closest tax collector (Fundy) and asked him if there was a glitch in the tax system. Fundy reassuring her that she was paying her proper taxes and that this wasn't a glitch left her with more questions than answers. Nothing about her and Raven's lifestyles changed so she wondered why they were getting tax reductions.

The answer came nine months later when Raven inexplicably gave birth to a daughter, though complications ended up taking her first canon life. The daughter's ram horns were very apparent and news quickly spread of Jschlatt's illegitimate daughter. Raven explained that she and Jschlatt cut a deal: She would give bith to a child for Jschlatt and his fiance to raise as their own and in return she and Elbinia would be living a life of luxury.

Elbinia was confused why her sister would take the deal. Sure, they had to pay higher than average taxes but they weren't struggling financially. Raven explained that she wanted to open a bakery with her sister but knew that the bakery tax would cause them to struggle financially and she took the deal to ensure she could live her dream while not putting them into debt.

Elbinia accepted her sister's reasoning and the sisters opened a bakery, named Worldwide Pastries for their specialty. They focused on baking exotic and foriegn baked goods, from Mochi to Flatbread. Sure, it wasn't as well known as Niki's bakery but it had it's fair share of loyal fans.

The Manburg vs Pogtopia war soon darkened the sister's doorstep and Elbinia was forced to evacuate, taking Scarlett (Raven's daughter and Elbinia's niece) with her. In hiding, she feared for her sister who had chosen to stay behind to fight. Once the all clear had been given, Elbinia raced to see her sister again..

Only to watch in horror as her sister lost her second canon life to Wilbur blowing up L'manburg. Elbinia quickly organized an evacuation of L'manburg to Eret's castle which would be safe from the Withers that Technoblade spawned.

Elbinia passed Scarlett over to Eret and fought one of the two Withers to buy the citizens time to escape, losing her first canon life in the process. L'manburg was wrecked but could be rebuilt and president Tubbo made sure of that. Worldwide Pastries was damaged in the destruction and had to be moved and rebuilt in New L'manburg. She and her sister lived relatively peaceful lives in New L'manburg, though peace didn't remain on this server for long.

Tommy's exile was the first time the sister's protested an action that president Tubbo did. While they were uneasy with the methods of the Butcher Army, they did understand why they formed. They only protested the fact that Technoblade didn't get a fair trial.

This action would spare their bakery as Technoblade came to them in secret later and told them to build a shield of obsidian around their bakery. The sisters did so, temporarily closing Worldwide Pastries.

The closing of Worldwide Pastries would become more permanent when Doomsday happened. Elbinia and Raven organized a offical evacuation party to escort the citizens and the pets to safety, leaving Scarlett in Eret's care at the castle but Technoblade, Philiza and Dream arriving early put a wrench in their evacuation plan.

Though many citizens were saved by the sisters efforts, many more lost canon lives and many pets were slain. The greatest tragedy was the most unexpected one.

Elbinia was escorting a mother and child to safety when Philiza spawned a Wither close to them. Raven managed to get in front of them, shielding the three others from the blast with her shield but Raven was quickly hit by the Withering effect. Their efforts to find milk were in vain and Elbinia watched as her sister slowly lost her third and final canon life, dying in her arms as the sisters hid in their sheltered bakery which became a makeshift shelter for survivors who couldn't get to Eret's castle.

Elbinia felt her world collapse around her, her home was gone, her bakery would be the only evidence of L'manburg's existence and now she was holding the lifeless body of her sister. Numbness filled her to her very core before being filled with a new feeling:

Vengeance

Philiza has taken almost everything away from her in only a couple of days, seemingly for no reason other than spite. She vowed that she would avenge her sister someday, today wasn't that day as she needed to focus on the people around her and her niece.

She escorted the group of survivors to Eret's castle where they were reunited with their loved ones, though she was also carrying her sister's lifeless body. Scarlett was confused as to why her mother wasn't waking up as Eret organized a funeral for the only permanent casualty of the Doomsday. Raven was buried in New L'manburg's ruins, the flag of L'manburg draped over her casket as L'manburg's anthem rang over the funeral party.

With the safety of the citizens and her niece secured, Elbinia plunged headfirst into planning her revenge. She got a villager to babysit her niece while she gathered the materials to craft a Netherite sword and armor. She needed to wait for a moment where Philiza was alone and unprepared for battle so she could strike quickly and with no chance of interference. Sadly, it seemed that moment would not come as even when Philiza was alone he was prepared for battle.

Quackity soon came to her and offered her a place in Las Nevadas where she could reopen Worldwide Pastries. Knowing that focusing on avenging her sister was not working out, she took the offer and moved to Las Nevadas. Worldwide Pastries was reopened in Las Nevadas to great fanfare. Elbinia decided to focus her efforts on building a new life for her and her niece. Though the sword she vowed would one day strike down Philiza still remains in her Ender Chest and the armor she crafted still remains in a chest at her house.

The day the angel of death would fall at her hands would come, she just needed to be patient.

#dsmp jschlatt #dsmp citizens pov #dsmp sona #dsmp l'manberg #dsmp doomsday #dsmp philza

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ottomations · 3 years

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A giant iron vault door, the cosmetic aspect of it was intimidating to say the least.

Sounds of the redstone, hard at work, poured through the gaps of the blackstone and obsidian walls wherever it could. The many doors and platforms were all designed for the prison to be at maximum security.

Tapping of boots on the ground, one was more metallic and the other was the soles of regular sneakers— squeaking every now and then on the smooth surface.

The warden, guiding the visitor through the process, led them to the aquamarine lamps that shone dimly underneath the black-tinted glass.

Raising the sharp, fire aspect axe, Sam spoke behind his mask,

“Punz, I’m going to have to do a manual check for Items— to make sure you’re not carrying anything into the cell.”

“Alright, got it. Do what you need to do,” the hooded blonde responded, icy eyes blinked to the tip of their shoes as they held their arms loosely to the side.

It was a quick inspection. The burning lingered lightly as the poison seeped into the visitor’s skin, the cold water caused it to finally fade away.

The sounds of the ink swirling in the small, glass pot and the quill writing on the page of the forms was the only sound other than the running lava to both of their lefts. Each of the signatures were neat for a person like them, reading out ‘Punz.’

Punz blanked out for a few of the next parts in the process, mainly remembering the hot lava on his skin feel like a warm, summer day instead of the inferno of the nether.

He was now just staring at a curtain of lava, The Warden filled the silence every minute or two with a reassurance that the lava, “takes a moment to clear away.”

The curtain fell, revealing a horned man with hair that resembled Captain Puffy’s. He seems scared of who was going to visit him, pressing his body against the back wall of the cell. After seeing the blue eyes and platinum hair, Dream calmed and relaxed— seeming relieved.

The brick platform below Punz’s feet moved towards the prisoner, the bubble of the lava resonating in their ears. Stepping off the contraption, they felt the floor of obsidian— regular and cracked. There were scratches and chips in the walls and floor accompanying different spots and marks of dried blood.

The curtain falls, the barricade is lowered.

Silence, a mumble here and there from Dream.

Punz sighed, walking closer as they grasped the right sleeve of their hoodie with the opposite hand, “Dream, are you still...” he paused, collecting his voice with a cough as he took a deep inhale, “are you mad at me?”

Not replying, the prisoner grazed his swollen, bruised cheek. It definitely seemed new. Punz was worried, making a stride closer to Dream and reaching out their hand to wait for a reaction.

“Dream,” they called again, the other had no reaction— again.

Sigh, “Dream.”

The stern tone and the ‘woosh’ in the air caused the ram child to look up. Punz’s arm came down to their sides, stiffly.

“I’m... I’m sorry, truly I am... there’s... stuff going on and—“ the innate rubbed his eyes, dark circles have accumulated from the lack of cushioned resting grounds, “I’m like... glad you came— I’m glad i swear.”

“Well...” the blonde looked around before refocusing on Dream, “While we’re getting this out of the way, i’m a.. a huge dick for- for just excepting the offer from... tommy and stuff...”

Dream gestured for them to sit down on the floor, each doing so.

“And I’m... I’m also sorry for... you— I was really split on the decision between your side and.. his.”

The prisoner nodded slightly and slowly in response, blinking back the moist feeling in his eyes.

“It’s my... my fucking fault for even paying you like... the amount I was, it was such a bad accommodation for what.. what you were doing.”

Punz didn’t reply, being silent for a period of time as Dream continued to stroke and rub the cuts and bruises on his body. They were concerned, although it didn’t seem like a good segway to just ask what they were.

“So how has been your time in... the prison?”

“Definitely... Definitely could be better... I’ve been visited by Tommy... Bad... Sapnap... Ranboo— I think...” eyes closed as his Adam’s apple bobbed, “Quackity has been visiting.. every day...”

“What... what does he want?”

“Well... Tommy was... revived... the information went around... fast— a-and he wants to.. wants to know the secret to revival and stuff...”

Punz started to connect the dots, Quackity? This? To Dream for crying out loud??

“Did... you tell him?”

“N... no— well— he did first ask for the book, but I already... burned it. After... refusing to give information...” streaks of warm tears ran down his face, the emeralds of his irises disappeared as the eyelids closed shut.

Dream unzipped the shirt of the orange outfit that he wore, taking it off to a mostly ripped, white tank top. The rips and tears revealed large scars and cuts in his torso that were definitely not there before his imprisonment. Some were still bleeding or open, the scars haven’t formed at all.

Punz gasped at the sight reaching to lightly graze their fingertips on the wounds— causing a reaction of pain in Dream’s face, drawing in air through his gritted teeth. They lifted and pulled the hood off of their head.

Dream couldn’t help but inspect how the other changed from their last interaction, their back hair was kept in a tight bun that sat at the crown of their head. Bangs still hung forwards and swept right to keep out of Punz’s eyes

Speaking of his eyes, there was a specific glisten that wasn’t in them anymore. It reminded Dream of contacts. What could he be hiding?

“I’m.. so sorry for you. I didn’t think that this would happen...”

“I knew it was bound to have someone yearning for the information... but I didn’t think torture would be one of the options... I don’t...” the taller sniffled as his knees curled to his chest, careful to not touch the tender skin.

Both of them paused to recollect their thoughts.

“So Punz... how is... how is the uh... outside,” Dream asked, the hunt for an answer commenced.

“It’s alright, that... th-the... egg... is... w... wonderful, it’s great!” They responded, seemingly in a trance.

“Punz... please, are you okay?”

“Yep! no... I’m perfectly fine, everything’s weird...” a heavy sigh, hands reaching up to their eyes to take out the contacts.

Ruby red.

“I don’t... I know I’m.. Not... I’m fine— No...” they tried to cover up the controlling voice.

“Hey, I don’t know if you can properly speak to me, but I respect your decision. Hopefully you... achieve your goals!”

Punz stood and walked over to sit next to Dream, leaning their head back on the wall. They took a heavy sigh after a while, crossing their legs and moving their head forwards to stare at the floor. Dream put his arm around Punz’s shoulder, causing a slight jolt.

Both of them leaned into the embrace, Dream took another step and undid the other’s hair bun. It fell down quite gracefully with a few ruffles of his hand, some strands shone like lightning as they reflected the glowstone’s gleam.

The pair stayed like this for a while, taking in the warmth of the other. Before Punz really knew it, there was a hand that rested palm to palm with the prisoner’s. The arm on their shoulder was interlaced with the hairs on their scalp.

Punz moved his head, wanting to look at the other’s eyes. Dream was absurdly close, he blinked in surprise as the other made eye contact.

The inmate looked away to his bare feet.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to do that— If it makes you uncomfortable.”

Punz moved their free hand to cup the other’s cheek, turning Dream’s head to face him again. The freckles on his face better emphasized the peachy glow.

The shorter chuckled, blonde hair brushed their shoulders at their length, “Your face is pink, Dream. You thinking about George or something?”

“Nah, I’m thinking about someone else, they’re nicer to me and have better hair for me to grasp when I want to kiss them,” the responder cooed.

“What a charmer,” Punz smirked, “I could’ve sworn he was a child torturer.”

Dream scoffed, “I couldn’t tell if that was a joke or you were being serious. Either way, you’re for some reason into that shit.”

“I’m my defense, I was being paid,” They paused, “In second defense, the torturer is good lookin’.”

Both of them laughed, rustling around in their positions as each hid their flushed faces.

“I can’t tell if you’re glad that we’re flirting or mad that you enjoy it—“ Dream smiled, looking at the other with a smile.

Punz giggled, “Both— but I think it’s mostly the first option.”

“Heh, I’m glad. I’ve liked you and what you do.”

“Mmh... yeah, I have too...”

Dream paused, turning his body to face Punz.

“Do you want to... maybe...?”

“Wait like... actually, you want to?”

“Yeah... just...”

A message appeared in the chat, Punz pulled up his menu to read the alert from The Warden, Sam.

‘Punz, your visiting hours are over. Please tell me when you’re ready to leave by the next 5 minutes or I will force you to leave.

Dream also read the message, “You... you need to leave...”

“Yeah.. I’ll see you later, Dream. I had quite a bit of fun talking with you about our lives,” Punz replied as they put their contacts back in.

The prisoner didn’t want him to leave, it wasn’t a proper ‘goodbye’ and he wanted to do what he’s been wanting to do for a long while. They made amends and had shared feelings, why now?

“I’m ready to leave, Sam...”

Punz had already gotten into the water, the Warden continued to give instructions as they readied to be ‘splash-potioned’ out of the cell.

“Punz—!”

“Huh?”

“I have something to give to you before you leave,” Dream stood up and jogged over to the water, going into it and held Punz’s head with his hands.

“What are you doin—?”

But Punz was cut off from finishing their sentence, cut off with the feeling of the other pressing his lips against their own. It was slightly chapped, but filled with the love and happiness that they shared that evening.

They responded, pressing into the kiss with lust. Their hands reached up and around Dream’s shoulders, grasping tightly and pulling him closer to his body. The taller shared the tight embrace and his hands moved down to the other’s waist.

Before they knew it, it was over. Punz woke to see Sam at the other side of the room with the levers behind him.

“So, how was your visit?”

“It was... good, yeah.”

Punz wished it lasted longer though. Maybe he could visit another time to continue what Dream and them had.

Upon exiting the prison, they visited their home and tended to their bees. They changed into something more comfortable as the night shone ever so bright in the sky. Making their stride to a lectern, they got out a book and quill.

Lighting a candle, ink dropped off of the tip.

Punz started to write a letter to the arctic,

“Dear Technoblade,

I believe you owe us a favor...”

#might continue this #I’m making a post afterwards tagging it and stuff

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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Rapture Rising

[Evil!Joan AU]

Word count: 2650 (no Read More because I’m away from my computer, but it’s only 2000 words so 🤷‍♀️)

Prompt: “Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?”

——————

The theater rises before her, vast and wrong.

If architecture could hate, this theater hates. It is a frozen snarl, stone (at least Jane thinks it’s stone) forced into confinement. It does not stand quite at right angles to the ground. No, those angles are wrong; it belongs to an unholy geometry. It’s hard to imagine this used to be a place of joy and thrill and entertainment. All that remains is a skeleton infested with twisted pillars and rocks and spires. It is waiting for her to get lost in their bodies if she manages to get out.

Above her, pallid, vicious lights flicker and stab across the ceiling from time to time—almost like lightning, if lightning were regular as a heartbeat. A very powerful force field generator perhaps. Or some unfathomable system of intimidation, brooding over all that lies within.

Beyond the stage, there is nothing. Just bleak, desolate, ebony rocks and needle-sharp stones far as she can see in all directions. There are no seats or an audience left, just a battlefield of lurking obsidian. They were waiting for her to make an escape so they could lance her as she raced for the exit.

Except she couldn’t escape. She’s tried. The jagged, pointy black cage she was huddled in wouldn’t break, no matter how hard she pushed or pulled on the bars.

Jane was stuck.

A scraping sound from behind soon alerted her. She spun around, pressing back against the bars on the opposite side, and watched as her captor emerged from the darkness of the wings.

Joan was a mishmash of scales and feathers and fur. The only area of human skin left on her body was her stomach and face, a pale contrast to the ebony pelt that now plated her form. She elegantly walked on her toes on hock-jointed legs. Talons curved out from monstrous feet—the cause of the scraping noise. Her hands bore the same hooked claws, while her shoulders were clustered with quills resembling thinner versions of the folded spikes running down her back. Wicked ram horns curled out from the sides of her head, pointing upwards, with pointed, feathered ears twitching below them. There, the twisted, barbed black Crown of Thorns sat regally, its wicked points somehow not getting caught in her short, messy, tangled blonde-brown-black hair. The Moonstone was on her chest, glowing a soft blue.

It was hard to think that this creature was once the sweet, hardworking, timid music director that used to help run the show.

“What?” Joan tilted her head at her harmlessly as if she weren’t a walking monolith of sharp points and edges and needles. It was practically impossible to know where one spike ended and another began. Henry somehow wasn’t disturbed by the snarled mess, as he rested peacefully, wound around her neck like a venomous necklace. “Don’t look at me like that. I come in peace.”

She raised her quills up in some kind of truce gesture, as her hands were occupied by some books and a brown paper bag. She doesn’t even need to set these things down to alter Jane’s cage, merely bobbing her head and causing the confinement to shift. The tops bloomed open like flower petals, curving downwards around each other so Joan can set the items down. Then, she stepped back and the rock tendrils closed again, giving Jane no time to try and make her escape. She didn’t think she would get that far, anyway.

“Go on,” Joan said, sitting down in front of the queen. “Eat. I don’t want you to starve.”

“There’s a surprise,” Jane muttered, earning a dangerous glare from Henry and a wounded look from Joan. She quickly shut her mouth.

“I’m not a monster, Jane.” Joan said. “Did I capture you and put you in a cage? Yes. But have I hurt you?” She waited, but her answer was just Jane looking away. “No. I haven’t. And I don’t want to.”

Jane says nothing. She keeps scanning Joan up and down, looking for an ulterior motive. Joan twitched her nose and then flicked her tail towards the items now sitting in front of Jane’s legs.

“There’s food in the bag,” She said. “And some books. To read. Thought you might get bored.”

Jane tentatively opened the brown paper bag to find regular food items- a sandwich, two apples, some treats, a bottle of water. She still didn’t trust them, despite their outwardly inner appearance and pushed them to the side for the time being. Joan must have sensed her hesitance, because she tilted her head at her with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” She said. “Oh! I know! This cage is too dreary, huh? Here, let me help!”

She shot to her feet on her weird, hock-jointed legs. Jane swore she heard the reshaped bones creak, but Joan didn’t falter a bit as she stood on her toes- the only way her body could hold itself up with its new physique.

Joan extended her talons and the Moonstone started to glow brighter, light zipping through the spiral pattern on its surface.

The bars of Jane’s cell began to expand outwards across the stage, gliding effortlessly through the flooring without ruining it at all. Several more petrified tendrils extended upwards to fill the new space so Jane couldn’t wiggle her way out. The ground then began to quake, and Jane watched in terrified awe as a pool-like shape opened up in the wooden floors. Glittering black rocks surrounded the edge and a spiraling pillar stuck out from the very center, spilling water into the trench carved away.

“There!” Joan beamed. “A...pool! And more space. But a pool! Really makes the cage more lively, huh?” She blinked at Jane’s horrified expression. “What?”

“I-I didn’t...I didn’t know you could do...that.” Jane whispered.

“You mean alter things?” Joan sat back down. “The Crown lets me control the rocks, but the Moonstone is what gives me the magic. I can do almost anything!”

A shiver ran down Jane’s spine. She backed up further, wanting to get far away from the creature before her.

“Of course, there are parameters.” Joan said after she’s poked in the furry cheek by Henry’s tail. “If you use the magic too much there are...consequences.”

Jane furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“You can turn to stone, for one.” Joan said, supremely bored at having to say it out loud. She was clearly disgruntled by the side effects to her fun powers. “I also heard the Moonstone could destroy the body or something.”

Jane winced, although she didn’t mind the thought of her captor turning into a statute for the rest of time. Perhaps kids would climb on it and mock it if that were to happen, knowing she would never ever get out. Or maybe it would get destroyed into thousands of tiny, harmless shards that she could dance upon in glee.

“I see.” She said after a moment. Henry was staring at her with blood red eyes. Her shoulders hunched around her neck as she struggled not to squirm under his gaze.

“But enough of that!” Joan waved her talons. “Just know that if you ever need anything, I’ll get it for you. With exceptions, of course.”

“So I can’t ask to be set free?” Jane said bitterly, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Joan nodded. “But I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.”

“You’re doing a great job at that,” Jane rolled her eyes. When she centered her gaze back on Joan, she saw that the girl’s hands were clenched and the quills on her shoulders were bristled up like the fur of a threatened feline.

“I could have killed you.” Joan hissed lowly. “I could have done terrible things to you, but I didn’t. And I don’t want to. But don’t forget that I can.”

Jane swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling sick. Oily, sticky dread was spilling through her like a tidal wave. She tilted sideways and dipped a hand into the pool, and the coolness of the water seemed to soothe her slightly.

“Alright,” She whispered.

Joan settled. The quills on her shoulders flatten.

“Good.” She said. “I’m glad.”

An awkward and tense silence fell over the stage like a thick smog. Jane was frozen where she was huddled against the far side of the cage, one hand still submerged in the pool, while Joan sat crisscross in front of her confinement, staring at her lap. Henry was perfectly peaceful, still woven regally around his ally’s neck.

Then, Joan’s head snapped up. Henry is jostled a bit; his tail slithers up and winds halfway around her neck for extra balance.

“I know!” Joan said. A new light was lit in her eyes, but Jane could see that it was slightly forced. She could read the girl before her like a book, as if the Moonstone has granted her mind reading.

Joan held out her talons and crackles of silver burst between her palms before swirling together in a grand show of sterling. They curve and coil around each strand of magic until twin beautiful milky orbs like translucent moons and a circlet made of silver woven wires with three ebony gemstones caught in the middle formed. She took them and then eagerly shoved her hand through the bars of the cage, giving them to Jane.

“There! Something pretty! I’ll have to make you new clothes soon, too. You’ll be here awhile.” She said.

Jane had been pleasantly endeared by the beauty of the jewelry for just a moment, but that was squashed by the last statement Joan made, replaced with fear that made her feel ill all over again.

Would she ever see the queens again?

Would she ever see her precious daughter again?

Oh, poor Kitty... She was probably losing her mind with worry and anxiety. Not being by her side and there to comfort her most be so daunting. She even found herself lost without the young queen there clinging to her hand or grinning up at her adorably.

“Oh my god, will you STOP?” Joan growled. “I KNOW you are thinking about Howard and it’s SO ANNOYING. Won’t you like my gifts for once?”

Jane tentatively plucked up the earrings and circlet. They felt normal in her hands, no throbbing magical pulse in them aside from their creation, but she didn’t know for sure. They still made her very nervous.

“They’re nice,” She said. “But Kitty is my daughter. I’m going to worry about her. She’s probably so scared...”

“NO SHE’S NOT!!” Joan suddenly roared. Every spike on her body was standing on edge and the tip of her tail was flicking back and forth in a very agitated manner. Even Henry seemed to be startled by her outburst, as he slipped slightly from his position and had to frantically wriggle back to avoid falling off. But when he settled, his eyes slanted into a slyly pleased expression. “She’s not your—your daughter! She’s just some kid you thought was interesting enough to take under your wing as if she doesn’t have everyone else’s pity.”

“She is my daughter and you will not speak of her that way.” Jane snarled, using her queen voice. Usually that would frighten Joan into submission, but Joan was no longer susceptible to such a tone.

“I can do whatever I want.” Joan struck back. Her quills rise again, tail lashing. “I could kill her, you know? I could kill her and throw her body into your cage so you can rot with her. Would you like that? Would you enjoy cuddling your precious daughter as maggots infest her and her flesh falls off?”

Jane can’t take it- she vomits into the pool set into the ground.

Horrid images flash in her mind and she screws her eyes shut to try and block them out, but they keep shoving their way in. Kitty headless, Kitty decaying, Kitty as a skeleton, Kitty bleeding from a slit in her throat, Kitty eviscerated and gasping her last breaths, Kitty covered in blood and weakly reaching for her- they all kept piling on top of each other, one after another after another after another.

“Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?” Jane snarled lowly. She didn’t know where to look- at the monster, at the rocks waiting to gore her, at the chunky green-brown billowing through the pool. She didn’t want to see at all.

“What do you think I’m going right now?” Joan smirked wickedly, fangs flashing in the half light.

Jane vomits again. She can hear the faint sound of Henry’s hissing laugh.

“I’m joking.” Joan chortled. “But no. My mother left me and my brother to fend for myself. But, ohhh, if I knew her now...” The form of a faceless woman coiled up from the ground. The rock she was made out of seemed indestructible up under Joan slashed out the throat and spews of red came shooting out. It looked so real, despite quickly dissolving in the air. Joan stuck two claws into the eye sockets. “I’d make her pay for leaving us. For disappearing with that slimy lowlife I have to call a father. They’re both—“ She punctuates her snarl with a swipe to the woman’s belly and magical entrails came spilling out. “—worthless! And horrible! And cruel! And the worst parents ever!!”

The woman is dismembered violently by the monster until she’s nothing but rock shards and fake, but realistic blood strewn across the ground. Joan stomps on what used to be the skull several times until it cuts into the soft padding under her strange feet.

She looked to Jane and froze when she saw that she was shaking with a horrified expression plastered on her face. And, like that, all her anger is blown away, leaving only fear equal to, if not more than, the queen’s.

“I’m...” She looked down and splayed her claws open, staring at them as if they were drenched in blood. She swallowed thickly. “Enjoy your gifts...”

She turned and disappeared.

Jane didn’t move for half an hour, and then, once she knew Joan wasn’t coming back soon, began to cry.

———

Joan curled up into a small ball in the large nest she had built for herself with her magic. It was situated in the corner and was egg shaped, made of woven needles of black rocks with an opening that she could crawl into. There, she lay tangled in the dozens of soft blankets and colorful quilts and fluffy pillows, crying into the fabric.

“I’m a monster, I’m a monster,” She sobbed, pulling on her horns.

“No, my dear,” Henry said languidly from where he sat on a large, pastel yellow pillow. He slithered over its length and gently nudged Joan’s head with his nose until she looked up. His tongue flicked silkily against her cheek, licking away her tears. “You are not a monster. You had every right to react that way. It’s the expense of being a ruler.”

Joan sniffled pitifully. “I-I just want Jane to love me...” She whimpered.

“Then why not make her?” Henry flicked his tail and smiled slyly.

“Wh...what do you mean?”

Henry tilted forward and poked Joan’s nose with his own. “You have magic, darling. Why not use it?”

Joan blinked at him before clambering out of the nest and walking over to the desk in the room she’s claimed as her den. She sifted through the mess on the top before finding a glistening silver and blue necklace. She turned back to Henry, who was grinning at her from the opening. He nodded at her with a flick of his tail.

Joan clenched the necklace tightly in her hands and held it to her chest.

“I enchant this necklace,” She murmured. “To make the wearer love me like a daughter.”

No matter what.

#evil!joan au #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fanfiction #sixfic #jane seymour #joan on the keys #king henry viii #henry the eighth #katherine howard #rapture rising

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askmyboys · 3 years

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Arvish

Here’s giant goat god, husband to Osmund!

| Name: Arvish

| Nicknames: Arv (only his husband is allowed to call him Arvy) or Vis

| Gender: He/Him, They/Them, or It/It’s (mostly mortals and the books used they/them or it/its and he loved both pronouns so he decided to use them as well)

| Age: Also old like Osmund really, centuries old essentially

| Height: 140ft

| Species/Race: Giant God God (he can also size shift)

| Hair Color: Dark Brown (Quiff Hairstyle)

| Eye Color: His eyes used to be Pitch Black (the colors of the eyes in this regard are KINDA lowkey symbolic? His eye color now Forest Green (you know he has them rectangular pupils) he has one scar over his right eye but he can still see out of it thankfully.

| Appearance: Let’s start off like we did with Osmund- Alrighty, his ears are the same p much as Osmund’s except the top is a brown color with white fur on the bottom, he’s got a brown goat tail with white fur on the bottom as well, his feet are hooves and he actually just has hands, his fingers for some reason have something that look like black ink smeared on them- it doesn’t come off either it just seems to be apart of his skin, he does have sharp black claws as well, he’s got horns but they are more like ram horns (got them BIGEM curly horns babey) he wears his wedding ring on his right horn actually (he isn’t afraid of it coming off, it’s not STUCK on there but it’s not just going to,, slip off or anything) BUT when he’s out and about for long periods of time he has a heart shaped rose quartz locket that he keeps it in and wears it around his neck (last I checked rose quartz symbolizes love, trust, and emotional healing)

His skin color? Well he’s honestly just tan- its from staying outside like 90% of the time lmao but given the nature of his world who WOULDN’T wanna stay outside in it (also bc i almost forgot, his beard is actually pretty fluffy looking and he also has sideburns- despite being a fluffy beard he manages to keep it looking well groomed as best he can ...never let the fluffy looks deceive you either, c o a r s e, coarse as hell) (also he’s got razor sharp teeth too, ...i-is he still a goat?)

Anyway- He wears one of those golden egyptian collars around his neck (mostly for Osmund who a d o r e s it), he doesn’t really wear a shirt or pants either, he has a long loincloth (it goes down his legs even, so it's kinda like a loincloth-dress esque thing?) he just didn’t feel comfortable with the short loincloths… He cut a little hole out in it so his tail could stick through as well, he has a bit of chest fluff, no its not hair its like ACTUAL fluff- He also has like a fuck TON of scars, there’s SO many scars all over his body, they don’t seem to be any fresh or new wounds they look like they happened a VERY long time ago…

He also has a few golden bracelets going up his wrists and some near his biceps as well.

| Personality: Well, let’s start with how he was in the past bc everyone loves remembering their past right? ...ahaaaa… Anyways- Arvish was a greedy power hungry god who’d do and say anything to get what he’d want, he’d manipulate a few other gods/goddesses here and there but the mortals? O h they were ALWAYS the easiest to manipulate, he was also hungry for wars, it didn’t matter what kind of war it was, when it came to war, he loved choosing the mortals over the other gods and goddesses because of them being easy to trick essentially, it was SO easy to start a war with them! Humans fight over the s m a l l e s t of things it would seem! And because of how much he loved war you know he was absolutely the leader in a few of his own, feuding with other gods/goddesses and mortals all the same, he l o v e d money as well, money was the key to power and succession it seemed, especially in the mortal world, money made it easier to control them.

He was definitely an EXTREME control freak, you either bowed to him or you defied him and defying him would definitely end in a painful death more than likely, he was p much evil, cruel, sadistic, and a very stinky bastard man essentially- He was downright awful ...And then some time later on in his life, he met Osmund, a peaceful warrior who’d only fight if he had to, it was definitely a cliche love at first sight type of thing but even then, Arvish tried to deny his feelings, he didn’t feel love or anything like that, love was NOT an option for a god like him, and love was a weakness, having feelings for something or someone had been considered a weakness! So naturally at first Arvish and Osmundus were into it, the two fought greatly against each other- The first battle Osmundus won and usually, he’d finish the job but when it came to Arvish…

Unlike most that crossed him and pushed him, he slowly lifted his sword away from the other god’s neck and told him to simply get out, don’t come back… Of course Arvish only mocked Osmund for showing m e r c y to one of his enemies, he should have finished the job bc this was definitely not the last he saw of Arvish, the two had MANY great fights and when Arvish finally won a fight, after he had beaten Osmundus finally, now it was time to finish him off so he couldn’t get in the way! (Cause Osmundus was one to stop him from his evil deeds, he was a divine protector after all) but… Arvish just… Couldn’t, the more the two interacted, albeit after fights, Osmundus even went as far as to offer him some tea and a sit down to read a book, after they JUST fought?! Osmundus always spared Arvish, he taught the god things even HE didn’t know…

...And that had all strengthened Arvish’s love for Osmundus, such a wise god… Arvish couldn’t bring himself to finish Osmund off, especially after the god had said “Well, you’ve finally won…! I’m impressed, you’ve grown stronger Arvish… ...Well, if you want to finish me off, I won’t stop you” which confused him greatly “I… What are you playing at you old fool…?” Os only chuckled “Nothing, I’m completely serious, if you wish to finally get me out of the picture, I’m not going to stop you… In fact…” He would have then took his sword and stuck it into the ground (not the black obsidian sword) and stuck it deep so even he probs couldn’t have even pulled it back up (its a landmark now p much) really, it was all the kind acts from Osmund that he had provided after every fight, the knowledge from books, the offerings of tea, and the kind words he spoke even after fighting so harshly that just eventually broke the power hungry god, he only offered a hand to Os “...Get up… I… I just can’t do it…”

Arvish even admitted as he helped Osmund to his feet, half on guard just in case this was still all a ruse to attack him unexpectedly “...You have shown me kindness even when we are the greatest of enemies, even the very first time when you had the chance to take my head, you didn’t… You spared me, you knew I would come back, you knew I would never have given up, so why…? Why didn’t you just take the opportunity to finish me off?” Osmund would only laugh at that “...Well, why didn’t YOU just take YOUR opportunity to finish me off? I even offered you to do so…” (damn, this turning into a fanfic isn’t it?) Arvish couldn’t deny, okay Os got him there and for the first time he laughed genuinely at that “...I don’t understand you at all you old fool… Such a strange soul…” after a bit though, Arvish was going to leave actually but Osmundus stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder “Why don’t you come inside, Arvish? We can settle down for the night and talk with some tea…” Arvish was shocked by this, shocked that the other god would even offer this after the BIGGEST fight they had ever had just transpired but Arvish for whatever reason took it.

Alright this is going to be waay too long if I keep up fanfic format, so basically after the biggest fight, Arvish and Osmundus has called a truce at first, Arvish would eventually start coming over but not to start a fight, no… He was just visiting Osmundus, that feeling in his chest never left from day one, but it only got stronger as time passed, same for Os it seemed, Arvish got taught the beauty of nature, how peace could be a much stronger asset than wars, how greed and power would only leave you feeling empty in the end and it had been true, even despite how much treasures he had stolen at first, he never did feel truly happy or anything, it was just wanting more and more and nothing satisfied him, and even the mortals had… Such intriguing ways of living life, Osmundus taught him s o much… After all this, Arvish became a MUCH more peaceful, kind, gentle, caring, and sweet soul… Even though the books and things speak ill of him at first (some books had been twisted to keep him labelled as the bad guy) most books tell the WHOLE tale. Now of course after all this, Arvish had admitted eventually that he had fallen in love with Osmundus and this was the first time he was actually nervous… He figured the other god would take offense, laugh at, or even reject him entirely.

Of course that’s when Osmund let him in on a little secret, he’s felt that way the entire time as well, and that it only grew stronger as time passed, same ofc with Arv obvs- but ahem- anyways- Os accepted the confession and the two had went on dates, strengthening their bonds the more time they spent together, and eventually when the time was right, Arvish was the one to propose first actually, and that was the MOST nerve wracking moment of his entire existence, even though he had knew Osmund loved him v e r y much so and of course he loved him back immensely as much, there was still a secret fear of rejection… However, this led to the first time Osmundus ever cried, at first Arvish was nervous that he had offended the other god or upset him so he quickly apologized but before he could even say anything more, Osmundus pulled him into a tight bear hug “...Yes, Arvy, I’ll marry you…”

...And now it was Arv’s turn to cry, this also being the very first time HE ever shed a tear, and thus the two became husbands, and p much lived in peace and happiness.

I know that’s long and wordy but I had to describe this almost fully for anyone to TRULY understand Arvish, its basically literally the enemies to lovers trope, Arvish gave up his war, power, and greedy ways for Osmundus in the end, he could have taken the chance to end Osmundus so no one else could stand in his way then, not in those regards anyways but he just couldn’t do it, so yeye y’all get the basic point

| Side Facts: Arvish’s world used to be barren essentially, there used to be no signs of life there aside from him and whatever subjects he had, whatever minions he had, etc- But those were just there to serve him, there was no forests or any beautiful scenery… BUT since Arvish changed his ways, his world grew brighter, various plants, trees, flowers had began growing, wildlife had started appearing even! Many things happened to his world and it was no longer barren, now he has almost infinite forests and meadows spreading ALL across his world, one of the forests even have a LARGE lake (when I say barren, his world previously was literally just, d e a d looking, it was nothing but sand n sandstorms mostly, no sounds of life or anything could be heard and the silence would be enough to drive a human crazy excluding sand storm sounds n the sounds of a literal god and his minions BUT shhh! And despite not being any living creatures there WERE skulls of ones)

Arvish has a flower crown that had been made specifically for him, it seemed to have been designed by the other gods/goddesses and even some demigods, it was designed specifically for him, celebrating his change and growth into a better person, however… His sins and atrocities of the past still haunt and plague his mind to this day, everything he’s ever done and said still haunts him, and sometimes he wonders w h y… Why was he ever like that in the first place? Osmundus usually knows exactly what to say and do when he notices Arvish spiraling, which Arv is very thankful for… Arvish never expects forgiveness either from anyone he’s done wrong, and to the ones he has even killed, he regrets that d e e p l y, he wishes he had never been… t h a t kind of being… But, to the ones he’s done wrong to, like I was saying, he doesn’t ever expect forgiveness from them bc even though he’s changed, he really doesn’t feel he deserves it, he’s caused so much harm, so much pain, so many bad things and he’ll take those to the grave one day.

(catch that god of death character I made waaay back when fuckin cackling at this man lmao, i dont even know where I put those gods’ descriptions and now I really wanna find em again bc im makin’ gods/goddesses/demigods and a whole ass world for them all) Also one more thing, this is in reference to appearance back up there but im too lazy to have to fix the text movin down a page n shit, basically- he wears a silver nose ring AND his nose is also black like the his fingers (he does have a bit of darker brown going up it, its kinda another goat-like nose, it seems like it should be painted on, you’d think but in fact it’s genuinely just something on ‘im)

#Arvish #my oc #giant goat god oc #original character

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

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Ectober Day 2 - Homecoming - We Welcome Back The Lords Of Chaos

Danny, Sam, Tucker and Valerie - lovingly known as the defect quartet - may have been held back one year but there’s no way they aren’t starting off their last year with dramatic bullshit. Because, honestly, they're tired of wearing masks and the lies. Besides, they’ve all moved to the Ghost Realm anyway, so what does it matter.

Danny lounges across the arms of a high backed chair, lazily swirling a half-filled wine glass of ectoplasm. Sighing up at Sams’ bedroom ceiling, “so we’re really doing this huh?”.

Tucker huffs from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, “might as well dude. It’s our last year to really throw Casper High through a loop”.

“And sources say, all the fuckers we should have graduated with last year will be there”.

Danny tilts his head down to look at Valerie, who’s repairing an ecto-blaster, chuckling at her, “is that your way of saying you spied on everyone?”.

Valerie just smirks making the halfa laugh, as Sam comes in the room. Everyone looks to her and takes in the deep red and orange knee-length dress made of felt leaves, dark purple under-bust corset; the arm sleeves long flowing sheer black and decorated in gold filigree. Black hair short and spiked, with leaves sticking out in places; her ever-present combat boots on, grapevines for shoelaces.

All three make a point of whistling.

Valerie kicks Tucker, “your turn to get dressed up, techno geek”.

Tucker grunts, “ladies first”. While Danny laughs, “Tuck fuck, you’re the one who’s going to enjoy this most. Parading around your royal ass for chics to fawn at”. Making Tucker groan as he rolls over and pushes to get up, “y’all are never going to let me live down that shit are you”.

“Nope”.

“Not a chance”.

“Wouldn’t think of it”.

Tucker just flips them off as he leaves the room.

Danny downs the rest of his glass and flips in the chair to be sprawled out on his stomach; chin up on the armrest and feet touching the floor. Blowing cold air at Valerie who sends him a dirty look as he speaks, “you’re not gonna take long are ya?”.

“I’m a girl”.

“But you’re well, you”.

“Asshole”, Valerie smacks him over the head with the butt of her gun, “but no, unlike you lot I’m not going all ghost royal to freaking homecoming”.

Sam rolls her eyes as she does her make up, “wait for prom, this is just basic lazy day royal garb”.

Tucker comes back in seconds later, a white intricately pleated kilt with gold trim and belt. Simple chain mail t-shirt and white robe, tied closed loosely with a silk rope. Topped off with a large bronze necklace etched with snakes and jackals, and wearing no less than fifteen gold, silver, and iron bracelets and rings; embedded with gemstones.

Danny, raising an eyebrow, “fucking speeding dressing? Is that a challenge?”.

“Dude no”, Tucker continuing to speak as he puts on a pair of sandals, “you can make your clothing appear instantly and out of thin air. Meanwhile, I simply calculated the highest rate off efficiency based on my clothing and accessories. You know, a real skill”.

Valerie snorts as she stands, tossing the ecto-gun on the bed, “I don’t know Tucker, creation and teleportation of damn ghost clothing sounds like a far superior skill. And less geeky”. Tucker makes a show of looking offended before pulling out black eyeliner and green eyeshadow; joining Sam at her vanity.

Danny flings over the chair, standing up as Valerie leaves to get dressed. Danny walks over to the vanity and squeezes his two friends' shoulders, “we are going to freak everyone out, now hand me an eye darkness stick”.

Sam snorts, handing Danny an eyeliner pencil, “drama queen”.

“King actually”.

Sam just rolls her eyes while Tucker points at her, “he’s right though. No one will be surprised by you, miss ooky spooky, but the rest of us? Just chaos”.

Danny snickers as he leans over them, pulling down at his eyelid as he lines his eyes, “poor Mr. Lancer’s going to have a never-ending stream of heart attacks this year and we’re starting it off today with a showy flashy bang. I’m surprised we even got Val to go along. The quartet’s truly complete”.

Sam smirks as she finishes off her lips with a metallic purple, gold shimmer layered over top, “I just want to see Paulina’s face. She couldn’t even afford Tucker’s outfit”.

“Isn’t she, like, a small-time model now or something?”.

“Yeah dude, for cars I think? Course she only stuck around Amity for your ghostly spandex covered ass”.

Valerie leans on the doorway after reentering, “well it is a great ass”.

Danny slaps his ass and winks exaggeratedly, “you mean it’s deadass drop-dead gorgeous”. While Sam and Tucker both turn their heads to take Valerie in, being the only one who isn’t some kind of ghost royalty. Knight was close enough to garner looking fancy as shit though. Having been knighted by all three of them.

Red titanium breastplate, waist plate, shin plates, and forearm plates; breastplate etched with black images of battling hellhounds, the rest etched with blood blossoms. Over top of a sheer black near floor-length pleated sleeveless dress, a dark cherry red silk knee-length long-sleeved pencil dress underneath that. Long curly hair pulled into a low ponytail and laying forward over her shoulder. Simple black titanium band rings on every finger and black dress shoes.

Danny makes a show of swooning as he hands her make up bag over. Which she uses to bop Danny on the nose with, as he leaves to change.

Shaking her head as she trades seats with Sam, who goes to sit on her bed and paint her nails black. Valerie only somewhat seriously asking, “so just how excessive is he going to look?”.

Sam chuckles, not even looking up, “good luck getting him to not wear a velvet cape”.

“My god what have I signed up for”.

Tucker snorts, “generalised suffering and ringing in the year of mischief”.

Danny dramatically swishes the vines covering the doorway out of the way, near shouting, “more like singing in the mighty reign of the defect quartet! Humanities rejects!”.

Valerie points towards his voice, “hey now, I still live in the Mortal Realm...mostly. I haven’t totally defected from normal human soci-”, cutting herself off as she turns around and gapes.

Danny’s standing there in a Superman pose, floor-length black crushed velvet cape with white plush lining; clasped together by two large green skulls, images of flames etched in pale green, and connected by a loosely hanging large blackened silver chain. Over top of a silk dark purple surcoat with black satin swirling embroidery, black leather double belt decorated with black spikes, and long-sleeved fine silver chainmail under it all. Black clawed titanium gauntlets and segmented knee-high boots of the same metal; both embedded with emeralds, rubies and onyx stones, at every joint and the cuffs. The whole ensemble finished off with a black leather choker, a green skull centrepiece with a large black obsidian ring hanging from its mouth.

Sam and Tucker start laughing at Valerie’s still gaping facial expression, while Danny slumps exaggeratedly, “What? Too much?”.

Tucker laughs hard, thankful his make up is already set, “dude! We’re going for street royal! Not ‘we’re going to the opera house’!”.

Danny sticks his arms out to the side slightly and looks down, “this is street royal”, plucking at the cape collar, “this cape is barely one step up from civvies”. Making Valerie finally lose it and start laughing her ass off. Wheezing, “you! You’ve been! Been here too long!”.

Tucker points at Danny’s shoes, “at least go for low top shoes and wrist-length gloves”.

Danny rolls his eyes and alters their length, before sticking in decent sized emerald earrings and giving himself black leggings, “happy?”.

Valerie shakes her head with a smile, “this school year is going to be a mess”.

Danny smirks, “perfect then. They have the audacity to hold these royal and knightly asses back a year then they deserve it. Plus”, pointing at everyone in turn, “how has no one figured shit out yet. Like this is getting sad, and it’s not like any one of us actually need the acceptance or even tolerance of the mortal world”.

Everyone sighs, “would still like it though”, before shrugging, “screw the lot of ‘em otherwise though”.

Tucker points at Danny, “really says a lot when even Mr. ‘Oh-Ancients-what-if-they-don't-accept-me?’ no longer gives a damn”.

Danny shrugs, “kind of hard to care when my folks and your folks, and maybe Val’s, are the only ones I’ll ever really be seeing again. And they’ve all accepted our crazy bullshit”.

Sam groans as she sticks her nails in Danny’s face for him to freeze-dry, “and lucky me, I get to be the odd one out in the acceptance train. But hey, it’s not like I ever actually cared. Not to mention Nana Ida is leaving the four of us everything”.

Valerie coughs, nearly messing up her dark grey lipstick, “wait, I’m included now?”.

Sam rolls her eyes, “duh. All of team Phantom is and you’ve officially joined the chaos”.

Danny smirks as he flops back down in the chair, “there’s no way out and nothing but dead ends. But rejoice! For death is only the beginning”.

Valerie squints at him as she finishes, “that's way more ominous than you think it is”. While Tucker gets up and rummages through Danny’s bag, lifting up their assorted headgear. Tossing it to each of them and smirking at Danny’s ‘simple’ three-peaked green crown covered in obsidian stones, “well at least this one doesn’t float, or burst into flames, or give off mist, or give off the horrifying wails and moans of the dead”.

“I’d like to actually be able to hear the music, Tuck”.

Danny adjusts his ‘small’ crown and admires everyone else. Sam in her silver elven like crown wrapped in ivy vines and leaves. Tucker’s golden band of coiling snakes and rubies. Valerie with a blackened silver headband with titanium black ram horns, green skull wrapped in vines with a snake winding through its eyes at the centre. Nodding curtly, “alright, y’all ready to go freak all our former and current classmates out?”. All three of them give devilish grins so Danny continues, “well then, it’ll be a pleasure doing this song and dance with you all”, nodding at Sam, “Botany Lordess NightShade”, nodding at Tucker, “Ranatheo Pharaoh T Duulaman”, nodding at Valerie, “High Dread Knight Rufescent”.

The three of them nod back, “Phantom, High Ghost King”. Before everyone bursts out into laughs as they hop into Sam’s pumpkin carriage drawn by three black horses with flaming manes. Deciding to save Danny’s skeleton procession and fanciful Litter, as their ride for prom.

They all agreed to arrive fashionably late, since being tardy was something all of them were well known for. So it seems no surprise to them that things have already gotten started by the time they get there. Danny’s the first to hop out and holds the carriage door for everyone else. A dude smoking outside going bug-eyed at them and coughing, though the quartet completely ignores him.

Tucker, snickering at Danny, “dude, you’re the highest royal of us all. The fuck you doing?”.

Danny smirks, “gotta take care of my underlings Tuck. And y’all are mortals after all”. All three of them flip him off before the defect quartet head inside sneakily; all of them seriously wondering how long it will take for anyone to notice them.

Valerie makes her way over to the food stand, which honestly seemed like a dumb idea to have in the same room as a high school dance. Munching on some cheesy snacks, there really wasn’t a Ghost Realm equivalent to this level of greasiness and synthetic cheese, when someone taps on her shoulder. Turning around to see Star with some curly-haired brunette. Star speaking with shock, “oh! Valerie?!?”. Valerie just waits and smirks into her drink as Star opens and closes her mouth before speaking, “why? How? Armour?”.

Valerie laughs, takes a sip of her drink and eats a few more cheesy snacks before responding, “yup, it’s the last year and none of you noticed just how weird we were. So we decided fuck it, let’s really be straight strange. And the armour is a status thing, Star. Kind of came with the whole getting knighted thing”.

The brunette speaking up while Star just stares, “you know, I heard there were some unusual people in this town but, uh, this is a bit above and beyond”.

Danny laughs from behind the two girls, “you really have no idea Brittney. There’s no place stranger”, making both girls jump.

But Star quickly collects herself, recognising Danny’s deep and rather unique voice before turning around and stopping. Rubbing at her eyes as Danny and Valerie laugh. Brittney nearly whispers, “how do you know my name?”.

Danny smirks and shrugs loosely, cape bunching up. While Valerie speaks, “oh don’t mind that. Danny knows everyone’s names”.

Star looks back to Valerie while pointing at Danny, “okay...What is going on here? Those are, that is a lot of precious gems”.

Danny waves her off, “these are my less decorated clothing. Probably the most dressed-down I’ve been in a solid month”, chuckling, “ah the joys of being royalty”.

Star chokes and it looks like they’ve finally started to get other people’s attention. Multiple girls are poking at Tucker’s finery, Sam looks to be arguing with some popular girls who took Paulina’s place after she graduated. Dash, Kwan and Dale slowly walking over while eyeballing Danny. “The Hell Fentit?”.

While Sam slips over, escaping the clutches of the younger A-Listers, “hey now, is that any way to talk to your future king”.

Dash scoffs, “Fenturd is no one’s king. What are you four pulling?”.

Danny laughs and pats Dash’s head, Dash goes to whack it away but goes through Danny’s intangible arm. Making Danny laugh even harder, smirking down at the stunned Dash, “I’m everyones king in death Dash. Well, if you become a ghost that is”.

Dale squeaks, “you’re a ghost!”.

Tucker tosses his arm around Danny as the two laugh, the jocks and girls changing to glaring at Tucker. Dash muttering, “what the hell”.

Tucker chuckles, “naw he ain’t flat out dead. None of us are. Ghost royals all the same though”, plucking at his gold bracelets, “comes with plenty of positives I’d say”, before flicking sand at Danny, who flicks snow back.

Sam glares and shoves her head in between the two boys, “how dare you leave me out”.

Danny points at her as she flicks leaves at them, Danny speaking with a shit-eating grin, “we’d never leaf you out”.

Star slowly looks back to Valerie, “when the heck did you all acquire powers and what’s up with the king thing?”.

Valerie chuckles as Star and Brittney join her in leaning against the food tables, Valerie replying, “like I said no one noticing was getting annoying so we’re not even bothering to hide it anymore”.

Danny sticks his head close and smiles, “if you recall, there was a point in time where the trio went from just the losers three to the weirdo trio. Quite a time that was. Ghosts popping up all of the sudden. The mad man king of ghosts stealing our town into another dimension only to be defeated and dethroned. Only for a certain someone to find out they were the rightful heir to said throne”.

Tucker joins in, “dude yeah, crazy shit. And then the school goes on weird field trips only for another certain someone to find their look-alike in an ancient museum while some crazy evil ghost awakens. And then of course, as things always happen, turns out that look-alike is the rebirth of the ancient ghost pharaoh and thus heir to the throne”.

Sam smirks, “and who could forget the time this dumb town decided to destroy all the plant life only for some crazy powerful ghost lord of plants to turn everyone into mindless zombies and fertiliser. Only for said ghosts to pick a certain someone as their queen and mother to all plants. Before, obviously, getting defeated”.

Valerie shrugs and smirks at Star, “and then what certain someone turns out to be a freakishly skilled fighter and ghost hunter, and friends with the aforementioned certain someone’s. A certain someone who only needed to share their secrets to unlock the door to knighthood”.

All four grin while everyone around just gapes at them, everyone in the room having gone silent shortly after Danny had started speaking.

Dash blinks before blurting out, “that’s bullshit”.

Danny rolls his eyes and snickers, “is that the ‘how dare you do better in life than me’ kind of ‘that’s bullshit’ or the ‘you are lying’ kind of ‘that’s bullshit’?”.

Dash glares at him and crosses his arms, “the second Fentoad. You four are weird but that’s it”.

The four exchange glances and snicker.

Star shakes her head and puts on a smile, “well whatever, you’re all here so things can actually start now”.

Valerie raises an eyebrow while Danny asks, “wait what?”.

Star nods to someone and suddenly a banner drops down reading ‘Respect, Protect And Never Forget. The Defect Quartet!’, and the music starts up in genuine, playing weird intense songs that are decidedly not normally played at any dances. Balloons and streamers start going off all over the place; most people breaking out into erratic dance, everything from the monster mash to the creep. One person appears to be doing a mash-up of the chicken dance and cotton eye joe. Anyone not dancing wildly in the whirlwind of streamers and flashing lights is leaning against the gymnasium walls watching the chaos.

Danny makes a show of looking like he’s about to faint, “they love us, they really really love us! Catch me”, before going to fall over.

All three others speaking in unison, “no”, as Danny just collapses on the floor.

Sam points at Dash who just finished doing the wiggle, “don’t you jerks hate us?”.

Dash shrugs, “Danny’s the only one I could pummel that would still stand up to me. Not to mention he never seemed to actually get injured”.

Danny blinks and tilts his head, still laying on the ground, “you actually noticed that?”, laughing, “sweet Ancients someone did actually notice something!”.

A couple of people who were just standing around come up, “plus you four are basically a staple of the school and town”.

“Your bullshit is Amity Parks hazing ritual”.

“You’re our mascots”.

Danny flings himself up and yanks the other three in for a tight hug, “guess we have to frequently visit our mortal lair now! Haha! The mortals have accepted their fate!”, before dragging them all onto the dance floor and all four of them break into weird ghost dances. The most ridiculous or over the top ones they can think of.

Danny’s bouncing around on his palms, cape dragging all over the floor and surcoat folding over his face. Sam is stomping and swaying her hands through the air like she walking through vines and pretending to have a seizure. Tucker looks to be doing a version of the robot that involves swords, bracelets jangling loudly. Valerie looks like she’s fencing while doing ballet, occasionally clanging on her breastplate for the sound effect.

The four bursting into an erratic mock fight as Freaks by Timmy Trumpet comes on. People laughing and eventually joining in. Danny notes that even Mr. Lancer, Mr. Lewis, Mrs, Testlauf and Ms. Trent seem to join in.

Danny shimmies his way over to Mr. Lancer, who’s now panting, elbowing the teacher who’s now shorter than him, “thought y’all would get back at us by making things as weird as possible huh? Try to shock us for a change?”.

Mr. Lancer waves him off, “as some would say, ringing in the new year and your last one”, standing up fully, “and yet you all still managed to startle everyone. What even is this Daniel?”.

Danny laughs exaggeratedly, “y’all only have the tip of the iceberg on our oddness. Literally in my case”, Danny swishes his cape out, snow falling out of it, as Danny goes back to the dance floor,

While Mr. Lancer is extremely confused, and then startled by Valerie coming up from behind and stomping her feet; making a show of standing ridged before bending over in laughter. Patting Mr. Lancer’s shoulder as she stands, “Mr. Lancer, you really should have expected us, especially Danny, to pull some shit. Out weirding him is honestly impossible. But hey, that’s the High King of Ghosts for you”.

Mr. Lancer coughs, “what?”, while Valerie winks and walks off. Mr. Lancer looks around, Samantha’s lifting a teacup made out of a leaf with a vine, Tucker seems to have a magically appearing red carpet of bandaging appearing in front of his feet and Mr. Lancer’s pretty sure he sees brown snakes winding around him in places, Valerie seems to be showing off a green and red board sword - where did that even come from? - to Mia, and Daniel is seemingly hopping around and changing the colour of the floor every time he lands. Mr. Lancer is officially both in awe and fear of what this year is going to be like. Watching as the Defect Quartet, which he honestly thought was a pretty insulting name for the group, all collapse in a heap on the ground; Daniel throwing his cape over the other three dramatically like a large blanket, while the music quietens down.

Star and Kwan, the previous years' homecoming queen and king, take the stage. Star grabbing the mic, “okay now that we’ve had a chance to adjust to the strange and bizarre again. It’s time for this years homecoming king and queen!”.

Star waits for the cheering to stop, though some are booing too, expected honestly. Clapping her hands, “so the votes were cast by everyone as they entered, meaning!”, Kwan holds up two envelopes that Star points at, “we don’t even have to wait!”.

People cheer and hold up cups while Star opens a pink one and Kwan opens a blue one. Meanwhile, Sam mutters about gender roles, stereotypes and colours.

Star smiling down at the paper and lifting up her head, “the homecoming queen is...Valerie Gray!”.

Valerie sticks her arms out to the side speaking as people cheer, “the fuck? I’m only here, like, half the classes?!?”.

Jesse elbows her above the metal, “but you have literally saved people's lives and not to mention basically taught everyone how to work ectoweapons”.

While Kwan leans into the mic, grinning like an idiot, “and the homecoming king is...Danny Fenton”.

Sam, Tucker and Valerie slowly look to Danny with expressions of mock horror, while people cheer. Danny blinks once, twice, three times before going stiff and pitching sideways, laughing and shouting, “you poor innocent fools!”.

Valerie sighs and grabs Danny’s arm, pushing up his cape to do so, and drags him with her towards the stage. Danny points behind him at Sam and Tucker, “chant as we rise”.

Sam and Tucker shrug and start stomping their feet, “before the armies, start the chaos. ‘Cause these boring skies will be no more”.

Dash snorts at Dale, “they are really going all-in on this act, aren’t they? Kind of makes me miss Highschool”.

“It’s only been a couple of months dude”.

While Danny bends forward to let Kwan awkwardly put the puffy homecoming king ‘crown’ over Danny’s actual crown. Valerie doing the same as Star tries to situate the tiara in between the horns. Star muttering at her, “this is absurd”. Making Valerie and Danny smirk.

Star and Kwan step to the side and bow at the crowd while Danny does silly hand waving; Valerie being more normal about it even if light is bouncing off her armour.

Star and Kwan hop down off the stage as Valerie grabs the mic and points at Danny, “the Zone were you all thinking putting him up here?”.

Multiple people shout at them about how they basically defined the town and school, were a vital part of the atmosphere and culture. And that Danny was basically the epicentre of it all.

Danny laughs and leans over the mic, looking at Valerie, “face it Val, I’m the perfect collection of blood, guts and other assorted candy store viscera”, before turning to the crowd, “Imma tell y’all a story. ‘Cause unholy guacamole, you have no clue”.

Valerie looks at him and snorts, “origin story time?”.

Danny just smirks before speaking, “you see, it was many years ago. Before you or I, but not really ‘cause I was here and so were most of you. I decided this reality wasn’t for me, space was always my shit. Hence why I get called space boy so much. Anyway, so I tried to aim for a better world. And then what happened? I accidentally opened a hole into the realm of the dead! And you know what I did? What I goddamn did? Waltzed in and screamed ‘Honey! I’m home!’”, clapping his hands before pointing them out at everyone, “and now I’m here with you fucks again, in a town known for its ghostliness. Which I am absolutely the epicentre, or whatever, for. So y’all want atmosphere, I’ll give ya atmosphere”, snapping his fingers making green mist appear in the air, “this year is going to be a dissection of weird for all to see!”, Danny leans against the podium, posture instantly becoming more serious, well sort of serious anyway, “but really, the lot of us genuinely debated whether to even stick ‘round Amity”, Danny laughs as multiple people gasp and some shout “no!” and “never leave us!”, most people just going along with the quartets dramatics at this point. Danny smirks as he continues, “this silly mortal plain can barely handle us, we are in league with the dead after all. But fuck it, this town’s dead enough for our asses and y’all clearly accept our shit”. Resulting in a bunch of cheering, even if most people are incredibly confused.

While Danny nods at Valerie to speak, letting her step up to the podium with a dramatic bow. Valerie chuckles and smiles at him before turning to the crowd, “so obviously I’m the least odd of the quartet. I’m also the only one that isn’t straight up accidental ghostly royalty”, Valerie shrugs, “up to you whether you believe any of us about our bullshit. But just keep in mind, we have been ‘away from town’ all summer. Take a good guess as to where. Anyway, let’s have a wild year and remember”, Valerie leans forward almost menacingly, metal wrist guards clanging on the podium, “this is your final chance to take us down”.

Danny throws his arm around Valerie, “and you call me ominous!”, turning to the crowd, “is our lives nothing but strange or just hard to believe? Question our behaviour but it’s never what you guess. So just let go of what you don’t know. You laugh at us and you laugh with us. But we can be anything you don’t want anyone to be”, snorting and laughing, “because we are humanities defects!”.

Valerie pushes him off the stage and grabs the mic, “he’s a drama queen, obviously”.

While multiple people whisper about how it seemed like the quartet are the ones who came up with their name, which honestly tracks.

Danny shouts from the ground, “KING!”, before springing up and adjusting the fake crown over top of his real one and smiling wide at everyone, “best boil my blood and gouge my eyes, for I’ll never learn to hold my tongue”.

Valerie shakes her head as she hops down from the stage, going with Danny for a dance, “you ominous bastard”.

Danny laughs as he takes her hand in his, “ah sweet sweet normalcy”.

While Tucker and Sam dance, snakes and vines weaving in a dance as well.

Mr. Lewis watches from the sidelines over the rim of a paper coffee cup, “you know, I thought aliens were the weirdest shit I was ever going to see”, shrugging, “but hey, at least no ones tried to kill me yet”.

While the defect quartet roamed the dance, confusing every person they talked to or stood next to or so much as looked at.

End.

77 notes · View notes

clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 6: There Are No Saints in New Orleans

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Come one, come all to the exclusive (even among the elite) event of the evening; a show not to be missed and sure to be the talk of the town for years to come. That's right, you'll only find it here at Persephone. Werewolf vs. Minotaur — to the death!

[READ IT ON AO3]

An old-fashioned iron elevator lines Persephone’s back wall. Pull back the metal doors and step in to crystal-clear glass without a smudge or streak in sight. It would be a nice way to look down on the club’s main floor from above — to take in all the things limited by distance and closeness.

But when Taylor sees the equally-clear panel that slides aside to allow the elevator to descend into a plunging endless black he rethinks how cool it is. Like, immediately.

They approach keeping close behind Cadence and Katherine. Ryder catches him looking over his shoulder and throws a subtle arm around his shoulder, whispers “keep your eyes ahead, you look like you’re up to something” in his ear, and remains at ease.

Some people just aren’t used to this sort of life, but thanks for the tip?

An attendant presses the call button on the elevator’s rigging. Summons it from the topmost floor in the smoothest glide he’s ever seen. There’s no way that’s just human technology at work.

Another attendant — similar, not identical — pulls open the grate doors where a third steps aside for them to enter.

He guesses she’s fae by the way her skin shimmers like glitter beneath the surface and the point of her ears. Doesn’t say anything just in case he’s wrong and might somehow offend them, but the golden highlight under almost obsidian skin is breathtaking nonetheless.

Though she becomes breathtaking in a whole new way when Taylor watches her eyes drift subtly to the signet rings on the hands of their guides.

She holds up a long-fingered hand before Ryder, Taylor, and Cal can join them.

“Rings, sers.”

Ryder jumps at the opportunity — cocks a brow and starts what has to be a prepared monologue; “I knew you’d ask. Wouldn’t you know, what happened was —”

“Rings, sers.” She cuts him off, unfazed.

He looks behind her to Katherine; already inside the elevator and leaning against the back railing. But it’s Cadence who steps forward, places a feather-light touch on the attendant’s arm to draw her attention.

How the towering man manages to look so unassuming is a mystery. Even his smile seems genuine — but it can’t be. Especially not from the way Ryder spoke to him earlier. If Taylor hadn’t seen those red eyes for himself he’d have a hard time believing the man was anything potentially dangerous.

“I can vouch for them, miss.” He offers.

Just when it looks like he’s disarmed her with his smile, the fae shakes her head. Though when she replies she’s kinder in tone; recognizes his status as assumed by the ring.

“It is my job, ser.”

“I don’t remember security being this tight during the Lunar Eclipse.”

“Increased measures due to recent events, ser,” she nods imploringly, “all for the protection of the guests, Persephone-assured.”

Taylor blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “We just lost our rings in one of the rooms, that’s all!”

But it’s not enough. She starts to wave down the other two workers. “These things happen, ser, we understand. However until your rings are recovered we cannot allow use of Persephone’s services.”

When Katherine finally joins the conversation she’s got a furrowed brow and a hint of ire on her tongue.

“Jesus, Nik, leave it to you and your new boyfriends to make everyone’s fucking lives that much harder.”

Everyone’s startled for different reasons. Taylor and Cal exchange glances, mouth ‘boyfriends?’ in absolute bewilderment. Nik looks ready to smother her with his sleeve it it’ll stop her current train of thought. The attendant’s cheeks go slightly blue with what must be their version of embarrassment at her vulgar language.

Only she doesn’t stop there. “Let me guess — while you had me and Cade waiting at the poker game you were… what, getting off in the steam room?”

And because he’s always been a sucker for improv Taylor takes Nik and Cal’s hands in his and squeezes. “I don’t really think that’s your business.”

“What, my partner isn’t my business?” she snaps.

“When he’s with us he’s definitely not your partner, honey.”

Katherine’s got a twinkle in her eye — elbows Cadence into action subtly while the attendant looks between them to see if she can settle their tiff on her own or if she’ll need backup.

“Like I care what your newest little toy has to say,” Katherine rolls her eyes dramatically, “but you kept us waiting then and you’re holding us up now! If Izzy’s gone by the time —”

“Pardon her,” Cadence leans down and apologizes to the fae in a low voice, “she’s had a bit of a night.”

“I—I can tell.” Comes the squeaked-out reply.

“We really don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Of course.”

“Oh come on,” jeers Taylor — now fully in-character, “like poker compares to what we can give him? You’re out of your mind.”

Cadence hisses through clenched teeth and lets the fae fill in the rest for herself. This doesn’t have to turn into a big scene. You only have to let them through.

She finally cracks; lets out a helpless little noise and stands aside. “We’ll have the spa searched for your missing belongings. Forgive us for delaying your — er — Persephone experience.”

The attendants are probably meant to stay in the elevator for the duration of the ride but as the three of them shuffle in — Taylor and Katherine now coming to verbal blows about some throwaway comment from “Miami last year!” — she worms her way out, presses the button for the lowest floor behind her, and helps her fellow worker close the gates to send them on their way.

Only when the glass panels close and plunge them into darkness does the fighting end.

He can hear Katherine’s smirk. “Not too shabby… who are you, again?”

“Taylor. That was actually kinda fun.”

“You really dropped the ball there, Ryder.”

“Hey, Kathy?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance.”

The noise is first. Cheers of joy and frustration and a distinct thudding followed by the clap-clap of hooves.

Then come the lights; less fancy and bright than the ones back on the main level but they’re probably there for an ambiance or something — part of the fixation the rich have with things looking shabby and poor. And through the glass floor it doesn’t take long for their eyes to adjust.

The last piece of the puzzle is the smell — old things like rust on chain-link fences and concrete that bring him back to the city for a flash. And underneath it the sour, coppery smell Taylor’s only recently come to understand is blood, freshly spilled.

It’s not just a cage match — it’s a bona fide Fight Club being held a couple stories underneath the wealthiest properties in New Orleans.

The crowd hangs in a thick mass of sweat and expensive perfumes around the center cage. Sways like the tide to keep their eyes on the fighters within as they rumble around their confines.

Up high they get a rare chance to see the fighting full-blown. Rare, and terrible.

Taylor barely has time to clasp his hand over his mouth and hold back his exclamation. Watches as the hulking stone troll — it’s not Krom, it’s not Krom, it’s not Krom — with geologic muscles pounds its fists against its chest and rushes at a startling speed towards the opponent.

The owner of the hooves is a satyr; half the troll’s height with horns included and stocky rather than built. There’s a chip in the curved ram-like horns and blood running down its face from a broken nose.

It stomps against the concrete — and he has to ignore the splatters of dried blood in various colors to focus on the fight itself — and braces. Makes Taylor want to yell for it to move because there’s no way it can hold back the sheer weight alone of the troll. He almost can’t watch. But it’s like a train wreck — he can’t look away.

The crowd erupts with noise at the collision. The satyr is stronger than it looks; holds back the troll first with its horns and doesn’t give it time to grab for the softer, fleshier parts before charging, bull-like, to push the heavier opponent all the way to the other side of the cage.

Then it goes dark; the hand over his eyes just a little clammy. The troll roars in agony.

He pulls Ryder’s hand away just in time to see the troll fall face-first. Thin, watery blood pools beneath it. His confusion doesn’t last long when he notices a jagged, torn edge of the caging bent into the cage like a spike.

“No weapons inside,” Nik explains lowly; like he’s holding some sort of reverence for the troll now being dragged limp by its arms from the arena, “but that doesn’t stop the resourceful.”

A shirtless duo, what look like a brother and sister with a beauty so striking it can’t possibly be of this world, enter and take the satyr’s hands to raise it up as champion. Most of the crowd boos and jeers — Taylor can see why when the money begins changing hands near the shaded back of the space.

“People enjoy this?” He can’t help it when his voice cracks.

“Violence is just another luxury when you’ve got enough money.”

The elevator grinds to a halt and Cadence pulls the doors open for their exit.

“Keep close.” Ryder doesn’t give him much of a choice, what with the arm around his shoulders, but Taylor’s definitely not arguing right now. Not with what he just witnessed.

Several steps and something feels off — missing. Makes him look around to find Cal a few paces behind with a sickly pallor and his hands balled into fists.

“Cal, what’s wrong?”

It draws the attention of the others. Katherine follows the werewolf’s line of sight and mutters more than a few expletives under her breath.

The walls are lined with (no doubt expensive) graffiti and posters larger than life. Some are peeling at the corners and bear ink faded with time and what might have once been sunlight. Now they’re almost relics of a bygone era — no, eras — of fighting.

Nearest the elevator has to be the most recent title match. Glossy paper smoothed down and tacked in with polished nails, colors still vibrant and with a large piece of tape bearing SOLD OUT across the front partially obscuring the words.

But it doesn’t take a genius to piece it together.

MARDI GRAS EXCLUSIVE!! ONLY FOUND AT PERSEPHONE!! MINOTAUR VS. WEREWOLF!! $5K BUY IN!! ASK YOUR ATTENDANT FOR DETAILS!!

Before Taylor can reach his side Cal doubles over and empties his stomach at his feet. They’re far back enough that it doesn’t grab anyone’s attention. Already the next round of bets is beginning and the mob is losing itself with greed and a hunger for blood.

“Hey — Cal, hey,” he rubs the man’s broad back as he gags up the last of his spittle, “we’re here, we’ll get Donny before anything happens. He’s not gonna fight.”

Cal rights himself shakily; wipes his chin with the back of his hand.

“How do you know — guh — he hasn’t already?”

He doesn’t. And doesn’t want to try and give Cal false hope. But his face says everything before he can try to put on a smile — makes Cal nod grimly.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

A gaggle of goblin onlookers herd aside just in time for them to spot the bouncers haul away the unconscious stone troll through a metal warehouse door.

Ryder jerks his head that way. “Likely where they’ve got all the fighters.”

“So let’s go.” Cal growls; starts to push his way through the bodies before Ryder grabs him and holds him back. “What the hell?”

Katherine clicks her tongue. “You don’t know what match they’re on. Storm in there now and every fighter who wants to be here could be back there waiting to turn you into ground beef.”

“But Don —”

“We’ve come too far to risk it now, Cal. Please…” The wolf looks into Taylor’s eyes — then his shoulders sag with a nod.

“Fine. Just until we see what round they’re on.”

Ryder lets out a low whistle that draws Katherine’s attention. Sweeps her gaze over to what has to be some kind of VIP corner with a poor excuse for bleachers dotted with better-dressed guests smoking cigars and being served by attendants.

Most of those guests are crowded around an older woman in all black. Set lines from an unkind tussle with the years around her thin lips and deep in her forehead. She doesn’t sacrifice her wealth for her mourning; and the high-cut thigh slit on her gown isn’t something you’d expect at a funeral anyway.

“Let me guess, Izzy?” Taylor asks as quietly as he can — practically whispering it in Ryder’s ear.

But he doesn’t get the chance to answer as Isadora's ruby eyes fall on their group from across the crowd. The same color as Cadence’s back up on the floor.

Oh.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Katherine scoffs; throws a dirty look back Taylor’s way before resuming her position on Cadence the vampire’s arm. “Don’t have any fun without us.”

With a tittering wave they’re gone — being let passed the velvet rope to Isadora's section and too far away for any of them to hear.

“What do you suppose they’re talking to her about?” He doesn’t bother whispering this time — knows they can hear him even if they don’t look his way before the movement of the crowd obscures them from view.

Ryder shakes his head grimly. “Nothing good. So let’s not be caught making it our business.”

Though the betters and onlookers are of the same caliber as the party-goers back upstairs, the ambiance of the space is just different. Taylor isn’t the only one who feels it, either. Every time he grabs for Cal’s arm to keep them all together he feels the shiver of goosebumps — the wolf within knows something here is inherently wrong.

Up above it hadn’t seemed like all that shining wealth could be housed within the same realm as the thing that had gone after him in the cemetery. Now, though, he gets it. This is the real world; all the paint washed off and costumes put away.

He definitely doesn’t find it as beautiful anymore.

An unseen announcer takes to a pitchy speaker system to let everyone know the next match is in fifteen minutes and that all bets are final. It incites those around them to start placing their final calls — jostles them like a sudden storm at sea.

He stumbles as a figure forces himself between Taylor and Nik. Scrawny shoulders like cut stones and a rusty mop of hair that ends just above a set of pointed ears suddenly turning to look at him with way too much malice for a stranger to have.

“Watch where you’re going, mortal.” When he speaks the fae’s accented voice cracks in a way Taylor’s all-too familiar with. It makes him grin despite himself and when the stranger takes an almost comical level of offense to it he laughs, too.

With no shame, of course.

“What in the blazes is so funny?!” It’s obvious the kid — god, he can’t be more than a teenager or… whatever that is in elf years — puffs out his chest to look a little bit more intimidating. Obvious and wholly ineffective.

Lucky for Taylor the only kind of people that make him look less masculine are preteen boys.

“I’m —” pause to breathe again, “— I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I…” No, yeah, he is.

“How dare you,” is the sneered response, “do you know who I am? When I tell my father of your impertinence you will rue this!”

Well that just kind of kills the joke. Makes Taylor look back to Cal who doesn’t make a show of hiding his curled upper lip.

“Whoa there. Calm down Little Elfen Annie, you bumped into my friend, here. So how about instead of empty threats you try an apology?”

Somehow the youth finds more of himself to puff out but it’s no match for Cal’s werewolf physique. He dwarfs the redhead effortlessly. And only then does the kid notice.

“Of course you’re a shifter. One of the impure, no doubt.”

Taylor gawks. “Hey, watch it. Now you’re just being a dick.”

“You vulgar —”

“You wanna talk vulgarity twerp you ain’t heard —”

“Oh god — N-Nik! Nik! Ni —”

They all three fall silent when Ryder’s calloused hand falls on the elf’s decorated shoulder. Makes him look up (and up) into the Nighthunter’s stone-cold expression with the barest flicker of fear showing through his bravado.

“Get. lost.”

Ryder doesn’t have to tell him twice. Though he does make it look like he’s choosing to leave — rights his blazer and mutters something in a lilting language under his breath that Taylor thinks he catches a bit of but, obviously, doesn’t speak so he lets it go.

“What the hell happened to ‘laying low?’” Nik scolds the pair of them. Barely enough to get Cal to calm down. “Put it on ice, Kujo. Before you get us kicked out and then no one’s gonna save your brother’s sorry tail.”

Whatever curse Cal throws at Ryder’s turned back is lost when the crowd starts cheering and chanting around the cage. Draws their attentions to the far end where the back door opens and a large, hulking shadow casts over the dim lit hallway beyond.

“We know you’re all buzzing for the fight of the night, folks!” comes the Announcer’s voice overhead. Cal whispers a “no…” and Taylor feels his stomach drop out from under him.

“But we thought we’d give the poor wolf pup a fightin’ chance. So who wants to see our reigning champion take on the as-yet undefeated Corbyn the Satyr?!”

All around come shouts and chants of “bloody him!” and “break his face!” — along with the odd “get me my money’s worth, damn goat!”

Then a loud snorting noise rings through the arena and makes a hush fall over the crowd.

“Min-o-taur.”

“Min-o-taur! Min-o-taur! MIN-O-TAUR!”

Soon the chant fills the air like a gospel. Draws out the god in question from the doorway in a prayer.

The Minotaur is everything and more. Just like in the movies but real; a real bull’s head on top of a real hairy body covered in mottled scars and wounds that fade into two of the biggest blackest hooves Taylor’s ever seen.

Atop his head are polished horns that, even from a distance, he knows could impale him without resistance.

The Minotaur stomps into the middle of the cage and raises its large arms. Encourages the crowd to chant higher, louder, faster. It revels in the sound of its name; tips back it’s enormous head and lets out a deep howl that actually shakes the metal of the cage. The crowd bursts into cheers like animals possessed at the sound of it.

For the first time Ryder actually looks worried.

“We gotta find that kid wolf before that thing tears out his spine.”

Taylor cringes at the mental image. “Jesus, Ryder, have some —”

“No,” Cal interrupts hollowly; never looks away from the Minotaur as it riles up the crowd by hammering its fists on its chest and bellowing in their faces, “he’s right. Donny’s dead if he gets in that cage.”

Just as the creature huffs in a group of faces at the front there’s a hot breath on the back of Taylor’s neck. Makes him yelp and jump sky-high away from the shiver that curdles up his spine.

“Hnn what the hell?!”

The perpetrator, a lemon-yellow goblin with a head almost as tall as his torso, grins his equally yellow teeth at them with fingers folded at his chin.

“Did Meerl hear right?” the goblin eyes Taylor up and down like a snack and it’s an experience he never wants to have ever ever again, “When Meerl was hearing that little mortal man wants in cage?”

Meerl (apparently) wiggles his fingers like long spider legs. “Meerl can make this happen.”

“Wha —” — nope, nope, a big fat fucking nope — “— no way, I —”

“Yeah, we want in.” Nik interrupts, holds Taylor back and snaps several times to grab Meerl’s glittering glance.

“How much?”

Cal snarls. “Ryder, what the fuck?”

“Shut up, wolfpack,” then he repeats; “I asked how much, worm.”

“Meerl only asks for small percent — small percent of mortal’s winning.”

“That’s assumin’ he wins.”

“Meerl can make this happen.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, yes. Come speak with Meerl — Meerl will make mortal rich.”

Before Taylor can protest any further Meerl starts off; pushing his spindly way through the throng just as the cage door shuts with the satyr Corbyn and the Minotaur locked inside.

He grabs onto Ryder in a panic. “What are you doing?!”

The answer he gets isn’t verbal — instead it’s just a look on his bodyguard’s face that (against his body’s wishes, very much so) makes Taylor’s heart do a backflip and stick the landing.

“Do you trust me to keep you safe?” Nik doesn’t take. Not this time. Instead just offers his hand cuts and all. He can hear Cal start to protest behind him and, farther up, sees Meerl turn and give them what he probably thinks is a sweet smile and a wave of his claws.

“Taylor.”

Nik’s voice brings him back to himself. What the fuck am I doing?

He hesitates… then puts his hand in Nik’s.

“I trust you.”

“Then come on.”

He throws back a pleading look at Cal — who definitely still opposes, but follows with a single nod.

Nik pulls him along in a secure grip to where Meerl waits. The closer to the cage the tighter the fit but they manage. All the way across the room to the metal door guarded by two suited stone trolls.

“Shit,” says one, and looks the three of them over, “you actually found one?”

“Meerl does good business, should not doubt Meerl,” the goblin croons. With a doubtful glance to his companion the troll shrugs and opens the door.

“Come, come friends,” Taylor tries not to let the goblin’s chuckling dissuade him from trusting Ryder as they’re led inside, “good business to be done.”

If he squeezes Nik’s hand a little tighter when the door slams shut, the hunter is a real bro and doesn’t mention it.

The thing about Meerl’s deal is that it isn’t a bad one in theory.

It’s Their way of keeping the fighting interesting and preventing people from accusing the club of rigging every match. Bring a Joe Schmoe in from the crowd itself and, should he win, most of the winnings are his. It’s a good return of investments for those who spend a little bit too much time and money betting on fighters.

And little Meerl gets a cut of the winnings. Not even half, not even a quarter! There would definitely be enough left over for the inevitable medical bills.

So it’s a sound theory — for someone like the Minotaur.

For the human going up against said Minotaur? Well yeah it’s a fucking death sentence; a warm-up routine for the hulking creature and an easy paycheck for the goblin whose job it is to bring in fresh meat.

Not that any of this is said out in the open but it’s obvious. Like, painfully obvious.

Which is why Ryder isn’t actually considering entertaining the idea.

Wait… right?

The fact that they’re led to a small room with only a desk and some paperwork should raise way more alarms on his so-called ‘bodyguard’ than his behavior would suggest.

Cal tries to keep out of the way; “I’ll wait out here, keep an eye on things,” but Meerl isn’t having it and ushers him in alongside. Closes the door to give them ‘privacy to discuss business matters,’ or whatever.

Doesn’t stop the wolf from nudging Taylor’s arm and jerking his head back out to the dark corridor. Not that they’ve gotten close enough in the—oh—three, four hours they’ve known each other by now but he doesn’t have to be psychic to get it.

Cal’s caught Donny’s scent. They’re in the right place at the wrong time.

The goblin scrambles to work; a fire lit under his yellow ass as he starts grabbing and shuffling piles of paper, packets, and waivers of various official pastels. Starts explaining everything in that hasty way one does when things aren’t completely legit. But Ryder eats it up like he’s just won the lottery.

Frankly it’s disturbing seeing him smile that much.

Before they suffer death by a thousand paper cuts, though, he puts his palm down on the already too-high stack of liability forms. His smile is so greasy it makes the goblin look positively angelic.

“I think this is a great starting point, Meerl,” he grabs Taylor by the shoulder and shakes him with camaraderie, “but this is my kid’s first fight — cold feet, you know.”

“Oh yes yes, yes Meerl knows.”

“So may~be you could gimme a few minutes with him? Help settle those nerves in a special way.”

It’s the wink that makes Taylor lean back. “Uh, excuse you?”

But Meerl is already stood and skittering towards the door. “Oh yes — yes Meerl sees this quite often, Meerl does. Give you, hm, say five minutes, yes?”

“Ten.”

“Six.”

“Fifteen!”

Turns out yellow skin goes sort of orange when it pales. But Meerl accepts with a huff and a nod. “Ten minutes, Meerl will give. Then new mortal will face champion — then champion will face wolf pup.”

The pop pop of Cal’s cracked knuckles as he clenches his fists echoes through the concrete walls.

“Or maybe the new mortal — er, me, you know what I mean! — maybe I’ll face the wolf pup.” Taylor jibes.

Any sensible person would take the way the goblin throws his head back in laughter as a clear sign to get the hell out.

“Yes,” Meerl’s tone is nothing short of placating as he closes the door behind him, “yes maybe—maybe…”

And though he may not be perfectly sensible, Taylor’s sensible enough to smack Ryder over the head the moment they’re all alone.

“Hi, yeah remember that ‘trust’ you asked for? It’s waning — fast.”

Maybe a little less so when Ryder scoops the paperwork onto the floor in a colorful confetti-like array. There’s no imagining his satisfaction.

“I got us back here, didn’t I?”

“With the sleaze-ball right outside the door.”

Ryder ignores him for Cal; “Can you track him from here?”

“He’s definitely close,” he’s almost breathless with anticipation, fear, worry; “he’s terrified.”

“I would be if I had to face that thing, too.”

Either the stone walls suck at muffling sounds or the crowd is losing its collective shit over the match. He knows which is more likely.

Ryder continues; reaches into one of the inside pockets on his coat and winds something long and dark around his fist. “So we’re all clear on the plan?”

Cal nods tersely. Taylor, not so much.

“Uhm, when was there a plan? Did I miss talking about a plan?”

“Jesus,” the hunter pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m gonna start calling you Rookie if you can’t keep up.”

Before Taylor can protest, though, Cal comes to his rescue. “Same thing it’s always been. We got in — now we find Donny and get out as quick as we can. And probably try not to get our faces busted in on the way.”

“And once we’re out?” He looks back and forth so fast he gets a bit dizzy, “You said Kristof was sending some of the Pack after him. Won’t you be on the run?”

“You let me worry about that. I’ll get you your Sage and we can part ways.”

Ryder nods curtly; flexes what Taylor can now see clearly as a thickly braided leather cord between his hands. “Sounds good.”

“No, no it doesn’t!”

“Taylor,” and Cal shouldn’t sound as sure as he does given his situation — not just the one he’s in but the one he’s going to be in, “hey — we’ll be okay. Thanks for the concern but… we’ll be okay.”

It’s likely Ryder’s keen Nighthunter-honed senses that spring him into action because any more time to delay and Taylor might just talk them into a newer, tighter corner than the one they’re already in. But just abandoning Cal after, well, after everything? It just doesn’t sit right in his gut.

“On my signal.”

He barely paints the fake smile back on before rapping his wrapped knuckles on the door. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

Is that the signal? No, because he doesn’t move when the wiggly door knob turns and Meerl’s scratchy voice sing-songs through the gap; “Good good! Meerl promises —”

No, the signal is the cutoff and choking gasps of Nik winding the bulk of the cord around the goblin’s skinny throat. Hands flailing, grasping for purchase where there is none while his tongue lolls out and eyes bulge even farther out of their sockets than they already do.

“Knock him out!” hisses Ryder through clenched teeth. Angles their dear friend Meerl over to Cal’s drawn-back fist.

The punch collides with a sickening cracking noise; something definitely broken in either the wolf’s hand or the goblin’s face. Taylor and likely the betting crowd outside would have all their earnings on the latter.

But just before he falls Meerl manages a single attack; sharp nails digging unforgiving into Ryder’s forearm before his eyes roll back into unconsciousness.

Ryder recoils and the body falls through the doorway just as Taylor catches the sound of footsteps halting. His heart stops — only barely starts back up again when he recognizes the distinct metal-tipped sound.

Cadence peeks a head around the doorway; pushes up his glasses before they fall off of his nose. Behind him Katherine appears with a long dagger in hand.

“Here they are.” Cadence announces with all the glee of a man stating the obvious. He catches sight of Meerl and quickly steps away from the long tongue just an inch from his boot. “Ew.”

He gives Taylor a slight wave. Entirely too optimistic for the current situation. Unsure of what else to do Taylor just… waves back?

Ryder, however, is furious. “Kath—what the hell —” he looks around them both to check the coast is clear, “— are you doing back here?!”

Katherine barely has time to return the dagger to a well-concealed holder on her thigh before Cadence pulls her in for a disgruntled side-hug.

“She was worried about you.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t need to,” he admonishes, “I could tell. Kept watching them during our meeting with Isadora — she noticed, by the way. So thanks for that.”

“You didn’t hire me to kiss her ass.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Without being asked Cadence joins Ryder in dragging Meerl’s body fully into the room.

Cal looks between them as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “If we’re done with the childish bullshit? My brother’s about to get beaten to death.”

He pushes past Katherine with nothing more than a grunt. If she wants to say anything she doesn’t; bites her tongue and probably everyone’s benefit.

Taylor calls out, “Cal, wait up!” and follows on his heels as quickly as he can. Doesn’t look back to see if the others will follow but he doesn’t have to.

Bodyguard, remember?

The corridor seems to stretch on forever. Open doors lead to empty rooms and closed doors — well — Cal may be in a hurry but he has the sense not to open them without being absolutely sure what’s on the other side.

They’re so far back he can barely hear the noises from the arena. All it takes is one look down to his feet and he collides hard into the werewolf’s solid muscle. Flails a hand out only to be caught by his strong grip.

“Here — he’s here! Donny! Donny can you hear me?! It’s Cal! Donny!” He tries the handle; growls in primal frustration at the lock. Starts trying to knock it down with the brunt of his weight in a frenzy.

“Donny! Donny hold on!”

Cadence and the Nighthunters arrive just as Cal lets out a bestial growl; teeth grit and definitely more canine than human as he gives a final shove and breaks a splintered hole in the door. Knocks it off its hinges and sends it flying inward.

Cal rushes in — zeroes on a dark-haired and twiggy kid pressed against the bars that hold him captive.

“Cal!” The kid cries, voice thick and choked with eyes red-rimmed from tears. His hands shake as they grasp for one another like sheer force of will can make the bars disappear between them. Cal buries his nose in the mop of dark hair and inhales deeply, lets something wild shift underneath his skin before it settles; satisfied with the scent of kin.

“Christ, Donny —” he pulls back and thumbs away a fresh wave of tears, “— you’re such an idiot! I was worried sick about you!”

“I’m so sorry Cal, I’m so so sorry.” Donny hiccoughs; tries to right himself like he has something to prove.

But how can anyone prove themselves trapped in a cell? One of a dozen on either side stretching further into the labyrinth underneath Persephone.

Taylor and the others follow in — no door to close behind them but they’re far beyond that now. Take in the state of not only the kid but a couple others who press themselves up to their bars in desperation.

“Please get me out of here!”

“I’ve got the money, I swear! Get me out and I’ll pay off Lady Smoke I promise!”

“Please, please!”

“I don’t want to fight anymore!”

It’s involuntary how Taylor turns away and into the newfound safety of Ryder’s shoulder. He can feel the shaking of the man’s hand as it falls on his back.

Katherine lets out a choked noise beside them. “Holy shit, this is…”

“This is too far.” Cadence answers; knows they were thinking the same thing by the way she’s left speechless.

His grunts of effort and frustration fill the room as Cal tries to yank off the door — instinct overriding common sense.

Ryder reaches out, tries to stop him, but ends up on the business end of those same pointed teeth when the wolf rounds on him with bright yellow eyes.

“Whoa now,” Ryder holds up his hands and shimmies down his left sleeve to show a long metal tool, “I’m just tryin’a help.”

“Cal — I already tried that.” Donny reaches out and his touch soothes the beast within. Makes Cal remember himself enough to give Ryder an apologetic nod of his head before stepping aside.

He huffs in silence like he’s the one caged, not his brother. But not all cages are metal, are they?

Ryder takes a knee in front of the door, starts to fiddle with the lock. Katherine takes his cue and procures a lockpick of her own to start working on the other cells.

Cadence keeps his distance from the occupants but looks them over with almost medical appraisal. “You’re here because you owe Lady Smoke on some level?”

A few cells down hooves echo and a woman leans forward; presses her face against the bars and peers at them through two swollen blackened eyes. The centaur leans down and rubs the tight muscle of one of her front legs — she favors it when she shifts in place.

“Some of us couldn’t pay up; others just not in time.”

“Were you given a choice to fight?”

She nods. “Again; some. I wouldn’t fit on her private floor, though, so I was just brought down here to fight.”

It makes Katherine let out a wordless, mindless shout of anger. She struggles with the lockpick. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s gotta be illegal…” Taylor tries. Only to be met with pitying faces.

Cadence shakes his head. “Not here. Though when it comes to Lady Smoke they’re lucky to still be alive.”

The centaur scoffs. “At least if I die in the cage there’ll be a body to bring back to my wife.”

It makes his blood run cold. “Who is this Smoke woman?”

Not even the captives have anything to say and that says a whole lot. Whoever she is she’s a part of this world that he doesn’t want to get involved in — that much is clear.

A thunk and Donny’s door swings open. He and Cal embrace without restraint this time and there’s such a heavy importance to it that Taylor finds himself looking away. Like he’s intruding.

Ryder moves on to the next cell and together he and Katherine work as quickly as they can to free the others.

Katherine sweeps the trail of her dress aside in front of the centaur but stops when a hand of bloodied knuckles rests over hers. Looks up into the human face with reverence.

“Don’t. I asked for this.”

“You didn’t. Nobody asks for… for this.”

“It was fight or let them take my home; my livelihood. It’s hard enough for the glamourless to get by these days. I didn’t want my wife to lose the roof over her head, too.”

Kathy’s jaw sets. “Then we’ll find you a new livelihood. Get you and your wife out of the city —”

“And where would we go?” Her laugh is rueful with a whinnying touch. “My family cast me out for marrying a biped. This is the only place we’ve found to call our own.

“Sssh, Nighthunter,” her thumb caresses Katherine’s hand gently, “no more arguments. I do not intend to die in a cage. And when I return to my love we’ll be free of the Smoke’s reins.”

“She deserves to keep her choice, Kathy,” Ryder coaxes her up and though his touch might intend to comfort her it doesn’t; makes her pull away as if in pain.

In that intimate moment Taylor was sure he saw a different person in her eyes. But whoever that person was — maybe caring, maybe mournful — she’s gone now. Replaced with Katherine and her hard edges.

“Whatever.”

The four other freed prisoners don’t stick around long enough for similar sentimental moments. Hopefully they’ve been down there long enough that they know their way out.

Donny, his hand in his brother’s like a vice, tries to follow them. “Let’s get out of here.” But Cal doesn’t move — makes him try again. “Cal, come on. I hate this place let’s go.”

There’s an unspoken understanding between those left standing.

It’s not enough to just open the doors. The cage needs to be torn down.

Cal sighs in defeat. “Well, they were promised a wolf in the cage. I can go — hey, what the—?”

They all watch as Cadence rounds on a metal heel and abandons them. Katherine barely has time to look back before hiking her skirts up for her dagger and following; calling out for him to wait for her to catch up.

“What’re you thinking? Cade? Cade! Cadence Smith you stop right there! Or at least let me catch up!”

Everyone catches up in time for Cadence to shove the back passage door open.

The pair must have initially gone through without confrontation — judging by the surprised looks on the guard trolls faces. One reaches out with a large sandstone grip but the vampire is too fast for him — moves faster than Taylor can blink and turns the tables with a grasp of his own.

“Oi — let me — GAH!”

He’s too loud not to be noticed. Draws the attention of the nearest patrons and from there it’s a domino effect as the mob pushes and jostles one another to try and get a look at the action.

The stone troll holds up a stump where his hand used to be. Looks down in horror at the remains of two limp fingers and the rest of his hand as a pile of sand. Cadence steps through the pile rather than over it. Leaves him to his agony without so much as a word.

Even the Minotaur — now alone in the cage and egging those still watching on with demonstrations of rippling muscles and the shine of its nose ring — stops. And that — that gets the arena’s attention.

In one last attempt to stop him Katherine reaches out; misses him by a bare inch and can’t stop Cadence from grabbing the announcer by the throat to pin him to the cage.

The seemingly mortal man is already red in the face from his work shouting. Lack of oxygen makes him almost purple under the flickering lights. Anger, outrage quickly melts into confusion then fear when he realizes his large and seemingly impenetrable guards aren’t coming to rescue him.

“I—gek—Can I hh-elp you, frie-end?” He chokes into his mic.

Before Katherine can lunge forward Ryder grabs her; holds her back. For her own safety.

“Cade — don’t do this!”

Her protest falls on deaf ears. When the vampire answers he does so close enough for the speakers to catch him — his barely repressed rage translates even though the static.

“Tell your audience your main event is canceled!”

And doesn’t that get everyone riled up.

“Wha—what?!” He covers the mic with a shaky purpling hand. “What the fuck are you on, man? Le-et me do-own!”

He falls back on his feet. Just in time to catch Cadence’s suit jacket before it hits his face; blinds him.

Cadence liberates him of his microphone for his trouble. “Though first you should tell them that your promised contender is nothing more than a child!” A jabbed finger parts the wealthy sea; Donny clings tighter to his brother as all eyes fall on him. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the werewolf that was promised! Not a wolf but a cub — who you would see torn limb from limb!

“And because I know there are far too many of you who aren’t sickened — nay, repulsed — by the idea of a child being mauled for your delight; to those I offer you this sobering thought! Not much of a fair fight, is it?!”

His words spread like a wildfire — dissent beginning to rile those who have shared money and hands through the night. Taylor catches sight of a man too late — doesn’t have time to stop him from shoving the announcer back against the cage with a shout.

“I should’a known this shit was rigged!”

“Hey, watch it pal!”

“No, you watch it!”

There’s electrical feedback as Katherine renews her attempts — tries to wrestle the mic from her employer to no avail. He brushes her off like a hurricane would a butterfly.

“Fear not, vermin, you will get the fight you were promised. And a fair one at that.”

He’s done with it now; shoves it into Katherine’s claws and busies himself rolling up his sleeves.

“Cadence — you’re not yourself.” And because he doesn’t know better she actually sounds afraid.

“How do you know?” There’s a dry laughter to his words. “You don’t. I don’t, either. But maybe this is it — maybe this is me. And even if it isn’t I’m not going to let a child pay a debt like a man.”

But Cal’s had enough. “If they want a wolf they’ll get a wolf! This isn’t your fight!”

“No,” and it’s with a foreign tenderness that Cal removes his spectacles and pries the single golden loop from his ear; drops them into Katherine’s waiting hand, “but neither is it yours.”

“Don’t let him do this.” Taylor tries to push his way through the crowd; but is stopped by Ryder’s hand on his jacket sleeve. He’s deceptively stronger than he looks. “Nik!”

“No, Rookie. We’re sitting this one out.”

Taylor struggles but to no avail. “But—”

“I said no.” Means it, too, by the end-of-discussion way he clips his teeth. “This guy is nuts, Kathy.”

And it seems the Nighthunters have finally found one thing on which they agree.

“Yeah,” she can’t — or won’t — look away from Cadence’s back, “desperation does that to you.”

When he’s ready, scarlet eyes fall on the announcer still shivering in place. Make him jump to Cadence’s attention.

“Open the cage.”

#nightbound #playchoices #choices fanfiction #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #cal lowell #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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joeyvoeman · 5 years

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Atronach Form Update!

When I first started writing Joey, I made a post about Joey’s atronach form, his culture, etc. While most of that post is still accurate, I wanted to make some updates on how his atronach form has changed aesthetically in my mind after writing him for a couple months. If you have any questions about it, feel free to hit me up! You might think of something that hasn’t even crossed my mind.

First off, he’s got eyes now y’all. My original design the top half of his face was missing and his energy sort of fizzled out at the top. Now the energy domes to create a skull shape and his eyes glow within that energy.

I wanted to portray the jaggedness of the rock he’s made of. It is smooth obsidian rock, but it juts out haphazardly from his body.

In my original drawing, I didn’t have half as much rock covering him either, and this picture is more accurate to what I originally envisioned.

He can also seal that rock off more if he needs to, so that this energy is just showing through the slivers where the rock connects. He does this if he’s weakened or needs to conserve energy.

In full atronach form, his hands and forearms are much bigger than normal, and almost more paw-like than the normal human hand.

THE HORNS ARE CORRECT THIS TIME!!!

His feet will disappear as he floats about a foot from the ground, allowing him to move faster than his normal running speed. But he can also create “soles” out of rock if he wants to be on the ground.

Lightning still arcs across his body (x) in this form at his will, but I didn’t want to ruin the design by attempting to draw it xD

Once again, I “drew” this by tracing a few different reference images. The main source is this skyrim atronach art on redbubble. I don’t know if that is the original artist, but it’s the only source I could trace it back to. I also used some official bethesda art for the legs and a regular old picture of ram horns for the horns. Just wanted to put credit were it was due.

#headcanon #about

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hedgewolf-hunters · 5 years

Text

Short story

Gonna give a quick glimpse into the Hedgewolf Family past. Note that this takes place when Bane is about six, Drake and Scarlet are four, and Inferna was recently born.

The old town, greying and falling apart, except for Castle Blackstone, the ancient castle made of a special obsidian like stone with swirling galaxies within the stone. The main barracks which is going through a construction process, as shown by the large plastic tarp spliting a portion of the left most wing from the rest of a modern mansion. And the arena which seems to be in pristine condition, fresh red stones and all the torches around its outer and inner walls lit.

"Bane Wyvern Darkos! Get your tail back here with that ham!" A female voice calls out from the mansion/barrakcs. A five foot tall red dragon comes barreling out the front doors with a half cooked ham in its mouth. It opens its wings and leaps up onto one of the old roof's. Looking back its bright blue eyes sparkle at a group of amber and blue eyes. It smirks as it runs off deeper into town loosing tiles from the roof's.

Once it was a good distance from the house the dragon plopped the ham into its claws before sitting down and beginning to change into a two foot tall hedgewolf. The same red scales are now fur and quills. His horns have become two of his top quills with his devil horn like ears in front of them. Two quills going back normally and his two bottom quills behind his tan cheeks curving downward than back up at his face like rams horns. A small tuft of fur like hair standing up at his forehead. Fingerless gloves getting greasy from the meat and combat boots on his feet. His tail shrinks down from the long lizard tail to that of a wolf. His sky blue eyes shine as he lips his lips looking at the ham. His stomach growling rather loudly for someone of his size.

Bane finally sunk his teeth into the delicious looking ham and took a large chunk out from it. He chewed for a bit with a smile on his face than it went sour slowly as he spit the chunk back out. Instead of the redish pink of the ham in his hands it was now devoid of color and looked like grey matter. Bane growls glaring before he tosses the ham as hard as he can back the way he came.

"Whoa! Nice arm son, i see your weight training and practicing with Hyleia is getting better." A male hedgehog says stepping up next to Bane. His fur is a deep purple with serrated steel looking quills. He wears a black and red gi with a samuri sword at his hip and a pair of tabi on his feet. Bane glances up at the four and a half foot tall hedgehog than goes back to glaring across the abandoned city.

"Somethings the matter. What is it my young child?" The hedgehog asks. Bane huffs and pulls his face into his arms and knees up to his chest gesturing over to the pile of food he spat up. His father Strider looks at the pile confused for a second.

"What about the pile." Strider asks.

"I cant eat or taste anything these past two weeks. I try and it always comes back up, looking like that. Ive barely had anything filling now. Ive been sneaking Aunties protien bars for snacks but they dont do it anymore. I took the ham hoping to get something in my stomach but it just tastes like bile after the first few bites." Bane cries softly into his little enclosed space. His father hums softly to him and rubs his back between the two large spines. He sits there and lets Bane cry out his frustrations.

Half an hour later Bane is passed out sniffling in his sleep. Strider is petting his head as he rests in his fathers lap.

"Strider is he doing any better?" A cherry red four foot tall wolf asks coming up behind them. Her hair like fur is in a mohawk with a braid that reaches her lower back. Shes wearing a sleeveless leather jacket with biker gloves a grey pair of jeans and knee length boots.

"Yes Sky my dear, he hasn't cried this much since he nearly burnt down the house two years ago." Strider says to the wolf. Her sea blue eyes glance down to her eldest son and she kneels down next to her husband leaning against his shoulder. She takes over petting Bane's head as Strider wraps his arm around hers.

"We should call in Doctor Sylvain." Sky says.

"No Sky, you know how i feel about that man. Not to mention our own son has a distaste for him. Besides if worse comes to worse Aura should be able to figure out whats wrong with him after a few potions." Strider says.

"Strider i trust your sister and i dont like him either. But if Bane is sick or worse we need someone who can find out a little sooner than that." Sky says turning her attention to Stirder. He turns to her and his amber eyes glow as the black and white stripes on his quills do. Her own blue stripes under her eyes glow as well. He sighs and kisses her head.

"Fine we call him in the morning. But he does a routine check up and thats it." Strider says resting his head on hers. She smiles and pets his cheek.

"Good now lets get Bane back inside before he catches a cold out here." Sky says getting up. Strider hands the sleepy Bane to her so he can get up. But something odd happens when Bane touches his mothers arms. She has to kneel and hold him at arms length as she quickly runs out of breath and her own color started fading grey.

"That was a odd feeling." Sky panted out. She looks like she had just run several marathons and almost dehydrated. Strider picks up Bane and helps Sky lean on his shoulder.

"Maybe we should have the Doc check you out too. Its been five months since you blessed us with a fourth child but you shouldnt be this drained still." Strider says as they hop down two stories to the ground and walk back to the manor.

The next day Sky is preparing breakfast and seems to be at full strength again. She turns off the six stoves as she plates eggs, bacon, crescent rolls, and fruit slices (for the children). She puts her index and thumb inter her lips and makes a whistle loud enough for everyone to hear over the chaos of a noisey Saturday morning. A female dark purple hedgehog walks in wearing a sports top and shorts. Her quills tied into a pony tail that still reaches her thighs, with a similar stripe pattern Strider. Shes carrying a bottle feeding light pink hedgehog with three short quills snuggled into a bundle.

"Morning Aura, thanks for taking care of Inferna this morning." Sky says setting a plate down for her.

"No problem dear, after all what are sister in laws for." The hedgehog says. Sky smiles and pets her the light pink hedgehog head.

"Have you seen where my other three little pups disappeared too?" Sky asks. Aura shakes her head before both are clanching their teeth as a shreik fills the house. Shortly after a small maroon wolf looking boy with two small quills growing out the sides of his head in socks and fresh gloves runs through a wall laughing as he hides under the table.

"Oh no." Sky groans as a scalret wolf faced hedgehog comes barging into the room through the door.

"Momma! Drake hoked a luge into my hair!" The little girl exclaimed as she showed where the snot covered spit sat in her hair between her jer ears. The purple hedgehog does a spit take and chokes down her food in her mouth to catch her breath.

"Drake why would spit in your sisters hair?!" Sky exclaims as she grabs a napkin and trys cleaning it out her hair.

"Scarlet said she needed some gel to hold it back for practice today. So i thought to give her some." Drake giggles out from under the table. Scarlet glares at her twin under the table.

"Oh lady death give me strength. Drake we told you to stop these pranks so early in the morning. For that your Aunt Aura is training you today." Sky says. Drake rushes out the table and looks up at his mother with puppy eyes. Scarlet is now grinning.

"No Drake, you wont listen the first three times this will be your punishment. You ok with that Aura? Bane is basically doing strentgh and basics today anyway right?" Sky asks. Aura nods and sips some coffee from her cup.

"Yeah a few hundred laps to start should get the point across than some hand to hand for the rest of the day." Aura says.

"Morning ladies, Drake, i see your getting into trouble already. Well have fun with Auntie today. So is Bane up yet?" Strider asks taking a seat. Drake and Scarlet shake their heads making Sky and Strider turn to each other worried. Strider gets up and leaves a purple streak across the dining room running up to the second floor where the rooms are located and stops in front of the door marked with claw marks and Bane carved into a piece of steel. He forces the locked door open and looks down to find a greying Bane curled up on the floor with a small spatter of blood coughed up on the floor. Cursing under his breath he scoops up Bane in his arms and runs downstairs.

"Sky call the doc tell him im coming in now and i have no time to waste." Strider says showing their eldest to her. Sky drops her plate and runs to the kitchen as Strider kicks into high gear and tears through the house and out the front door leaving slight burn marks across the floor.

Five minutes later nearly forty kilometers away in the city Trinitad a fox with a half sliced ear hangs up his phone. His fur is a bright orange and he is fuller in a round sense. Wearing a green turtleneck sweater and a white lab coat rounded black dress shoes and white gloves. He walks out to the front office.

"Sheryl dear we have an old patient coming in. Mrs. Darkos said her son isnt doing well. Could you please seat them and let them know ill be right out." The male fox says. A white female fox turns to him and nods. Dressed in a knee length flowing skirt, a blue blouse and one inch heels. Her grey eyes look dull from lack of sleep while his emerald eyes are the bright and awake.

"Your a little late on that one." Strider says from the door. He walks in carrying the raggedly breathing Bane. Both of them bolt up to look over Bane in Strider's arms.

"When did this happen?" Sylvain asks. Strider walks over and places him on the bed.

"This morning, last night he was complaining about not being able to eat anything and feeling sick every morning." Strider says turning with a grimace towards the doctor who has a sly smirk on his face.

"Heh i knew this was bound to happen without treatment." Slyvain says with a smirk. Strider grits his teeth and grabs the hilt of his sword in one hand and the foxes fat throat in the other.

"Now ive let it slide for the last five years of what you have been doing to my son because it kept him with us. I was even willing to come back here for treatment because he is deathly ill and you would know whats happening to him. So tell me whats wrong with him and what you can do or else i will make your blood boil inside your veins and come from every pore on your body!" Strider exclaimed pinning the fox to a wall. He struggles for a few seconds trying to regain a little air from the deadly grip on his throat.

"Its chaos deficiency." He gasps out before strider drops him to the ground.

"Your son has a severe case of Chaos energy deficiency. I dont know why all i know is that he needed more energy than his body had so i injected him with Chaos energy rich supplements. When you pulled him from the visits a little year ago i knew sooner or later his body was going to run out of the energy he stored so far. This is the end stages of his energy hitting bottom." Sylvain gasps out catching his breath.

"Still doesnt explain while he has been spitting up grey food stuffs, or how you can help him." Strider growls out beginning to pull his katana from its sheath. While strider was handiling her husband and boss Sheryl decided to clean up bane a little, wiping the blood and what not from his mouth and fur. Leaning over him a necklace she has hidden under her top touches Bane. The necklace is made of gold and Chaos jewels, gemstones that have a very finite chaos energy charge stored within. As the jewels pass over him Bane gasps and coughs violently as the energy is sapped from the jewels and into Bane visibly by a green smoke trailing into him from the jewels placement. He regains his color and begins breathing normally as he remaims asleep now.

Both men turn as soon as Bane began coughing. Strider watches in hopeful interest while Sylvain watches in mock interest at the show.

"Sheryl how did you do that?" Strider asks her in a hushed tone not wanting to wake Bane at the moment. She backs up as the last wisps of energy leaves the stones.

"I didn't. I cleaned him up and his body just started collecting energy on its own." She says. Before anymore questions can be asked a female voice begins a zslow maniacal chuckle. Banes fur turns from red to black, his fur hardens into scales, his quills recede into his body leaving the two horn like quills to turn into actual horns. His body grows a foot and a half with his claws becoming sharper and his hair growing longer till it reaches the small of his back. He slowly sits up as his body changes from male to female with a small bust. A old looking white tunic appears to cover her as the body finishes its changes with the eyes, turning from sky blue to blood red. Her muzzle is slightly longer with teeth protruding slightly from the top down.

Once the change is done everyone takes a step back away from the now felmale dragon. She chuckles lightly smiling as she rotates her neck.

"Mmmm, that nap was good. Six years of being half and half really did help." The female says nreathing a sigh of relief as the pressure in her neck loosens. She bends down to touch her toes and then leans back getting several pops from her bones.

"Who are you and what have you done with my son!?" Strider exclaims holding his katana again ready to strike. She smirks and looks at him through one eye.

"Oh relax Strider, your son is perfectly fine. Hes currently taking his own nap inside of me as i was doing him." She says stretching her arms.

"What do you mean napping inside of you like you were him?" The doctor asks.

"You can keep your damned trap shut lard lad, the way you treated this boy was bad enough i might just retaliate for the family. Otherwise to answer your question, what did you think was gonna happen injecting the boy with repeated doses of my blood? You think it wasnt strange that the dragon blood you had only worked on him and none of the other children you tried using it on?" She asks with a sly smirk. Strider glares at the fat fox ready to take his head in a single stroke.

"Mind if i ask what your name is miss?" Sheryl asks. The dragon turns to her something of pity or regret for her flickers in the dragons eyes.

"My name is Drain. I was a cosmic dragon that died in my sleep so to speak and i can tell you more about the boys condition better than anyone else could." She says.

(Thats the end of this story. Whoof i didnt expect to keep going this long. But i know this isn't alot about the entire family, each short story will be about a family member in general as this one was about Bane mostly and one of his more dangerous abilities. To make this short its called a chaos siphon and it allows him to take store and redistribute chaos energy. He also can switch out with drain at a moments notice if his own energy levels are too low. He can only absorb through contact such as skin to skin/fur to fur or pulling energy from a jewel filled with energy. It also has a limit which triggers an overdose sending him into a hyperactive feral state or creating an armor and weapon set of the energy hes taken. Well i hope you all enjoyed it anyway.)

#sonic au #sonic oc #ask blog #my ocs #short story

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nautiscarader · 5 years

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Claudia/Callum/Rayla Aphrodisiac/Sex Pollen

Optimizing...

want to at least finish some of the late prompts before I open next ones :)

Hope you anons enjoyed it!

Callum/Rayla/Claudia, E

(Ao3)

In the middle of the night, a sharp cry pierced through the air, as Rayla was no longer able to contain the pleasure burning within her. She arched her body and let out a wail, as her orgasmic high consumed her for the third time in the last twenty minutes, leaving her an even more of a quivering, writhing mess than she already has been. But she was far from done, all thanks to her two energetic lovers.

Claudia’s strap-on, equipped with a fake cock made form rare, magical obsidian than was simultaneously both rock hard and flexible under teh slightest touch, filled her to the brim, leaving Callum to satisfy her back entrance, a job he was performing as admirably as ever. Neither of he two humans knew exactly what drove them to the spontaneous sex marathon that put Rayla in between them, but at some point, hen they simply couldn’t stop themselves from diving into their friend, they both started to suspect something magical was afoot.

But it mattered not for now; the three young adventurers had only one thing on their mind, and it was to give their Moonshadow elf as much pleasure as possible, and aside from the impaling her every few seconds, they made sure to complement the pure rawing by caressing her and soothing her body. Rayla was able to rest on Claudia’s vast bosom, occasionally sucking on her nipples, while the human sorceress often interrupted her to kiss her modest breasts as well. Her neck and shoulders were peppered with butterfly kisses from Callum, if he wasn’t at the time huffing from the physical challenge Rayla subjected them to. But it was her sex that got most attention. Both Rayla and Callum sneaked their hands to perform as much of their own magic around her clit and folds as they could, and even though their moves were uncoordinated, it only added to the crazy, hazed rendezvous they were having.

With Rayla’s body pressed between Claudia’s and Callum’s, she felt as she was levitating, bouncing up and down whenever their lovers pushed forward. The other end of the magical strap-on stimulated Claudia’s pussy the same way as hers, and with help from Rayla’s fingers, there was a chance that this time, Claudia would reach her peak with her girlfriend. Sensing this, Rayla cupped her face and brought her lips to hers, a second before two moans started sipping into their mouths, and their bodies quaked in unison, coating their fingers with copious juices.

Callum, for once, was the last to climax; his two moaning, shivering girlfriends collapsed onto him, and that literally pushed him to the edge, and he came, filling Rayla’s ass with jets of his warm cum. The three quivering lovers jerked in unison for quite a while, exchanging hasty kisses, feeling that the next round was just around the corner. But first, both Callum and Claudia had to confront Rayla.

- Rayla… - Claudia huffed, reluctantly breaking the kiss - That tea… it had something in it, didn’t it? - Why don’t you ask Callum? - Rayla raised her brow - I brewed him a tea from elvish maca roots when we were in Xadia once…

Callum’s face, already red from exhaustion, suddenly got more crimson, and his eyes widened, when he remembered the peculiar taste was still lingering in his mouth. Vivid imagery of Rayla bouncing on his cock, trying to milk him of all of his seed, and them getting pressed against their makeshift bedding, as Callum rammed himself inside her came back, as he finally understood what made them so horny.

- Wasn’t easy growing it in this climate. - Rayla added, with an unmistakable pride in her voice - But I guess it was worth it, wasn’t it?

She turned her head, addressing Callum, but her boyfriend was looking at Claudia, with a sly smirk on his face. The next thing she knew, Rayla was pulled into the air, and four hands turned her around, this time facing Callum, or rather his cock, now free of the skinned bladder he was using for hygiene protection. CLaudia kept a strong grip on her hands, twisted to her back, while Callum’s fingers closed on her horns, giving Rayla the answer she was looking for.

#claudia/callum/rayla #callum/rayla/claudia #callum #claudia #rayla #lemon #nautiscaraderfics

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littleapocalypsekitten · 2 years

Text

To the Wolves

Summary: In a small kingdom-city nestled among mountains, the people wait in fear. The neighboring kingdom-cities have been ravaged. A plague is coming. The Wolves will be here any day now. The kings and priests, in deciding what to do about it, decide that a sacrifice is in order. Are they going to render it? Pah! Since when have the wealthy and the powerful been willing to sacrifice anything? Unlike other plagues, however, this one has a will of its own and a sense of judgement. What will come of it?

To the Wolves The church bell sent out seven peals for the Seven Gods in Traad, the last of the seven mountain city-states. The people of Traad were, in general, very pious. They were also surrounded by wolves. The beasts that the people feared were no ordinary animals. There were the standard, four-legged kind of wolves that roamed the surrounding forest, but the creatures that Traad entreated the gods against were man-beasts. Their howls echoed off the snowy stones of the Fortress Mountains, long and loud and something not-quite-mere-animal. Their heads were crowned with horns and their eyes shined in the dark. They were rather easy to spot in the daytime for those travelers and hunters who’d lived to tell the tale of a sighting. Unlike the four-footed animals that bore the same common-name, the horned wolves were brightly-colored. Scholars offered their theories about this – mostly having to do with the colorblindness of most of their prey. Bright pinks and reds likely didn’t register to the eyes of most herbivores, while the blues and greens likely blended into the surrounding foliage. Humans were prey, but being able to sight a man-beast wolf easily hardly mattered in their case. If you saw one, it most likely had seen you first and if it was hungry, it would overwhelm you with superior speed and sheer brute force. They were not shapeshifters, nor were they, by anyone’s knowledge, born of humankind, and so were not the werewolves of other lands’ legends. They were considered man-beasts because they walked on two legs (although they also loped on all fours) and they had a kind of civilization. No one in Traad had ever been to any cities that they owned, but they appeared to have some kind of a tribal society. They wore no clothing, their fur sufficing for their needs. Males had horns that curved around similar to those of a ram while the horns of females simply curved back like scimitars – or like the horns of an ibex. The women among the man-beasts also had two tails. They were studied as much as they could be from a respectful distance. Traad raised their prayers to the gods, for it seemed all they could do now. They were the last of the cities in what used to be a federation of small kingdoms before the wolves came. Six cities fell to ravenous jaws and slashing claws, stone spears and obsidian swords. Rhana in the far east was the first to fall. The latest was Greatriver. After that, Traad kept getting word from carrier pigeons, traveling merchants and escapees about the destruction of the cities due to an advancing horde of wolves. East to west the tribe of beasts traveled. No one knew what had “awakened” them. There was no particular reason that anyone knew or could guess that would have made them abandon living simple lives in the wild or keeping to wherever their own cities lay. Even though they had no known kingdom to increase territory for, they were on the move as an army of conquest. Curious travelers who’d claimed to enter the cities they had been to spoke of seeing nothing left behind but ruins, blood and broken, gnawed bones.

__________________

“Perhaps they have simply gained a specific taste for human flesh?” the King of Traad’s advisor speculated. King Drummond paced back and forth before him as he was seated at a table. Veras could not see him, but could hear his footsteps. They clack-clacked upon the stone floor in one of the private room’s of Traad’s hilltop palace – a far cry from the dirt or rough wood floors of most of the homes far below. “I lost contact with Lord Perron, Drummond said. “Could the wolves have even stormed his palace? Has he fallen?” “It is likely,” Veras said gravely. “Perhaps wealth and fortifications are no protection from them.” “Fortifications must provide some protection. They protect from all else.” “The messenger-birds repeat the screams of soldiers,” Veras intoned. “My old, dear and wisest friend,” the king said, “You must have some idea of how we might survive their advance.” “They may turn in their tracks. Wolves, like any force of nature, are notoriously unpredictable.” “Not unpredictable enough.” “What of your people?” Veras asked, crossing his hands one over the other on the surface of the table. Drummond found it unnerving that the man’s sightless, milky eyes could follow his movements perfectly. “The people are my property,” Drummond replied. “Hmmm,” his advisor grunted. “It is best not to let them hear that.” “I never say the quiet part aloud while in public,” he responded, “But it is true that they are my inheritance and owe their lives in this land directly to me.” “What are you suggesting, sire?” “That if the wolves come to us, that it shall be impossible to save them all,” the king said, wrapping his cape around himself. He sighed and took a drink of water from a goblet on the table before returning to his steady pacing. “I’ll keep those closest to me intact, of course, all of the Court and the greater-merchants and everyone who furnishes the palace – the great-creators, the important people, anyone that I find useful. However, Traad can well-afford to lose some of its number.” “Surely you can’t! You won’t!” “Ah, ah, Veras. The peasants tend to live a little shorter, anyway. Those who have failed in the fight to make something better of themselves know the cost of that and have fairly insignificant lives to begin with.” “But their lives are meaningful to them! I am diminished for my lack of sight, but I still want to live!” “Your life is painful for you,” the king answered, “but it is less so than it could have been because of your proximity to me. As for the commoners, they have grown too numerous in the land, as their kind do and their demands cut into certain pleasures of mine and my cohorts. They demand much and, to be honest, I cannot say that I really care to provide it. Rule comes with its accolades, but is also very tedious. The gods have given the people into my hand, which makes me an earthly god.” Drummond continued speaking, although he stood still at last. “Perhaps the wolves are a blessing. Traad could use a fresh start. The survivors will thank the fallen for their sacrifice and become more grateful for what they are given from the top than ever.” “So, we shall not raise the army and fight what is coming?” Veras inquired. “I do not like such a plan, sire.” “Oh, Veras – the army shall fight – for us and all who are secured away. The people that I order to the city’s edges? Beyond the bulwarks? Well, the strong and the lucky shall live. They’ll be better for it, too. They’ll accept their survival and will whine less. Unless my friends wish to gather a greater profit, they may even benefit from the loss of their kin in that there will be more to go around among the bottom-feeders.” “So, you are going to toss the greater number of our people to the wolves, then?” “To the wolves. They’ll take the weak – those who cannot run and cannot fight… definitely they who cannot work. They’ll take the useless ones. They’ll take the fools that refuse to run or who are stupid enough to trip on their own feet in fear. Perhaps they’ll take some of the good stock, too, but if such people were the best, they wouldn’t be in a position to be shoved beyond the bulwarks to begin with. I am thinking that only the bottom-tier of our society will do for a sacrifice, you see.” “At the risk of incurring your wrath, sire,” Veras spoke up, “I believe this plan to be very cruel.” “Believe it all you want, Veras, but it is for the greater good. All populations need a cull every now and again. It was what we learned when the deer grew too numerous and invaded the crop-fields. There will be no real blood on my hands. A convenient natural genocide of undesirables is better than the alternatives.” “I do not like this,” Veras insisted nervously. “As your advisor of court, I think that it is a bad idea, not just for the harshness, but because such plans lead to discontent and rebellion.” The king laughed. “Oh, not at all, old friend! I highly doubt that there will be enough survivors for it! As for them, they’ll have no place to go! The woods are dangerous. There are worse than even wolves there. And do you not think that they will take their issued allotments of grain over starvation? Or being driven out entirely into the cold?” Drummond stalked over to the throne within the counsel-room, one of many he had around the palace and sat down upon its purple velvet cushioning. His servant at the table did not turn his head toward him this time, although Drummond was certain that he’d heard him. “Those that deserve to live shall live,” he said. _______________ Misha-Misha picked her way through one of the cobblestone streets of the deserted city. A jagged mountain peak, all angles and edges of dark purple stone loomed behind her. Her tails lashed, for exciting scents remained on the air. She picked a bit of meat out of her bottom front teeth – from a young ewe that she and her younger brother had roasted upon the fire of what had once been an apothecary shop. The wind smelled of ash, metal, mud and blood, blood, blood, blood blood. The fluid-scents were of many kinds – men, livestock and of the wolves themselves. Misha-Misha saw a dog wander by. They were one of the few kinds of creatures that the wolves did not devour, being too close-in-kind to themselves in the wolves’ reckoning. The lanky mutt growled at her. She snarled back and the smaller beast slunk off with his tail between his legs. The scene was silent save for the crackling of fires and the howling of lonely hounds newly bereft of masters. The leader of the wolves turned her head sharply when she heard the growling of Blue Hour, a member of the tribe named for the grim glow of early evening, interspersed with the cries of a human. Apparently there was a last one left here in what was once the city-state of Greatriver. “Young lady, you do not have all of the facts!” the man screamed. He crawled pathetically, leaving a thick streak of blood upon the cobblestone street. “My kind live long,” the blue-furred wolf replied. “I am not a ‘young lady.’ I am likely your elder by many seasons.” “Dear…” “Do not call me ‘dear,” Blue Hour snarled. “We could have civilized you!” “By encroaching upon our home?” Blue Hour demanded, “By slaughtering our natural prey in excess?!” “You….” The man gasped, “You could have earned your gold… Especially you… you females. You could have served, learned to cook and clean alongside our wives and daughters!” “And nothing else?” “Why usurp your natural place?” “Our natural place is to live without limit.” “And that is why you are a bunch of backwards cannibals! You could have prospered!” “Cannibals?” Blue Hour asked. “The last time I looked, we do not have the same form at all.” She smiled as the man continued to bleed. “We wolves do not live in subjugation, not even for the sake of peace. And who is prospering now?” “Are you having trouble?” Misha-Misha asked. She planted a clawed foot uncomfortably close to the struggling human’s head. “Not particularly,” her compatriot replied. “This prey is just… a bit obnoxious.” “I do not recognize him as one of the ones that fought us, nor as anyone securing the escape of their whelps.” “I caught him up in a tree,” Blue Hour explained, her muscles tense and her tails writhing in a predatory glee. “He was defending his perch, pushing others down during our assault. Trapped all night. I was determined to get him.” “Kid…Dear…” the man mumbled, his voice going progressively pale as he tried in vain to pull his injured form away. “Young ladies…” Misha-Misha stomped her foot upon his chest as she looked to Blue Hour. “He has squawked enough.” Blue Hour got down on all-fours, seized the human’s throat in her mouth, clamped her jaw down and shook him until she heard his last choked outward gasp and felt his pulse cease. “So you kept him treed, eventually managed to tear him down and then wounded him and let him crawl all night?” Misha-Misha asked. “Indeed,” Blue Hour managed around a mouthful of windpipe. She let go, contemplating just where to tear into the body first before it went cold. She’d probably go straight for the liver. Misha-Misha knew of no other wolf that liked liver as much as her friend did. She also knew of no other wolf that was quite as pointlessly vicious. “That whole business was a bit unnecessary, wasn’t it?” Misha-Misha spoke, letting authority drip off her voice. “You cannot say that the coward did not deserve to crawl.” “True,” the leader conceded, “but as your chief, I caution you to watch your tactics.” Misha-Misha left Blue Hour to her feast and wandered on. The humans seemed to have divided themselves into main groups during the assault, save those who had simply fled with their children in-tow; Those that had fought for their city and their fellows and those that had acted in a cowardly fashion like the man that her underling had made sport of – the kind who pushed others out before themselves so that they alone could attain safety. The end was the same for the cowards and the brave, but Misha-Misha had respect for the latter. There was a thrill in the fight. The cut on her upper left arm throbbed and annoyed her, but she would remember the fat cook who’d given it to her with some fondness. She would remember Blue Hour’s tortured kill with disdain. She sniffed dust as she wandered into the town church, past doors that had been broken off their hinges. She had some rudimentary familiarity with the beliefs of the human population of the Fortress Mountains. The iconography she found upon the sanctuary walls differed slightly from that of their other cities that had been their conquests. In the first city they’d taken, Rhana, for example, imagery was rather sparse as the people in that place seemed to have focused most of their worship on a god they called “The Un-imaged.” Here, artwork of the twin goddesses Materia and Machina – gods of certain aspects of physical life – prevailed. Misha-Misha did not know the finer details of the theology, but found it interesting that some of the peoples’ Seven Gods received more focus than others in different locales. She raked her claws across a ceramic mural of Materia for no real reason. She just liked the sound that they made against it. _____________

Falland basked in the late afternoon light that sent many colors across the floor of the Cathedral of Traad. He gazed up at the representations of the Seven Gods, both symbolic and figural. The gods of nature were depicted upon one side of the church. Gris, the God of Base-Nature, the Keeper of Stone, the Earth, Water and Fire and all non-living elements that the living depended upon – They had no gender and were depicted as a mountain. Shoulou, depicted as a mighty bull-elk, was the God of Living-Nature – the plants and the animals, all wild things. Arren – the God of Medicine and Compassion – he was envisioned as a long-haired man. The other side of the sanctuary was decorated with windows depicting the Gods of Men; Materia the God of Social Power and Money (a golden woman, particularly spectacular in painted glass as the light from outside shined through her), Machina, her “twin” who represented Industry, Invention and Technology, and the last of the row, depicted in dark colors, was a cloaked figure with a long ungulate skull called Arrghus – the God of Pain and Suffering. Arrghus was not worshipped so much as appeased, although he was not thought of as evil – just a neutral entity whose jurisdiction that people did not want to fall under. One of the gods could not be depicted in any form, the “Grounding of the Gods” – the Un-imaged, the base-creator of all there was, existent beyond the Void, unable to be understood by mortals enough for even a symbolic representation. Falland had watched the bent of worship change over the decades he had been in service of the gods and of the people of Traad. He’d found himself tailoring his sermons and those of any assistant-priests toward those that enriched the church. It was the greater-merchants, after all, that had paid for the glorious windows even if the artists that had brought them into being complained that they had not been fairly compensated for their labors. Falland had dismissed the artists’ concerns, telling them that they’d worked for the gods and that such service was the meaning of their gifts in the first place. They, in turn, claimed education, training and hard work for their skills. The arguments went back and forth that way, but the artists remained employed by the cathedral and the king because alternative for them was starvation. At least they were considered skilled laborers and made out better than many. A frequent theme of Falland’s sermons was “the need for gratitude.” He also tailored his preaching toward how he was among the Chosen of the Gods to give the people direction and thus deserved not only the public-keeping, but his many luxuries. The people of Traad were largely abandoning giving their chief worship to the Un-imaged, which was dominant in the recent past. In the earliest days of the area, when Traad was merely a settlement, the God of Medicine reigned in importance. Currently, most of the citizens gave the lion’s share of their worship to Materia – the God of Power and Money. The wealthy prayed to her in hopes of keeping their positions. The poor sang songs to her in hopes of being taken out from under her punishment and finally given her graces. Falland and his men had found it necessary to divide their services as the “Favored of Materia” did not much like keeping company with her “scorned.” Finding it quite enough to have to work with them and to hand down orders on non-service days the wealthier people of Traad had ceased to wish to mingle with their employees. There were arguments among the priests that this attitude conflicted with the interests of some of the other gods – the Un-imaged and the three Gods of Nature, specifically. In the end, it prepared them to focus on the affairs of humans and the specific gods of those affairs. Falland had received word from the king that he needed to impress upon the lower class in his sermons the value of sacrifice and the needs of Arrghus now. The old priest trembled as he sat down beneath the window depicting the skull-faced figure. He turned and looked across the pews at the window of Shoulou. It seemed that the two gods – the God of Living Nature and the God of Suffering had teamed up to enact a cleansing judgment. Wild beasts were on the move and would soon fall upon the city if they kept upon their reported east-to-west path. King Drummond had a plan to spare Traad’s “quality citizens.” Falland could not say that he much liked it. As a messenger of the gods, he was expected to offer people comfort, compassion and meaning. He could not say that he absolutely hated the plan, either, for he was among the “quality citizens” slated to be preserved by it and in the end of all matters, death and the Will of Arrghus came to them all. He sighed and opened the main church-doors to the waiting peasants outside. They were going to hear a hard speech today. The people that came to the later service would hear a far different one – one that was much more along the lines of what they wanted to hear – one about the “chosen righteous remnant.” Falland knew that he would find the late service easier to preach, for its message was one that he wanted to believe in, too. The man tried to ignore a shiver of guilt that wriggled up his spine and over his shoulders. _________________ “When the soldiers come to take us outside, Nia, I want you to behave. Be quiet for me.” “I don’t like it, Grandma! Why do we have to let them take us away? I don’t care what the preacher said about the Will of Arrghus!” “It is more the Will of Materia,” the grandmother groused, “but we will not have a choice. You might survive. You have a chance. Nia, when we are waiting outside the city and we see the wolves coming, I want you to run. You have long, skinny strong legs. You can make your escape into the woods and if you are lucky, you may even be able to sneak back into the city later.” “But there will be nothing for me, Grandma! I live with you! You are all I have!” “I don’t have many more years left, child. You have an entire lifetime.” “Not much of one if I run into bears in the woods!” “Nia!” “This is not fair!” the pre-teen protested as she paced the single room of their abode. “Why can’t the king raise the army to defend us?” “He has chosen not to,” her grandmother said grimly, hunching over in her worn chair and folding her hands in her lap. “We must live with our fate. The gods will decide who survives, I suppose.” “It’s the king deciding this!” Nia raised her voice. The old woman made a gesture with her hands to quiet down, fearful that their neighbors would hear her rants. Nia balled up her small fists as she planted her feet on the packed clay floor. “I hate him!” At twelve years old, she knew that she was far too young to take on the entire army of the king’s men, but her boiling blood felt like trying. Her grandmother was far too old. Grandmother was wrong, though – she had many good years left, at least if she were not being thrown to the wolves. She was all that was left of Nia’s family since both of her parents took ill and died several years back, having worked long in the rain and cold with only scraps of clothing and without access to anything but hot honeyed tea in terms of medicine. Grandmother’s tribute from their garden was small, barely enough to pay the rent on their hovel of a home and to keep enough to eat for themselves. Between that and Grandmother’s age, they were slated to be made a sacrifice (two among many) to the coming wolves to that the upper tiers of Traad could be spared. They were told that they would be “saving civilization” – whatever that meant. Nia continued to pace. They’d heard in the sermon they attended this morning all about how the world on the Other Side of death was peaceful, wonderful and how no one should mourn overmuch the prospect of their time in a hard world being cut short. The youngster doubted that the priest fully believed in his own words. He was not to be driven beyond the newly-erected barricades to the edge of the city and she doubted that he would volunteer to be with the portion of his flock sent to slaughter. “Please run for me,” her grandmother pleaded. “Look at me, Nia. If you escape – and hopefully others will as well – maybe you will find or make for yourselves, a place without kings.” _________________ Misha-Misha scented the air. Her tribe moved behind her. Nearly two weeks out of Greatriver, all of them hungered again. Small prey was taken along the way; rabbits, squirrels and the like. It only whetted their collective appetite for a large meal. Traad was near – the next human city along their chosen line of feasting. Soon the land would be back to its natural balance with the humans fewer and the larger prey animals returning. In the meantime, humans made for rich and tender meat. The wolves were sure that they would not take them all, but they would take enough to satisfy. Misha-Misha’s brother, Lurek, briefly questioned the eating of beings that could speak to them. Blue Hour and others overtook his vote as humans had always been a natural prey for their people, even if they used to prefer deer and boars. His own hunger overrode his questioning, too, as it always did. From what she had heard, Misha-Misha looked forward greatly to taking Traad. Rumors from scouts that had managed to get close and remain unseen were that many of its people were nice and fat. She hoped that there would be a thrilling fight like in the last cities they had visited. Battle enticed her stomach. It was early evening when they approached the city. As they drew nearer, they witnessed several bodies hovering on the city’s edge, their gaunt faces lit with torches. There were multitudes of people, standing in wait. Misha-Misha sniffed in sharply. The odor of their fear was thick.

The wolves stopped and stared at the huddling masses, pushed outside of barricades. Some were still being actively pushed beyond by armed men, who quaked and hid behind hastily-erected stone and wood-panels as soon as the wolves were sighted. The people forced to the outside screamed, huddled and cried as the tribe came closer, legs bowed and tails lashing in curiosity at the scene. Misha-Misha held up her hand, signaling her people to halt.

Misha-Misha could feel the disappointment off her vanguard. They were expecting to dash into the city, tearing doors off their hinges, giving chase and having thrilling melee’ combat with sword, spear and axe-armed men. They had wanted the sport as much as the meat! “The others have just given these ones to us?” Lurek asked, flicking an ear. “It would appear so,” Misha-Misha answered, sniffing. The frightened, helpless people cringed and shifted. Many of them wept and held each other, but knew there was no place to go. The rest of the town of Traad would not let them back in through the spiked timber barricades. In fact, their kinsmen were ready to stab or to shoot them. The glint of rife-barrels and unsheathed swords were visible between the fortification-gaps. Misha-Misha issued a low growl as she got a whiff of these people. She caught many smells on the wind. The odors of age filled her nostrils as well as those of various sicknesses. There were the scents of hard work, of dirt from the farming-fields, of steel and blood of butchers’ work – somehow distinct from the blood-smells on Misha-Misha’s fellows who’d taken a rabbit or a stray lamb from one of the outer farm-fields along the way. There was also an undercurrent of soaps. Sweat was thick and so was terror. There were children among the crowd, but not many. Misha-Misha stood tall, stretched her chest to the sky and roared. The humans outside of the barricades cowered. “Do we begin the feast?” her brother asked her. He paced back and forth, eager, his tail lashing. “All of these… they look miserable and helpless, and like they are more than enough for us to eat our fill.” Misha-Misha looked at the shine of armor and weapons behind the barricades and let her gaze trail up to the various houses casting rectangular lights upon the streets from their windows and then up and up to the palace hewn into the rock of the mountain high above. “I believe that is the idea that this city had,” Misha-Misha proclaimed. “Their leaders must have chosen to give us a sacrifice. They believe that if we eat a chosen segment of their people that we will leave – and leave them alone as we move on.” Blue-Hour licked her chops. “No!” Misha-Misha ordered. The wolves barked, snarled and growled, impatient with their elder. “No, we do not!” she said, tails a-bristle. “I want to know what is going on here. Why would this village just give us a portion of its population to us freely when every other human city we have been through fought to the last?” “Many of these ones smell weak,” Lurek offered. “There is injury and there is age. Perhaps we are a mercy to them.” “Well, we do usually take the weak of the herds,” Blue-Hour observed, “the elk and bison that trail behind.” “Is it not different with humans?” one of the younger wolves asked. Misha-Misha stepped forward and lowered her snout. She breathed out hot breath onto a wrinkled woman keeping herself upright on a cane. “What is going on here?” she demanded of the human. “Answer me!” “Leave my grandma alone!” a little girl shouted, running out suddenly from behind the old woman. The woman seemed as surprised as the wolf was, her eyes registering sorrow and disappointment in a flash. “Run!” The woman shouted, but the child disobeyed. “I told you to run!” The girl brandished a stick and swatted Misha-Misha right on the nose, to which the wolf responded by snapping the offending branch in twain. “No, Nia!” the grandmother yelped, pulling the child back and holding her to her chest. The girl acted as if she hardly noticed. She stuck her neck out and continued to address the wolf. “They pushed us out!” she cried. “The king said that all of the poor people had to meet at the edges of the town, then the soldiers pushed us out here and gated up the barriers and made the walls! If we go back, they’ll just stab us!” Misha-Misha growled. Her people had little use for money, but they understood the concept of wealth in their observations of certain types of prey. “Us old folks,” the grandmother added. “The old, sick and injured folk… anyone who ain’t makin’ enough money to own their own land and homes…” “Your friends made you a sacrifice to us?” the magenta-furred wolf-leader asked with a quirked eyebrow, taking her snout back from the frightened people before her. A man in a threadbare coat came up beside the old woman and her granddaughter as everyone else huddled behind them. “I’d hardly call them ‘friends.

Just the king, the court, the soldiers… our church.”

“The Church of the Seven,” Lurek said, scratching his chin with a long claw. “I thought that they considered human life to be sacred in the utmost.”

“The king was not much for listening to me,” another elder said. He turned his head to where the wolves were scratching their paws into the dirt, barely containing themselves. He looked up with milky, unseeing eyes. “Not ‘friends,’ indeed. I was his advisor since he was a child, but he grew a tad bit tired of my objections to this, and so here I am. I knew that my imperfections would lead to this someday.”

“Did you think he would spare you, old man?!” Someone in the crowd shouted. “You’re disabled! He wants to get rid of all of us! Money and status weren’t gonna save you from that!”

“It is true that I thought more of tactics than of morality,” the blind man said, “but I believed that it was the only way to make sense of the situation, the only way to reach him, but King Drummond is so absorbed in notions of his own brilliance.” He nodded in the direction the yell had come from. “In the end, I suppose that I glad to no longer be in his service. I am proud to perish with you.”

“Don’t’ pretend you are our brother now!”

The old woman who had spoken before and who was trying to shield her granddaughter raised a hand and tried once more to speak above the budding fray. “They said they did… they… they said that they would protect us.” Tears edged at her bottom eyelashes. “The priests speak of protecting children – making sure all are born into purity, but… sometimes… Well, when one grows, one acquires sins, no matter how one tries.” She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, continuing to hold her grandchild close.

“They didn’t like us!” the little girl said. “Some of us were… just too weird! Or too old! Or too poor and ‘dirty’ and beneath them!”

“It’s the economy,” gruffed the man in the ragged coat. “They decided that the coming of the wolves was inevitable and that they couldn’t save everyone, so they decided that only the important folk get to be behind the barricades and walls, and they’re the only ones that the soldiers will protect. They figured that if people are gonna be lost, might as well clear out the least valuable – us working-folk and the sick are many enough. The wealthy are the few, but the soldiers are paid well and are more enamored of them than they’ll ever be of us, so this is our fate.” The man glared daggers at all of the wolves. “Just get it over with!”

Misha-Misha’s muzzle twitched in a low, drawn-out snarl. She raised her right hand again and turned to address her tribe.

“Take the livestock,” she said, “and if anyone can breach their way into the city, you may eat your fill. Otherwise, our bellies go empty this night.”

There were confused half-yelps and murmurs among the gathering of wolves. However, others stepped up to stand beside Misha-Misha, their heads bowed and their tails slung low in a gesture of submission. “We understand,” they said.

Misha-Misha lowered her snout again toward the little girl, who glared at her defiantly. “I’ll not harm her,” she assured the grandmother, “I have decided that my people shall harm none of you.”

There were surprised shouts and murmurs now among the humans gathered outside the city.

“In fact, you may come with us if you’d like. You may have a home among us.”

Tentatively, the little girl wriggled out of her grandmother’s grasp and reached out to stroke Misha-Misha’s muzzle, which the wolf-leader allowed.

“As livestock?” a man wearing a sheep-skin as a cloak inquired.

“No,” Misha-Misha said, taking the girl’s hand in hers as she stood tall. “No. You, exiled from your own people, who clearly do not care for you – you can join my people.”

There was more murmuring.

“The Gharrou – we wolves - take care of their own,” Misha-Misha explained. “We know what we are. We are ravenous. We are the terrors of the forests and of the mountains. Once we have targeted a feast, we sweep through with all of the terror of a disease leaving blood and bones cracked for marrow in our wake, but this… this action by your people – to put you out to face us out of selfishness and ill-awareness of their own luck… I believe I speak for my entire tribe when I say that I am appalled.”

“So…you’re good monsters?” Nia asked at length.

“No, little one,” Misha-Misha answered her. “I would hardly call us ‘good,’ but we have some standards – some of which are clearly different than those of your tribe. Come with us. We shall only devour livestock and the forest game for as long as any of you are with us.”

The wolves turned around, trekking back through the dry forest leaves. One by one, starting with the little girl and her grandmother hobbling behind her, the people put out as a sacrifice beyond the city of Traad’s barricades followed them.

Those left within the city were left alone. The events of that night left everyone involved surprised and the remaining citizens of Traad would later contemplate what they had done. Not many were burdened by it, to tell the truth, but the few that were never spoke of being “protectors of life” again. They knew that it was a lie that they could not continue to tell themselves.

#short story #fantasy #wolves #werewolves #wolf-men #worldbuilding #our werewolves are different #cw: blood

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switch-writes · 6 years

Text

Meeting Viv

((Note: This is the first story I’m sharing set in Emprise d'Lumiere, the setting I have been working on creating for a hypothetical future homebrew Dungeons and Dragons campaign. I will likely eventually share a more detailed pseudo-historical setting documents, but for now, here is a vignette about the first meeting between two NPCs.I just wrote this today. Viv has existed for quite some time, percolating in my brain, and she needed to get out on paper somewhere.I will continue this story further.

CAUTION. WARNING. If you’re my IRL friend and you think you may want to play D&D with me as a Dungeon Master some day, PROCEED NO FURTHER. THAR BE SPOILERS.))

Tristain fell first, a black blade protruding from his mouth. He still wore the angry snarl he was sporting moments before as he struck Morrow, but his eyes started to register confusion and fear as he fell to the ground. The others stood around the fallen half-orc, frozen in shock and confusion. Someone made a scared sputtering sound.

In moments, they were all down with daggers in throats, or larger blades in their bellies. Kor, their goliath strongman, was pinned upright to the wall with a wicked-looking black lance. The only sounds were the last rasping breaths of the dying and Morrow’s quiet whimpering, tears still streaming down his bruised face.Morrow was still curled on the ground, cowering for a few moments longer until the silence and the sudden end to the beating caused him to look up in confusion. He took in the death around him, saw the black blades, knew what they meant. Tristain’s entire crew was dead. Morrow was dead. He should be dead.

He stood, still shaking. Why wasn’t he dead?From the darkness strode three figures - a tall tiefling woman, gilded horns glittering in the moonlight, followed closely by two human-looking figures.Morrow screamed. He turned, dove, scampered across the ground for an escape route or hiding place or cover, anything to flee, to not face her. There was nowhere to go, though. The alley was a dead-end, save for the locked door that Morrow had failed to open for Tristain. The only cover was Kor’s lifeless corpse. The small tiefling boy frantically slid behind the goliath’s legs, whimpering.The tiefling woman slowed, frowning. She motioned to her companions, who turned to take up watch at the end of the alley, leaving her and the small boy alone. This one was going to be a challenge. She moved slowly and carefully, arms spread wide with palms out. The boy’s fearful eyes were locked on her from behind the corpse.“Easy, child. You’re safe now. No more harm will come to you.” She moved to within a few paces of the boy and he cowered, eyes squeezing shut, curling down even smaller.“Shhh. There there, love. No one’s gonna hurt you now. I promise.” She sat down slowly on the dirty, blood-streaked alley floor, hugging her knees to her chest and looping her tail under her thighs, looked away from the boy, and waited.Morrow didn’t understand. He’d heard the stories. Why wasn’t he dead? Her words had to be a trick. He stayed curled up behind the goliath’s legs, eyes squeezed shut, shaking. He felt frozen. He knew he couldn’t run, couldn’t fight her. If he was going to die, he didn’t want to see it coming. The least he could do was make her get up and come to him.Seconds past, then minutes. Slowly, Morrow’s breathing slowed. The adrenaline that had flooded through his veins faded, and exhaustion began to take him. He still wasn’t dead. He glanced up. She was still there sitting quietly and casually, a warm smile on her face and sadness in her eyes. She was looking up, at the stars perhaps, or the clouds, but not at Morrow. He risked shifting the goliath corpse’s legs just a little to get a better view.

Her skin was ash grey, with a muted rosy tint around her joints and hands, and on her cheeks. She was dressed all in black, with a simple sleeveless shift so thin it might be sheer in brighter light, loose trousers, and heavy black leather boots. Her horns were large and curled like a ram’s, plated with gold at the ends. She wore gold piercings in her ears, her septum, the center of her bottom lip. A thick gold band encircled her right arm, and a number of gold bangles adorned her wrists. Beautiful, intricate, jet-black tattoos ran up her left arm from her hand to her neck in whorls and patterns too subtle to see wholly in the dim light.

Her smile deepened, and reached her eyes.“I was just like you, once,” she began, and Morrow flinched and slid a little further behind the cover of the corpse’s legs. He did not look away or curl back up, and his fearful gaze stayed on her, so after a beat she continued. “I was a waifish little thing too, at your age, picking at scraps and hiding in the smallest little nooks I could find. Even more frightful than you, I think. Begging or picking pockets. The street crews didn’t even want me for a lookout, I was so skittish! How did you get caught up with this lot, anyway?” She poked the nearest corpse with her foot as she asked. It was Tristain.Morrow hesitated. He didn’t understand why she was talking to him, but she was letting him live for the moment, and he didn’t want to anger her. “Um, just - just good with, uhm, with locks, Mistress,” he managed to stammer out.“Hah! Mistress!?” Morrow cowered and whimpered again at the sudden outburst. “Ohh, shh shh. There there child. I didn’t mean to scare you again. I was amused, that’s all.”

A few more moments passed before Morrow uncurled again, and looked up cautiously once more. When he did, he found her finally looking right at him, a warm smile still on her face.“What’s your name, boy?”“M-Morrow. It’s Morrow.”“Morrow. Tell me, Morrow - do you know who I am?”Morrow gulped. “Surely do, Mistress.”The woman sighed, sadness in her eyes. “And who am I?”“You - you’re Lady Viveca, right? The Blade-Witch?” He gestured at the fallen street gang around them. “You must be.”

“I’m no noble Lady, but you’ve got the right of it child. And tell me, what tales are Lumière’s gutter-gangs telling of me these days?”Morrow frowned, but the shaking had stopped. She’d kill him, he was sure of it, but this strange conversation and his own exhaustion were distracting him from his fear. He leaned back against the wall, sitting upright now, and scooched a little to the right, half outside his grizzly cover.“They say you’ve made pacts with - with Fiends, Mistress. Or things worse than Fiends. I heard Tristain say he thought you might be an agent of the Gentry” - the woman raised an eyebrow and grinned at this, though did not interrupt - “and they say you run the Family; that it’s the most bloodthirsty gang in the whole Imperium.”Morrow worried he might be offending her, and hesitated. She smiled and nodded. “It’s okay, dear, go on. I want to hear it.”Morrow took a deep breath and continued, nodding down the alleyway. “Some call your followers Needles, or Black-Hands. They say you all make heathen sacrifices and practice profane rituals. The other gutter-whelps say the Family steals children, sometimes. That they’re usually to blame when the ones too small or too weak go missing. To - uhm, to eat, they says. I never believed that part though, Mistress, but,” he blanched, and shivered again. “Please don’t eat me, Mistress. I ain’t scared to die but I don’t - I mean, I d-don’t…”Morrow whimpered, and his eyes welled up with tears again. The woman sighed. “Oh, you sweet child. I am sorry for frightening you so. Some of what you’ve heard is true, in some ways. Most of it is not. My enemies don’t want to see the Family grow further, and an easy way to achieve that is to make everyone too scared to seek us out.“We do not eat anyone. Nor do we steal children, though we do welcome them, and some of your disappeared friends may have found their way to us. It’s a Family, child, in every sense of the word. I know you don’t know what that means, not really. Not yet. We do make sacrifices, but not the kind you’re thinking. And the only thing I’ve ever made a pact with, is this.”She reached up behind her head, and pulled out a thin black quill. It had been holding her hair in a bun, and when she removed it her long black hair fell in a cascade that she pulled over one shoulder. She held it out to him.It was a simple little thing. It could’ve been carved from obsidian, perhaps, or lacquered black wood, polished to a shine. It should have been innocuous, and yet as he looked upon it he couldn’t help but feel that it was revealing itself to him, opening up. Morrow felt as if the quill was trying to pull the whole space into itself. He felt as if it wanted his fear, and yet he did not feel more afraid, or less.Surprising himself most of all, he reached out, as if to take it, but stopped himself. “What is it?”The woman grinned, and laughed quietly. “I have absolutely no idea. I found it in my belongings when I was about your age. I think it sought me out, somehow. I know it is powerful. I know it is neither evil, nor good.”Morrow considered it a moment longer, then pulled his arm back. As he did so he grimaced, and pulled his arm tight to his ribs. The tiefling woman saw, and looked very worried.“The half-orc, Tristain, I think you said? He was beating you, yes? I am sorry I did not get here to stop him sooner. How badly hurt are you?”“S’ok. Just how it is in thieving crews. Tristain was... I’ll be fine.” Morrow knew there were broken ribs, but it wasn’t the first time he’d had them. He knew that if he survived this night, if Viveca was telling the truth and did not kill him (or eat him), that he would heal, eventually.Viveca did not look convinced. “It might be how it is, child, but it is not how it should be. Nor how it has to be.”A moment of silence hung between the two tieflings. Viveca looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, her mind apparently made up, she began to put her hair back up in an intricate bun, using the black quill as a hair stick again. As she did so, she said, “So here’s the way I see it, my small friend. You’re terrified of me, but you were terrified of your crew-leader before, and you’re probably terrified of everyone you meet, and rightly so living on these streets.

“You’re badly hurt. If you stay here, you might live or might not, but you’ll be in pain for weeks, and probably in too much pain to pick pockets successfully, which means no food. You think if you come with me we’ll kill you, but look around,” she gestured at the bodies around them. “Wouldn’t I have done it already?”Morrow thought for a long moment. He could probably find another crew. Despite tonight’s failure he knew his skill with locks could get him fed. But then…Morrow had considered Tristain’s crew a good find, as street gangs went. The only time they touched him was to beat him. Morrow knew groveling to another gang would be a gamble at best. And nothing about this conversation had gone as he’d expected. Viveca was supposed to be cruel and terrible, a living force of pain and death and yet she’d been...sweet?“We’ve got a healer back home. Cleric. He’ll tell you to call him Benny, but call him Old Man, okay? It’ll make me smile.”She grinned at Morrow. For some reason, he smiled meekly back. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even nod, but Viveca stood up and reach for his small purple hand as if they’d reached an agreement. She helped him stand, and steadied him when he swayed on his feet from the pain. Together, they walked out of the alley towards her waiting companions.“And no more of this ‘Mistress’ business, you hear me? You come with us, you call me ‘Aunty Viv’.”

#d&d #OC #my ocs #dnd #tiefling #short story #ficlet #my work #writing #my writing #homebrew

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