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seagreen-meets-grey · 3 years

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Like a Shadow in the Night

She was here to study the dead lord's library. She was not supposed to pay any mind to the imprisoned dark mage. He, however, did not agree.

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

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The flames of the candles flickered in the air as she moved through the room, floorboards creaking, shadows dancing around her. The storm outside was raging, gathering its strength for the night, shaking the walls of the old mansion. It seemed alive, the wind crawling through every niche, every nook, rattling the roof, moving curtains, howling around every corner.

Outside, she knew, the Elite Guard was having a tough night in the wind, the rain, the hail. Lightning flashed in the sky, lighting the room for a brief moment before deafening thunder pierced her ears. Through the stained windows, massive dark silhouettes bowed to the powers of the sky, small twigs and branches occasionally hitting the building. A gust of hail splattered against the glass.

She was glad she didn’t have to be out there right now, guarding every entrance, every square of the perimeter. Instead, she was up here, listening to the unfortunate moods of nature as she sat down at the small table and placed the candelabra next to the pile of old leather-bound books she wanted to take a look at.

From time to time, she could hear a distant humming, the clang of something being dragged over metallic bars, or the sound of an object hitting a wall. She didn’t spare it much attention, for she was here to check out the library of a fallen lord, not to deal with the imprisoned mage. His magic didn’t work in here, anyway. The late former inhabitant had made sure to secure the entire place and adjacent grounds against any form of magic. He’d seen himself too safe for too long, though, and when he went on a stroll through the woods, one of the witches he’d had hunted by a local band of anti-magic veterans had made short work of him.

Now, all the writings and ancient scrolls he’d collected throughout his life and passion for witch hunting could come in handy for the Elite Guard and their fight in the looming war between the Dark Forces and the King’s Guard. And since she was an expert in the field, the Guard had sent her in here to do some research.

Fiddling with the long blonde braid hanging over her shoulder, she skimmed a few paragraphs on the history of the Shadow Clan, spotting nothing she didn’t already know. Maybe this book wasn’t what she’d been looking for, the information it contained seemed to be too basic to tell her anything new. After carefully flipping through a couple more chapters, she placed it aside and opened the next book, a small one with yellowing pages and paling ink. It was written in tiny, cursive handwriting and she had to bring her face closer to decipher anything. She let out a curse at the little light her candles could provide her, hoping the storm would let up soon so someone could repair the giant chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings in every room. Or maybe they could just fetch her a few torches, but every person in the proximity of the mansion was indispensable from their current job. She sighed. The candles would have to do.

A few hours passed, the storm kept howling and her head began to grow heavy. She had to blink away the tiredness and concentrate on the pages, the words starting to swim before her eyes.

“Doesn’t that get boring after a while?” She jumped, accidentally ripping part of the page she had just been about to turn.

There, in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, was a young man. His clothes were dirty and torn. The mop of wild hair on his head was hanging into his face, glowing auburn in the spare light. Impossibly green eyes were watching her and a shudder ran down her spine at the intensity. She felt like prey under that gaze.

“How- how did you get out?” Alarmed, she stood, holding the candelabra in front of her as if it would actually be of help, would he decide to attack her.

He shrugged, taking a bite from a bread roll she realized he must have taken from the basket of food she’d brought and placed in the kitchen, for herself and for the guards after a shift change. Which, she reminded herself with a gulp, wouldn’t be for at least another hour. And even if there wasn’t a storm raging right now, nobody would hear her screams from inside the mansion.

He chewed and raised an eyebrow at her defensive stance. “Relax, I’m not going to do anything to you.” When she didn’t move, he took a few slow steps towards her, a wicked grin forming on his face. “What, do you not trust me?”

She didn’t dare leave him out of her sight for one second as he started to stroll around the room, ran his fingertips over dusty surfaces, gaze wandering over the bookshelves lining the walls, the spiderwebs, the windows, and finally, her. She felt trapped, although he wasn’t standing between her and the door anymore. She could make a run for it. But what would that do? He’d escaped his prison; she didn’t know what else he could do.

“How did you get out?” she repeated.

He was tall but skinny, maybe she had a chance of overpowering him, if needed. But something told her she shouldn’t underestimate him. It had taken the Elite Guard years to track him down, months to finally trap him, with the help of a royal knight disguised as a trader who’d been able to get close enough and backstab him at the last minute. Hundreds of men had died in an attempt to catch who they called the Shadowbringer. Others called him the Night Fury. Offspring of Lightning and Death itself. If she didn’t know about this place’s securities against magic, she’d have suspected the storm was his doing.

He sneered. “They think all I am is because of my magic. They think they take that away from me and I am nothing more than an empty vessel.” He fished something out of his pocket that looked suspiciously like a lock pick, twirled it between his fingers and put it away again. “But I’m not stupid.” He spoke with a calm, collected voice that could have fooled her if she didn’t know better. There was a dangerous power behind that voice and she got chills from the way his eyes drifted over her body. “Meredith, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer, but the twitch of her mouth and slight widening of her eyes revealed her surprise. “Yeah, I thought so. The guards are arrogant enough to think themselves above me when they talk right next to me, like I’m incapable of listening or thinking just because they have me locked up– and, and some kind of… of power over me.” He was gesticulating at nothing in particular. Something in his eyes turned dark as he regarded her. “What about you, Meredith? Do you think you’re mightier than me because you’re collecting knowledge on how to defeat me?”

The hairs on her arms stood up at the implication that, even though he was at the Guard’s mercy at the moment, he could still defeat – kill – them all. She gathered her words and her voice back from the pit of her stomach. “I think you’re supposed to be in your cell right now.”

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, he heard the slight tremble in her voice, smirking at her. From his other pocket, he produced an apple – the red one she’d personally picked from the market this morning – and tossed it into the air a couple times, catching it with ease every time. He might be distracted enough, she thought, maybe she could formulate some kind of plan, or, or…

“I’m supposed to be many things right now.” He approached the desk and she instinctively took a step backwards, clutching the candelabra that her knuckles turned white. He laughed, low and deep and alluring. She gulped, heart hammering in her chest. In the back of her mind, she saw the field of dead bodies, saw the black skin, the shadows that had gorged themselves on their lives, eyes milky and gray and dead–

“Don’t come any closer!” Her voice was definitely trembling now, along with her hand. Molten wax ran down the brass candleholder.

Unimpressed, he put the apple down on a corner of the desk, on top of a pile of notes on alchemy. Idly flipping through a few sheets, he rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.” When she still didn’t relax, he waved at her tight grip. “And will you finally put that thing away? I’m not a vampire.”

She did. She put it on the desk, not because she trusted him, but because she would burn her skin from the wax if she kept shaking like that. She didn’t move her hand away from it, though. Just in case.

“Wh-what do you want?”

“From you?” He looked up from the page he was reading. “Oh, nothing, really. I just like to get out of my lovely cell once in a while and roam this place. It has lots and lots of secret paths and hiding places, did you know that?” He raised his chin and nodded at the chandelier above them. “A little extravagant for my taste, though.”

Cocking her head, she regarded him, curiosity taking over. “Why don’t you just leave?”

He glanced at her, again with the single raised brow. “Sure, and then I’ll play a game of tag with your royal guard friends out there.”

She frowned, not quite buying that argument. Surely, if he wanted, he could find a way to escape. Maybe he was just putting on an act and he wasn’t as powerful as he made himself appear? No, she didn’t believe that. He must have a different plan in mind – if only she could figure it out, figure him out…

Suddenly, that wicked grin was back on his face, and before she could react, he stepped close to her, so very close. She froze, her breath hitched, the warmth of another body almost tangible. He leaned in so that their noses were almost brushing, his magical green eyes trained to hers, locking her in place. A swoop went through her stomach and her heart was beating so loud, she was sure he could hear it. She swallowed when she felt her body tingle at the proximity. Not now, not here… Concentrate… Steeling herself, she pushed these feelings away.

“Or maybe you could help me. Pretty thing like you should be able to distract the guards for a few minutes…” His fingers lightly touched her wrist, trailed up her arm, leaving maddening electricity in its wake. Dammit…

“Or I could make you…” From one second to the other, his face hardened, something dark glossing over his eyes, his hands gripping her arms so tightly it hurt. A short, terrified cry escaped her and he leaned ever closer to her instinctively retreating form, but there was no way to escape, he held her firmly in his grasp. “It would be so easy,” he whispered into her ear and a shiver like a cold shower overcame her entire body. Wow… Through all her emotions, admiration crept towards the surface, and she let it hover there. As long as it didn’t break through her mask…

Ostensibly satisfied with her reaction, he pulled away from her, dangerously unpredictable smirk back in place. With a heart pounding for several reasons, she watched him pick up his – her – apple, toss it into the air one more time, and make towards the door. “If you need me,” he called back without turning his head, “I’ll be in the shadows.”

A few moments after he’d left, the life rushed back into her veins, her knees wobbled and she collapsed into her chair.

“And scene!”

As the lights went back on, someone came to blow out the candles, people started clapping and cheering and slowly, the crowd around her came back into focus. And with this change of atmosphere, Meredith turned back into Astrid.

From around the corner, Hiccup sauntered in, the wicked Shadowbringer grin morphed back into that gap-toothed smile she liked so much.

“I think we really got it this time!” she heard Gary call from his director’s chair, but Astrid barely noticed. She held up her hand for a high-five and when Hiccup accepted it with an excited whoop, the tingles were back in full force. This time, she didn’t try to push them away.

“Fuck, Hiccup!” She laughed and lightly shoved his arm. “I was actually scared back there; you were so amazing!”

An adorable blush spread on his cheeks. “Thanks. Not bad yourself.”

Someone shouted, “Early lunch, everybody!”, and she immediately caught Hiccup’s gaze.

“Lunch in your trailer?” he asked in a low voice, a secret, suggestive glimmer in his eyes. She nodded, lips tingling in anticipation.

“Meet you there in ten.”

#httyd #ff #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #hiccstrid #magic au #dark!hiccup #(kind of)#this was a lot of fun to write #how to train your dragon #fanfiction #httyd fic

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littleladymab · 3 years

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The Phoenix Suite (SW Rebels Pod+Fic)

Do you know what a phoenix is? It is said that the bird would go out in a burst of flames, and then rise from its ashes, born again. Even if we lose here, the Rebellion will never go out. Someone will always be the spark.

((Kallus tries to get a message to the Rebellion, but he fails -- tries to get a message to the Rebellion but he fails -- but he fails -- he fails))

Series: Star Wars Rebels Characters: Kallus, Thrawn, and the Ghost Crew Rating: Teen Tags: S3 Finale, time-loop, warnings for implied torture/character death/suicide (but again, it's a time loop, so it doesn't stick)

Read by Litra (link to stream)

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Kallus hits the ground, hard.

He wheezes, more in shock than in pain, and inhales a lungful of dust and air tinged with the ozone of blaster fire. His shoulder takes the brunt of the blow, hands cuffed uselessly behind him.

Still, he’s able to roll into the fall and scrambles to his feet as the call goes up behind him.

“Grand Admiral!” a trooper shouts. “The prisoner is trying to escape!”

Kallus can’t hear Thrawn’s response, but the screams of the dying Rebel forces and the heavy tread of the walkers is enough of an answer: He’ll die with Atollon, and with the Rebellion.

For a wild, frantic second, Kallus considers charging one of the rear guards and taking their blaster, dragging down whoever else he can with his inevitable demise.

But then the part of his brain that clings to survival, to the barest glimmer of hope that this can still be salvaged, urges him onward.

So he runs — away from the sounds of the massacre, away from the orderly advance of the troopers and their walkers. Far enough that the only thing he can hear is the distant roar of chaos and ships crashing to the planet’s surface in his ears.

Breaking the cuffs is easy when he has a moment. He knows where to apply the right amount of pressure, even with his hands locked behind him.

There’s a faint and ominous skittering sound to his left, so he banks right. He has no knowledge of Atollon, and he certainly doesn’t want to learn about the local fauna.

Not when his brain is reeling and clawing desperately for a solution. Not when he’s staunchly ignoring the voice in the back of his head, the cold, calculated tone of the ISB Agent, as it scoffs and says you know a hopeless case when you see one.

Because he does. He knew from the moment he woke up in the cell after being knocked out by Thrawn on the communications tower.

Shit, probably earlier than that, if he’s being completely honest.

Playing at being a Rebel, thinking he could handle the mantle of Fulcrum.

The moment Thrawn walked into the picture, he was fucked.

His feet carry him without thought, winding away deeper and deeper into the wilds of this uninhabited planet. Further, he thinks, from the remains of his failure.

Until he crests a ridge and he’s standing on a cliff and he can see it all spread out before him. The base flattened, like a bug squashed beneath a boot. The white shapes of troopers picking their way through the remains, and the occasional flash of blaster fire when they find a survivor.

His stomach turns at the sight, the now familiar sickening sensation that this is the mighty hand of the Empire. This is not a war, and it never will be.

And it’s not that he wanted to go down in a blaze of glory or anything. He just wanted to make a difference for once. The tug in his chest, the last desperate pull of hope that led him this way, finally dies, leaving him standing on uneasy legs at the edge of the precipice.

“This is all my fault,” he says to the valley below, and wishes that it could be more of an apology and less of a goodbye.

“Which side do you mourn for?” a voice like thunder asks, and Kallus whirls around — reaching for a weapon that isn’t there.

But instead of a man, instead of Grand Admiral Thrawn with his glowing red eyes or the emotionless mask of a trooper, Kallus finds himself facing a creature that towers like a mountain above him. Its head is framed in a halo of dust as constellations of atmo burners light up behind it, and eyes like twin suns stare down at the human.

Kallus is speechless. Nothing in all of his training has prepared him for this. “What are you?” he asks instead.

“I,” the creature intones, shifting its head so that its silhouette is visible in the fading light, “am the Bendu.” It creaks with every movement, the coral that forms its antlers and outer shell grinding together as the beast lowers itself to Kallus’ level. “And what are you? You found me, yet… you are not a Jedi.”

Kallus wonders what makes being a Jedi a prerequisite for this. “I am…” Kallus starts, but in the end, he can’t figure out what the answer should be.

“Alexsandr Kallus, Imperial Security Bureau Agent 021,” the creature supplies, and Kallus feels hot and cold inside all at once.

He grinds his teeth and clenches his hands into fists and refuses to give into a physical display of his anger. “Not any longer.”

The Bendu studies him, those burning yellow eyes peeling him away layer by layer. “You wear the uniform. You keep that name close to your heart. Who are you, Alexsandr Kallus, if not an agent of the Empire?”

Enough is enough.

Every bruise and broken rib and laceration stings, the pain pulsing in time to his ragged breathing and his labored heartbeat. They are what reminds him of who he is, because everything he can see and hear tells him that the Bendu is right, he still is ISB-021.

He draws himself up to his full height, and throws his shoulders back in a way that he has seen Rebellion fighters do — one that conveys defiance instead of the perfectly postured lines of the Empire. “I am Fulcrum,” he says. “I am a Rebel spy, an Imperial defector. I am—” Here he falters, voice finally cracking. “I am well and truly fucked.”

The Bendu gives a low growl of something that might be understanding deep in its chest. “So then, Alexsandr Kallus: Which side do you mourn for?”

A laugh, strained and hysterical, boils up the back of his throat, but he swallows it down before it can get loose. “Why would I mourn the Imperials? They are the clear victors here.”

“Ah,” the Bendu says, as if it had caught Kallus in a particularly clever trap. “But in their victory, have they not also lost? Things they don’t even realize are missing.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Kallus counters. “If you were here, why didn’t you help the Rebellion? Why didn’t you help the Jedi?”

There is another rumble, this time like a storm, and the blazing suns of the Bendu’s eyes flash in warning. “I am the one in the middle. As I told the Jedi Knight who came and asked for my assistance, I take no side.”

Kallus just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. More Force and Jedi nonsense taken to the extreme. “This is a war. You side with the oppressors when you refuse to take action against them.”

“You picked a side, Agent. You carry pride for what you have done. Who are you, with your accolades and titles bestowed upon you by your Empire, to tell me that I do more harm than good? I am the Bendu. I am the one in the middle.”

Standing there on the cliff’s edge, still in his ISB uniform, Kallus wonders if he himself isn’t currently dangling precariously in the middle. Stranded between two worlds, no longer one but not truly another. He rejected the Empire, but was never fully accepted by the Rebellion.

Except that’s not true, is it? Not really. It wasn’t all that long ago that he was in the detention cell, undoing Ezra Bridger’s handcuffs, and the boy turned to look up at him with an expression of distrust but determination. The crew of the Ghost put everything on the line to try and save him, but he had said no. I can do more good here.

“I didn’t think that I had a choice,” Kallus finally says. “I didn’t know anything else.”

“Then what changed?”

How to answer? A part of him had died after that night on Bahryn. The person who crawled his way out of the ice and into the trader’s ship was someone else entirely.

Kallus had been given a choice; several, in fact.

He had spared Garazeb Orrelios’ life, twice. He had declined the invitation to be rescued by the Ghost crew.

That’s when he began to acknowledge the cracks — the chipping veneer on the Empire’s elaborate portrait of the future. When given the chance to do something more, he knew that there was another answer than the easy one offered by the Empire.

Eventually, he gives a helpless shrug. “Everything.”

The Bendu considers this, considers him. It’s similar to the feeling of being studied by Kanan Jarrus, or by the Inquisitor. That depth in their gaze that sees beyond this moment, like they know something is about to happen.

Someone who can see the full picture, where Kallus cannot.

Kallus knows, without a doubt, that he’s about to be given another choice. He is a man who takes disjointed pieces and knows how to put them together into a narrative. He is a man who has thrived on logic and reason for so long that they are second nature to him.

There is nothing left for him except execution at the hands of the Empire, or a slow death in the wilds of Atollon. There is no other way for this story to end, except for the choice that he will be offered.

“Would you change this, if you could?” The Bendu waves one massive hand, encompassing Kallus beaten and bloody, the smoldering valley below, the remains of destroyed ships like falling stars in the hazy sky.

“Yes,” Kallus says without hesitating.

“What would you change?”

Another shrug, not knowing where to begin. “Everything.”

The Bendu leans in closer still, until its eyes are the only thing that Kallus can see, and its hot breath washes over him. “If you could do this over again, would you?”

Now is not the time for logic and reason. Now is the time for gut instinct, in trusting something bigger than himself, bigger than the Empire.

Alexsandr Kallus, no longer an ISB Agent, no longer Fulcrum, dead man walking, looks the Bendu straight in the eyes and says, “Yes.”

It happens all at once. (It happens over the course of an eternity.) [It happens in juddering starts and stops and flashes of moments strung together.]

Kallus feels like he’s being plunged into a pool (into the dead cold of space) [like he’s being torn apart and reconfigured]. There is a weight on his chest that saps the air from his lungs and before he can get a chance to wonder if he’s made a mistake, everything goes black.

(( read the rest on ao3 ))

#star wars #sw rebels #star wars rebels #i live life on the wild side and just leave the links in the main post #a lil miss fic #podfic #baby's first podfic please enjoy #litra did an amazing job reading it #written for the pod_together 2021 event

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maverick-werewolf · 4 years

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Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends - Preview, “Waking the Dragon”

Colored interior Illustration from Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends, drawn by Justin R Stebbins

It’s almost time! Well, relatively. Pretty soon, though! Are you excited? I’m nervous, personally. Maybe just a little excited.

This preview features not only Caiden Voros and Gwen Vergil, the protagonists of the book, but also Tom Drake, someone else you might be a little familiar with from my blog... and someone who, as you might also know, becomes a werewolf not too long after this story takes place!

So here’s another preview (a little late; sorry about that!) for my upcoming story collection, Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends. It’s a book, but it’s something in-between a novel and a short story collection.

Each story is individual and stands on its own, but they also go in order and build upon each other. So I’m not sure if one should really call it a novel, but it’s also different than just unrelated short stories.

Anyway, here’s another preview - enjoy!

For more info on the book itself, you can also check out this post. Also be sure to check out the Hunt Never Ends tag for a whole lot more book previews!

And remember - Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends is available for preorder (digital only; physical available on release date) on Amazon.com!

Pre-Order Link

Please note that, while the ebook is now available for preorder, Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends will also be available in paperback on October 30 from the same Amazon listing! Paperbacks cannot be preordered using Amazon’s system, however.

Be sure to check back October 30 for the physical (paperback) edition!

In the third section of the book, Caiden and Gwen hunt for a mysterious berserker whom the locals claim is causing trouble... and, for the first time, Caiden truly sees how hard it is to draw the line between man and monster.

If you’re interested in purchasing the book digitally, you can now pre-order it right here and have it immediately on October 30!

(Paperback edition will be available on Amazon on October 30)

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When they reached Eloh, they found chaos waiting for them.

Smoke. It reached him suddenly, strong and caustic. Not too long after, buildings arose on the horizon. Straw-roofed homes, fenced-in farmlands…

Many of them on fire.

Shapes moved about in the distance. Riders on horseback, likely local knights, were heading for the chaos much like them. People were stumbling into every other direction, trying to get away from the fires.

And not just the fires, but the creatures amongst them that moved so much faster than any human could. They were tall, many of them hunched like angry animals, trailing long, bestial tails as they ducked and ran. It was a grotesque sight, and for a moment Caiden couldn’t help but stop and stare – trying to figure out just what he was seeing—

Beasts turned man or man turned beasts, half concealed by smoke rolling thick and dark from the fires, as if they’d all burst straight from an Achaean’s storybook as it burnt.

The plains rang with screams. Frantic. Pitched. Helpless.

Under him, Caiden felt his horse tense. Its ears flicked back in alarm, and it huffed in protest when his heel snapped back to drive it forward. Right along with the knights and their sturdy destriers – warhorses that, unlike Caiden’s steed, didn’t flinch at cries of pain and the smell of blood. But even they hesitated at the sight of these beast-men.

As they drew nearer, he thought he saw most of the beasts breaking off, their paths taking them through and away from the burning buildings. Away from the approaching knights. Were they fleeing?

No. Not fleeing, Caiden realized. They had simply gotten what they’d come for.

Carried under their arms, most of the monsters held struggling shapes – prisoners. Humans, the farmers who’d been living so peacefully before in these almost idyllic houses of simple straw and wood, their lives very literally going up in flames.

“After them!” shouted the head knight, Earl Warren Drake. Blades were drawn, metal ringing and flashing in the smoke-filtered sun.

Caiden didn’t draw his blade. Instead, he pulled the crossbow from his back and loaded it, hands quick and deft. Then, he picked his target.

A monster cut through the smoke not too far ahead of him, hunkered low but carrying one human under each arm like sacks of grain. It ran at a full sprint, away from the charging knights on horseback.

These monsters were fast, even running on two legs. Two long, loping, animalistic legs, ending in great clawed feet that seemed to hit the ground without a single noise, their light gait looking almost effortless. They could outrun a human on foot, but they didn’t seem able to outstrip a galloping horse.

Caiden steadily gained on the one he chased: a monster covered in a hide of thick, dark scales, with a ridge of spikes running along its spine…

It plunged into the chaos, ducking into the remains of a collapsing building and coming out the other side even as Caiden had to stop his horse and wheel it around past the smoldering home.

The smoke grew thicker, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs. Coughing, he pulled a portion of his long cloak over one shoulder and slung it around his neck, pulling it up over his nose and mouth.

The monster, however, disappeared.

It faded into the thick haze billowing from a nearby barn, until even its silhouette was gone. Didn’t leave a trace.

“Shit.”

Picking a direction that wasn’t backward, Caiden set off again, reins in one hand and crossbow in the other, couching the stock against his shoulder. Ready to fire the instant he saw the monster again.

He burst through the thickest smoke, emerging on the far side of it. Just in time to see the monster, running for a line of dark trees not too far away now. Just in time to take aim—

And just in time for a streak of black and red to rush headlong past him, blocking his shot.

That streak was a knight, the same one trailing red-hot rage in his wake. Now he leaned low over the neck of his black horse, a long spear in one hand. All at once, he flipped his grip on the spear in one quick twirl, took aim, and threw.

His javelin cut through the light veil of smoke still hanging around them—

To fly straight into a tree. It lodged there, the head stuck firmly in the bark, as the monster disappeared into the darkness of the trees seconds before the spear struck.

The heat coming off the knight, clad in a sleeveless breastplate and horsehair helmet like a hoplite, intensified to a quick burn that made Caiden’s grip on his crossbow tighten.

And the knight snarled only one crude word: “Malakas.”

All around them, the other knights arrived, bringing with them their currents and eddies of emotion. Mostly frustration, but none pulsed as powerful as the hoplite knight with his tall, blood-red crest.

Another interior illustration preview

(More writing preview under the cut!)

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Their surroundings became darker the deeper they went. The ground turned grey, and a fine, black mist-like haze made of darkest shadow grew around their feet. Caiden removed his crossbow from his back, keeping it at the ready.

Each tree looked blacker than the last, and always with no leaves and barely a whisper of wind to rattle their dry, seemingly dead branches. Yet not one was rotten or fallen over, and thick, twisted, black roots still turned the ground treacherous. Made them have to watch their every step.

Caiden felt that the roots lowered his guard, as he had to make sure he didn’t trip, and he didn’t like it. He’d marched armies across plains, led smaller teams through cities and ruins, across mountains, and onto battlefields. He’d led men into forests a few times, sure, and he even liked to think he was pretty sure-footed. But he had never walked through anything like this.

More than once, one of his boots got stuck in a root and he had to pry it free. Others, he crunched underfoot and didn’t give it a second thought, but they weren’t half as brittle as anything dead should’ve been.

There was no smell here, either. No forest detritus, no pine needles or scent of fresh bark. Not even the smell of dirt, like the forest was a void in the world and wasn’t meant to exist. There was nothing but the silence, like what hung over a night of newfallen snow but not peaceful and not pleasant, which amplified everything he felt from the three others with him.

Like that same pull he had noticed before – not out, for once, but in. Inside him. An emptiness. Felt almost like hunger, a void waiting and wanting to be filled. But hunger, he was all too familiar with. This was something else.

And the silence in these trees only made it that much worse. There was no distraction, nothing else to turn to. Only the silence, the hunger, the curiosity, the fire, or the trepidation – the forest, himself, Sadja, Tom, or Gwen.

He didn’t like any of his options.

But as it was, he glanced back at Tom and slowed enough to walk alongside him. Tom threw him a look and glanced him up and down, like he still wasn’t sure what to make of him.

“You said you’re from Redfield, right?” Tom said. “What’d they feed you? I’ve seen Nordlings like half your size.”

Caiden huffed and didn’t answer. Meanwhile, Tom almost tripped on a root, only just catching himself before he went face-first into the faint mist floating above the ground – but not before Caiden’s hand shot out and landed on his shoulder for support.

Tom threw him a look: decidedly embarrassed, but not without a hint of surprised gratefulness. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be glad when we’re out of this malakes forest,” he added in a mutter, straightening up and trying to look like he had lost none of his pride, though Caiden felt a brief flare in the eternal burn coming off him.

After a moment, Caiden said, “What is that; Old Achaean?”

Tom gave him a look. “What?”

“That word. You’ve said it before.”

“Malaka? Yeah, that’s Old Achaean. I think you figured out the general idea of what it means, huh?”

Caiden snorted. “I’ve heard it before.” He paused. “I didn’t expect to hear Old Achaean this far north.”

“Yeah, well, we surprise you sometimes. Me especially. I’m loaded with surprises – you’ll find that out.” He furrowed his brow. “Or maybe you won’t, since they’re surprises.”

Caiden threw him a glance. “Right.”

“So if we’re trekking into creepy forests and swamps together, might as well know who has your back. Me, I grew up in Illikon my whole life, wouldn’t have had it any other way. And I’ll be a knight soon, and that will be awesome, going around and protecting people with nobody looming over your shoulder.”

Tom’s gaze drifted a little then, a small smile tugging at his lips. A lightness lifted the heavy heat in Tom’s soul, if only a little. Enough for Caiden to glimpse something underneath, though he wasn’t sure what. A warmth, gentle and kind – different from the dangerous flames that made up so much of him.

Didn’t make much sense when he thought about it, tried to put it into words, but when he felt it, that made all the difference.

Tom seemed to snap out of it just a little, his gaze focusing on Caiden again. “But I guess you do that anyway, huh? Go around protecting people, nobody giving you orders.”

Caiden huffed. “That depends.”

“So nobles try to give Venatori orders too, the way Marks was doing?”

“Sometimes. If they want us around at all.”

Tom frowned, but he scratched at his neck and, suddenly, asked instead, “Ever been to Illikon?”

“No,” Caiden said.

“You should go, maybe when we’ve saved all these people. It’s only the best city in the Empire – or, well, anywhere. There’s nothing like smelling the sea breeze, watching the ships come and go. I’ve always heard people talk bad about her – Illikon, I mean – back in the Empire, but everybody who does hasn’t ever been there. I can guarantee it.”

The warmth from before rose up in Tom again, like his heart swelled at the thought of something. Illikon, if Caiden had to guess, just from the way he said the name. More like a woman he loved than a city he called home.

All Caiden said was, “Maybe.”

Tom flashed him a quick grin. “Wow. ‘Maybe.’ Don’t get excited or anything. You’re a real stoic guy, huh, Caid?”

‘Caid.’ He was someone who used nicknames without permission, then, if he could figure one out or make one up. Wasn’t the first time he had been called that one, though. Caiden glanced at him and huffed.

Then, something else tickled his senses. Caiden stopped in his tracks, arms tensing, hands squeezing the grip of his crossbow and his finger itching to slide to the trigger.

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thethrillof · 4 years

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43. I won't ever leave you, I promise, for the white lady and the siblings?

not sure which siblings you meant, but i picked the ones at the bottom of the world! also ty anon, this helped kick me in the pants and write an idea i’d already had but only wrote like 3 sentences of months ago.

The White Lady’s growing blindness mattered little to her.

The many Roots that she is are enough for her to sense the world around her, farther than eyes ever could. She felt the Hollow Knight fail as she felt the cowering of Mantis Traitors outside as she felt the people of the City fall still. This is how it was, and this was how it would always be, until either the new Vessel usurped the one that failed, or until the Infection came to consume her as well.

Neither of these happen. The Hollow Knight is not destroyed. The Infection is not contained within the Vessel that found its way to her. The Infection, instead, shudders and twists, pustules she felt pressing against distant roots shrinking and cooling until they burn no more.

Hallownest has a greater chance to survive. She is as pleased as she is wary, at first.

Quickly, something else comes to replace it.

Like the Hollow Knight, yet not. Nearly cold. Not at all empty.

She long since held the belief she did not fear death. She fully expected it to come for her one day, tearing past Dryya to rip into her.

And yet now, the White Lady feels a dread as numbness creeps along her roots.

Her awareness shrinks from across the kingdom to only her gardens, and then only to her abode. It leaches the light from her. The sensation that lingers at the end of her roots spike with the briefest pain. Absolute severance. She is capable of growing out again, but this will take some time.

And she suspects there will not be a chance.

The world shakes with unsound, the cry of the impure Vessel’s breaking in inverse.

The thick walls give way like rotten fruit beneath massive claws. The tendrils that grew upward are torn asunder, the same pain and numbness taking their places.

Something stands above her. Smaller than her beloved Wyrm had been, yet dwarfing her reduced form. Its mere presence smothers her light. This is the being that has cut her back, crushing her with lifelessness inherent to Void.

An unexpected change the strange Vessel has caused.

“Well?” she says at last. Her fear does not thread through her voice. She comprehends not what it wants, the stoic silence as blinding as the Vessel who returned with the Kingsoul, distorted, and to offer the thrumming power of a beauty from lands beyond. “If peace is desired, leave me. If destruction, there is no greater chance than now.”

A god of growth can outwait the silence; she does, though the pressure of Void blankets her vision with bursting black spots that overtake the blur of the world she has come to see.

It seems to find her wanting. Or the options she had offered, perhaps.

The presences withdraws, at least from nearby. It could lurk within the shadows of her Garden yet.

No miracle occurs to knit the place she’s called home for so long together again. She can hear the whispers of the plants that surround her, but cannot see or feel them.

For the first time, her bindings feel a prison.

Loyal Dryya does not appear when she calls.

The White Lady droops. Nothing would stop her from her Queen’s orders beyond severe injury and death. Much time has passed since she last reported. More than she had fathomed, in her own agelessness and the Kingdom’s stasis. Hallownest will be deprived without her in it, whether she had been felled by the mantis invaders or the Void that had just torn its way to her.

It was inevitable, she supposes. But she must save mourning for later.

Her bonds can be broken with assistance of another, or, with greater difficulty, on her own. If she does so herself, she will expend energy that will cull her ability to grow for some time. She can wait as she always has, exposed and incapable of knowing the risks prowling her gardens.

Her focus is expanded, straining against the seal that binds her. A pulse of light and power that grows, repeated thrice, before the world bursts with brightness she can see even with near-blindness and her eyes shut tight.

The runes shatter around her.

The physical bindings are a far simpler matter. She briefly rests to the sound of distant water before shifting and wriggling from each layer.

She is nearly done when the crushing weight returns. Immediately, the White Lady halts, turning her head around and upward, preparing for the creature’s silhouette to loom once more.

For a breath, it does, before one great claw presses itself against the back of her head. Fear prickles through her, her roots curling inward, but it does not behead her, only pushing her down. Her prostration is what it desires, then? Submission of what light is left around Hallownest?

It is then she sees there is more Void swirling around her base. The pure liquid form she had been most familiar with, imbuing her seeds with it alongside the Pale King, before it was discovered pulling it from the Abyss merely destroyed their bodies, not replacing them.

Little spots of light rise from the darkness.

Her first foolish impulse is to deem them lumaflies, but they would not survive direct contact with Void. They would not come in pairs.

Her Wyrm had written reports of what happened to the ones that broke prematurely. She had read them in his whispering voice, of the temporary Shades the Void had formed in the Abyss, keeping the shape of the masks, left only with malevolence and nothingness. She had chosen not to read further; only the chosen Vessel mattered, not the fragments that would never ascend. Her pity would be a waste on what would return inertly to the Void anyway.

Her attention so captured, the claw pulls away. Soon, the looming shadow of the newly-risen god is again beyond her senses.

All that is left surrounding her are the broken remnants of the failures. She moves her head, trying to sense how many are near. A root from her head brushes a shade too near, and it makes an awful shriek, shying away.

The eyes flicker as one, responding to a piece of the collective Void’s pain.

The onslaught she braces for does not come.

Some eyes fade—taking flight, she realizes, some shrinking to pinholes of light in the distance. Some sink, trying to avoid her head, though more roots linger under her remaining bindings and beneath the ground. A few seem to startle and puff up, swinging towards her face but recoiling before true impact.

As the new Vessel had been different from the Hollow Knight in their pureness and ideas instilled, both were different. These fragments of unlife, these failed Vessels, are acting differently from each other as well, not unified at all.

And they do not leave.

She waits, half-encased the remains of her bindings. They drift away and back, clustering around her, brushing over the grass with a whisper that quickly becomes familiar.

The god appears again, once or twice, to survey her, and to usher the Shades back towards her. There is a distinct sense of something akin to disappointment. It crawls over her bark. It may be its, or it may be her own, projected as her beloved had projected perfection on the first Vessel.

When none of this changes, it comes that she may understand, at least in part, what the Void-Focused god desires.

The White Lady is not the mother of these beings. She is of life, and they do not live. She did not have the right to caretake living things born of her, as she had perverted nature of the world and herself when she put Hallownest above all else. She cannot touch them. She expects she will never be able to love them.

Her gardens lie overgrown. The thorns of Infection are rotting, the plants crying out with their scents in a way the Shades cannot.

Void-shapes gather beneath leaves, behind petals of her massive flowers. Some bump together, while others dart from one shadowed place to another, sneaking or chasing her outright.

She cannot be a mother, but she can allow her sanctuary to be a shelter. Caretaking one to be at least somewhat taking care of the others.

Mortal lifetimes have passed since she last stood. The blurs of soul-bright eyes turn to face her, as though understanding this. Fragments of curiosity is more likely, and quiet fear higher still.

Her roots wind into legs that tremble as she takes a step forward. She holds little Queenly grace as she nearly trips over herself.

Shades that gather around the edge of her brightness quiver. It may or may not be shock. Laughter.

...Worry.

The White Lady inhales deeply, and makes herself continue forward.

She rediscovers her gardens. Void rivers flow through it, eroding paths in the leaves and grass, but each are angled and calculated, killing the least that grow around paths. The gates her husband had erected to protect her in a then-unknown parting gift are broken. She could pass it by, if she so chooses, and see what ruin the Void has left of Hallownest.

Or what it has not. She had willingly left it in the hands of another.

They are not children.

They gather behind her all the same as she stands at the edge, waiting to see what she will do.

They are not children.

…She does not know what they are, if they are not.

They have left the Abyss. They have been given to her by a god with mastery of Void that was previously unimaginable.

Perhaps she had been in error before, just as her King had been.

“My place is here. I will not leave you,” she murmurs to the shades that linger behind her. “I promise this.”

#Anonymous #jules writes

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cebinaruavin · 4 years

Text

Survivors

((Co-written with @thefugitivemango / @brent-sunborn . @pariker / @nepenthea and @kaiekasunwhisper for character mention.))

~*~*~

Shortly after the events of Ny’alotha...

Crash!

The shadows sloppily deposited Brent into his tent in what remained of the Coterie’s camp. The lack of grace wasn’t from wounds or exhaustion… his power was waning. He’d felt it immediately as N’Zoth was destroyed. Ripples had surged through the shadows, wracking everyone linked in any way to the Old God at the moment of his demise; and they hadn’t been the same ever since. Like a wheel spinning off its axis, Ren’dorei could feel the shadows losing stability, falling out of the balanced alignment they once boasted. He brought himself to his feet, and set back the items knocked over by his rough landing; a jeweled vase and golden scarab statuette, both of which he’d uncovered with Nepen’thea in their archaeological days. This tent had been one they shared… and he couldn’t bring himself to change anything about it.

His ear flickered, eyes narrowing as he glanced to the tent’s entrance. He wasn’t alone, it seemed. He drew a dagger - the metal feeling heavier in his hand somehow - as he silently stepped towards the tent flaps. He couldn’t feel anything as clearly through the shadows anymore, unable to tell if it was a friend or enemy he heard in one of the adjacent tents.

He knew it wasn’t Kai’eka, at the very least. For one, it was much too quiet a noise to be her. For another… he’d watched her die in Ny’alotha. Even without the runes connecting them, the pain he’d felt shoot through his body was paralytic. Intense. Sorrowful. Thinking of it now caused his heart to well up in his throat. He swallowed it down, refocusing on the imminent danger. Was someone ransacking the Coterie camp? Or…

“... Ceb?” he called out in a whisper, hoping it was her.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sharp senses, Sweetie,” the familiar melodious voice spoke up.

The shape of Cebina’s silhouette formed among the swirling shadows of the rift, before stepping out to meet Brent. She looked healthy and well. Clearly, she hadn’t been anywhere near the fighting in Ny’alotha… or perhaps she had and was just that good. It was hard to say which. It was rare to find the priestess on the front lines of any battle. Like Brent, she preferred to operate through deceit and choosing the perfect moment to strike.

She could feel Brent drained through the shadow link they shared. They felt significantly weaker since she’d last seen him. It was understandable, given the events that had just transpired. Her own powers had weakened from N’Zoth’s destruction, but only slightly. The Priestess knew better than to draw all of her powers from a single source, and she’d been prepared for the eventual fall of the Old Gods.

“You look terrible,” she said, walking past him and into the tent.

She sat on the bed, her robes opening up at her thighs as she crossed her legs. Her hand patted the spot next to her.

“Just the two of us left, then?” She asked, head tilting, “Haven’t been able to sense much of anything without the runes.”

The Ghostblade slipped his dagger away, as he exhaled a sigh of relief into his mask. He’d had enough fighting… and enough losing friends… for one day. He tugged his mask down, as he took Cebina’s invitation to sit down beside her on the bed.

“Kai’s dead.” he said, bluntly - though his tone conveyed well his sorrow at that fact.

He looked around the room, shoulders slumped and ears drooping. He’d known this was a possibility - a part of him had even hoped for it. But that didn’t take the sting out of this defeat. He’d failed Nepen’thea. And now, he’d failed Kai’eka. The loss took its toll on Brent, whether he cared for it or not.

“What’ll you do now?” he asked Cebina, eyes finally flickering over to her. ��There’s nothing left worth rebuilding. The Twilights are done. You have a plan from here on out?”

Cebina remained quiet and attentive until that moment, keeping her hands respectively to herself. She’d noted that Brent hadn’t sought her out since Nepen’thia’s demise, so she left any physical initiative completely up to him. As expected, the ex-Blackened Blade didn’t take loss very well.

She leaned back a bit, as he asked the question, eyes staring at some unknown point as she thought it over.

“Well, I still have my little business in Stormwind. That’s going well, so I’ll keep working at that for now. Might make the occasional visit to Silvermoon to play around with an old friend. Nothing much to do now except wait for the next opportunity, hmm?”

She wasn’t speaking of the cult, of course. The Old Gods had been a transitory thing for her. N’Zoth’s army had been good while it lasted, but their fall was inevitable. Even without them, there was still power and knowledge to be found.

“What about you?” she asked, turning her attention back to Brent.

“I…”

He trailed off, going silent. He stared for a moment at nothing, before looking back to Cebina. His gaze was telling; lost, uncertain… scared.

“... I don’t know.”

His ear flickered. He’d expected it to feel all the worse to say aloud, but somehow he felt… liberated? A weight lifted from him. He didn’t know what to do now, for the first time in years. It was something he’d dreaded for a while, but now it felt… freeing. He didn’t know what to do because nothing was required of him, now. No one had any demands of him. No cosmic force held him in any expectations.

He laughed. Suddenly, surprising even to him.

“I don’t know!” he repeated, smiling.

He shrugged, continuing to chuckle lightly as he looked at Cebina. Ears perked, shoulders back… completely different than just moments before. The possibilities were endless for him! By the nature of how he worked, he wasn’t tied at all to the Twilight Cult. No implications that would cause him any trouble with the law. None he was aware about, anyway. He’d be honestly surprised if anyone could tie him to the Old Gods. Especially now.

“I can do… whatever I want, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Cebina chimed in happily.

She shot him a smile as he finally understood. Brent had been a cultist for years, she’d seen it in his mind when he’d shared how important Nepen’thea had been to him. He’d loved her dearly… to the point where he’d put himself in a prison; two prisons. He was a slave to the cult all the while imprisoned by his love for Thea. Cebina hadn’t bothered to bring it up, knowing he would have never seen it her way; rose tinted glasses.

“Freedom,” she continued, “It’s a powerful feeling, isn’t it? Not having anyone to answer to. No one to hold you back from discovering who you were meant to be.”

“Yeah. It’s… it’s daunting, but…” he nodded. “I’m… excited about it. Is that weird?”

He chuckled again, as he thought more about it. What did he want to do? What should he choose as the next chapter of his life? He had some ideas… but none stood out among the others too strongly. But he liked it! It was a new sensation, such an uncertainty! It fed into his newly-discovered agency to decide for himself! For once, there was no wrong answer!

“I… I want to get back into archaeology.” he declared - of that, he was certain. “But first, I think I want to… interact with people. Somehow.”

He nodded again, firmly. This work had isolated him from all but a few people. And now, with the majority of those people gone from his life, he felt he’d need more. It’d been so long since he made a new connection. That Kal’dorei Death Knight was… possibly one. Before, Cebina was the only other. His eyes flickered to her, as he reached out his hand to take hold of hers.

“I… want to interact with you more, too,” he told her, firmly, “This shouldn’t be the end of our friendship… right?”

Cebina giggled, laying back on the bed as she looked up at Brent.

“Of course not, silly! There’s no reason for the two of us to stop hanging out because of the cult’s fall. Our friendship goes beyond the will of some Old God, hm?”

Her shadows brushed gently against his, not in an attempt to entice him, but more for him to feel she was telling the truth. There was nothing to hide on the subject. Unless Brent specifically put himself in her way or attempted to hinder her work, there was no reason to terminate the relationship they’d cultivated up until now.

“You won’t be dragging me to any of those digs, though. The desert is TERRIBLE on my hair,” she smirked, “I’m much more comfortable in the city, getting spoiled while I gather up dirt and blackmail on all of these foolish nobles.”

Brent smiled at that, and nodded. He felt Cebina’s sincerity, even without the shadowy affirmation. It was nice to be around her again; the latter parts of the Old One’s plans had kept him busy. Too busy to visit her casually. He’d see her in passing and give her a nod on occasion, but otherwise... At least, that’s what he told himself. The real reason was much more complicated. Nepen’thea’s death took more than just his professional drive. And while his libido had briefly sparked back with Kai’eka… her demise snuffed it back out. For… the most part.

But Cebina had an unmistakable allure. He felt it even now, just sitting beside her. In part, that’s why he kept himself too busy to seek her out, knowing she’d happily indulge him in a little release. Of course, he knew she got more than just sexual satisfaction out of their encounters, too. The allure, he suspected, was an accessory to her abilities. The bright lantern to draw in her prey… She was good at what she did, of that there was no doubt.

“The city suits you well.” he nodded. “I… won’t stray far at first. So if you need anything I can help you with, you need only ask.”

He brushed her back with his shadows-- or what remained of them, at least. While his sincerity was conveyed just as hers was, he couldn’t hide how broken, weak, and unfocused his shadows had become. He’d invested far too much in N’Zoth… and now he was paying the price.

Cebina took note of his weakened shadows. She would never show it, but she was glad for it. While their shadow connection had its uses, the priestess hated the idea that anyone was able to track her or read her. She kept her mind especially guarded, and having to tiptoe around the rogue as to not give away some of her true feelings and intentions was especially annoying. It had been one of the main reasons she’d kept her distance after Nepen’thea’s death. Had his shadows sought hers at all, any slight slip up would bring her whole ruse coming down. The idea of being able the sever that link once and for all was enticing; having her mind completely back to herself, free of visitors. Brent wouldn’t suspect a thing, assuming the link was lost due to N’Zoth’s fall.

“Well,” she said, sitting up to scoot over a bit closer to him, “You know I’m never opposed to pretty jewelry and trinkets.”

She brought a hand to rest on his lap. Giving him a playful smile.

“You have good taste. If you find anything you’d think I’d like, I’d be more than happy to take it off your hands.”

“Of course, happy to.” Brent nodded, placing his hand over top of Cebina’s. “And I hope you don’t mind if I drop in on occasion to visit. For healing, perhaps? And… maybe other reasons?”

This bout of familiarity was something the rogue needed, now. With so much up in the air, finding things he knew well helped keep him grounded. Feelings. People. Cebina. His hand clenched gently about hers in a light squeeze, as he leaned into the Priestess. She wouldn’t need to read any shadows to guess what he was thinking and feeling, now.

Cebina smiled, ears perking up at Brent’s suggestion. She leaned in with him, bringing her hand over to cup his cheek as their lips met. She pressed in, tongue dancing with his as her shadows swirled in delight.

“Mmm… it’s been too long, Sweetie. I hope you’re ready for the ride,” she moaned against his lips.

#Character Story #Cebina Ruavin #Brent Sunborn #End of the Coterie #Kai’eka Sunwhisper #Nepen'thea Dusksinger #Fall of N'Zoth

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onepunchmiss · 5 years

Text

OPM s2e6 Live Blog

“The Monster Uprising”

Sorry this is later than usual. I’ve been having some personal issues lately that have been rather time consuming. But anyway yall ain’t here for that! So let’s get on with the episode. As always, I’m watching from the perspective of someone who has read both the manga and web comic

Once again, picking up right where we left off! Suiryu finally makes his fighting debut. He’s been introduced like what, 3 episodes ago? But honestly idgaf about him nearly as much as

MAX MY BOI I KNOW HOW THIS ENDS FOR YOU BUT I’M ROUTING FOR YOU ANYWAY. Oh god I gotta say, I forgot Suirya has a couple nightmare faces yikes. Also, I love how the Sea King keeps having an impact on heroes so long after his defeat. First Prisoner during the alien invasion, then Max and I know in just a bit Snek too. What a villain. Jeez, the mildly ominous music really isn’t subtle about making Suiryu out to be antagonistic, yeah? Also, this is the most we’ve heard him talk so far- Suiryu’s voice is exactly what I imagined I love it. MAX NO ITS OK I LOVE YOU ANYWAY AND SUIRYU IS A DICK ITS FINE YOU DID GREAT

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this is the sixth episode this season and i STILL pause every time Zombieman is in the intro. Even his tiny silhouette at the end. just

NGAH BEST ONE YET MY BBY GIRL

Ok ok back to the action. Genos makes a good point and I wonder that, too. Saitama broke his limiter through sheer willpower right, like thats crazy but also not THAT crazy. Is he REALLY the only person EVER to have done that thus far (aside from probably blast)? Thankfully no monster ever has otherwise we’d surely know about it. Is Saitama really just THAT insane? Its not even like he had an extreme desire his whole life, he just beat some crab guy and snapped one day? OH OH GENO’S PHONE OS RINGING MONSTERS! MONSTER! MO N S T ER S ! aw wait no go to the monsters hey

OH WAIT NEVERMIND THIS IS OK SNEK SNEK S N E K OK I actually really like him?? He’s like they show’s resident butt-monkey but also just a good guy.

OH HEY THAATS DIFFERENT!?!? Wow ok so in the manga, it just happened by chance that the cheering in the stadium was so loud that no one heard the monster evacuation alarms, but here they’re setting up Bakuzan preemptively as an asshole who actively disregarded the alarm and everyone’s safety (although he kinda has a point?). Because the way he acts later on is clearly not evil enough already? I feel like that’s unnecessary but it doesn’t add or detract from anything really so whatever I guess?

FUCKIN KEK DAVE. Top tier humor ffs the random mundane name joke will never get old fite me ooh Oh good god OK Choze’s face is also terrifying oh no. Dude you don’t need a monster cell you ALREADY LOOK LIKE ONE but OK

YASSS GENOS SLAY YAAASSSSS He finally wins a few rounds WITHOUT losing any limbs! IM JUST! SO EXCITED TO SEE HIM FIGHTING YASSS WAIT NO GO BACK HEKK so much jumping around is making this more difficult to maintain any semblance of coherency asdfghjk

HAH you know what? When I was rereading the manga and came across face ripper, I thought to myself he looks like he would be some tan/ olive/ pale purple color or something so I bet the anime will be like HAHA RED BITCH. and looky here. I’m catching on finally. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Genos my boy my son you are such a bad ass and I love you hhhhhhhhhhhhhh HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAA AWAKENED COCKROACH AWAKENED COCKROACH ALREADY FUCK THIS EPISODE IS HAPPENING FASTER THAN I ANTICIPATED HECK HECK THERE GOES MY HEART RATE I THOUGHT I WAS PREPARED ALAS I AM BUT A FO O L

HAH I think this is anime-only too?? I dont remember it Why is this so funny what the fuck?? “Dark Hell Killing” Juijitsu omg calm down you absolute edgelord literally half of that name would have been sufficient.

FFFFFFFFFF The slowly building intense music just cut off like- I was so distracted by Bakuzam’s freaky murder face i forgot this happened DAMNIT SAITAMA i NEED my LUNGS to BREATH but no i LAFF and then the silence in the stadium turns to TRIUMPHANT MUSIC as if that was some valiant victory and THAT SOUR FACE FACE FUCK IM DEAD ITS TOO GOOD IM DEAD

Aw Tareo Sweetheart its ok noooooo also side note don’t they also mention Metal Bat is hospitalized? Hey! HEY! TALK ABOUT MY OTHER SON WE DONT EVEN SEE HIM FOREVER HEY oh oh I spoke too soon my b my b

Well shit it’s Shiny vs Shiny jeezus. I don’t have a particular issue with the coloring of Genos’ arms and such but this is just very noticable- Roach could’ve done without the SHINE. Eyyyy a complimentary Sonic for all yall SOS fans out there HAH “No matter it’s still fatal” r u sure about that child r u sure

AAHHH THE WIFE AGAINNNN yo I have A Lot Of Thoughts ™ about the females in OPM that I think I’ll make a separate post about because of the inevitable backlash of Super-S’ design.

OH FUCK COOL SHOT COOL COOL OH FUCK THAT WAS COOL TOO OUT OF NO WHERE hey wait was that supposed to be the Hell Storm attack? WHAT REALLY. AW MAN I was getting hyped about how that would look cmon

Super-S with messed up hair is perfection just saying

Also, Tatsumaki is the definition of Yandere and its terrifying jeez.

Terrifying, but also this. HEK

Aw snekm nooooo I BELIEVE IN YOU OK HES A DICK DONT LISTEN TO HIM YOU JUST WAIT A FEW EPISODES SWEETHEART THEN YOULL SEE

Oh weird dude seeing the Madhouse animation in the middle of season 2 is weird not jarring which is good because at least to me that means JC staff is keeping up well enough but still weirdddd

“Everything about you disgusts me” me too snek DONT LISTEN TO HIM HES A DICK

((((((((((((((((((((ew amai mask go away)))))))))))))))))))))

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I SCREAM FOR THE FIRST TIME OUT LOUD I WAS HONESTLY DOUBTING HED BE SHOWN CAUSE THEY SKIPPED SOME OTHER MONSTERS BEFORE BUT THERE HE IS NYAN NYANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

OOF OUCH I FELT THAT KICK THE IMPACT IN MY BONES

ok post credits scene i have an idea of what it might be and I’m shaking in my seat but hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK

yoooooooooooooooooooooo I WAS NOT IMAGINING GYOROS VOICE LIKE THAT HONESTLY I WAS READING IN ALL IN URSULA’S VOICE LIKE FROM THE LITTLE MERMAID BUT OK THIS IS GOOD OH FUCK GOUKETSU OH HECK OK HEY AT LEAST HES NOT RAINBOW COLORED BUT HECK OH GENOS NO

OH HEY BITCH YOU DIDNT DO SHIT AGAINST METAL BAT YOU GOT LUCKY HE DOESNT COUNT

THERE IS LITERALLY NO AVOIDING IT NOW NEXT WEEK CHILD EMPEROR MY DEAR AND DRIVE KNIGHT AT THE VERY LEAST LIKE THIS IS LITERALLY CONFIRMED AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Good Episode GOOD EPISODE OK so my least favorite thing easily was the cop-out on Fubuki’s Hell Storm attack but otherwise my favorite thing was??? I dont know?? Like this episode was a lot of build up for next week’s episode but also so much happened anyway?? I loved seeing Genos in action and also BDSM Wife AND OROCHI AND GYORO and also also I know a lot of people have an issue with the existence of the tournament thing in general but I don’t mind it because its hilarious honestly and all of the happenings otherwise feel well balanced enough sooooooooo yeah I’m SO PUMPED for next week like bring me THE S CLASS BRING ME BRING

#opmiss mumbling #one punch man #live blogging #opm #s2e6 #s2e18 #super-s #genos #saitama #fubuki #tatsumaki #pig god #lightning max #suiryu #snek #nyan #orochi #gyoro gyoro

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jinmukangwrites · 5 years

Text

Storm

Based off this post by @insertdisc5

Couldn't stop thinking about it at work and decided to write a bit of this unique AU. I have it take place a couple centuries after BOTW. Idk, just random, but I might continue if depending on how many people like it.

-o-o-o-o-

"Stop calling me that!" She practically screamed. She had kept it to herself for long enough, smiling and nodding and not letting them know how much her own name effected her. Yet she was almost seventeen, and she'd kept it hidden for so long her chest felt like it might burst. She was done with pretending, done with feeling so wrong, and done with these people who should accept her for who she is.

"I don't know what you're so upset about, Zei-"

"Stop! That's not me!" She yelled once again. Her mother stopped in the middle of the name… that name that did not fit her… and gave her an odd look. Her father was sitting off to the side, pretending to write letters when in reality he was probably listening in. "I asked you to call me Zelda. That's my name."

Her mother tilted her head to the side, allowing hair to fall down her pointed ears. "But… that's a girl's name, honey."

"I'm a girl. That's what I've been trying to tell you, but you won't listen!"

"…"

Her dad suddenly stood up from his desk and walked towards her, and for a second hot dread filled her body to the point she thought she trembled. "You're not a girl."

"Yes," she said, sounding as brave as she could. She squared her jaw and looked her father… the King… straight in the eye, "I am."

-o-o-o-o-

"So you really did it, huh?" Ganondorf said quietly. He sat next to her on a small boulder in the castle garden. Their knees just barely touched as the birds sang in the tree tops. The sounds of lazily moving water and rustling leaves filled her whole being with a calmness she desperately needed. "How did they react?"

Zelda sighed and leaned down into her hands before she turned slightly to see him. He was the only one that had known. He was the only one who truly knew her and didn't insist she was not… a she. "Badly, but at least they didn't throw me in prison. Said I'll grow out of it eventually."

Ganondorf let out a small chuckle. "If they threw you in prison, I would kidnap you and bring you back to Gerudo town with me."

Zelda let out a small laugh and let the dream play out for just a second. She had met some Gerudo women before, and each of them had accepted her, surely that must be proof that her gender at birth isn't who she really is? If only she could convince her mother and father of that.

"No, it's best I stay here," she said, "I told them, now I just have to prove myself to them."

-o-o-o-o-

It didn't take long for an opportunity to prove herself to come along, she just wished it wasn't this. Anything but this.

Blood dripped down onto the tile as three Royal Guard Knites used up all their strength to hold each other up. The King sat upon his throne in shock, the Prince's looked lost, looking too and from each other as if they had no clue what to do. Zelda; she felt nothing. Even as the words "we don't think she's alive," and "we lost her," met her ears, she felt nothing.

Nothing but the feel of her legs as they slammed against the tile. Nothing but the vibration of large doors closing behind her. Nothing but the pounding in her chest.

She burst into the storm outside, typical for something so horrible to happen on a stormy day. She didn't even realize she had armed herself and had grabbed her horse until she was riding through the rain that came down thick, desperately trying to keep droplets out of her eyes.

Lynel, they said, ambush, they cried, we just barely left alive, they pleaded.

Went towards the Queen, Zelda felt her heart stop, lost sight of her, Zelda's throat closed up, too dark to see, and suddenly it didn't matter that her mother still insisted on calling her by the other name, still insisted on having seven sons and no daughters, it didn't matter because even though Zelda was not accepted, punished for wearing the dresses she wanted to, scolded for growing her hair too long, shunned for looking at the boys around the castle, she still loved Zelda, but not as a daughter. It didn't matter. Zelda still loved her as a mother.

Hoofs pounded on the muddy ground and she burst through Castle town into Hyrule field. Half put together ruins and Guardian corpses littered the pathway, but there was no danger near the castle besides the lighting that was attracted to various metal things that still haven't been picked up.

She turned right, forgetting the path and choosing to go straight through instead. Long grass whipped at her slippered feat and twigs snatched onto her dress she had somehow convinced her father to let her wear around the castle. Her chopped hair—too long was something her father didn't approve of—slicked down to her forehead and made it harder to see. She should have put it up…

And there, with a flash of light, she could see the statue of a grand horse that her mother loved so much. She took many trips too and from the statue, telling tales of a grand white horse used by the hero so long ago to defeat the great evil that took over the castle. "Much is forgotten about that time," her mother said with a sad smile, "but I knew a woman who was the great-grandchild of Impa. She died a very long time ago, but she told me stories when she was strong enough. Stories about a hero and a very brave princess from another time. They say her name was Zelda, and the hero, her knight, was Link."

Zelda…

Lightning flashed again and Zelda was close enough to climb the stairs to the statue. Her horse shrieked when a bolt of lighting got too close and Zelda felt herself get flung off, landing roughly at the foot of the statue. She felt something in her wrist snap, but her heart ached too much for her to think of any other pain. She scrambled to her feet, blinking in the storm, trying to ignore how rain water wasn't the only liquid pooling on the ground, trying to ignore the figures of soldiers still on the ground.

Then she saw it, a familiar blue dress that was washed with rain, stained darker by liquid of life. She felt like she needed to throw up. Her ears rung as she took a couple steps froward… only to fall to her knees and clutch at a mangled hand.

A sob tore through her throat when there was no warmth to feel. She stayed that way, letting the rain soak her to the bones, until her horse made a scared whimper. She looked up to the distance, where she saw lightning flash once more, revealing the silhouette of a half horse beast standing a great distance away. When another flash lit up the sky, the Lynel was gone and Zelda was left to mourn until the soldiers found her there.

-o-o-o-o-

The funeral was depressing. The songs were tuneless and not a smile was to be seen. The whole kingdom would mourn the loss of it's Queen, far and wide. Even other creatures from different kingdoms visited. A young prince came in the stead of King Sidon, who was too frail and old to travel. Zelda didn't know the name of the current leader of the Rito, their lifespan was very small, so leadership changed often, but they were there too. The Goron King was there to give prescious gems as a sympathetic gift… the Ganondorf was there too, King of of Gerudo.

They sang songs in the Queen's memory. They placed her mangled corpse wrapped in fine cloth in a grand boat made of intertwined branches of a cherry blossom tree. The sent the boat off, and Zelda's oldest brother had the honor of firing the arrow to set the boat alight.

Zelda wore one of her mother's dresses. Her father didn't approve, but she didn't care. As embers rose to the heavens, Zelda vowed to not let anything like this happen ever again. The only issue was finding out how.

-o-o-o-o-

The moon rose high three days after the funeral. Zelda wrapped her body in a cloak and stepped into the cool air. She snuck past the guards, avoided Castle Town, and made her way towards Hyrule Field. She had a goal in mind, and the only things she was taking with her was the pouch around her hips filled with rations, the garments on her back—not a dress like she would have preferred to wear, dresses were not that practical at traveling after all—and the bow slung across her shoulders.

She didn't risk grabbing her horse, not that she could ride it anyways with her wrist wrapped in a cast. She had to leave silently because she already knew her father would not be happy about what she was planning to do.

But it had to be done.

She was turning seventeen in just a few days, now would be the perfect time to go.

The stars shifted quite a distance by the time she made it out to the fields. She let out a breath of relief at not being caught.

"Where are you going?"

Zelda gasped at the sudden voice behind her and red rose to her ears at the familiar sight of Ganondorf.

He had his arms folded across his chest and a narrowed look to his gaze. She shifted her feet akwardly. "Out for a walk," she replied smartly.

All Ganondorf had to do was raise his eyebrow, and Zelda sighed, letting her posture relax in shame. "I was going to the Spring of Wisdom." Ganondorf took a step forwards and she looked away towards the mountains in the distance. "The Goddess Hylia's powers had been passed down in the Royal family, mother to daughter, for generations. I will awaken that power, and then rid the world of Lynel's and creatures of the like. I will obliterate then all, so that not even the Blood Moon will be able to revive them." She looked over to her childhood friend. "Do not stop me."

Ganondorf took a step towards her. "I thought so," he said softly, "but the lands away from the castle are dangerous. You cannot hope to go alone."

"Then come with me," she said. Ganondorf's eyes widened in surprise, and before he could say anything she continued, "I'm going whether you like it or not, so if you want me to be safe, you might as well come with me."

"Or I could overpower you and take you back to the castle."

"I would never forgive you."

Ganondorf stared at her for a moment before he let out a hearty chuckle. "I see. Then it seems I have no choice but to follow. Make sure you don't get yourself killed."

Great joy traveled through Zelda's whole being and she ran up to embrace Ganondorf. He let out a puff of air and returned the hug. "Thank you."

#botw #loz #legend of zelda #zelda #link #ganon #ganondorf #fan fiction #jin writes

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plutoandpolaris · 5 years

Text

The Hall of the Demon King

Summary: Jackie’s been a prisoner of the Black Castle for almost three months now, but Anti’s plans for him have only just begun.

Warnings: Blood, graphic descriptions, violence, weaponry, disease.

He'd forgotten how long he’d been a prisoner at the castle. Time was hard to gauge without access to sunlight, and the lack of food kept him delirious and half conscious most of the time anyway. The King hadn't summoned him since the week he'd been captured, and while that hadn't been pleasant, at least he’d been fed. As it was, he was given bread and water once every three days. Enough to keep him alive, but certainly not strong enough to even think about escaping.

He’d expected some sort of torture or interrogation, especially with how the King’s mannerisms were described in the letter he’d received, but he'd gotten nothing. Somehow that was worse. He was alone, with nothing to do but sit with his own thoughts, listening to the castle breathe around him.

But today, something was changing.

The guards seemed nervous somehow, muttering among themselves about some sort of “trip” the King had planned. His food came earlier than usual, and with double the ration. He certainly wasn't complaining, but it was strange.

It was around midday when they came for him, as far as he could tell. He was buckled into a different set of chains, heavier ones than he was used to, and escorted out to the front courtyard of the castle.

An entire caravan had been set up with the King’s carriage at the front, followed by a smaller wagon for provisions and what could only be described as a prison cell on wheels in the back. Servants rushed back and forth, stocking the carriage and hooking up the horses, all while the head housemaid oversaw.

It wasn't until the palace gates opened behind them that they froze, scurrying out of the way and back into their positions near the wall. The King had arrived, flanked by the Oracle on his left and his steward on his right.

Jackie hadn't seen the Oracle since he’d been captured, he was told the magician was a very private man who almost never left the restricted fifth floor tower. The steward, however, had been the one to deliver his meals, and though they'd never spoken, (Jackie was unsure if the man even could speak), they had formed somewhat of a kinship.

The Oracle was an intimidating man, eyes shadowed behind his mask and hidden under the transparent folds of his cloak. Both hands were folded behind his back, clasped so tightly it looked nearly uncomfortable.

The other had a similar posture, and though he glanced at Jackie, the steward gave him no other recognition. His hands hung loosely in front of him, and the more the knight squinted, the more he could see faint green lines etched into his wrists, connecting them together.

“Where are you bastards taking me?” Jackie managed, pulling against his chains slightly even as they held firm. The King didn't even look at him, but the Oracle did, scowling deeply as he crossed the distance between them.

The magician held up his hand, pressing his thumb and forefinger into Jackie’s cheeks so hard the nails nearly drew blood, drawing them down to his jaw before letting go. He tried to retort, only realizing that he physically couldn't. His jaw was locked in place, sparks of pain rippling through him whenever he fought against the force holding his mouth closed.

It's some sort of curse, he realized, his theory confirmed by the mocking gleam in the magician’s eyes.

“That’s for us to know and for you to find out.”

He was hauled away before he could struggle further, the floor of the cell a rough welcome as he was tossed against it. A tarp was thrown over the cage soon after, wrapping the small space in darkness. He could still hear though, his ears straining to hear the conversations outside through the thick fabric of the tarp.

“͡A͡re͜ ̷t̵he prov̧ís҉io͜n̨s ̶m͝a̸de?

“Yes sir.”

“̕M̴a͞k͜e sur҉e̵ ̡it g̕óes̨ ͏s͘mo̶o͡ther t̴ha̢n̕ l͡ast̶ ͏t́įme͢.͡”

“Of course, sir.”

He recognized the King’s voice, of course, but also that of the Night Guard commander who had captured him. A few more minutes passed, the bustling sounds around him growing quieter until a jostle of the cage made him lurch in his bonds.

The caravan was moving, finally, each bump in the road painful as his body knocked against the hard walls of his prison.

The ride was long and uneventful, and Jackie found himself slipping in and out of consciousness several times before a particular strong bump in the road brought him out of it again. Eventually he began tuning into the conversations going on outside, if for no other reason than remedying his boredom.

“Do you really think this is necessary?”

“His Majesty sure seems to think so.”

He recognized the Commander again, accompanied by the medic, another of his only “allies” in the castle.

The only time he was ever let out of his cell was for a checkup to make sure his wounds were healing correctly and that he hadn't picked up any new diseases. Due to this, the medic, (or Schneep, as his apprentices liked to call him) was one of the only people he felt he could trust in this hellscape.

He never understood why the King would want him taken care of like that, but his Majesty seemed to have quite the invested interest in keeping him alive.

Jackie wasn't sure he wanted to know why.

“The royal family haven't taken the journey all the way to the Temple since his Majesty was a boy, Chase. What makes this one special enough to warrant a three day journey only a two and a half months after capture?”

Two and a half months? It had felt like years.

“I don't know, but apparently there's something different about this one. I certainly don't see it, but if the King didn't see anything in him he'd be dead by now.”

Special? What about him was special? What were they planning to do to him?

A sudden pang of dread pooled in his chest, but he forced it down. Now was no time to start panicking, at least not yet.

The rest of the conversation escaped him as the caravan slowed, grinding to a slow halt. They had reached camp for the night. The tarp was pulled away, revealing a small clearing along the dirt path they’d been traveling on.

By the time tents were set up and the fires were lit, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, plunging the world into darkness.

However, no matter how hard he tried, Jackie couldn't find sleep.

Maybe it was due to the uncomfortable ache in his jaw from it being clamped shut, maybe it was the new location, he couldn't be sure, but even as all but the guards retired to their tents, he remained awake, staring into the fire listlessly as it burned down to nothing but embers.

One hour passed. Then two, then three, and yet still the only sleep he could find came in short fits and bursts.

It wasn't until he heard the rustling of fabric that he was shaken from his stupor. He sat straight up, leaning into the bars in an attempt to see what was going on without making too much noise.

The King himself had left his tent.

The two guards beside him stiffened when he emerged, only to collapse unceremoniously as he ran his fingers across the back of their necks.

What the hell was that?

They didn't stir as he passed, surveying the camp for a quick moment before taking a seat by the fire. For a moment Jackie stiffened, wondering if the King had noticed him watching, but he wasn't acknowledged.

Holding his breath, Jackie shrunk back into the shadows of his cage, watching as the King poked absentmindedly at what was left of the fire.

After a few agonizing minutes the scene changed, the soft glowing embers of the fire going dark so quickly it seemed unnatural. A cold wind blew through the camp, sticking to Jackie’s skin like tiny claws. They dug in, his blood seeming to still in his veins as an air of silence fell on them. Even the beasts of the forest had gone quiet.

“So you did wait for me, cihervan. I knew you would.”

The voice was soft and loud at the same time, echoing in his brain as if it was coming from within him. The King looked up, standing from his seat as a figure emerged from the trees.

At first it was nothing but a silhouette, so dark it seemed to pull in the world around it, until it coalesced into the shape of a woman.

She was tall, obscenely so, almost a full two feet taller than the King himself. Dark plated armor glinted in the moonlight, every inch of it carved in daemotic runes or stained in blood. She wore her weapons in the exact same alignment as the King did his, a sword at her left and three daggers at her right.

With each step she took the grass beneath her feet wilted, falling grey and ashen in an instant.

Green fire glinted in her irises, casting a sickly glow on the surrounding area.

This woman was not mortal.

“I̵ alway͏s ̢do͞.̛”҉

She laughed softly, the sound seeming to shake the ground itself, though the unconscious guards still did not stir.

“You seek out my brother's power once again, do you not? What makes you so sure this mortal is worthy of its gifts?”

For the first time Jackie could remember, the King seemed almost on edge, but even still he stayed composed.

“̧I ́know p͡ot̵e͢ņt͞i͟al̀ w͠hen̢ ̢I ͝şee͡ ̧it,̛ m̷othe̶r.͟”̴

Mother?!

“͟Į s͞hąĺl ̛t҉ur͝n ̶h̡im ́i҉n͜to͢ a͏ ̶ẁea͢p̕on. ͝Hȩ ͜will̵ b͢e my sẁơrd͡, and̕ ͟with̀ ̶him̀ I will̡ ̨dr̸o͡wn͢ ̡th̸i̸s ̡ùs̵ȩles̛s ͡ẁo͠rld in ̧b̵loo͜d̨.͝”̢

The smile she gave sent shudders down his spine.

“And so it shall be.”

Smoke radiated from her, drifting off of her body in waves, sinking into the ground and into the body of the guard closest to her. His skin had become nearly translucent, veins bulging profusely and tinged an unhealthy grey.

“͢K͡e̸ep̛ ̡yo̵u̕r͘ si͏c̨k̡nes̢s ͠t͝o yours̕elf. I won͏'t҉ h͞av̀e͘ an̡other of ̴my ͘gua͘rd̕s ̷s͡ląye͡d͏ i̷n ̕t͝h͏e͝i̛r͞ ͜pr͡ime͠ be̛c҉ause ͞y͢ou c͘an̸'t͡ h̴e͢lp ͠b̵u̡t̴ ĺe͟av̢e͠ a ͜t̀r̸a̛i̛l of̧ ̧corp̧se̢s ͟e͏v̶erywhere̛ yo̧u̧ wa̵l͝k͞.̧”

She laughed again, the smoke lifting to reveal the emancipated corpse of the man. He looked as if he’d been rotting for days, though he had been alive and healthy only a few minutes before.

“You never let me have my fun.” She cocked her head to the side, surveying her kill. “Unfortunately for you, and for him, it's a little too late.”

She seemed to notice the annoyed glare Anti was giving her, letting out a feigned sigh.

“I can tell when I'm not wanted. Make sure to tell my darling brother hello for me!” Her face darkened then, the cheerful mask fading away into an anger so deep it was almost difficult to behold.

“And tell him he still owes me a favor.”

With that she was gone, leaving a patch of dead grass and the corpse of the guard as the only indication she was there at all.

Anti let out an annoyed sigh, leaning down to run a hand down the face of his mother’s victim.

“An̕ot͞he͟r ̵o̴f͟ ̀ḿy ҉m̨ost̷ p̷r͝omis͘i̡ng͘ w̸arr̶i̵ors. ͡S̴h͞e̛’̧d̸ c͝ho͢o͝se͠ not͠hi̕ng le̴s̶s.”

After a few more minutes the fire surged back to life, the air warming so quickly it was almost unnatural. The King had since gone back to his tent, and the remaining guard began to stir.

The scream he gave upon the body of his dead companion could’ve woken the man from the dead.

Jackie barely heard the commotion as the rest of the camp discovered the corpse, his mind still reeling from what he'd just seen. That was a goddess, there was no doubt about it. He'd never learned very much about the pantheon, his father hadn't seen it necessary to teach him when he lived back on the ranch, but now he wished he had.

The letter had said that the king was a demigod but Jackie hadn't believed it, not one bit. As far as he was told, demigods were a myth. What reason would the Gods have to reproduce with mortals?

Proelia, Goddess of war and disease.

Disease is right.

Jackie felt another pang of fear. If the King really was the demigod son of that woman, he'd have some of the same abilities. Proelia had turned a healthy man into a corpse in less than five minutes. What did that mean for him?

That thought followed him into a restless sleep, into nightmares full of green fire and cold hands itching to tear him apart.

He awoke to the sound of his cage being hooked back into the caravan, sharp rays of sunlight falling through the bars onto his trembling form. In the morning light the clearing looked far less sinister, but he could still see the patches of dead grass in the distance, making it clear that what he'd seen was not a dream.

The dead man had been wrapped in cloth and stored in a separate compartment of one of the provisions wagons, for burial back at the castle.

Conversation was much more somber than it had been before.

“How does a man just up and die like that, no warnings, no symptoms?”

“I think you know full well how.”

“But-” Chase let out a sigh, his voice falling to a softer whisper. “What could he have done to deserve a death that gruesome? He was a new recruit, he'd barely been here long enough to talk to the King, let alone anger him enough to warrant that.”

“Trying to understand his majesty is a lost cause, you know that. He does what he wants for reasons that I’d given up trying to comprehend long ago.”

There was a long silence before the other spoke again, a hint of anger grinding at the edge of his tone.

“Well it's not your men he's killing.”

The rest of the ride was spent in near silence, the only noise the creaking of the wood and the pounding of hooves on packed dirt.

The next two days of travel were uneventful, even too much so. He'd stayed up late every night hoping to see if the King would emerge from his tent again, but he never did. No more casualties, nothing out of the ordinary. And so Jackie was left alone, dread heavy on his shoulders.

The town they finally arrived in was small but bustling, the crowds parting around them as the entered, each face a mixture of interest and reverence.

They continued until they came across a shrine, right in the center of town. Night was beginning to fall, the first threads of twilight weaving their way into the sky.

The shrine was made of stone, nothing but a circular platform and half wall with a pedestal in the center, holding a small black dagger. The wall was carved in runes, each one so old they were nearly illegible, although Jackie recognized a few from the carvings on Proelia’s armor.

By the time the caravan had parked and preparations had been made, the sun had dipped below the horizon. The stares of the townfolk burned in his back as he was dragged up on the platform, although they held no malice yet, just curiosity.

The real silence came when the king emerged from his carriage, followed by the Oracle quick at his heels. The hush that fell over the crowd was stifling, Jackie didn't think a crowd that large could be this quiet.

Anti turned to address his people, hand tight on the hilt of his sword.

“͜T͠he m̕áinļa͝nd͘ers ̴hąve̸ ͢sc̸or͝nèd ͟us͞ ̵for̷ ͏centu̴ri̷es.́ T̵he̴y d̢e̵fi͞l̸e͢ oùr ̵l̡aǹd ͝and̛ ̶r̕e̸je̴ct͞ ̨ou͟r gods̴, ͢a͜nd ̵n͡o̸w͟ ͞t̨hey͘ s͝en̕d ̷th͘ei͝r̵ wa̛rr͟iors t͢o ͏c̶út̵ ̷u̶ś ͜d͏ow̶n. B͡ųt n͠o͡ l̶onger͘!͞”

Anti drew his sword, positioning the blade under Jackie’s jaw and using it to tilt his face upwards.

“B̨ef͜or͡e͡ noẁ I̢'҉v̛e̡ ͝g̴i̷ven̴ ҉t̴h̛e͡se ̶in̨va̕d̕e̷rs ͢the͏ m̧e̵r͢c̀y̕ ̛o͝f̨ a̢ ͢qui̕ck d͢eath̡, ̕bu͢t͝ ́i͘t ̀śe͡ems ̢th̛e̵ ͝corpses̡ ͡of ͝th̀ei͠r̛ ̧c̸h̷i̛ldrȩn͡ a͏rèn͡'͜t͠ ̸s͢pèak̸įng ļo̡ud̀ ͢eno̡ug̀h̶ to͏ t͜he ̴ma҉in̡l̡a͘nd scùm̛.̀ ͟So ͜instead, ̶we’ll ̀s͠e͞nd t͞hem͟ a ̢mes͢s̕a͠g͜é t͠h̀e͏y̡’ll h̸ear ̡lo͏u̧d̵ a̴nd ̵c͡l͡ear.̨”͘

While the crowd wasn't malicious before, they certainly were now that they knew who he was. Their low murmuring became a loud crescendo, cursing him in so many different languages he couldn't keep track, until Anti held up his hand to silence them.

“͟I̕ ̸w͡ill ͜u̴se̶ ̛t̴hȩ p͠o̸w͟er of t͞he god̸s̨ ͘h͘is ͞pe̶op̛l̴e ab͏an͏d̕ơn̨e҉d͜ ţo t̕u̢r̶n ͜h̕im into̕ ͟a̕ ̸w̢ea҉po̢n, f̕or͡gȩḑ of b̕l͏oo͠d̡ ̵and ̶i̢roņ,̸ ̕an͠d͘ we’lĺ ͢s̵ee̶ ͟h̀o͜w͠ t́he͢y fee̛l ͠w̶h͝en the̢ swo̢rds͘ of t̵he̡ir͡ ̷b̀r͜e̷t̨hr͢e҉ņ ́áre ̕tu҉rn͝e͢d̕ ag̵ain̡s̀t̸ ͟them.”̡

The sword was sheathed, replaced with the dagger from the altar. It was a polished silver, runes carved down the length of the blade. Jackie was hoisted up by the nearby guards, wrenched into a half standing position.

Anti lifted the blade into the black sky, murmuring under his breath in a language Jackie didn't recognize. The carved runes began to turn black, as if the sky was bleeding into the blade with the consistency of liquid.

By the time he lowered the blade it was heavy with power, the runes a black so dark it was almost hard to look at. Jackie’s head was wrenched back by his hair, neck laid bare for the blade. Anti adjusted his grip on the handle, taking a step back before bringing the blade down in a flourishing arc.

The sensation was strange, at first it didn't even hurt. It was just cold, frigid even, the chill spreading through his veins and seeping deep into his skin until his very heart began to stutter. The blood that dripped in rivulets down his throat, however, was warm, and in comparison to the chill it was so hot it burned.

He felt the guards release his arms, his limb body falling to the ground with a sickening thud, blood seeping into the stones and spreading out from him like a crimson kaleidoscope. The sensation almost felt like hands, gripped tight around his neck, nails sinking into the gash in the blade had created.

His ears began to ring, softly at first, until the shrill sound enveloped him in an uncomfortable unconsciousness.

Fun times, am I right? This one was a doozy, but I’m glad I got it done.

Some important things to note: Daemotic is a fake language I created for my fictional universes, and its the natural language of demonkind. I come up with the words by taking the Irish and Latin translations and mashing them together. There was only one Daemotic word in this fic, Cihervan, which means little one. And yes, Anti hates when Proelia calls him that.

(Taglist)

@egopocalypse @shadowstakeall @epicfangirl01 @kitnkas @mijako98 @anothermarkiplierfan @iris-the-asparagus @bunchofdoodlesinspace @awkward-bullshit @amockingbirdslament @the-cosmic-creations @kpopcrossworlds

Please let me know if you want to be added to or taken off of the taglist!

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #antisepticeye #antisepticeye fanfiction #septicegos #Pluto's writings #Pluto's Fantasy AU

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tobethefairybest · 5 years

Text

Strong Tides Chapter 1

I have decided to post some chapters of my Gruvia pirate AU on tumblr as well!

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''Give that back right now!'' a girl screamed.

The three men that had driven her in a corner at the wall she was sleeping against, towered over her. The middle one, a middle aged, stubble bearded, plump guy, held up a white puppet.

''Why would we? It's just rubbish after all, it shouldn't belong to anyone.'' He laughed.

''I bet all those stupid beggars like you gathered around the harbor just to catch a glimpse of those pirates,'' the skinniest one said.

Her eyes widened. ''P-pirates?'' she whispered.

''I mean, I won't blame ya stealing from those thugs. They must've had tons of gold among their ship.'' They continued blabbering, clearly not paying attention to her anymore.

She tugged on her worn out, grey dress. There was no way she was getting her puppet back, she stood no chance against them. She hadn't eaten for over a day, had barely slept and the cold of last night still lingered on her body. It wasn't worth the risk to use her abilities now either. It would certainly draw too much attention.

''Bloody pirates,'' the third guy sneered. ''The king is crazy for letting them go on a mission for him. They're thieves.''

''Stealing from a beggar doesn't make you any better!'' she said out loud. She felt herself glued to the wall she was leaning on. I should not have said that. She now realized too late.

''You little...!'' The first man raised his hand to hit her. She crouched down in fear. Protecting her face with her hands.

She awaited the unavoidable hit she was about to take. But nothing happened. Carefully, she peeked through her fingers. Right in front of her still stood the man, his hand still raised. He didn't seem able to move.

The other two men stared at the scene in awe.

''Guess I was just in time, wasn't I?'' she heard a deep voice say.

From an alley, another group of men appeared. They wore worn out boots, baggy pants and numerous sort of decorations were draped around their necks and attached to their clothing. Their hats confirmed their identity. They were pirates.

The group was led by a man in slightly different clothes. He was wearing a long, black coat and his hat differed from the rest. Due to his rolled up sleeves, a tattoo on his left under arm could be seen. As he walked closer, she saw his face from beneath his hat. He had pitch black hair and eyes almost as dark. From his neck, a silver necklace hung down with a pendant of a sword on it.

He walked over to the man that had stopped moving and grabbed the puppet from his hand. The blue-haired girl had now lowered her hands and looked up to the man who had just saved her. Or did he?

''Aren't you a little too old to still play with dolls?'' he said as he looked down on her.

She felt her heart rate go up, but couldn't tell if it was because of embarrassment or because of the fact that she was losing all common sense when she looked him in the eye.

''It's the only thing I have, sir,'' she managed to bring out quietly.

''The only thing eh?'' he replied. ''You should take better care of it the next time then.'' He tossed the puppet back to her.

''If you value your life, you should run now,'' The raven haired guy said as he turned to the two remaining man that had threatened her. He glanced over at them with a glare as cold as ice. ''Don't you fucking dare bothering her again.''

The two men turned around and ran for their lives, almost tripping over their own feet. The third man seemed to have gained his mobility again and looked around in confusion.

''Good thing you thawed out, bastard.'' He heard from behind. As soon as he turned around, he was punched in the face with such force, he couldn't remain on his feet and fell down to the ground. ''That one was for trying to hit an innocent girl,'' the pirate said as he rubbed over his knuckles.

''You should leave, you're safe now,'' He said in a monotoned voice, facing the other way.

''Captain Fullbuster,'' one of the men behind him said, ''we really should get going now.''

''You're right,'' he replied. ''We should leave before the sun sets.''

As they walked away, he glanced over his shoulder one more time. The girl in the ripped clothes just stared blankly at him. Were her eyes watering or was it just his imagination? Even though she was obviously a homeless beggar, covered in dirt and wearing clothes that hardly couldn't be called clothes anymore. Just some shreds of fabric hanging from her fragile body. The one thing he couldn't help staring at were her almost luminescent eyes. They had a shade of blue close to the most tropical ocean waters. He wondered how somebody like that could ever end up on the sidewalk, begging for food.

Freeing himself from the almost magnetic pull to her gaze, he looked back forward and picked up his pace. He shook his head, this wasn't any of his business. A not too gently poke to his side made him come back to his full senses.

''She's a pretty one, ain't she?'' one of his crewmates teased. ''If you're not going back for her, then I might.''

''Oh shut up Loki.'' He grinned. ''Like a pirate would fall for just one woman.''

''That's my man.'' The ginger-haired guy laughed as he hit him on the back.

The girl sat motionless against the wall of an alley. She knew the pirate told her to run away, but she just couldn't. How could she run away without thanking her savior? She just wasn't able to bring any word out. From the moment he had frozen the man in his moment on the spot to the first eye contact they made, she wasn't able to talk. Everything that had happened was just one blank space in her mind. The only memories that kept on repeating in her head were the way she looked into his bottomless eyes. Darker than black, and his name; Fullbuster.

She hugged her doll to her face as she deeply inhaled its scent. It was fading, but faintly she could smell his scent on it. She felt her cheeks turn warmer and put the doll down in embarrassment. There should be a way to reach him, right? Even if it was only to thank him. She didn't even want to think about how far her attackers would have gone if he hadn't shown up...

What did she have to lose anyway? What she said to him was the truth. The only thing she had left was the doll. There was no future for her here. Sooner or later they will find out she had escaped and would be send back to prison. Ever since she had become too old for the orphanage, she had joined several criminal organizations, just to get by. When her previous guild of bandits had been stormed by the knights of the Magic Council, she was locked up. However, it had been easy for her to escape with her hidden abilities.

She got up on her scarred, bare feet. Carefully looking around, she turned around the corner of the street. If she remembered right, this road should end in the harbor. She grabbed together all her courage and started to walk. Step by step she walked over the sunset-lit cobbles.

''Just one more corner,'' she said to herself.

''That's her!''

As if being stung, she turned around. A salesman was pointing at her. Next to him stood some odd-looking man in long white robes, wielding golden magic staffs. There was no mistaking. The Rune Knights of the Magic council had tracked her down.

She turned back forward again. Just 50 meters before her, the ocean endlessly stretched out in the last golden rays of the setting sun. In the distance, the silhouette of a ship could be seen. There was no mistaking about what ship it was, as it had black sails. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Without any further hesitation she took off, running as if it was her last time. Faster and faster her legs took her to the end of the dock.

As she heard the knights approach and saw the beams of the magic staffs shoot beside her, she accelerated one more time and jumped. Diving down into the depths of the ocean.

It seemed to take forever before her body entered the ice-cold water. It didn't take long until she felt her own temperature drop as well. But that was fine. She was the water and the water was her. Swiftly as a dolphin, she started to swim. Keeping her back turned to the harbor, she aimed for the horizon...

You can find it on AO3 and FFnet if you want to continue reading ^^

#fairy tail #fairy tail fanfic #fairy tail fanfiction #gruvia #gray x juvia #gruvia fanfic #ft fanfic #ft fanfiction #fairy tail au #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser

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vuulpecula · 5 years

Note

18. A DISNEY AU WHERE KHAN IS A DISNEY PRINCESS AND FOX IS THE PRINCE THAT SAVES HIM

various drabble aus | always accepting cuz i’m trash | @paramounticebound

DISNEY AU.

He was within the pages of her favorite story, a legend, a myth, of a prince LOCKED away high above the world in a crooked tower. Some versions had a dragon, others a troll, and all a deadly curse that claimed the life of ever knight and prince and king who tried to save him. As legend went, no man could save him from his lonely, isolated fate. The tower itself had only one door, locked by powerful magic. A great and terrible wizard had cast the spell and trapped the boy within the curving stone walls ( in some retellings, the boy had been his SON ), claiming the magic he held was too GOOD for the world. Every WAR in the kingdom could cease to be and the FAMINE that stretched across the southern part of the continent would end. The wizard only wanted more bloodshed and death, it gave him more opportunities to use his dark arts. He had sworn to her while in the cells beneath the castle that the boy, now a man, was the only one with enough power to kill him and that he would never, ever again set foot on the ground beneath the tower. NO MAN CAN SAVE HIM, he had reiterated over and over again with his yellowed, cracked teeth clacking. He laughed and laughed, thinking himself immune to death while the boy remained locked away. For one of the most powerful dark creatures in their world, he was a fool. The feral northern PRINCESS beheaded him herself and turned up her nose at the head that rolled into the dried leaves and sticks littering the courtyard.

“He was a man poisoned by dark magic,” the KING explained after. “There is no boy or man trapped within a tower.” He did not wish to fill his daughters head with fantasies when he knew her inclinations for fairytales. “We are on the brink of another war with the western kingdom, I need you here, not chasing after a folk tale. Believe in what you see, Fox, believe in the faeries and the men that shed their skin to become wolves. Do not believe in prince’s in towers and false prophecies.” The fearless creature he raised continued tightening her horse’s saddle. Her will was stone and iron.

“You heard the warlock, he said himself that the stories were true. Our kingdom and every other kingdom’s last hope is in peace. If a PRINCE in a tower is said to have the power to bring upon us that peace and unite the kingdoms, I must try and find him.” As heir to the northern throne, she knew the fear in her father’s eyes was genuine. He worried too much for a brutal creature born and bred in war.

“It matters not if he is real or not. No man can save him.” The KING repeated, helping the PRINCESS into her saddle. Fox tested the reins and cast a wolfish grin her father’s way.

“I am no man.” The air around them seemed to lighten, as if those words alone lifted some part of the curse that bogged down the rest of them. Off she rode into the fog that was slowly lifting. For seven days and seven nights, she pressed forward to the center of the continent. The supposed location of the tower. Nestled deep within a WICKED wood, one filled with all sorts of beasts and the residue of dark magic. The old wizard’s hut was somewhere between the moss covered trees and deep bogs. Fox followed the flapping of crows, keeping her eye every fixed on the line just above the trees. On the eighth day, she saw it. A lonely spire reaching for the sky. The tower itself was more HORRIFIC in person than it had ever been in any storybook. So dangerously narrow that it seemed to sway in the wind, and jutting out in sections like bones protruding through flesh. The air around it was foul, filled with the scents of bog water and rotting flesh. Her trusty stead was left within the woods where it seemed safer compared to this cursed place.

Fox was careful as she threaded through the treeline, searching for enemies. The curse itself had leeched color from the earth around the tower, nothing lived, it was only dirt and bones. How could anyone survive being in this place for more than a day? Not even an hour and her head was spinning. Pressure built up the closer she crept, searching for stones that would allow her to climb. It would be an awfully long way to fall if she slipped. Out of caution, she tried the tower’s solitary door anyway. No handle had been welded on and as hard as her toned muscles allowed her to push, it would not budge. Climbing it was.

Ensuring both her bow and her sword were secured on her back, Fox began her ascent. It was hard to grasp the stones so near to the cursed door. Her gaze could not focus on any one spot, still, she pressed on. The further she climbed, the lighter her head began to feel. It gave her hope that this was, in fact, the tower from the stories and that inside it she would find the answer to all the world’s problems. A CRUEL breeze blew from the south, nearly knocking her to fall a kilometer to the ground. Looking down, seeing how far she had already come, there was no going back. Her knuckles split, her fingernails cracked, her skin scrapped and still, the PRINCESS climbed. Crows flapped around the tower, constant circles that were always just out of reach. Another kilometer later and she was mere inches away from the singular tower window. No man could fit through it, but she was no man. She was a woman raised on whatever the farmers were able to grow in the rocky soil. Hunger was an old friend. Only the truly wealthy, those who dealt in flesh or jewels, held fat on their bones. Fortunate as they were, they never would’ve been able to fit through the glassless gap. Fox pulled herself up and over with ease. Collapsing on the dust covered floor beneath it with her heart pounding. A crow flew inside after her and perched on the edge of a massive four-poster bed. From the outside the tower was too thin to house anything so grand, but inside... It was magic. GOOD MAGIC. Only beneath the window, where the curse could still leak in from the outside, was there dust. Everywhere else was polished and warm and glistening. Confused, the princess drew her sword. Could what she had assumed was good magic, be another trick of the curse? Where were all the bodies of the fallen? Where were the torture devices? Where was the prince? Tentatively, she crept further, letting out a low whistle to alert any nearby to her entry. A dozen mice flooded in from beneath the bed. Soft, brown creatures that peered up at her with interest. The crow cawed. One brave rodent ran for her boot, shooting up it to pull with its little paws at the hem of her pants. Was it...feeling the fabric? With slight disgust, she shook it off gently and tripped back. Pressing into the firm, warm body of something that had not been there before.

Sword hand tightening, the princess rounded on the creature. Teeth bared. His appearance almost made her snap her snarling mouth shut. Tall. Handsome. Radiating with a strange, pale light. Not a boy. Not a man. Not a prince, but a KING.

“They have never seen a woman in pants,” he spoke with such softness her skin tingled. “Are you here to kill me?” She was of the feral kingdom and yet, he held more mannerisms of the crows and mice around him. More animal than man even if he was dressed in fine, tailored clothes. Another trick of magic, she supposed.

“I am here to save you,” she still had not yet lowered the sword. “If you are truly are the prince, that is. Are you?” He could lie easily and she would know not. Yet, she felt as though she could trust what he said, as if she had known him long before he was locked away within the tower. The prince nodded his head once before shaking it.

“You cannot save me. No man can save me. Many have tried and many have been eaten alive by the dark magic.” Suddenly he lunged for her sword arm, grabbing hold of her wrists. “You must not venture to the door. I cannot loose another. I cannot watch what it does to the mortal mind.” His eyes were desperate, but she made no reaction as she huffed a heavy sigh.

“I am no man,” she repeated the same words she had said to her father. Having complete faith in them, for as foolish as the warlock had been, he was clever too. Hiding the answer in plain sight, likely believing that no WOMAN would ever venture to the tower, nor scale its rocky surface. He knew not of wild princesses who fought mountains with teeth and nails, who danced naked in the most violent of storms with laughter in their throats, and who loved and killed and cried as mother nature had created them too. “And I WILL save you from this fate.” Wrenching her body from his, she returned the sword to her belt and headed for the stairs. Down, down, down it a deep yawning mouth of darkness. His pleas for her to stop fell on deaf ears. She would not become another prisoner of this tower. No. She would get them out or she would die trying. The fate of the continent depended on it.

The prince and his mice followed. The crawled up his robes and sat upon his shoulders and cradled into the nook of his arms and his open hands. Where her climb had taken a few hours, the descent seemed to take double. Down they went until she was sure they were deep into the earth by the time her head began ringing. DARK MAGIC. It was like stepping into deep water. Suddenly she was submerged. Even in the dim light, she could see now what remained of the others. Dark imprints on the walls, the silhouettes of bodies gone missing. The magic truly had eaten them alive. Fox dug deep into herself, seeking out the ancient will that sat within her. Strong and unyielding. Gritting her teeth, she pressed ever on. The prince a warm beacon of light behind her, his mice hid within his robes now. Fearful of whatever they could sense in the darkness. It was getting hard to breathe in the pit of the place. Each step took ages to achieve as the magic continued to drain. Was it eating her alive already? Just as she began to lose hope of ever finding the door, it appeared before them. A sliver of outside light cut through the stones near the bottom. Again there was no doorknob and no way of pulling it open. Pushing it was. Although her muscles felt too heavy to move and her energy was nearly spent, she pressed herself against the old wood. It budged, she swore it budged. Another push, another budge. Again and again and again until it was just about open enough to stick a hand through. From the steps, the prince watched in shock and awe. His mice poking their sweet faces out to observe what was happening. The bravest of them, the one from before, jumped down and ran for her. Using his tiny paws to press with the human woman against the wood. Following suit the others joined. Together they cracked the door open enough for a shaft of sunlight to fall upon the prince’s royal head. Suddenly the whole door swung open and the tower gave a TERRIBLE SHAKE. The curse had broken! All the mice ran out into the field beyond the tower, heading for the trees, but the prince remained. Too afraid, she figured, to leave behind all he had known even if at had crumbled.

“Is this real,” she heard him whisper as he stared at her and the light beyond. There was no time to let him figure that out as the tower threatened to collapse upon them. Her hand grabbed for his and instantly his magic flowed through to her. Strengthening the muscles that had previously gone stiff and weak. The princess pulled him from the darkness and into the light. A wild yelp of laughter bursting forth from her throat. She had done it! She had SAVED THE PRINCE. They kept running for the treeline, straight for where her horse remained tied to one of the ancient oaks. The mice, it seemed, had already scurried up his legs and hid among her saddlebags while the prince’s crow flew above. Cawing out warning after warning as the tower behind them let out a DEAFENING crack. She gave him no time to rest as she swung herself up onto her saddle and reached again for his hand. Helping him up and instructing him to hold tightly to her waist as she rode them far from the falling stones and rising dust. Another call of triumph on her lips.

Another seven days and seven nights and they would be home and the world would be safe once more. Well, so she thought. The dark magic, it seemed, was not as willing to let go as the prince was to leave. But that is a story for another time.

#paramounticebound #x | burning the letters ( answered. )#[ lmao an au where alexei is actually a decent person even for a warlord king ]#[ this is kinda like idk brothers grimm / rapunzel / some new breed of a fairy tale but i kinda love it ]#[ this is from forever ago ]#[ also i didn't proof read bc i got excited to excuse any mistakes lmao ]#x | i am alone so don't speak i find war and i find peace i find no heat no love in me ( khan. )#long post for ts

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voyeur-in-the-mirror · 5 years

Text

Birthday Softness

Ship(s): Lawrence x Adam Character(s): Lawrence ; Adam Words: 2101 Warning(s): Cursing ; A/N: Adam doesn’t have a canon birthday so I gave one to him [Oct. 23 B)] so yeah enjoy this bitter-sweet fluff!!

HE KNEW IT COULDN’T GET ANY WORSE.

He spent all day and night in a shit-covered and blood-stained bathroom all on his own. Meaning his thoughts were the only other occupant besides him the ever-so-slowly rotting corpse before him. He was fortunate enough to have the body moved across the room by his knight in not-so-shiny armor, but sometimes the stench was so over-bearing he’d puke what was in his stomach.

That was another thing. His hero would bring him food every night (or rather, almost every night) along with water just to make sure he was still alive. Not to endure anymore torture, but because, for some reason, he cared. He also just wanted to make sure he kept his promise that yes, he would be okay, and that he would come back.

He came back as often as he could and when did, Adam would feel a euphoric sense of relief because he knew that at least for that moment, he wasn’t alone.

It made him fall in love with him.

“Lawrence, thank god!” Adam sighed, his anxieties being lifted as the bathroom door opened and shed in some light before it was shut and darkness filled the room again. He heard Lawrence chuckle as he neared and he felt his heart flutter at the sound and sight of it. Due to being in the darkness for so long, his eyes had to adjust, and being able to see that soft, blond hair and steely blue eyes brought a bit of life to the younger. “I was starting to get bored.”

“You were just starting to get bored?” Lawrence remarked, cocking a brow. Adam shrugged and watched as the doctor set down his jacket on the tile for him to sit down on. He almost scoffed, but it was understandable. He actually had the luxury not to sit on that floor, and if he had it then he’d take it, too.

“Bring me anything?” Adam asked, licking his dry lips. Lawrence nodded and slid to him a glass of water and a sandwich in a plastic sack.

“Peanut butter, just how you like it.”

Adam simply nodded as he drank half of his glass. After consuming that, he hadn’t realized how much he was hungry until then, and just how much his blood sugar had gone down. Being a doctor, Lawrence was aware of this and would often bring something sugary for him. Adam was more than thankful, but of course he hadn’t expressed this.

“How many days has it been since you’ve been back? You know, since I don’t have a calendar.”

“Are you implying that I bring you one?” Lawrence asked, almost laughing at the idea. Adam shrugged once more and bit into his sandwich.

“If that’s what you want to do, no one can stop you, man.”

Lawrence grinned and rolled his eyes, allowing himself to lean back against the outer wall of the bathtub. “A few. John’s been having me help him with a special case.”

“So now you’re a murder, too?” Adam questioned, frowning.

“I’m not a murder,” Lawrence said, his voice slightly unnerving, “and neither is he. He helps. And besides, I’m only helping him so I can help you, you know this.”

“Whatever,” Adam sighed, this time with a heaviness. He decided to change the topic. “What’s today’s date?”

“October the twentieth, why?”

Adam, upon hearing this, could only smile bitterly. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling his heart sink a bit. “It’s my birthday in a few days. Man, what a good way to spend it,” he said sarcastically, dropping what was left of his sandwich onto the plastic it came from. He would have dropped it onto the floor absentmindedly, but he reminded himself quickly that he would have regretted not finishing it.

A sense of sadness came to Lawrence hearing this. Adam had been stuck in his prison for just a little over two months and though he wasn’t aware of when his birthday (or any other event) would be, he had planned to get him out sooner than he hoped. At least, sooner than now.

“It’s fine,” Adam continued, pulling Lawrence out of his thoughts, “I’d always spend it alone, anyways, and at least the bad part is over… Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lawrence responded quickly, feeling his heart stop at the question, “John nor Amanda will be bothering with you anymore. They don’t even think you’re still alive.”

He could easily sense the slight anxiousness in Adam’s question and felt better when he could put that at ease. After gaining more than a sense of trust from Adam, he’d been told that he frequently got nightmares about what had happened to the both of them. More often than not, Adam would be lying down with his head in Lawrence’s lap so the doctor could comfort him. It was actually very therapeutic for the both of them. A few times, Lawrence had even removed hsi prosthetic to let Adam see that he was just fine without his severed foot, which put Adam at great ease.

“How long are you staying this time?” Adam pondered aloud, resisting the urge to lean his head on Lawrence's shoulder. He really, honestly, wanted him to stay. To not leave him alone for hours or days on end. He couldn’t tell if it was because he actually longed for company or because he longed for Lawrence. Either way, he was sick of being alone for once.

“I told Alison I would be home for dinner, so not very long I’m afraid,” Lawrence said regrettably, coughing a little. He, truthfully, didn’t want to leave. Of course he would love to see his daughter, but the worry and pity he felt for Adam had a strong hold on him. Still, being a father came first, at least for that night.

“Sure, tell the little rugrat I said hi,” Adam mumbled sarcastically, though he knew Lawrence wouldn’t do that. Diana had no idea who he was and Alison only had a vague idea. The two never spoke about what happened.

“Will you be alright here?” Lawrence asked, his voice a bit soft and sad. Adam through his hands up and shrugged, coarse feelings of jealousy and hurt in him.

“Aren’t I always?”

It had been a few days since he had seen Lawrence, and he regretted their last conversation.

Once Lawrence had left the bathroom and he was alone again, his mind played back every single word they both said and guilt rested and built on the pit of his stomach every time he heard the sarcasm in his own voice. He knew he had no right to be that way towards the one person that actually cared about his existence and well-being, but he was Adam and he couldn’t help the sewage that came from his mouth.

He really had no idea how long it had been since he had seen the doctor due to his loss of a sense of time, but he only figured it had been a few days. At least, it’s been a while.

When the bathroom door opened again and he said his long-awaited silhouette, his heart skipped a beat so hard it hurt. That reminded him of the point Lawrence made of being ‘vitamin D deficient’, but he didn’t care, at least not then.

He was suddenly struck as odd, though, to see Lawrence lighting something with a lighter. Once the bathroom door was shut, he could still see his face come nearer and nearer until he was sitting down closer than usual. The light had moved to the floor, and Adam realized that the fire was on a candle.

And the candle was a small cupcake.

His heart melted and emotion struck him, causing a lump in his throat.

“Lawrence-” he choked out, forcing himself to turn away and cough before he could continue, “what the fuck is this?”

“It’s your birthday,” Lawrence responded, his face vaguely illuminated to show a gentle smile, “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you, I needed to help-”

He was cut off by Adam, suddenly, jumping at him and hugging him tightly. He paused, his mouth slightly agape from not expecting such a reaction, but he hugged him back, happiness filling his heart.

“I don’t give a shit,” Adam mumbled, burying his face in Lawrence’s shoulder. That was mostly to hide the fact that his vision was being blurred by tears. After another few seconds, he was releasing Lawrence from his vice-like grip and taking a deep breath. “Fuck,” he groaned, a bit of a blush spreading on his cheeks, “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright,” Lawrence assured, ignoring the fact that he had turned a bit rosy as well, “it’s a natural reaction.”

“Don’t get all therapist on me,” Adam chuckled, trying not to grin as big as he wanted too. Lawrence shook his head and looked down and away, trying to rub the heat from his face.

“Blow out your candle and eat, you’re were shaking so hard I think you might pass out.”

“I’m way ahead of you on that one,” Adam snickered, putting out the light and licking the icing off of the top. He had been doing that since he was a kid; the icing was his favorite part. “You know,” he started, “when I was a kid, my mom would get me cupcakes every year. They’ve always been my favorite.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lawrence hummed, leaning back against the tub like he usually did. It felt good to him to hear Adam eating something, and even better to know that he had made him happier than he had ever seen him. He was sure he could be happier if the setting was different, but still, his heart melted at the sight of his smile.

Once finishing the small treat (which was gone faster than he would have liked), Adam sighed with content and lied down, resting his head on Lawrence’s lap like he tended to do now and then. As he did, Lawrence gently rested his hand in his hair and twisted his fingers around the brunette locks.

“How long do you got, doc?” He questioned, holding his breath for the answer. Lawrence smiled a bit wider as he did.

“A few hours,” he responded happily, “Alison took Diana to see her grandparents- I said I had to work late. I couldn’t get you an actual gift, but-”

“No,” Adam cut him off, feeling his heart jump again, “this… this is the perfect gift.”

Hearing this did something to Lawrence’s cold, doctor heart as well. He supposed he loved Alison as well, but what he felt for Adam in that moment was different; fresh, child-like, and a bit passionate. Screw John, Screw Amanda, and Screw the bathroom- this moment was perfect.

"How old are you turning today?"

"Twenty-six," Adam admitted, sighing and shutting his eyes lightly, "but hey, I guess it's not so bad. I mean, I'd rather be literally anywhere fuckin' else but..." he trailed off a moment, not sure if he wanted to finish his statement, but he continued anyways, "hey, you're here and you’ll be here a while, so it's not that bad."

Lawrence thought about this and agreed. For a second, he imagined them both in his home, just the two of them, sitting on the couch with Adam against his side and his arm around him. But he knew, though, that they were both content with where they were at that moment.

"You know, I'm over a decade older than you are, and you deserve better than this. You know I'm trying."

"That's all I could ask for, Lawrence," Adam responded, opening his eyes again and still seeing pitch-black nothingness. With the fire from the candle out, his eyes still needed to adjust back to the darkness they were used too. So, instead of waiting, he picked up his hand and rested it on Lawrence’s face, just wanted to feel him, really, for the first time. The warmth of the elder’s face felt good against his freezing hand, and his heart stopped when, suddenly, he felt Lawrence’s warm hand against his own face.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Lawrence promised like he had done so many times before. Adam nodded, a sign that he believed him, and slowly he brought his hand back down to put on top of Lawrence’s, just to hold it closer to his own face.

“When you do,” Adam said quietly and softly, shutting his eyes again, “just don’t leave me.”

#Adam Stanheight #Lawrence Gordon #Saw I

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tanyawrites · 6 years

Text

Kidnapped

**I know this isn’t another update to The Virus, but just something to keep things running smoothly. I was somewhat amused at myself, but it could have just been because it was late at night. We’ll see what happens. Hopefully, I can post a new update for The Virus soon.

**I used a word prompt I found on Pinterest, “I’ve been kidnapped three times now. And frankly, it’s getting kind of old” I don’t have the link, but when i can remember my Pinterest info, I can link it to you guys.

Alright, so being a princess kind of sucked. From the etiquette lessons, to the dress fittings, to the piano playing, it was boring and ridiculously tedious. All I wanted to do was sit in my bedroom or the library or in the garden and read my books. But being a princess, I had certain obligations that had to be met. For example, tonight, my family was hosting a ball in honor of a few of the neighboring princesses and princes coming of age. I was supposed to be there because it was my kingdom and I had to represent and practice being in charge. I had already done the “coming of age” ball. I had to stamp down my introverted side and bring out the fake smiles and fake laughs. Or so I’d hoped. As I thought about it, that stuff wasn’t even the worst part about being a princess.

Being kidnapped was the worst part.

As a princess, it wasn’t easy to keep everyone happy. In fact, it was rare that every single person was satisfied with what the royals do with the kingdom. And there’s always that one person who takes his or her anger too far. I sighed as I leaned against the wall from the cold hard floor. I wish I could say this was the first time, but by this point, I was getting used to it. It’s a wonder that I wasn’t locked in my room for safety nowadays, but my family always found the best in people. Who knew what he was trying to change? Usually they end up with a purse full of payment and a vow of silence on the matter instead, which tends to change their ways. This time, I didn’t think just money was going to work.

The door opened a few moments later, letting in the soft lights of the torches from the hallway. The man in question was standing in silhouette with his arms crossed, watching me.

“Can I go now?” I asked, annoyed at him and the situation. “I’ve been kidnapped three times now. And frankly, it’s getting kind of old.”

“You can go, when I get what’s owed to me.” He said, matter-of-factly. “See, your family has power. And that power will help me to achieve what’s rightfully mine. And with Princess Lucille in my possession, I have all the power I need.”

I rolled my eyes. “’And your family is going to get me what I want. I’ll get the ransom. Mwahahah!’” I mocked. “I’ve heard it all before. Just hurry it up. It’s cold in this room.”

He glared at me through the darkness, though he did produce a small blanket from outside the door. He threw it at me and I covered myself with it. “You laugh, but with you here, I will get what I want, what I deserve.”

I yawned. “And what would that be, oh great and powerful one?” I wasn’t sure how far I could push my luck, but I was willing to test the boundaries.

I saw him stiffen before he answered. “My place of glory and honor, back in the king’s royal army.”

My eyes widened. “That’s all? Really?” Most people wanted lower taxes, or new farm land, or higher wages. No one kidnapped me because they’d wanted to be a guard or a knight. Usually they just went to the king himself and asked him.

“Well, I could have gotten you that!” I said, exasperated. “Let me go and I’ll have a talk with my father!” I tugged at the ropes that bound my hands to a grate on the wall.

He chuckled and shook his head. “That won’t do anything. Aren’t you going to ask why I was taken out?”

“Uh… Why were you taken out?”

He seemed to stiffen even more. “I was wrongfully accused of treason. I’d caught one of the men spouting about his plan to usurp the throne from your parents. Before I could call them out in front of the king, someone else had done it first, but used my name instead of the real traitors’. But there wasn’t enough proof to really try me. So instead, I was thrown out, my title taken away, half my land sold to the man who ‘turned me in.’” He started pacing. “I had everything taken from me. All because one of your men is a traitor to the crown. That’s really why I kidnapped you. I thought you could help me find the real traitors.”

I was shocked. Who would want to hurt us? For real, I mean, of course people found kidnapping me a useful tool for their gain, but no one was really going to hurt me, per say. Who was this man that was supposedly ready to take the throne right out from under our noses? Was he going to try and kill us to do it? I felt myself go cold at the thought of someone murdering us for the sake of political gain. I shook my head. Why was I believing this man to begin with? He could be lying, he could be trying to get close to my family to knock them right off the throne and claim the title of royalty for their own. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

He shrugged. “You don’t. You’d have to trust me. But remember, trusting me is the only way that you’re going to get out of here. So, if you decide you can’t trust me, then I hope you aren’t afraid of the dark.”

I thought for a moment. This man very well could be telling me the truth about the whole thing. But then again, on the other hand, he could be the real traitor looking for a way back in. I remember a few years ago hearing of the incident, but my father refused to tell me in greater detail what was happening, as he didn’t want to scare anyone. Then, after this man had been thrown out, we hadn’t heard anything again about being hurt or killed. Until now, that is. I could trust this man and get out of here and go home. However, if he’s lying, I could be bringing unsuspected danger to my family and if something bad were to happen, then I’d be at fault and I’d never get over it.

After a moment or two more, I finally had made my decision. “Ok. Fine. On one condition: If you in anyway, even jokingly, say something about being ‘large and in charge’ of the kingdom, I will end you. I might be just a princess, but I do have ways of getting what I want.”

He nodded, then took out a knife. He bent down and cut the rope on my hands. “Deal.”

I rubbed my wrists where the rope cut into them and shot another glare at the man. “You know, I could have just talked to you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve always been a little dramatic and I figured once you heard my story, you’d turn me in. I needed the ultimatum.”

I nodded my head in understanding. He had a point. I wouldn’t have helped him, had he told me the story first. I needed motivation. But now that I was free, I didn’t feel the need to go running and alerting the town about this turn of events. I felt like I needed to trust this man, that I should help him. “Ok, so what do we do first? Go to my father?”

The man shook his head. “No, not without proof. We need to find the men who were, and probably still are, planning on a hostile takeover. Otherwise, I’ll look like a loon and probably be thrown in prison, while your credibility will be destroyed, and I don’t want either of those things to happen. So, once we find the men responsible, we can work out a way to get your father to believe us.”

“How do we find the men? Do you know who they were?” I asked as we walked out the door. “And another thing: Do you have a name?”

“Vince. And yes. Have some names.”

That name sounded familiar. I felt like I should know that name. Have we met before? If we did, maybe he didn’t want me to remember. If he did, he’d have mentioned it before. Maybe I’d let it go this time, but I was going to figure out if and when we’ve met in the past “Ok, lets head back home and see if I can find a list of names from the army in my father’s archives.”

“Lead the way.”

****

We made it back into the palace a couple of hours later. I, unfortunately, had to sneak Vince into the palace, as he was still under the watchful eye of the guards. Even though there was no proof of treason, no one was going to let him just waltz back into the palace willy-nilly. As we walked up to the archive room, I began to think back, trying to remember this man standing next to me. I was afraid to ask. There had to be a reason that I didn’t remember, and it didn’t seem that he was about to divulge that information willingly.

Little snippets seem to be coming back to me. A cave. Laughing voices. The sounds of coins falling out of a bag. But that wasn’t much to go on. That could have been a dream for all I knew. Somehow, though, I knew those snippets rang true. But what did they have to do with Vince? I shook my head to clear it. We were just arriving at the archive room and I had to have my mind on that and not on some useless memories.

I pulled the key from around my neck and opened the door. I’d taken it from my mother’s nightstand, while she was on her daily walk through the arboretum. After making sure the coast was clear, I waved Vince into the room, locking the door behind me. I hadn’t been in this room in a long time, not since I was young and would play hide and seek with the maid and her children. After being caught in here by my parents, I was forbidden from ever entering again under the fear of messing up the already disorganized room.

For a room that was only used for records, there were certainly a lot of pictures around the walls. Mostly pictures of me and my parents around the room, but also some of another teenager with us, someone I didn’t quite recognize until the man in question stepped next to it. All of the memories came screaming back. The first kidnapping when I was just a little girl, the scuffle, Vince getting hurt, I remembered it all.

I walked over to Vince and stood next to him as he trifled through some papers. “Vince, before we start looking, can I see your arm? Your left arm.” He looked confused then seemed to understand. On his left arm was a very noticeable scar from what had to have been an arrow.

He glanced between me and the scar, before speaking. “Look, I know what you’re thinking and what must be strange for you, but can we talk about this after we find the names? I’ll answer questions, but we need to make sure your family is safe first.” He continued to trifle through papers, looking for the right papers. I grabbed papers off of another table, trying to find the list of foot soldiers and guards that my parents keep.

“Eureka!” I yelled, finding the list from the last ten years. Vince came over and read over the list of names quickly.

“Aha! Those three. Right there.” He pointed to the three names, one after the other, a couple of high ranking officials. “Yes! Those sorry traitors won’t know what hit them!”

**Other than the prompt, this story is mine and mine alone, my own imagination

#writeblr #creative writing #fiction writing #fantasy #tanya writes #I don't know how to tag this #this is my own fiction work

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thestuckylibrary · 7 years

Text

Mod’s Reads: August 2017

Here's the list of everything the Mods have read this past month!

Mod Blue

Cliché by BladedFeather THAT TIME STEVE AND BUCKY GOT MARRIED by ipoiledi Plug & Play by DisappointMe Progress (The One With The Post-It Notes) by Paraxdisepink Today's Another Day To Find You by perfect_plan Broken Dicks and Bloody Noses by nerakrose Exactly One Wedding and Zero Funerals by nerakrose Third Time's the Charm by nerakrose Cornerstone by Magnetism_bind Funny But It Seems I Always Wind Up Here With You by perfect_plan I’ve Been Careless With a Delicate Man by Paraxdisepink First, Do No Harm by BarqueBatch, SkyisGray One Caress by fuck_me_barnes War, Children by Nonymos In This Life and the Next by ScootyPuffJrSucks From Such Darkness We'll Hold Pretty True by Nori

Mod Julia

And the Silhouettes You Drew by inkdust

Some of the pieces Bucky’s slowly getting back aren’t really memories. They’re more like...feelings.

Complicated, uncertain, potentially embarrassing feelings.

And Steve is no help at all.

Grind by Claudia_flies

Steve opens the fancy cardboard packaging and pulls out the underpants. They are bright white and look small, but the girl in the store had convinced him that they were just his size. The waistband is etched with the brand name. Apparently, that’s very important.

The Thing Is... by cleo4u2, xantissa

It’s Bucky’s job to take control, but it’s Steve who runs the show, tells Bucky how far he wants to be pushed, punished, and played with. They won’t talk about it tomorrow, because Steve will be gone before Bucky wakes up. They never talk about why this thing between them happens. Bucky doesn’t know why. It matters, but he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask.

Not Just A Pretty Face by cleo4u2

Steve does something stupid on a mission and Bucky has to save him with a little help from Howard Stark.

Feral by sahiya

Steve had learned to live on less than what he actually needed a long time ago. Food in the Great Depression; touch and affection in the twenty-first century. It wasn’t really that different.

maybe tomorrow (i'll find my way home) by obsessivereader, SD_Ryan

What if… What if Captain America died on the Valkyrie. What if he was reborn. What if the Winter Soldier met him after the fall of the helicarriers.

A Game Show Love Connection by emphasisonem

In which Steve Rogers starts watching Jeopardy as a fun way to learn about the things he’s missed, gets selected through the online test, auditions for the show and surprises the hell out of everyone. Especially one James Buchanan Barnes.

Winter Gorgon by Quarra

For as long as Steve could remember, all he ever wanted to do was what was right. So when he hears about his father's old regiment being held as POW's by the Nazis, he's determined to put what Doctor Erskine gave him to good use and goes AWOL to rescue them.

But the 107th isn't all he finds there. Deep in the labs is a very unusual prisoner; one with snakes in his hair and a mask nailed to his face. Despite the man's monstrous visage, Steve can't in good conscience leave him to the enemy. That one act of mercy will change his life, the course of the war, and even the future of the world.

Anatomy of a Scandal by Rena

When Steve Rogers returns to Brooklyn, the marriage arranged for him having proven to be a sham, he is desperate; desperate to regain his footing in Society, desperate to secure a wealthy spouse capable of paying the costly treatments that keep his mother alive and settling his family's debts. But how is he to do that when people view him as nothing more than damaged goods, someone to be sneered at, ridiculed, looked down upon, or pitied at best?

An opportunity presents itself when Lord Barnes, the renowned carefree Casanova of Brooklyn, forgets himself during one night of drunken stupor, sending Steve a letter that flouts all laws of common decency.

Brave Boy by rooonil_waazlib

Steve’s always wanted to see Madrid: to have the chance to wander through Retiro Park; to explore the Museo del Prado and the Royal Palace and the Reina Sofía; maybe to light a candle at the Almudena Cathedral; to drink wine and eat tapas at all hours of the night and go dancing until the sun comes up, just once or twice.

Never in his entire life had he expected it might happen this way, though: a terrible memory ground into his brain; a scar the size of his fist knotted over his shoulder; his friends convinced he’s dead; his hair dyed dark; and a bodyguard next to him that’s pretending to be his new husband.

Howitzer by spacebuck

Bucky Barnes, figure skating champion, is forced to switch his skates for hockey ones when he leaves for college. Problem is, he's never played hockey before, and now he has to be good enough to get the scholarship he needs. Enter Steve Rogers, Carter University Men's Hockey player, who's decided that he'd do anything to get this guy on his team.

The Saughteling by Claudia_flies, Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90), SD_Ryan, zilia

James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Grant Rogers arrive at the Jedi Temple just over twelve months apart.

Many years later, a disillusioned Jedi Knight Steve Rogers returns to the Core Worlds at the summoning of the Jedi Council. Instead of following the will of the Council, Steve chooses a different path. His quest will lead Steve to confront a specter from his past and finally open himself up to the will of the Force.

no matter how long the day is (i'll come home to you) by alby_mangroves, talkplaylove

Or, the one where Captain America travels the world, learns how to be Steve Rogers again, and meets Bucky Barnes along the way. Also: the one where two old souls fall in love over young adult books, long distance calls, and texting at strange hours of the day.

the cold never bothered me anyway by icoulddothisallday

Bucky Barnes has spent his whole life in a state of mild hypothermia. Steve Rogers has spent the last 70 years in the ice. The two things aren’t related until, suddenly, they are. Shrunkyclunks soulmate AU (AKA the awkward bb au).

Tint & Shade by InTheArmsofaThief

Somewhere between the fall of Shield due to a long running Hydra infiltration, finding out that his land lord is an Avenger, and being commissioned for some truly gaudy paintings, Steve finds himself harboring the worlds most wanted.

Fourth Floor by dirtybinary, mithborien, picoalloe

(The one where Steve is an angry millennial wizard, Sam is a Disney prince, Natasha is a shapeshifter, and Bucky is a spoiler.)

Give Me Fuel, Give Me Fire by 221BJen (jcoz1701), faceisamess

Brooklyn detective Steve Rogers finds his loyalty tested when he goes undercover to investigate a group at the center of a series of high speed heists. He doesn’t know what to make of James Barnes and his family of choice, but he wants to know more. Drag races, muscle cars and intense attraction leave Steve wondering if he’s in way too deep. Spoiler alert: Definitely.

Freshwater Memories by superheroresin

Steve hasn’t been back to his family’s cottage for years, ever since the car accident took both his parents and his childhood memories. His therapist seems to think it’s a good idea for him to get out of the city for a while, so Steve decides it's time to fix it up. He remembers a lot of things when he’s finally arrives, smells the fresh grass, hears the whisper of the trees, and the familiar warmth of a home away from home. The river outside is familiar too, only Steve can’t quite remember the imaginary friend he invented from it, when he needed one the most.

The river remembers him though, and will be damned if it watches his old friend sulk in loneliness instead of play with him, like he used to.

After, Therefore Because of It by alby_mangroves, noncorporealform

Steve wants Bucky’s help to solve the murder of Dr. Abraham Erskine. Meanwhile, Bucky wants to find out what happened to Steve after his mysterious disappearance at seventeen.

I, The Paradox by DrowningByDegrees, Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90), Riakomai

Sharing a life with a recovering Winter Soldier means never quite escaping what Steve sees as his biggest failure. When one of Tony’s machines functions differently than advertised, Steve is given an unexpected opportunity to change the past. He’s spent so much time mapping out all the ways he could have saved Bucky from falling, but in the moment, he never stops to consider whether or not he should.

Actions have consequences, and meddling with time has more drastic ones than most. Steve wakes with two divergent timelines in his head, and two very different versions of Bucky in his bed.

Mod Karin

Coming Home by charlesdk

“Steve, you don't know a damn thing about that guy. The fact that you're even considering keeping him in your house is crazy.”

“I don't care.” Steve glanced over at the stranger, his face softening when he saw him sinking back into the couch cushions and gripping his backpack so tightly. “Sam, the guy looks like no one's been nice to him for years. How am I supposed to be okay with just sending him off somewhere?”

Sam sighed heavily and looked heavenward. “I swear to God, if I come by tomorrow and find you dead in your bed, I'm gonna find a way to bring you back to life just to kill you again.”

OR – in which former army captain, current farmer Steve Rogers finds a bruised and battered and dirty stranger who remembers nothing and doesn't speak in his barn. He takes him in, despite his friends' advice not to, and helps him recover. It's not easy. Especially not when, along the way, feelings get involved.

Gweilo Gongfu by PR Zed (przed)

"I can look after myself." Steve bristled. "And how about you? You go around taking on three fighters from the Hip Sing Tong on a regular basis?"

"Sure," the guy said, and then he gave Steve a big grin. "I don't like bullies either."

"Jeez, we're two of a kind, ain't we?" Steve laughed and stuck out his hand. "Steve Rogers."

The guy took his hand in a firm grip.

"Bucky Dyun."

"Bucky?"

"Yeah, unless you want to call me Pok Chi like my ma does."

"Bucky it is."

Steve Rogers doesn't know much about Chinese culture when he makes a wrong turn in Chinatown. But a chance meeting gives him not only a new friend, but an entry into a whole new world. The more he learns from Bucky, the closer they get, until Bucky is so much more than a friend. But when a Chinese gang goes after Bucky and his family, Steve knows he needs to stand up and make sure the man he loves doesn't lose everything.

In This Life and the Next by ScootyPuffJrSucks

In 1926, when Steve’s friend Tony presents him with an interesting artifact from an ancient city that isn’t supposed to exist, Steve hopes his days as just a librarian might be over. The artifact leads him to Bucky, a mysterious man with a strange golden arm who was found in the desert with no memory. Steve and Bucky immediately feel a connection to one another that leads them on an adventure to discover the past and save the future. Together, they travel to Hamunaptra, the City of the Dead, unleash a cursed Mummy with a grotesque red face, and do everything in their power to stop him from destroying the world.

Save my life and I’ll save yours by Elendrien, gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)

What if Bucky had actually escaped in Bucharest? Now the race is on to find out who framed the Winter Soldier—and why. Cap and his family of soldiers and spies must rely on old-school tradecraft, coded messages, covert meetings, mistaken identities, and the Moscow Rules to bring Steve back together with Bucky.

Siege by ftmsteverogers

Steve called him Bucky, and the Winter Soldier was trying to shoulder into that name like a badly-fitting jacket.

Or, the one where the Winter Soldier pulls Steve from the Potomac and sticks around this time.

Stellar by vintage_granddad

"The serum was not ready. But more important, the man. The serum amplifies everything that is inside, so good becomes great; bad becomes worse. This is why you were chosen. Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man." During the Great Depression, a young, trans Steve Rogers falls in love with his best friend, ultimately creating an unbreakable bond. And, by a supposed mistake of modern science, Steve Rogers is finally able to live as himself, at a cost.

The North Star by littleblackfox

“I heard rumour that William Fly is swinging from a gibbet in Boston harbour. They say the age of piracy is ending,” Steve utters softly, rubbing the tip of his thumb across his lower lip. Sam glances at him. “You got plans to retire, Cap? Find a nice little beach in the Indies and a good supply of rum? Couple of pretty girls in grass skirts to dance for you.” “Sam,” Steve mumbles, covering his face with his hand. “I’m sorry, a couple of pretty boys?” Sam grins wickedly. “Sam!” Steve looks scandalised, which gets him nothing but laughter from his Quartermaster. “You’re fired. Go throw yourself overboard this instant.”

they're gonna send us to prison for jerks by napricot

“Hey Steve, this is Jack Murphy, our other neighbor. Jack, this is Steve.” Steve looked at Sam a little wildly, expecting to see—he didn’t even know, but some reaction other than Sam’s usual easy friendliness. And there was something there, but it was just the twitch of Sam’s mouth that said he found something hilarious and he was trying not to show it. Was this Sam’s idea of a joke, or a prank? Because this guy—behind the glasses and mustache, Steve could have sworn—well, he looked like Bucky.

Three, and Not Just Two by CoraRochester

Steve tried to take a drink of water from the glass on his bedside table, but there was definitely already a three-inch long piece of dog hair in it. The ice hadn’t even melted yet.

....

Bucky "liberates" a Chow Chow and brings it home. This means, in no particular order: special shampoo, dog hair, googling "can dogs eat apples??", more dog hair, and learning to share your boyfriend with the dog.

Steve's none too quick on the uptake that it's his dog, too.

Inspired by the artwork of silentwalrus

#mod picks

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