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adarkrainbow · 6 months

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So, recently @drachenwiki has done a very nice reblog of one of my posts (thank you!) and evoked something very interesting. I didn't want to just answer in a simple reblog, so I'll make a new post about it. Here is what drachen said:

I noticed an interesting connection here. In Greek fairy tales, there is a character that’s pretty similar to the ogre, but is called Drakos (Δράκος). The name is obviously derived from Drakon (δράκων), which means serpent and is the origin of the word “dragon”, but the Drakos is a supernatural humanoid, like the ogre sometimes fully human-looking, sometimes with monstrous traits, but almost never with the serpentine traits that define dragons.

I unfortunately do not have enough knowledge about Greek fairytales as a whole to be able to fully answer or react o the character of Drakos - even though I can say, as someone who studied ogre, that there is a very obvious general connection and "family link" between ogres and dragons, the same way there is one between ogres and giants. Ogres and dragons, are the two sides of the "devouring fairytale villain", whose main threat is eating the character ; both of them dwell in usually hostile landscapes such as deep forests or grottos ; and both of them are usually said to have great riches and treasures.

But what I originally wanted to say is this. I don't know if you had heard of it, but in French folklore there is a character that sound very similar to the Greek Drakos, and seems to be very clearly some sort of cousin. He is frequently found in French folktales and oral fairytales collected in various regions of France - and in fact he is one of the most prominent and well-known monster of French legends. It is the Drac.

Long story short...

The Drac is a folkloric being of Southern France. It is a water-dwelling entity that is most commonly said to inhabit rivers and lakes, sometimes streams and wells - some folktales even make him sea-dwelling, though most of the time he is a being of fresh water. There were several dracs around France corresponding to the various important bodies of water - though folktales like to always refer to "THE" Drac.

The Drac obviously comes from the same etymological and cultural roots as the dragon. "Drac" comes from the Latin "draco/draconis", itself from the Greek "drakon" and it is all the same family as "drakkar" for example. If it wasn't enough of proof we have in the Occitan language words such as "dracmarin" for "sea dragon" (marin meaning "of the sea" in modern French). As a result, the Drac is considered to be a reptilian being... But the exact nature of the Drac is unclear.

You see, sometimes the drac is described as a dragon-like entity dwelling at the bottom of the lake or sea (a winged, enormous lizard-being) ; or as a giant water-snake. But that's only sometimes because one of the main features of the Drac is that it owns a power of shapeshifting, meaning one can never be sure of what shape the Drac will appear as. Most often, the drac takes the shape of a beautiful young man (to lure his victims or better wander among humans, as we'll see later), but there are many tales and legends claiming the drac can turn into various animals (black donkey, red she-horse, bunnies, lambs...) or even into objects (like a log, or a basket). Given the two shapes of "reptilian being" and "beautiful human" are the most famous and widespread, it often results in depictions of the drac as a scale-covered humanoid or as a dragon with the head of a beautiful boy.

The other main trait of the drac is that he is known to keep luring and dragging humans under water, off into his under-river or under-lake lair. But the how and the why of it all keeps changing depending on the regions and time. It is most agree that the Drac targets, out of all humans, women - especially pretty young girls (making him more similar to the traditional "dragon haunting damsels"). Washer-woman were heavily warned about the drac, and were depicted as his easiest victims due to being women spending so much time by the water-shore. Sometimes the drac uses his face of a handsome young man, or his beautiful singing voice, to attract his victims (some regions even call him a "male mermaid"); other times, the drac is known to let float at the surface of water gold coins, jewels, mirrors and other precious items. All in all - you are lured into the water, and once far away enough, the drac snatches you and takes you underwater.

Here's however where your fate changes depending on which "aspect" of the Drac you face.

In popular beliefs and superstitions, the drac is a water bogeyman in the same way as Jenny Greenteeth and the other water-hags of England. As such, he is depicted as a man-eater who lures humans to drown them and devour them. (Sometimes he doesn't even eat them, and he is just a demonic and evil being who drowns them for pure fun).

In folktales however the Drac can become more alike to the traditional "capture-maidens dragon", or to the general archetype of the monstrous husband. There is a very famous Gascogne fairytale (precisely the one that, to my knowledge, is the only depicting the drac as sea-dwelling rather than fresh-water-dwelling) that paints him as some sort of elemental spirit, a "king of water" that commands the winds and the storms - he steals away a maiden with which he fell in love to force her to become his bride, but she refuses. He still keeps her trapped in his beautiful underwater palace and gardens - and only allows her to walk for a limited time at the top of the waves and the surface of the waters, with a golden chain tied to her ankle. A hero has to break the chain and gets her to shore as fast as possible - because the drac has no power on land.

The most famous incarnation of the drac however is the drac of the Rhônes, illustrated in stories such as the legend of the drac de Beaucaire. This drac is much more akin to the fair-folk and "good neighbors" of the British Isles - as in, in various stories and tales he is described as stealing away a nurse from the human world so she can take care of his babies and breast-feed his children for seven years. Once she had done her work, the drac allows her to return to the human world above the waters - but something happened. The nurse got one eye "enchanted" so that not only does she see clearly in the water, she also can see the Drac's true appearance even under his human disguises. For some she mistakenly got some of the fat of one of the "snake-cakes" of the Drac into her eyes ; for others, the Drac offered her a box of enchanted human fat (because the dracs are still man-eaters in these tales) that would give strength and health to her baby, with the clear instruction to always wash her hands after using it - and she gets it in her eye... Anyway, all in all she ends up spotting the drac in the middle of her town or village, and she politely salutes him with his real identity. The drac, surprised at having been recognized under his disguise, asks her with which eye she saw him. She tells him, and the drac promptly gouges out the enchanted eye.

And these are just the main aspects and appearances of the drac based on his main "underwater magical being" persona. But you see, the "drac" is actually a bit like the "bogeyman" as in, you have an iconic name, some key traits, but everybody has a different version of it. Same thing for the drac - antagonist sea-prince of fairytales, child-eating water-bogeyman, aquatic "good neighbor" and fair folk... But in some regions the name "drac" will be use for werewolves! Everything in these stories clearly describe a werewolf, except the name. But this seems to be because as France was Christianized there was an habit of making the drac of demon - which is why many tales describe this being as a "water demon", as a "bird-hating demon", as "the son of the devil"... And in the Pyrénées, the drac even got an alternate identity fusing himself with another famous folklore archetype. The magical-but-deadly-horse ; the devil's donkey that snatches children. This creature exists in other regions of France as its own thing, its own being, but in the Pyrénées sometimes it gets fused with the drac into one being. A magical donkey or enchanted horse - sometimes white, sometimes red - that will invite tired travellers or innocent children on its back. It can extend its back to carry as many children as it needs ; or it can enlarge its body to fit the weight and girth of any rider ; but once you are on the beast's back, it will take you on a wild and terrifying ride that will end in a body of water where you will drown.

Usually this identity as the "magical horse" or "magical donkey" is thought to be just one of the various "tricks" of the drac - tricks and "pranks" typical of fair folk and other supernatural beings of Europe. Remember when I evoked his shapeshifting? The "lamb" part comes from a local legend claiming the drac likes to turn into a cute little lamb, but if you try to carry it in your arms or on your back, it will become heavier and heavier until it crushes you. Other local tales evoke stories of the drac turning into a ball of thread, and allowing a girl to weave a dress out of him - but once she wears the dress in public, the thread will disappear, destroying the dress and leaving the girl naked in front of everybody.

Again this all seems tied again to the "demonization" of the Drac - who was considered to be part of those nasty lutins, demonic imps and other annoying little devils that spent their time harassing everybody with cruel or disgusting pranks. But anyway my main point stays - a humanoid man-eating being with dragon roots, and an obvious dragon name despite ending up not looking like a dragon at all...

#french folklore #french folktales #drac

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dontspillthefrijoles43 · 1 year

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Lost Hero VIII - Breisa

Hectic Mornings

Word count: 3334

Warnings: Cursing, slight angst, teenagers being teenagers, Breisa being confused at everything, mention of Panic attack

Summary: Breisa collects items for her quest as self-doubt ensures.Oh and a giant mechanical dragon gives the campers a heart attack

Likes ❤️, Reblogs🔁, and comments 💬 very much appreciated!

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—

Nearly at the dawn of morning, Breisa was ready to throw a phone across the cabin.

She struggled to get dressed waiting for someone to answer the phone.

“Come on, come on…pick up already.” Breisa muttered to herself— hopping on one foot while trying to put on her jeans.

All she heard was the dial tone on Lou’s black berry phone. “Ay dios, woman. How long does it take to answer the phone?”

Finally Tía's voice came on, “Hey you reach Celica, sorry can’t come to the phone right now. Leave your name or phone number, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”

The phone beeped and started to record.

“H-Hey Tía, it’s uh…it’s Risa. I don’t know if you got a phone call from the school or something. An accident happened—B-but I’m fine and safe…I'm staying at a friend's house…Ella no tiene hermanos ni Tíos.” She rambled, “I'm gonna be here for a couple days. Please don’t freak out. I have clothes to keep me warm and food. Just call me back soon…please? I promise I can explain everything when you do.”

It beeped again, letting Breisa know that time's up.

She sighed and hung up the phone. Breisa slumped back onto the bed thinking. ‘If I don’t die from this. I’ll definitely be dead when she calls back.”

“Any luck? Lou called from the doorway.

“Nope. Straight to voicemail.” Breisa grumbled and held up the phone, “Probably stuck at work or something. Usually we get calls once a month in wilderness school. She wouldn’t expect my call.”

“At least you left a message.” Lou counseled taking away her phone, “That’s better than nothing. Most demigods don’t ever get to tell their moral caregivers goodbye. Much less a phone call.”

“You’re right.” Breisa agreed, “I’d figure that having phones would be the biggest alarm to monsters. How’d you even manage to live with one?”

Lou waved her phone around, “Special tech modifications from Hephaestus cabin. You just gotta know the right people to get the goods. Speaking of which–”

She tossed a bulky green satchel Briesa. She ‘oofed’ as it landed on her stomach.

Breisa picked it up and looked at it from every angle. “The hell is this for?”

“It’s your pack. A magic pack.” Lou answered nonchalantly, "It holds spell caster necessities, clothes if you need them, medical supplies, storage, and pretty much survival stuff.”

“Huh…Does it hold food?” Breisa wondered.

“Eh…depends. Since we use herbs and spices for spells, it might not give you direct food.” Lou explained, “You might have to look for food. Which I wouldn’t worry too much about, your…uh …quest members might have their own survival packs.”

“Hmn.” She didn’t seem so convinced about that, but who was she to doubt Lou. “So since you’re here…did you find anything about my necklace?”

“Well not much.” Lou replied, “I looked up some magical items… It’s not cursed, I know that for sure. But it is charmed for something to happen, that’s why you felt little bursts of magic energy. It’s almost as if it isn’t activated… It’s some weird puzzle.

To be honest, this is something I’ve never seen before. And I’ve seen a lot of weird magic. But, I did noticed it’s made out of Adamantine and a little bit of Stygian.``

Breisa tilted her head to the side in a questioning manner.

Lou pulled the necklace out of her pocket and faced it towards her. It still had the leather strap but the centerpiece seemed thicker and glowed darkly. And The bail glinted in the light like a diamond. “The mist must have hidden its true appearance.

But this part in the middle is stygian, an underworld metal. And this part with your initials is Adamantine, it is indestructible metal.” She pointed to the thicker part and bail. “They both are types of metals that demigods use to fight monsters, like celestial bronze—metal found on olympus.”

“What about the stone in the middle?” Breisa asked

“That’s another thing that I can’t figure out.” She shrugged, “It’s not an illusion. It’s made out of real stone and it’s enchanted. It just appeared when you had your vision.”

Breisa looked at the necklace then back Lou, “Will this thing help me on the quest?”

“It could. I feel like it might have something to do with your lines in the prophecy.” Lou assumed, “It might be something only you could figure out. Some demigods have their own weapons and items given specifically from their godly parents. So it serves a certain purpose—but you gotta figure out what it is.”

She tossed Breisa the necklace, and clumsily she caught it.

“You should be set now. You have your pack and the necklace…” Lou put her hand on chin in thought. She snapped her fingers in realization, “Oh! There’s something else, I almost forgot.”

She ran out to the hallway and headed into the common rooms.

Breisa ran after her with her sneakers and jacket. “Hey wait up!”

She turned the corner and nearly crashed into a crouching Lou. She had lifted one of the cushion, seats and was rummaging through a hidden compartment.

“What are you doing?” Breisa sat down on one of the couches trying to catch her breath.

“Looking for —THIS!” Lou pulled out an ax with a generous amount of blade on both sides. It had leather wrapped tightly around the handle.

“¡Ay, qué carajo!” Breisa yelped, jumping back with her hand over her heart, “Are you trying to kill me?!”

“No this is so you don’t get killed.” Lou waved the ax around as Breisa eyed it nervously, “Relax it can’t hurt you. It’s made out of Celestial Bronze, it’s meant to kill monsters.”

“I’d feel safer if you wouldn’t wave it around carelessly.” Breisa moved away from Lou slightly.

“Alright alright don’t get your curls in a knot. I have a solution.” Lou rolled her eyes.

Without a warning she threw it upward with a little shout, “krývo!”

Breisa half expected the blade to come down and slice through Lou’s skull—instead a bronze ring with a moon crescent landed in her hand.

“¿Que demonios?” She looked at the ring confused,“What happened to the ax?”

Lou gave her a little grin. She slid the crescent sideways and enunciated a strange word “Apokalýpto.”

The ax appeared again in her hands.

“Magic weapon…” Breisa took the ax from her hands, looking at it with interest. “It’s like Jason’s sword.”

Lou hummed in agreement. “Yup, you don’t even have to use mist to hide it. All you need is those words for it.“

“Kree-on…it means to hide?”

“krývo.” Lou corrected, “Apokalýpto to reveal. Try it.”

Breisa glanced at the ax, hesitantly she raised it up. She stuttered “K-krývo.”

It stayed in its current form, no changes whatsoever.

“More confident. You can’t be hesitant. It takes confidence as much as focus to summon a weapon.” Lou reminded, “Try again.”

Breisa breathed in and out slowly. With more confidence she said “krývo.”

It gleamed slightly and turned shorter. “I guess my magic isn’t as good as I-”

Out of nowhere shrunk into the same ring but more wobbly and uneven.

“Huh. Isn’t that something?” Lou murmured with a little sideways smile. “Now try summoning it.”

“Apokakýpto.” Breisa grumbled with some confidence. The ax appeared with a quarter of its handle.

Lou couldn’t help but snicker a little. “Don’t worry you’ll get the hang of it. Hand it here.”

She passed it over to her and Lou turn it back into a ring.

Breisa sighed slipping on the ring,"How will I be able to cast spells without you there? I can’t even summon a weapon.

“That’s why I have one more thing for you.” Lou dug through the couch again and pulled out a pocket sized book.

Breisa took it carefully and looked it over:

It was leatherbound black with gold edges on the cover. Embedded were torches crossing each other over a moon. Below one of the torches was a leather strap that held it closed.

Breisa opened it— on the first page was a red ribbon as a page saver.

The yellow page had blue cursive written in weird language, she was able to read “Hekate’s book of magic and witchcraft Vol. 1”

“A spell book?” Breisa guessed, flipping through the pages, they were mostly blank. Although some spells that she had learn were written there.

“Yes,” Lou began, “It’s a beginner’s spell book. Whatever spell’s you can figure out or learn, will be added to the pages. It guides you through Mom’s eyes—but it becomes your own magic.”

Breisa looked at the book, then to the ring, and then to the pack. “Lou this is all so much. I mean I know this quest is life or death- Pero no lo creo…I mean….should I even have all these things? I don’t feel like I am a worthy demigod.”

‘Much less a daughter of hecate’ She thought to herself.

“Hey, no sibling of mind should take on something as big–as this quest– empty handed.” Lou insisted, “No self-doubt alright. You got this. You tell all those monsters and assholes who think otherwise to shove it up their ass! Alright?”

Breisa cracked a nervous but assured smile, “Alright.”

“Now finish getting ready.” Lou advised, “I’ll send you off, everyone is almost up. It makes it harder to leave when they’re up.”

“Ok.” Breisa nodded, placed the book on the breast pocket of her jacket. She began to lace up her sneakers.

–

Later outside the Hecate cabin, Lou was giving Breisa one final check.

“Alright. You might want to wear the ring and the necklace, it’s more convenient. Everything else is here.” Lou handed the pack to her, “I also added some hair ties for later. Just in case that braid doesn’t last. You should be good to go.”

“Lou, I can't thank you enough.” Breisa adjusted the pack onto her shoulder, “Realmente, gracias por el fondo de mi corazón.”

“No es problema.” Lou said, surprising Breisa (who hadn’t realized she herself was speaking Spanish), “Just promise me you’ll make it here safe. When you finish saving the world and all.”

“I will.” Breisa promised with false confidence. Lou gave her a look. “I’ll try too.”

Lou patted her on the shoulder, “You should get going.”

Breisa begin to ask, “Where should I-”

She heard a cabin door slam shut and saw Piper walking away from very eyesore pink cabin.

“Start with that.” Lou advised as she headed back to the cabin “Buena suerte y que los dioses te bendigan.”

Briesa nodded and then headed off to Piper. “Hey Piper! Wait up!”

She had finally caught up to Piper as she was half-way out of cabin

“Piper,” Breisa wheezed, “Oh my god… you walk…fast.”

She looked up and automatically she knew something was wrong with Piper.

Even with the whole makeover look, she knew something was wrong. Her face was flushed, her breathing seemed off, and her arms were wrapped around herself defensively.

“Piper? Are you ok?” Briesa asked, concerned. All she got was a head shake as Piper avoided looking at her.

(Anger,embarrassment, stress and sadness)

She tried to snap Piper out of her emotions, “Can you tell me three things you feel?”

Piper sighed shakily, and croaked “I…I can feel my jacket it’s silky and worn out…Also the makeup on my face, it’s heavy and uncomfortable…and my dagger on my hip.”

Piper had calmed down but (frustration, stress, and embarrassment) to Breisa, she was still not calm enough. “How about three things you smell?”

“I can smell the cabin wood. The Grass. And strawberries.” Piper unwrapped her arms from herself and her breathing slowed down.

‘Almost there.’ Breisa thought to herself. “And three things you see?”

“I see the amphitheater, the mess hall, and–” Piper cut herself off as she turned up at the sky and gaped.

(Disbelief and confusion)

Breisa furrowed her eyebrows at her expression,“Uh…Piper what else do you see?”

“A giant metal dragon.” She replied still in shock.

Breisa blinked, “A what?”

“A giant metal dragon!” Piper repeated and pointed towards the sky.

Breisa glanced at what she was pointing at, half expecting Piper to be joking, then her mouth fell open in shock. “Holy shit!”

There it was.

A giant metal dragon glistening in the morning sun.

It floated down with bat-shaped wings twice its body length: They waved like sails, with a sound as if they were coins cascading out of a slot machine.

As it got closer to landing Breisa caught sight of a familiar tuff of curly hair and an army jacket on top of the dragon.

“Leo?” Piper yelled.

Sure enough, there he was, sitting atop a giant bronze death machine and grinning like a maniac.

An alarm went off, (it sounded like a conch shell?) and the camp broke out into chaos.

Satyrs started screaming “Don’t kill me!”, while Half of the Campers had stumbled out of the cabins in pajamas and armor.

The dragon set itself in the middle of the field and Leo yelled “It’s cool! Don’t shoot!”

Hesitantly, the archers lowered their bows. The warriors backed away, keeping their spears and swords ready. They made a loose wide ring around the metal monster. Other demigods hid behind their cabin doors or peeped out the windows.

Nobody seemed anxious to get close. Breisa was on the same page. Up close the dragon was way bigger— sixty-foot-long serpent with steel talons and drill-bit teeth and glowing ruby eyes. It glowed with different shades of copper and bronze.

“It’s beautiful,” Piper muttered. Breisa and the other demigods snapped their necks at her. They gave her a look like she was insane. (Although Breisa had to admit -never out loud—it looked like a wicked statue)

The dragon reared its head and shot a column of fire into the sky. Breisa nearly fell in surprise as Campers scrambled away and hefted their weapons.

But all Leo did was slide calmly off the dragon’s back. He held up his hands like he was surrendering, except he still had that crazy grin on his face.

“People of Earth, I come in peace!” he shouted.

He looked like he’d been rolling around in the campfire. His army coat and his face were smeared with soot. His hands were grease-stained, and he wore a new tool belt around his waist. His eyes were bloodshot. His curly hair was so oily it stuck up in porcupine quills, and he smelled strangely of Tabasco sauce.

But he looked absolutely delighted. “Festus is just saying hello!”

“LIKE HELL IT IS!” Breisa cried out, earning a glare from Leo.

“That thing is dangerous!” An Ares girl shouted beside her and brandished a spear. “Kill it now!”

“Stand down!” Someone ordered.

It was Jason. He pushed through the crowd, flanked by Annabeth and that girl from the Hephaestus cabin, Nyssa.

Jason gazed up at the dragon and shook his head in amazement. “Leo, what have you done?”

“Found a ride!” Leo beamed. “You said I could go on the quest if I got you a ride. Well, I got you a class-A metallic flying bad boy! Festus can take us anywhere!”

“It—has wings,” Nyssa stammered. Her jaw looked like it might drop off her face.

“Yeah!” Leo said. “I found them and reattached them.”

“But it never had wings. Where did you find them?”

Leo hesitated. He was hiding something and it didn’t go unnoticed by Piper and Breisa.

“In … the woods,” he said. “Repaired his circuits, too, mostly, so no more problems with him going haywire.”

“Mostly?” Nyssa asked.

The dragon’s head twitched. It tilted to one side and a stream of black liquid—maybe oil, hopefully just oil—poured out of its ear, all over Leo.

“Just a few kinks to work out,” Leo said.

Breisa muttered under breath, “Looks like more than a few.”

“Hey-” Leo started but Nessya cut him off.

“How did you survive?” She was still staring at the creature in awe. “I mean, the fire breath …”

“I’m quick,” Leo said (anxiety). “And lucky. Now, am I on this quest, or what?”

Jason scratched his head. “You named him Festus? You know that in Latin, ‘festus’ means ‘happy’? You want us to ride off to save the world on Happy the Dragon?”

The dragon twitched and shuddered and flapped his wings. It reminded Breisa of an excited puppy wagging its tail. (‘Happy the big bronze dragon’)

“That’s a yes, bro!” Leo said. “Now, um, I’d really suggest we get going, guys. I already picked up some supplies in the—um, in the woods. And all these people with weapons are making Festus nervous.”

Jason frowned. “But we haven’t planned anything yet. We can’t just—”

“Go,” Annabeth said. She was the only one who didn’t look nervous at all. Her expression was sad and wistful, like this reminded her of better times. An image of a boy with sea green eyes and a boy with a rasta cap flashed in Breisa’s brain. “Jason, you’ve only got three days until the solstice now, and you should never keep a nervous dragon waiting. This is certainly a good omen. Go!”

Jason nodded. Then he smiled at Piper. “You ready, partner?”

Piper looked at the bronze dragon wings shining against the sky, and those talons that could’ve shredded her to pieces. “You bet,” she said.

They made their way over and mounted the Dragon. Jason sat himself first on the last seat and he helped Piper up front.

“Come on Breisa.” Piper called from the dragon.

“You guys can’t be serious.” Breisa groaned, keeping her feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Oh but we are.” Leo grinned. “No me digas que tienes miedo, cariño.”

“I’m not!” Breisa puffed defensively. “And don’t call me cariño!”

“Oh my bad,” Leo mockingly put a hand to his chest, “Does Miedosa sound better?”

“Listen here Jackass!” Breisa quipped, getting ready to argue.

“Oh don’t start with that bull! I’m the Jackass?! You act like you are so much better but you’re just as much of a jackass as I am.” Leo bit back.

“You just admitted you are one!” Breisa jeered.

“I’m the jackass that fixed this giant ass Dragon!” Leo bragged, “I am a jack of all trades type of Jackass!

“If you’re a ‘Jack of all trades’, why is your dragon leaking oil worse than a Janky-ass truck?” She remarked

“Did you just compare my dragon to a junk car?” Leo scoffed in disbelief, “You got some nerve-!”

They continued to insult and curse at each other as Jason, Piper, Festus, and most of the camp awkwardly watched their argument unfold.

—

‘Gods, were we really that bad?’ Annabeth wondered as peered at the two bickering. She was both nostalgic, amused, and sad while thinking about a certain boy with sea green eyes.

“Thinking about old times?” Clarisse said from beside her, watching the two in amusement.

Annabeth let out a soft sigh, “Yes.”

Clarisse smiled sadly, “I miss the little jackass too…We’ll find him, you know.”

“I know.” Annabeth sniffled a bit. “These guys just bring back all the things about us.”

Clarisse put a hand on her shoulder, “They’ll be the ones to beat this and figure out something about Percy. Don’t stress more than you already are.”

“I’ll try not to.” Annabeth said.

She continued to stare at Festus picking up Breisa by her collar while she cursed at it as Leo laughed hysterically as he hopped onto the dragon.

“Good.” Clarisse hummed, “That's all you can do.”

She watched with Annabeth as Festus shot into the air, his big wing swooping and fire streaming out his mouth.

They both could hear Breisa screaming bloody mary in Spanish and Leo cackling like a lunatic.

‘Let them be alright. Let them find him or something about him. Please.’ Annabeth prayed to anyone that would hear her as she watched Festus fade into the skyline.

—

Translations

Y ella no tiene hermanos ni Tíos - She doesn’t have brothers or uncles

Ay, qué carajo - what the fuck

krývo- conceal

Apokalýpto- reveal

Pero no lo creo - I don’t think

Realmente gracias desde el fondo de mi corazón- Thank you from the bottom of my heart

Cariño - sweetheart

No me digas que tienes miedo, cariño - Don’t tell me you’re scared

Miedosa - Scaredy-cat

(A/N: A little bit of a filter chapter, I enjoyed giving Breisa cool accessories like a character in an rpg game. Also Leo the maniac mechanic and his giant metal dragon finally make an entrance. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and it’s chaos! :)

-socially awkward nerd)

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Rupert and Sanoh (Lemon)

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Kobold/Male Human, Female Half-Elf/Male Tielfling Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Elf, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Kobold, Half-Elf Content Warning: Sex, Rough Sex, Biting, Marking, Group Sex, Dom/Sub, Breath Play Words: 3349

A story with DuMont’s friends, Rupert and Sanoh! Rupert and Sanoh are having sexy fun in a bath when Kharis and DuMont enter the room. Not willing to stop, they try to be stealthy. It doesn't work. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

“Why do wererats always have to live in sewers?” Kharis grumped. “Every time we get contracted to kill rodents of any kind, I just know we’re going to have to go somewhere gross.”

Kharis, DuMont, Rupert, Sanoh, and Norman all pulled themselves out of the sewers of one of the larger towns west of the capitol. People had been going missing, and the mayor of the town realized that the rats in town were multiplying at an incredible rate, even with preventative measures. It was a clear indication that wererats were responsible.

“It wasn’t all that bad,” Sanoh said. “The humidity down there was good for my scales. They’re so itchy.”

“It may have been good for your scales, but it definitely wasn’t good for your clothes,” Kharis remarked. “That stink isn’t coming out. You might as well burn that shit.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Sanoh said with a sigh. Her dancer’s outfit, which she always wore regardless of the situation, was torn and it’s bright red hue was now dark brown. “I really liked this one, too.”

Rupert seemed even more miserable that Kharis. “Can we please find a bathhouse? I haven’t been this filthy in years.”

“You’re one to talk, look at poor DuMont!” Kharis said, pointing at her giant lover. DuMont, the mountain of a tiefling that he was, was splattered head to toe in muck and grime and rat guts. His large church-bell bludgeon that he had slung over his shoulder was absolutely caked in blood and gore. “He’s not even complaining!”

“That’s because he doesn’t know how to complain,” Sanoh said. “He takes the phrase ‘roll with the punches’ far too literally.”

“Is that wrong?” DuMont asked, his cavernously deep voice echoing through the city streets, causing many who weren’t already staring at the group to spin in surprise.

“Of course not, love,” Kharis said, patting his arm as he walked on all fours. “I much prefer silent temperance to someone who does nothing but complain.” She looked pointedly at Rupert.

“Norman complains more than I do!” Rupert retorted.

“I haven’t said a word!” Norman protested. “Don’t pick on me because you’re a whiner.”

“Oh, my god, everyone shut up!” Sanoh said, rubbing her forehead. “There’s a bathhouse one block over, so will you all just please stop bitching.”

“I’m not bitching,” DuMont said in an undertone. “But I am hungry.”

“I’ll order you a rack of lamb and a sack of potatoes when we get to the inn, hon,” Kharis said. “Get cleaned up first. You don’t want to eat when you’re that dirty or you’ll get sick.”

“I’ve never been sick.” DuMont countered.

“Even still, you should be clean…er. And I don’t want you to drop pieces of food in the bath, either. It’ll feel like we’re all sitting in a stew.”

“You weirdos can sit in the stew, I’m getting a private bath,” Norman said.

“Why do you do that?” Rupert asked. “You always get your own instead of bathing with us, even though private baths are so much more expensive. It’s no wonder why you never have any money.”

“I’m not trying to get head by a paid companion in front of you lot,” He said sniffily.

“Suit yourself, but I bet that’d be fun to watch,” Kharis said playfully.

Norman snorted. “You would think that, you pervert.”

“You’ve become so shy since we started traveling, Norman,” Kharis said. “You used to be a nice, relatable pervert, just like the rest of us.”

“Maybe being with you people has made me see the error in my ways,” Norman remarked.

“Pssh, there isn’t anything wrong with being a pervert. Besides, I think DuMont balances me out. He can be such a prude sometimes.”

“I imagine being raised by a priest in a church will have that effect on a person,” Sanoh said.

“You are a pervert, Kharis,” DuMont said, as if in agreement with Norman.

“Does me being a pervert bother you?” Kharis asked him, grinning.

He looked at her and cocked his head as he walked, considering her, looking like a massively oversized dog, as he always did when thinking.

“No,” He said eventually.

“See? He likes it.”

“Now, I didn’t say that,” He said. His face wasn’t built to smile, but Rupert thought he could hear laughter in his voice, and Rupert grinned.

“We would be the ones to pick brazen, sex-crazed women, wouldn’t be, big guy?” Rupert said, smacking DuMont’s broad shoulder in solidarity.

DuMont grunted in a way that could have been mistaken for a chuckle.

DuMont had been very taciturn since they had met him nearly a year ago, but his personality was slowly beginning to emerge as the five of them spent more time together on the road, doing jobs. Rupert was glad he finally felt comfortable enough with the group to try joking with them.

The bathhouse came into view shortly afterward. It catered to adventuring sorts, so it wasn’t necessarily a high-end place, and the five of them tended to frequent it often. The staff there barely batted an eye at DuMont anymore. The laundresses despised the sight of them, however, since they always arrived splattered with all manner of filth, much of which was hard to wash out.

“Hey, can we get the big tub, please?” Sanoh called out as soon as they entered the place. “We’ll pay extra to reserve the whole thing, though I doubt many people will want to come in after us.”

The woman at the front desk curled up her lip at them as they entered, but said, “Yes, of course. You’re usual packages?”

“Yes,” Norman said. “Private room for me, please. Do you have any companions available?”

“Derek is available.”

“Ugh, no, not him. What about Vincent?”

“Vincent is away visiting family. Connor?”

Norman nodded. “Connor will do. Just make sure he brings the right massage oils this time.”

“That costs extra,” The woman reminded him.

“I’m aware,” Normal said, starting toward the private baths.

“I’m beginning to think Norman is too fancy for us,” Sanoh said. “We can’t afford him.” She walked up to the counter. “Do you have any scale oil?”

“We don’t have any specifically for scales, but there are plenty for skin and hair.”

“Hmm…” Sanoh said. “Give me the hair oil, then. It tends to be thicker. What scents have you got?”

Kharis snorted. “Come on, let’s get these clothes off before they stick to us. She may be at this for a while.”

Dumont and Rupert followed her to one of the larger public baths, one with a door, and closed it behind them. Now that they had been together for a long time, they were less shy about bathing together as they had been. Even DuMont had stopped blushing when he saw them all nude in the same bath.

“Kharis, I’m hungry,” DuMont said insistently. The only time DuMont ever seemed to get grumpy was when he needed a meal.

“Let me at least scrub you down once and we’ll go get some food,” She told him, pushing him into the bath still wearing his loincloth. The robes and towels weren’t nearly large enough to cover him, so they just had taken to washing him in the bath, clothes and all. They usually did him first, drained the bath, and refilled it for the rest of them.

Once Rupert helped Kharis give DuMont a once over, getting him clean enough to go into the tavern, they left to get something to eat and Rupert and Sanoh waited for the tub to be refilled. When that was done, the fresh water was nice and hot, and Sanoh arrived with her purchased oils. They both stripped down and got in with a satisfied sigh.

“Oh, gods, this is nice,” Sanoh said.

“Mmm,” Rupert agreed. “I think this is the first time in a month that my shoulders have relaxed.”

“My scales were starting to get so brittle. Will you get my scale brush and scrub the oils into my back? I can feel them flaking.”

“Sure, just a second,” He said, getting out with a splash and grabbing her back. She had a special boars-hair brush she used to clean and sharpen her scales and horns. Her favorite thing in the world was laying out and letting him groom her tiny body all over. It often got her in a frisky mood.

Sure enough, after only scrubbing her back for fifteen minutes, she started to wiggle in his lap, rutting her hips backward into him. He began to harden immediately. Sanoh seemed to revel in getting him aroused in dangerously public places, but it always caused Rupert anxiety.

“What are you doing?” Rupert said. “Kharis and DuMont will be back any minute.”

“Then let’s be quick,” She said, looking back at him over her shoulder.

She lifted up in the water and slowly sank her swollen lips down onto him. He gripped her hips and groaned, his head falling back, trying to keep his voice down. There really was no arguing when she was in a mood like this. He began to thrust up into her, sloshing the water around them.

She laughed breathlessly. “Good boy.” She thrust back into him as he moved inside her. Before long, he picked her up and lay her over the side of the bath, slamming himself into her hard enough to make her thighs ripple. She began to moan loudly.

“Shh!” He hissed. “You’re going to get us thrown out.”

“But it feels so good,” She whimpered. “Norman has sex in the baths all the time, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t make me gag you,” He said, panting.

“You can try,” She said, laughing, before crying out against the tile. He put his hand over her mouth, but she bit him. He let go, inspecting his hand, and when he found she hadn’t broken the skin, he instead grabbed her throat, squeezing.

“Oh, fuck,” She wheezed, her eyes going glassy. As bossy as she was, she loved it when he was rough and took charge.

“Shut up!” He snarled in her ear. “You started it. Be quiet and take it.”

“I will,” She simpered, and he squeezed harder.

“I said, shut up!” He slammed hard into her, and she squeaked against his grip on her neck, her body trembling in excitement. She came suddenly, gushing down her legs, but he didn’t relent, crushing his body against hers, breathing down her neck and spine, moving at a frenzied pace.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” He said through his gritted teeth. “Stand still, don’t fucking move.”

Before he got the chance, however, he heard the far door open and Kharis’s voice drift through.

“Shit!” He exclaimed, pulling out suddenly and ducking under the water to hide himself. His cock was throbbing with the unfulfilled promise of climax, but there was little he could do about it now. He was just going to have to sit there and suffer in silence.

Until Sanoh sat back down onto him, spearing him inside her, her inner walls still quivering from the orgasm.

“Now what are you doing?!” He asked frantically.

“Just act natural,” She replied in an undertone.

“They’re going to know!”

“Not if you don’t make a big deal about it! Lay your head back and pretend you’re sleeping!

“Sanoh!”

“Just do it!”

Rupert lay his head back against the tile on the edge of the bath with Sanoh in his lap just as Kharis and DuMont re-entered the bathing area, stripping down to join them.

“Well, DuMont cleaned out the tavern, so if you want food, you’re going to have to find a vendor somewhere,” Kharis said.

“Not surprising,” Sanoh said, stealthily riding Rupert’s cock under the water, pretending to be washing her arms to cover the movement.

“What’s with him?” Kharis asked, nodding at Rupert.

“He conked out almost immediately after you left. I’m just keeping his lap warm,” She said smoothly.

Kharis snorted and said, “I wish I could fall asleep as easily as he can. DuMont’s like that too,” She reclined on the large red tiefling. “He can fall asleep mid-sentence.”

“A gift and a curse,” Sanoh said in agreement. She squeezed Rupert’s length with her inner muscles, and it took all his effort not to grunt or move. He dug his fingers into the skin of her hips as a warning. Sanoh snorted. She moved under the pretense of adjusting herself and nearly made Rupert jump out of his skin with how deep she’d push him into her. He couldn’t help but make a small sound.

Kharis noticed. “What are you doing?” She asked Sanoh, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you talking about?” Sanoh asked innocently.

Kharis gave Sanoh a sardonic look. “You don’t have to pretend to be asleep anymore, Rupert, I know what’s going on. I’m a pervert, after all.”

Rupert sighed and lifted his head. “The jig is up, I guess. Sanoh, hop off.”

“I didn’t say you had to stop,” Kharis said. “Far be it from me to interrupt your fun.”

“What about DuMont?” Rupert asked skeptically.

“What about him?” Kharis replied, reaching over in the water and placing her hand in DuMont’s lap.

“Wha…” DuMont said, startled. “What are you doing?”

“Having fun,” Kharis said. “Don’t you want to have fun?”

“But…” He looked at Sanoh and Rupert.

“They’re already having fun,” Kharis said. “They started before us.”

“They are?” DuMont asked in surprise, squinting at the pair.

As if to answer, Sanoh let Rupert’s organ fall out of her and spun in Rupert’s lap. Now that she didn’t have to worry about stealthing, she rocked on him and moaned.

“Oh,” DuMont replied, and then sucked in his breath when Kharis squeezed him.

“Are you okay with this, buddy?” Rupert asked over Sanoh’s shoulder, though he was beginning to lose speech. “We’ll stop if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sanoh said with a snort.

“We’ll stop if you aren’t comfortable, DuMont,” Rupert repeated, giving Sanoh a warning look. Sanoh rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” DuMont replied, playing with Kharis’s hair and she fondled him under the water.

“See? He’s fine, don’t be such a baby,” Sanoh said, pushing him into her deeper. He grunted and stopped speaking.

Kharis held her breath and ducked her head under water, and DuMont tensed and groaned, his hands balling into fists on the side of the tub. From then on, there was little talk, just moans, grunts, groans, and breathy whimpering.

Kharis came up and went to the edge of the bath, bending over and presenting her rear. DuMont followed her and knelt down, pressing his cock into her and thrusting in hard, pushing her forward and down onto the tile. She laughed breathlessly.

“That looks like fun,” Sanoh said, going over to bend over next to Kharis, wiggling her butt at Rupert and moving her tail out of the way, so he could see her dripping between her legs. Rupert followed DuMont and rammed back into her, thrusting fast and hard.

“Wanna see something really fun?” Sanoh said to Kharis. Kharis nodded, and Sanoh leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.

The reaction was instantaneous. Rupert grabbed Sanoh by the throat again and pulled her up against his body.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, his voice hard and angry. He sped up, fucking her roughly as he held her in place. “You belong to me. Don’t you dare do that again without my permission.”

Sanoh’s face went slack and she nodded, whimpering, completely at his mercy.

DuMont’s reaction was also immediate. He grabbed Kharis up and vaulted out of the bath, throwing her to the floor. He pinned down her arms and legs and put his face inches from hers. He didn’t say anything, but a low, guttural snarl issued from his throat, his brows furrowed as he stared at her with the intensity of a predator looking at prey.

“What’s the matter, big guy?” She said with a grin. “Are you jealous?”

“Mine,” He growled lowly, almost indistinguishable from the threatening, thunderous rumble of his voice.

“Prove it,” She challenged.

He opened his mouth and sank his front canine teeth into her shoulder, drawing blood. He thrust himself back into her without letting go, his jaws locked, and he lifted her off the ground and just railed her.

There was no hope of keeping their voices down now. If they got kicked out, they got kicked out. Sanoh and Kharis screamed, shouted, howled, and swore in pleasure as their lovers used their bodies to climax.

At some point, there was a knock on the door.

“Is everything okay?”

“Go away!” Sanoh and Kharis shouted in unison.

Kharis and Sanoh came several times before the boys were done with them. While Kharis had as much stamina as DuMont did and was just as active, at some point Sanoh’s legs gave out and she simply lay there on the floor in a perpetual orgasm trance as Rupert pumped her full of his warmth and kept going like a machine, finally collapsing on top of her, breathing as if he’d run five miles in a minute.

DuMont was the last to reach his peak, gushing into Kharis, his seed pooching her stomach and dripping out of her, down his legs, and splattering onto the floor. For a solid minute, the room was quiet, safe for a lot of heavy breathing.

Finally, as they all caught their breath, the re-entered the bath to wash each other.

“Kharis, you’re bleeding,” Sanoh said, pointing. There was a very large bite in her shoulder, and it was rather deep.

“Oh,” DuMont said, flustered by worry. “I… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, big guy,” She reassured him. “I wanted you to do it. It’s proof.”

“Proof?” He echoed, his brow furrowed.

“That I belong to you,” She said simply. “Help me wash it.”

As rough as DuMont had been, his gentleness in tending the wound was a mirror opposite. Rupert and Sanoh sat cuddled together and watched fondly as DuMont lovingly treated and bandaged Kharis’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, DuMont,” Rupert said. “Sanoh marked me, too.” He turned and showed DuMont a bite on his left shoulder blade. “And Sanoh’s bites can be venomous. I was sick for a week.”

“I said I was sorry,” She said reproachfully. “It was the heat of the moment, I couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He said, hugging her in close and kissing her forehead.

“Does it hurt?” DuMont asked Kharis.

“Not really,” She said. “I’m sure it will tomorrow when the sex high has worn off, but I feel great right now. And it’ll scar up nicely, I think.”

“I’m sorry!” DuMont said, hiding his face.

“Honey, it’s okay!” She said, pulling his hands down. “I like it! It lets everyone who sees it know that I’m yours. Don’t you want people to know that you and I are in love?”

“Well… yes…” He said, frowning.

“There, see? It’s all fine.” She went up and hugged his neck. “Don’t fuss so much. I’m fine.”

He pulled her back and fixed her with a glare. “No kissing other people.”

She grinned at him. “I won’t, I promise. It was just an experiment.” She winked at Sanoh, who stuck her tongue between her teeth as she smirked. “And I’d say it was successful.”

DuMont grumbled. “I didn’t like it.”

She patted his face and kissed his exposed jaw. “I won’t do it again.”

“Okay,” He said, seemingly satisfied, and he pulled her into an embrace, careful of her shoulder.

The wound healed up really quickly, and Kharis took to wearing asymmetrical shirts, so that she could show it off. Most assumed that it was a grievous injury from a wild beast, and Kharis would laugh and say that was partly right.

Sanoh and Rupert didn’t engage in sex around the two of them again, but it was definitely something they kept in the back of their mind. For a rainy day, maybe.

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My Masterlist

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

SEE STORY (Part 4 of 5) A tale from the World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEE STORY

Part 4 of 5

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover art by @wind-the-mama-cat

/////////////// New to SEE STORY? Read from the beginning. Part 1 is HERE. ///////////////

14372 words

written 2003

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

///////////////////////

The next morning brought the unusual sight, first of mast tops, then later the masts and yards bare of sail, and the massed hulls of the many ships riding at anchorage. The only sails visible belonged to the many small boats plying between the ships and the giant rafts that made up the Gathering marketplace. Sails visible on the horizon told of a few other ships slow to come, but like the Longin, not late. The Longin was assigned to an anchored float, where she tied up. The Grandalor could be seen riding at her float some ways off.

Two large ship construction rafts had been lashed together near the center of the Gathering. These monsters were nearly four hundred feet by two hundred feet. They were the dull yellow-grey of untinted, glued Strong Skin. They floated, decks about six feet above the waves on six long pontoons each. They majestically ignored the small surface waves entirely, rising and falling gently to the long, deep waves. The rafts were designed to build new ships on and to serve as a market square and place for ceremonies, like marriages. On them was the only city that anyone in the Naral Fleet had ever seen. It was a mass of tents in all sizes and shapes, in every hue of natural or bleached mussel fabric.

Captain Mord asked Cat, “Will you come with me to the Gathering Council? We must present ourselves and formally announce the Longin’s presence to get permission to trade and conduct our other business.”

“Captain, I will gladly go with you. I need to gather a few things first. They should be ready now.” Quickly, she was back with a net bag containing a number of carefully wrapped things.

As Cat was putting her back into the oars, along with three other crewmen, First Officer Alys looked curiously at Cat’s bag. “What is in there, Cat? It looks like there are, perhaps, some lobsters?”

“It is a bag of politics. You will see.”

The Captain’s gig pulled up to the market platform. They secured the boat and all got out. The Captain, First Officer and Cat, with her bag, went to the Council Pavilion. Cat stood back while Captain Mord and First Officer Alys presented themselves to the Council.

“To the Council of the Spring Gathering, we bring the greetings of the Longin, moored this morning. We seek permission to trade and conduct other ship’s business,” intoned Captain Mord, formally.

“Be welcome, Longin. Conduct your trade in honor, and your ship’s business likewise,” said the Chief of the Council.

Captain Mord bristled at the veiled warning, insulting as it did the reputation of both himself and his ship, “Since when has the Longin needed to be cautioned about honorable trade and business? I demand a private hearing to know the reason for this dishonor. I can think of many others, some in this pavilion, who owe us more than favors.”

“We have more than an hour before the next ship can present its business,” said the Council Chief. “Let us use it. The Longin has the right to know what has transpired and to defend their honor and rights.” All agreed to that, and the group withdrew to a partitioned area of the Council Pavilion.

Once the flaps were drawn, Mord turned to them in genuine anger and bewilderment.

“What can have happened to tarnish the reputation of the Longin to the extent that we needed a public warning to trade fairly? We have always been openhanded and tried never to take unfair advantage, unless we were first victimized by someone that we have helped.

“In at least one case,” he looked pointedly at Captain Hored, to the right of the Council Chief, “the very existence of your ship is our doing. Three Gatherings have come and gone with no payment forthcoming. Shall I then demand it in full? By Law, I can do so. If I were Barad, it would have been done. Your ship and all its goods could be forfeit to the Longin, your crew scattered, and you caution us about honor? When you exist as a ship only because of ours?”

Hored raised his hands, as if to ward off a blow. “This is not entirely our doing. The Grandalor came early yesterday. Barad told us that you had secretly gone north to the Dragon Sea and also that you were going to try to arrange a match for the Lady of Your Luck.

“He said that you had kept secret that she is helpless, blind, and named for a Dragon. No ship will take on such a person. If her name is changed, and you pay a large sum for her upkeep, another ship might be found to take the risk of her.” He crossed his arms over his chest as if he had pronounced a sentence.

Mord’s retort shot to the heart of whose honor was truly being tested. “Ask Barad then, and publicly, how he happened to come across us in the Dragon Sea! Ask him too, if he says coincidence, whose bare topmasts our lookouts watched for over a week, shadowing us to the south, before he came up to us … from the SOUTH?”

Cat touched Captain Mord’s sleeve. “May I speak, as this also concerns me?”

Suddenly smiling at the thought of these strong Captains running onto the reef of his foster sister’s logic and uncanny knowledge, Captain Mord said, “In all fairness, perhaps you should hear out the person that you malign. Cat, this is …”

“Sarfin, Captain of the Dorton. Leader of this Spring Council. A careful seaman who rarely takes chances and only once has broken the Great Laws. All that I know of him is good.

“To his right is Captain Hored, of the Grython. He should remember me. He too has broken the Great Law once. Sometime, ask my Captain how we knew to look for you, and where.

“To his left is Captain Merced, of the Dolthin. He also has once broken the Great Law and fishes by deep bottom dragging. I think it an unwise practice. They have near come to grief twice this month alone, when nets fouled.”

“I know them. They should know me. They call me the Lady of the Longin’s Luck, and other sidesteps to avoid the possible bad luck that might come from my full name. My name, Gentlemen, dictated by both Custom and Fleet Law, is Mecat. Ask the Longin, now the most prosperous ship of your fleet, how much ill luck I have brought them.”

“By what right do you, a crew-woman, accuse us of violating the Great Law?”

“Captain Sarfin, you have made a grave error. I am not a member of the crew of the Longin or any other ship. To ward off the ill luck that might come with my name, I have never been enrolled in the Longin’s crew.

“The Great Law that you all have broken is the Law of Slavery. The law reads ‘no price may go with any exchange of persons between ships, or the person over whom the price is demanded is considered to be a slave. All slavery is outlawed as also the slaver and the purchaser.’ By demanding that payment go with me you outlaw yourselves and both of the ships in the exchange.”

The Council representatives looked at each other uneasily. They had not thought of this. The notion of payment had been Barad’s, and seemed reasonable at the time. Now they had a dilemma. Looking at her curiously they asked, “If we lift the payment, then no ship will take you. Where will you go?”

Cat looked to Captain Mord. He spoke, “She has told me that the matter is arranged for already. I believe her.”

“There is still the fact of your helplessness due to blindness. What could you do … besides ‘bring the ship luck?’”

“Ask Captain Hored. He as reason to know my skills.”

Sarfin turned to Hored, “What does she mean by that?”

Hored looked at the deck and seemed to shrink. “Between three and four Gatherings back, the Grython grounded on a tropic reef. We took a six foot gash to the hull, which made it impossible to leave the reef without sinking entire. The stone of it was all that held us up. We were preparing to abandon ship when the Longin arrived unlooked for.

“I did not know her from Captain Barad’s description, but I would know that voice anywhere. She is the only reason that the Grython is still afloat. Her skilled diving and the divers that she directed repaired the Grython. That is why we owe the Longin so much …”

He scowled, “We have been lied to! Blind she may be but helpless she’s not! Lift the price! Grython will take her and glad of it, if we get the chance.”

Cat smiled at Hored, “I thank you for a generous offer from a good heart but the matter is already arranged. I will make my groom known on the night of the Full Moons.

“What else can I do? Ask any of the Craft Masters of the Longin. They will tell you the truth of my skills. I also read, write, keep accounts and navigate.”

“Eyes are needed for those boasts. You have none,” stated Captain Barad, walking in through the flaps behind them, and stumbling on a stool in the shade of the pavilion. Captain Mord looked back pointedly at the stool and said nothing.

“I have come,” said Captain Barad, “reiterate my claim to certain waters in the Dragon Sea.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked smug.

Cat turned angrily, “You followed us! The find is ours! We … ” she trailed off as Captain Mord’s hand was laid in caution on her shoulder.

“Cat, the full Council will meet in only two hours. That is the proper forum for this dispute. Now is the time for food. Sarfin, Hored, Merced, will you join us?”

Cat was laying out the contents of her packages. The plates were large, flatish pearl shells with small shells glued under to level them. Cups were nautilus shell, and there was a platter of tinted, glue hardened Strong Skin, inlaid with a scene of fish and seaweed done in shell nacre of many hues. It was piled with large lobsters, steamed clams, and shrimp, garnished with tasty seaweeds. There was a flagon of pure water to drink.

“This feast is worth a fortune! Where did you find all those shellfish?” asked Merced as he pulled his stool up to the feast.

Barad could only stand and stare goggle-eyed as the others dug into the food, cracking shells and scooping out clams.

Mord winked at Cat. “Oh, up north of here. These are just some we grabbed out of the cargo vat to steam for lunch. This is what we have for trade, this voyage. We would have had much more, but the Grandalor was following us by stealth. We had to hide our operation from them.”

“Did you let them know that you were aware of their presence?” asked Sarfin.

“We allowed them to come to us, when they were running out of time. Captain Barad asked our ship’s business and was rebuffed. He was rude. He insulted Cat and called her helpless. She proved to him that she was not, and now we find that he has spread lies about her and our ‘profitless’ voyage,” Mord said thoughtfully, sucking the meat out of a lobster claw. “I think that we will do well. What do you think?”

“I think that you will do well, this Gathering. You have already found that Barad has laid nets to snare your claim to fishing waters in the Dragon Sea,” said Hored. “I suspect that his claim is the place where you fished for these.” He gestured at the shrimps and lobsters.

“That is against all custom,” said Cat angrily. “None may claim rights in the Dragon Sea. The Great Dragons forbade us that water in the Time of the First Ships.”

Sarfin looked uncomfortable and unhappy. “That is Custom, not Law. Custom has been overset before. We have warned him that such a claim must go to the full Council, and he has agreed to put his claim there.”

“I must warn you,” put in Merced, “that Barad has laid his nets widely and with care to secure those waters. I notice that he has already gone to spread the word. Many Captains are hearing of your cargo as we speak. Greed has overset more Customs than reason ever has.”

Shortly, Captains began to come into the Pavilion for the Council. Many pointed or stared at the remains of lobster, shrimp and clam and to the plates of pearl shell, carelessly left lying near the entrance, in plain view.

Sarfin brought the Council to order, and led them all through the reading of the Great Laws and the Customs of the Sea. At last, the opening ceremonies required by Custom were done and business could begin.

A new ship had been built and was welcomed to the fleet. The Fauline was showered with gifts and offers of crew-folk to fill out her needs. Her first Captain was approved by the Council. At long last, the Council was ready for new business.

There were debits to settle, disputes to adjudicate and finally, fishing rights to deal with. Barad Maks stood up. “The Grandalor would like to apply for new fishing waters. The waters in question to be from the Gula’s Northern boundary, 5o North by 6o wide from Gula’s eastern boundary.”

Sarfin stood and spoke loudly and clearly, “The waters applied for are in violation of Custom. They lie in the Dragon Sea. The Custom, from the time of the First Ships has been that we fish the Deep Waters, except for those of the Dragon Sea. It has been reserved as the abode of the Great Dragons from the Beginning.”

“Custom only!” cried Barad. “This Council has the authority to overturn Custom! We have all seen what Mord brought here from the Dragon Sea! There is wealth there!”

The assembled Captains rumbled agreement.

“We have two issues that we need to deal with, here!” Mord called out. “One is the matter of Custom. The other is Piracy! Barad followed us by stealth when we went north. He does not even deny it. Now he is trying to use this Council to steal our find! Will you let yourselves be so used?”

Merced plunged into the melee, “These are waters found by Captain Mord! Only by turning tail and coming south with all sail spread before they even knew what the Longin had found, was the Grandalor able to get here first. Barad wants to set aside Custom to claim these waters out from under the Longin, but he hides behind Custom when it comes to presenting the claim. He got here first! That is the sole basis of his claim. He did no work for it. He presented his claim without even knowing what was there.”

It was no use. Greed had the Captains in its claws. The vote to overturn Custom and grant fishing waters went to Barad.

“I am Hored. Many of you know me. I say, let Barad have his waters. He wishes to break Custom. Let him. At the next gathering, if he has done well, then is the time for the rest of us to claim Dragon Sea waters for ourselves.”

Barad sneered, “The Great Dragons are legends only. Stories to frighten children.”

“I’m just cautious with my ship,” was the calm reply. “If you do find Dragons, kindly send a bit of identifiable wreckage south to let us know.”

Hored’s proposal was received with laughter, and passed.

Mord spoke at the last of the debate, “Barad, by foul means you have won those waters that we found. You cannot have them until you yield up waters of equal size. The Grandalor already has the maximum a ship may have. You must yield to the council one of your home waters to take up your claim.

“The Longin does not have our full allotment of home waters.” He turned to the Council as a whole. “You must give us what the Grandalor yields in recompense for our loss.”

With the smile of one springing a trap, Barad offered, “Before the Council, I yield 25o West to 31o West by 12o North to 17 o North.”

Mord said angrily, “Have you left your wits on dry land? Those waters are a maze of reefs! There is little deep water for our nets. ‘For safety’s sake alone / Fish deep water / Steer clear the reef of stone.’ That is the Custom and a wise one as you have cause to know having grounded in that labyrinth yourself! This is worthless water. Give us better.”

There was a rumble of agreement from the assembled Captains, but Barad stood against it, grinning. “You demanded water of equal size and I have been generous. Waters in the tropics are larger than Northern waters, longitude is greatest in physical extent nearer the equator. Take it or not, it is all one to me. If you refuse, these are the only waters that will be in the hands of the Council.”

“We will take it then, and curse your name and ship.” Mord sat, apparently still fuming.

When the Council broke up, the departing Captains were treated to the sights, sounds and scents of the trade bazaar that crew-folk from most of the ships had set up while they were inside debating. This was the one time and place where rank had no privilege. The ones behind the board or in the booth dealt with all comers the same. There was a babble of voices as the different ships cried their merchandise.

“Cloth for sails, cloth for clothes! The Gula’s weaving is second to none!”

“Rope! The strongest rope! It’s the Mordan Twist!”

“Perfumes! Many a scent to please your love!”

“Shellfish! Live lobster! Live Crab! Clams! Oysters! Live Shrimp! Longin lace!”

There was a dense crowd gathered around the Longin booth.

“Look at that, will you! They have a whole big tub of crabs!”

“I’m trying to! Move a bit, will you! Thanks … I don’t believe it! Those are lobsters in that tub over there! And there’s clams in the bottom of that shrimp tub! Get your elbow out of my side!”

“Mister! Ma’am! How much for just one of those bigger shrimps?”

“Thank you, Ma’am! Boil the crab soon for best flavor, and watch out, the legs can scratch, even if the claws are tied!”

“Was that the last crab? Oh, Dragons! They’re out of crabs!” There was a ragged chorus of “Oh, no!” and “I didn’t even get a chance!” The tumult began anew as two of the Longin’s sailors dragged out a fresh tub of crabs. The barely controlled riot of buyers for the unheard of cargo of live delicacies previously thought to be rare lucky finds continued until late …

Kurin surprised everyone by setting up a small booth, under Master Juris’ proud and watchful eye. On its board she set out many toys.

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#SEE STORY #Part 4 of 5 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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kryptsune · 5 years

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🌼Yes I know I said I needed a break but here is my proof that I love what I do. I spent today and yesterday crafting a little drabble for Felldritch. I am unsure if this is going to be exactly how this story is going to go but it’s a general idea. If it becomes a proper fic then I will elaborate more. Hope you enjoy it C: Tell me what you think and if you would like to see more.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙If you want more of these just let me know! It’s the only way I can gauge interest!

FELLDRITCH DRABBLE {1/3}: The Madhouse

Chocolate colored walls surrounded her day in, day out, though chocolate was something one would associate with something pleasant. This room. Was not. All appearances led one to believe in the fastidious nature of this place. This containment. This prison of foul-smelling chemicals of an unknown substance. The scent of something burning followed by screams for mercy. No…they never heard that. No. This was not a place one would associate with something sweet.

It was a facade. A simple show for those that did not know any better. A dull green leather sofa sat along the wall. The rivets bolting it down were just hidden by an ornate rug of ghastly reds and browns. Some unknown crimson stain that was never able to be washed out was just covered by a wooden table. A few books here and there slightly worn decorated its surface. They were books one would not make an effort to pick up. The Nature of the Mind, An Essay on the Success of Electrostimulation, CareGiving, A Safe Haven. All books that might lure one into a false sense of security about this place. This madhouse of screaming lunatics and suffering patients. Ruttledge Asylum… The home for the Mentally Tortured and Disturbed.

A large wooden desk, a full coat rack, a diploma hanging just over some gaudy floral cream-colored wallpaper. Giant books filled with fancy penmanship. A ledger and a quill. Meaningless. Small details that had no value or purpose other than to be eye candy. A pale face watched it all from above surrounded in a golden frame, “Frisk… are you even listening?” Chocolate eyes flecked with ruby stared down from that pale face. Its lips moved expressing a lack of thoughtfulness. A dull tone of acceptance, “I’m sorry Dr. Ruttledge. I will pay more attention.”

The voice that came from that pale face was soft, almost a whisper. One would question if they were truly there, to begin with. A kind of lifelessness that illuminated the tribulations of the past, present, and future. The face that stared back, mahogany hair cut in places haphazardly sticking out, a bandage around a pale throat, eyebrows furrowed with despair. This was her…

A young woman lay on a lounge staring up into the mirror that the nurses and doctor had placed there. They had claimed it was a means of self-reflection. To be able to see one's own progress and health improving. To her, however, it was a wraith. Every time she stared back at that girl she could see herself being whittled away. Every question asked left her more and more hollow. No one believed her and why should they? Her experience was something out of a fairytale. Something that only the mad would conjure up, “Frisk I am going to ask you once more and I want you to respond honestly. Do you understand?”

Dr. W. D. Silias Ruttledge owned this madhouse. He was the presiding caregiver and psychologist to those that did not have violent tendencies. The rest were thrown in solitary beating their empty skulls against dirty white padding. Only hearing the voices of others through a bolted latch in the door. At night she would hear them pacing or talking to themselves.

He had a suspicious voice. One that was soothing in understanding but he didn’t take that tone with everyone. She always felt he was hiding something. Of course, he would just add paranoia to her list of ailments if she even exhibited such an accusation. His black hair was neatly combed where she could just see a streak or two of grey by the side of his skull. A crooked nose had a pair of golden spectacles perched lightly. She noticed it was a habit of his to pull them off and clean them with this handkerchief when he was beginning to grow irritable. A faint scar ran from the bottom of his left eye and she could have sworn also the top of his right. He was properly groomed, a high white starched collar resting below his chin. An ebony and cream waistcoat showed how successful he had been in his career. The finery of a medical professional.

A set of hazel eyes were kept focused on the clipboard he had resting on one leg dressed in black slacks. A lapel pin of a deer rested on the fabric standing out very minimally. It must have been his lineage she guessed just from his British accent, “Yes sir, I understand.” He tapped the quill he was using to write against the inkwell gently ready to write down any notes that may implicate her level of delusion. It was hopeless.

“Frisk, can you explain to me how you got here?” He replied, moving in his chair to find a more comfortable position before reaching for his usual cup of tea and taking a sip, “I want a full and complete answer, no one-word responses today.”

She just turned her attention back up at the doppelganger in the mirror, watching it speak but not feeling anything about what it was saying. It could have been a doll or a dead body for all she cared. That was how hollow she had become. Was there even a soul left within her? Her eyes fell closed before he even asked. It was a typical procedure. Everyday, “Yes, Dr. Ruttledge. I promise I will answer completely and honestly.” Even answering fully wouldn’t put any emotion behind it. A soft sigh escaped her, “I was found wandering the woods late at night nearly seven years ago.

He nodded his head, never once looking up at her, “Yes and why is it you have found yourself in our care?” His quill scribbled something down as she responded, “I was confused trying to remember what had happened to leave me there. Alone in the woods...” The writing stopped, soft scratching absent from crumpled parchment, “You were found exclaiming that you came from a world of monsters. That you needed to help and that you made a promise. A promise to free them from their underground prison.”

Frisk swallowed thickly, “Dr. Ruttledge please I-” He cut her off, listing off her supposed illness calmly. She didn’t want to hear it anymore, “You became hysterical and physically aggressive when you were found and brought here. You begged to be released. So that you could return to them. You continued to talk about these demons… skeletons, fish people, dragons, and goat beasts.” He removed his spectacles and set them down on his clipboard, folding his hands in front of him, “Now tell me, is this due to some trauma or hallucination that you have had? Do you still believe in these fabrications?”

Her eyes fluttered open to look off to the side, “Frisk? Did you not hear my question?” She took a breath but did not respond to the question. She could just hear that soft sound of metal folding upon metal, “I see. We shall skip that question for now. Now... tell me about these friends that you talk about. That you confide in.”

She stared as he sat calmly looking down at her. He never seemed to move positions except for maybe switching the leg he crossed. His attention was back on his notes, but only for a second, “Let’s start with your ‘Best Friend’. You seem to talk about him quite a bit.” Frisk felt her body stiffen. Of course, he would ask about him, “Frisk, I want you to talk about him.” She didn’t want to. She never wanted to because she knew what would happen when she did.

“He was one of the first monsters I met. He helped me and watched over me… protected me. We became close friends. He saved me. I would have had to sacrifice myself to save them all. They all told me that it wouldn’t be the same if I was gone. He begged me to leave my mission behind. Save myself.”

Dr. Ruttledge just nodded his head, “Yes, as we have discussed before. I must ask if your analysis of this… situation is correct. To me, it sounds as though you possibly had feelings for this demon. Which concerns me greatly.” Frisk shook her head before bolting upright, “He is not a demon!” He raised a brow before shaking his head, “Is? As in present tense. Oh, Frisk, I thought we had made progress today. We will continue tomorrow. Rest up, I will see you in the morning.” He rose from his chair, setting the clipboard down on his desk with a soft sigh and opening the door. His gaze was locked on her, just waiting for her to leave his office, or the most likely reason: waiting for the nurse to “escort” her out.

Of course, she was upset. He just called her best friend a demon. He was nothing of the sort, even if he was skeletal in appearance. His brother was not that way either. As much as she wanted to play the game to get out of here she wasn’t going to agree to that. Sans and Pap. They were her friends and family. Nothing would ever change that. Even as the nurse glared at her, grabbing her arm and leading her down the hall.

She didn’t even bother to look around the room she was in. It was the room she had been in for nearly seven years. The soft clink of the lock reminded her that she was still a prisoner, regardless of her “ailments.” At least she had a small window to look out over the grounds. It was sad, really, to think that such a small thing was even worth mentioning. It was dark outside with the fire of the lanterns flickering back and forth.

Her hand slipped from the wooden frame only to make her way to the small bed she knew. All she could think of was her bed back in Snowdin. How she would cuddle under those warm covers, snuggled up with the boy's pet dog. Well, more like a wolf. Now she just laid there cuddling a plush she kept close to her. It was a rabbit. A white stuffed rabbit with little button eyes. She had painted them green one day with some of the paint from the rec room. A place she was apparently forbidden from for it would “worsen” her delusions.

All she could do was close her eyes and try to rest, all while slipping into her memories of a better time. One that she wanted to return to. A place where she was loved and accepted. A place that withheld judgment. Home. She buried her face gently against the plush in her arms, her whole body shaking from the thoughts that clawed at her mind. It was at that moment she felt terribly alone and hopeless.

Frisk could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks as she curled into a ball on top of the thin blankets. A few soft sobs caused her to choke on what little words she could get out, “I want to go home.” Would they even recognize her anymore? She was broken. A fragile thing putting up a smiling face in the jaws of adversity. That tightness was starting to constrict her chest before she let it out. Trails of tears poured from her eyes as she fell apart, slowly struggling to take in proper oxygen. This place was breaking her. If she just admitted that they didn’t exist maybe they would let her leave. Maybe she could live a normal life, but that wasn’t the one she wanted.

A few hours later and she was shaken awake only to be greeted by an old frowning face. The nurse. Frisk didn’t bother to remember her name. She was a crotchety old crone that treated the patients like dogs. The cup in her hand found its way into her cheek, squishing against her face and forcing her to take it from those leathery hands. It was her medicine. The kind that would make her sleepy. It was a feeling she hated; not being in control of herself properly. She took the pills and hid them under her tongue as the nurse walked away. Normally they checked to see if they were swallowed, but they had never caught her not taking them before.

She spit them out before tossing them through the bars of the window. There were worse things here then not taking ones medication. Tortures she had been subjected to even though she was not supposed to. That was when she noticed a sliver of light coming from the hallway. The nurse had forgotten to shut the door.

All that was running through her mind was that she could be free. She could escape this place. Adrenaline was coursing through her as her feet flew toward the crack in the metal. A promise of freedom and escape. There was no one in the hallway.

She grabbed some of her clothing. The same ones that she had been found in and threw them on. The striped shirt that she wore in the Underworld for so long they had thrown away a long time ago. Now all she was left with was the patient clothing now hanging on her shoulders and a pair of boots and socks. She hated being stuck in that sterile smock, but she couldn’t waste any time.

She grabbed what she found valuable from her room before creeping down the hallway, passing a security guard easily. The spare keys were kept in the office as she snagged one from the drawer before rushing toward the door. That soft click of the key being inserted into the lock caused her heart to jump, as she stumbled out into the night. Where was the mountain? She could just faintly make out the silhouette of Ebott from where she was.

Frisk ran as hard as she could and as fast as she could, stumbling through the trees, climbing rocks, and doing everything in her power to reach the summit. She knew where she had fallen; it was all rushing back. A branch caught at her cheek, causing a thin line of crimson to bead from the wound. Just a little bit more. 'Seven years ago she had been here,' she thought as she stared down into the open mouth of the mountain. So long ago.

It didn’t matter… she was going home.

A simple jump and she had flung herself into the darkness once more. Only this time she knew what awaited her. At least… she thought she did….

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emmaekay · 6 years

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KEIYAKU IV for TPTH Vegebul Smutfest

AN: Keiyaku is almost 10,000 words long! Are you okay? Do you need a drink? It’s important to stay hydrated. I’m humbled by the response to K and I’m so glad everyone seems to be enjoying it. Every reblog, like and comment gives me new life and even more reason to continue this! There will be a minimum of 7 parts, one for every prompt of the @tpthvegebulsmutfest

Day 4 – Scorpio

Bulma looked nothing like a Saiyan. That was problem one. In order to get her in a pod and off planet, the pod had to recognize the Saiyan. Each pod was calibrated to an individual Saiyan – for suspended animation terms, for life support sequences, for weight distribution and a million other things. Under ordinary circumstances, Vegeta would have bought a pod off a Saiyan of similar height and weight, and sent Bulma on her way.

But Bulma was not a Saiyan. Could he just grab a pod keyed to an adolescent around her size? Would that be adequate to support her long enough to get her home? Or would he just be sending her off into space with a pod that couldn’t keep her alive?

Queen Pea had yet to declare the day or terms of the antefasting battle, and a week had gone by. Daily Vegeta came up with a new plan, and daily he thought of a thousand reasons it wouldn’t work. He would have to consult someone with more technological expertise than he – but who could be trusted?

For her part, Bulma was going stir-crazy. Vegeta took his father’s tirade to heart, or at least the part where the King had pointed out the fact that any number of Saiyan women who had hoped to catch his hand may well kill Bulma. Challenges were issued frequently and fought bloodily every day in Saiyan society. It wasn’t illegal to kill an opponent who slighted your honor; it wasn’t even frowned upon. Because of this, Bulma was kept on the estate and spent most of her time in Vegeta’s royal residence.

Vegeta had not assumed any of his royal duties – did not take visitors, did not hear peasant pleas, did not adjudicate spats or honor matches. He was supposed to, of course, he was always supposed to. But he never had. The moment he reached the age of independence, Vegeta entered an arena fight and won. He went off planet and fought in every match, fight, tournament and exhibition he could find. He trained on every planet that interested him and made enemies – and a very few allies – on every one of them. He had killed as many people as he had saved, and nearly died a few times. He ran the galaxy wild and neither parent interfered. The King and Queen summoned him regularly, and he responded irregularly. When he was near, when he felt like it, when he missed other Saiyans.

So, mostly, Vegeta just hung around. He trained with Nappa and once or twice with his father, who could still kick the tar out of him. It felt… almost good to lose again. To discover there was still room to improve. To hope that one day, he’d grind his father’s bones beneath his boots. But mostly, he spent his time with Bulma – he learned her history and shared his, he learned her body and shared his. Still, she wouldn’t tell him exactly what she wished for from the Earth’s dragon to wind up nude, in his lap, light years from home.

And he obsessed about ways to get her out of the antefasting battle, or off the planet. He could take her himself, but that would mean exile on pain of death and the loss of his title and the right to assume the throne. That, he couldn’t do. And he couldn’t let Bulma die.

******

“You summoned me, Highness?” Daiku stood taller than Nappa and had a shock of hair jutting up at all angles from his head, great black unruly tufts that had never met a brush they couldn’t break. He stood in the doorway of Vegeta’s sitting room, and waited until Vegeta waved him in.

“Daiku. You’ve been off planet many times, you’ve a great many pods that your partners, woman and daughters travel in.”

“Yes, highness?” Daiku frowned. The prince was nearing his 30th year and he would need to choose a fasting partner soon. It couldn’t be that the prince wished for one of his daughters? His oldest would reach the age of independence, soon, but she was barely into her 18th sun cycle. His fasted woman, Beri, worked in Vegeta’s house as the royal dressing woman – she had cared for Vegeta and his guests for some 10 cycles, but surely she was older than he preferred and … and he would not part with Beri for any sum, on any pain. And what about pods?

“I’m in need of a pod, Daiku.”

“Your highness has many pods. Why should you need mine? Why do you ask of my woman and daughters?”

“I need to send a woman off planet. She is smaller than your oldest daughter and … and she is not a Saiyan. The woman is a scientist and feels confident that she can modify a pod that is already set for a woman similar to her size. This has weighed on me greatly and your Beri suggested I come to you and ask to purchase, or to trade for anything in my possession, the pod you have prepared for your oldest daughter’s 19th cycle.”

Daiku sat down at this, and put a hand under his chin. “And your highness isn’t purchasing a pod through the spacefaring authority for a reason.”

“This is… not against the crown, but not something it should approve of either. I have declared this woman as my choice for the fasting and the King and Queen have agreed – “

“But that is a joyous event, Highness! Why would you send her away?” Daiku exclaimed – nothing in this conversation made any sense – the prince had chosen a partner, and the King and Queen had approved! There should be an honorable battle and a great feast.

Vegeta clicked his teeth. Daiku wouldn’t understand until he saw the problem. “BULMA.”

“Can you not shriek at me?” Bulma burst through the door, ready to tear the prince a new one when she saw the giant guest sitting in the chair across from him. “Oh. Uh, hello.”

“Daiku, Bulma. Bulma, Daiku. She is the woman.”

Immediately, Daiku understood a little better what motivated the prince to send her away. She was tiny and while she was pleasing to look upon, she couldn’t stand up to his toddler – let alone a melee of men or women in the antefasting battle. She would die. Daiku scratched under his chin and considered the situation. He himself was the arena battle champion of Vegetasei.

“Come along with me, Bulma,” Daiku said at last. Vegeta rose from his seat, from body sprawled languidly across a couch to standing tall (relatively) with fists balled at his side. “She is not a possession I can trade.”

“Uh, I’m not a fuckin’ possession,” Bulma interjected, “at all. And who the fuck are you? And what the fuck is going on?”

Daiku laughed, a giant, mountain crumbling sound. “Are you certain, highness, that you must send her away? She is small and she is weak, but look at her pride.” He chuckled again, at these children so up in arms for themselves, for each other. “Please calm yourself, Prince Vegeta. I will swear upon my honor never to touch her – not in lust or in anger, so long as you live.”

Vegeta’s body went crashing down to the couch again, sprawled over it in his previous position, as if he had never moved. Evidently, an honor bound promise was a deep commitment and Vegeta was satisfied by it.

“My name is Daiku, Lady Bulma, and my fasted one has told me much about you,” he said, studying her. “She also left out much. The Prince has bade me smuggle you off planet and I have heard that you can modify our technology. I was only inviting you to stay in our home for the time it will take you to modify a pod. I have ascertained,” he continued, “that his Highness wishes this endeavor to remain secret from the crown, and so cannot take place here.”

Vegeta grunted in agreement.

“Vegeta and I have discussed this,” Bulma spat, “at length and I don’t intend to flee! I’m where I’m supposed to be, Vegeta.” She turned to him now, “And you will stop trying to send me away.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “I am staying!”

“You. Will. Die.” Vegeta growled at her, for the fortieth time in the week. “I have told you again and again that you will be killed as certain as you stand before me if you attempt to go through with the antefasting battle. I have told you again and again that I do not wish to see that.” “Then close your fucking eyes.” Bulma stood before him, hands on her hips, one legged jutted out at an angle. Take me to the man I’m destined to be with! Her words to the dragon rang in her head. Bulma believed in fate. Bulma believed in destiny.

“Bulma, I will fold you up and put you in the fucking pod myself.” Vegeta rose again and stepped in her direction. Daiku noticed that the woman did not shrink, did not falter. She leaned into her posture, and stuck her tongue out at him. “Try it.”

Again, Daiku’s laugh split the house, and the tension, in two. Both Vegeta and Bulma glared at him ferociously, which only made him laugh harder.

“My Lord,” he began, wiping a tear from one eye, “would your time be better spent training the woman into a warrior than attempting to send her away? Even if I allowed her to modify one of my pods, she would like as not reprogram it to come back and land directly on this house.” Another bout of furious laughter rocked the furniture, and this time Bulma joined in. She would have done exactly that – if not on the house, on the castle.

Vegeta stared at them both as if they were completely mad, and strode out of the room before the madness caught him, too. He stomped away, lip twitching into an unbidden smile while Daiku and Bulma laughed even harder.

****

Daiku collected Beri and left, but not before giving Bulma some parting advice. “Stand your ground. Never sacrifice your pride. Train – you may be stronger than you think.”

Bulma puttered around the grounds, reading some of the books from Vegeta’s library, admiring the flowers in the castle’s garden, until the sun set. She busied herself after dark, making herself new lingerie and attempting to cook in the residence’s kitchen – one endeavor going quite well, the other… not so much. Eventually, the royal chef stepped in and made dinner for Bulma and the prince.

The prince was still sulking in his bedchamber, door locked. He hated being laughed at, and he hated when his plans went awry. Both had happened to him today and he was full of frustration.

“Vegeta?” Bulma’s voice at his door. “Vegeta, dinner.”

He paced to the door and flung it wide, hauling the woman inside. “Dinner? Looks delicious.” He nibbled her neck and Bulma giggled. “Seriously, food’s on the table, come on.” She tried to pull their bodies apart, but he pulled her closer and slid one hand down the back of her pants. “I know you’re mad about earlier, but I wasn’t laughing at you – really, neither was Daiku. I think –“

“I don’t care what you think, and I don’t care what you were laughing at. You’ve wounded my pride. How will you repair it?” He gripped her round ass in one hand, and took her hand in the other, navigating it down into the swelling in his pants.

“Oh, I have an idea.” Bulma smirked and dropped to her knees before him. She kissed his member once through the fabric before tugging it down and releasing him.

“Mm, it’s a good idea…” he muttered as she cupped his balls in one soft hand, licking the base of his shaft, running her wet little tongue around and around him, working her way from the base to the tip, slowly, before engulfing him completely. He groaned and swore as she took all of him into her mouth, running her tongue along the underside and keeping an excruciating pressure on him as she moved her mouth up and down the length.

“Mmm,” Bulma moaned as he began to knead her neck and shoulders with his strong hands before running them through her hair and back again. She worked him, wet mouth and cool, soft hand together, first slowly and then, as he began to tense before his release, more and more quickly. Before the frenzied pace tipped him over the edge, Vegeta bent his knees and scooped her off the floor, dislodging himself from her mouth with the tiniest pop.

He laid her on the bed and laid opposite of her, crooking one leg over her head as she crooked one leg over his. “I’m starving,” he growled before burying his face between her thighs, the fingers of one hand pumping in and out of her as he devoured her sweetness and she resumed her attentions on him. She was dripping wet, like the most delicious over-ripe fruit he had ever tasted. Her hips began to quake underneath him and he could feel her tenderness quivering under his tongue. The sounds she made – he would eat her entirely, the way she carried on and spurred him forward.

Underneath him, Bulma continued licking, sucking, fondling him. She relished the way he groaned, the way she could feel him in her mouth, jumping and throbbing. He was close to the edge and so was she when suddenly he thrust his fingers in deep and sucked hard on her clitoris, and she came in his mouth and around his hand. As she cried out, she pulled him deeper into her mouth and squeezed his shaft with her tongue. He came and she swallowed, still running her tongue on the underside of him and tickling his balls gently as she continued to suck him until he growled and lost his grip on her ass – he threw his head back and rumbled deeply.

Finished, she swiveled around and snuggled against him. “Ready to go have dinner?”

“No thanks, I just ate,” he chuckled in her ear.

#tpthvegebulsmutfest #day4scorpio #vegebul au

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authoressskr · 7 years

Text

Gabriel, Loki, Trickster, Cat?

Written for: @winsister91 Sammikin’s Trickster Challenge

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Characters: Reader (Hey, that’s you!), Gabriel, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Golgos (OMC), Himeros (OMC), Mentions of Aphrodite and Zeus

Warnings: Language, Crack?, Cat Castiel and Cat Gabriel?

Summary: Gabriel just wants to find the woman who’s soul is so different from any other he’s ever seen - the witch they’re hunting has other ideas.

Tagging: @winsister91 @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @lucis-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4

Note: Do NOT post, copy and paste, or share my works on any other platforms without my express permission. REBLOGGING is fine. :)

A/N: Pictures not mine. Cat pics found on Google and the wedding venue is from The Chapel of the Flowers website.

Gabriel saw her across the street, shoving the other half of a twisted glaze donut into her mouth before she burst out laughing at the teasing the gentleman next to her was giving. He stood stock-still like an idiot on the other side of the street, marveling at the way her soul swirled and pulsed with pinks, golds, and grays.

He was vaguely aware of Dean nudging his arm before Cas waved a hand in front of his face, both saying his name with concern. Sam had quickly put two and two together, noticing the woman on the other side and a silent Gabriel standing dazed, grinning stupidly at her.

Sam crossed the street, following no more than ten feet behind her - only to lose sight of her when she turned the corner with the man she’d been with. Gabriel, Dean, and Cas all followed him across the street, just a handful of feet behind when he turned back to them, hands raised up as he shrugged.

“You lost her?” Gabriel asks incredulously.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been staring like an idiot…” Dean trails off, shoving his left hand into his dress pant pocket.

“Hard to believe you muttonheads have saved the world. And more than once!” Gabriel mutters before reaching out with his grace to find any lingering traces of her. There are only a few tendrils, all located behind him, so he turns to Cas. “Did you see her soul?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what, Gabriel?” Gabriel rolls his eyes so hard at his brother’s question, he briefly wondered if the red flicker he saw was brain matter.

“Did you see the colors, Castiel? Pinks and golds and grayish silvers.”

“It just appeared to be pink to me. Which, in itself, is very odd. Most souls are blues or whites.”

“Uh, guys?” Sam taps on Cas’s shoulder, motioning back to the other side of the street. “Maybe we should get back to the case?”

“People are dying every day, Sammy. I have never seen a soul like that. And I’ve been around this marble a few times.” All three of the men glare at him, which he pretends not to notice. “Alright. Alright! Let’s get back to saving people. But I call dibs on her.”

Dean gets an annoyed look on his face and crosses the street, while Sam stares at him before rolling his eyes and following his brother. Cas’s glare morphs into something more questioning and with a quick look back, Gabriel crosses with Castiel a few steps behind him - both at a loss for the missed encounter and the woman with the bright soul.

—

The paper’s website had stated that the woman stabbed her own mother then had a mental breakdown, sobbing over her lost love. Classic siren. And since Chuck had unceremoniously dumped Gabriel in their laps nearly six months ago, they figured this would be an easy case to crack.

It was turning out to be anything but.

The next night, a couple was snatched from the woods. No blood, no screaming. The only reason they even suspected it was linked was that the young man’s mother came in to report him missing, muttering a few choice words about his girlfriend and how she just wanted to deflower her son. So, maybe not a siren? Maybe a dragon? Shit.

Once they were done snooping around the sheriff’s station, they headed back downtown for lunch before they would head over to the sister’s house to talk about the incident of her mother’s death - Sam suggested they go ask the missing kids’ parents a few questions after that, hoping to narrow down their list of monster suspects.

They were all walking out, discussing various monster possibilities when Sam suddenly stopped, making Dean run into him.

“Jeez, Sammy. Warn a man!”

“It’s her! Gabriel’s mystery woman.” Gabriel was standing stock still, once again, staring as her tongue swept out of her mouth to lick at a triple scoop ice cream cone. She was only a few store front’s down, accompanied by two men this time, both around six feet, one blonde with dark olive skin and light green eyes - the other with dark brown hair, fair skin and dark blue eyes.

She stops, looking quizzically at the four men staring at her before giving a tight smile before shooting the blonde man to her left a look.

Gabriel let out a loud whine, seeing her dressed in those tight black jeans, a loose purple and white striped sweater and an easy smile before her tongue darted out again to lap at the melting confection. The brunet leaned down to whisper in her ear and her gaze darted to Gabriel.

The blonde held up his hand, approaching them with the woman and another man close behind him.

“Well, if it isn’t Loki. Heard you were dead.” The blonde stopped, his hand held out to shake Sam’s. “And you are?” He asks, eyeing the taller man.

“Himeros, you’re still a Greek dick.” Gabriel huffed out with a giant snarky smile in return.

“Come on, H. It’s not hard to tell - he’s Sam Winchester. That’s Dean, and of course, Castiel.” She gestures with her head to each member before winking at Gabriel.

“Uh, do we know you?” Sam mutters, shaking his hand.

“No,” the brunet answers. “But you did murder our grandfather and aunts, so we know you.”

“Whoa.” Gabriel turns to Sam and Dean. “You took out Zeus?” He whistles lowly.

“Who’s your mom?” Dean queries, shaking Himeros’s hand as well.

“Golgos.” The woman admonishes as she sets her left hand on his forearm. “Oh, um…our mother is Aphrodite. And I’m sorry for my brothers.”

“Brothers.” Gabriel grins out, plucking her hand from Golgos’s arm and bringing it to his lips. “And what is your name, my beautiful buttercup?” Gabriel held her gaze, his chest tightening as her eyes softened.

“Y/N.” She swallowed before licking her lips. “My name is Y/N. What about you, handsome?” Gabriel quirked an eyebrow at her question before Himeros interrupted.

“It’s Loki, I already said his name.” Himeros snapped out, moving forward to push Gabriel away from his sister. But Gabriel yanked her into him, wrapping an arm securely around her waist, relishing in the feeling of them chest to chest. “Release my sister, Trickster.” Gabriel leaned forward, taking a generous bite of her ice cream as she raised an eyebrow.

“Naw, I like her.”

“Ga- Loki.” Cas scolded, glaring down at his brother. “We need to get back to the case.”

“You know anything?” Dean grunts, looking from the men to Y/N.

“Just that it’s a witch. And a very powerful one at that.” Golgos answers with a shrug, watching his sister and Gabriel with interest.

“And that’s it?” Sam inquires, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other as he slides his right hand into his jacket pocket.

“That’s it.” Y/N replies, still pressed against Gabriel, looking up at Sam with big, innocent eyes. “We saw the article and since we were in the neighborhood, we decided to stop by.”

“So, you’re gods who hunt?” Dean challenged, giving her a disbelieving look.

“Golgos and I are demi-gods. Himeros is a god.” Her eyes harden as she locks them with Dean. “And if you attempt to harm my brothers, you’ll have a very difficult time getting laid from now on.” Gabriel throws his head back with mirthful laughter, startling the woman in his arms slightly.

“Oh, I like you very, very much, sugar snap.” Himeros snapped, Y/N now safely by his side.

“And I would like it if you kept your Trickster mitts off my baby sister.”

“What about my lips? Other appendages?”

“If you’d like to keep your appendages, don’t put them anywhere near her,” Golgos growls, both moving to stand beside her like bodyguards. She just rolled her eyes before fishing her cell phone from her back pocket and extending it out to Sam.

“Feel free to put your number in there and I will text you any information we find out.” Sam grasps the phone, quickly inputting his number and email before handing it back with a smile.

“Thanks, we appreciate it.”

“Sure, you do,” Himeros muttered before all three disappeared. Gabriel huffed afterward, he and Dean frowning at the now empty space.

“Guess we gotta start narrowing suspects down. Lone witch. Fuck.” Dean groaned out, heading back down the street to get the Impala, muttering the entire way about witches, gods, Gabriel, and bullshit.

“I think that went pretty well, don’t you think so?” Gabriel piped up brightly, grinning at Sam and Cas, Sam rolling his eyes as Cas frowns. “What?!”

—

Three hours later, just as the sun was setting, they encountered the witch.

He got the drop on them, Gabriel and Cas pushing the Winchesters behind them as he hurled a handful of foul-smelling purple powder at them. The witch was just out of grabbing (and smiting) distance, sprinting away quicker than Sam and Dean could follow. The brothers returned to find both angels gone.

“Fuck,” Sam mutters, shoving his gun back into his jacket pocket, exchanging a look with his brother as Dean dialed Cas’s cell.

“Cas? Where are you, buddy? You okay? Need you to call me back pronto.” Dean let out a sharp breath. “Alright. If that powder crap took away their angel mojo, they couldn’t have gotten far. We weren’t gone that long.” Sam agrees and they split up, heading around the outside of the building where they were attacked. Dean shakes his head when they meet up a few buildings away, “Fuck.” They jog back to Baby, driving slowly back to the motel, keeping an eye out for Cas and Gabe.

—

Your brothers had gone out to investigate (and pick you up some Chinese) while you were left to finish going through the police reports for the last two weeks on every. single. little. incident. Car keyed: 1701 Rosebud Ave, Max Jackson. Fire Alarm (False Alarm): 386 Monroe Road, Abigail and Joseph Robbins. You couldn’t tell if it was this stack of files or your overprotective brothers that were causing the irritation you felt.

You roll your eyes before hearing a soft thud. You tug the one headphone you had in free, setting them in the next file as a placeholder and rising from the little dinette chair. The little thud sounds again, followed by a light scratching.

Quirking your head to the left, you open the door, eyes dropping down as you hear a pair of soft meows.

“Oh, my sweet little angels. What have you gotten yourselves into?” Cas quirked his head, peering up at you with unfathomable blue eyes as you drop to your knees, smoothing your hand through his short black fur. Loki - who you definitely knew wasn’t a god - nuzzled under your other hand, goldenrod orbs blinking closed as you scratched behind his ear. “Okie dokie,” You gently pick Cas up, tucking his little black body under your left arm and repeated the movement with Loki before you stand, kicking the door closed behind you.

Bullshit. You shrug off the odd voiced phrase, focusing on what you needed to do next.

You get Cas sat on the end of your bed when your phone rings out, you’re about to set Loki down too when he gives a little hiss and carefully tangled his claws in the arm of your sweater.

“Okay. Fine,” you huff, picking up your cell. “Yes?” Settling against the headboard, tucking your legs under you as Cas ambles forward you sit Loki in your lap, reaching out to scratch under Cas’s chin. “You can’t find Cas and Loki? I believe I may be able to help you out there…” Sam is talking a million miles an hour, half to you and half to Dean, who is muffled but obviously irritated. “No, no - uh, they aren’t injured.”

“I don’t like how you said that.” Dean sighs out as Sam lets you know he’s put it on speaker.

“I’m at the Cloud Hotel, in one of the bungalows behind the hotel, 2B.”

“We’ll be there in 10.” You hang up, tossing the phone onto the pillow beside you before scratching behind Loki’s ear and sliding your fingers down under his chin before rubbing his chest, enjoying the deep purr that rumbled from his little kitty chest.

Mmmmmhmmm. Right. There. Sweet. Cheeks.

You freeze as those words echo in your mind.

“Ummmm…why can I hear you?” Cas shoots forward, shoving his head under your free hand then looking up at you with slightly narrowed eyes. Nothing. He meows loudly, and Loki meows back before climbing up your chest, looking you right in the eye as he presses one of his little paws against your skin just at the neckline of your scoop-neck sweater.

Sweetness?

I have a name, Mr. Not Loki. His goldenrod colored eyes widen as you smirk. I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night, handsome. Sam and Dean will be here in less than ten minutes. Loki meows at Cas who nods his black head before resuming his place by your left knee.

Y/N.

Yes?

I got wings. He pauses, a little sigh releasing from his tiny butterscotch colored chest. Like Kotex.

You laugh, making his body sway slightly with the laughter. That’s an interesting way to come out as an angel! But, I knew. You have this fuzzy - haze? Outline? - golden, multicolored-like edge around you.

And Cas does too? His voice has an edge of - hope? - to it. You mentally shrug it off, looking down at Cas, you draw your brows together.

No. I just knew that he was Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Wearer of the tan trench coat. Member of Team Free Will and the Winchester’s buddy. Two hunters with male model good looks and an angel in a trench coat? Not too hard to deduce who they were. You can’t help it as your fingers sink into his fur again, smoothing from his neck all the way down to the tip of his tail. And you were too - other - feeling to be human. Or even a god. Trust me on that.

Gabriel. He purrs, his eyes sliding closed as you continue stroking him.

Holy shit. Like THE Gabriel? Messenger of God?

Yep. He gives a little pop at the “p”, maneuvering so he’s draped over one of your thighs, letting you keep the contact needed to converse.

So why pretend to be Loki or the Trickster? Isn’t that kind of a step down from archangel?

I like to think I don’t have as big an ego as some of my brothers. And the rest is a long, fairly uneventful story.

Riiight. You pull your hand away as he turns to peer up at you. Your brothers had warned you not to get involved with the Trickster, that he was selfish and only thought of having a good time.

And when it was over, he would disappear. Loki - no, Gabriel - moves, pressing his head against the hand closest to him.

Y/N? You don’t get a chance to answer, a loud knock sounding at the door. You carefully push Gabriel out of your lap and answer the door. Opening the door and sidestepping, you allow the Winchesters in.

“Where are they?”

“On the bed.” Sam is gaping at the cats, looking from them to Dean to you.

“Are you shitting me?” You purse your lips, leaning against the little dinette table. “Why’d they come here?”

”I don’t know, Dean! I was going through the files diligently, trying to find the witch or get a lead and I hear a little thud. Followed by some loud meowing. Sorry, they didn’t come running to your cat allergy riddled ass.” Dean looks taken aback by your tone and the sharp look you throw him. ”I have to deal with two overprotective brothers - who now they’ve seen not only the fucking Winchesters but the Trickster god Loki - have gone into super overprotective mode. I had to threaten, coerce, bring up how much bitchier I can get, and then threaten some more in order to get a little time to myself. So, here are your angels,” you turn, gathering up the files in your hands and shoving them at the stunned eldest Winchester. “Here are the files…and -” Your phone goes off suddenly, which for some reason just pisses you off more. Stomping over and angrily sliding to accept the call you shout “What?!” at Golgos through the phone. That’s when it hits you.

The sudden irritation and anger.

A hex bag.

That witchy motherfucker.

“Free bird!” You yell your safe words into the phone, panicking slightly at the anger simmering just under your skin. You were usually very in control of your emotions, very easy going and understanding. This was not normal.

Four sets of eyes regard you warily, but Gabriel seems to realize something is off, jumping nimbly across the bed to butt his head against your stomach. Your brothers appear suddenly, Himeros planting himself between you and the Winchesters as Golgos looks you over. “Hex.” You cry, the feeling of being strangled begins and your hand lands on Gabriel’s back, tightening slightly as you look at Golgos with wide eyes. Gabriel meows loudly, raising an alarm as you slide down to your knees, one hand braced against the thin carpet and the other shoved into Gabriel’s fur so hard you were worried you might hurt him.

Cas is helping sniff it out. Just focus on my voice, sugar snap. Can you do that? You can faintly hear him meowing loudly as you struggle to take a full breath. Black spots were beginning to touch on the edges of your vision, his fur so soft under your loosening grip. They got it, sweet cheeks. Y/N? Y/N! And then the blackness swallowed you down.

—

Something warm was pressed against your chest, making you curl slightly around the warmth.

Something warm and purring.

Purring?

Fuck if your eyelids aren’t heavy.

“Ugh.” You manage as you force your eyes all the way open and being met with a pair of gilded ones. “Hey.” Your voice is rough, throat still raw from the attack the hex bag. You move a heavy hand to stroke Gabriel.

Hey, good-looking. If you had the strength to roll your eyes, you would.

“How’re you feeling?” Himeros asks, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Sore.” He gives a sharp nod, raising back up to his standing position. “We used the hex bag to track the witch down.”

“And handled it.” Dean finishes, and you push yourself up so you can see him, giving him a nod.

But you’re still a cat.

Apparently…the spell lasts for at least a week. We’re hoping that since we’re more angelic in nature that it’ll be faster. His tail twitches as you sink back down into the mattress. I think I know why you can hear me.

Humm?

You believe in soulmates?

Thought angels - yawn - don’t have souls.

“Get some rest, princess. We aren’t going to take your kitties.” Golgos soothed, smiling brightly. And you reached out, blindly searching for Cas. His head bumps under your outstretched hand, climbing behind your head and resting his head against your neck with a few soft purrs as Gabriel snuggles closer to your chest.

We don’t. We have grace. But we’re destined. You and me, beautiful.

You know how cheesy that sounds? You manage not to yawn when you “speak” that time, taking a deep breath and you lazily trace zigzags through his goldenrod fur.

You’re pretty against the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing for being a daughter of Aphrodite… You can hear his slight chuckle as he stretches slightly to bump his head against your chin.

Gabriel?

Yeah?

Destined, huh?

Maybe we can talk more when I’m not a cat. And can kiss you. Fend off your brothers, snap you up some nice things…

Sounds good, handsome. You manage before sleep claimed you again.

—

Two days later - and lots of yelling from Golgos and Himeros (”GABRIEL?! LOKI IS ACTUALLY A FUCKING ARCHANGEL?!” and “GODS, I KNEW HE WAS AN ASSHOLE, BUT THIS…?!) and Y/N protecting Gabe’s tiny cat body from her brothers in those first few hours after - Cas and Gabriel were back to normal.

And as soon as they were, Y/N muttered how much she was going to miss their little cat selves. No more waking up or going to sleep with the two of them curled up around Y/N. No more picking them up to rub her nose against theirs or to have her scratching and petting the pair. Y/N had actually enjoyed the last couple days.

Y/N sentiment was not shared by Dean, who had to spend most of his time away from them as possible the last few days.

Gabriel linked his fingers through Y/N’s, relishing in the ability to do so.

“Sooo…wanna get outta here?”

“Nice choice of opening lines there, hot stuff.” Y/N scoffed, pulling away just enough to rile the archangel, his hand tightening on hers slightly before rubbing small circles on the back.

“I’m the Gomez to your Morticia, sweet cheeks. You’ll give in to me. Just a matter of time.” Y/N pulls her hand from his grasp.

“Sorry. I’m not giving into anything without a ring on this finger.” She heads towards her brothers who are talking with Dean and Sam, leaving Gabriel with his jaw on the floor. For about two beats. He appears before her, kneeling with a black velvet box on one knee.

“I think it’s high time I take the plunge.” He clears his throat, shifting under her gaze as everyone stares. “What do you say? Me and you? Rest of eternity? I’ll bring the sweets. Hell, I’ll snap you up a mansion with whatever kind of kittens you want. As long as you don’t love them more than me.” Y/N opens her mouth but Gabriel shushes her. “Come on - lemme get this out. Well, I, uh, help those mooks over there whenever and be a damn good mate. Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair nervously. “Okay. Okay. We’ve only known each other for four days, but that’s long enough when you got as long as we do.” What started as a joke had morphed into him actually asking for a chance. “Y/N? Will you marry me?” Her eyes are searching his, trying to find the trick before her brows draw together as her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

He lifts the top of the ring box, revealing a large Ring Pop, Y/N laughter spilling all around the empty back parking lot. Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows before flashing a big, flirty grin.

“Yes.”

“YES?!” Her brothers shout in tandem as Dean and Sam’s eyebrows both shoot up to their hairlines. Castiel just sighs softly. Gabriel rises, plucking the Ring Pop from its velvet cage and as he offers it to her, her eyes fall on a very real engagement ring shining in the black box in his hand.

“For real now. You know we have a bond. So, you wanna marry a runaway archangel slash trickster god?” Y/N takes fistfuls of his green cargo jacket in hand and presses her lips firmly against his in their first kiss. Gabriel licks his lips after, an easy smile stretching across his face.

“Had to try out the goods, at least partially,” She shrugs before muttering against his lips, “Ask me again. Properly.”

“Mmhmm. I like that you’re a tad bossy.” He brushes his thumb across her jawline. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

“AGAIN?! ARE YOU SHITTING ME?! YOU ARE NOT MARRYING HIM, Y/N!” One of her brother’s shout, both moving forward as Gabriel kisses her again before slipping his real engagement ring on her ring finger and the Ring Pop onto her forefinger. “THIS WILL BE THE LONGEST ENGAGEMENT KNOWN TO MAN!” Himeros snarls out, Golgos chuckling behind him.

“These rings actually look nice together.” Gabriel muses.

”Who knew?” She gives a quick peck on his lips. “I am not inviting your family to our wedding.”

“That’s fair.” Gabriel agrees, cupping her face in his hands to deliver a long, passionate kiss.

“What is the phrase? Poor bastard.” Cas begins loudly, shaking his head as Sam and Dean shoot him an odd look. “Her family is nearly as terrible as ours.”

“Hey!” Golgos and Himeros shout in tandem.

“So, Vegas?” Y/N whispers breathlessly in between long, romantic kisses.

“Oh, sweetness, you read my mind.” Gabriel raises his hand and is about to snap when her fingers wiggle against his palm, easily threading together with his, both of them disappearing in a flutter of wings.

All five men’s phones go off simultaneously.

::.:: Chapel of the Flowers, The Glass Garden, 1717 S. Las Vegas Blvd., Las Vegas. Three days from now. Bring a suit. Gifts Optional (No Magical Items, Please). ::.::

The men’s faces range from amused (Sam) to disgusted (Himeros) to thoughtful (Cas and Golgos) while Dean broke out in a big grin. Vegas!

“They have known each other for four days!”

“At least they’ve known each other longer than Sam knew his wife.” Sam shoots Dean the bitchface to end all bitch faces before flipping him off and climbing into the Impala. “Better get started, Vegas is a couple days drive from here. See you guys at the wedding.” Dean is chuckling as he climbs into the driver’s seat. Cas offers the men each a handshake.

“Nice to meet you. Gabriel, for all his eccentricities and snarky exterior, is a good man. And I believe that Y/N is one hell of an influence on him already. Sam and I will have more trouble with Dean in Las Vegas than you will have with Gabriel.” He claps Golgos on the shoulder before sliding into the backseat. “Hopefully.”

#winsister91 #sammikin's trickster challenge #trickster challenge #Gabriel x reader #cat!gabriel #cat!cas #supernatural #gabriel x you #supernatural reader insert #Gabriel semi-crack fic #the archangel gabriel #archangel x reader #spn #authoressskr writes

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ask-de-writer · 5 years

Text

SEE STORY (Part 4 of 5) : A tale from the World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

See Story

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

14372 words

written 2003

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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