#Path of lightning: Origins

[vendettaspathfanfic]

Chapter Seven

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

Toxic was overcome with an exhilaration unlike anything she had ever experienced before. For the past few days, she and the rest of the Destructix had been meticulously organizing and strategizing for the upcoming bank robbery. Her brother had assured her that the heist would not only yield substantial rewards for the gang, but also bring them closer to their ultimate goal of claiming the castle as their own.

Furthermore, she had already tasted the thrill of danger when she found herself being pursued by the police, and had even taken the life of Boomer Walrus. Like Scourge, she found herself drawn to the adrenaline rush that came with living beyond the boundaries of the law, and it was a temptation she simply couldn't resist.

And now, the sun had long dipped below the polluted horizon and the bank had closed its doors to the public. Everyone except for Scourge and Fiona gathered in the dimly lit front lobby of their musty hideout, waiting as the latter was making some last-minute modifications to a newly acquired, illicitly-gained SUV that would be serving as their getaway vehicle.

"When do we go?" Toxic asked impatiently, the frustration transparent in her tone as she slouched her shoulders forward in an exaggerated, childlike display of boredom.

"As your brother mentioned," Predator responded brusquely, "we'll leave once Fiona finishes with the car."

"And where's Scourge?" Lightning interjected, displaying his impatience, albeit in a more composed manner compared to their youngest companion.

"He's checking on Miles," Predator replied, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as he observed Lightning's restlessness. "The wait will be worth it."

Reluctantly, Lightning released a soft sigh and nodded, conceding with a muttered acknowledgment of "you're right," his gaze drifting downward and away from Predator.

"That's hardly a revelation," Predator remarked confidently, his arms folded across his chest as he stared ahead.

"Shut up," Lightning retorted with a growl, attempting to maintain a facade of annoyance even as his mouth twitched in a battle against a burgeoning grin.

"We'll be ready soon, Toxic little girl!" Flying exclaimed, bounding off the remnants of the front desk in the lobby where he had been perched. He landed with a solid thud in a crouched position before Toxic, meeting her at eye level. "And then we'll have a grand ole time-rhyme-mime!"

A proud smile spread across Toxic's face as she declared, "I'm gonna shoot someone again," placing her clenched fists on her hips.

"Well, they've got bots instead of guards, so you'll just be shooting them if necessary," Lightning chimed in, leaning casually against the wall as he recounted a detail from his earlier reconnaissance mission at the bank to assess the security system.

"Unless the cops show up-cup-pup!" Flying interjected, wagging his finger playfully while his grin widened at the prospect of taking the lives of law enforcement.

Toxic nibbled on her healing lower lip, revealing a gap-toothed grin. "I wanna shoot them too," she mused before approaching Simon, who carried their arsenal of weapons in an ammo belt slung across his torso. She looked up at him and gently tugged on his pant leg, prompting him to shift his gaze toward her.

"What is it?" Simon asked.

"Can I have my gun?" she asked, extending her arm towards his towering figure, her hand outstretched in anticipation.

"Not yet. I'll give it to you when it’s time," Simon replied, his gaze returning to the front as he patiently awaited the gang's leaders.

"Can I just practice more though?" Toxic persisted, maintaining her stance as she tried to negotiate for access to her designated pistol.

"Nope. We have to be conservative with ammo at the moment," Simon insisted, crossing his arms firmly as he kept his gaze fixed ahead.

"That's balls," Toxic grumbled, dropping her arm and crossing it tightly with the other.

"Okay," Simon acknowledged with a nonchalant hum, his shoulders giving a subtle twitch in a barely noticeable shrug.

Scourge soon made his entrance into the dimly lit lobby, his silhouette accentuated by the warm glow emanating from the lantern he carried. With a smirk and, he lowly chuckled “whining bitch,” as he placed the lantern on a weathered end table, joining the ensemble of lights that provided just enough illumination for the gang to make out each other's faces in the dark, dank setting.

"How's our guest, green boss?" queried Flying with a curious tilt of his head.

"He's been trapped in that room going on three days now, and trust me, we're far from rolling out the red carpet for him. He's faring just as you'd picture," Scourge growled with annoyance while he fidgeted with the jacket that seemed to hang loosely on his lithe form.

"I see-hee-hee!" Flying snickered with sinister glee, his hands coming together in anticipation as he imagined the undoubtedly run-down condition of their captive, Miles.

"Fiona's wrapping up her work. I'll go see how she's doing," declared Scourge, striding towards the shadowy alley nestled next to the orphanage. It was a secluded spot where they currently kept their vehicles out of sight. As he arrived, he noticed Fiona, intent on her task under the SUV's hood, her face hidden from view by its bulk.

"How's it going, Fi?" he called out, a grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of her, somehow still striking even with streaks of filth marking her from the day's labor.

"Just tying up the last few loose ends," she answered without looking up, her hands deftly making the final tweaks to the engine. With a satisfied nod, she packed away her tools and lowered the hood with a solid thud. "We should give it a test drive. Care to do the honors?"

"Yeah, I'm up for it," Scourge replied nonchalantly, his shoulders lifting in an easy shrug.

"Perfect. Just a quick ride down to the end of the street and back should do. I can tell you're all itching to go soon," she said, a touch of empathy in her voice as she prepared to gauge the readiness of their escape vehicle.

"Don't you know it," Scourge chuckled, the sound low and soft, as he accepted the keys she offered him and slid into the driver's seat. With a turn of the key, the engine roared to life, and he took off for the brief trial run. The vehicle performed flawlessly, and with a satisfied nod, he returned to park it right in front of the building, stepping out to greet Fiona who walked up to him with a victorious air.

"Smooth as butter," she proclaimed, her arms lifted triumphantly.

"That’s my girl," Scourge praised, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into a close embrace, their bodies pressed together in a moment of affection.

"Well," Fiona began, her fingers delicately holding Scourge's chin, elevating his gaze to hers, "it looks like we're ready to roll."

With a broad smile, Scourge reveled not only in the thrill of the impending heist but also in the woman before him – Fiona, the undeniable queenpin of their outfit and, more significantly, his own heart. Drawn in by the moment, their lips met in a soft collision that momentarily swept away thoughts of their upcoming illicit endeavor.

The Destructix, however, did not forget about anything. The expectant gang emerged from the building,

Their intimate interlude was shattered by a piercing, high-pitched "HEY!" that sliced through the air, accompanied by the sharp clap of hands.

"I will break you, you little shi-" Scourge snarled, his moment with Fiona abruptly interrupted, glaring at his sister in disdain.

"Are we ready to get moving?" Toxic interrupted, her impatience evident in her crossed arms and the rhythmic tapping of her foot.

"Mhm," Fiona replied, rolling her eyes at Toxic's insolence. She then turned her attention to the task at hand, announcing, "Everybody, gear up," as she popped open the trunk and began to distribute the nondescript black hoodies and balaclavas to the group.

"How long is the drive again?" Lightning asked, pulling the hoodie over his head.

"We should make it in about thirty minutes," Fiona answered, as she too donned the garment. "Simon, do you have all the equipment ready?"

“Yes ma’am.” Simion replied with an obedient nod, carefully placing a large, loaded duffle bag into the trunk.

Fiona responded with an enthusiastic agreement, enthusiastically thrusting both of her thumbs skyward as she declared, “Cool. Everyone in.”

Upon her cue, her and the rest of the Destructix clambered into the spacious interior of the SUV, a sense of tense excitement hanging in the air. Fiona ignited the engine and embarked on their route towards the bank.

“Alright, one more time let’s hear the plan.” Scourge commanded with authority, his blue eyes scanning the motley crew of accomplices from the vehicle's passenger seat.

With precision, Lightning began to recite his role in the upcoming heist, “I disarm an external security camera by the vent which I’ll crawl through and search for the security room. Once there, I’ll take the flash drive Fiona got and plug it into the main computer. The virus within it will shut the system down completely.”

“Right, then what?” Scourge prodded, his voice laced with anticipation for the next steps.

“I’ll break open the door then guard the car.” Simon chimed in succinctly, underscoring his commitment to the task at hand.

“Can Simon come with us?” Toxic interjected, her eyes wide and hopeful as she cast a beseeching look in Simon’s direction.

“Shut up,” Scourge spat out sharply, his patience wearing thin with his sister’s shenanigans.

“But I-“ Toxic began to protest, her lips parting in objection, only to be met with crossed arms and a resolved stance.

“The answer’s no,” Simon articulated firmly, as the little blue hedgehog sitting beside him grumbled under her breath, her arms folding defiantly while her expression soured by the sting of rejection.

“Go on,” Fiona encouraged, her tone now edged with impatience.

“I run in and find the vault,” Scourge succinctly stated his part of the plan, his confidence unwavering.

“Right,” Fiona acknowledged, her hands deftly maneuvering the steering wheel as she executed a sharp turn.

“We go where Scourge tells us the vault is and start loading the bags.” Predator elaborated, nodding toward the trunk where a stack of empty duffel bags awaited their bounty.

“Then after we’re rich-stitch-bitch, we haul the fuck out before the piggly-wigglies come after us!” Flying exclaimed with his typical raucous enthusiasm, his fist punching the air triumphantly.

“Damn right boys,” Fiona concurred, her lips curling into a predatory smirk of anticipation. The vehicle accelerated, leaving behind the city limits sign that marked their departure from Moebotropilis, as they steered closer to their plunder.

“My mouth hurts…” Toxic complained with a pained expression, her fingers unconsciously gravitating towards the scab forming on her healing lip.

“Then why are you picking at it?” Predator grumbled with a touch of exasperation, shooting a disapproving glance at Toxic.

“Stop picking at it, Toxic. It won't heal if you do,” Fiona scolded firmly, her gaze piercing through the rearview mirror to meet Toxic's eyes.

“I’m not picking at it…” Toxic protested weakly, her fingers betraying her as they continued their ministrations.

“I see you doing it. Knock it off,” Fiona admonished, her voice carrying a note of frustration as she shifted her focus momentarily to berate a sluggish driver ahead, “move it, dumbass!”

“Put your mask on, Toxic,” Simon interjected, hoping this would redirect Toxic's attention away from her lip.

“Okay,” Toxic responded eagerly, a spark of excitement evident in her eyes as she grasped the small balaclava and attempted to pull it over her head. However, her initial enthusiasm was met with a minor setback as she struggled to align the mask correctly, inadvertently covering her eyes instead of the intended eye holes.

“Hang on,” Simon sighed heavily, reaching over to adjust the mask to its proper position on Toxic's head.

“Does it look cool?” Toxic inquired with anticipation, her wide eyes shining with a mix of innocence and eagerness as her tail wagged in anticipation.

“Sure,” Simon replied casually, offering a nonchalant shrug in response to her query.

“Good,” Toxic chimed in happily, a giggle bubbling forth as she embraced the thrill of her first heist.

As the journey progressed with an intermittent backdrop of silence occasionally punctuated by Toxic annoying Simon with various random questions, Lightning seized the opportunity to engage in a moment of meditation. The impending task ahead demanded unwavering focus and precision, necessitating a mental and physical clarity unencumbered by distractions. With a deliberate motion, he gently closed his eyes, honed in on the rhythm of his breath, and methodically purged his mind of extraneous thoughts.

Unbeknownst to Lightning, Predator's gaze had shifted towards him, silently studying his tranquil countenance with a mix of admiration and respect. The aura of serenity enveloping Lightning belied the intense focus he maintained, his unmoving form resembling that of a poised statue, save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled with measured calmness.

In this moment of profound tranquility and disciplined resolve, Predator found a poignant reminder of Lightning's indispensable role within the ranks of the Destructix. The brief period during which Lightning had temporarily departed to rejoin the Raiju Clan had underscored not only the loss of a formidable ally in combat but also the absence of a cherished friend whose presence was deeply ingrained in the fabric of their collective identity.

"Thank god he came back…" Predator mused inwardly, the sentiment reverberating within him so profoundly that he resisted the urge to vocalize it.

To Predator, the Destructix remained incomplete in Lightning's absence, a sentiment that echoed the void within his own being that yearned to be filled by the camaraderie and companionship they had shared. Lightning was more than a comrade; he was Predator's first true friend, a bond that transcended the confines of their criminal endeavors and resonated on a personal level.

Abruptly jolted back to reality, Predator's reverie was shattered by Flying's boisterous intervention, as he seized Lightning's shoulder and vigorously shook him while emitting an incomprehensible stream of excited chatter, disrupting the moment with a frenetic energy that clashed with the prevailing stillness.

"Fuck, Flying!" Lightning hissed through gritted teeth, his body taut with barely restrained fury as he glared at him.

Flying, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the tension, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes. He let out a playful giggle, the sound almost musical in its lightness. "We’re here, kitty kitty!" he taunted, his voice lilting as he turned his attention towards Predator with a sly grin. With an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, he mockingly inquired, "Could you tell we were here, tweety bird? You seemed a lil distracted!"

The color rose rapidly to Predator's cheeks, a deep blush betraying his embarrassment. He was caught with his eyes stuck on Lightning. It was an unusual lapse for him, one that seemed all the more peculiar because he hadn't intended to stare; his mind had simply wandered down a labyrinth of thought.

"Yes I could…” Predator murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to recover his composure. He hastily cleared his throat, finding himself momentarily unable to meet the eyes of his companions. An old nervous habit was resurfacing, one he had diligently worked to quell, and he silently chastised himself for allowing it to creep back in.

Scourge cut through the banter with a voice that brooked no argument. “Everyone put the masks on,” he directed, his tone firm and authoritative. There was no hesitation as the team promptly complied, each member pulling on their balaclavas to conceal their identities in the dark fabric.

Fiona, maneuvered the vehicle into a narrow alleyway several structures away from the bank. The engine hummed to a subdued halt. Turning in her seat, she fixed Lightning with a look that was both stern and encouraging. “You’re on, my man,” she said, giving him an affirming nod.

Responding with a terse nod of his own, Lightning's fingers found the button that activated the car's overhead window, pressing it to open up his pathway. He unclasped his seatbelt with a click and fluidly climbed through the opening. Standing atop the vehicle, he surveyed his surroundings before making his move. With the finesse of a true ninja, he leaped onto a nearby fire escape, his movements swift and silent as he ascended the metal stairs to gain access to the rooftops.

Once he reached the appropriate vantage point, he paced back, calculating distance, then burst into a sprint that carried him toward the edge of the rooftop. With a powerful leap, he bridged the gap to the neighboring building, repeating this athletic feat from one structure to the next in a breathtaking display of parkour until he arrived at the bank's roof.

There, Lightning prowled across the rooftop like a shadow until he reached his target that he had noted when he surveyed the bank earlier: the security camera with a clear view of the vent he needed to infiltrate. With a deftness that spoke of years of practice, he reached out and with a swift twist of his wrist, he dislodged the camera from its perch, letting it clatter to his feet where he proceeded to crush it beneath his boot, extinguishing its ability.

With the camera disabled, Lightning yet again transformed into an embodiment of stealth and precision. He inched over the ledge, his body angled in an almost impossible inversion as he maintained his balance with the expertise of a master climber. Upon unzipping a pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a small screwdriver, its metal glinting faintly in the dim light as he set about removing the bolts securing the vent. One by one, the screws fell away, the metal grate clattering to the ground below. Lightning's movements were a choreographed dance of finesse and strength, as he contorted his body to slip into the vent's maw.

Inside, he weaved through the ducts with a patience born of necessity, seeking the nerve center of their target. After a meticulous journey, he discovered a room bristling with technology — computers, monitors, and servers — the perfect jackpot.

But caution was paramount; security cameras lurked like vigilant sentinels. Tuning into the environment, Lightning detected the faint hum of machinery from a camera nearby, likely positioned to monitor the vent. With a swift and calculated motion, he positioned his feet against the grate and unleashed a powerful kick. The grate sailed away as Lightning burst from the vent, his feet colliding with the camera in a precise strike, its recording light flickering out as he landed deftly on the ground.

Drawing from his extensive experience in past criminal exploits, Lightning navigated the familiar terrain of the room with confident precision. Approaching the mainframe computer, he deftly inserted the flash drive containing the virus, a potent tool acquired by Fiona from a black market, into the USB port. As the malicious code took root within the system, the room's atmosphere crackled with digital tension.

Observing the monitors flicker and glitch in response to the virus's intrusion, Lightning's ears flattened at the jarring cacophony of alarms distorted by the cyber assault. Without missing a beat, he reached for his phone and dialed Scourge.

“Howzit lookin’?” Scourge's voice cut through the chaos, his tone a blend of anticipation and authority, as he answered the call after a single ring.

“It’s working. Any second now...” Lightning's response was measured and focused, his gaze fixed on the unfolding chaos as the virus's effects intensified, causing the servers and monitors to succumb to the digital onslaught. With a self-assured smirk, he announced, “You’re up, boss.”

“See you in a minute,” Scourge's voice resonated with unwavering confidence as he terminated the call, stepping out of the car to retrieve an empty duffel bag from the trunk, preparing for the next phase of their operation.

Exiting the vehicle in tandem, Simon approached Scourge.

"In case the vault hasn't been unlocked, you’ll need some sticky bombs," Simon remarked, retrieving a small duffel bag containing the explosive devices and passing it to him with careful deliberation.

“Right on, man,” Scourge acknowledged with a faint grin, shouldering the bag of volatile tools in readiness for their utilization.

“You know how to use ‘em?”

“Yeah, gotta run,” Scourge responded with a playful salute, his focus shifting to the imminent task at hand. With his signature speed, he hastened towards the bank's entrance, the weight of their mission propelling him forward like a bullet. With a swift motion, he forced open the door, splintering the lock in the process, and plunged into the dimly lit interior, embarking on a determined search for the location of the vault, where their ultimate prize awaited.

Thanks to the combination of his remarkable speed and the lack of security measures in the bank, combing the grounds of the bank wasn’t nearly as difficult or time consuming as it would be under normal circumstances for the average person. In less than a minute, he stumbled upon a stairwell hiding behind an unmarked door in the heart of the bank. Leaping over the rail, he fell to the bottom and landed firmly on his feet, he found a long hallway that led to his destination.

Upon reaching the formidable entrance of the bank's vault, he found himself wrestling with the knob. His efforts proved fruitless as the door stood steadfast, mocking his attempt with its immobility. Unperturbed, he meticulously positioned a pair of sticky bombs on the surface of the massive steel barrier and hastily retreated to the stairwell's summit. From the duffel bag, he fished out the detonator, and despite the seriousness of the heist, a mischievous grin broke across his face, impossible to suppress.

He couldn't help but muse over the irony; the bank had undoubtedly poured an immense amount of time and fortune into their elaborate security measures, yet here they were, his band of rebels, dismantling the intricate system with such ease in hardly any time at all. It was almost pitiful, he thought. Actually, it was downright ludicrous. His laughter spilled forth, a wild symphony of triumph and mockery, echoing throughout, an audible testament that the world was, indeed, at his whim.

"Godspeed, Moebius!" Scourge's voice thundered amidst his cachinnation, the words charged with exhilaration as he pressed the detonator's button, instinctively covering his ears in anticipation of the blast. The resulting roar of the explosion reverberated up and down the stairwell, and he waited patiently as the tumultuous sounds gradually diminished into silence.

Once the echoes faded, Scourge confidently extracted his phone, the screen glowing to life as he connected with Lightning. The phone barely had time to ring before the lynx’s voice came through, crisp and alert. Scourge's instructions were brief and to the point, guiding his accomplice towards the now-breeched vault. With the call ended, he surged back outside to where the rest of the Destructix were already in motion, their figures spilling out of the SUV. They rummaged through the trunk, efficiently drawing out several empty duffel bags, their interiors hungry for the spoils of their venture.

Amidst the organized chaos, Simon distributed guns amongst the crew then took a moment to address Toxic. He crouched down, reducing the distance between them, and offered her the compact firearm that had been selected with her in mind. His voice was gentle yet firm, "Remember what to do with this?" he inquired, handing the weapon to her.

Toxic's response was tentative, her voice betraying the effort she was making to recall his earlier instructions, "Don’t uhm… point it at anyone I’m not gonna shoot and only shoot who they tell me to shoot?" She locked eyes with him, seeking affirmation.

"That’s right. And don’t go anywhere they don’t tell you to go," Simon replied, his nod conveying his approval. He watched as a spark of eager anticipation danced in Toxic's eyes, her small frame barely containing the thrill of their illicit escapade.

"I won’t," she promised earnestly, her excitement manifesting in a series of small, jubilant jumps.

"Good," Simon responded, the shadow of a smile threatening to break through his stoic demeanor. He then lifted his gaze, addressing the collective as he imparted his final piece of guidance, "I’ll call you guys if I hear sirens."

"Right on, Simon," Fiona chimed in, her thumb raised in solidarity.

Without further ado, Scourge issued the command to advance, "This way!" His stride was deliberate, a perfect balance of speed and caution as he led his crew back into the bank's interior, descending towards the vault where Lightning awaited their arrival, ready to lay claim to their prize.

The Destructix charged into the vault with an exhilaration akin to children rushing towards an ice cream truck on a hot summer day.

“Dig in, guys!” Scourge's voice reverberated through the enclosed space, brimming with ebullience, as he flung a duffel bag towards Lightning before eagerly stuffing his own with stacks of pristine hundred Moebium bills.

Fiona joined in the revelry, her whoops of joy punctuating the air as she deftly packed her duffel bag with a precision that bordered on artistry, ensuring every available inch was crammed with the coveted currency.

“Make sure you get these ones, kid,” Predator's voice cut through the commotion, guiding Toxic towards the higher denomination Moebium bills that she dutifully stashed away in her backpack.

In a synchronized rhythm, they continued their plunder, the vault echoing with the rustle of cash and the palpable thrill of anticipation. With each bill added to their bags, their imaginations sparked with visions of the luxuries and enhancements that awaited them. From fine dining to Scourge modifying his newly stolen sports car, and even the prospect of additional cybernetic upgrades for the whole gang beyond Lightning's imminent enhancements for the upcoming siege, the possibilities seemed endless in the glow of their success.

However, amidst the euphoria of their heist, Predator's keen gaze caught a subtle shift in Lightning's demeanor. The seasoned ninja’s ears pivoted, attuned to a sound only he could detect, his expression etched with a steely focus that signaled potential danger lurking in the shadows.

“What is it?” Predator inquired, recognizing the telltale intensity in Lightning's countenance, pausing in his cash-stuffing endeavor, the bills frozen in his grasp.

“That hum…” Lightning's voice was low, his ears swiveling as he zeroed in on a distinct electrical vibration growing in intensity behind him. Without hesitation, he turned his head towards the source, his eyes locking onto a menacing turret descending ominously from the vault's ceiling.

“Hit the deck!” Lightning’s urgent command pierced the chaos, a stark warning that sent everyone scrambling to the floor. In a swift motion, Flying vaulted over, landing protectively atop a bewildered Toxic, shielding her from the lethal hail of bullets that erupted across the room, the deadly projectiles grazing perilously close but missing their marks by mere inches.

Scourge's gaze locked onto the menacing turret, its malevolent intent clear in its automated movements. As the turret momentarily shifted its focus away from him, seizing the opportune moment, he sprang into action, leaping to his feet with a fluid grace honed through countless escapades. With a primal war cry, he executed his signature homing attack, hurtling towards the turret with unbridled fury, his strike shattering the mechanical menace into a cascade of twisted metal. Standing amidst the wreckage, he clenched his fist in frustration, bellowing, “The system’s coming back on! I thought we toasted it!?”

“It was supposed to take down the backup files! Fucker at the black market screwed us over!” Fiona's voice rang out, a potent cocktail of disbelief and fury coursing through her veins, her mind racing to process the unexpected betrayal.

“We have to go! Now!” Predator's voice cut through the tension, his tone decisive as he swiftly rose to his feet, sealing his bulging bag with practiced efficiency. The urgency of the situation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder that their daring heist had veered perilously off course, leaving them with no choice but to retreat before the full might of the bank's defenses descended upon them.

As they fled from the compromised vault, their footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor, the weight of the stolen cash dragging at their arms, a sudden swarm of sleek white armed drones swooped towards them, their menacing presence casting a shadow over the fleeing band of outlaws.

“Feed ‘em lead, guys!” Scourge's command sliced through the tension, igniting a flurry of gunfire as his comrades unleashed a torrent of bullets upon the armored mechanical adversaries.

“Ain’t this fun-run-gun, little girl!?” Flying's exuberant voice boomed above the cacophony, his shots finding their mark with precision, shattering a drone's camera and halting its aggressive advance. Seizing the opportunity, he lifted the lower half of his mask, stretched out his signature elastic tongue, and ensnared the disabled drone before flinging it unceremoniously to the ground, inflicting heavy damage upon its mechanical form.

“Ew, you licked it!” Toxic's voice rang out in a mixture of disgust and amusement, her own shot landing the final blow on the incapacitated machine.

“And it tasted goooood!” Flying's laughter reverberated through the corridor, a wild blend of adrenaline-fueled exhilaration and irreverent humor in the face of danger.

“Keep your mask down, man!” Fiona’s urgent demand pierced through the deafening symphony of gunfire.

Scourge, ever the showboat, decided that the use of a gun was a waste of time as he flung the bulging duffel bag he carried skyward. With a grace that belied the chaos surrounding him, he blurred into motion, moving in the blink of an eye. In a breathtaking display of agility and finesse, he leapt into action, executing a powerful kick that sent one of the drones hurtling towards its two remaining companions. They collided in a spectacular chain reaction, crashing into each other with a resounding clatter before careening into the unforgiving walls like a cascade of metallic dominos.

Proud of the chaos he had unleashed, Scourge continued his lightning-fast maneuvers, a blur of motion as he seamlessly returned to his starting point, snatching the falling duffel bag from the air with unerring precision before it could touch the ground.

With a smug smirk stretching unseen beneath his mask, he maintained a brisk but steady pace, allowing the others to easily follow him. His voice rang out, laced with a taunting edge as he beckoned his crew with a playful shout, "haul ass, slowpokes! Eyes up!"

Fiona's heartbeat quickened in tandem with the rhythm of their ascent up the stairwell when she felt the unmistakable vibration of her cell phone against her thigh. It was as if she had a sixth sense; she knew it was Simon on the other end before she even drew the device from her pocket. With a swift swipe, she accepted the call, and Simon's voice came through, confirming her premonitions.

The police were en route and getting closer by the second.

"No shit," Fiona bellowed back into the receiver, her voice almost lost amidst the cacophony of the bank's alarm system. Her eyes darted around, vigilant for any additional hazards. "The virus didn't fully take the system down like we thought! Guy who sold me the drive fucked us over and now we’re dealing with turrets and drones!”

There was a moment's pause before Simon's voice returned, now laced with frustration. His grip tightened on his phone, his strength inadvertently causing the screen to crack slightly, "Damn…" he muttered, the sound of his frustration palpable, "I’m out front ready to drive when you get out."

"See you in a mi—" Fiona's response was cut short as a sudden, explosive noise caused her to miss a step. Another ceiling turret had been obliterated by Scourge, its remnants clattering down the stairs.

Toxic, caught off guard by the chaos, let out a startled yelp. Her footing lost, she teetered dangerously backward until Fiona's reflexes kicked in. With a firm grip, Fiona caught her by the shirt, halting her fall.

"Watch your damn step!" Fiona admonished with an air of irritation. She then sighed, resigning herself to a solution, "Or, ugh, climb on back, we can’t have you slow us down!" Bending down, she allowed Toxic to clamber onto her back, securing a tight hold.

Simon's voice crackled with urgency through the phone, "What happened? Are you guys ok?"

"Relatively speakin’, yeah!" Fiona shouted back, her tone a cocktail of adrenaline and urgency, "Look, can't talk—there's a lot of shit going on!" With that, she ended the call abruptly, the severity of their predicament justifying the sudden interruption.

The remaining distance through the bank was a blur of gunfire and mechanical wreckage as they dispatched swarm after swarm of drones and turrets. Finally, the Destructix burst through the front doors, spilling out into the moonlight. They sprinted towards their getaway vehicle, tossing the duffel bags laden with cash into the trunk before tumbling into the SUV.

"Everyone in?" Simon's voice carried a mix of composure and haste, the wail of sirens now ominously close.

"FUCKING DRIVE, SIMON!" Scourge's voice erupted, his fist pounding against the dash with a force that echoed his impatience.

Simon needed no further urging. His foot slammed down on the gas pedal, and the car lurched forward, tires screeching as they tore away from the scene of their crime.

Exhilaration pulsed through Toxic as she threw her fists into the air, her voice ringing with triumph, "we did it!"

Fiona, ever the realist, tempered the celebration with a cautious glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and a string of curses spilled out as she spotted the relentless pursuit of law enforcement, "almost," she snapped back, noting the sea of flashing lights gaining on them.

"Piggly wigglies have come out to play!" Flying declared with a manic gleam in his eyes, thirsting for the violent confrontation.

Without missing a beat, Fiona barked at Scourge, "Get that scanner on—now!" Scourge, understanding the urgency and following Fiona’s instructions, immediately flipped the switch and dialed up the volume. The scanner crackled to life, and the gang leaned in as they focused on the dispatcher's voice detailing their vehicle's description and last known heading.

The unmistakable blare of the police's ultimatum boomed through their own intercom, "NCPD! Pull over or we will open fire!"

Scourge couldn't suppress a sardonic chuckle, muttering under his breath, "Is that any way to talk to the king and his men?" He then turned to the rest of the gang, his grin sharp and wild, "Get your iron ready, guys!"

Flying didn't need to be told twice. With agile movements, he vaulted over the seats, landing with a thud in the trunk. He rummaged quickly, resurfacing with a cache of assault rifles. He passed the weapons to Lightning, Predator, Fiona, and Scourge with an efficiency born of experience.

With determination, Scourge positioned himself at the window, the cool metal of the rifle in his grasp. He braced, took aim, and as the car swerved to avoid incoming fire, he squeezed the trigger. The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal filled the air as Fiona and the others followed, unleashing a hailstorm of gunfire towards the police vehicles that were in hot pursuit.

“I wanna shoot too!” Toxic’s voice rang out with a mix of eagerness and frustration as she watched the ongoing chaos from the sidelines.

“You’re gonna love this, kiddo!” Flying couldn’t contain his exhilaration, his voice booming over the cacophony of gunfire and sirens, shaking with wild laughter. In a swift, fluid motion, he lifted the lower half of his mask to reveal a wide, mischievous grin. With precision, his extendable tongue shot out, securely latching onto Toxic and pulling her to his side. Ensuring her safety, he held her steady as she leaned out of the speeding car window, her own weapon in hand. Together, they fired relentlessly at the pursuing police cars. By a stroke of luck, or perhaps skill, one of Toxic’s bullets found its mark, shattering a windshield and striking the driver. The ensuing chaos was immediate - the police cars swerved, collided, and ultimately crashed into a spectacular pile-up.

“Attagirl!” Flying’s praise was enthusiastic, though somewhat muffled as his tongue still maintained a protective grip on Toxic, ensuring she remained safe within the confines of their escape vehicle.

“Shh!” The urgency in Fiona’s hiss cut through the adrenaline-fueled air. Her focus was entirely on the scanner on the radio, the static-filled voice emanating from it capturing her full attention. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Predator’s voice was tinged with curiosity as he ducked inside the vehicle, his head tilting in an attempt to discern the message being transmitted.

“We’re completely blocked in,” Lightning’s tone was matter-of-fact, echoing Predator’s movements by also leaning into the interior of the car.

“We can’t carry all this stuff on foot... What’s the plan, bosses?” Simon’s queried, maneuvering the wheel, eyes scanning the road with steely focus.

The tension spiked as the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air reached their ears, followed by the invasive glare of a spotlight suddenly trained on them.

“Hmm…” Predator’s hum was pensive, the gears turning in his mind as a sly smirk began to play at the corners of his mouth, “a helicopter crashing into a police blockade could be very… distracting.”

“Sounds like there’s a blockade straight ahead in about a quarter mile,” Simon interjected, offering critical intel while his gaze never wavered from the road ahead.

Flying’s energy seemed to surge at the revelation, and with a swift, graceful movement, he released his grip on Toxic. He gently placed her in the safety of the seat next to him as he adjusted his mask back into place, concealing his features once again.

“Sounds like a party-arty-farty! Could I pretty please come?” His voice was laced with a playful wheedle as he clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes in exaggerated anticipation.

"Fine," Predator conceded, a flicker of determination in his eyes as he prepared for the daring maneuver ahead. Without hesitation, he propelled himself out of the window, soaring around the car in a swift loop. The frog's outstretched hands snatched his ankles in a seamless motion, propelling him like a speeding bullet towards the helicopter.

"Alright!" Predator's voice boomed over the roar of the wind, his instructions clear and decisive. "I'll take the right side, you'll take the left. Glide in on my word!"

With precision honed from countless escapades, Predator zeroed in on the left side of the helicopter. As the moment aligned perfectly, he bellowed, "NOW!" The signal unleashed a synchronized assault as Flying swooped into the helicopter, swiftly incapacitating one pilot, while Predator swiftly dealt with the other.

The limp bodies of the pilots were unceremoniously tossed from the aircraft as Predator assumed command, his gaze fixed on the impending blockade and the oncoming SUV. "Jump out now!" his command cut through the chaos, urgency tinged in his voice. As the helicopter dove towards the obstruction, Flying wasted no time, gliding out to safety just in time. Predator followed suit, propelling himself upward like a bullet, his gaze locked on the impending collision below. From his aerial vantage point, he watched as the helicopter collided with the police cars, the explosion engulfing them in a ball of fire and chaos.

Below, the police were thrown into disarray, their attention captivated by the explosion which created a gap in their formation as vehicles were tossed aside. Seizing the moment, everyone in the SUV ducked down, and Simon floored the accelerator, steering the vehicle through the flames. They slipped into the shadows, vanishing from the distracted gaze of law enforcement.

Predator and Flying, now airborne, kept a vigilant watch over the van's trajectory as it wove its way through the ensuing pandemonium below. Like specters in the night, they shot through the air, their bodies silhouetted against the backdrop of flames and smoke, as they made their descent towards the now distant vehicle.

The two remained vigilant from their aerial perspective, their keen eyes tracking the van's trajectory as it weaved through the chaos. With the grace of seasoned acrobats, they soared through the smoke-filled sky, their bodies silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, preparing to rejoin their team. With a synchronized thud, they landed on the roof of the car and maneuvered themselves, finding ingress through an open window to rejoin their comrades within the confines of the vehicle.

With their hearts pounding in anxious anticipation, the team held their breath as the scanner's confirmation echoed in the tense air, revealing that the suspects had slipped away, vanishing into the chaos that surrounded them. Despite the seemingly daunting odds stacked against them, the Destructix had emerged victorious yet again.

(Hey yall sorry this took so damn long life became crazy for a min but thank u so much for waiting! Also there was gonna be more to this chapter but it would have been absurdly long but on the upside chapter 8 is already in the works! Next chapter has a lil….surprise 🫶🤍🩵)

#sonic archie comics #archie sonic #sonic archie #sonic comics #sonic the hedgehog #lightning lynx #predator hawk #scourge the hedgehog #flying frog #fiona fox #scourge x fiona #sgt simian #sonic oc #sergeant simian #simon simian #anti sonic #sonic #archie sonic comics #sonic the hedgehog (archie comics) #sonic fanfic #sonic original character #sonic fanfiction #sonic the hedgehog fanfiction #fiona the fox #sonic au #fanfic #sgt. simian #anti miles prower #suppression squad #vendettas path

[akilice]

Introducing the Akina siblings from left to right: Ryu(neglected younger sibling), Nosaru (depressed middle child), and Aiko(burned out gifted olded sister).

I mostly post my oc art on : instagram.com/path_of_lightning_saga/ so if you want to see more of them and support my original content, follow me there!

Or subscribe to my art youtube channel: youtube.com/channel/UCkb2Z4YqWICoe9A8nSSeF0Q

#ocs #artblr #artists on tumblr #artist on tumblr #digital artist #digital drawing #digital art #oc art #oc artwork #original characters #my oc art #my art #path of lightning

[loveemagicpeace]

🍬Uranus Energy🍬

Uranus may signify death through accident, injury, or natural disaster, but at least it never signifies the death-in-life that is characteristic of Saturn. Thus, although Uranus energies can be extremely difficult to live with, the measure of chaos that they introduce is essential for life. Life is to a great extent a balancing of the orderly forces of Saturn with the chaotic forces of Uranus. Each has its place, and each needs to be kept in check by the other. Uranus represents something very different, very unique. But can also be very strange and unfamiliar. Anywhere you have uranus in your house it shows where your life is the most different. Uranus energies coming too soon in life can cause a chronically erratic quality that prevents any kind of maturation and produces an individual incapable of taking part in the social contract. Such people are automatic rebels: they rebel simply to negate order, even when order is still useful. Whatever it may affect or symbolize takes the form of something unusual, far different from the everyday world.

🦋Uranus in 1st house- you might present yourself differently to others or feel somehow out- of step. You can play a role as outsider, bringing valuable insight to outmoded situations. Your appearance is unique and your beauty can also be original and different from others. These people tend to have a different perspective than the rest. They think and look at life outside the box. You usually don't like things related to systems, you prefer to stick to your own rules. This placement often indicates an unconventional approach to life. This suggests that you are a very individualistic person, who operates the best on their own.

🌱Uranus in 2nd house-Financial fortunes might be subject to sudden changes, perhaps a result of not playing it safe. Income might come from independent freelance sources. Your money can go up and down very quickly. You can also have a different way of making money. This can lead to a unique approach to finances, a deep understanding of personal values, and an unconventional path to self-expression. Another strength of this placement is its innovative, progressive energy. You have a different way of managing your money. You spend a lot of money on things that are more dreamy. You have a free way of managing money and it doesn't mean much to you.

🌱Uranus in 3rd house- Your mind works at lightning speed. You can be single-minded in the way you think, with a talent for presenting the opposite view. Your way of thinking is often contradictory and different from the others. Many times your thinking and manner can confuse other people. This can also mean that your relationship with relatives is distant and cold. Your thoughts are often ahead of their time, leading you to challenge established ideas and concepts. Uranus here can also cause sudden accidents on the road. You have to be careful how you drive.

💕Uranus in 4th house- Early independence may have been high on the agenda. You might opt to rent rather than buy, so you can change the scenery from time to time. At home, you can often be rebellious and do things on your own. The relationship with the mother can be more distant, cold and perhaps strange. You can move a lot and the moves are usually sudden. Uranus can make a home unstable and strange.

🍭Uranus in 5th house-You have potential for genuine creative originality, although your challenge might be to allow it to land and take form, because each idea is rapidly superseded by the next. Your dates are usually sudden, different, and you may always feel that this area is not so close to you. Many times people can suddenly surprise you (positively or negatively) - also many times you don't get an answer as to why something happened the way it did. You can also suddenly fall in love. Pregnancy can happen spontaneously and the child may be born different from the others.

🍸Uranus in 6th house- You probably need some excitement in your daily round. Being freelance might suit you, so you can set your own routine and timetable. You like work that is independent and free. Above all, what you need is freedom - you hate when someone is above you and tells you what to do. Your rebellious path can be most effective through work. But since this house also represents the physical body, health - it means that you may have some disease that is unusual or you may have some skin problems that are unusual.

🛼Uranus in 7th house- You may prefer to break up with someone who curtails your freedom. Partners may seem unpredictable, but perhaps an assertion of your independence is at the root of it. You can go into a relationship suddenly or end it suddenly. Many times you can attract people who are different, strange, unique, smart. You can have certain conditions that you like about the relationship and stick to them. Few meet your standards. But you need a lot of freedom. Uranus can mean that marriage can be sudden. The law, however, can be quite different from normal laws. It suggests an individual who seeks independence, freedom, and excitement within their intimate connections. Uranus in this house indicates that you seek the company of people who have similar views as you do.

🏹Uranus in 8th house- You can shine intellectual light into life's mysteries, bringing clarity and rational discourse. It might be important to you to maintain your distance in intimate encounters. Because it is also the house of transformation, rebirth & things connected with needles, blood also sugerirs. It also means that you can go for sudden surgery. It can also mean a sudden loss. But you can deal with a loss in a different way than others. They are likely to attract unconventional partners who challenge their views on intimacy and shared resources. It can lead to successful relationships, marriages, and beneficial business opportunities. On the other hand, it can also create disruption in relationships due to its unpredictable nature and an unwillingness to conform.

🥊Uranus in 9th house-Going to university or grappling with religious principles can bring enlightenment - but you might also be inclined to question, rejecting orthodoxy and tradition. You can be very rebellious when it comes to church, religion, other culture and you can also be very controversial about that. Cuz you can also have your own religion that you believe in. Your opinion about the world can be completely different and the places that interest you can also be very unusual. You can also travel to places that others would never go. Especially to unpopular places. You can also have a very unpopular opinion about the world things & around you.

🎱Uranus in 10th house-Bowing to authority is not your style and you may choose work which encourages your independent vision and allows you to change track when it suits you. You can also be very rebellious when it comes to authority figures. The career may be in constant motion, but this can make it difficult to identify with a profession. They are often innovative thinkers with a knack for science and technology, and they bring originality and ingenuity into their development efforts. This often leads to unique and inventive career opportunities, an exciting public image, and the potential for innovative and progressive thinking.

🏝️Uranus in 11th house-This placement offers a parodox: how to maintain your freedom and autonomy within a democratic context. You could play the role of agitator, bringing radical change. You can have a unique way of doing things and seeing them. Many times it is strictly seen that you have the characteristics of uranus. U can also have very unique group or friends. This placement suggests that you enjoy taking part in online discussions where you can connect with like-minded people. Uranus here suggests that you are not interested in everyday goals, craved by most people. You have unique visions for your life. But you can also have the feeling that you are quite different from your friends (can also be lonely placement).

🧚🏼‍♀️Uranus in 12th house-Perhaps you hide your unconventionality so as to fit in - reclaiming this can help set you free. Your radar for collective trends can put you ahead of your time. You can also struggle with spirituality, things that are hidden ,unconscious -this doesn't mean that you don't believe in it, but you can have complex believing into this stuff. They may have dreams, intuitions, or sudden insights that challenge societal norms and traditional beliefs. It often happens with this placement that your parents expected a child with a different type of personality. As a child, you felt that you have to live up to their expectations, but you were struggling on the inside. Social conventions annoy you, but you struggle to express this.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🎸❤️‍🔥🧚🏼‍♀️

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #planets #astrological houses #uranus in houses #uranus

[circeyoru]

Angelic Doctor _ Part 2

[Human!Alastor x Disguised Angel!Reader]

Part 1

Part 2 (here)

You tried. You really tried. You ignored that blood-red colour his soul had and tried to change him, maybe even turn it into a lighter shard so he could be redeemed or saved in some other way. But there was a reason why that blood-red colour was such a dread to Angels like you, it was dreaded for the known reason that that mortal was an evil person. One that was barely forced to do evil, unlike those with criminal parents or cultists led down a wrong path. No, no, no. These people were the ones who picked their fate and enjoyed it

You had thought Alastor’s kindness and caring persona shown to you would help you persuade him to turn over a new leaf, but he merely favoured you and that was that. No benefits for you to take advantage of that would change the dark person he was

Alastor noticed your advances. Was it to get him into Heaven? Dear, you are so pure and adorable! Words can’t describe it! He was doomed to Hell the moment his shock turned to excitement at his first kill which was his father! Instead of getting him to Heaven, he wants to bring you down to Hell with him

He thought that spending the remainder of his time on Earth with you was enough, but it wasn’t. The more he spent his time with you, the more he wanted to keep you to himself. A darling just for him and his interest only

He started small, asking you out on days off or break time, taking you to visit local cafes he thinks are good or needs a companion to go for those pair offer deals. Then it started to grow, he’d take you to work, walk you back home as he insisted that the streets were dangerous since the cops had yet to catch that deadly killer, even wait for your breaks to come so that he could have a meal with you. He knows you’re a busy person, being a doctor that everyone relied upon and trusted and all that goodness

Originally, he thought your goodness and kindness were a facade to draw people in or a way to earn people’s gratitude towards you. Yet in his time with her, you remained constant, sure there were moments where you let out some steam and vent, but otherwise you were the perfect opposite of him. This just solidifies his fear that the two of you will be apart after one of you dies, forever

In a desperate attempt, he tried binding your soul to his so that even when you die first and go to Heaven, the moment he dies and is dragged down to Hell, you’ll join him. Vice versa

That when he found out you’re not even human. You were a literal Angel

You were made aware of Alastor’s attempt since your angelic powers activated themselves in the middle of the night while you were peacefully asleep. Your wings were summoned and your hair turned white as your halo appeared over your head. At the foot of your bed, you found Alastor with a spellbook of some kind. Around your bed was the setting of some ritual

Betrayed by your kindness, you rushed out of Alastor’s manor that he offered to you during the Great Depression that brought so much suffering. In a twisted turn of event, your time was up and your opportunity came in the form of a lightning shock. Thus, your return to Heaven after your journey on Earth in the city of New Orleans

Alastor barely had the time to compute the failed soul binding, then there was your angelic self, but the most devastating realization was your death. Of course, he knew you weren’t dead, but you’re as good as dead because he would never see you again. You’d be above and he’d be below. He’d never be able to contact you. Never

In a fit of uncontrollable rage and despair, he went on a murder spree. His clean-up getting more and more sloppy until he was cornered and killed by the pack animals that were called the loyal friends of humans

Note: A bit short, but that's all I got. I've seen a lot of Angel!Reader oneshots or headcanons or imagines and had to do one myself. It was fun but a bit short compared to my other ones ╚(″⚈ᴗ⚈)╗

P.S. I have no idea where you guys come from! Thanks for the support!! ( ´•ᗨ•`)っ ♡

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor imagine #alastor #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel oneshots #human alastor #Circe's Nighty Writings

[libby-for-life]

So, I got an idea for a request, an Au with Adam as Demeter, the Greek G̶o̶d̶d̶e̶s̶s̶ God of agriculture.

So this takes place right after the whole Lucifer and Lilith Incident. Adam is left reeling from the betrayal of his first friend (yeah "friend") and his other half. The angels tell him that they will make him a new companion, but he doesn't want a replacement, he wonders what he did to deserve them both leaving him (developing those abandonment issues already, I see).

But with a sudden great and mighty crack of thunder and lightning, Adam disappears from Eden and appears in Mount Orthys. He is found by Rhea, who is tired of all her kids haven been eaten by her husband Kronos and decided to take him in, before being found out and promptly being eaten whole, joining the others (except Demeter because she doesn't exist and is replaced by Adam) in Kronos stomach even though he's not thier sibling.

Back in Eden, the entirety of Heaven is freaking out because the first man is just gone. He's nowhere in Eden. He just disappeared under their noses. Once they

calm down, decide since they already made Eve as a replacement for Lilith, they can just make a replacement for Adam. Using Eve's rib, they create Steve and erase Adam and Lilith from history, their titles of first man and woman now belonging to Eve and Steve.

When Lucifer breaks into Eden, he succeeds convincing Eve to bite the apple, but when he tells her to give it to Adam as well (definitely not because he's a yandere for him and is his top priority), Eve asks who Adam is.

Eve: Adam? Who is that?

Lucifer: ...Adam? You know the first man??

Eve: You mean my husband Steve! He's the first man, not whoever this 'Adam' is

Lucifer:....what.

*I've already thought of more scenarios with this Au, but this is already pretty long, so i'll stop it here

Now, you kinda need to give me more, but this is beautiful. I love the idea of Adam becoming a God. Rhea slowly feeds him a special salve that turns him immortal. And while technically he is Adam, the god of agriculture and farming. He also had another name that he went by. The Reaper. It's where the scythe originated from. He reaps the fields and it's up to him on whether you have plentiful food or a drought that year.

He came across Persephone and immediately adopted her as his own once he saw how innocent she was to the world. She reminded him so much of Lucifer of someone he once knew but he couldn't put his finger on it.

She was creative with Spring. Such beautiful flowers came from her. The angels may have may have made the earth, but the gods were what kept it going. Kept it from dying. The angels in Heaven thought that they did a good job making the world and the universe but it was Adam's family that kept it from perishing. He had a family in the gods. They treated Adam as one of their own.

Until one day, Persephone gets kidnapped and taken to Hell. Adam is on a war path. He will find his daughter and the gods are backing him up.

The entirety of Hell shakes and splits open as twelve-foot-tall people radiating power and light storm in, all wielding weapons that, despite not being angelic weapons, are powerful enough to kill sinners.

They will find Persephone.

Meanwhile, Lucifer soon catches wind of these godly beings and goes to confront them. He sees Adam for the first time since the dawn of Eden and nearly has a heart attack. Adam. The first man. He was back.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #greek mythology

[yaut-jaknowit]

How bout something with a yautja and their partner (either human or yautja) gets hurt, like broken back level of hurt and the two just go through the ups and downs of recovery/healing together till the partner who has got hurt learns how to walk again and what not. How they get hurt up to you lol

When the Stars Align

Pairings: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x Reader

Word Count: 5942 (Whoops. A whopping ten pages)

Summary: For the year, you were closing up your cabin deep in the forest. It's done well and served its purpose during the warmth months but winter was coming. On the last night up there, you were walking the property only to come across a wounded animal.

Author Note: I hope it was okay to turn this a little different than you wanted it. If you want something else, let me know! I felt like this could be used as an excuse to finally reveal where reader met Gawtin originally. Little warning of blood, birth (not descriptive).

Part 2

Masterlist

Ao3

Around the cabin deep in the forest was miles and miles of forest barely occupied by any other people. A life you wished to enjoy longer before reality crashes back down on you. The cool crisp air attempted to bite through your jacket, almost nipping at your skin. Winter was coming soon. The poor little cabin situated far from civilization was unreachable during this time. Which meant, at this time, it was time to close it down.

Food and some drinks had to be retrieved. All the pipes had to be blown out so they didn’t freeze and burst open. Any clothing you wanted back home was to be packed into the extra bags you’ve brought. Windows had to be boarded up. Lastly, the power shut off.

Alone, you sat out by the large fire pit, observing the flickering flames. The warm it produced was enough for you to sit outside comfortably with just a simple jacket.

Up here, this far in, there was no cell service, not to even call for an emergency. If you were in trouble, you had to either solve the problem yourself or somehow get yourself into range. Both options were difficult to obtain in the middle of an emergency. When it came to survival, that’s what you had to do unfortunately.

A sketch book and pencil sat in your hands, used but forgotten about currently. Thoughts crowded your mind too much to think clearly. Coming up here was always a great stress reliever when life became too hectic. Wintertime sucked. Unable to escape reality for just a weekend and be stuck at a job that drains you or able to just come up to enjoy nature at its finest.

Softly, your eyes closed. The forest grew louder, ears picking up every little sound possible from your spot. The fire before you continuing to crackle and pop at times. A constant source of heat to fight off the chill of the beginning night. This was your last night up for the year. You’ll be back up in late April and early May to reopen it for the year and enjoy it all over again.

Warm air turned the cool air surrounding you into a steam for just a moment. You stood up and stretched out. The sketch book in your hand was placed to the side, pencil on top of it. If you couldn’t get out of your thoughts, you needed to clear them. There were only so few things possible to do so.

You walked up the short three steps on the deck and into the cabin. It was small, reliable though. For years, since the seventies or so, it has withstood a freak tornado, too many wildfires to begin to count, and many thunderstorms. The lightning was always a danger and caused you to panic at every strike heard or seen. It’s seen many people as your family has shared throughout lots of members.

The flashlight you were searching for was swiped off the counter. Out the door you went. With the light in hand, you started to make a path you’ve taken so many times before. A path you could probably walk blind on. Content as can be, you were alert and mindful but still enjoyed nature.

Water running would be heard at the edge of your hearing, barely there. The creek. A tiny river that ran through the acres of land you now owned. Just on the other side was a thick marsh you didn’t dare step into again. Last time, you lost a flip flop to its depths. You stayed on the safe side and on the path that buddies up with the creek until a certain point.

But you stop. Despite the quiet creek, the forest… it was dead silent. No bugs. No birds. Not a single sound to disrupt the unease in the air. Your entire body tenses, fear pumping into your veins. The flash in hand slowly swiveled around to survey the area only to come up empty handed. Your ears strained to heard something but it was like the forest suddenly died.

Throughout your years, you knew there was something out there. Something dangerous. All you had on you was a switch blade. No bigger than five inches. If a creature came after you, the thing would offer little to no help against a true predator. Your hand patted the spot it sat in your jacket pocket for double measure. Same place it was earlier.

From there, your steps were light, soft on the way back to the safety of the cabin. Not a predator hunting but prey surviving. Your heart was racing in your ears, almost drowning out the sound of the creek. This was a feeling you’ve never felt before up here. Never. Yes, there’s bears, wolves, and cougars but this was different. Your throat bobbed, eyes being vigilant.

Something you didn’t notice before was a liquid glowing bright in the dark atmosphere. Like a moth to a light, you stepped up to it. It truly glowed. A liquid, neon green. As if someone had broken a glow stick and drippled it along the forest floor… and left a handprint on the next to you. A massive handprint. It was smeared partial but could easily engulf your head.

Of course, the first thing to come to mind was Bigfoot. As stupid as it sounds, what else could’ve made a print that large?! Who else was out here this far? Nothing or no one you knew.

You swallowed your apprehension and diverted from the well-worn path. Away from the creek and further into the forest you grew up in. You stalked the trail of this glowing liquid. It stood out like a sore thumb in the growing night.

Labored, painful wheezing rasped in the silent forest, breaking the pause of sound. For just a heartbeat, you felt relief there was something creating noise out here only to realize the meaning. A creature, probably wounded, was causing this entire situation. Your shoulders sagged before you pushed forward.

Through the dense foliage, you saw a lump covered in the green goo and furrowed your brows. The light from your torch was pointed at it. Said lump shuttered.

Stunned into terror, you choked on a gasp at the sight of this… this humanoid monster on its side. Dark eyes were pinned on your trembling frame. With one of its arms, it weakly sits up as if it was going to crawl up to you. Its other arm lashed out. A guttural snarl releasing from its strange mouth. A wounded animal cornered is the first thing that came to mind at the sight of it.

The deep, bloody wounds that covered its body prevented it from moving much more. That didn’t stop it from creating noises of warning and unspoken threats. More green fluids gushed out. Blood. The glowing stuff was its blood. You shuffled through your knowledge to figure if anything had glowing blood like this. At least anything native to this area.

But nothing.

Tears were welled in its strange, inhuman colored eyes. Instantly, your heart ached at the sight of the poor thing in pain and writhing on the ground, coated in blood. You, yourself, made a saddened noise, brows furrowed in sorrow.

As your eyes scanned along its dark skin, they stopped on something that stunned you once more. Its belly was extended, rounded. You took notice at sharp bulge for a moment. A baby. A baby had just kicked. Shit.

If you were terrified or concern for not only your life but for its before, you were definitely now. A mother was someone to be afraid of. Mama bears were no joke. But the fact this thing looked like it could kill you like any other predator in this forest, you lost all color on your face. The only thing stopping you from turning tail and running was the wounds that downed it.

Consider it stupid, you lowered yourself down to your knees, hands clasped in front of you. At your movement, the thing hissed a deadly call. The flashlight pointed at the ground before the creature. This thing watched with intent, not letting you out of its sight for a moment, not even blinking.

Its breathing was ragged and wet sounding. Horrible to be in such a position as an upcoming mother and terribly wounded. You blink slowly, like you would do to a cat and slightly lowered you head, like a dog. “He-hey,” you tried, voice cracking involuntarily. You huffed at the sound. It stayed silent besides its breathing. “You’re injured.” At that point, you could’ve slapped yourself silly. As if it didn’t know it was wounded. It grunted, hand fisting the pine needle blanketed grounds.

“Sorry, that was stupid of me.” You sighed before introducing yourself to it. All the while you did this, you continued to keep your voice low and soft. Truly though, in its eyes, you couldn’t tell if it could understand you or was gathering the will to pounce on you.

“I would like to help you, if you let-“ The creature snarl, head bowed, chin tucked as its arm wrapped around its abdomen. You notice the way its extended belly contracted slightly on itself.

Not only was this an expecting mother, but a mother in labor. You gnawed at your lip to the point copper could be tasted on your buds. How were you going to salvage this? What could be done? Did this thing even understand what you’re saying?!

Its head whipped up, eyes back on you. You hadn’t moved. “You’re in labor. Fuck, you’re in labor. I-I can help, maybe,”  you rambled and ran a hand through your hair. The action had it hissing at you. Instantly, you stopped and returned to your former position. “Sorry, just nervous.” You took a short pause to gather your thoughts again. “I don’t know why you’re hurt but those wounds need to be cleaned and bandaged. The fact you’re in labor doesn’t help.” It released a clicking, wet hiss.

Sometimes, you needed to learn to get to the point. Even in troubling times. “Okay, okay. I can help you to my cabin. It’s not too far from here. I can tend to your wounds. I don’t know much about birth but I can adapt quickly.” Hopefully. This was never a situation you thought was possible.

With a pause, you had a chance to fully look at it. To be honest, its face looked like if someone turned a crab into a human. You weren’t disgusted or concerned by the way it looked. Just something you’ve never even seen before.

The top of its head was a shaped like a dome. At the edges of said dome was strange parts that jutted out like a crest or crown. Similar to dreads, thick, long strands that looked like rubber fell from its head. The rest of its body was human enough looking. Just the face was nothing from here you’ve every seen or heard about before.

Her arm around its belly tightened as it seemed study, judge you from the safe distance between the two of you. You stayed exactly where you were, despite the way your legs protested. You had to gain her trust, even if it’s just the tiniest sliver for her to come to the cabin with you. Deep inside of your heart, you felt awful for what’s happened to her. If you were in a situation like this, you hoped someone had a kind enough heart to help you.

Slowly and deliberately, you raised both of your hands in the air, flashlight pointing up into the air. A sign to show her you are no threat. “Please, I just want to help you,” you pleaded, brows furrowed, and put all of your sincerity into your words. Deep, bone chilling bellowed shook the ground under your feet.

Like a stone wall crumbling, she sagged in her spot with a hefty groan. Her massive head bowed, eyes on the ground now.

Hope grew inside of you at the sight. Was she going to accept your offer? You’d feel awful leaving her out here like this. Even though you didn’t create the situation she was in. You continued to gnaw at you bottom lip as you let her take all the time in the word. You timidly rested your arms back on your legs, showing no signs of moving or aggression.

Barely noticeable, she dipped her head in confirmation. You had to stop yourself from cheering before the realization hit you. This unidentifiable creature understood you. She knew what you were saying. At least this made things possibly simpler for you.

First thing first: getting her on her feet and to the cabin. “I’m going to stand up now and walk over to you. Is that okay?” you stated and stayed where you were crouched until seeing her head bob. Relief bubbled in your system. You did exactly what you said. All of your movements were slow, timid, calculated in each step over to her. She hissed at first before quieting down.

Once close enough to her, you officially noticed the size of this creature. Massive. Entirely powerful and huge. This was just from looking down at her.

From here, you knelt down again to get to her level and access the damage up close now. You cringed at the sight of so many wounds but saw stitching a few healing marks. You tilted your head but didn’t bring it up. It was unknown if she could respond to you.

“Like I said, I have a cabin close by. Are you able to walk, or at least get to your feet so I can help you?” you questioned quietly, afraid to go any louder. The last thing you wanted was to enrage her somehow. Her eyes watched your every move carefully.

The moment her muscles twitched into movement, you leaped back, ready to bolt. She stopped immediately. Nervously, you laughed quietly and rubbed at the back of your neck. “Sorry,” you apologized and approached her again. One of your hands was outstretched for her to take. All she did was brush it off with a bellow and used a tree to struggle to her feet.

Your jaw dropped. She towered completely over you. If you thought of her as massive on the ground, this was totally different on her own two feet. Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Fear consumed your emotions due to the fact you were frozen on your spot.

A guttural, pained groan snapped you from your thoughts. She still had an arm swaddling her abandoned, head temporarily bowed. You cleared your thought. “A-alright, we better get you to the cabin,” you broke the awkward silence and stared up at her. There was no chance to even try and carry her. Her weight alone could crush you like the bug you are compared to the creature.

Yet, at the sight of her, you knew she wouldn’t be able to walk on her own. Timidly, you inched towards her, observing her body language just in case. “You can use me as a crutch?” you offered and stopped once a foot away from her. She hissed out but made no move of aggression. You flinched at the noise, antsy. She did not like your suggestion.

The way she leaned against the tree gave you any idea though… Her making it back to the cabin on her own would either take far too long or she just wouldn’t make it anyhow. “Please. Take in all the issues against you, please,” you begged and shown within your eyes that all you meant was to help her.

She made a noise akin to an alligator. A tree was her support for the moment. She leaned forward to get closer to her face, careful of her wounds and belly. “I just want to help, okay?” you repeated, voice barely above a whisper. She released a snort that blew hot air into your face. A small part of your mind believed she was probably thinking on how you were going to withstand her weight. It was worth a try in your eyes.

When you didn’t back down, she reached out to place hand on your shoulder that engulfed it. The hand surely matched the print you saw earlier. You could see the fact her palm along would take up your entire face or simply snap your neck if she saw fit. A shaky breath released from your tense lungs.

More weight was shifted onto your fragile form as she left the tree. Neon blood smeared on the dark bark in her wake. She did her best to conceal her heavy, rasping breathing but this close to her, you heard the rattle in each inhale and exhale. Your heart ached at the sound, brows furrowed. What in the world could’ve done something like this?

Once the creature moved away from the tree, she nudged you forward. Like a cane, you let her use you to stable herself from tree to tree. Thankfully, this far into the forest, it was more wild, less groomed by your family. This meant more foliage and trees crowding each other. The creature swayed, stumbling behind you.

At one point, her legs nearly buckled. That caused what felt to be three hundred pounds to be shoved onto all at once. Thankfully, a tree had saved you from being crushed into a pancake. A tinge started in your back though. Great.

The pace both of you traveled at could’ve rivaled a snail. From the many breaks she had to take – not that you blamed her, to the fact she had to drag her feet. Making progress through the night was incredibly hard. The strain she put on you and lack of sleep were starting to catch up to you.

Your first yawn of the night began as you stepped into an all to familiar area around the cabin. It was part of the area that’s easily maintained. The trees here were sparser as you struggled to keep her up on her legs between the trunks. Your legs ached horribly after the unknown amount of time it has taken to get her this far.

Biting through the pain and yawns, you finally see the dark cabin through the foliage and felt the last bit of adrenaline enter your system. With this newfound energy, you marched on and got her to the steps of the front door. Once there, the creature switched her weight to lean on the porch’s support beam. You, yourself, rested against the cabin’s wall, breathing heavily. At least that’s over.

Sluggishly, you dragged yourself up the steps and opened the old door. For a moment, your eyes glanced around to find the best place for her to be. The bedroom is what came first. Sheets can either be washed and replaced. You glanced back at her with a sorrowful look. The poor thing was struggling to stay on her legs, still holding onto her stomach.

Her eyes narrowed. A low growl sounded in the back of her throat. You threw up your hands to show you’re still no threat to her. You gnawed again at your bottom lip while just standing there. All you could do was pray she understood you meant not ill intent towards her or her baby.

You stepped back from the door and made a grand sweeping motion. “This is my cabin.” The creature took a lungful of air, scenting the place. Slowly, she trudged up the three steps and onto the porch. It groaned and creaked underneath her massive size. Due to her size alone, she was unable to stand up completely, partially hunched over.

Green blood stained the wood, leaving behind a deadly trail in her wake. Instead of fretting over a small mess, you guided her into the place and over to the only bedroom. You opened the door and helped her inside. “I hope this is okay for you. The tub definitely wouldn’t have fit you and the living room probably wouldn't have been comfortable for you.” In all honesty, the cabin didn’t have much to offer besides the forest it was surrounded in. Not that you minded. But, in the moment…

Once she was sat down on the bed, you stepped away careful, hands partially raise. “Is-is this okay?” you asked and stood back to lean against the dresser behind you. Her eyes had yet to leave your exhausted form. But for the first time, they darted around the room before resting on you again. Her massive head dipped once, thick dreads shifting with the movement. You had to stop yourself from smiling brightly.

This wasn’t over. You pushed off of the dresser and walked over to the bathroom that was connected. There was a first aid kit somewhere in here.

It didn’t take long for you to return back to her side with the supplies. Carefully, you opened the box to show her the contents. “This is a first aid kit. It medical supplies so I-“ the box was swiped from your hands and into hers. You jerked your arms back and checked for any injuries. Nothing. You relaxed and watched as she dug through to find what she wanted.

With a sigh, you left again to get a bowl and some towels. Those wounds of her weren’t bleeding heavily anymore but they still needed to be cleaned up. You stepped back towards her timidly and showed off what you had. With a jerk of her head, she motioned for them to be set off to the side. You raised a brow but placed the bowl on the nightstand. The towels were tossed next to her.

The creature had its eyes on you again. Now, in the light of the cabin, you realized they were purple! A beautiful shade that easily caught your attention. But, you shook yourself free from your thoughts. She had lowered head, body tense, ready to lunge. Curses were forming in your brain as you stepped away from her, arms raised.

She followed your every move but never made one of herself. When you got to the door, she released a deadly snarl. Your first reaction was to slam the door closed. The cabin went quiet, besides the low crackling of the dying fire outside.

Okay then. You popped your lips and tried to piece the whole the situation together. What had you just done? All you could do was stare blankly at the closed door for a few long, unspeakable minutes. Then, you pulled yourself up by the bootstraps and trudged outside. The fire couldn’t be left out to burn all night.

By the fire again, you plopped down on a wooden bench and stared into the flickering flames. Next to you was the discarded sketch book and pencil. They felt heavier in your hands after picking them back up.

What had you done? Why was your heart so naïve to these things?! A wounded creature – or whatever that thing is – isn’t something you bring inside of your house? Cabin? Whatever. You groaned and cradled your head into your hands. “What am I going to do?” The things had kicked you out of your own cabin after you offered it shelter and medical supplies.

It’s a mother though, in labor. That thought pulled at your heart strings, making you feel horribly guilty. A hand ran through your locks of hair. Tomorrow is a new day. Could you even sleep while knowing that thing was in there with you? Was it hungry? You brought it water, though not drink.

Your mind was all over the place, trying to decipher the next course of action for the upcoming day. As you sat, alone, you felt eyes on you. Immediately, your head whipped up to find the window to the bedroom. There, in the dim light of the room, was the creature, watching you. Did it need something?

Both of your legs strained under your body but carried you to the bedroom door. Softly, your knuckles racked against the wood. “Are you okay? Do you need help?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, ear listening for movement.

Then, the door was ripped open. In a bout of terror, you reeled away, back slamming into the wall behind you and gasped harshly.

From many moments ago, the mother’s body was fairly cleaned up now. This allowed you to notice the fact she wore no shirt to cover her enlarged breasts. A squeak passed your lips. You shied your eyes away to look at the floor, stupid as it might be.

The creature huffed before making a clicking noise of sorts. Your eyes darted up to her face for only a second. She sighed once more. A warm, massive hand wrapped around your bicep and tugged you into the room. You released a yelp and squirmed in her hold. “Hey, wait! Please don’t hurt me,” you pleaded and did everything in your power to get free.

It took a fraction of her strength to push you back into a wall and effectively pinning you there. Instinctively, you bowed your head, body shaking like a left on a tree.

Nothing was done to you. Untensing a little, you glanced up at the towering figure as she peered down at you. Despite no words, her actions spoke loudly. She wasn’t going to hurt you. Your body relaxed, for the most part. “So, uh, what do you need?” you questioned and clutched your sketch book to your chest.

She stepped away from you and partially turned her back towards you. It was still a mess of wounds and glowing blood. “You want me to help you?” Stupid to ask as she was wanting you to already. Your nerves were getting the best of you.

Despite looking like nothing from this world, she expressed a deadpanned look. “Okay, okay, sorry. Just wanted to make sure. Alright?” You held up your hands, one holding the book. She snorted airily before grunting, claws flexing.

You cleared your throat. “If you don’t mind me asking… how far along are you?” A coppery taste touched your buds the longer you worried at your lips. She took a momentary pause before pointing at the ground. For a second, it was hard to figure out what she was doing. “Oh! Now, now. Got it…” So, you were right.

Before you had a chance to move away from the wall, a deadly hand encased your throat and pinned you hard against. A threatening, bone chilling snarl ripped from her throat next to your ear. The warning loud and clear. Then, she backed away and sat down on the bed. Like nothing had happened.

After shoving your heart back into your chest from your throat, you shakily walked up to her. Her back was facing you, allowing you to see all the past scars and new wound decorating it. A part of you wanted to reach out and touch them but reframed from doing that.

Fairly enough, the sheets were barely contaminated by her blood. A part of you appreciated that. Less of a job to clean up later. The towels you’ve given her earlier were half used, soaked in neon green blood. You grabbed a clean one, dipped it in the semi dirty water, before reaching out towards her back. “I’m going to touch your back now, okay?” you stated and only moved when given permission to wipe off her back.

Stroke after delicate stroke, dried and wet blood was washed away. The hours of the night went on as you worked on stitching close any large cut. Glancing at one of the round wounds in her back, you noticed something lodged in it. Carefully, you plucked a pair of tweezers and let her know your intentions.

It was delicate work to pull the unknown object from her flesh. Finally, you were able to get a good grasp and tugged it free. More blood gushed out. You placed a clean towel with even pressure on the newly opened wound.

In the grasp of the tweezers… was a bullet. You dropped it by accident but froze up. Something had shot her. Fear battled anger. Who in the hell shot her?! That meant someone trespassed onto your property to injure her. Your hands shook from boiling rage as new light shined on the situation. Someone had shot a mother. A clearly pregnant mother!

Instead of letting yourself get distracted, you focused back on the task on hand. It wasn’t long before the wounds were cleaned and covered. You stepped away from the lumbering giant, hands and clothing soaked with her blood. A shower was desperately needed after this has passed. “How do you feel?”

She turned around to face you, legs hanging over the edge of the bed now. A deep breath filled her lungs. The creature carefully stretched out her muscles to test her ability. Once she seem satisfied, she nodded her head. Either in gratitude or acknowledgment, you didn’t know. “Are you hungry?” This made her stop to think for a moment then nodded again.

Okay, communication was achievable, thankfully. You pressed your lips together in thought. “So… what do you eat?” Downright, she looked to be a predator with the size of those teeth. No herbivore on this planet had teeth like that. “I’m guessing meat?” Another nod.

Meat was something you could do. Right as you were about to leave, a thought came to mind. “Raw or cooked?” You realized your mistake. “Raw?” A nod. Makes sense.

You dug through the fridge and pulled out meat you were thinking of cooking up tonight. Someone else was in dire need of it. So, you go back to the bedroom and offered it to you. “Does this work? It’s all I have.” She took it.

Like the meat eater she is, the mother tore into the packaging and consumed the meat quickly. In such a quick manner, you didn’t have time to even get a word out. Hopefully, that could tie her over for a while. But she was eating for two, soon to be one. That reminded you of the other dire situation occurring in her belly.

Nervously, you scratched at the back of your neck. “So, the baby? You said you were having it now… is there anything I could do to help?” She stared at you. If this was the answer you were getting, then that means nothing to you. You sighed and picked up the sketch book from the dresser. “Okay, I’ll just be in the living room if you need me.”

Just like you said, you returned to the living, book in hand. Despite the weariness in your bones trying to drag you to sleep, you sat on the couch, sketching. Your pencil danced across the paper with an easer to sometimes chance it.

A piercing roar rattled your cabin. You awoke with a jolt, head whipping up to figure what was happening. A pencil stuck to your face fell down into the open sketch.

Pained, wheezing gasps and growls sounded from the only bedroom. You flinched at the sound of torture in the room. No wonder why the birth rate was on a decline.

Against your better judgement, you stalked over to the opened door and peered around the corner. Next to the bed was the creature, standing two wobbling legs. One of her hands was gripping the headrest so hard it had left a handprint in the metal. Her other hand was tearing into the drywall. You swallowed, throat bobbing as you observed the laboring mother, unsure on how to help. Your first mistake was to take a breath in to speak.

Her head snapped over to you. Shit. A deafening roar shook the house to its foundation. The mother pushed off of the wall and marched over to you. Like the prey you are, you were frozen to your spot. This thing stop right in front of your trembling form and roar right in your face. Spit flying to land on your skin as she huffed and puffed with caged anger.

Deep in your chest, you find your voice timidly. “Wha-what can I-I do to, to help?” is all you can say for the life of you.  The creature snarled threatening and took another step forward. Was this your demise? A lesson you weren’t going to learn from.

Her threatening display was done. She went over to the bed, knelt down, and rested her upper half on top of it.  With a sigh, you left but only to return with your sketch book. You didn’t know if she wanted someone to be in the room with her as this went only. If you were in a situation like this, you would like to have some comfort, even if it was a stranger.

Due to the way she didn’t react, you guessed it was okay with her. More hours of the night went along until the morning sun rose in the dawn. It took all of your effort to stay away during the process.

Once the night became day, you heard a shrill, squeaky, loud cry. Your head shot up, knocking against the wall behind you. The pain was brushed off as you watched the new mother cradle a sticky, gross green blob in her arms and flop against the bed. She purred a low noise to the baby and clicked to it, mandibles twitching playfully.

A wide smile broke across your face at the endearing sight. The sketch book in hand was closed and set off to the side but you stayed where you were. This was a mother and baby moment, you weren’t going to disrupt that by moving. The poor mother had gone through enough within the last twenty-four hours. She didn’t need the stress of you moving around.

The mother turned her head over to you and locked eyes. You tensed, unsure of her intentions. To break the ice, you spoke up softly. “Quite a cutie?” you tried but a loud knocking scared you.

Immediately, the creature snarl and cradled her baby closer all the while attempting to stand. You need to sooth her rose. You put your hands out as if calming a wild animal. “Wait, wait! Don’t! Let me go check it out, okay? Stay here and quiet,” you said and walked out of the room after she didn’t make any more moves to get up.

All the living room curtains were closed still from the night. The curtain next to the front door was white and let you see the outline of someone. Shit. Fuck! Mentally, you cursed up a storm as you tried to think of a good reason on why any one would be out here. Then, the creature popped into your mind. The bullet holes. She was being hunted. And these people were the hunters.

Determination flooded your system. You marched back into the bedroom, bypassing the confused but protective look on the mother’s face, and went up to the nightstand. In there was a gun your father kept up here all the time. In case of an emergency. This was one. You pulled the weapon out and checked it out. It had bullets in it. You turned to the mother. “Stay in here, please. I’ll deal with them, alright?”

The window caught your attention. You rushed over and closed the curtain. Luck had to be on your side.

Please.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #Gawtin

[rehfan]

A Little Shelter

Billy Knight x Fem!Reader/AFAB!Reader

Warning: 18+ only please. MDNI!! (Move along children!); hurt/comfort (small minor injury to reader with mention of blood); terrible thunder and lightning storm outside; forced proximity; Billy is shy until you get his motor running; f!fingering; fellatio; PIV sex; sleeping bag sex

Summary: You’re hiking when a storm breaks out. Billy Knight is one of the trail docents who comes to your rescue - and winds up just as stranded as you. And there was only ONE sleeping bag.

Tagged readers: @h-ness1944

Word Count: 6.1K

A/N: This thing took me AGES, but this is in response to a prompt I got from @harrington4fan a long damn time ago. It came with pictures as a prompt, but I’ve since lost the original request. Apologies.

Read this on AO3 HERE

***MY WORK IS MINE. DO NOT REPOST TO ANY OTHER SITE. I AM A GROWN WOMAN WITH HER OWN MONEY AND I WILL HIRE AN ATTORNEY.***

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He was there offering an umbrella to you on the hiking path when the downpour happened. It gave you time to grab your cagoule out of your rucksack. He had kind eyes. You had seen him on the trails from time to time, passed him here and there, and supposed he was a local. Turns out, he was one of the park’s docents, a volunteer who helped keep the trails clean and safe.

“There’s a bothy up ahead not half a mile,” he said as the rain came down harder.

“Sorry? A what?” you asked.

“A bothy,” he repeated. “You know, a little shelter?”

The skies above you both opened that much further and you gave each other a look of small panic. “Come on,” he said, lifting his umbrella above you both, “I’ll show you where.”

As you walked along the path, he continued to shelter you with his umbrella, managing to get his right half soaked. Fortunately, his hardy coat looked sturdy enough for snow. You, on the other hand, were only planning on spending one overnight and you had dressed in light layers, a day-hiker’s clothing covered with a cagoule, good enough for balmy weather, the odd breeze or even a bit of damp, but nothing much stronger. You shifted your pack on your shoulders that contained all your camping gear and cursed yourself silently for not re-checking the weather report before you left the house.

“My name’s Billy. Billy Knight,” he said, interrupting your thoughts. You gave him your name and your thanks for his assistance. He smiled shyly. He was kind of adorable. His coat’s hood was up and he wore a beanie underneath on his head, a scarf was around his neck beneath the coat. Large brown eyes peeked at you as you moved along. You felt yourself blush under his gaze like a foolish schoolgirl.

The bothy was just as he had said: little. It was off the beaten path by a few paces, covered in lichen and moss. You had probably passed it a dozen times in your travels and never noticed it. A stone block structure, it was only large enough to fit a handful of people comfortably and hadn’t been disused so much as it had been overused.

It had a rough wooden door, painted a dull brown and he opened it with a shove, allowing you to pass into the murky gloom first. Paint was peeling on the inside. The single open room featured only a small table and three chairs none of which were upright. A small wooden box was on the side of the fireplace containing dry wood and kindling, and a large matchbox.

He moved to the fireplace built into the opposite wall and went about the business of building a fire. “Got to keep warm. Can’t risk cold or exposure.”

You weren’t sure if he was speaking to you or himself. You paced the small space blowing in your hands and rubbing them together. It was already a cold and clammy October day, but you couldn’t resist walking the trails and camping overnight on one of the last days before the weather became too bitterly cold, the hills of Yorkshire becoming too harsh for the average hiker later in the year. Now, with the turn in the weather, you were doubting your sanity at the decision.

You attempted to right and brush off the three large adirondack chairs in the shelter, but one of them had a worn leg and it was wobbly when you set it upright. “Oh,” he said, “I’ll have to have that replaced. Please just leave it.” But just as he said that, there was a sharp edge of the wood that caught you and you pulled your hand back, hissing a breath, and sucking on your thumb.

He moved from the fire to you in an instant. Light from one of the tiny windows in the bothy lit his features as he took your hand and the worry on his face melted your heart.

“Splinter,” you said. “I have a first-aid kit in my pack. I’ll get it out.”

“You certain, miss?” he asked. “I can help you if you like. I have good experience with wood splinters.”

As you dug through your rucksack, you gave him an odd look, “You do?”

He grinned and explained about his wood carving. It was a hobby he loved and learned from his father. “Our dad wasn’t good for much, but he was a good carver.” His knuckles rubbed at his nose viciously as he gazed out of the window at the storm. “Taught me. And I’ve had a few in my time that were quite terrible.” He splayed out his hands. They looked strong.

You moved to the other window on the other side of the door to get some light on your throbbing digit. Tweezers in hand, you tried to grab the end of the sliver, but you couldn’t get the angle right. After struggling for a few minutes, you caught Billy’s eye. He had crossed back to the fire, but had been waiting patiently and watching you carefully while tending to it. Caving in, you offered him the tweezers with a wincing smile. His grin cut brightly through the gloom.

He took the tweezers from you gently. His hand was so big, they swallowed the small instrument. Taking your hand as gently as he could, his touch feather-light, he focused his whiskey-brown eyes on the task. Before he pulled, he said softly, “This may hurt a bit. Sorry.”

“S’ok, Billy,” you said, your voice low, barely above a whisper. The mood of the room slowly shifted the longer he stood so closely to you; being in this place with the rain beating down hard on the roof, the soft muted light from the window, the crackling warm fire, the closeness of this man you’d only just met but could just snuggle up to and sleep cradled in his arms, it was like the stuff out of a romance book… or like worshiping in a small country chapel. He smelled of cedar and mint and he was so close, you could see the smattering of freckles spread across his nose and cheeks. His tongue came out in concentration and, combined with his freckles, gave him the aspect of a schoolboy.

You almost sniggered at the thought when he pulled on the sliver. “Ah!”

“Got it… I think,” he said, holding up the tweezers. Your sore finger was raging and angry, blood coming from the small cut in it. You groaned and held it to you. Billy was instantly penitent: “Sorry! Sorry! I did say it may hurt. Please don’t be angry.”

“I”m not angry,” you replied, mystified as to why he would think you would be. Your thumb went in your mouth to soothe the wound, but your puzzled look was still on your face as you saw him blush.

“Come. Here,” he said, guiding you with an arm around your shoulders.

He rushed you to the table, spreading out your first-aid supplies. He treated your thumb with an alcohol swab that stung. He apologized for hurting you again, his pained expression breaking your heart. “It has to kill the germs, miss. It’s all going to be alright. I know what I’m doing. Promise.” Some antibiotic cream with painkiller and a plaster later, you were practically as right as rain.

The whole time he worked on your hand, you watched him, how gently he worked, how careful he was, how attentive. The last boyfriend you had wouldn’t have bothered to help you. Then again, he wouldn’t be with you there at all. Ryan had hated the great outdoors. You could barely pull him away from his video game console most weekends. You had been in that relationship alone and it had sucked. So you dumped him last spring and spent your summer on the trails of Yorkshire.

And today, you discovered this treasure of a man: sweet, respectful, kind, lovely, and caring; everything you had been starved for. You wondered how keen he was on you. Would he mind a little forward flirting? What did you have to lose?

“Thank you, Billy,” you said. “Are you always this attentive to the hikers here?”

His ears went pink as he went to stoke & tend the fire. “I do my best to help people. They leave litter more than they need help, though.” It broke your heart how painfully shy he was.

“They do, don’t they? There’s no respect,” you agreed as you turned to him, settling in one of the chairs you managed to place closer to the fire without further injury. It was starting to catch and give off a wonderful wave of heat, warming your legs, hands, and your face delightfully.

“K-keep it above your heart,” he said, coming to you, gently raising your hand across your chest and toward your shoulder. “It’ll hurt less.”

“Thanks,” you said. Everything about him was gentle. It was uncanny. Had you met in any other circumstances, you might have thought he was having you on with the way he was, but your meeting was completely arbitrary, him coming along the path towards you, seemingly lost in thought, just getting to where you were wandering along - and then the skies opened. More and more it was like something out of a film.

The rain was getting worse. You had planned on camping the night at one of the approved sites in the park, but that looked like a no-go as well. Perhaps you could stretch out in the bothy? You looked around while Billy busied himself with arranging bigger logs on the grate. Yes, it might do for a place to stay just for the one night, but you weren’t sure it was allowed.

“Can people spend the night in the bothies?” you asked him.

“Not supposed to, no,” he replied, sitting on the stone hearth and watching the flames. His eyes were alight with firelight. “People are supposed to go home or use the campsite on the other side of the park.” He blinked, breaking the spell of the fire and regarded you and your pack. “You were supposed to camp tonight?” You nodded. “Hmm,” he considered, “I suppose if the rain were to continue this way that you’d have no choice, but you should really go home if you can. I wouldn’t like to think of you camping in this weather.”

“That’s-“ you started, a little flabbergasted that he was thinking of you struggling to pop a tent up in this downpour. “That’s uh- very kind of you. I don’t think I’ll be doing that either. Going home as soon as the rain lets up is the general plan at this point. But if things get too late, I may at least get my mattress and my sleeping bag out. There’s room in here on the floor.”

“I can’t let you stay in here without telling my boss,” he said. “And he’s in the main building near the car park only until seven.” Billy looked worried and his knuckles rubbed at his nose again. You felt a sudden impulse to hold his hands and kiss his nose; the urge was so strong it was absurd.

You cleared your throat and shifted in the chair. “I don’t suppose you have a way of communicating with your boss?” you asked.

“I have my walkie,” he said. “I’ll try him now, shall I?”

“Be my guest,” you said.

He dug into an inside pocket of his jacket and brought out a solid-looking long-range walkie. He stepped to the door and signaled to his boss. The static was loud on the other end, but was soon drowned out by a peal of thunder from above. No response. “I think it’s the roof. Part tin, probably,” he said. “Signal’s useless.”

“You mean you have to go out into that torrent in order to tell your boss you’re trapped in the torrent?”

Billy smiled and shrugged. What choice did he have? “Besides,” he explained, “I’d have to report you too. Can’t have a car in the car park with no owner to match during a raging storm.” He cinched up his hood, zipped and buttoned up his coat and secured the sleeves more tightly around his wrists. “Be right back,” he said before stepping out into the storm.

You acted quickly. Because you had planned to stay overnight, you were also going to make use of the showers that were provided in the campground side of the preserve. One great fluffy yellow towel was pulled from your rucksack. This you placed on the table in anticipation of Billy’s return; he’d certainly be soaked and would need it.

You also set up your mattress on the floor, the battery-powered pump making quick work of inflating the mattress’s rectangular shape once you released it from its bag. You also took out your sleeping bag for good measure. It was big enough for two, but you had bought it that way on purpose. You hated to be confined while sleeping, but you loved to camp; it was a compromise to your senses.

The whole affair took only a few minutes and just as you were disconnecting the pump from the mattress, Billy returned. He was a sopping wet mess.

“Come to the fire, Billy,” you urged. “Get your coat off and dry yourself off.” You handed him your towel.

He pressed it to his face and thanked you at the same time, his voice sounding of muffled gratitude. The fringe above his eyes was soaked and he whipped off his hood and beanie and scrubbed at it. He took his heavy coat off and draped it over one of the other chairs around the table. He gave you a shy smile before taking a seat in the chair you had occupied, awkwardly hugging the towel to his chest and idly wiping at his face and neck. “Boss says, stay put. You have permission to stay the night, if you need to. He said the weatherman said it would be quite a blow. It’ll last hours. He’s packing things up and locking the gates early. Just headed to check the campsite wardens are prepared and then he’s going home.”

“Must be nice,” you muttered and you garnered a look of concern from him. “Sorry. It’s just I’ve been kicking myself over not checking the weather.”

He caught sight of the sleeping bag and mattress and nodded his head in their direction. “I suppose you knew what the answer would be, eh?”

“A girl likes to be prepared,” you said with a slightly embarrassed shrug. You stoked the fire with another piece of fresh firewood from the box before throwing it on. The heat it was producing was lovely. “Shall I make us a cuppa?” A slow smile crept over Billy’s face and his eyebrows raised. He nodded. You giggled, pleased that you could surprise him.

Ten minutes later, you both had steaming cups in your hands seated in front of a now raging fire that was radiating a delicious heat. The teapot/coffee pot kit you had bought came with two cups but you’d always just used one for brushing your teeth. It’s the first time you had gotten to use both of them as the manufacturer intended and it was kind of nice.

“How’s your finger?” he asked as he handed back his empty cup.

“It’s almost better.” You took up the tea things, giving them a quick rinse under the falling rain outside the front door and taking a moment to really watch the downpour. He came to the opening and put his hands out into the rain, rubbing them together, washing them.

“Almost?” he asked. Standing at your elbow, you turned to him, smiling, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“This is going to sound silly of me, but,” you began and walked back to your pack to stow your things. “But when I was a child… my mum, she would…” A wave of embarrassment came over you. “Ugh, it’s stupid. Sorry.”

“No. Go on. What is it, miss?” he asked, closing the door and wiping his hands on the towel you had provided him before and laying it gently over the back of one of the chairs to dry. “And how can I help?”

You blushed. “Oh, well…Could you… erm…Could you kiss it better?”

His mouth was an O of surprise. Regret twisted in your gut. You ruined it.

“Never mind. I’m sorry. I’m just being stupid. It’s just - you seem really sweet,” you explained. “You don’t have to. I just-“

In the firelight, he took your breath away. Slowly, gently, he took your hand in his own. His mouth met your bandaged finger. You watched as his perfect mouth met the plaster, not pressing, not to hurt, just to soothe any ache away, his soulful eyes never parting from yours. “Better now?”

Your breath caught and it took you a moment before you laughed nervously. “Much. Thank you.” He still held your hand and you still held his full attention when you asked: “Do you have a girl, Billy?”

His blush was beautiful. “Uh. N-no. Ju- uh, it’s just me, I’m afraid. N-no girl for me.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but sound disappointed. “No girls… at all?” Your meaning was evident. It wouldn’t be the first time you made this kind of mistake, but he had been giving you what you thought were all the proper signals for a heterosexual male.

His blush deepened. You hadn’t thought it possible. “Sorry, no! I like girls- love them! I mean… I just-“

“It’s okay, Billy,” you said, hurrying to allay his embarrassment. Your fingertips found his jaw and you stepped closer, his scent invading your senses. “I like you too.” This was a dance you weren’t used to doing. He seemed so skittish. If you were too bold, he might run. But he was so close. So close and looking at you like that.

His eyes drifted to your mouth and back. He wasn’t running. He was hoping. You could see it. You had to take a chance on tasting him.

Leaning up slowly, you touched his lips with yours only for him to react with a passion you didn’t expect. He cupped your face with his hands and let out a moaning sigh. Your hands wrapped around his waist. He felt so solid it made you weak. He turned his head and took you even deeper, tongue licking at your lips for permission. You couldn’t stop the sigh when you opened your mouth for him. He hummed back his pleasure.

If you weren’t wet before, you were now.

He was so delicious. Your hands fisted at the back of his jumper. The urge to climb him was overwhelming.

Billy was lost in the kiss, his hands drifting down your neck to brush the edges of your collarbones. But he hesitated and the kiss broke. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ve never- I mean, I have, but I’m not the sort of-“

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh you sweet man,” you cooed. “Come here.” Your arms came up and around his shoulders and you pressed another kiss to his mouth. He welcomed you in, hands respectfully on your hips, fingertips digging deeper as the kiss continued.

He was so gentle, it filled your heart to brimming. You found yourself winding your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, your body pressing into him. His hands came up and caressed your back, the left one high, tracing fingertips over the nape of your neck, the other low but not disrespectfully so, softly cradling your lower back.

Aching for him to touch you, your left hand traveled down to his right hand that was positioned at your low back. Taking it, you moved it under your jumper and you felt his fingers work at pulling your turtleneck’s hem up. Cool fingers touched your warm spine and you shivered and whimpered into his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, you asked, “Lie with me, Billy? Keep me warm. Let me do the same for you.”

He nodded silently against your lips and kissed you again, slowly. It was as if he were attempting to memorize every second that passed. It caused you to focus on little things: a glimpse of the crinkle between his brows as he kissed you again; the feel of the slick velvet of his tongue; the scent of him, complicated and woodsy; the gentle strength in his hands as he cradled you and pressed into your skin; the firm feel of him against you; his soft hair in your one fist as your other hand traced over his throat and collarbone.

The kiss broke with a wet smack and he asked you over hooded eyes: “Are you a dream?”

“No.”

“May I touch you more?”

“Yes.”

“May I kiss you more? In- in more places?”

You could feel his right hand leave your low back and the back of his knuckles drag along your side and around, loosening the shirt and dipping into the waistband of your leggings at your hipbone.

You nosed your face close to his ear and placed small kisses to the side of his face and right along the shell of his ear. “Yes, Billy. Anywhere you like, you sweet man. My protector. My good good boy.”

He let out a groan and his open mouth sucked at your pulse point at the same time his whole right hand made a dive to cup your mons, one thick finger just passing over your slit.

“Ohh fffuck!” you cried. It was all so sudden and smooth and you didn’t know the shy boy had it in him, but you didn’t want your surprise to stop him. “Yes, Billy. Please, Billy. Please.”

Matching the rhythm of his sucking kiss, his digit dipped deeper and deeper against your slit, brushing your clit, waking the fire in your belly. His other arm had wrapped around your waist to balance his pressure to your front. His arousal was pressing into you, rubbing against you, seeking out whatever friction he could find.

“May I confess something to you, miss?” You begged him to call you by your name. He pulled back long enough to meet your gaze before saying it like a sacred word. “May I confess?”

“Please,” your voice came out sounding as if you were the one who had to confess, not him.

He pressed his mouth to your ear in a tender kiss as his fingers continued their magic. “I saw you earlier this summer and I never forgot your face. I thought I would never see you again as I’d not seen you before. Thought you were an out-of-town day hiker. But then I saw you again. And twice more after that.

“Today I was low because I thought the season was over and you wouldn’t be back and now… today… here you were. And then the rain came. And now we’re stuck here. It’s like God smiled at me. But I didn’t dare push for more.

“But then you asked me to kiss your finger and I knew I didn’t want to stop but I must because you’re not mine. And then you kissed me and… and…now this. Touching you. It’s like God sent an angel.” He nuzzled at your pulse point again, eliciting another whine from you. “Are you an angel? Are you, petal?”

You didn’t have an answer for him. You were too dizzy at his words. Fortunately, your sweet keening at his speech was enough to encourage him to kiss you full on the mouth once more.

Your wetness doubled. Gasping at his touch, he softly caressed around and around against your clit, his tongue echoing his movements as he kissed you once more. It was intoxicating. You felt helpless at his touch, fists grasping at his jumper, wanting more, needing his skin against yours. And you weren’t alone in the need.

He moved behind you, his free hand snaking underneath your shirt and above your bra, caressing at the material over your left breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh beneath. His arousal was pressed firmly against you from behind and his arms pulled you further inward towards his hardened length. Facing the fire, you weren’t sure if the heat you felt was coming from it or the fire you had burning inside you.

Your face turned to accept his kisses, but you didn’t know where to put your hands at first, he had you at such a loss. Never in your life had you been surprised and pleased and lost in a man’s arms. Instinctively, you leaned back into him allowing your hands to settle on his, encouraging his touch.

He pushed his middle finger into your heat, causing you to moan into his mouth. His fingers were deliciously thick and your hips rolled against his hand automatically. Your knees were jelly and Billy adjusted his grip on you, wrapping his upper arm underneath your breasts and holding you upright as he continued to plunge his finger into you, pulsing slowly and gaining speed.

Breaking the kiss, it was all you could do to keep your footing when his thumb came back to your clit. You gasped for breath. Never in your life had your climax came so quickly. Instantly, your right hand came up behind Billy’s head. You pressed your temple to his cheek and held on for dear life as your orgasm ripped through you just as the lightning outside ripped through the sky. The thunder that followed drowned out your screams of Billy’s name.

“Oh, petal,” Billy sighed, pressing small kisses into the side of your hair and face. “You are so beautiful like this.”

Your senses slowly recovered. As they did, you found yourself still in his arms, his hand still over your sex, but his fingers withdrawn. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck whispering words of praise and thankfulness: “So good for me. So beautiful. Your body is perfect. I’m so lucky. So happy. Are you happy, angel?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “Yes, Billy. I am.” It occurred to you that he was still unsatisfied. You turned in his arms. “Take your clothes off. I need to taste you.” Sealing your words with a kiss, you stripped yourself bare and unzipped the sleeping bag, loosely throwing half of it over your naked frame to ward off any chill.

There was a dazed look on his face as he watched you settle yourself inside on your tummy. Propped up on your elbows you smiled at him and cocked your head, clearly waiting for him. “Come on, shy boy. You made me feel so good. Come here and let me do the same for you.”

“I’m dreaming,” he whispered. “I have to be dreaming.”

You giggled, delighted. “Good dream?”

“The best dream I’ve ever had,” he said, slowly removing his boots and letting each drop to the ground. His jumper and layered shirts went next, as he still regarded you with awe - blinking as though he was expecting you to disappear any second.

You were pleased at what you were seeing: a fit figure, with a bit of pudge at his navel. His brown happy trail was covered by his erect prick as soon as he released it from his trousers and the material fell to the floor. He slipped off his socks in an awkward jumping motion as he approached you and quickly entered the sleeping bag. He was so goofy and appreciative. It was delightful.

You wasted no time pressing yourself to him and capturing him in another kiss. The feel of his skin was everything. He was warm and firm as you rolled him onto his back, kissing down his chest, circling a fingernail around his erect nipple, your eyes never leaving his as you made your way down his alabaster skin. You licked at his navel, throwing him a teasing smile. His returning smile and little boy giggle lit you from within.

You moved down his body, positioning yourself between his legs. Your gaze had still not shifted from his and your reward was to see him backlit by the fire, his eyes glistening, seemingly reflecting the fire behind him. You sat back on your feet and brought his knees up with a guiding hand, parting them gently, smoothing your hands along the insides of his thighs toward his hard cock.

Billy’s hands were above his head clinging desperately to the top of the inflatable mattress and he already looked wrecked. His lips were pink and kiss-swollen, his chest flushed. You saw him swallow hard in anticipation. His breath was coming in pants and you hadn’t even touched him yet. His weeping cock, thick and uncut, curved slightly to his right. It was dripping precum on his stomach. You licked a fat stripe on his tummy, cleaning off the salty precum and giggling. “Messy boy.”

“S-sorry, miss. C-can’t help it. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Mmm…” you hummed, “So are you, lovely boy. God, I want to taste more.” You put your nose to his balls and licked just underneath them. Billy gasped and giggled, flinching. “Easy, pretty boy,” you scolded, pressing soothing baby kisses to his balls. “I’m just exploring.” You couldn’t help but notice his cock twitch.

You opened your mouth wide and took in one of his testicles, sucking on it gently before releasing it with a wet pop. He grunted with pleasure and you smiled to yourself as you turned your attention to his other testicle. The musk of him filled your senses as you gently suckled and pulled off.

“You taste so good, Billy,” you cooed. “Can I suck your cock? Would you like that?”

“Yes, please,” he said, still gasping and panting, watching you with fascinated cow eyes.

You licked a fat stripe up the underside of his prick. The sound that came out of Billy was a cross between a curse and a groan. It was the best thing you’ve ever heard. You took his cock in your hand and spit on the head.

“Fuck me,” Billy whimpered as you gave his cock a few slow strokes, spreading your spit and his precum together.

“Happily, sweet boy. But first: this?” you cooed just before swallowing his cock as far as you could.

He marveled at you. So beautiful and doing your best to pleasure him. And you were very good at it. He found himself writhing beneath you, using all of his willpower not to let his instinct take over and cant his hips up into your wet mouth.

You were drooling as you worked, but it only served to create a slicker surface as you pumped his cock with your mouth. Gently, you massaged his scrotum, delighting to hear him moan above you and call your name. He was desperate for release. You felt his cock twitch in your hand as you pulled off and worked him in your fist. You spit on his head again, watching it mix into the slick that was already there.

“Want to come inside me like this, Billy?” you asked, but Billy was too far gone. His eyes were glassy and his mouth hung open. “Billy? Sweet boy? You have to use your words, baby.” You crawled up to him, shifting your grip on his cock so that you could lie beside him and stroke him off. “Hmm? Did you want to come in my mouth or my pussy, Billy?”

His beautiful dark eyes met yours. Another lightning strike lit you both starkly. The rumble of thunder that followed echoed in Billy’s voice as he tried to form scattered thoughts into stuttered words. “M- my angel. Are you m- mine? C- can you be?”

“I would love to be yours,” you said, placing small kisses to his temple and cheek. “I want you to claim me, Billy. Mark me as yours. Come inside me. Deep inside. Will you do that?”

A feral look came into his eyes. “Mine.”

“Yours.”

Instantly you were on your back, his cock laying perfectly between your folds as he pressed his length along your gash. He ground his hips into you as he gazed down on you, his elbows braced on either side of your head. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips, encouraging him closer, deeper.

“All mine,” he whispered into your hair. “Mine. Soft and warm and mine.”

You canted your hips upward toward him, the drag of his cock along your clit driving you insane. You needed more. You captured his mouth in a soft, slow kiss, moaning your desire into his heat. Slowly, your belly coiled and you chased your orgasm, pressing more kisses to his mouth and jaw and neck and praying that this man would indeed let you be his for the rest of forever.

The world tilted and you spilt over its edge, crying out Billy’s name to challenge the storm that surrounded you both.

Before you came down, his tip was at your entrance and you exhaled and let him in. Still wet from his fingering, it didn’t solve all of the burn that came from his cock spitting you in two. You wrapped your legs around him even tighter and locked your ankles, easing the thickness of him deeper and deeper inside you until you felt his balls against your ass.

“Petal?” His forehead was against yours. “Alright?”

“More than alright, Billy. My Billy. Lovely Billy. Good Billy. Hard. So hard. Fuck me, and thick too. Shit. Need you. Need this. Need to be all yours, Billy baby. Please. Make me yours.”

His hips withdrew and snapped forward, stealing the breath from your body. You cried out, but only in surprise as you begged him for more. It didn’t take Billy long to start a harsh rhythm squelching and slapping inside you for minutes at a time until finally, achingly, he pulled out of you completely and you gasped at the loss and whined for his warmth. Wordlessly, and without taking his eyes off you, he gently placed your legs against his shoulders and re-inserted himself inside you. And then, slowly - agonizingly slowly - he ground in… and out… and around.

His hips circled and grazed your g-spot over and over in the most delicious way. Your toes curled. Your eyes rolled up into the back of your head. And you heard yourself babble nonsensical gibberish into the room. Absently, you felt Billy kiss your neck and praise you: “Such a good girl. My girl. Want this. Want you. Make you mine right now. So tight for me. So warm. Going to come so hard for you, petal. Going to burst deep inside you.”

“Yes, Billy,” you sighed, “show the world who owns me. Show the world I’m yours. Come for me, you brilliant b- boy! OH!” Your next orgasm forced its way from your core to your brain in seconds and as you rolled with the wave of it, arching your back and clawing at Billy’s shoulders. In reaction, he filled you up with his cock with a rapid pounding that had him whimpering when he finally came inside you, your name on his lips, kissing it into your skin.

You lay together, frozen and panting for quite a few minutes, not wanting the feeling to end. Not wanting to separate into the two of you instead of the one combined. You felt your pussy throb and flutter around him, as if to say don’t go don’t go don’t go…

But soon muscles went slack and the end had to be acknowledged.

He moved above you, struggling to lift his head to look into your eyes. “Alright, petal?”

“Never better, love,” you smiled and kissed him sweetly. He slipped out of you and you groaned with the loss. He sat up and messed with the bottom of the sleeping bag. It took you only a second to realize, but at the sound of the zipper, you knew he was sealing the bag and settling both of you in for the night. He turned to you and held his arms out. Obligingly, you curled into him, sated and happy.

“Are you really mine?” he asked you, whispering your name into the fire lit room.

“I don’t think I could ever let you go, Billy,” you murmured. Tilting your head upward, you met his eyes. “You feel like home to me.”

“You too,” he said and kissed you gently. Cuddling you close, you felt so safe and warm. Dreams took you, but come morning, you would have plenty of time to discover that no dream could compare with the reality of Billy Knight in your life.

#A Little Shelter #fanfic #writing #billy knight #billy knight strike #billy knight smut #billy knight x reader #billy knight x fem!reader #joseph quinn #joe quinn

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Childhood Headcanons

These particular, sort of apocryphal headcanons (depends on who believes what after all) provide further context for the brothers' childhood under the constraints of my canon-divergent fic, "When Lightning Falls," that was proved wrong by canon after the release of Fall.

There's also an accompanying Creation Theory I made up, to provide context for the fic, which becomes especially relevant here.

And, if anyone's wondering, this post has been around for far too long—I just never posted it some while after the fic itself was done. I have a lot of stuff on backlog anyway, and figured I may as well edit and post this.

⸻

Note:

Most of these thoughts focus on Rafal, and there is a slightly dark undercurrent that runs throughout this post.

⸻

First, the brothers were originally foundlings, like in the fairy tales of yore.

Fittingly, they have been the youngest and the oldest beings ever to live at the School, at different points in time.

At first, they led a deathly existence, an insecure, unstable one, with potential death at every turn.

Rafal became used to death threats, and being called "demon spawn." He hardened in response. Ever townspeople tried to ward him off, but their feeble sigils did no good, did no true harm against him and his latent sorcery, even whilst he was still learning magic.

They were found, possibly, doddering around in the Woods, on the outskirts of the School, at somewhere from three to five years old? So, they conveniently have little to no memory of their existence beforehand, as vagrants, outcasts, rejects, waifs, who knows—they were alone in the world.

The twins crashed through the brambles, clothes torn, faces scratched, scrapes on their limbs, drenched by the rain, just... waiting to be taken in like strays, as if they simply... appeared.

Rhian trailed after Rafal who forged a path ahead, until they emerged in the light of a clearing, as if guided by the hand of fate, to the School for Good and Evil.

Shortly after their discovery, they became the youngest students to ever attend the school.

Of course, taking them in was the Good thing to do, but perhaps, if we let conspiracy run rampant, the Storian had a hand in the proceedings.

Oddly enough, the Pen just might have brainwashed all the faculty to come to the unanimous agreement of raising the brothers as their own, among the lot of them. How odd that they agreed for once, the one time in decades that Good and Evil have agreed on any matter.

It was probably done for the greater fate of the Woods, the way they were all swayed by the Storian, nearly unconsciously.

And so, they came to terms with the new status quo because there seemed to be something behind this decision of the Pen's, that was greater than they could ever know, or so they believed.

They accepted it. They didn't question it because it was so obviously the Storian's doing. Controlling their minds that had already been made for them. No chance to decide for themselves.

But, they let the Storian handle it, handed over all control to the Storian. Because, no one, not even the highest ranking sorcerer or fairy godmother of either School, or lord or lady could have taken issue with what the Storian did. No one went against it. No one could. Contradicting it would have been a death wish just waiting to happen.

And they all knew that. They knew that very well, considering the nature of the tales they taught.

Eventually, they came to the common conclusion that these children must have been their future School Masters.

Thus, they took the Storian's apparent decision to heart because it wasn't their place to step in.

No one could overrule the Pen, so they lived with it, and continued to train the mysterious, foundling brothers—while they worried for their lives and all that was to come.

That particular set of faculty became a little like the brothers' parents, until they died off, one by one, each from old age or the occupational hazards of working at such a School.

Their professional lives were demanding and they didn't pay as much attention to the brothers as they should have.

All they could do was follow through and hope the Pen had charted the right course, that it chose well in the end.

Even if they would never live to see the future, they were aware they had played a monumental role in securing safety and balance for the Woods, by acting as these children's first, human influences.

⸻

"When Lightning Falls" takes place around three years after the brothers' arrival, when they're about seven, so they've had time to have grown used to the schools.

Everything has become a bit mundane to them. There's nothing new because it's all they've ever known and grown up with, unlike the incoming students' experience of the manor every four years.

So, they've never been around peers their own age, which led to Rhian feeling special and becoming fragile with no challengers and to Rafal gaining a massive superiority complex.

During those years is when Rafal starts on his skepticism, early in life.

Rafal starts to question the Pen, and ask why of everything and everyone that can possibly answer him, or that would answer him if he persisted and probed enough, and didn't relent. And he threatens his way to the answers, to get his way, to figure out what makes everything in this world of theirs tick.

It's the only way he knows, to bribe or exchange, even unethically, or to beat and to hassle information out of others, to trap them in their own bedchambers or offices and not release them until they answered him or fulfilled his demands.

He learned the word "leverage" early on, and the Evil faculty thought he was a prodigy.

He doesn't know any other way because the Never faculty took him in first, claimed him as one of their own. They took a liking to him and his silence, over his crybaby brother.

Predictably, the Never faculty were rough around the edges and they never showed displays of pleading and begging, so Rafal never did that, even as a child.

He never learned the art of apologizing either. Everyone was remiss to let that pass by... but it was too late.

He refused to resort to such means as begging, to lower himself in that way, like Rhian would, even at such a young age, because he wasn't taught mercy. He was told kindness was a weakness and that justice was right. And so, even as a young child, he maintained an adult-like level of dignity in how he conducted himself, always.

Meanwhile, he'd look on at his brother, and wonder: why is he acting so childishly? Having Evil imposed on him forced Rafal to grow up sooner, before his time.

Evil taught him never to whine and whinge, to never cry to get his way. He could already get his way, by other, more sinister means. Cleverer, more artful, more guileful means besides, and in doing so, he could still feel superior, boosting his ego, inflating it and inflating it as a result.

So, that was what he'd grown up around. It was the natural way of things, to him.

At least, this is how children ought to be treated in his eyes, simple as that. And he turned out fine, didn't he? Of course he did. No question about it. He's him, and he's great. The best. Superior to all others, everyone else in his school.

He probably considered himself the smartest little boy alive, not necessarily the most knowledgeable, but the most clever or capable of outwitting others, of negotiating deals, and plotting schemes and doing other, crooked deeds. He thought himself smart in that artful sense, skilled to the point that he could outfox adults over twice his age, outdoing the teenage students in everything he did.

Oh, and if certain knowledge were established as forbidden? Rafal would still try all the more diligently to go after it. That's how he contended with all things.

And what of Rhian? To Rafal, Rhian was naive. Secretly, Rafal never considered Rhian his match. No way, no how. That brother of his couldn't tell Good from Evil in the simplest of challenges.

The Evil faculty were decently well-meaning, thinking Rafal would be good villain material, but again, they weren't exactly attentive or warm or caring like Good's faculty was in "parenting" Rhian.

They weren't neglectful either, but still, Rafal was left to his own devices outside of lessons, and he grew accustomed to being alone when Rhian wasn't around to play with him. Not that he really played that frequently.

Thus, time passed, and the staff believed the twins to be foundlings. That they were adopted, taken in under their wings. Children of the School.

In reality, the twins were children of the Storian.

Everyone knowingly buys into the lie because they didn't want to think beyond the present. They wanted to believe the brothers were of woman-born, abandoned, and insignificant. But, the truth could only be delayed, not buried.

The brothers are foundlings, they all said, persistently. That's what most of the faculty believed, and that's what the brothers were led to think.

Yet, a select few knew their actual purpose of existence: the brothers were not being trained up to follow the Rules of fairy tales themselves—they were being trained up to rule. (Or rather, "rule" as figureheads for the greater Pen.)

They were bound to the School grounds, and only a few people, none in living memory, knew they belonged to the Storian...

⸻

Any thoughts anyone?

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #rafal #rafal mistral #rhian #rhian mistral #sge #sfgae #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #my post #my theories #my headcanons #the storian #storian #artificial life #man vs. pen #when lightning falls #wlf

[azulyrae]

❛ —— 𝐈 : The Pawn.

his life had been but a recurrent and miserable passing of time; plagued by the constant questioning regarding his value; the nagging behind the point of his meaningless existence and the place he occupied in the reality in which he was inserted. azriel had not lived; rather survived, doomed to loneliness despite the amount of friends he had made. one could not be overjoyed with such a fate; one could not see the point to insist on the stubbornness of life, if one could not share it with a partner.

after five centuries, azriel had felt the bond snap inside his heart; a dagger that tore the flash of the muscle; whose blade twisted and spilled his blood. for once, his agony was but self-inflicted; the pain, a consequence of the emotional absence of [name] archeron, his lightning bolt. azriel had been a lonesome wanderer, grasping to an abstract concept and companion that had finally found him mid-travel. and after quiet ponder and the insistence of his mate’s sisters, the shadowsinger decided to steal her from the tortuous path of self-sacrifice, and led the queen and king of their chess game to quite an experimental and potentially catastrophic game.

the first chapter of onyx sword of sorrow.

check the original post to be aware of the trigger warnings.

azriel/fem!archeron sister. reader with mind control & the ability to shapeshift.

word-count: 10K.

“I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.”

― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

The leisure room’s stillness brought the male comfort. His thoughts, once a swirl of revolt, were reduced to mere pondering. The sound of his pacing, incessant during the first half-hour of his arrival, ceased with the time spent in silence. Azriel sat on his most favored elbow-chair: made of charcoal-colored leather; with enough width to accommodate his wings; the one further from the hearth; and had not left since then. The hollow pair of his eyes were fixed on the peeling brown-paint of the walls near the shelves — even if they did not perceive a thing.

When he had reached the familiar space of the House of Wind, Azriel scurried to the least frequented room and enclosed himself inside. By then, the sun held itself with pride in the middle of the day sky, burning and fierce, while a warm whiff entered sporadically through the opened doors of the balcony and the wind swayed the linen curtains. The Shadowsinger poured himself a generous amount of aged scotch with ice and proceeded to lose himself in mute and almost betrayed speculation.

The male didn’t need, nor did he ask, for the eventual reports of his shadows regarding the time passage. Azriel could deduce the lingering of his presence according to the light’s position. Although he had drowned the first dose of whiskey inside a luminous room, by the time his twentieth one doused his sore throat, the full-moon shone, its bright light a rival to the countless stars in Velaris’ night sky.

The House lit the hearth at least three hours prior, and Azriel commanded it to extinguish the flames. It wasn’t the first time, and the Spymaster doubted it’d be the last too, in which he wasted precious periods of his day staring into the meaningless and oppressive void; seconds and minutes and hours converging into a single unity until Azriel could no longer discern, nor notice, their passage. Pale and ethereal, the weak moonrays entered the ambient — that grew more frigid as dusk arrived — and the peeled pattern of the old tint could scarcely be seen in comparison to the daytime’s. But Azriel would’ve been able to point each furniture with precision, or move without hesitation, for he knew every centimeter that constituted the House of Wind’s extension. More than all, the Spymaster could’ve reached a particular point of the leisure room even if he was tied and blinded.

His sight burnt figurative holes in the untouched chess board, still secured inside the store’s package, despite the fact that it had been gifted to her months before, during the Winter Solstice. It rested under a pile of unwrapped presents, each thoroughly thought and given by a member of the Inner Circle. His High-Lady, Mor and Elain had spent weeks trying to convince her to join them for the Winter Solstice, their promises of amusing and private festivities not fazing her in the slightest. So, before their departure, Azriel had told Clotho to leave their gifts somewhere in the library where she would see them, for not a soul managed to learn where she had ventured to. When he returned and found the damned pile, Azriel felt a sudden wave of rage trespass his very being. Because the Spymaster lacked Cassian’s patience, such an offense was not ignored.

Azriel was left both enchanted and wary once his eyes fell upon her figure for the first time. Prythian was close to war against Hybern then, and they were in dire need of allies. In order to contact the Mortal Queens, Feyre had resorted to her sisters, and though she’d granted them an overview of their personalities and shared past, the female was particularly vague regarding the older one. The Spymaster was half-expecting fidgeting and condescending women, quite uninteresting and avoidant. However, she held none of those said characteristics.

With briefness, she had informed Feyre of the occurrences the sister had missed after her return to the Fae Lands. Their father sailed to where she theorized to be the farthest west, and with the man gone, her, the oldest — [Name] — was in charge of their coin, the employees, and their mansion’s maintenance. Feyre once confessed that was it not for one of her sister’s sacrifices, she would never have survived a single winter to wield a bow. The fact alone granted the said woman great respect amongst them all, though her identity was only confirmed when Azriel and his brothers faced that force of nature.

Feyre had advised — rather threatened them — to maintain a certain and specific distance. The three were given no further details, yet, were all glad to adhere to her orders. Still, with her clear avoidance regarding the topic and the deep sorrow in her eyes whenever she covered her older sister’s brief character, Azriel had managed, to a certain extent at least, to connect the pieces of the puzzle. And with what he presumed to be a precise knowledge, the Spymaster expected a strong, yet secluded woman; one who’d offer her home out of consideration for Feyre without engaging with their troubles any further.

How wrong he was.

When the soon-to-be High-Lady informed the three sisters of their need, Nesta’s discontentment came in brisk and sharp words, while Elain remained silent and, in fact, quite nervous over the prospect of a discussion. But all [Name] had asked her sister was whether she’d need anything more. As if offering Feyre her home was no bother; as if she was willing to offer her entire being, if it meant granting the youngest sister a solace of her own.

She led them to the private office upstairs, and Azriel absorbed the small glimpse of her ferocious spirit, overwhelmed by her scent and presence in every centimeter of the room. A shelf took over an entire wall; there were countless maps of the Mortal Lands plastered on a mural, most with colorful arrows traced with either red or blue paint, as if to showcase hot and warm currents; and an enormous table placed on the center, with pages whose scriptures varied from long, handwritten notes to numbers and formulas Azriel himself couldn’t understand, despite the five centuries he’d lived. The chessboard was the last thing he saw. It was placed in a corner, a melancholic sight to a male as himself, who adored the strategies and competition the game’s matches granted him. [Name] had no opponent; no friend she could invite to play against.

The Spymaster had then noticed the clear loneliness of the Archeron sisters. He could still remember Feyre’s haunted and paranoid figure, resorting to self-isolation for she was not taught to accept the offering hand of potential allies. The parallels were absurd as [Name] fished a silver-necklace from her dress’ collar, using the small key hanging from it to open one of the many drawers from the center table. And from the inside, the mortal pulled a detailed plant of the mansion’s entire extension. She was distant, her words were sharp and matter-of-fact. Yet, the older sister was analytical and prone to listen, quick to action and unafraid to voice her opinions. Despite their five centuries of experience, [Name] somehow managed to catch on to a concept or idea the brothers oversaw, and didn’t hesitate to point clear errors on their strategies, nor was she embarrassed to acknowledge possible improvements regarding her schemes. And once Azriel noticed the manner with which Feyre’s eyes shone with pride and admiration; how close they held one another when the female was to return to Velaris; he knew [Name] had, unbeknownst to her, passed some of her coping skills to the younger sister.

During the first reunion with the mortal queens, they were all left with a sour instinct and anticipation. Yet, [Name] was the single one immediately sure of their betrayal, as if, somehow, the female grasped onto aspects of their stances and personalities the others overlooked. It was her certainty that drove Rhysand to order Azriel to return regularly to the Archeron mansion until their next scheduled reunion. While his High-Lord was off to the Summer Court, the Spymaster was inside that same private office, studying more recent mansion-plants that [Name], somehow, convinced the architects to let her borrow, as Nesta watched them like a hawk with an untouched novel in her hands.

As expected, [Name] was indeed detached and blunt; disdainful, even, when annoyed. The surprise of it all, whatsoever, came with the fact that she was also hotheaded. [Name] seemed to him as a powerful fortress. Her words coated in sarcasm, voiced with little forethought or regret; her ruthless honesty and logic. She was not warm, nor was she raised to. Instead, [Name] was reliable. The tree that never bent; the castle built on a mountain rock, impenetrable and magnificent. One would not imagine that under such coldness hid a chaotic thunderstorm. A well-phrased insult and he could almost catch a glimpse of her lightning; an arrogant grin to prove her wrong and he could see a twitch in her plain features. Azriel, surprisingly, noted that he quite enjoyed the act of annoying the oldest and provoking a reaction. Even better, for his own personal and secretive satisfaction, the male also proved to be great at it. 

But once those banters were put aside, one would notice that [Name] wasn’t cruel nor prideful, and whenever Nesta grew tired of their technicalities, with Elain assuming the chaperone’s position instead, Azriel managed to strike less task-driven conversations.

He learned that [Name] first engaged in chess matches at the ripe age of seven, when, bored to no end, she saw their old mansion’s chief of cuisine play by himself. The man taught her well, and what he could not answer, she searched for in books. The mortal was dutiful to her studies, quick-witted and with keen observation skills that, combined to her well-chosen words, left every single one of her father’s late investors at her disposal, regardless of her young age. And when they weren’t lost in provocations and meaningless competitions related to who could come up with the most logical and efficient strategies to the possible outcomes of their encounter with the Mortal Queens, Azriel enjoyed sharing stories of Prythian with [Name], covering the continent’s territories, and listening to her theories. His favorite part of the whole interaction was noticing how the woman’s eyes would shine with anticipation, her imagination running wild at his words. He noticed then, her endless fierceness; how her core shook with thunder and catastrophe. There was more than the simple desire to learn more of the world; there was rage for what she would never see, resentment for her mortal limitations, and grief for the one she could’ve been.

Although he didn’t quite consider her a friend, Azriel wasn’t blind to their similarities either. The eldest of their respective families; the ones assigned to the ugliest, most dutiful aspects of their homes; the paranoid and distant personalities that granted both of them a fearsome first impression. He had no doubt she would’ve made whatever sacrifice, gone whichever length necessary, to free her sisters from related burdens. And — she had once said — if the trail ahead required her to taint her hands red, [Name] would comply, wash them after the process was done, and repeat the cycle for as long as it was needed.

Azriel had spent his almost half-six centuries of miserable existence yearning for a twin-flame; one that would be more pure and moral, empathetic and sweet, less prone to brutal logic and violence. The Spymaster once believed that if Morrigan, the female of pure altruism and resplendent strength, was to bless him with reciprocal love, she would purify the darkness within him; adore him until he learned to see himself through her perspective. Yet, during those comfortable conversations, Azriel couldn’t contradict the inherent truth of the fantastical feeling of being thoroughly understood. Although he remained sick and twisted, a vile creature built on hatred and violence and revenge, the male found that [Name], with her bottled rage and strength; her obstination to understand various concepts; to surround herself in theories and studies and schemes; to gather private informations from possible threats just in case; was a more comforting companion than a pure, immaculate female could ever be.

Azriel had no expectations, whatsoever, to match the mortal’s good heart. He caught a glimpse of her paperwork once, and noted that she was investing part of the re-gained family’s coin in business in less fortunate regions to increase the employment tax. Feyre had also told them that her sister learned not one, but three different languages in a decade, to communicate better with the foreign investors, and to aid the illegal immigrants that worked for their family at the seaport. And though it didn’t seem possible that [Name] could understand and match his struggles, during the quietest moments of dawn, Azriel liked to pretend otherwise.

Duties, however, were a constant call, and the Shadowsinger was assigned to spy on the Mortal Queens, rather than to return to the Archeron’s household. The bitterness on his tongue lingered through it all, both from the unforeseen difficult character of his mission, and from the sudden thought of Cassian visiting the mansion by himself. However, whatever infatuation Azriel labored for her, grew cold during the aftermath of Hybern’s mischievous plan.

[Name] was the first. She was chained, and struggled in her fight as the males threw her inside the Cauldron. The sight of her desperation was overbearing. He had wanted to slash those who held her in half; needed to protect her from the rising waters of her past. His sudden response to her screams was what granted him a week-worth of time spent on a sickbed, for the single movement to reach her had been enough for the poison to spread. Hybern was astute enough to catch on to the female’s importance to her sisters; he knew that, by destroying her fighting spirit, the other three would soon follow. However, the Cauldron expelled her after no more than half a minute, as if whatever happened between their brief encounter, whatever it saw in her, was too disturbing; vile; dangerous. It didn’t wait for Hybern’s soldiers to grab the borders and turn it, throwing the female on the ground in the process. 

No, the Cauldron moved on its own, the pitch-black water stinking of surprise and desperation when the artifice fell and the female arose, reborn. Hybern himself had been shocked and afraid. For the months that ensued, Azriel wondered if his poisoned mind had deceived his sight, for he had met the sister’s eyes then, and stared into the thin pupils of a dragon; he wondered whether the poison was to blame for the devastating tug on his heart, the brief light that sliced through the darkness of his core and shook his very being with its power.

However, when he next saw her, [Name] was a High-Fae — taller, her movements more fluid, and a stance that was both terrifying and compelling. Yet, it was the sheer strength and promise of violence that undid him. The eyes that met his own were determined and hostile, challenging and commanding, as if [Name] noted her enforced physique and decided not to hesitate if the time urged her to use them. She was desirable and breath-taking as a mortal, with hypnotizing complexions, too; a woman aware of her attributes and influence and unafraid to use them as she saw fit. But being a High-Fae made her more lethal, a fantastic and splendid female granted with the means necessary to pursue her goals, to back up the violence hidden under the sarcastic retorts.

Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. He wasted precious centuries pitying himself, for he had been assigned the burden of aggression. His hands were scarred and eternally tainted with blood, vile things that were the living proof of his fate. However, [Name] embraced the future the Mother drew; she’d be the serpent and the bite and the venom; she’d be the tortuous pain that preceded death. And if that meant protecting herself and those she cared for, the guilt would be non-existent. Nothing but twenty-five, and the female made peace with the demons that had been plaguing him for five centuries. 

She had a pile of books clutched against her chest, and maps that depicted what seemed to be the detailed territory of every Court and Faerie Realm of Prythian, rolled up and secured between her biceps and forearm. His shadows began to hum a soft and low ballad, dancing around their bodies. The Spymaster waited for [Name] to recoil, yet, she stared at the dark-tendrils of smoke with slight curiosity and the gleam of something else. Her eyes moved between his shadows, in a manner he learned to be those of her scheming. The hall in which the Spymaster stumbled upon [Name]’s renewed powerful figure seemed to diminish as he, enchanted, stepped closer. However, the curiosity that pooled in her eyes a second prior turned into hard-steel, a sense of despise and deception covering the grateful stare. Azriel noted the silver-blue color of the dragon’s eyes; the thin pupils of a violent storm retributing his entranced glance. His steps ceased; his shadows recoiled; and Azriel managed, a tad too late, to mask the hurt from his features.

The male wasn’t sure of what he had done wrong. Nevertheless, despite his initial surprise, and after a more attentive glance, he managed to find the hidden signs under the fearsome veil of those hard-expressions and astute irises. [Name] was in a disheveled state, with purple bags under the tired eyes and a mark between her eyebrows, of what he presumed to be left by constant worry. Azriel found himself wordless, sent into a foreign state of near-fidgeting. Ever since he’d left the burdens of a green-boy behind, Azriel had ceased to be nervous around females. He was desirable, confident, and managed to seduce them just fine, with no need for a repertoire filled with poems and romance quotes. But with [Name], it was as though the green-boy had returned, now laughing at his matured silence and nervousness. He yearned for the previous camaraderie, but had no clue of which phrases to use in order to reach it.

His hesitation wasn’t well-received. The female’s grip on her books grew tighter, and a sudden, powerful scent filled the air as she said: “If there’s nothing you wish to tell me, clear the way.”

He remained glued into place. Even if the Spymaster attempted to move left and grant her a free passage, his body had turned into nothing but a wayward bag of aching bones. For Azriel had words unsaid, his muscles were stiff and unnatural. He closed his fists in frustration, aware that his eyes were a pool of hatred. Not even his shadows ought to move, paralyzed in the scarce space between him and the female.

“You’re looking like crap,” he lied, for [Name] hadn’t demanded him to be true in his statement, only to speak up.

[Name] didn’t flinch nor showcased hurt, as if she’d found the real aspect of his thoughts somewhere within his cloaked expression. He wouldn’t confess his desire to hold what he presumed to be quite a heavy pile of books; to help her find whatever information she was searching for; to offer the distraction of a long and well-pondered chess match. Yet, her eyes flickered with acceptance and sorrow, the fate of a self-imposed loneliness one thought to be worthy of.

“I don’t need your help,” [Name] said. Grasping onto the late thoughts of lending an aiding hand seemed as though trying to capture water with a closed fist. Whenever the male found himself close enough to the instinctive wish to help, it slipped through his fingers as a volatile liquid. Despite his best efforts, Azriel caught himself fighting against the sudden lack of free-will, for, once again, nor his mind or body were his own. “You won’t offer to help me, either. I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own.”

“Of course you are,” he agreed in a haze, his words sounding slurred and disconnected.

The Spymaster hated himself for being susceptible to that treacherous manipulation; hated her for wielding it, too, and displaying all but a small remorse in the process of stealing his freedom. He connected the lines then; from the venomous scent of power to the abrupt fear of the Cauldron when it had expelled her. A hypnotizing voice, one that managed to control even his intangible companions. He wondered where the limitations of such power were placed, while fearing there were none. The previous concern related to whether or not he should propose to carry her books seemed small and meaningless in comparison to the inescapable authority he was trapped under. He, instead, began to fear for his entire Court, for there was nothing besides, perhaps, her sisters, capable of stopping [Name] from stealing Velaris from under their noses.

“I have no intentions to cause harm,” she said, waving his worries as though they were a nagging fruit-fly. Opposite from the female’s previous statements, this one didn’t feel as a demand of her part. The well-justified suspicions remained rooted in his mind, instead of slipping through his consciousness before he could even process the thought. 

However, what scared him the most was the fact that [Name]’s mental-powers surpassed those of a daemati. The Shadowsinger never once left his mind-barrier unattended; it had been a wall of revested, pitch-black steel, ever since he learned of the existence of those able to read his thoughts. He was sure they were intact, and yet, she slipped inside as if it meant nothing.

“Meaning you draw the line at generalized battles, but find it acceptable to read one’s mind without their verbal permission,” Azriel retorted. The male crossed his arms against his chest, the anger overpowering the modest shine that accompanied the beating of his heart. The Spymaster looked down on her, resorting to the glance he used to terrify his opponents and prisoners. He had noticed a tad too late that his stance mirrored his father’s, and both disgust and regret enclosed his once arrogant and spiteful stance.

But rather than recoiling, [Name] raised her chin, the eyes of the dragon returning with a barely-contained rage that matched his own. “I was thrown inside a Cauldron without granting them permission to do so; I was Made and kept hostage inside a Fae-house I’m not allowed to leave. My youngest sister is gone, and I wield powers that are directly connected to emotions I’ve spent my entire life repressing. I can’t control whose minds I can read. This place is cacophony of thoughts and fears, and I would’ve given the entirety of my lost riches to be mortal again; to not hear the suicidal and terrified intents of my sisters.”

Azriel felt a sense of shame creeping up his spine. Even if his anger of her commands for him to remain distant, and ignoring his every nerve rebelling against doing so, had lingered, the Spymaster found quite a soft-spot upon hearing her point of view. She seemed pained and confused, a lashing animal that adorned herself with claws and fangs, scales and poison, because she failed to envision a different perspective. The sudden reminder of Feyre’s tendency to self-isolate and self-sacrifice, and from who she’d taken said characteristics, went as a brisk breeze, refreshing his consciousness for too little: since the acknowledgement of [Name]’s pain meant he’d want nothing but to reach for her and help, and the female had denied him that right.

He had never resented her more, doubted he ever would. The pressure, placed upon his jaw because of the effort to struggle against those commands, was quick to bring an ache. The Spymaster had no doubt that soon, the too quiet hall would be filled with the sound of the crack of his bones.

“I can manage by myself, I don’t need nobody,” she repeated, the slight mark reappearing between her eyebrows as her expression shifted into one of obstinate confusion. 

Despite the order, Azriel’s insistence prevailed; his words were near to spill, that fucking, stupid offering to carry her books, but the scent of her hypnotizing power managed to inebriate his senses at last. 

“I. Don’t. Need. Nobody. It’s my tragedy alone to endure.”

The resistance must’ve faded from his features, for the female’s eyes returned to their normal appearance, and she passed through him. Their shoulders touched — Azriel’s bare muscles brushing against her clothed skin — and a terrible shiver went through her. The female gritted her teeth, searching for that armor of nonchalance and uninterest. 

“I don’t need nobody,” she said, his back facing her own. “But Elain does. She’s lost, and I’m sure you owe me no favors, but my sister treated you well during our scheming afternoons, and isn’t the one to blame for my character.” 

He hadn’t felt compelled to reach for Elain, enough an indicator that [Name] was but giving him the right to choose for himself whether he wished — or not — to keep an eye on said sister. As it seemed, [Name] didn’t care to wield her voice if the consequences fell upon her shoulders alone, but refused to drag others into her labyrinth of thunderous hatred. Azriel didn’t answer, and his shadows were in a mingled commotion of confusion as their desire to check on the female was countered by her own command to be left alone.

Rhysand had then approached from where he, for sure, observed their interaction. The male was quite conflicted, noticing the rebellious instinct Azriel couldn’t conceive. Instead of flying to the balcony, to then winnow to the River House, they decided it was less bothersome to dialogue inside the nearest, more private room of the House of Wind: that being the leisure room. His brother updated him of the most recent occurrences — those he’d lost during the week under an induced sleep — and Azriel himself was left puzzled at the end of Rhys’ report.

[Name]’s commanding powers bloomed after Feyre’s departure to the Spring Court. Upon failing to find the youngest sister, she invaded the private reunion of the Inner Circle — Rhysand, Morrigan and Amren, the three conscious at the time — and demanded to be informed of Feyre’s position, leaving them all aghast with their willingness to answer. Azriel observed, through the mental glimpses Rhys offered, the internal fight of his brother’s brain, and how she had, too, crushed his desire to uphold that particular information. A High-Fae whose mind was closed to the daemati, wielding a tongue that could put even a High-Lord to his knees. She suddenly was a threat twice as dangerous and unapologetic, willing to use her power whenever underestimated, and Azriel’s wariness increased with the fact.

However, [Name] hadn’t needed to repeat her orders until then. Her powers had been enough to intoxicate the minds of two of the most powerful Fae alive, and an ancient creature, at the same time. With that in mind, both were left to wonder why Azriel, out of all people, showed such resilience against her commands, and though the possible answer seemed obvious, the Spymaster refused to nurture such hope, especially since he wasn’t sure where his trust was placed with the Archeron sister. 

Azriel maintained his distance. He, indeed, began to check on Elain. At first, the male did it as both a taunt and a peace offering. Yet, despite his efforts to grasp [Name]’s attention, she had enclosed herself inside the House of Wind’s library, the books she borrowed being supervised by Clotho. And with all honesty, Elain was rather a comforting companion, her silence matching his own. The female indeed was in need of someone; someone who had no expectations, nor judged her mad for her incoherent mumbling. She grew to be a friend, one that had catched on Azriel’s ragged breath when he laid his eyes on [Name] for the first time in days; who had then begun to state the burdens of her sister and how, although used to loneliness and with her heart buried deep within, she was desperate to see the day where her duties would no longer be overpowering, while also terrified with the idea of leisure. Azriel understood her better then, and was given the confirmation of their similarities once again. Yet, that meant nothing, for the female continued to avoid them all. 

Her situation improved in the slightest when Feyre returned, and their shared conversation later-on influenced his High-Lady to encourage [Name] to accept Morrigan’s help. The females spent the next months vanishing during most mornings, whereas [Name] was nowhere to be seen later on, deciding to spend the remnants of her day lost within her studies inside the library.

Morrigan, who was Azriel’s loyal friend — and once, the biggest love he knew — understood his anguish. And though she seemed to empathize with [Name]’s motivations as well, the female made sure to keep him attuned on both [Name]’s physical and mental evolution. She kept most things to herself, of course. And considering the amount of time the two spent together, it was half-expected for [Name] to be a modest swordswoman; though she did improve, it became clear that they were discussing other things, too.

When the War was declared, [Name] abandoned her months of quiet isolation in the library or private training sessions with Mor to help them strategize and scheme. Azriel glimpsed the storm underneath the long period of sorrow and concern; fell victim to the same banters and competition and even went as far as to share a deep and meaningful conversation outside the Archeron’s sisters tent. At the time, Elain had just been rescued, and although the three of them slept inside, [Name] refused to do the same, choosing to guard them instead.

Azriel’s tongue felt heavy and useless on the morrow, when he attempted, once again, to offer his help. The male thought of a dozen synonyms and different speech forms to bypass her command, but they were all in vain. And even if she learned to control the mind-reading aspect of her powers, Azriel’s efforts must’ve been crystal clear, for she rose from the ground, her steps crushing the autumn dried leaves, and repeated: “I don’t need nobody.”

He grew tired and revolted then. It was easier to obey her desires when one had given up on contourning them. The last battle came, and Azriel’s mind was set, for he refused to keep walking around those walls’ borders, to venture on the female’s stubborn need to retract herself and put on a veil of feigned detachment. The Spymaster would no longer care, no longer offer help. And it was only when the dragon emerged from the battlefield — dark scales with blue and silver undertones — that he’d noticed those weren’t his desires, but the consequences of her command inside his mind. Though he was once resolute, a second later, the male wished for nothing but to claim the skies with the magnificent flying serpent. Considering the quickness with which his mind changed, Azriel grew both scared and amazed at the extension of her will. It was the first time he’d experienced what Rhysand and the others must’ve felt during her first morning at the House of Wind; the first confirmation that her imposition worked differently on him, as if he was made to pass through the venom curtain and sit close to the female behind it, granting her the companionship she didn’t deem herself worthy of.

At the time, the sight of the dragon was magnificent: the shadow of a flying serpent, covering the sunlight; the strong scent of ozone that hang in the air as the creature flew to the open sea, where Hybern’s fleet was seen in the horizon; the open jaw — one the size of a grown Illyrian warrior — that breathed not fire, but lightning. [Name]’s rage had resulted in the screams of a thousand soldiers, their pained cacophony reverberating as the water — the best conduit for electricity, he’d soon learn — helped murder whoever intended to plunge against them through the sea. Yet, the sight of the Fae’s eyes after such occurrences wasn’t at all welcoming. She was broken; shallow; tired. Even if he could still catch a glimpse of the brilliant and breath-taking dark scales under the common flesh, there was something amiss. Not guilt, but perchance, a sense of adamant worry and disorientation, as though she had no idea what to do next.

Azriel waited until the Inner Circle returned to Velaris. The Archeron sisters were granted the offer to find a home of their choosing, and although Elain agreed to live with Feyre, Nesta found herself a decrepit apartment in one of the poorest districts, while [Name] had insisted on staying in the House of Wind. It made sense. Between the three Made females, [Name] was the one that did not need to face the ten thousand steps whenever she wished to leave; she could shift into whatever winged-animal she saw fit, and fly to whichever path she meant to take. Although Morrigan and Feyre were quite harsh with both him and Cassian, warning of the consequences were they to invade her personal space, Azriel was glad — and hopeful, even — that she decided to linger for more than just the desire to resume her constant visits to the library, or the wish to part ways from her sisters. The future was promising without the war and the perspective of peace, and he’d have enough space to return to that old camaraderie. 

Or so he thought.

The female gave him a single glance and repeated those four fucking words. Their first dialogue was built on sarcasm and bad manners, both mistrusting one another and wishing to test their motivations and boundaries. Of course the bond would sing the loudest then. Not when the dragon emerged or when [Name] was Made; not during their heartfelt conversation outside the tent; but when he was mad with anger at her obstination, wishing to grab her shoulders and shake her to her senses. Still, a malicious sense of victory, one his entire family would disapprove of, glowed with the unprecedented truth. [Name] enjoyed being several steps ahead but could not have predicted their mating bond in a thousand years. She wasn’t aware that with the unilateral snap, her commanding powers lost considerable strength against his mind. 

So, when [Name] said she didn’t need his help, Azriel had answered: “Of course you don’t.”

Ever since then, in between the not-at-all accidental stumbles on different routes of the House, he made sure to pretend. Pretend to be at her words’ mercy; pretend to be affected by her commands. All in the while decreasing their late distance with poisonous phrases and acts of his own, that [Name] was quick to retort. However, he didn’t expect her latest one to be so vile and spiteful; never would’ve thought his mate would be so cruel.

Nuala and Cerridwen’s report was but a kneaded ball of paper, falling victim to the Shadowsinger’s unmatched anger. He stared at the pile of unwrapped gifts. Feyre had given her older and most admired sister a personalized chess board: the pieces had the texture of a dragon’s scale, and each group-piece was represented by a thoroughly designed flying serpent; the board was made of enhanced glass, and the structure underneath was a pitch-black pattern of the lightning of a violent storm crashing against the stones of a dozen mountains. Rhysand chose a long leather coat, its shoulder pads with silvery-blue spikes as those she had on her dragon back. Elain gave her a beautiful vase of colorful dragon-flowers, one he knew [Name] began tending to. Amren picked a silver necklace, the pendant with — according to her words — a blue kyanite, the rough stone carved as if to resemble a dragon head. Cassian bought three books, one being his most favored about battle strategies, and the other two — personal recommendations from Clotho, who said she was searching for the subject, and couldn’t find nothing close to it in the library — of The Story of Prythian’s Currency: Volume I & II. Whereas Morrigan was more subtle. The female said she’d give a gift related to her past experiences, one it wasn’t made to be seen by their curious eyes.

Each of the previous gifts stood in the unwrapped pile, but Azriel’s was nowhere to be seen.

He spent months trying to come up with something. It’d be the first Winter Solstice with his mate; the first gift he’d give her. Since his memories were no longer lost in a haze, the male was brought back to their first true conversations months prior. [Name] told him she had learned how to properly wield daggers and throwing knives, for someone had taught her, and she trained tirelessly ever since. Morrigan complimented that aspect, too, commenting that [Name] had quick-feet, with an agility that was made for close combat. So Azriel gave his mate two sai daggers. The butt-end was of dragons’ heads, designed in a way as not to hinder her moments; the grip was made of cool and weightless leather, with an undertone of dark blue, and one silver-colored bolt of lightning on both sides of the material; there was a stone in the middle of the wing-base — the shade, the same blue of his Siphons — and the steel from both the wing-base and wings had the pattern of scales. The shaft had a thin scripture written in the runic-language of Ancient-Fae — a courtesy of Amren, who, he was sure, felt the bond between them — that said: “The bolt that cuts through darkness, the light that breaks the night.”

Azriel placed an order to the smith for a set of throwing knives too, and this time, instead of choosing a dragon, Azriel went for two swallows taking flight and staring at one another, placed at each side of the guard. However, he prided himself more in the pair of personalized sai daggers. The Spymaster knew the Inner Circle would pick the dragon alone, for they didn’t know that at each dawn, [Name] shifted into a white and blue swallow, small and silent, and ventured through the night skies, returning on the morrow under the same form. What better metaphor for such a fast, small animal, if not throwing daggers? Regardless, he found her choice odd. Why would one prefer to be a swallow, instead of an eagle, or even a dragon? He came to the conclusion that perhaps [Name] and her unspeakable past did not wish to be perceived; after a lifetime of being placed on top of a pedestal, attracting both admiration and lust from those who stared from underneath, it seemed as though she was glad to be a merely invisible bird, rather than a devastating creature. He respected that, but nevertheless, [Name] didn’t seem to have enjoyed the gift.

When Azriel searched for the sai daggers and knives, he wasn’t sure what would’ve hurt more. The prospect of finding them yet wrapped, or in the same state as the rest of those on the pile. He never once thought they wouldn’t be there at all. The Spymaster left clear and severe orders to his shadows, and despite his companions’ wishes, they weren’t allowed to search the House of Wind — especially [Name]’s room — for the gift. Hope was an unreliable feeling, and nurturing it was a direct step into disappointment. Rage and resentment, however, came easier. Azriel was sure that his shadows had disobeyed him, and were desperate to share their information. Yet, he didn’t welcome it. Instead, the male fell straight into the rabbit hole of his duties, making it all the easier to ignore his mate. Summarizing it all, said decision was what brought him to that current dismal state, and guided him to the emptiness of the leisure room. 

Not two weeks had passed since the Winter Solstice, and Azriel was already assigned to infiltrate Montesere’s barriers. Considering the land’s history of allegiance with Hybern, and the infertile political situation between the Courts after the Wall between Fae and Mortal Lands fell, his brother and High-Lady’s concern regarding Montesere’s silence was well-based. At first, the Shadowsinger thought it’d be an effortless task. Yet, during his first attempt, he was met with a barrier that countered each and every power he had at his disposal.

The male had faced such a bothersome obstacle before. The Mortal Queens once wielded a similar protection; one that had avoided his net of spies and his own shadows for months. Azriel still remembered the consequences of his failure; the fatal mission that had him laying on the floor with poison in his veins; that left Cassian with ruined wings and pain written all over his near-unconscious expressions; the yet-human Archeron sisters being thrown, one by one, inside the Cauldron. The fatality that led [Name] to her current state, one he failed to foresee and prevent.

There was a small knock on the ebony door. A crevice — all but large enough for the head of a winged-Illyrian warrior to pass through — presented Azriel with the sight of his brother, his ever-present grin appearing as soon as he laid eyes on the Spymaster at the elbow-chair. Azriel’s previous thoughts were put on hold, his surprise apparent, and his shadows moved around him, their whispered words sounding hurt and worried: “We warned you, we warned you.” But the male, once again, didn’t hear a single thing.

Those occurrences weren’t rare, nor something he was unfamiliar with. Azriel found himself frequently tangled within them, as if his thoughts were a labyrinth with deviant entrances and constant, creative traps, he never seemed to dodge. The worries and self-loathing gave way to a frozen and profound lake; the water was corrupted, viscous, carrying a darkness Azriel himself wasn’t used to. Avoiding those traps felt as though walking with heavy boots on the thin ice that covered such a lake. He was bound to fail — to fall, — and once Azriel was captured by it, he scarcely attempted to swim, to leave; no light could reach him there, no sound or positiveness, it was a place not even his shadows dared to enter. The Spymaster wasted hours inside it, and only managed to leave it once an external presence pulled him from the putrid waters of his thoughts.

As Cassian had done, entering the leisure room and choosing the elbow-chair in front of his own. His brother glimpsed at the near-to-be empty scotch bottle, an eyebrow raising in the process. The male seemed to believe Azriel had more than enough, for he grabbed it from the center-table and gave it a gulp directly from the bottleneck.

“Are you kidding me?” The Spymaster complained, his voice a mixture of both frustration and anger towards his brother. Azriel wouldn’t dare to pour himself more after that, finding it unhygienic; all in the while, Cassian was quite aware of his brother’s antics, and drank it on purpose.

“Don’t be all selfish, Az,” the male mocked him, drinking another mouthful of the scotch. Azriel rolled his eyes, placing his empty cup on the center-table with unnecessary strength. “You’re done for the night, at least.”

“I’m not even drunk,” he argued. Cassian — the bastard — shrugged.

“That’s because you have a high alcohol tolerance,” his brother’s eyes narrowed. He placed the bottle on the ground, near his feet, and sat with a straightened back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Azriel, in fact, didn’t. His scarred left hand clutched the kneaded report, the sound of paper ringing through his ears. That stupid piece of scribbling what was led him to that position in the first place. The Spymaster flew to the house his High-Lord and Lady shared, filled with a modest amount of shame. The twins had been surveilling Montesere’s magical barriers for almost an entire month, searching for a pattern, hoping to catch on to an immigrant or some poor other bastard attempting to leave. Azriel held that strategy to no hope, aware of the fact that it was doomed to failure. Yet, facing the predicted truth gave him a sour tongue.

Once he told the dreaded information, a reunion was summoned. However, with Cassian at Windhaven and Morrigan returning from Valahan, Azriel had a few hours ahead of him to wait for the reminiscent members of the Inner Circle, and decided to accompany Elain in the kitchen. The female, for sure, must’ve been feeling quite lonely since the twins’ departure to Montesere, and Azriel didn’t mind talking to her either. Elain, after all, was a terrific and attentive friend, with observant eyes and the willingness to listen. The Spymaster thought her thoroughly underestimated during most times, and made sure to let her know that he was, too, willing to train her if she ever thought needed.

Although he expected not much from the conversation at hand, Elain had trapped him a few minutes in. At first, the female repeated the familiar questions he’d been mostly glad to answer. However, at some point, Elain moved to place the trail of dough inside the oven, and her voice had reverberated from where she knelt.

“How is she?”

Azriel knew who she was referring to. Considering the male’s seen proximity with the oldest Archeron sister, and the fact that she barely left the House of Wind, Elain had but few choices besides the one to ask for his words regarding her sister’s state. During the past months, however, Azriel made sure to avoid [Name], and had no answer besides the honest truth no one wished to hear: she remained the same. 

The entire Inner Circle grew worried. During the first stages of the War, [Name] spent hours inside the library, hovering over a pile of books, studying every subject regarding Prythian’s history and territory; memorizing each drawn line of the borders; trying to predict their enemies’ movements, and coming up with retaliations to those, too. She also had a peaceful relationship with the priestesses, and after [Name]’s self-isolation, Clotho was instructed by both Feyre and Rhys to send a weekly report regarding the female’s behavior. It wasn’t ideal, but his High-Lady’s heart rest assured that her sister was, at least, within physical reach.

Those weekly-informations were scarcely enough. [Name]’s dragon form, and how she had saved them all to some extent during the last battle, couldn’t be forgotten nor ignored. Of course, the female’s acts to protect her sisters during poverty — and before that, even — weren’t overlooked by Rhysand, either. His brother had the bigger sense of gratitude between them all, and weren’t for Feyre and Elain, Azriel would state that he was the most eager to help [Name] somehow.

Despite Azriel’s attempt to change the subject, stating that he hasn’t been to the House much and that Cassian was a much better option to inform her, the female didn’t allow him to run. Elain insisted that [Name]’s self-isolation tendencies came from the fact that she, after the War, had no perspective. The female was taught to be of use to her sisters; to provide for them, no matter the cost; to be the anchor in which the three youngest ones could rely on during hardships. However, Velaris had changed that need for the better. And Elain was sure that, despite the fact that [Name] was glad the younger pair found solace and comfort and didn’t need her to sacrifice herself any longer, she was also lost and alone. Without her duties and the position of command that she was placed on at a very young age, [Name] was left to deal with the memories and consequences of her life’s decisions all by herself.

Azriel had lost it then. He’d been attempting to reach for his mate for months, and all she did in response was demand him to leave her alone, going as far as to use her hypnotizing voice to achieve such an end. And once he voiced his discontentment and the fact that self-isolation was [Name]’s choice, their first discussion ensued. Elain, shockingly, had snapped at him. Though she remained quiet on behalf of [Name]’s past, the female’s words were forceful and precise. She covered her sister’s relationship with both their parents and how she chose to be there for the three of them, while denying them to do the same for her; Elain pointed most of [Name]’s personality, and during it all, Azriel’s retorts grew short, since the male was again reminded of how much he related to his mate in levels he dared not confess. 

His silence wasn’t wasted either. Elain argued that [Name] needed to be of use, to feel that she was protecting her sisters somehow, in order to accept her healing process. Azriel feared that the female found out their mating bond then, but no sooner that doubt was discarded and he regained his calmness, Elain’s next phrase threw that out the window. 

“You should train [Name] to be a spy and assign her to Montesere.”

Azriel’s mind went blank. His rage was nearly blinding. He didn’t care how Elain had learned of his struggles regarding Montesere’s barriers, for all he saw was [Name] — his mate — under a complicated position, thrown into a territory they had no intel of, somewhere no one could reach.

“No.”

He refused to wear a more active and demanding voice with the members of his family. Azriel hated the possible wariness it could cause, for the sound of itself was enough to make their prisoners wet themselves in terror. But Elain didn’t falter. She gritted her teeth, meeting his gaze, her eyes a shade of silver, and continued to defend her sister.

“[Name] speaks four languages and is learning the Ancient Fae speech by herself. She has a commanding voice that worked in a room filled with High-Lords, can shift into different mortal-shells, a lightning dragon and smaller animals and beasts, too. She’s smart, light on her steps, and has enough physical training to face stronger opponents,” Elain closed her eyes for a second, as if trying to avoid the memory of a particular vision. 

Azriel was reminded of the Seer’s words when she still lived in the House of Wind, staring at the window with no emotion plastered on her face: ‘The scaled-beast of myths that flies through the airway, destined to rescue those lost in dismay. The bolt that cuts through the darkness, the light that breaks the night.’

“All she needs,” continued Elain, the familiar brown back into her eyes, “is guidance.”

Because [Name] was meant for so much more, was so much more, than the astute, self-sacrificing and scarred oldest sister. Because regardless of Azriel’s unwillingness to train her, his mate’s destiny was calling to her; growing closer to her calves with each passing day. And with, or without the Spymaster’s interference, she’d have to face it.

Azriel sighed, the prospect of it all bringing a sudden headache that made him crease his forehead. “I’ll ask Rhys—”

“Rhys agrees,” his brother said, entering the kitchen. Azriel turned, half-betrayed by his shadows, who didn’t warn him of his arrival, and half-shocked with himself, for it had been a long time since he’d been so invested in an argument, he failed to hear a third person’s approach. “Do you agree, Feyre darling?”

His High-Lady entered the kitchen, striving for Elain’s freshly-baked biscuits. She shared a knowing, yet proud, look with her sister, and hummed her approval, giving Azriel an apologetic smile. Cassian, Amren and Mor entered soon after, and the Spymaster learned that their argument was, in fact, heard by all of them. Nevertheless, once the [Name] topic was cleared, the reunion began. After it was clear their kitchen wasn’t big nor comfortable to accommodate the entire family, they all moved to the living-room — Rhys didn’t want his office to be filled with biscuit’s crumbs — and covered other worrying subjects, such as the Mortal Queens’ sudden silence; Mor’s first week at Valaham; Lucien’s eventual reports about Jurian and Vassa; Nesta’s condition, and the twins’ report. Azriel was but a shell of himself during it all, his mind drifting to Montesere and [Name]’s training, the inevitable destiny that awaited.

Once the gathering was over, Azriel barely bid his goodbyes before winnowing the closest he could to the House of Wind. Rhys’ voice entered his mind as soon as he landed, his question the same as the one Cassian had made: “Do you want to talk about it?”

His brother would understand the dilemma the best. Rhysand had stayed an entire month without news regarding Feyre’s well-being when the female acted as a spy inside the Spring Court. Azriel wished to ask him how he had managed it; how could it be possible, or at least bearable, to wait in Velaris as his mate was risking her life somewhere he couldn’t reach. But their situation was different. Rhysand could’ve winnowed to the Spring Court to assist Feyre if the female was in need; Azriel had his wrists tied against one another, aware that if [Name] managed to enter Montesere’s barriers, he’d have no news, no way of learning whether she was safe.

So, he gave Cassian the same answer he gave Rhysand: “I’m fine, there’s no need to worry.”

And as the latter, Cass respected the boundary drawn between them, didn’t question any further. Instead, he stared with curiosity as Azriel rose from the elbow-chair.

“Where are you going?”

“To give [Name] the great news.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“She’s awake.”

Azriel didn’t care enough to continue that game of pretense, one where he didn’t voice his certainties regarding the female’s state in order to maintain their mate bond in utter secrecy. Considering Cassian’s lack of reaction — besides the clear amusement — the Spymaster was sure most of the Inner Circle’s members already had their suspicions.

“Good luck!” Cassian taunted as Azriel left the leisure room. The male’s hands grew sweaty with anticipation, and he rubbed them against the cloth of his trousers.

[Name]’s decision to continue living in the House of Wind came with an inevitable change of rooms. He had to walk up one extra floor, for the female chose the bedchamber placed on the hallway above the one he and Cassian shared, and his shadows began to move with a mischievous lack of control once they noticed the Spymaster’s intentions.

Azriel knocked on the door, announcing his presence through the shadows that peered inside. Not a second later, he heard [Name]’s frantic steps, and she, as expected, didn’t seem as though awakened from slumber. Her eyes were suspicious, and the female was dressed in traveling clothes. She didn’t care to state otherwise, nor to hide her provisions and backpack placed on the corner of her room.

“It’s a little late for a visit,” [Name] stated, although not surprised. Instead, the female seemed to analyze him, trying to find out why he was there in the first place.

“It’s a little late for tracking,” he mocked. If she was anyone else, Azriel would’ve supported his shoulder-weight on the door, a foot pushing against the crevice, inviting himself in. But [Name] left him wary of his words and acts; with a sense of unknown anticipation. Azriel felt, once again, as though a green-boy unaware of a female’s tastes. [Name] placed him on a chess board, and Azriel was left under the impression that she needed but a single misstep of his to steal his king.

“It was a spontaneous decision,” his mate answered, unresponsive as his shadows reacted to her voice-tone and began to flutter closer, like small and innocent butterflies.

“So was mine.”

“Bold statement coming from someone who’s been ignoring me for months,” she bit. Azriel didn’t allow his surprise to rise to his features. Both managed, after all, to wear a veil of nonchalance despite the implications behind their words.

“Bold judgment coming from someone who commanded me to do so.”

“You never seemed to listen,” [Name] answered, waving her hand.

“Were you sad that I did, for once?”

Her stance changed, if only for a mere second, but he caught on it. Mother be damned, he tucked that information closer to his heart than he should have. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Your sisters are worried.”

[Name] accessed him, aware of the low blow; the mouse-trap he placed on the board. She ignored it. “They’re welcome to visit me anytime.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What are you doing here?” [Name] repeated, and Azriel was caught by surprise. Her commanding voice was, at least once, only triggered if she used an imperative phrase. The Spymaster never saw her use it as a question, which meant that she had been training somehow, it was only left for him to find out in whom.

Azriel was physically close enough to the point where pretending to be affected by her demand was useless. She would’ve noticed the absence of haziness coating his eyes; the overall alert state of his body. The male moved his pawn, the information he kept a secret for so long, finally clear for her to see. “There’s something we need your help with.”

Her eyes grew wide, a slight shift in her scent that indicated neither fear or anger, but excitement. Azriel felt a sudden tremble that went through his entire body. The fact that [Name] now knew would change every single damned thing between them for the better. The Spymaster could already anticipate the fierceness of their future competitions, her obstinate glance and taunting grin, the quick-pacing of his heart. Mother be damned, he already yearned for the sight.

“You’re immune,” she pointed out with slight wonder, clearing the path for him to enter the room.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough.”

“This isn’t an answer,” [Name] bit, her tone assuming one of annoyance and anger. He forgot how good he was at bringing that side of her to the surface. Never again, Azriel decided. Never again would he be departed from her long enough to forget of their banters.

“It’s the one you’ll get,” he insisted, kneeling near her backpack. “Where were you planning to go?”

His mate grew quiet, as if pondering her next movement and the consequences it would cause. She seemed to decide whatsoever, judging the odds favorable. “The Mortal Lands.”

Azriel’s back stiffened. He had no doubt that the adaptation was rough, but he didn’t suspect, not even once, that she could’ve been missing her late home. The male rose from the ground and away from that pack, as if the object was forsaken — wrong, — turning to stare at her instead.

“Why?”

“I have unfinished business,” [Name] ignored his disheveled state, staring at him as though he — and his entire social-circle, for that matter, — were stupid for thinking she had left nothing behind after twenty-five years of living in the Mortal Lands. “Something that, coming to think of, I could use your help with.”

Azriel gave her a stare most would cower from. She returned with one most would lose their confidence against. The male envisioned that damned board, memorized the position of his pieces, and made his move. “I presume your sisters weren’t informed of your plans.”

“Obviously.”

“So why,” he taunted, moving closer while still leaving enough space between them, “would I cross my High-Lady’s wish, and help with whatever it is you came up with?”

[Name] crossed her arms against her chest, reading in between the lines of his expression and coming to terms with his words. “It will be faster with your winnowing, but this isn’t what you wish to hear, is it? You want to strike a deal.”

He grinned, victorious, as her eyes trailed to the paintings on his forearms and exposed shoulders. His knight was so close to her king, he could almost hear the check-mate coming from his lips, even if that was all but a metaphorical game on a metaphorical board. 

“You’ll help me get to the Mortal Lands, then what? What am I supposed to do?”

“Train with me outside Velaris. You’ll be the Court’s spy, and once judged ready, I’ll assign you to a mission in Montesere.”

[Name]’s eyes narrowed, as if seeing the plastered map of Prythian on her mind. Azriel had no doubt the female had studied the land’s expanse and history, had no doubt she wasn’t clueless, at least not entirely, as to why the Night Court needed someone inside the magical barriers. There was a gleam there, and her lips curved with the same malice she wielded during their strategizing, when she saw something he didn’t; when she was sure he wouldn’t be able to counter her movements. Azriel shuddered then, not with fear but with expectation. It had been ages since the last time his mate showed enough patience and will to strike, to enter a mental competition. That game of theirs, filled with taunts and strategies and low-blows, was exciting; the type of conjunction between a sense of immaculate victory and determination upon defeat one could only find when their competitiveness was perfectly matched. 

One [Name] forgot she enjoyed until Azriel invited her to play again.

“As I see it, I’ll do as I’m told and then be given a reward,” she said, moving left to her murals. [Name]’s room was a bigger version of her late office, with books and maps and annotations plastered wherever the eyes could reach. His mate grabbed a white powder from the inside of a drawer, its scent sleep-inducing, and Azriel was left aghast at her abilities; her potential. “That doesn’t seem fair, especially considering that you might need me, but I don’t need you. Not crucially, at least.”

“Put me to sleep, and once I’m awake, I’ll inform the entire Inner Circle of your intentions,” the male answered matter-of-factly, because there was not a chance she thought that plan would lead somewhere.

“Then, what? You’ll follow my trail, because I could command everyone else to turn a blind eye? Where would that lead us, if not the Mortal Lands?”

“I’d find your trail before you even managed to reach the Day Court,” Azriel answered, his words filled with well-based arrogance. [Name] inserted two fingers inside the small, glass-made pot, and smudged her digits with the white powder. The female grew closer, and his shadows danced around her neck and waist; her thighs and arms; all of the places Azriel himself yearned to touch, but didn’t dare to.

“I don’t think you’re understanding your position. A dragon might be easy to find but what of a beetle? A serpent? What is a sparrow-hawk in the Autumn Court, if not a single bird between many others?” [Name] discarded the powder, and repressed a smile at whatever his shadows had whispered. “I’ll vanish and tend to my business, and you’ll have my sisters’ wrath and a lot of frustration to take care of.”

Somehow, a knight drew closer to his king too. Azriel’s smile was bitter, sleep no longer hazing his senses, as he glimpsed the situation, noticing the inevitable siege that had formed around his pawns. “I would’ve managed nevertheless, but this isn’t what you wish to hear, is it? You want to strike a deal.”

He purred those words — her words, — and [Name]’s grin widened, voicing the phrase that would grant her a plain upperground. “I’m sure my sisters came with the training aspect, so I’ll follow along, if only for their sake. We’ll train outside Velaris, and once I’m judged prepared, you’ll winnow me to the Mortal Lands.”

“And Montesere?”

“I’ll go there after we see to my business, not a heartbeat before.”

The feigned training would grant coverage to their departure to the Mortal Lands. Azriel wouldn’t need to report his dismissal to either Rhysand nor Feyre, and [Name] would leave the House of Wind, as it was expected. Their small venture would prepare the Spymaster for the idea of leaving his mate, by herself, near Montesere’s barriers; perhaps he’d even find another possibility until then. He offered her an opened hand, the sign of his agreement. 

“That’s a deal,” said the Spymaster. [Name] touched his palm with her own, seeming to anticipate a shudder that didn’t come. Azriel’s shadows tangled itselves in between their hands and stretched arms, accompanying the route of their tattoos, shielding the male’s gaze from his terrible burnt scars.

“That’s a deal,” she repeated. He felt as those words drove the magic to his back; traced the mark that seemed to form the letter S, from the bottom of his waist to his right shoulder. A dragon, his shadows had informed, surrounded with the illustration of scars left by a lightning strike.

Somehow, Azriel knew her back had been marked, too. And his first chess match against his mate had ended in a draw.

general notes: i am deeply thankful for all of the support this story has been given since the very first time i have posted about it. the entire thing is wrapped up in my mind, and i am so excited to see your further reactions to [name], that became such a beloved writing of mine. regardless, thank you once again! i hope you have enjoyed this bible of a first chapter. xoxo <3

taglist [comment to be added]: @nyotamalfoy @rachelnicolee

#acomaf #acosf #acotar #acowar #azriel #azriel / reader #azriel imagine #azriel imagines #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader

[askagamedev]

Lately I’ve noticed a bit of, let’s call it pushback, against the upcoming release of Baldurs Gate 3 and Larian Studios, by developers and studios alike. From your perspective as a game developer yourself what is this all about? Why are they calling BG3 an anomaly and making it sound like Larian hasn’t earned the praise they are getting? Why all the attempts at what sounds like trying to discredit their work?

The unfortunate truth of the matter is that the discussion I've seen from devs is subject to signal decay when in an environment where the most maddening and viral takes are the ones that get amplified over accuracy or educational takes. The various "hot takes" I've read were traced to the observations of [Xalavier Nelson Jr. about BG3] and I have to say - after reading his original thread, I am very much in agreement with him. Baldur's Gate 3's success is absolutely not a template that can be easily repeated and is very much an anomaly.

You can tell a lot about a game by the number of developers in the credits and the length of its dev cycle. If you multiply (number of devs) x (months of development) x ($10,000 per month per dev), you get a pretty good estimate of a game's overall budget. BG3 started development in 2017 and had a team of over 300 developers working on it. 300 devs x 72 months x $10,000 = approximately $216 million USD. "Step 1: Secure $200 million in funding to develop your game" is absolutely not a business plan that is feasible for 99.9% of indie developers.

This also goes for other circumstances beyond their control that managed to favor them. Larian was incredibly successful in raising funding during early access, but they are one of a tiny fraction that made it. Larian got incredible word-of-mouth promotion from their fans while thousands of amazing indie titles languish in obscurity on Steam. Larian managed to secure a major license that is extremely well-regarded - not exactly an easy feat to replicate. Each of these various circumstances ended up a win for them and every single one of them was necessary to obtain the success they did.

This isn't to say that Larian doesn't deserve praise for their success - they absolutely deserve all the praise and more. They managed to deliver a fantastic high quality game and I laud them for it. It is a tremendous accomplishment and I am happy for their success. What I will never agree to is saying that this is the path others should follow, because I believe that Larian managed to capture lightning in a bottle. All of the ducks had to line up just right for them to succeed like this, and any of the major factors in their success could have gone very very wrong for them through no fault of their own and sank the project partway through. Larian managed to win and they deserve huge amounts of praise for it, but it is in no way an easily-repeatable formula for success.

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#the business of video games #lightning in a bottle #baldur's gate 3 #game production #how things work

[theresattrpgforthat]

Mint Plays Games: The Wildsea

I spent the month of April (and a little bit of May) playing a game of The Wildsea as part of our Planedawn Orphans meta-campaign series. The Wildsea is the brainchild of Felix Isaacs, and published under Myth-Works, and it’s had such a successful crowdfunding experience that it’s got a number of special scenarios, expansions and game accessories for the dedicated collector. I have access to the original game, as well as the Storm & Root expansion, but most of what we used was just from the original game.

The Wildsea was chosen to represent the “Earth” element from the checklist in Planedawn Orphans, this time targeting a relic titled “The Titan’s Throne.” Once again, we had a few folks who signed up to play as their Planedawn Orphans characters, and a few people who just signed up to play The Wildsea.

Once again, the setting and character creation was very very fun, and in this case, I think it might have been my favourite part of the game, especially when we got to ship creation. I’ve often referenced Forged in the Dark games as a cornerstone for The Wildsea in the past, but the character and ship creation process is, in my opinion, much more time-intensive than many other typical Forged in the Dark games. When you sit down to make a ship, each player has a number of stakes they can spend to ensure that the ship has a component or two that they really want. Our crew decided to build our ship out of the body of a giant lamprey eel, covered with copper scales and complete with a lightning spear built into the tail. We all agreed it would likely be horrifying to look at; and we embraced that horror whole-heartedly.

The rules are very similar to Forged in the Dark, with the added mechanic of a Twist, which makes the generally larger dice pool more interesting; roll two of any number and apart from success or failure, you’re going to have something else interesting happened. However, I feel like the twist mechanic kind of threw my play group off their rhythm, since the narrative kind of had to stop in order to give them time to think of something that they could add to the narrative. This might just be a table issue, as some groups of players might be jumping to add details to the narrative, while others might be more used to looking to the Game Master for guidance.

The game has a lot of interesting set pieces and hints of lore built into its setting, but there’s more prep that I think might be required than I originally thought. There were moments where the freedom of the setting led players down paths that I hadn’t anticipated, and I had to quickly invent NPC’s and setting descriptions that I wasn’t prepared for. I’ve heard about this kind of problem described before about the family of improv-heavy games, of which PbtA and FitD are definitely members, but this was the first time that my sparse notes in terms of locations and NPCs felt like they really bit me in the behind.

Overall my experience with Wildsea was a bit more stilted than I would have liked, but I don’t think I need to lay all of our problems at the game’s feet. Our game group had a big lull in between sessions, and we had to meet in a format that meant that communication was sometimes slowed down or difficult. I definitely want to give this game another go in the future, hopefully with a group that can all meet in the same place, and hopefully with less gaps in between sessions. The biggest takeaway that I have from this game is that Game Masters should definitely look through all of their players’ character sheets and take note of what each character is geared up for and what the players have indicated is interesting to their character arc, because I think the game will connect with your players more if you have designed threats or set-pieces that speak to those abilities.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #indie ttrpg #mint speaks #mint plays games #the wildsea

[anartisticalniche]

A Corsair Freebooter

Tags: SMG3/SMG4, SMG4 and Mario Bros, Axol/Melony, Mario and Meggy, Saiko and Tari, SMG3 and the Anticast, other relationships to be tagged

Description: in Victorian-like Mushroom Kingdom, when Mario gets 'kidnapped' by pirates, SMG4 and Luigi must embarc on a life changing adventure, unknown to the fact that their quest is going to change the world as well.

PROLOGUE

He had NO IDEA how he got himself wrapped up in a situation like this.

He was just a screenplay writer, trying to live his life and get by with his work.

And now, there he was, on top of a sinking ship, freezing waters crashing against and passing through the vessel, rain from a restless storm pouring down on him, and facing down a gigantic beast a hundred times his size.

His hand, a death grip on the mast, was almost slipping away because of the incessant water on him- or was it because of fear?

Trembling, he could hear through the constant ringing in his ears an all too familiar voice shouting at him, one he’s been hearing incessantly these last few days, and yet, he just about decided he wanted to hear it for the rest of his life.

An obscured limb raised up against him- against them all- ready to swing down on them, keen on obliterating everything on its path.

In the face of certain death, those past few months of his life flashed before him, leaving him breathless at the sheer amount of events that brought him there.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People believed that living in the Mushroom Kingdom was all sunshine and rainbows, when in fact it was the complete opposite.

Trying to maintain a normal lifestyle was arduous in a kingdom that seemed to always evolve and never stop, and SMG4 knew that first hand.

Despite being a gentleman from noble origins, the struggle he lived with everyday with founding new ideas for his plays was becoming more and more stressful.

The fact that he wanted to focus on comedy instead of the more wanted drama and romantic themes kinda dragged down his own chances at becoming more popular.

He would spend lots of afternoons roaming the busy streets of the kingdom, searching for inspiration.

Watching humans and toads alike going about their hard lives, trying to get by.

He would shake his head, frustration running through his veins and flaring up his nerves.

He believed the Mushroom Kingdom, with its continuous changes, to be the perfect place to start off his career, but EVERYONE here was so CLOSED OFF STILL.

How could he get through to them? How could he let his talent shine, attracting them to see his plays?

Speaking of people, he noticed some commotion as he strolled around the plaza.

A crowd of some sort had formed around a corner; they were cheering, laughing at something- or someone- that he couldn't really see, due to the amount of people present.

As he approached the cheering citizens, his eyes lit up at what he witnessed.

A pair of men, two brothers he believed, were performing acts of comedy and telling jokes, keeping the audience they had gathered captivated.

They were foreign, he could tell, as the thick accent reverb in their joyful voices. Their clothes dirty and broken in places, but the glint in their eyes lightning up whatever state their physical form were at the moment.

SMG4 remained astonished: he could smell talent a mile away, and he believed he had just stepped a mine full of gold with these two.

Maybe that’s what he needed! A new pair of actors! The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, excitement at the possibilities that these two would bring to his career.

After everyone had scattered, he approached, and while they remained wary, he simply clapped cheerfully.

"Bravo! You boys put on quite the show! I'm really impressed!"

The two men simply glanced at each other, unsure at how to respond to him.

He WAS a stranger after all, albeit way more younger than them.

The man in green smiled gracefully, while remaining nervous: “Thank you, signore! It’s-a so nice to see people enjoy our little play- despite making only so much money out of it.”

He glanced down at the hat placed for coins, only half full despite all the people that came to see them previously.

The red man clapped the taller one rather strongly, as the other yelped and staggered: “Don’t-a worry, Luigi! This is enough to get ourselves plenty of spaghetti!”

Luigi deadpanned in dismay at his compatriot’s antics: “We have to worry about something else other than spaghetti, Mario! We still don’t have a place to sleep!”

Mario bonked him to the head, clearly displeased and angry: “Don’t you ever-a say that again about my precious spaghetti! You get me those plates right now!”

Weirded out by this odd display, SMG4 silently just stared at them, before snapping out of it, an idea forming in his head.

He bowed down, a gleam in his eye: “My name is SMG4, and I’d like to offer you both an opportunity. How would you fine gentlemen like a better stage than the dirty streets of the Mushroom Kingdom?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After meeting the Mario Brothers, SMG4’s career stirred towards a rather interesting and promising path.

Figuring out how to place them in his plays through observing their personalities and behaviors was easy, actually.

Mario seemed rather stupid and slow, only caring about food at ALL times. He also seemed to have a charm for attracting odd crowds to him.

He didn’t know HOW he did it, but for some reason one day when they were hanging out together to figure out the next script, a rather disturbing magical creature had approached them, scaring Four and Luigi out of their minds, while Mario simply waved cheerily and talked to it like it was NOTHING.

He had revealed to have met and made friends with many of them, despite the fact that it was BANNED to by the laws of the kingdom.

For the sake of his career, Four decided to keep that for himself.

After all, Mario was the face man of the duo.

Luigi, on the other hand, had served a role more or less like a voice of reason. His calm and sometimes cowardly nature had decided it as such, in sheer contrast to his brother’s loud personality.

Both of them, especially Mario, would try talk to him on how to do some parts of the scripts, and while he listened and was glad for it, sometimes it got to his nerves.

It didn’t help that they were ALWAYS attached to his hip. It made him mad, especially because of Mario’s stupidity and incessant blabbering and Luigi’s nerves always being on edge- dude couldn’t take a STEP and he would jump at every single sound he heard.

However, the pros greatly outweighed the cons, as his popularity had slowly started to grow once he introduced them to the theater world.

The crowds would start off small, but in time that quickly changed, to the point that nobles and the Princess herself would show up to come watch his plays.

Oh, he was ecstatic! He couldn’t believe his luck when she first came! With her present, it was certain he was going to reach levels he couldn’t possibly imagine before!

If only everything went smoothly-

But life apparently wanted to kick him one more time, as during the main scene, an enormous hole opened up on the ceiling of the theater, as debris came down crashing on everyone.

And along that, something else.

Pandemonium erupted as a beast stood up, spiny shell and big crown rested on its head.

A booming voice echoed through the room: “Princess Peach! Ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom! I, Lord Bowser, ruler of all magical creatures beyond the borders, came to demand your hand in marriage!”

The blonde woman stood up, snaring at him with cold eyes: “How many times do I have to refuse your request, you ignorant brute?! I would NEVER marry a magical creature, ESPECIALLY not one that looks like you!”

The koopa tried to hold back his tears once again at behind rejected- apparently it wasn’t the first time, go figure- as he pleaded once again: “My sweet, please be reasonable! Think of how powerful our kingdoms would become if we just joined in out union-”

“Hey!”

The voice startled everyone, including the two fighting monarchs, out of their stupor.

The main actor, Mario, was standing near the pile of rubble where the king was, puffing his cheeks out in annoyance.

“Bowser! You could-a chosen any other day to do this! Why are you doing it NOW?!”

The beast reeled back, surprised: “Mario?”

Four sputtered flabbergasted at this information: “YOU KNOW THE KING OF KOOPAS?!”

The Italian man just rolled his eyes: “Beh, si. We’ve hanged around a lot when me and my bro came in through the borders. He is a fine fellow-” and then returned his icy glare back to him; “-when he’s not trying to stop me from working AND EARNING MY FAIR SHARE OF SPAGHETTI!”

Bowser grunted, a bit embarrassed: “Oh, hehe… sorry friend. I didn’t think I would disturb you. I’ll- take my leave now”

He then pointed at the princess, letting out a roar in determination: “This isn’t over!” and promptly left, as everyone stood shell-shocked at the scene that just played before them.

The most shocked out of all of them was certainly Peach, who regathered herself and huffed reverently. After thinking about it and coming up with a decision, he pointed down to the three men on the stage.

“You! Down there! You said your name was Mario, right?”

The mustached man crossed his arms: “Yep. That’s-a me. What’s it to you?”

“You seem rather… acquainted with the Lord of Koopas. Care to explain to me why?” she continued, a sneer on her lips.

He blinked owlishly: “I already said, we’ve been friends before crossing the border”

“And you DO know that interacting with magical creatures is STRICTLY PROHIBITED HERE, RIGHT?”

“I don’t-a see the problem” he simply remarked, without blinking.

“MARIO!” both Luigi and SMG4 whispered loudly in reprimand, one full of fear and one out of frustration.

Peach hummed, her fan closing shut with a snap: “I have decided. Mario, I would make your crimes against the laws of the Mushroom Kingdom fall IF you accept to become my bodyguard and ‘messenger’ to all magical creatures outside the border” she smirked winningly; “if you don’t want to lose your job and end up banned from the kingdom alongside your brother, THIS is an offer you can’t decline.”

The Italian man, alongside the other two, could only look astonished at such a turn of events.

“Mama-fucker.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite the way everything happened so fast, SMG4 did nothing but continue to make his plays with the Mario Bros.

The only issue was, now Mario always had to follow around the princess at ALL TIMES, making it difficult for him to program when to make his plays.

A good thing to this was the amount of publicity it had gotten.

Despite making less plays, the crowds would be enormous.

Four was so busy with everything, that he didn’t even notice the way Mario was acting.

Always pissed off, and sometimes downright depressed.

Luigi had caught his vacant stares sometimes, that would only fade once he placed a plate of spaghetti in front of him, but only shortly.

He tried to confront him about it, only for him to just turn away and leave.

The man in green decided it was time to face his screenplay writer about it, given that, despite his behavior, he had slowly started to become more friends with his bro, before this whole situation.

But SMG4 was having none of it.

“Look, I don’t care if he’s not feeling up for it! Once he’s returned from the castle, tell him to come here immediately, because we have rehearsals in an hour!”

Luigi backed up, feeling shocked and really offended at how both of them were treated: “SMG4, please! We can’t keep going like this! Mario DIDN’T WANT SOMETHING LIKE THIS WHEN HE CAME HERE IN THE KINGDOM! We just wanted to get by with our talent, not be part of the royal life!”

“WELL, I DIDN’T CHOSE THAT EITHER!” Four yelled, slamming down his journal; “Look, our trio was meant to be just that, and to focus on making it big on the theater scene! And we have it now, despite the princess being a PAIN IN OUR ARSE. He’s not the only one struggling with this novelty, so PLEASE JUST TELL HIM TO ACT MATURE FOR ONCE AND OWN UP TO HIS DUTIES.”

He stood up, and walked away in search for a glass of water.

Luigi deflated and exited the room.

Had he been swifter, he would have noticed a red jacket disappearing behind the halls.

Had he noticed, he would have probably done something to prevent the insane chain of events that lead up to a world changing catastrophy.

Notes: there you guys have it. The prologue in its complecity. Let me know what you think of it, and if you like how the style of the writing is! Once i have the AO3 link I'll add it in

#smg4 #smg4 pirate au #a corsair freebooter #smg4 mario #smg4 luigi #smg4 peach #smg4 bowser #my fic

[sprite-writes]

all I want for christmas (is you)

Leonard “Bones” McCoy/Reader (Original Female Character)

Summary: McCoy finds himself wrapped up in the Enterprise annual gift exchange, and for some reason, this Christmas gift feels a hell of a lot more important than just a Christmas gift. 

Maybe it’s got something to do with who it’s for. 

Word Count: 6,463

A/N: guys I swear this was suppose to be a 2000 word drabble for the holidays but its a whole chapter now idk, I hope you enjoy! as always special thanks to @lightning-writes

“Lieutenant, is there a reason you haven’t drawn a name yet?” 

“I need to feel all the papers! That’s how you pick the best one– duh.” She swirls her hand around the bowl once more, rubbing the notes between her fingers. Spock stares patiently. 

“Is there a best one to be picked? My understanding of the secret Santa tradition was to be given a random partner.” 

“There sure is, and it’s... this one!” she says as she finally plucks the blue sticky note. “It was calling to me.” She unfolds the paper like it's about to self-destruct, and it reveals its neat loopy handwriting.  

 CMO McCoy 

She blinks. 

Oh. Leonard. 

She blinks again. 

It’s Leonard! 

She laughs to herself, and Spock raises an eyebrow. 

“I assume you’re happy with your choice?” 

Her heart beats a little quicker. “Oh, definitely.  I told you I had to feel all the papers.” She smiles and rocks on her heels. 

I’m Leonards's secret Santa!

Spock nods politely and returns the bowl back to himself.  “Thank you for your participation, Lieutenant. I hope your exchange goes well.” 

“You too, Spock! Merry Christmas.” 

She pats his shoulder and returns her gaze to the piece of paper. Spock makes his way back to his station when something settles in the pit of her stomach. 

Oh god, I’m Leonards's secret Santa.

-

“I’m not doing a gift exchange.” 

“Bones, hear me out.” 

“No.”

“All the other senior officers are doing it, Even Spock!” 

“And? Good for them.”  

Leonard doesn’t look up from his PADD, and Kirk fitfully shakes the bowl of papers. 

“What will it take for you to do this?” he pleads.  Leonard halts, his eyes narrowing, and his hands folding on his desk. 

“What are you offering?” 

When Kirk sighs, “I mean, whatever if it’s reasonable,” he knows he’s got Kirk right where he wants him. 

“You show up for your next two physicals, get up to date on your vaccines, stop flirting with Nurse Walker – then I’ll buy someone a candle or something.”

 Kirk glare,s but it does nothing to deter his friend. 

“ I think Walker really likes me—“ 

“Jim.” 

“Fine! Fine, you win, just pick a name.” 

The doctor rolls his eyes and plucks the first paper off the top of the pile. It’s yellow, and he hopes to god it doesn’t say Spock.

 It doesn’t; its pristine sharpie work stains the paper. 

Operations Manager A. Sunshine 

He stares and squints, all while Kirk watches him intently. A tight, nervous feeling begins to bloom in his chest. 

Sunshine. Christ. 

“Well?” Kirk prompts. Leonard folds the paper again and shoves it in his uniform pocket. 

“Yeah, I got it,” he waves Kirk off. “You can leave my office now. Not like I got patients to attend to or anything.” 

Kirk laughs, and it’s blindingly bright. 

“I’ll leave you to it, Bones. Remember - two weeks until the exchange!” 

Two weeks until the exchange. God help me. 

-

“Okay, what about a jacket? Or a sweater?” 

“Nyota, we wear a uniform every day. When is he gonna wear a sweater?” 

Sunshine paces back and forth on the sidewalk, chewing on her nails. They’re an hour into their recreational shore leave, with four stores under her belt, and she’s no closer to a gift. 

“You want my help or not?” Nyota crosses her arms and stops Sunshine in her path. 

“Sorry, I’m being mean, aren’t I?” She receives a pointed look. “I don’t mean to, I just really want this to be…”

“Perfect?” Nyota finishes.

 “Perfect?” Sunshine repeats the word, rolling it over in her mouth. “No, not exactly. I just want it to be…  right? I guess? I feel like there's an answer, and I’m just not seeing it.”

She sighs. The entire endeavor begins to feel a bit hopeless, and she wonders if she's doomed to just be the shittiest secret Santa the enterprise's annual gift exchange has ever seen. She imagines Leonard's face opening a sweater he’ll never wear, feigning appreciation, and her stomach flips. 

Nyota locks her arm with Sunshine’s and gives her all the seriousness she would a Starfleet mission. “If there's an answer on this starbase, we’re gonna find it.” 

“You think so?” 

She smiles, “Not a doubt in my mind.” 

-

“Bones, you can’t just get a woman makeup, you have to know her shade,” he plucks the tube of lipstick from Leonard's hands, whose eye twitches. 

“She wears this color every day, Kirk.” 

“She does?” He examines the tube. “Oh, yeah, I guess she does. Still shouldn't get it for her though, what if it’s not her brand?”

“Her brand?” 

Kirk looks at Leonard like he’s a child asking perpetually asking why. 

“Yes, Bones, her brand. This stuff is very elaborate.”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any bright ideas,” he hisses, shoving the lipstick back into its holder like it offended him. Kirk shrugs. 

Leonard wants to scream. From the moment he unwrapped that damn yellow paper he knew this would be a disaster. Why couldn't he have gotten Chapel? Or Sulu? Or Chekov? Or even Kirk? Instead, he gets Sunshine, who he can't bear to disappoint with the candle that's been sitting in his bedside drawer since two Christmases ago. She deserves more, a lot more… he just has no idea what more looks like. 

“This is impossible.” he concedes, his hope having run dry after four stores and three makeup departments. 

“It is not, we just need to get creative. I think you’re looking at this wrong, Bones,” Kirk begins to weave his way through the retail-maze. “You’ve got to think more… Sunshine. Not just some generic Christmas gift.” 

Kirk's words make their way around his head, and unfortunately, he has a great point. Perhaps, maybe, there is a tiny chance that he was carried away by the daunting expectation of what a holiday gift should be. The answer is staring him in the face now - he isn’t getting a Christmas gift, he is getting a Sunshine gift. This, he could work with. 

“You might be onto something, Jim.” He snaps his fingers. “With me–I’ve got an idea.” 

-

 Sunshine has always been partial to mint chocolate chip, and it's not like there's much of it in space. So, the cone in her hand is indeed a necessity and not a distraction. 

“No more pit stops after this,” Nyota says,  sweet yet stern, as she holds the door open for Sunshine. 

“I completely agree, so quit trying to get us sidetracked,” she quips and takes a long lick of her mint chip. 

Ever the patient one, Nyota rolls her eyes with a smile. “So sorry, Lieutenant. I'll try to stay on task.”

Sunshine laughs,  links their arms, and they walk down the strip. The impending sugar rush raises her spirits, and she is more than ready for the next bout of stores. 

“Okay, so I'm thinking we stop up here and try--”

“Oh, look, It's Jim and Leonard,” Nyota says casually, and nervousness shoots through Sunshine.

“It's what!?”  Sunshine hisses, her head shooting left and right for a store to dive into. It’s too late, Jim is already waving, and nudging Leonard, who does his polite little half-wave—awww.

“Shit, it’s too late, we were seen,” she sucks in a breath. “Okay, okay, act natural, Nyota. Don’t give anything away!” 

She lobs the rest of her ice cream in the nearest trash, straightens her clothes, and skirts backward until her back is against the nearest wall. She has just enough time to pull Nyota next to her and prop her foot against the wall before the pair approach—and just like that, she’s as natural as ever. 

“Hello boys,” she hums. She doesn’t even spare them a glance at first, choosing to stare at her nails, and be incredibly casual. She’s met with silence and the prickling feeling of someone  staring at her. 

They all are. 

“Er—hi, Sunshine,” Kirk says slowly, like it's a question. She inches her gaze away from her hand. Kirk has that crease between his brows that he gets when he’s thinking, and Leonards's arms are crossed over his chest, and suddenly this interaction is anything but natural. She plants her foot back on the ground. 

“Everythin’ alright?” Leonard asks, in his concerned doctor voice that she knows all too well. She prays the interaction is salvageable.

“Of course it is, everything is normal, as it usually is – right, Nyota?” She juts her elbow into her friend's side, who does not take the gesture kindly. With a hard glare, Nyota nods. 

“Just enjoying the day off,” she says tightly, and Sunshine envies her talent for socializing. 

There's a suffocatingly awkward pause, where Sunshine sweats and looks at anything other than Leonard – who, in turn, stares at her like he’s trying to solve a math problem. 

“Well, uh, we should get back to it, I guess,” Kirk breaks the silence, still confused as ever. 

“Yeah! Yeah, of course, us too,” she blurts, and pushes herself off of the wall, “Have fun! Be safe! See you at work!” And with that, she's locking her arm with Nyota once more and hauling ass away from the two. She walks so fast, they’re out of earshot in seconds. 

“You know that went terribly, right?” Nyota says flatly.

“I do, and I’m willing to take some of the blame.”

“Some?”

“Most of the blame, maybe,” Sunshine cringes. “It really was that bad, wasn’t it?” 

She knows the answer already, but instead of a hearty yes, Nyota bursts into laughter, and keeps laughing until Sunshine joins her. 

“It was terrible, awful,” she says, trying to catch her breath. “You’ve really got it bad, huh?” 

Sunshine giggles, and leans on her friend. “Ha, got what bad?”

Nyota pauses, curiously observing her friend's seriousness.  “Nothing. Here, I’ve heard good things about this store.” 

--

Leonard stares at Sunshine's back as she retreats, thinking about what the hell he just watched unfold.

“Any idea what that was?” Kirk asks, his head tilted so far, he could hurt his neck. 

“Not a damn clue.” 

--

Another hour passes, and Sunshine is close to hysterics, and the shopkeeper is hearing all about it. 

“So, I pick the name out of the bowl,” she brandishes the crumpled blue paper, “and I’m like, ‘oh, perfect’ because, like I said, we’re great friends, like super close, but now, I actually have to get the gift. And it’s impossible! Everything is too ordinary or not thoughtful enough or just useless! We’ve been at this for hours, and I’m at my wits end here.” Sunshine’s legs swing from her place perched on the countertop. 

“So, this friend of yours,” the assistant manager, Tina, begins, “he doesn’t have any hobbies? Or interests?” Customers pass, and Sunshine sighs.

“Hobbies? Not really. I mean, all we do is work, and he works a lot– did I mention he’s CMO? Yeah, I mean, he’s passionate about his work! He loves being a doctor, he acts all jaded about it, but he’s actually a huge softie, loves helping people.” She pauses and sucks in a breath, while Tina nods like she’s keeping up. “He doesn’t love doing it in space, though. That’s what he’s mostly jaded about. I mean, he did his dissertation in med school on deep space diseases, so it makes sense but –” 

“Well, where’s he from?” Tina interrupts. 

“Oh, he’s from Earth; I am too.” Sunshine points to Nyota, who is rifling through the cologne section in her stead, “So is my friend.” 

“You know, there’s a little earth-themed shop just around the corner…” 

This piques Sunshine’s interest, and it fills her with hope. 

“Earth-themed?” she repeats. Tina nods while she restocks the shelf behind the counter. 

“It’s an antique shop; they have trinkets from everywhere but mostly earth. Maybe you’ll find something there?” 

Sunshine grins, and she feels a weight being lifted off her chest. “Tina, you’re a godsend, thank you so much,” she hops off the counter with renewed vigor. “C’mon, Nyota! I think we’ve got our answer!” Nyota is halfway through the stack of samples in her hand when she’s rushed out of the store. She fleetingly wonders why she puts up with this. 

—

Leonard barely looks up from his PADD the entire way back to the ship. It takes Kirk, attached to his side, to weave him through crowds and assure no accidents or injuries. The enterprise is quiet upon arriving, and Kirk is ushered into Leonard's office.

“Alright! Game time, Bones, tell me whatcha got,” Kirk claps his hand on Leonard’s shoulder—it reminds him of a high school football coach. 

“Right, we’re gonna need to abuse your authority. “ 

“…for a Christmas gift?” 

Leonard rifles through his drawers. 

“Well, what else would it be for? Listen, go ask the head nurse–should be Nurse Bennet– tell her you need access to the medical imaging equipment, and grab the camera in Drawer B, got it?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess?” 

Leonard shoos him out of the room. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he uses the moment of solitude to clear his head. 

He really hopes this isn't a stupid idea. 

—

In the antique store, Sunshine elects to not sit on any of the countertops. 

The entire place seems fragile to her, with shelves lined high with old-world things she didn't recognize and floors littered with boxes. It was eclectic, to say the least. To say the most, it was downright cramped. And tiny. 

Definitely no countertop sitting for her. 

Her eyes trail across the room, and she gets an odd nostalgic feeling, like she isn’t quite in space anymore. It feels like her mom's old house.  The feeling sweeps her up like a hug, and she almost forgets why she’s there as her eyes roam. Nyota recenters her with a nudge and points to the back of the store. 

“Hello!” Sunshine calls and catches the attention of the man behind the register. He’s older, with deep smile lines, and an overly large coat. He looks kind, she thinks. He waves in return for her hello. 

Nyota slips between two shelves, already scouring for ideas, while Sunshine approaches the shopkeep. 

“Somethin’ I can do for you?” he asks, his accent familiar, and strikes her with a sudden longing feeling. 

“If it's not too much trouble, I really need some help finding a gift for my friend,”she says, uncharacteristically beginning to feel shy. “And there's a bit of a story to it too, if you have the time.” 

He stares at her curiously, and she hopes she hasn't overstepped. 

“Sure.” He shrugs. 

He gestures for her to come around the counter, and she can see a wooden chair peeking from behind it. She accepts his invitation and makes herself comfortable in the old-looking wooden rocking chair. Dust flies from it when she sits.  He continues counting the register and waits for her to begin. 

“So,” she fiddles with the blue sticky note that has lost its stickiness, “I joined Starfleet like, a little over a year ago, and there's this Doctor…” 

—

The captain clears his throat and clears it again, running a hand through his hair because he’s just not sure what to say. 

“So, I gathered you both here for a reason, which is very important… but I also cannot provide much information about why it’s important - very… classified stuff,  but I assure you-” 

Leonard is too impatient for his own good, and he’s rolling his eyes and grumbling mere seconds into the captain's fake speech. 

“I’ll take it from here, Jim,” he interjects, “I can’t watch you flounder like a fish out of water anymore.”

The captain's patience wavers, but Leonard takes no mind to this. 

“Henly, Donavan, stand next to each other and smile. We’re doing a Starfleet scrapbook or something,” he says, voice filled to the brim with sarcasm. He brings the camera to his face, and the two girls look at one another with confused, pinched faces.

“We don't have all day, Ensigns,” he mumbles. Henley and Donavan turn their confused frowns into tentative smiles, and he snaps the picture. He throws a thumbs up their way. 

“Great. You’re dismissed.” Leonard turns around, sights set on their next stop already. Kirk, however, scrambles to leave this interaction on a politer note.

Kirk calls, “What he means is thank you so much for participating ladies, and you look great by the way, can’t wait for you to see the scrapbook!” but they were already retreating, whispering and giggling to one another.  He sighs. 

“So, now that I’ve abused my authority for the sake of a Christmas gift, do I get to know what the gift is?” he demands. 

“We’re not done abusing your authority, just so you’re aware,” Leonard says pointedly, “and fine, but we walk and talk.” 

That’s fine with Jim, he’ll walk wherever, talk to whoever,  if he finally gets to know what’s going on. 

“One year, for Pam and I’s anniversary, she got me this holoframe, piled high with a bunch of pictures of us. The thing’d flip through them all day, like a highlight reel while our marriage fell apart.” Leonard stays five steps ahead and doesn’t look back at Kirk. It’s an odd place to be vulnerable, the enterprise hallways, and Kirk has no idea how this fits into anything. 

“Okay…”

“I hated the damn thing. Not the sentimental type, but what you said, about getting a more, Sunshine gift, somethin’ clicked,” he snaps his fingers. “Can’t think of anything she likes more than the crew, and I’ll go out on a limb and say she’s the sentimental type.” 

Kirk pauses thoughtfully and suddenly feels touched by the gesture that isn't even for him. 

“So, we are making a Starfleet scrapbook? But of all Sunshine's favorite people?” 

“Do not go around saying we’re making a scrapbook like we’re a couple of grade schoolers.” 

Kirk catches up with his friend with a newfound dedication to this endeavor. 

“Sorry, holoframe,” he grins. 

—

Sunshine and Nyota are both perched behind the shop counter now. Sunshine slumped down into the rocking chair, Nyota rested on the arm of it. 

“...after I told Tina all of this, she sent me here and said maybe you could help—oh, well, actually, she never said that, I just sort of roped you into this on my own accord, sorry about that– but, on the way here, I wrote down this list of facts about Leonard to maybe help find him something?” She pulls out a crumpled receipt with sharpie on the back. 

“You brought…a list?” the shopkeep drawls, and it makes her blush. 

“Yeah it’s—I thought it might help,” she says sheepishly.

“She is very prepared,” Nyota supplies with a comforting pat on her shoulder.

“Alright, then let's see it.” He holds out his hand, and she lays the receipt flat on his palm. It feels like she's handing something over much more important than the record of her ice cream purchase, but she doesn't put her finger on why. 

She waits as the man reads, and she rocks in the chair. She thinks about what a whirlwind of a day it's been but still feels at ease. 

“He’s from Georgia?” the shopkeep finally says. She perks up. 

“Yeah! He’s, like, a country boy,” she cringes. “Well, like, he's from the country, he grew up on a farm, I just don't know what the actual word for it is.” 

Thankfully, the man just chuckles and doesn’t correct her. It's a win in her book. 

“He ever miss home?” he asks, eyes still on the paper. 

“Oh, only all the time,” she scoffs, “ he’s really not a fan of space.” She buzzes with excitement— she can tell he’s onto something. When he finally speaks, Sunshine has to restrain herself from leaping up and hugging him right there in the store. 

“Yeah, I think I got a few things he’d be interested in… Georgians ought to help each other out anyways.”

—

Three fake emergencies and six photos later, both men are exhausted. 

Leonard hopes no one enters the rec room for the next hour. He fears the image of him and the captain sprawled on the couch looking through photos of various crew members may be hard to explain. 

“Are we done now? Please tell me we’re done.” Kirk shifts, really he wiggles, to prop his feet on the chair beside him. Leonard fiddles with the camera as he replies.��

“Just waiting for Uhura to be back from shopping, and that should be it.” Kirk sighs and sinks lower into the couch. Since starting this whole thing, Leonard's anxiety has grown steadily, like a snowball rolling down a hill. Aside from the task of wrangling crew members, and then inventing explanations for his actions, the real challenge is convincing himself that this is even a good idea in the first place. He thinks about that tube of lipstick, and if it was her brand, and wishes this whole thing could be simpler. 

“Do you think Spock’s still mad?” Kirk asks, and Leonard barely hears it over his own thoughts. 

“He’s forgiven you for a lot worse, I wouldn't get too wound up about it,” he replies absently, hands still fidgeting. “Y’know, Jim, I appreciate you running all over hell's half acre for me. God knows you didn't have to.” 

“Bones, I have no idea what that means, but you’re welcome.” His friend smiles, and it quells some deep nervousness. “Totally gonna be worth it, anyway,” Kirk adds.

Leonard isn’t all that sure what he means, but still, he agrees.

“Yeah, I think it will.”  

 Leonard doesn't see the smirk on Kirk’s face, nor does he pick up on the mischievous cadence of his voice, or even the way they're on completely different pages. Kirk thinks perhaps that's for the best.

—

The gift sits on her desk for three days before she wraps it. 

She carefully maneuvers her work around it, avoiding touching the object like it was some precious gem. On occasion, her eyes would drift to it while she sits in her quarters, and her cheeks would heat without reason. She makes an effort not to think about it too much or get too excited, and to definitely not touch it. She finds lately that a bit of effort is required to get her mind off of many things related to the CMO, and it takes even more effort not to think about why that was. 

She wraps the gift on the day of the exchange—because it's the easiest way to avoid thinking about it.

—

Leonard gets the damn thing out of his sight as soon as possible. 

The gift had been finished – pictures uploaded, running on a ten-second loop – hidden away in a gift bag, out of sight out of mind. He is protecting his peace—leaving it out in the open will only restart the cycle of doubt in his head. So, he pulls doubles, up until the holiday party, if only just to get his goddamn mind off of this stupid exchange he shouldn’t have ever done in the first place—

He works until Chapel won't let him in the medbay anymore, and when she doesn't, he slots his time with other tasks. Hell, he even wonders if he should’ve gone back for the lipstick, the day after they leave the port. He goes as far as to bother Nyota about it, who waves him off and tells him she's sure Sunshine will love her gift—her reassurance helps more than he anticipated. 

He almost gets himself to forget the whole thing, lost in the medbay chaos, until he feels the scrap paper crushed in his pocket.

The gift stays hidden away until just a few minutes before he has to meet her, and his palms sweat when he picks it up. 

—

Lieutenant Jameson calls out the day of the holiday party— Dakitoan Flu. 

Without much choice, Sunshine takes his rounds. She doesn’t think she’s ever completed a task faster in her life. Complete is even a strong word—it's more like half-ass. She’s all too aware of how she’ll have to repeat most of the work again tomorrow, correcting her own mistakes. But she doesn't care. She’s been stressing out about this party for two entire weeks, she’d be damned if she misses it. 

When she does finally rush to the rec room, the blue-wrapped gift in hand, there are few people left, and her heart sinks a bit. 

There's a Christmas tree in the corner of the room, with only one present left beneath it, and a few red and green ribbons are strewn about. She spots Spock first, already wiping down tables and cleaning up the festivities. He catches her eye, and he must see how her posture is wound tight with nervousness—or her pink cheeks, or her frazzled hair, or the way she obviously ran here. Spock doesn’t quite smile, but his gaze softens in some way she doesn’t see often, and he nods toward a table in the far corner. She follows, and—

Oh! It’s Leonard!

Spock gets a double thumbs up for his help. 

Leonard sits with Jim, both of them with glasses of some dark liquid in hand. She wishes she could have had a drink before this. She smoothes down her hair before she approaches. 

Kirk notices her first and smiles — it reminds her how nice it is to have someone in her corner.

“Sunny! You made it!” He cheers. She grins back and lets it sink in, yeah I did make it, and the thing she’d been fussing over for weeks is finally coming to an end.   

 Leonard is much more reserved, he always is. He sees her, and his posture relaxes—he does that a lot. Almost like he’s holding his breath for some reason. 

“Captain, Doctor,” she greets the two, still catching her breath. “I’m sorry I missed the party, you have no idea how insane my shift has been —I mean, no idea, but it's over now, and I’m so glad I caught you guys.”  

“We had to convince Spock to leave the Christmas tree up until you got here, he’s been cleaning damn near since the party started,” Leonard tuts, and she laughs. 

“Aw, I’m glad he did…” She looks at the pine tree, which is bare of ornaments and lights, and raises her eyebrows. 

“Well, he sort of did,” Leonard amends. “It was a compromise.” 

“A compromise that leaves me with putting the decorations back in storage, so I’d call it more of a trade,” Kirk complains. 

“Master negotiator, huh?” she teases and has every intention of teasing him more, maybe even calling Christmas his new Kobayashi Maru, but she waits a beat too long.

“Anyways, Jim, don’t you think you should be getting to it?” Leonard says, as if the conversation didn’t just start. 

Jim doesn't say anything at first, just stares at Leonard while Leonard stares at him. It’s all very… intense, she thinks. They exchange pointed looks like they’re engaged in a silent conversation– actually, she’s pretty positive they are. Awkwardness begins to prick at her skin. 

“Is there something—”

“Wow, I didn't even notice the time, better get to it, just like you said,” he springs to his feet with alarming speed. 

“Oh, do you have to go?” she asks with disappointment.

“I do, duty calls, or something.” He holds her by the shoulders looking at her with enough intensity to make her squint. “Have fun,” he says meaningfully, and smiles, and then, he's gone, leaving with a friendly pat on her back. 

She hesitates a moment before taking Kirk's seat. 

“Is he…okay?” 

“That's a loaded question,” Leonard deadpans, and despite her confusion, she laughs. 

“So I have something-”

“Anyways, there's this-” 

Their sentences crash into each other,  and they both freeze. 

“You first,” she offers. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just purses his lips and avoids eye contact. 

“Just—Don’t move, I’ll be right back,” he grits out and leaves her at the table. It's abrupt and leaves her wondering why this interaction is going like this. She wraps her arms around herself and waits. 

Behind her, he picks up the last present left under the tree, which has been waiting there for her all day.  Yellow bag with yellow paper stuffed inside.  He places it on the table, and sits back down, hands wringing together. She wants to ask what's got him so worked up. 

“I’m your secret… Christmas person or whatever the hell it is,” he grumbles and doesn’t meet her gaze. Not until he hears her stifle a giggle, which then bubbles into a laugh.  She doesn’t mean to, but the whole thing just comes together too perfectly for her to contain herself. 

“You’re my Secret Santa?” she asks, alight with excitement, and he nods at her slowly. 

“Yeah, if that’s the name—” He’s cut off with another laugh, and she eagerly puts her gift in front of him—blue paper with a blue bow. 

“Leonard, I’m your Secret Santa!” She beams, “We picked each other! What are the odds?”

He stares at her, then at the gift, and says quietly, bewildered, “What are the odds?” 

She doesn’t catch what he means, but she’s too excited to harp on it. 

“Well?” she prompts and inches the blue box towards him. “Are you gonna open it?” 

Curiously enough, she’s not nearly as nervous anymore. 

He blinks and shakes his head like he’s clearing his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah of course,” he says distractedly. 

He opens the box carefully, it's like he’s doing an operation. When he looks down at the gift, the gift, he pauses and gets this expression that Sunshine doesn’t think she's ever seen on him. 

“Len?” 

“Sunshine, is this…?” 

“It’s a postcard! From Georgia!” She grins, “A real one from Earth, It’s an antique.” She reaches over the table and taps on the glass of the frame in his hand. “See? There's a little stamp of authenticity. Isn’t that neat?”  

Neat. It’s about the neatest thing Leonard’s ever seen. 

She settles back in her seat. “I thought it might make you a little less homesick,” she adds, much quieter, as if the statement itself needed privacy. 

Leonard stares at the postcard. It's got a picture of a peach orchard, on a perfect summer day, he can tell by the blossoms that line the trees. Greetings from Georgia! it reads.  It looks like something he would have seen hanging in his Ma’s house. He thinks of the red door of his childhood home, and how the branches of his family's own peach tree framed it. The smell of his Ma’s cooking and the feeling of coming home— his chest fills with familiarity and longing. He stares for a while and doesn't say anything for even longer. 

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent until Sunshine clears her throat. It feels like he forgot he was on the Enterprise for a moment. 

“Sunshine this is…” Damn near perfect. “Nice. Thank you.” He says it and cringes. There's so many more feelings and thoughts under the surface. He wishes he could make a sentence out of them. But Sunshine, like she knows his inner thoughts, accepts the weak compliment like it's the best thing she's ever heard. 

“Aw, Leonard!” She tucks her hair behind her ear and flushes – or maybe it's the lighting. “I'm so  glad you like it. You have no idea the hell I put Nyota through to find it.” 

He’s not sure what Nyota had to do with it, and he doesn't ask either. “I’ll thank her too then,” he says weakly, but he definitely won’t. With a deep breath to quell his nerves, he pushes her gift toward her. 

“Your turn,” he says with bated breath. 

Being so wrapped up in her own Christmas shopping, she almost forgot she gets a gift too. She tears through the tissue paper with the same unrestrained excitement she had picking her secret Santa just a few weeks ago. 

“I still think it's so crazy we got each other, this makes the gift-giving thing like, ten times better,” she tells him. He nods curtly, and she can tell he’s wound tighter than a spring–or at least that’s how he would say it. 

“Relax, Len, I’ll like whatever’s in the bag– heck, I’d like it even if you gave me a rock.” 

She dives her hand into the bag, the tips of her fingers touching cool metal. At first, she has no idea what she’s looking at. A… little screen? A flat little screen with a cool blue border? She opens her mouth, a question on her tongue, when— 

“The power buttons on the side,” Leonard says. He doesn’t give her a chance to move, leaning over the table and clicking the button for her. 

The screen comes to life with a picture of Sulu and Chekov, both donning awkward thumbs up… and is that in Kirk’s room? She blinks, and it changes again, this time to Scotty and Keenser sitting among a mess of wires in engineering but smiling brightly nonetheless. Another second passes, and she's looking at Spock and Nyota, sitting beside each other in the rec room loveseat looking equally poised yet annoyed. Sunshine laughs before she can stop herself. 

“Len is this—?” The picture flickers again, and the sight of it stops Sunshine's words in their tracks. It's Leonard and Jim, on that same rec room loveseat. Jim’s practically beaming—face lit up and an arm looped tightly around Leonard’s shoulders. Leonard, shit. He’s got that soft and reserved smile on his face—like the one he has when he talks about home or his friends, where his eyes are just filled with this warm something. 

Sunshine’s face turns hot, and her chest becomes unbearably heavy with emotions. 

“Leonard, this is so fucking sweet—” She cuts herself off with a wet laugh, and she realizes she’s got tears in her eyes. 

Leonard, however, looks mortified, as he watches her face become red and tears fall down her cheeks. 

“Shit—Damn it, I’m sorry—You weren't supposed to cry!” he stutters in a panic. Sunshine laughs again and hiccups over it with a sob. 

“They’re happy tears, Len!” she insists, wiping her cheeks. “This… I think this is the nicest gift I've ever gotten.” She can’t bring herself to look away. The pictures are just the slightest bit grainy—like the camera her mom used to take pictures of her. The thought starts the waterworks all over again. 

“It is?” 

She sniffles, scrubbing her tears with her sleeve. As Sunshine traces the edges of the frame, and watches the photos loop again, she knows for certain this is the sweetest, most thoughtful gift she's ever gotten. She thinks about how curious it is that it's from someone she’s known only a year—a coworker, no less. 

Then, she thinks, maybe, it's not all that curious at all. 

“We should do this every year,” she tells him. She’s positive, actually, that, as much of a headache as this exchange has been, she would do it again in a heartbeat. 

“Secret Santa?”

“Yeah, but not so…secret next time, and… just us, maybe.” 

She doesn’t look at him when she says it, for both their sakes. 

“Sure,” he says, and she can hear the tightness in his voice. “I’ll try not to make you cry next time.” 

She laughs, “No, do it! It’s more fun that way. Maybe I’ll make you cry.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

He seems less nervous now, like his smile is coming a bit easier. 

“We should get going before Spock sticks us with the rest of the cleaning,” he says, gathering the discarded paper from the table, “and I know you had a long day, Jameson told me you covered for him.” 

She doesn’t want to leave, but she knows he’s right. She wonders if he feels the same pull to stay.

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” she tries to say casually.  She leaves her chair as he does. “You know me, I don't mind.” 

“Doesn’t make it a good thing, you pull about as many doubles as—”

“As you?” she interrupts cheekily, and he rolls his eyes with a smile. 

“Yeah, as me.” 

The paper goes in the trash, and they’re left with nothing to do but bid each other goodnight. It’s the last thing she wants to do. 

“Thank you again, Len. The pictures—It’s perfect. I love it.” She tries not to cry again, mostly for his sake. 

“No problem, and you too,” he tells her simply. His cheeks are still tinged pink, and seeing him hold the present she labored over in his hands, with all that warmth in his eyes, it's almost more than she can stand. 

Fuck it. She thinks to herself, and before her nerves can stop her, she wraps her arms around Leonard's neck. It's an awkward angle, and she has to pull him down to her height a bit—and she’s still got the frame in her hand and everything. As far as hugs go, it's not great, but in other ways, it's perfect. Leonard doesn’t react for a moment, but finally, his arms encircle her waist, after a fair bit of hesitation. 

It’s really nice, she thinks. 

“No, really, thank you,” she says into his shoulder. The fabric of his uniform is soft, and she can smell his apple shampoo. 

“You too, Sunshine,” he mutters. The sincerity in his voice feels nearly tangible. Leonard pats her back, maybe because he feels awkward or maybe because it's time for the hug to end; either way, she lets him go. 

“Have a good night,” he says, and he can't quite meet her eyes. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she answers softly.

They share a long parting glance, as they head in opposite directions to their quarters. 

Unbeknownst to the pair, their senior officers are perched just around the corner. 

“...and he knew her shade, Spock. The exact shade of lipstick she wears. He was so… dedicated to the whole thing. I half-thought he might give her a candle or a necklace or something but this?” 

Spock nods thoughtfully. “She treated the exchange with similar enthusiasm, from what Nyota has told me.” 

“You’re a genius for setting this thing up,” Kirk shakes his head, “even if I did have to copy Sunshine’s signature on 20 different sticky notes.” 

“Well, it was your influence that caused me to—”

Kirk waves him off. 

“You don’t have to justify it, Spock. Hell, everyone can see how bad they’ve got it for each other. Can’t blame you for wanting to move it along.” 

“Indeed they do, Captain.”

#leonard mccoy x reader #Leonard McCoy #james t kirk #star trek #star trek alternate original series #reader insert #on a cloudy day #bones x reader #original female character #star trek imagine #Idc that they dont celebrate christmas in space #they do now #spirk

[pyropsychiccollector]

Zeref: So basically, Natsu never grew up... *very nonchalant as he sits at the bar in the guildhall*

Erza: (✿◠‿◠)*** *as tables and people are flying all around them* I'm so sorry this had to be your first Fairy Tail experience... *CRASH!* (✿◠‿◠)********* So very, very sorry... *barely restraining herself from Brawl Defusal at this point*

Zeref: *chuckles* My first experience...? You do realize I taught your guild's founders?

Erza: Y-Yes, well...!

Zeref: Not to mention, you were the ones to raze my empire. Alvarez has never been in such shambles. It's all in Invel and Ajeel's hands over there. Dimaria's retired... Brandish moved to Ishgar, apparently?

Erza: ......... *CRASH!* *SHATTER!* *SCREAMS OF "Uncle!"* (✿◠‿◠)*** You do realize you were literally asking for that ass-whooping...?

Zeref: *watches a barstool narrowly miss his nose as it flies past* Oh, I won't dispute that point. However, I'm pointing out the flaw of your apology.

Erza: Yes, well... *sees telltale lightning charging up in the atmosphere... too much to be from one mage alone* (✿◠‿◠)*** We weren't expecting you and our First Master to be sticking around, reincarnated. So technically, this IS your first experience... You're not an enemy anymore.

Zeref: Mmm... I suppose not. *watches Erza nearly bolts out of her seat once Natsu is blasted through a new hole in the ceiling* ≖‿≖ But truly... You need not apologize. You act as if this is my first rodeo with Natsu.

Erza: You knew him as a babe!!! ... And a little kid. (╬≖_≖)

Zeref: *gestures at the steady stream of lightning-flames spewing through the hole in the ceiling and nailing Laxus down below* And my original point that I labored toward...?

Erza: ......... (╬≖_≖)(╬≖_≖)(╬≖_≖) He's not... ALWAYS this bad.

Zeref: n__n *Gajeel and Natsu bash into each other midair, Dragon Force activated* He could be sweet, it's true. Well, I'm speaking of the boy who died... I assume that kind nature passed onto the Etherious Natsu, but I can't say I've had the distinct pleasure of confirming that...

Erza: ... You're exaggerating.

Zeref: He absolutely refused to listen to a word I said. It took Igneel to get him to learn reading and writing.

Erza: (╬≖_≖) I beg your pardon, but *I* taught him reading.

Zeref: And as Irene's offspring, that makes sense. :3

Erza: (╬ಠ益ಠ)I am not-

Zeref: ≖‿≖ I have several ways to confirm your lineage, Erza. It's useless burying your head in the sand.

Erza: (╬≖_≖) ... Regardless, I fail too see how my lineage has anything to do with me teaching Natsu valuable life skills.

Zeref: (❋•‿•❋) Simple. Natsu won't bring himself to heel without overwhelming force to make him respect you. Igneel knew your pains long before you ever did, but you're to be commended for guiding him down the right path.

Erza: And you couldn't "overwhelm" him on your own...? You HAD to dump him on a dragon? (╬≖_≖)

Zeref: Unfortunately, with the Curse afflicting me, the options were "love him to death" or take a compassionate Fire Dragon King up on his offer to teach Natsu. (❋•‿•❋) It fulfilled several objectives anyway.

Erza: *whole guild is shaking from everyone going all-out on each other by now* *huffs* (╬≖_≖) I just... There must be SOME way to calm him down. Surely we can't let him remain this way forever? *mostly irate about property damage and broken bones from these brawls*

Zeref: ... Well, I COULD suggest a possible stratagem. *nonchalantly sips tea*

Erza: (☉_ ☉) ......... *bolts up to her feet and Requips Purgatory Armor, brandishing a sword towards Zeref* You KNOW a way to tame his reckless tendencies?! (╯°□°）╯

Zeref: ... From a certain point of view. (❋•‿•❋) Lord knows I must do the same with Mavis whenever she gets... mischievous. Yearning for new adventures. (❋•‿•❋)

Erza: Zeref, I will not ask you again. (╬≖‿≖) What is this "stratagem"? I must know this. This could change EVERYTHING!

Zeref: Well, I certainly hope it would... Because you'll need to get...intimate with him. VERY intimate. ≖‿≖

Erza: ... Now when you say "intimate"... You mean head pets and hugs? (☉_ ☉)

Zeref: He's not a little boy anymore, Erza. ≖‿≖ You'll need to consult your "books" for those kinds of tips, I'm afraid.

Erza: Why would you even SUGGEST such debauchery?!?!?! (⊙▂⊙✖ ) Are you suggesting you and our First Master have been...?!

Zeref: Oh, we crossed that bridge over a hundred years ago, Erza. I'm told that's how August was born. ... And how his very belated siblings are on the way, as we speak.

Erza: *scandalized* (⊙▂⊙✖ ) Sh-SHAMELESS!!!!! Y-You have to be joking!!!

Zeref: *shrugs* Believe what you will. ... Just know that I'm a little sore at the moment, so I can't reel Mavis in. Apologies.

Erza: What are you...?! *whips her head around, seeing Mavis whip up a war strategy board* Who the hell is First Master going to war with?!

Zeref: No one. She's just making the brawl more strategically organized. (❋•‿•❋) ... If chaos can even be "organized". (❋•‿•❋)

Erza: *drops sword and hurries over to Mavis, waving arms frantically* F-First Master, please, no...! (⊙▂⊙✖ ) The guild is already in the red...!

Mavis: (๑╹ω╹๑ ) *tuning Erza out effortlessly* Zeref's going to need to punish me BAD for all the strategies I've got in mind for you guys...

Erza: ...

Zeref: Still sore, Erza. So. Good luck~ (❋•‿•❋)

#Fairy Tail #zeref dragneel #erza scarlet #Natsu Dragneel #Mavis Vermillion #Natza #Zervis

[lilacartsmadsion]

In your opinion, who is the weakest ancient?

Hollyberry in terms of feats…I think?

Look, I’m not calling this in Game terms, in game terms the worst is Dark Cacao (Aka Devsis should REALLY improve Cacao as a charge cookie)

But in Lore terms, technically all the Ancients are equal in power to each other. Seeing the scene with Hollyberry and Dark Cacao fighting in ‘The Council of Heroes’ Pure Vanilla and DE’s fight during the opening cutscene and Golden Cheese’s sheer will of building a whole digital city using the souls of everyone in her city, I’d say that most of them are equal in terms of power…

So in terms of feats, Hollyberry or Pure Vanilla would be the weakest I believe.

In terms of all the characters’ origin stories,

Pure Vanilla received his Soul Jam some time during a Pilgrimage or before a Pilgrimage and lead cookies down the Sugar-Free Road/Path, and once the journey concluded, started building a kingdom using his Soul Jam alone. (I think, since that’s what Clotted Cream implied the Soul Jam could do)

However prior to Pure Vanilla even taking the Pilgrimage, he first had to graduate in Blueberry Yogurt Academy, which is implied to have been a school that was for people gifted in magic. (Like Parfaedia but has forbidden magic and shit) Pure Vanilla and White Lily Cookie were both gifted in their own ways, to the point where Pure Vanilla would purposefully get himself a lower score so that White Lily could be the top student. Overall, both Pure Vanilla and White Lily were skilled in Dark Moon Magic. Where Pure Vanilla was implied to have used Dark Moon Magic during the Final Battle with DE.

Along with learning Dark Moon Magic, he is also skilled in Light Magic/White Magic, which gives him properties like Restoration and Healing magic. In addition to that, it is likely that this magic also grants protection magic, amplifies physical skills and is useful against Black Magic. (As Pure Vanilla told Financier Cookie that he too was ‘blessed by the Light’)

The only flaw he has is that he only uses his magic to benefit other cookies and does not seek to use it for harm, only in rare occasions such as fighting Dark Enchantress Cookie, is when he steps in and uses his magic… (Makes sense since he’s basically based off JESUS-)

Next to White Lily Cookie who’s skills might even surpass Pure Vanilla Cookie. She was academically smart and could even learn Dragonsworn (How the hell do you spell this) She was always a curious soul, with us barely knowing a thing about her other than her power as Dark Enchantress Cookie.

Even then, DE is POWERFUL, being able to summon 3 monsters that would’ve turned the Creme Republic into ruins if the Ancient Heroes hadn’t arrived, note to mention she notably BEAT them the first time, forcing PV to destroy the Soul Jams in an effort to win the war. (Yes they WERE destroyed and little bits and pieces scattered across Earthbread, as confirmed by Clotted Cream and Hollyberry)

If my theory is correct, that if cookies that are directly made by Earthbread’s ‘godly beings’ (Witches and Wizards) They are much stronger than the cookies in Earthbread because the original inhabitants were just the crumbs of Earthbread. Which means that if DE was rebaked from the Witches, she must’ve had a MASSIVE power boost…so much so that it took GINGERBRAVE to stop her because as he was baked by a Witch directly, he was just as strong as DE.

Next would be Dark Cacao and WOAH BOY THIS MAN-

Dark Cacao defeated not one, but TWO dragons in his youth alone, so much so that the people described it as Dark Cacao ‘SHATTERING NIGHT AND DAY’ Which in most Asian countries that could allude to Dark Cacao being a god of some sort. (Or an over exaggerated version of lightning)

He was able to build a kingdom despite its poor conditions and funding (As Dark Cacao’s Kingdom is actually very poor, relying on Hollyberry and Pure Vanilla’s Kingdom’s to fund for supplies since even food was scarce in his Kingdom)

All the rules in his Kingdom seem to stem from survival alone, it’s hard combat styled military originally being from a state of survival.

Dark Cacao fought his son, three times and twice did he avoid death, Dark Choco sliced him off before getting banished and fell off the HIGHEST wall and fucking survived WITHOUT his Soul Jam. After that, when on to fight his son, AND the Licorice Sea like he didn’t fall off a fucking Wall moments prior, like I’d expect the guy to have AT LEAST memory loss, but no, this guy walked up to his sword and started fighting without question, my guy was even implied to have been POISONED by Affogato and he was still going on like a champ.

Other than that, Berserk Cacao is implied to have been the power of his Soul Jam, using the sheer might of his will to escape Pomegranate’s spell alone, Berserk Cacao is implied to be a defense mechanism or at least a strong defense desire to be released from the spell that gave his son SO MUCH TRAUMA.

As seen with Golden Cheese, the Soul Jam can give a cookie they’re deepest desires, if the cookie chooses to, that said since Dark Cacao DEEPLY desired to defend himself from the magic and the forces that dare seek to harm him, he turned into Berserk Cacao.

Then, we have Golden Cheese, and honestly? Even in game she’s so FRUSTRATING to fight, my girl got worshiped as a goddess to the point even her origins are god-like. She created a whole digital world with her Soul Jam alone, BY HERSELF, and hid it from everyone else.

Though she is greedy, she is still powerful, as much as the Digital Realm might have fulfilled any desire she wished, it makes me wonder if it could actually achieve such feats in the real world. I’m not finished with her chapter yet. (Mostly because 18-20 is KICKING MY ASS) It’s clear that SHE IS POWERFUL.

As for Hollyberry, her feats include fighting dragons…a lot of dragons…she was implied to have been a dragon hunter some time either before or after she became queen. Earning the alias ‘Pinkyberry Cookie’ even then ‘Pinkyberry Cookie’ was a famous dragon hunter next to Tarte Tatin Cookie. Hollyberry was also able to walk through Beast Yeast, implying that she met Tea Knight Cookie there or something (I don’t remember if she met him in Beast Yeast or outside Beast Yeast) but compared to the rest?

Hollyberry’s only known notable combat is using her shield and fighting dragons…compared to the feats others have done.

Both Pure Vanilla and Hollyberry could be the weakest in terms of feats.

But in terms of power? All of them are at least equal, since they all have the same amount of power in their Soul Jams. I think when it comes to how each individual character wields their Soul Jam, it could make them the weakest?

In the end, I’m not really sure…

#cookie run kingdom #dark cacao cookie #hollyberry cookie #pure vanilla cookie #white lily cookie #golden cheese cookie

[wingedshadowfan]

guys... i just remembered smth important and went back to reread this part of fourth wing:

“But what if I want to be a rider?” I ask with the voice of a much-younger version of me. “Like Brennan and Mom?”

first of all, young violet kind of wanted to be a rider at first and it was her dad who said she's meant to be a scribe - we often forget that part because she's such a scribe girl since the start of the book, she's wanted it and trained for it her whole life, it's also what sets her apart from the rest of the conscripts and what helps her survive this long in the quadrant

“You’re not like them, Violet. That’s not your path.” Dad offers me an apologetic smile, the usual kind that says he sympathizes but there’s nothing he can do, the kind he gives me when Mom makes a choice he doesn’t agree with.

and then this part here strikes me as ironic because it sounds like it was her rider mother who wanted her to be a scribe (and yet she still ended up forcing her to become a rider after her husband's death), and not her scribe dad, unlike the impression we were originally under

“And it’s for the best. Your mother has never understood that while riders may be the weapons of our kingdom, it’s the scribes who have all the real power in this world.”

so her mother wanted her to become a scribe instead of a rider, and she didn't understand the power of scribes - either she didn't want violet to be powerful, or didn't think she was fit for it/would make it out alive. so what changed? why did she decide violet had to be a rider?

did she only realize the power scribes hold after the rebellion, brennan and her husband's deaths? and she still aimed to prevent violet from being influential? or did she realize war is coming and the truth would come out anyway so violet needed to be able to protect herself (with a dragon and not with a pen)? what if scribes are the first target of the rebellion?

“Such untapped power. No wonder we were called here. You could command the sky to surrender all its power, and I bet you don’t know what to do with it, do you? Riders never do. I’m going to split you open and see where all that astonishing lightning comes from.”

riders never do. so do scribes know? was lilith trying to protect violet by making her a rider or was she protecting herself and command from what violet could've been, had she become a scribe?

#fourth wing #rebecca yarros #iron flame #fantasy #romance #the empyrean #booklover #violet sorrengail #violence sorrengail #brennan sorrengail #lilith sorrengail #mira sorrengail #fourth wing spoilers #fourth wing theory