#the wings of an enigmatic series

[kingofangst]

The Wings Of An Enigmatic

HELLO MY WONDERFUL SUBJECTS READERS!!! I am extremely sorry for the delay of this story, but life has had me on a grip and I have been going through ups and downs recently, as well as utilizing my career more. But pas d'inquietude! I have returned. (Plus I am learning French before I plan to go to Paris). Here is Chapter 5 of the The Wings Of An Enigmatic and this is the longest chapter I have written so far for this season. Expect some surprises.

Notification tags: @rhyslahey, @thiamsxbitch, @unsanedes, @mmoosen, @phantomraeken, @isaac-not-isaac

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Chapter 5: Mistakes Are Learned

"-Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."

"-Since when you became Einstein?"

"-Since when were you so interested of my input on the matter? I presumed humans were nescient."

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(Flashback - 10 years ago…)

Shouts and chatters of kids in the colorful classroom felt a tad bit intimidating. The lemon and oak scent permeated the classroom, filling his nostrils while the sun illuminated the room. Despite him being ironically the tallest 6-year-old in the 1st Grade, seeing so many of them playing, coloring a crayon book, being rowdy with each other as sneakers and chairs squeaked on the waxed tiled floors made little Isaac feel smaller. The only reassurance is that he sees Matt drawing a picture and absentmindly talking with someone…another kid with light sunkissed skin, who was creating a vertically shaped masterpiece of Lego blocks, vividly styled as a building to have foundation and support. The kid beside the intricate puzzles of blocks was someone that Matt became friends with this weekend. 

Isaac takes a closer look at the kid and he notices how orderly and noble the kid is acting. With combed hair, tailored white long sleeve button down shirt, followed by black dress shorts, white ribbed calf socks, and black loafers. He looked like a kid who was a genius combined with the flair and fashion sense of a 1940’s child. A rich kid in basic terms. 

“Isaac! Hey Isaac!” The excited tone of Matt reached his hears, standing up abruptly to see him. “Come quick, there’s someone you gotta meet!” The little grubby hands grabs Isaac’s much softer ones, dragging him forward towards the genius-like child. “Isaac, meet my new friend, Seraph. Seraph, this is Isaac, my best friend since daycare!” Matt’s cheerful declaration did not solve the newfound nervousness Isaac developed as the kid, Seraph, stares at him with gray eyes. Gray eyes that held mystery in them, that looked cold and aloof, that could literally scare a kid and have them scram immediately. Yet the innocence in them was visible and they were shining with curiosity, how did Matt become friends with this one?

The ambient noise of mindless chatter and cheers from the other kids served as the contrasting backdrop. It highlighted the uncomfortable silence between Isaac and this debonair kid, a pin drop could have resonated loudly between them. Seraph’s eyes seemingly judging him, eyeing him like he was an experiment that needed to be tested. Seraph lets out a small puff of air, and then he parts his lips.

“So you’re the best friend that Matthew here excitedly chatted about and wanted me to meet? I do find your bravery and choice of friends admirable and intriguing.” The professional and intelligent tone of the boy was unbelievable. How did this kid talk like that? No, why did this kid talk like that? He is speaking as if he were a full-sized adult, it baffled and spooked Isaac. “Do not be afraid. I also wanted to meet you as well and request if I can be your friend too. Can I…Isaac?” 

Despite Seraph’s confident tone, he senses a slight uncertainty at the end of his question, along with the innocence lacing the child’s voice, as if Seraph felt like he was scaring him away. He wasn’t scaring him, in fact he was captivated by the way Seraph was talking and…whatever Seraph was building, which looks like a three-dimensional construction of a building that is entirely made out of lego. Not a single impairment within the foundation. The reassurance of his words ‘do not be afraid’ allowed Isaac to drop down his emotional walls to get to know this new person.

“I am sorry, but if I am scaring you Isaac, then I understand if you do not wish for me to be your friend-”

“Wait, Seraph-”

“Um no! No y-you aren’t scaring me…it’s just that Matt here is the only friend I really talk to…” Isaac trails off in shyness, kicking his feet on the tiled floor. “I don’t really talk to the other kids in this class.”

“I see,” Seraph hums, pausing at the playful atmosphere before him. His eyes scatter to see the different kids that are of their ages, playing with toys, stuffed animals, etc. Isaac felt that Seraph was different. He saw that Seraph was different, by the way he looked, the way he spoke, the way those gray eyes observed the room like a hawk. He was very perceptive and for someone who is 6 years old, already advanced and ahead of himself, Matt and the rest of the class. “I suppose we find ourselves in similar circumstances, both not forging connections with our peers or engaging in social interactions within our class, excluding Matt of course.”

The unexpected combination of this kid’s appearance coupled with the swift and adult-like articulation of his words left Isaac puzzled. Just what kind of 1st Grader talks like that? It did make Isaac more interested in the well-dressed child who now has his hands folded neatly on his desk surveying the scene before him.

“Yeah Zac, um Seraph talks like that alot and while it does sound weird, this is his way of talking to other people. He always says “do not be afraid” too.” Matt butts in, his face contorting an odd expression. The privileged youngster tilts his head in confusion. 

“It’s the way I present myself and communicate. Is there something wrong with my wording and how I converse?” Seraph asks, and despite how sharp and voidless his gray eyes were perceived to be, Isaac could see hints of nervousness in those orbs. The dapper boy looked composed and concealed with a flair of affluence and suave, yet he could sense just how odd and out of place Seraph felt, just like Isaac. 

“My name’s Isaac, which Matt already told you but just in case y-you forgot. Nice to meet you, and I wanna become friends with you too.” Isaac holds out his hand for a shake, a dopey smile on his lips. Seraph looks at the hand, then up to Isaac’s face, before eyeing his hand again. Then he glances back up and suddenly there is a sight to behold in front of him. To Isaac at first, he thought kids like Seraph would never laugh and smile due to their aloofness and callous nature. But Seraph’s faint smile is an anomaly Isaac witnesses, but the most peculiar thing was how bright Seraph’s eyes seem to be from this. He could have also sworn he saw the child’s eyes give out a violet hue within them before shifting back to gray, but he couldn’t tell. Maybe that was the sun’s reflection in the room and it had a mirage effect on his eyes. Seraph shakes the former’s hand with that faint smile being replayed over and over. 

“Seraph Kingfisher. Even though by now, Matthew here must have relayed to you my legal entity already but I am merely letting you know who I am at your request of friendship and getting to know you. After all, you and I are alike when it involves anti-social tendencies.” Seraph explains too much for Isaac’s brain to process. 

“You forgot about me being here, too.” 

“My apologies, and let’s not forget Matthew. In this particular sense, you serve as the bridge to our new friendship and the expansion of a broader, diplomatic relationship to me and Isaac’s emerging friendship, contributing to your more social disposition.” Seraph replies to Matt’s jest.

“Sometimes I wonder how you talk like that.”

“My parents raised me with class and manners. It’s proper etiquette, and a sense of code for respect and to treat others the way you want to be treated.” Isaac could only stare at how dutiful and respectful Seraph is with the intelligent and proper language he spoke with the inclusion of professional body language. Seraph was like a walking book of knowledge. 

“Is something amiss, Isaac? You seem quite parched and dazed.” Seraph’s straightforward question startles the young curly haired boy.

“Oh no—it’s nothing. It’s just…I am kind of happy you don’t see me as a kid who is a little taller than most of the kids here. And…I am happy we’re friends now.” Isaac stammers out, gaining confidence at the end of his sentence.

“So am I Isaac, and no there is nothing wrong with you being a tall 6-year-old. To me, I concur that you have been born with blessed genes that make you an able body person.” Seraph compliments, gazing at him softly. “While Matt here is artistic and sociable. An ambivert with a curious and thoughtful personality.”

That compliment made Matt shuffle his feet, a sight Isaac only sees when Matt gets shy or embarrassed. “Um thank you, Seraph.”

Isaac returns his gaze back to the affluent elementary kid, who is now switching the Lego between the hand constructed building. There was something about Seraph that made him admiring and cool to look at. Was it how he was dressed? His posture? How he was easily able to build a Lego building in real world detail? The way he was speaking to him? He didn’t know, nor could he make an accurate decision on what he felt, but all he did know was that he didn’t want to separate from Seraph. He wanted to be best friends with Seraph just like he’s best friends with Matt. Because he can see just how different Seraph was from the others. 

Pursing his lips together, Isaac sits beside Seraph. “Can I…play with the Lego? Help you build this building?” His voice comes out soft and shy, despite having just become friends with him 5 minutes ago. 

The boy in question glances at Isaac, his gray eyes boring into Isaac’s blue ones, with a gentle gaze that held a touch of bewilderment, contrasting how sharp and cutthroat they looked. It suddenly dawned on him that he might be treading on delicate grounds, the perplexed expression from Seraph signaling a possible misstep in their evolving rapport.

“Sorry I shouldn’t have asked if you wanted to play with me if you wanted to play-”

“No,” The interjection of Seraph cuts off his next words, “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never had anyone inquire or offer to build something with me, and that is the reason.”

He nods at the former’s response slowly, before his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Not even Matt? I mean I know he likes to draw but he’s friendly to ask.” He points to their friend who shrugs.

“I am not really good with Legos, or building something huge like Seraph’s building here.” It’s Matt’s response that Isaac hears. He hears the other kid shuffle in their seat. “Perhaps I can teach you, Matt.”

Seraph speaks to the aforementioned boy who glances back. “I can even help teach you as well Isaac so that you can be able to build impressive toy architects such as this example.” The other two boys look at Seraph in awe, as if they have just seen a video game on the window-sill and as if it’s calling their names to purchase it.

“Sure, I wanna learn how to build!”

“Um, I guess so…I mean will it be hard to build it because…” The shy boy trails off looking at Seraph’s design, “mines ain't gonna come out like yours.”

“That is the exact reason why I stated I will teach you how to build a complete lego set.” Seraph sends him a wry grin, snickering while finding Isaac’s boldness entertaining. Isaac’s cheeks flush in embarrassment at his words.

“There is a saying: practice makes perfect. Hence, I will be helping you, so you can learn and master how to build a three-dimensional building, such as my design concept.” The intellectual words, followed by a formal tone of proper punctuation echoes to both Isaac and Matt. Well more Isaac. He sees just how amazing his new friend is, even wanting to teach him how to build a set of blocks just for fun. 

Three 6 year-olds in their own world, learning from their new friend on how to build an actual building out of legos. To everyone else, they were just playing blocks. But to Isaac, it was a new friendship, a bond that felt warm, contrasting the icy gray eyes of his new friend. He was never good at making friends honestly speaking, his introverted personality made things difficult since he was in daycare with Matt, who became his first friend out of sheer courage. 

But Seraph…he was different. Different than any kid in the 1st grade, and it wasn’t because of how he dressed, it’s how quiet but observant he was, how smart yet proper he was, how intimidating yet soft he was, and he could have easily said no to him for playing. But…he didn’t, he even surprised Isaac by saying he never had anyone asked him to play with him or build with him before, and to many other kids in their classroom he looked frightening because of his eyes and stone cold face, but not to Isaac. 

To 6 year-old, introverted and shy Isaac, he was mysterious and alluring. Plus, he gave Isaac something he never had before: confidence. Because he never would think he’d be in this kid’s presence without feeling shy and scared by his icy looks of condemnation and judgment, but here he is, smiling and laughing with Seraph who is sitting between him and Matt.

And…6 year-old Seraph was sporting a smile of his own. Isaac once again turns his head to the former. “Hey, can I call you Raph instead?”

Now, it was Seraph’s turn to be surprised. Isaac thought he stepped too far again and took advantage of his newfound friendship. 

“Yes, you may call me Raph, a shortened version of my name.” The aforementioned kid just continues to shock and impress Isaac more and more. “Only if I can request to call you Zac.”

Isaac smiles at that nickname that Matt gives him, now being asked by Seraph. “Deal.”

(3 years later…)

Friendships are supposed to be forever. Especially when it is a treasured one, especially when two kids have become best friends over time. 9-year old Isaac always thought that he was going to have this friendship with Seraph and Matt. So…where did it go wrong? How did their friendship collapse in the blink of an eye?

He didn't know what happened that night—no, he did. He was aware of his brother’s swim team and his father, who is the coach of the aforementioned team, having a huge party in the backyard of their house. His older brother Camden was one of the star swimmers and the main clique leader of this team. It should have been a celebration filled with good times and happiness. It wasn’t. 

He and Matt were supposed to exchange the latest Spiderman comic book, as the duo were very huge fanboys of the character and series. Seraph did adore Spiderman as well, but he was more of a Black Panther and Thor fan, yet Seraph always quoted a famous quote from Spiderman: “With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility.”

It was just the two of them since Seraph left early because he gained a headache that made him groan from time to time and it made Isaac and Matt concerned for their best friend. The affluent child’s cousin, Coriolanus, came and picked him up. It is also ironic how Coriolanus was the best friend of his older brother, because they were the same age but while Camden was part of the swimming team, Coriolanus was in the basketball team since his height overshadowed everyone that Isaac sometimes thought Coriolanus was a giant. 

The boy’s comic book exchange went downhill because Matt was nowhere to be found, until he heard screaming and yelling. He runs just in time to see his father, who was holding a soaked and gasping Matt by the edge of their pool, yelling at Seraph who is surprisingly back to their house. But the 9-year old noticed the tense posture, the snarl, and blazing look in Seraph’s eyes—an unusual sight. He never saw his best friend express, it was like looking at a clone who took over someone’s body with their only change being their personality. Isaac began shaking because of how furious his father was getting and the grinding of his teeth, afterall his father has gotten distant and apathetic with anger, going as far as taking it out on him and Camden lately. He didn’t want Seraph to endure that same treatment, yet his affluent best friend looked unafraid, challenging his father’s authority. He never heard Seraph scream and yell with so much anger that it puts the Incredible Hulk’s anger to shame. 

His eyes widen as he witnesses his father push Seraph slightly in anger, saliva catching in his throat before his legs carry him over to the hostile scene to stop his father from going to hurt Seraph. The next action freezes him—the punch Seraph delivers in retaliation after his father lets go of Matt. The rough cry of his father, the thud of his body, and the clatter of his father’s glasses on the concrete floor intensified his shock. Watching his best friend strike his father in the face in front of everyone was like watching a movie in slow motion. The chaos that kept rising ended with Seraph’s fist, the silence echoing in the atmosphere as the once thriving party came to an abrupt end. 

He watches his father recoil, a hand to his face where Seraph struck, contorted in shock. Coriolanus dashes past little Isaac before halting in front of his enraged little cousin and a wet, dripping, and paralyzed Matt. He could have sworn he saw Seraph’s eyes glow in dark violet hue, but when he blinked to do a double take, they were gone. Maybe it was the pool lights reflecting in his eyes, illuminating the azure color of the water that mirrored his eyes. Perhaps it was the lights around them brightening the atmosphere, giving a luminescent glow. The chaos returns with a vengeance as he sees Coriolanus argue with Camden, rage barely concealed on the surface, while Isaac’s father threatens to call the police for what Seraph had done.

Isaac stood there, aghast and paralyzed with his limbs unsteady and mouth parted open, hearing himself say “stop”, “stop”, “stop”, “please don’t, “don’t call them”. The daunting thought of the police taking Seraph away was horrifying despite how unrealistic it sounded because the police couldn’t arrest little kids. At the same time, he is unable to understand or figure out why his Seraph punched him so hard that blood is trickling down from both nostrils, the vermillion liquid coating the tanned skin of his father’s nose cascading down to his lips and to his hand. Just how hard did his best friend punch him?

He found himself walking towards Matt, who had gone silent, yet his clothes were drenched in water and chlorine, shivering like a leaf in autumn. Something must have happened that caused Matt to quiver and gasp like this because he never saw Matt so frightened, eyes filled with terror. He never saw Seraph aggressive, eyes filled with rage. These are two sights he never wants to see from them. 

The ever increasing yells and screams went in and out of his ear, and now he felt himself shaking from the hostile atmosphere.

“Arresting my cousin because he punched you after you were the one who put your hands on him!? YOU STARTED IT!!!”

“You should have been the one to put him on a leash because he’s—!”

“Call my cousin a dog and I will do worse than whack you across the face.”

“YOU THREATEN ME!? YOU WANNA THREATEN ME!?”

“That’s not a threat! That’s a promise Mr. Lahey! And Camden you should have known better than to throw Matt in the pool when he can’t swim!”

Wait…what?

“What kind of man doesn’t know how to swim? He is a sissy!”

“NOT EVERYONE HAS THE KNOWLEDGE OR ABILITY TO SWIM YOU DERANGED LUNATIC—!”

“Stop calling Matt names, you degenerate jerk!” It was the rough and icy timbre of Seraph’s voice that degraded his father afterwards, and Isaac began shaking uncontrollably. He wants this to stop, he is trying to hold Matt close to him while failing to stay calm from the arguing. He doesn’t know what to do, or how to stop them from arguing. Other than drag the eerily quiet yet shuddering Matt away from the macabre of insults and aggressive tension. 

“Matt,” Isaac wordlessly says, shaking his soaked arms slightly when he doesn't get a response, “Matt are you okay? What happened?” Isaac glanced at his friend who was still shocked and silent through his wheezing, as if he was having an asthma attack. His condition being a backdrop to the heated arguing of spiteful and hostile words and shouts, with Coriolanus and Camden on the verge of throwing blows.

"ENOUGH!!!" The command sliced through the chaotic air like a thunderclap, an authoritative crescendo that sent shockwaves through the backyard. Isaac, caught off guard, felt an involuntary flinch as the reverberations reached him. The source of the sound and tonality was immediately apparent, as his instinct guided his gaze to the epicenter.

There, amidst the turmoil, emerged the tall and imposing figure of Seraph's father in the doorway that separates the pool and kitchenette of Isaac’s house. His silhouette cut an imposing figure against the backdrop of the heated confrontation. The air seemed to still be around him, as if nature itself acknowledged the presence of a commanding force.

Seraph's father stood with a stoic and collected demeanor, a calm yet intense glare cutting through the tumult like a laser. His eyes bore the weight of authority, a simmering power beneath the surface. The lines etched on his face hinted at experiences weathered, a testament to the resilience that accompanied a father's steadfast resolve.

Isaac couldn't help but be captivated by the scene. The contrast between the authoritative figure and the chaos unfolding created a tableau of tension and consequence. The backyard, once a battleground of heated exchanges, now held an anticipatory hush, awaiting the next course in the unpredictable story unfolding before them.

The click and echo of dress shoes was heard on the concrete pavement, the man’s gaze unwavering. Isaac quickly steals a shaky glance at his 9 year old best friend and a now calmed down Coriolanus. 

“Coryo, take Seraph to the car. I will handle this.” Was Seraph’s father’s only words before the taller male nods wordlessly and gently grabs the affluent elementary kid, then begins walking. He could hear his father’s angry shouts and hollers which was followed by Seraph’s father’s calm but firm replies, but Seraph wasn’t looking at him. Isaac kept calling his name, and even went in to grab him but his movements were stopped by Isaac’s furious father, a callous vice grip on his pale wrist that made him wince and knew it would leave bruises.

“You are to never play with that kid again, ya understand!?”

“But Dad—!”

“I said, do you understand!?” His father, appearing enraged and hostile with his nose and lips still coated in his own blood, while painfully squeezing Isaac’s little wrist, made the kid nod hesitantly. He didn’t want to stop talking to Seraph. That’s his best friend. 

The rest of the night went on in a blur, as Seraph’s father left, followed by Matt’s parents arriving in a frenzy to pick him up and the party ended right there. But Isaac was only focused on Matt and Seraph. While Matt’s parents stated he was okay and had no physical related injuries, his friend never contacted him back at all. Matt also didn’t want to come back to the Lahey residence per what his parents have told him. Yet, the biggest radio silence he ever received was from Seraph. Since that night, he never received a phone call from the Kingfisher residence, or a visit to his house. It was as if his best friend had disappeared. 

He waited…and waited…and waited…and waited until it had been 3 weeks and the nervousness began eating him alive. The menacing and eerie radio silence gnawed at him, his endless fidgeting eroding his uneasiness, Isaac didn't know what to do. Seraph did not contact him at all.

Then, he heard the news of Seraph's grandfather, who was murdered in cold blood in the reserve. The iciness that entered the child's veins was visible through his shaking form. The death of Augustus Kingfisher was an eerie and traumatic death, he couldn't bear to know how Seraph was currently feeling at this very moment in time, but he knows what it feels like to lose a relative he loves. He lost his mother. That led to 2 more weeks of radio silence, until one day, Isaac decided to take the initiative to call him. It's what childhood best friends do, right? To watch over each-other, right?

He got the courage to pull the house phone from the receiver and dialed the number to Seraph’s house. He was finally able to speak to Seraph. But, the call didn’t end well. The harsh and cold voice of his best friend made little Isaac wince and recoil in shock. Isaac tried to ask what is wrong and why is Raph acting like this. 

“We cannot see each other anymore Isaac.” The delivery of Seraph’s words were vague but haunting. What did he mean by that? Why did Seraph sound so cold and detached? 

Isaac was speechless, stuttering over his words.

“What do you mean we can’t see each other anymore? Why are you talking like that?”

“I am merely saying that we cannot have moments of camaraderie, or in layman terms, hang out anymore. We need to dissolve our friendship from the events that happened at the pool.” Seraph rephrases for the boy. A sudden shift of panic and despair grows inside of Isaac’s gut. Why is he breaking our friendship?

“Why…? Did I do something wrong? I don’t understand, why do we have to stop being friends? Whatever I did I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you or for my dad hurting you? Did he do something that made you punch my dad’s face?” His eyes were burning with saltwater, brimming at the edge begging to be released from his eyes.

"Raph...is it...is it because of what happened to your grandfather-"

“Goodbye Isaac.” Seraph concludes coldly, getting cut off before hearing the line of the telephone disconnecting, its alarm-like sound ringing in his ear. The first tear dropped to the floor, while Isaac’s form remained still. Needles prickled inside of his arm as his grasp on the phone stilled. The air felt heavy, a foreboding silence ringing in his ears all around him, except the daunting and cold echoing of Seraph’s words.

Seraph…don’t leave me alone…    

(Present Day)

He remembers it like it was yesterday. The childhood memories he has, once filled with warmth and serene, are now overwhelmed by bitterness and icy callousness that springs tears to his eyes. Yet the painful but sweet memory stopped his dawning panic attack, but it brought upon hurt and emotional discomfort. He’s been in emotional turmoil throughout his life. His friend abandoned him when he needed him the most. When Seraph also needed him as well.

The loss of his mother, the death of his brother in Afghanistan, the abrupt change and cruelty of his father, and the destruction of his friendships, Matt Daehler and most importantly, Seraph. What hurts more is the pain and viciousness of his friend’s words, calling out his abuse and victimization that he hides behind a facade of nonchalance and introvert to be careless and detrimental to him rather than taking action to do something about it. As if he isn’t aware of the agonizing situation that he deals with at home everyday of his life. As if he isn’t aware of the bruises and cuts he receives from his father who shows absolutely no care in hitting him whenever he wants. As if he doesn’t experience pain, drama, and turmoil every month, every week, every day, every hour. Yet his friend did not take that into consideration, but brought it up abruptly and callously. 

It doesn’t help that he has to return home to a toxic and unwelcoming environment that he calls home because he has nowhere else to go, or no other relative that lives in Beacon Hills. Plus, his father is all he has left, even if it feels like swallowing lead and venom while he is in his presence, even if his cold and brutal hands break his skin and hurts him before throwing him inside the freezer box, even his father’s words of gaslighting and verbal insults pierce through him like a blade of torture, he still gets back up and moves forward. The terror and fright behind it all hurts and traumatizes him, yet what is he able to do? Who would ever want to aid a weak teenager who cannot defend himself against his father? They may even say his father is right because he does wrong things that are disobedient to his father, despite his conscious telling him that what his father is wrong hundred percent of the time in his actions. Yet his friend revealed the hard cold truth to him that he wished wasn’t true, and is terrified to believe.

He just doesn’t want to be alone, and yet now…he feels truly alone…because Seraph’s words of the harsh, bitter truth came to light and stated it insensitively. Why Raph? Why did you leave me behind?

The sound of chatter in the hallways makes Isaac glance at the clock of the empty classroom and he realizes there’s only 15 minutes left of lunch, almost time for his next class. He wipes away his tears, wincing slightly when he rubs the bruise on his cheek. He can’t have anyone see him with his eyes all red and puffy. Maybe they wouldn’t care if they saw him like this. Just like how Seraph wouldn’t care.

Perhaps...he never knew Seraph as much as he thought he did.

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The school’s main office is usually a place of tension and anticipation for students who are in trouble, or a place of contentment and joy when they are told their parents are requesting them to come home for something important. In Seraph’s case, it was neither. He is a student with an A grade in all of his classes so the first option is out, and he loves school and to do classwork so the second option is out, Well what is it? He missed History class, and to top it off, it’s Free Period. Most students would be questioned as to why they are in the office for so long. But due to his academic GPA and standing, the office was his second study place. Not to mention his father donates to the school annually, cue the favoritism to his chagrin.

The remorse and regret of his cruel and indifferent words to Isaac’s current situation is sinking him into a pit of shame and disappointment. Not to mention he feels Isaac’s aura of melancholy and heartache across the school all thanks to him. But he knows better to approach the teenager right now to confront and apologize for his words knowing that will only make the circumstances worse. 

Congratulations, Seraph. You stabbed a dagger through Zac’s soul and drained it all of what innocence he had left. Impressive and fantastic. Now you are left with the repercussions of what you’ve caused. Then you wonder exactly why your deceased grandfather stated you have a provocative mouth. The sarcastic and impervious thoughts of his conscience mocks him. A harsh scowl plasters his face, not in the mood to deal with his conscience or be reminded of the horrid trauma of his dead relative. The consistent clatter of typing on the keyboard behind the desk, along with the telephones ringing in the atmosphere and the chatter of students in the hallway outside was just minimal background noise.

Seraph was in his own conscience, reeling over his harsh encounter with Isaac, his…ex-friend he assumes now that he probably squashed any chances of reconciliation, and the premonition he received of a future; a future of him and the others alongside new faces in Beacon Hills, which he is unable to decipher because he is aware that those faces aren’t familiar. WAIT— the one who was wearing the Jersey that had the number 9 on it, is actually familiar. But where have I seen that face before? 

A quiet hiss leaves his mouth from remembering the bewildering premonition, rubbing his two fingers on his temple. This is one huge drawback with his precognitive powers. This can occur in two separate ways: either through getting successive premonitions within a 24 hour period, or receiving a large premonition that reveals many adversaries and outcomes at once and can travel in said realm of precognition such as the one he had minutes ago. The result of taking in such a drastic premonition lands him with an irritable headache that will last for a few hours. He should have turned off his premonition this morning if he didn’t want to receive such future obstacles. Now he understands why his father shuts off his precognition when he is away in his locations such as Alaska or San Francisco, or during his political work in Beacon Hills Town Hall. Now he understands why his family remains a neutral party in all conflicts, such as the Hale Fire, Scott’s transformation, the Largest arrival, and the unknown identity of the Alpha. 

Speaking of turning off the power…

Seraph closes his eyes and turns off his ability, inquiring about the possibility that the headache may disperse much sooner with his special ability now off. Yet that still does not help his current impasse. No aspirin or pain-relieving medication would prove efficacious in alleviating his headache, because it manifested itself through the use of supernatural energy. How hollow and pointless would it be if the school nurse were to examine his headache with technological test results only to come up with nothing. It would be unmistakable exposure and treacherous for him to go to the hospital to inspect his headache, since using the CT scan would show the humans his skull which would reflect the lighting and photo scans thanks to his blood and supernatural biology. (Yes he will continue to milk the supernatural biology card and he will not be unfettered by it.) 

The clicking sounds of heels and his name being called forces Seraph to glance at the school’s secretary. “Good Afternoon, Mr. Kingfisher. Do you wish to call your mom so you can be sent home?”

Seraph simply nods, taking his cell phone out and dialing the number of his mother’s cellphone while the school secretary prepares the necessary documents to be sent home and excused for his classes today. It did earn him surprised and unusual glances since for the first time in his history of attending school, he is being sent home. He has not missed a day of school in his life, nor has he ever received a tardy for being late, nor has he been sent home for sickness or pain as the latter has never contracted diseases or pain. (Thanks to his immunity to diseases.)

For him to go home in the middle of the school day is quite shocking to the staff. Yet he doesn’t spare any of them a look, his eyes trained on the ceiling as he waits for the call to pick up on the phone. The ringing ends and a soft yet confused tone enters his ears. “Seraph, is everything okay?”

Already asking him and without even receiving information on what is wrong, Seraph’s expression is amused slightly, yet restrains himself from adding discomfort to his head. “No. I have a painful pounding in my skull and my current mood is not an exquisite one. I cannot concentrate on my work with an excruciating headache disrupting everything I try to do, and before you conclude anything,” his voice drops to a whisper, “it’s the special headaches I would get from my premonitions.” Unfortunately, being immune from every disease in the world does not mean he is immune to headaches. Normal headaches that a typical human or a werewolf would get, applies to his kind as well, but since normal medication like aspirin would be ineffective, he would have to use a concoction of vervain, clover, and mugwort, a surprisingly not-so-bad concoction, to quell normal headaches.

Whereas the special headaches that come from his premonition ability, those take more time to dissipate because it is the psychological impact and vignette vision behind the premonitions that cause a mental and soul distress between his brain and supernatural powers. The concoction won't work for this so he will have to drag it out. The special headaches last longer and it varies how much was envisioned within a day or the successive amounts of premonitions that occurred within an hour time limit.

He hears his mom clear her throat. “Now I see. Did you receive too many premonitions within the hour limit, or did you receive a large one that caused you to explore outside of where you are standing in your premonition?” His mom inquires, her voice steady yet comfortable. Unlike him, his sister, and his father, his mother does not have the premonition ability, since this unique power originated from his paternal grandfather, and was passed down to Azrael, which then was passed down to him and Celes. 

“It was an extended premonition that manifested my headache.” He murmurs quietly, drinking a cup of water to at least soothe him. He heard a hum of acknowledgment on the line, followed by a short pause.

“Is there more to this story?” Elizabeth’s calm voice questions, and Seraph eyes the phone as if she could see his baffled reaction. “Your senses are definitely off if you are this silent from my reply, as you are aware I can sense your emotions and aura. Did something else happen?” She repeats, waiting on the line. 

Releasing a sigh of discontent, Seraph knows there is no need to hide this. “Yes actually. I encountered Lahey and the two of us ended up having a brief but intense confrontation to the point that I unleashed unwanted vitriol against him without taking in consideration of his well being and trauma…and…I—” For the first time in his life, Seraph stammers, his usual prominence in composure, administration, and sprezzatura lost. He truly messed up big time, didn’t he? First that extensive and harrowing vision, and then his accidental and visceral mishap that tore Isaac apart emotionally.

His mother’s voice reels him back in, worry evident in her tonality. “Honey, breath. Take a deep breath and exhale.” He does as he is told, inhaling deeply before releasing the puff of air, his nerves returning back to normal. The headache only got worse, not enough to stumble him but enough to cause more irritation. “We’ll talk about it when we get home, darling. I am sending the email now to notify them that I am giving you permission and confirmation to be sent home.” He hears quick typing from the keyboard through the phone. “I will have Milene make you the medicinal concoction to help you.”

“Actually, I’d rather not talk about it. I would prefer to leave it behind as a forgotten memory and carry on.” Seraph secures the strap on his satchel, standing up. 

“Are you sure? It is much better if you discuss this with me rather than letting it bottle up. I won’t force you to talk if you wish not to, but are you sure you would rather not discuss this?” Elizabeth asks. God bless his mother for her generosity and empathetic nature. Despite his cold and hypersaline personality, a small part of him is anxious if he is overbearing or irreverent to his family. Though he is aware they are used to his ways and apathy and find no trouble in it, sans Celes who is the victim of his torment of jabs and sibling dynamic. 

“Yes, I am sure.” He huffs out, standing up to stretch, ignoring the annoying throb in his head. A soft hum came from the receiver, as an indirect form of response. Seraph walks to the desk, collecting the documents and paper after the secretary receives the email. He mouths a thank you before leaving, with the secretary replying to him to get better soon. 

“Alright then. Grandma won’t be home until late tonight. She is on a trip to a Gala in Los Angeles with Arnold, and your father is currently at the Town Hall, courtesy of the recent murders to manifest a curfew law for the time being. Celes will be with Gwen and her other friend Patricia for much of the day. So It’ll be me and Milene in the early evening.” Elizabeth tells him. Seraph hums in approval.

“I understand. Thank you…mom.” Seraph tells her hesitantly, a tone he is NOT used to producing. Seriously, how out of function he is today? Elizabeth tells him goodbye and the line disconnects. He heaves a sigh and walks up to the desk to receive an early dismissal pass alongside a large manila envelope of letters for the last classes of today to be excused for tomorrow. He leaves and stomps down the white tiled floor to his locker. 

Suddenly, while walking to his locker, a repugnant, gnarly and copper like scent fills his nostrils. He almost vomits at how intense it smelled. The concoction of rotten copper, dead skin, mutilated organs, and…wolfsbane— wait, what? That made Seraph stop in his path of direction. Wolfsbane…Derek Hale arrived in the school with such a disgusting and deathly scent yet he is alive. Scott doesn’t produce this scent either since the beta is healthy and smells like shower gel, oak and laundry detergent. 

“You must really, really hate me.” He hears Jackson say poignantly. While you aren’t a malicious person, your arrogance and pride is what causes conflict with those around you, Whittemore. Seraph conveys internally.

“Not at all.” Allison rebukes, despite feeling her aura of uncertainty. Allison doesn’t hate him but she feels apprehensive about the Lacrosse captain no doubt to his previous antagonistic behavior. Especially towards Scott.

“You sure? Because you know, I’m not a bad guy—I mean I make stupid mistakes a lot but…I’m not bad.” He asserts, giving Allison his best ‘sincere’ tone. Please don’t tell me they are by my locker. Seraph prays to no one in particular. 

“I like you…I mean—I like you and Scott together, and I would like to get you know you guys better.” Jackson says to the Argent heiress through Seraph’s hearing, and the latter does a double take at what the jock fumbles over his words. Why does Jackson sound so desperate and…unsure of himself? His heartbeat regarding his words states an ulterior motive…what are you planning to do, Whittemore?

The closer Seraph gets to his locker, the stronger and more detestable it grew. His lungs couldn’t bear with the scent, but he kept his poise and continued through this unfathomable torment. Once he was in view of his locker, there he saw two individuals, and while not only did one of them produced the loathesome scent, but the other one was just sitting uncomfortably beside the former. Seraph is baffled that Jackson reeks of a rotting corpse combined with the potent flower. His skin, deathly pale and unnatural, alongside his sunken eyes appears to make him look dead. Until it hit Seraph’s mind. 

Derek’s claws were infected with wolfsbane poisoning from the bullet, therefore when he dug into Jackson’s nape, the poisoned blood and fluid transferred into Jackson’s blood, infecting him as well. Seraph relays in his head after coming to the conclusion of Jackson’s repulsive scent. While Derek only and unintentionally transmit part of the potency into Jackson’s body, it is still enough to cause organ failure and serious health damage into the body. It can, if not treated, kill him. Seraph may have to concoct Wolfsbane Amenia, or the healing Wolfsbane with Clover, and convert them into capsules for Jackson to consume, even though that could raise suspicions within Jackson of how Seraph knows about what happened. Plus he would need Jackson's consent regarding to giving him capsules, something that will hurt the teen's huge ego and earn a harsh reject from him.

He shook his head, the abhorrent smell threatening to make him reel. He turned his attention to the second individual who is anxious and uncomfortable beside Jackson who’s invading her privacy per say. Allison Argent. They were just a locker beside his on the top of them. Seraph’s shoes echo the floor, catching the attention of both teenagers, who have different reactions to seeing him. 

Jackson’s expression sours at the sight of him, due to earlier interactions and the last time Seraph insulted him in the parking lot, which the enigmatic teenager couldn’t care less about. But Allison’s expression is intrigued but reticent. Her eyes study the body language, facial expressions and movements of him. He never uttered a single word to the girl since her arrival, nor acknowledged her presence. But judging by how Allison is studying him, there is no doubt that Lydia must have mentioned him to her in their interactions since those two are best friends. Then again, Lydia is also the type to not tell Allison about a being like him. 

“Pardon my intrusion, but my locker is beside you on top, Ms. Argent.” Seraph politely declares. Allison’s expression snaps to realization.

“Oh, sorry, just…let me move a little bit over.” Allison replies, but he notices the heavy hesitation laced in her voice due to a certain ill-looking jock being a little too close to her in such a disturbing fashion. But at Seraph’s cutthroat expression, Jackson does move a little further, though to Allison moving slightly than to Seraph’s icy veil.

“Thank you.” The enigmatic mutters before approaching the locker, and inputting the combination of the lock to open his locker. The throbbing surged up slightly, and that had Seraph just stop momentarily, touching his temple to rub it even though such actions will not deter the effect of the headache. Damn, he thought, while opening his locker fully to put only the necessary study materials away in exchange for the one he needs later for homework. 

“Are you okay?” Seraph freezes, not sure to be surprised to be asked such a question, or Allison’s boldness to ask. But he keeps a straight face and slightly turns to her hesitant but inquisitive gaze, ignoring the jock beside her.

“Phyiscally yes. I am going home early due to a repulsive and pounding headache that is prevailing my concentration and school input. But nothing to fret about, I am fine. Just lethargic.” He responds to her cordially. To be very honest, there isn’t much to talk here, since these two do not know each other. Allison didn’t have to actually speak anything to him, and he didn’t have to respond. But it did alter the course of their interactions. He did however, heard a weak but masculine chuckle. 

“Wow, that’s a first. Can’t handle a little headache, Kingfisher? That’s the first time since you attended school to ever go home early. Are we less than intelligent beings make you unable to handle our rambunctious rowdyness?” Jackson asks dubiously, earning a glower from Allison who just heard him apologize for being mean to Scott even though his delivery of it sounded less sincere and more desperate mixed with eerieness. 

Seraph, through his irritating headache and in spite of the disgusting odor of death his classmate is producing, smirks and faces Jackson fully. “Ah yes, it appears even the most robust among us occasionally succumb to the whims of a mere headache. I shall take care of myself in a prominent manner, although I must admit, the pallor of your skin and the sunken shadows beneath your eyes do give cause for concern.” It took everything in the icy teenager to not make a provocative comment about his repugnant scent that is coming from him. Jackson’s eyes widen at the mention of his abnormal physical condition that he silences himself from saying anymore lest he hear Seraph say something diminshing.

Allison remains engrossed but indecisive to utter a word to Seraph, who just returned to facing his locker and pulling out a textbook. Now that she thought about it, she remembered Seraph didn’t show up in history class at all. She only remembers that she shares History, Economics, and French classes with him. There is no reason for her to strike a conversation with him, she told herself, but the thought of at least getting to know an independent and quiet individual like Seraph whom Lydia mentioned to her on the first day with a ton of information about him does make her curious to know him. 

She takes the risk and clears her throat. “You’re Seraph Kingfisher, right?” Surprisingly, the cliché question doesn’t increase his already irritating headache. He spares a glance at Allison who is still sitting beside the locker beneath his own. 

The fact that she is questioning his identity raises two possibilities: either Lydia mentioned him to her and revealed alot of information concerning him, or she must have heard the tale of him roasting an entire grade of seniors in his freshman year. He is willing to bet the former, since that tale, while still spoken, is seen as an urban legend that is to not be spoken of unless the individual is willing to risk their ego and pride. But the fact that Lydia holds him in such esteem is sacrilegious but intriguing. He doesn’t know whether to thank her or tell her to stop telling her friends about him. 

“Yes, in the flesh.” Allison nodded, deeply uncomfortable by how the pale and ill looking lacrosse captain, “Jackass” Whittemore is peering at her with macabre intent. The putrefaction of the blonde’s blood, coupled with aconite poisoning, threatened to induce the noxious concoction churned within him, instigating an unsettling urge to retch. Seraph sighs through his nose to prevent that urge and glances back at her. “Might I request your assistance in something?”

That caused Allison to look up at him, while Jackson glares at the bespectacled teen. The enigmatic considers the latter irrelevant as he focuses on the girl. “Can you hand this to Coach Finstock for Econ? I remember we both have the same class period after this.” The affluent teenager did not expect to meet the heiress of the Argents in this kind of mundane manner. If it entails distancing herself from Jackson’s disconcerting presence and the disagreeable odor of mortality that pervades his vicinit, then it is an acceptable course of action. Besides, Econ is the only class that he would rather not have the Coach reprimand him for missing class, whereas the others he can discreetly get away with thanks to his academics. 

With newfound eagerness likely as a result of escaping from Jackson, Allison nodded without hesitation and packed away her things and took the excuse letter from Seraph and safely place it in her bag. “I can do that. Although I just hope that you’re okay with everything.” Allison comments, genuine and serene in her words and expression. At least it didn’t end awkward.

Seraph nods and replies, “I am fine. Thank you.” He shuts his locker while Allison, sends him a small and cordial smile before leaving the scenery with the letter. Unlike Jackson’s current scent, Allison smells of vanilla, lavender, and oak, with a simple yet delicate touch of Coco Chanel perfume. Seraph clicks the locker of his combination before he finds Jackson, who is getting up, wobble slightly. 

“Whether or not you want to hear this is not my concern, but you are severely unwell. Your appearance is as pale as a ghost. You can barely stand with your current fractured stature. I suggest you go to a doctor and receive immediate medical treatment.” Seraph conjures, earning a sardonic expression from the jock.

“Gee, thank you for the diagnosis of my condition, doc. What do you want, a medal? Why would I take a suggestion from your stuck-up ass?” Jackson’s snark only made Seraph smirk. Even in sickness is Whittemore still an arrogant and egotistical jerk. 

"Well, Whittemore, if arrogance and egotism were Olympic events, you'd have enough gold medals to start your own mint. But alas, we're stuck with your diagnosis instead. Consider it a consolation prize for your remarkable lack of self-awareness." Seraph turns around not sparing Jackson a glance, who is giving the bespectacled teen a sour expression. He never had an issue with Seraph until now, but the delivery of his words and hypersaline persona pisses him off. But he knows trying to argue with Seraph is like arguing with a brick wall. He’d lose easily to Seraph’s words and cunning perception.

Seraph stomps down the empty hallway, hearing that clock on the wall echo as it’s 10 seconds before the bell rings. He makes it to the exit and walks down the stairs, with a few classmates out in the parking lot hanging out or doing something uninteresting. The bell inside the school blares loudly at the signal of the end of the period. Seraph enters his car and turns the engine on. He didn’t expect Allison to take the letter and give it to Coach Finstock out of kindness and a means to leave Jackson, but it did work in his favor, He reverses back from the parking lot in a 90 degree angle, and drives off on the open road leaving the school. 

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

Nobody, least of all Scott himself, could have anticipated the tumultuous turn his life took when he was unwillingly bitten and transformed against his will from an average human teenager to a supernatural, werewolf teenager thanks to a selfish and unstable alpha he still doesn’t know about.. His struggle to understand the politics of werewolves and hunters, and navigate his way through the intricate discord of violence against him and the trauma inflicted by a power-hungry alpha only compounded his anguish. Scott is not only grappling  with external threats but also with the internal turmoil of his own identity and the weight of his traumatic experiences caused by factors outside of his control.

This so-called “gift” that Derek persistently boasts about, is more of a dark curse that makes his life worse than it did before. Yes, his senses have heightened to an extraordinary degree—he can run faster without the risk of his asthma harming him, he can hear the faintest pin drop from miles away, discerning emotions through scent alone. Even in the darkest of nights, his vision pierces through the shadows like no sight before. However, these enhanced abilities only exacerbate the new aggression consuming him. Worse still is the looming threat of losing his humanity when the full moon casts its illuminating glow, pitting his humanity against his inner werewolf.

Regardless of his phenomenal abilities, he must keep them hidden from his mother, Allison, and his peers at school. Nevertheless, all efforts are almost starting to prove futile when Derek impulsively accuses his boss and mentor, Alan Deaton, of being the rogue alpha who turned him. This accusation defies all logic. Throughout Derek's acquaintance with Deaton, the veterinarian has been nothing but a paragon of kindness, compassion, and intelligence, drawing from years of experience in veterinary practice. Deaton has imparted invaluable skills to Scott, skills that would typically be acquired in college practice with medicine and veterinarian services. How Derek arrives at the conclusion that Deaton is the alpha is madness and pure hubris. Nothing about this assumption or situation adds up.

Scott walks alongside Stiles in the empty and dark hallways of their school after getting inside, en route to the office, distressed and confused on his agenda, which was to call the alpha (assumed to be Deaton by Derek’s blind assumption). Puzzled, uncertain, and apprehensive about this, he stares before turning to Stiles with a look of dread and worry. The latter is looking back and forth like he is under anxiety. Okay maybe staring at Stiles’s pacing isn’t helping him either. He glances back down to the hallway in front of him.

"Scott, honestly do you think you can find anyone other than Derek to help you with the alpha?" Stiles's question makes Scott pause and look to his left and into his brown eyes with perplexity.

"Like who? I don't know who is a werewolf in our school. In fact I don't even think there are any werewolves in our school." Scott counters anxiously, more focused on trying to save Deaton from Derek, or prove Derek wrong for him accusing his boss, who is a kind, wise and compassionate figure, is the vicious and malicious alpha. Scott's mind is rattled with anxiety and stress, coupled with the turmoil of his werewolf status as well as his emotions, and the psychological trauma of having to be thrusted into this supernatural world with no guidance.

Having to hide this from those he loves and cares for, especially Allison and his mom, is the major factor of his stress and edge. How is he supposed to continue to live like this for the rest of his life? How is he going to go down this dreadful path as he grapples with his humanity?

"Like I don't know. Who else could be a candidate for a beta in our school?" Stiles inquires more, flailing his arms. When Scott shakes his head confusedly, he prompts Stiles to answer. "Someone from the lacrosse team? Our classmates? Because if they are three werewolves now, then maybe there is someone else?" 

"No one in our team smells like a werewolf, Stiles. If that were the case then they either would have gotten involved, or they wouldn't." Scott replies. There's obviously not anyone else in their school who is a werewolf, otherwise Scott would make the decision to seek their aid depending on how they would perceive him. If they were antagonistic then the chances of help would be futile. He has to understand how to survive as a werewolf and balance out his life peacefully.

"Well—what about Seraph? After that odd looking pained expression on his face earlier I doubt normal poeple make that much of a painful face. Looks werewolfish to me.” 

Scott fixed him with a baffled look, stopping in the middle of the corridor within the vicinity of the main office. He is unable to tell whether Stiles is trying to say he is accusing Seraph of being a werewolf or if that’s Stiles dislike of the academically advanced classmate. Not when his werewolf senses were all over the place. He looks back at the microphone, staring at the piece. "Seraph doesn't smell like a werewolf. He has a cinnamon, rosemary and wool like scent. Plus he's human, I felt his pain when my hand touched his earlier." Scott noticed something different with Seraph. While the pain he felt from touching him was...strange, like there was something there that shouldn't be there. But he couldn't pinpoint it due to the rush of the moment and he is currently in a serious situation between controlling his emotions, his shift, and trying to save those he cares for right now.

“M-Maybe he could be a beta like you and Derek.” Stiles counters while stumbling in his own words.

“He’s not a werewolf. Now isn’t the time to make accusations, not when my boss’s life is at risk or under the suspicion he is the Alpha, which I doubt.” Scott whispers with dread at the hyperactive teenager, prompting them to continue their path. Stiles just huffs, following the Latino male to the door nearby. They shine their flashlights on the windows leading to the room, before Scott twists the knob on the door. 

“Okay one question,” The Sheriff’s son starts off, while going inside first, “what are you gonna do if the alpha doesn’t show up?” 

Scott takes a moment to answer, frowning. “I don’t know.”

“And what are you gonna do if he does show up?” Stiles pesters once more.

“I don’t know.” The werewolf shakes his head before glancing away.

“Good plan.” The former quips, shrugging his shoulders as if they aren’t already in deep shit.

Sometimes Stiles can’t be as supportive as he should be. Then again, neither of them are in a good place right now, not when Scott has to signal the alpha to attract it’s attention and proof Derek’s accusation on if Deaton is the one who bit him. All of this is stressing him out and increasing his pent-up anxiety. “Alright, you said that a werewolf howls to signal it’s position to the rest of the pack, right?”

“Right, but if you bring it here, does that make you part of it’s pack?” Stiles asked. Scott swallows with trepidation at the thought of luring the giant creature to his location. 

“I hope not.”

“Yeah me too.” Stiles quietly repeats, taking out the microphone for his friend. “Alright, all you.”

Scott gazes down at the microphone, uncertainty clouding his thoughts and unsettling his every move. With a hesitant breath, he clears his throat, drawing in a deep inhalation through his nose, as if seeking solace in the air itself before opening his mouth.

A strangled, horrid howl, reminiscent of a cat being suffocated to death, escapes from his throat, echoing grotesquely throughout the school's antiquated PA system. The sound, a dissonant cacophony of distress and embarrassment, hangs heavily in the air, eliciting second-hand discomfort from anyone within earshot. That person being Stiles, and outside in the parking lot, Derek. Something tells Scott that whatever he unleashed wasn’t a howl. 

“Was that okay? I mean that was a howl, right?” Scott solicits, seeking Stiles’s response. The latter wanted to die of embarrassment and crawl to a hole from whatever that was. 

“Y-Yeah, technically.” The Sheriff’s son sheepishly says, unsure of how to respond. Scott wasn’t convinced by that judging by his best friend's not-so-honest reply.

“Well what did it sound like to you?”

“Like a cat being choked to death, Scott.” Stiles supplies more truthfully.

A rush of breath fills Scott’s lungs as he starts to panic over his mistake, unable to hide the stress and frustration in the situation. How the fuck is he supposed to do this!? “What do I do, how am I supposed to do this!?” Sensing his discomfort, Stiles scrambles to his feet to come beside Scott in reassurance. 

“Okay, hey—listen to me, you’re calling the alpha, alright? Be a man. Be a werewolf, not a Teen Wolf. Be a werewolf.” Stiles advises him, patting his shoulder soothingly, before giving Scott his space. Scott gives him a light nod, taking a few moments to collect himself, before remembering Stiles’s advice. A transformation sweeps across Scott's countenance, replacing any hint of levity with a grave and disciplined demeanor. A surge of raw energy courses through his veins, infusing him with an unwavering resolve. His grip tightens around the microphone, knuckles white with determination, as his pupils flare with a piercing golden hue. Within the depths of his being, a primal rumble begins to stir, building momentum like an approaching storm, resonating from the depths of his chest and climbing upward, ready to unleash its potent force upon the unsuspecting audience.

In an instant, the feeble, strained sound that had emanated through the PA system minutes earlier is replaced by a mighty, earth-shattering howl that grips the very essence of the atmosphere and the school itself. The reverberations of the howl ripple through the air, causing door knobs to tremble, combination locks to rattle, and chalks on the chalkboard to quiver in response. Even the floor beneath their feet seems to pulsate with the sheer force of the sound. Its intensity is overwhelming, leaving those who hear it paralyzed with a mixture of shock and amazement. Deafening in its magnitude and eerie in its resonance, the howl captivates all who are within its reach, imprinting itself upon their senses with an undeniable power. Unfortunately…the howl was enough to signify the alpha, who now knew of Scott’s location.

As the reverberations of his howl slowly dissipate into the air, Scott stands there, a mixture of shock and amazement coursing through his veins. He can hardly believe that he, a mere high school student, was able to produce such a powerful and commanding sound. The residual energy from the howl still thrums within him, driving through his veins like a relentless force, leaving him both exhilarated and slightly unnerved. His heart races with the realization that he has just signaled his location to the alpha, a fact that fills him with a creeping sense of apprehension. In spite of this, there's a flicker of pride in his chest, knowing that he has tapped into a strength he never knew he possessed.

In addition, Stiles watches his best friend with a mixture of awe and admiration, his own shock mirroring Scott's. He can hardly believe what he's just witnessed, marveling at the raw power and intensity of Scott's howl. There's a sense of pride swelling within him, knowing that his friend possesses such incredible abilities. While he shares Scott's slight nervousness about attracting the alpha's attention, Stiles is more focused on the sheer magnitude of what Scott has just accomplished. In his eyes, Scott's howl is nothing short of extraordinary, a testament to his unwavering determination and resilience.

Despite the newfound prowess of his abilities, the dread deep down coils within his internal organs and spirit regarding how his future would be like as…this, as a werewolf. Grappling with emotions, protecting others from harm, being hunted, and having to hone his skills other than being a prodigal athletic teenager overnight but for survival is what courses around his mind like an endless Grand Pix race. The dicohotomy of being human and being a werewolf is a battle he must face.

But, if Allison is the anchor to his wolf, as Stiles mentioned earlier, if she is the reason he isn’t weak, but keeps his humanity, then that explains why he loves her. It explains why his anger that comes from the base of his inner wolf is tamed. Her voice, her presence, her aura helps him remain stable. His compassionate side, his willpower, his kindness and integrity also keeps him human too. Which then tells him that Derek’s advice to stay away from Allison isn’t because it makes him weak, but maybe because she helps him be human. As for the full moon…no he’s not going to think about that right now. There are other times for him to think about this. 

Right now, Deaton is the one who needs help, assuming that he isn’t the alpha that Derek accuses him to be.

“I’m gonna kill both of you!” Derek declares with irritation, as Scott and Stiles venture back down to the parking lot from Scott’s moment of surprise. They both looked confused and surprised at Derek’s reaction. “What the hell was that!? Are you trying to attract the whole state to the school?”

“Sorry I didn’t know it’d be that loud.” Scott replies sheepishly, sighing. Stiles on the other hand was far from embarrassed.

“Oh it was loud…and it was awesome~!” Stiles singsongs at the end, both teenagers clearly excited by this. Scott’s cheerfulness was short-lived as he noticed something was off. Derek’s car door was open.

Derek was undeterred and displeased. Neither him or Stiles noticed the Latino teenager’s distress. “Shut up.”

“Don’t be such a ‘sourwolf’-” Stiles taunts but is interrupted by Scott who grabs his arm while focusing on the black Camaro because Deaton was no longer unconsicous inside the vehicle. 

"What'd you do with him?" Scott questions, his unease palpable as he scans the surroundings for any sign of Deaton's whereabouts.

"What?" Derek's gaze darts to his vehicle, a flicker of dread crossing his features as he realizes Scott's boss is missing from where he should be. Something doesn't sit right. "I didn't do anything." His denial is swift, but the tension in his stance and the furrow in his brow betray his own sense of disquiet.

The tension in the air is shattered by a brutal and merciless attack as something sharp violently impales Derek from behind. Agonizing pain explodes throughout his body, rendering him powerless as he coughs up blood, the metallic taste flooding his senses. Every nerve screams in torment as he is hoisted into the air, his vision swimming with crimson haze as blood continues to gush from his mouth.

Scott and Stiles watch in horror, their hearts pounding in their chests as they witness the sudden and savage assault on the older werewolf. Shock freezes them in place, their minds struggling to process the gruesome scene unfolding before their eyes. Fear grips them tightly, its icy fingers clawing at their hearts as they realize the danger they're facing.

For Derek, each moment is a living nightmare, his senses overwhelmed by excruciating agony and the overwhelming scent of blood. He feels his strength draining away, his limbs growing numb as darkness threatens to consume him. Desperation surges within him, but it's futile against the relentless assault of pain and terror, and his vision begins to cloud, approaching an all too knowing darkness. 

At the Alpha’s growl, Scott and Stiles bolt the other way, sprinting to the high school after witnessing Derek being lifted. They run towards the double doors of the facility while Derek is thrown to a brick wall, his form seemingly lifeless with blood leaving his mouth. 

Scott and Stiles burst through the doors, slamming them shut behind them with trembling hands. Their hearts pound furiously against their ribcages, the thunderous rhythm echoing in their ears like a relentless drumbeat of fear. Horror grips their minds like icy tendrils, their thoughts consumed by the raw brutality they've just witnessed and the terror of the demonic creature lurking outside that just committed murder.

Their bodies quiver with adrenaline, every nerve on edge as they grapple with the harrowing reality of what they've just experienced. The air feels thick with apprehension, suffocating them as they struggle to catch their breath amidst the chaos. Images of violence and bloodshed flash behind their eyelids, refusing to fade as they desperately cling to a semblance of composure.

But beneath the facade of outward strength lies a profound sense of vulnerability, a gnawing fear that threatens to engulf them whole. They huddle together, seeking solace in each other's presence, yet unable to shake the haunting memory of the creature's savage attack. Trauma seeps into their souls like poison, leaving them shaken and scarred in its wake.

Scott never deserved to be thrust into this turmoil, one where he hangs between life and death, and that also grasps the lives of others and his loved ones. The night couldn't get any worst.

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

So, who was expecting Seraph's interaction with Allison? How would this friendship journey on from here? What did you guys think of the past between Seraph, Isaac, and Matt, and Scott's POV in this story regarding his emotions, thoughts and trauma?

Chapter 6 will be released on the third week of May. Also does anyone know how to make a creative divider for chapters? I am not that talented when it comes to designs like that.

If you'd like to read more or earlier chapters of this series, access it here: https://www.tumblr.com/kingofangst/737729405418389504/teen-wolf-au-series-the-wings-of-an-enigmatic?source=share

The Wings Of An Enigmatic

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf canon au #the wings of an enigmatic series #teen wolf au #seraph kingfisher #my oc #scott mccall #allison argent #stiles stilinski #isaac lahey #lydia martin #jackson whittemore #derek hale #alan deaton #matt daehler #twoae

[leclerc-hs]

tachycardia pt.2 - cl16

pairing: doctor!charles leclerc x nurse!reader (alpha/omega au) summary: in which you don't always get along with the arrogant alpha doctor warnings: LIGHT a/b/o dynamics, angst??, none really (yet!), badly translated French (didn't really put french in this), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 1.5k author's note: hi!!!!!! did you miss me??? I missed all of you! sorry this is SO short but I wanted to post something in honor of reaching 2,000 FOLLOWERS!!! I love u all sm and I'm sorry this is kinda shit. I've been in a really bad writing funk recently but I'm hoping to get out of it. don’t forget to talk to me and don’t be shy I love to hear from all of you!!!! I will try to get the ball rolling on this series as soon as I can. I just kinda started it without even knowing where I wanted it to go so I'm kinda just winging it as I write with whatever comes to mind. if you have anything you would like to see happen in this series PLEASE don’t be shy and let me know I love to hear your thoughts and ideas!!!! xoxo taglist: @amalialeclerc @barcelonaloverf1life @charizznorizz @magicpancake @zabwlky1999

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

AS YOU SIT across from your younger sister in the cozy confines of the café adjacent to the bustling hospital, you can’t help but marvel at the enigmatic workings of her mind.

“Is it really like that? Sex in the on-call rooms?” The question bursts forth accompanied by a hearty laugh, your body leaning forward in laughter. 

“How many times do I have to tell you no?”  You retort, meeting her gaze with an air of firmness amidst the playful banter. 

“What about in the locker room?” She presses further, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“No, and stop indulging in such ludicrous fantasies.” You respond, bringing your cup of coffee to your mouth, you pause before taking a sip. “You know well enough that I don’t engage in relationships with doctors.” A fleeting sense of contentment washes over you with the warmth of the coffee. 

She emits a deep sigh, deeply annoyed. “Are any of them at least cute?”

You feel your stomach churn as the image of Doctor Leclerc floods your thoughts. He’s far more than just attractive. You hesitate for a beat, staring at her wide, expectant eyes. “Yes.”

Her eyes light up almost instantly. “Who?”

“I forget. I don’t really know him.” Liar.

“What does he look like?”

“Brown hair. Very green eyes.” Your fingers twiddle with the napkin on the table, feigning disinterest.

She gives you a skeptical look as if she can read your mind and tell you’re lying. But she doesn’t push further. “When do you have to be back?”

You briefly glance at the time on the screen of your phone, “Shit.” Rising abruptly, you shove the chair back with a jolt, shooting your sister an apologetic glance. “I have to go. I’ll see you at mom’s this weekend?”

You’re already pushing the front door of the café open by the time you hear your sister half-shout, “Yes!”

-

You burst into your patient’s room, breaths coming in ragged gasps, cheeks flushed with exertion. You say a silent prayer to whatever higher power that he wasn’t here yet. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

Did you mention that this particular patient has a knack for hitting on you?

Your heart skips a beat, and if it weren’t for the already flushed hue of your cheeks, you’re certain the blush creeping up on your neck would be glaringly obvious.

“Mr.,” You pause to glance at the chart to double-check his name, “Mr. Hart, how are you feeling today?”

“Meilleur, now that you’re here.” Better. You curl your lips upward into a soft smile, jokingly rolling your eyes at his antics.

“Surely you’re sick of seeing my face, Mr. Hart.” You quip, reaching for a stool beside his bed while simultaneously checking his IV bags. “Today’s the day I think!”

Mr. Hart has been in the hospital for over a week, recovering from a surgery for a atrial septal defect.  

“Jamais.” Never. He insists, his head sinking back against the pillow as his gaze follows your every movement. “I’m so close to being able to ask you out properly.”

In that moment, a new scent permeates the air, distinct and alluring. Without even turning around, you sense his presence—the man who just breezed in behind you. Whether he heard the exchange or not, you weren’t sure, but the subtle shift in the atmosphere is palpable regardless.

“Mr. Hart,” His voice, deep and honeyed, washes over you, almost too sweet to be genuine. “Still stirring up trouble for our lovely nurses?” Despite the playful tone, you can sense an undercurrent of something morecalculated beneath his words. His presence radiates warmth, his tall figure looming beside you, close enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. 

“No,” Mr. Hart grins. “Just her.”

Doctor Leclerc’s smile remains fixed, but you catch the subtle clench of his jaw as you turn your head to meet his gaze. “Just stopping by to let you know that we might need to keep you for another night.”

The news catches you off guard; you were under the impression that Mr. Hart would be discharged by the end of the day. As if he could sense the questions brewing in your mind, Doctor Leclerc continues, his voice reassuring. “Just a precautionary measure. I assure you; we’ll have you cleared to leave bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mr. Hart hums nonchalantly, as if the prospect of another night in the hospital doesn’t bother him in the slightest. His attention remains fixated on you as you inspect the sutures on his chest, his fingertips grazing against your gloved hand with a deliberate touch. “Can’t complain as long as she’s the one checking on me.”

You let out a small laugh, but don’t say anything, as you stand up and remove the gloves to toss them in the waste bin nearby.  

“Mr. Hart,” Doctor Leclerc’s voice is unamused now. “You would be wise to refrain your hands from touching her again. Next time I won’t ask so politely.”

-

Pressed against a wall while in the presence of Doctor Leclerc seems to be a common occurrence nowadays. His tall frame blocking any potential onlookers from seeing who he had cornered.

“Dis-moi,” Tell me. His voice is low, lethal. “Do you flirt with patients often, hm?” 

“What is your problem?” You quip, your brows furrowed as you crane your neck back to look him in the eyes. 

“My problem?” He scoffs, leaning closer to your face, his lips thinned in annoyance. “My problem is that I have to stand there and watch a patient flirt with you,” He clicks his tongue in frustration, turning his head to look away for a brief moment. Giving you a moment, to take in the sharpness of his jawline, and the unshaven scruff that shadows it. “And you…” His voice trailed off.

“And I, what?” You pulled your lips into a slight frown.

“You smell like that,” His hands wavered around your body, in an exasperated manner.

“Smell like what?” 

As he shook his head in disbelief, a mixture of frustration and something deeper etched acoss his features. The disbelief seemed to stem from his inability to fathom that you were completely unaware of something soevident to him. It was that scent, the sweet floral scent that always accompanied you. It drove him mad sometimes. How it was almost the only thing he could focus on sometimes.

With a disapproving click of his tongue, he took a deliberate step back, as if needed physical distance to collect his thoughts.

Ignoring your inquiry, his gaze softened, the intensity in his eyes giving way to a gentler expression as they locked on yours.

Caught off guard by the swift change in his demeanor, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of whiplash from the abrupt shift.

“I wouldn’t say often,” you began, punctuating the order with a slight shrug. “It’s all harmless.”

His response was solemn, his voice carrying a weight of protectiveness that left no room for misinterpretation. “I don’t want them to put their hands on you ever again,” he declared firmly. “If you ever have issues, you can come to me.”

His words resonated with a gravity that made it clear he meant every syllable, his stance unwavering in its determination to shield you from harm.

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, acutely aware of the intensity in his gaze tracing the delicate curve of your neck.

“Moving forward, I will be the one to check on Mr. Hart,” he announced, his voice carrying a note of authority softened by a touch of concern.

With a deliberate motion, he extended his arm, his fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

The proximity of his touch sent a rush of warmth to your cheeks, the tenderness in his gesture catching you off guard, yet somehow soothing in its unexpectedness. Dr. Leclerc’s presence seemed to envelop you whenever he was near. As if nothing else in the world existed no matter the premise of the discussion, including the constant bickering you two always seemed to do.

“Will you be at James’ retirement party?” The question slipped from your lips before you could fully weigh its significance. Yet, deep down, you knew the answer matters more to you than you cared to admit. You found yourself wanting him to be there, though the reasons remained elusive, even to yourself.

Yes, he was an ass to you most of the time. But, for some reason you couldn’t really fathom, he was always in the forefront of your mind.

His head tilted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Though he would never openly confess, the idea of attending hadn’t crossed his mind until that moment. However, if there was even the slightest chance that you would be there, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. 

“Yes,” he replied simply, the single word carrying more weight than its brevity suggested.

You nodded slowly, as if processing his response required a deeper level of understanding. “See you there?” You ventured, the question hanging in the air, pregnant with unspoken implications.

He nodded, pulling his lips into the faintest smirk.

“See you there, mon lapin.”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine

[sas-soulwriter]

Fantasy place (which you can use for your story)

Some fantasy places you can use for your next story .

Luminoth Hollow: A subterranean cavern filled with glowing crystals that emit soothing light. Luminoth Hollow is home to a race of peaceful, bioluminescent creatures who communicate through light patterns.

Zephyria: A floating archipelago of lush, skyborne islands, tethered together by colossal, living vines. Each island has its unique ecosystem and is inhabited by winged creatures who navigate the skies between them.

Aurora Glade: A tranquil meadow hidden within a giant, sentient tree. The glade is bathed in eternal twilight and inhabited by gentle, dreamweaving creatures who protect the dreams of those who visit.

The Obsidian Spire: A towering, black monolith that pierces the heavens. It's said that at its peak lies a portal to another realm, guarded by enigmatic sentinels who test the worth of those who seek passage.

Eldertide Marsh: A mystical swamp where ancient, sentient trees rise from the waters, and luminous fireflies lead travelers along phosphorescent pathways. It's rumored that the marsh holds the key to unlocking forgotten knowledge.

Clockwork Citadel: A colossal, mechanical fortress powered by intricate gears and steam. Clockwork automatons serve as both guardians and caretakers, and the citadel houses a library containing the accumulated wisdom of the ages.

Whispering Sands: A desert where the dunes are constantly shifting, and the winds carry the whispers of long-forgotten spirits. At its heart stands an oasis of liquid crystal that reveals glimpses of the past and future.

The Eternal Library: A massive, floating island covered in towering bookshelves. Each book contains the life story of an individual, and the library is said to grant the power to rewrite destinies.

Gloomwood Thicket: A dense, enchanted forest perpetually cloaked in twilight. Within its shadows reside shadowy creatures that can manipulate time, making it a place of both wonder and danger.

Abyssal Abyss: An underwater realm where bioluminescent flora and fauna thrive. Merfolk and other aquatic beings have built stunning, glowing cities within deep-sea caves.

Sylvan Skylines: An archipelago of floating islands inhabited by tree-dwelling, bird-like beings who harness the power of wind and weather. They craft intricate bridges and pathways connecting their aerial homes.

Whispering Peaks: Towering, mist-shrouded mountains said to hold the knowledge of the cosmos. Monasteries and meditation chambers dot the landscape, where monks seek enlightenment through quiet contemplation.

The Emberforge: An underground forge where skilled blacksmiths craft legendary weapons and armor imbued with the essence of fallen stars. The air is filled with the sound of hammers on metal and the crackling of celestial flames.

The Crystal Canyons: A network of canyons adorned with enormous, glowing crystals that resonate with hauntingly beautiful melodies when touched. Nomadic crystal herders roam the canyons, taming the living crystals.

The Dreamer's Archipelago: A series of islands, each representing different dreams and nightmares. Travelers can enter these dreamscapes and interact with the inhabitants, who are manifestations of dreams themselves.

#writing #writing advice #creative writing #writers block #writers on tumblr #writing community #promt #books #dialogue prompt #heroes and villains #hero and villain #hero x villain #shipping #fantasybook #enemies to lovers #besenemies #romace #bookish #writblr #books and reading #booklover #booklr #bookworm #books and literature

[a-twistedheartslonging]

The recent Book 7 release has put Vil and Rook on the mind, so do you have any particularly interesting courtship or relationship headcanons for your nonhuman AU? Thank you :)

My god Rook would rizz you so hard, we already know how he is as a human, though I've seen headcanons that he might have some beastmen in his blood it just isn't obvious/is distant or something like that.

Anyway...

He's enigmatic with a passion for all things beautiful, something Rook very much views you as regardless of what you think of yourself. He's very enthusiastic about supporting those that he admires so be ready for him to be supportive and encouraging as fuck. Yeah, he's gonna be weird about a lot of stuff but Rook is almost always genuine in his intentions.

Expect poetry and love letters to hit your door by arrow every morning.

Ah...Birb Boi Love.

When the night sky envelops the world in its cool embrace, a ballet takes place on treetops and secluded clearings— the dance of owl courtship. 

Serenading the night. Rook is already a great singer and loves to do it, with owls the males often initiate the mating process with a series of hoots. Though with him I'm pretty sure it would be actually singing that he graces you with...but still...it's kind of funny to think about...heh horny hoots.

He might be hoping for you to join him since female owls might answer back, leading to a duet. This vocal interaction strengthens the bond between the two owls and sets the stage for their partnership.

Gift giving, males often present food gifts. This act not only proves the male’s hunting prowess but also his ability to provide for offspring. He knows he can't just leave his fresh kills at your doorstep. Instead, he will use his cooking skills and bring very yummy meals cooked and caught by him. Will give a few happy hoots if you agree to letting him feed you.

He's going to bring you a lot of stuff, not just food though. Keep in mind the guy is well off and for a lot of creatures it's important to keep your mate well groomed, and he gets the good shit from Vil so expect to be gifted the best, lotions, shampoos, and skincare stuff. Along with clothes that seem to fit you perfectly...hmm how did he get your size?

Once a bond begins to form, owls might engage in mutual grooming, a sign of affection and trust. Please let him do your hair and nails he will be so happy. He gets to help you be even more pretty, gets to touch the person he likes, examine your interesting human features. He's actually someone you can trust to bathe with/wash your hair for you without trying anything regardless of his romantic feelings, even if you're nakey.

Nuzzling and nibbling will also happen, he knows you're a fan of his soft feathers and floof and will puff up to lure you in for cuddles...and then he'll get you with those gentle nibbles and nuzzle against you. At least with him, you won't have to worry about getting covered in fur after like with the others, but you might end up with a feather in your hair and will diffidently smell like Rook

Territory plays a vital role in owl mating behaviors. Male owls fiercely defend their territories from rival males, ensuring they have exclusive access to potential mates and sufficient resources for nesting and rearing young. Territory disputes often involve vocal and physical displays, including wing-spreading, aggressive posturing, and occasional physical combat.

As a result, any of the other guys should be wary of arrows flying their way when they get near Ramshackle once Rook gets to that stage in courting. The tree near your window was already one of his favorite spots before this started. I don't think he would start any fights though, not that he would need to, people tried to keep their distance from him before already.

The mental image of him doing the aggressive postering is funny though.

Hmm...wait...no...

...yeah, I can see how that would be scary if it's a man-sized owl creature doing it at night with glowing eyes and he's probably doing a weird honhonhonhon French laugh thing. He's going to scare the shit out of someone.

Some owl species, like the barn owl, engage in dramatic flight displays, which can include dives, spirals, and impressive swoops to impress a potential mate. He would definitely show off and even offer to carry you so you can enjoy a nice flight with him...you might see him divebomb someone, he doesn't actually touch them but gets pretty close.

The man loves his privacy so will likely pick a spot in Ramshackle away from everyone else to make into your love nest, only the finest blankets and pillows will be used, that fancy silk stuff you know?

Hmmm Vil.

I've thought about him ether being a Peacock-

Or a secretary bird.

I'm not sure what suits him best but I'm sure regardless his courtship will be flashy. You'll probably end up with a tail feather smacking you in the face at some point.

I might be able to think up something if you guys send in some ideas.

#twst #twisted wonderland #ask #asks #nonhuman au #twisted wonderland rook #twst rook #rook hunt

[ch4singchase]

The Ballad of Moths | LUKE CASTELLAN

Summary: Eurydice Gaumont receives gifts from her father and one of these proves invaluable as her journey intersects with fellow demigods.

Word count: 4.9K

Warnings: Mentions of blood and Injury, violence, grief, ophidiophobia (since the monster in this chapter is a giant snake), mentions of death, mild language

chapter one, chapter two | series masterlist

chapter 02: I Defend A Bunch Of Kids From A Giant Snake

The rhythmic tap of rain against my bus window played a lullaby, coaxing me into a swift slumber.

Abruptly, I was no longer confined to the bus; the rain had transformed into the hushed serenity of a forest. This was no typical ominous woods of a horror story; its allure lay in a distinct kind of beauty.

Drawing near a tree, my fingers traced the rough texture of its trunk, relishing the tactile sensation. The leaves gracefully danced, swaying in a tranquil wind, as if encouraging a shared nap. Smiling up at them, I entertained the whimsical idea that the tree and its surroundings comprehended my thoughts.

A soft flap of wings echoed behind me, and there it was—the moth that helped me understand where I should go earlier.

This was the same moth, its wings a rich black with subtle brown accents, patiently awaiting my presence in a circular dance.

"Hello, buddy," I greeted cautiously, extending my hand to see its reaction, "How's it going?"

Predictably, the moth remained silent. It alighted on my fingertip and then took flight, leading me along a specific path among the trees, unveiling a concealed trail through the forest. Glancing at the shadows that enveloped the moth's chosen route, a fleeting doubt crossed my mind—was it truly wise to follow?

Without dwelling on the question, I pursued the enigmatic guide, allowing instinct to override rational contemplation.

As I ventured deeper into the forest, the canopy above formed a protective shield against the sporadic drizzle that started. The moth continued its dance ahead, weaving through the foliage with an innate knowledge of the path, as if the trees themselves whispered directions to their winged companion.

Moss-covered rocks and the scent of damp earth under foot marked my journey. The woods seemed to respond to my presence, embracing me in a mysterious symphony of rustling leaves and distant calls of unseen creatures. Nature itself had become my guide, and the moth, my silent escort through this living tapestry.

The path curved, revealing a hidden glade bathed in ethereal moonlight. In the center stood a peculiar tree, its silver bark shimmering in the celestial glow. The moth settled on a branch, and as if on cue, the air became charged with an otherworldly energy.

I looked around, confused. The wind gently brazed my cheeks, guiding some leaves with it and revealing what was hiding in the glade until now.

Moths. A bunch of moths. All joining the one guiding me into a beautiful dance.

Perhaps, when I was younger, I would be frightened, but instead, I was just stunned by it. They were gracious and in an infinity of colors, painting the air like a vivid rainbow in the middle of the night. Even some fireflies had heard their excitement and joined the party, lightning the night in a blink of an eye.

“She’s here, she’s here, she’s finally going home!” They all seemed to whisper, even if I couldn’t understand what they meant by it.

Where was here? Were they following me? Were they the ones who sent the moth to help me?

There were too many questions and no answers.

“No, no,” they all repeated to what sounded like a response, “Our friend did.”

“Yeah yeah,” others agreed, circling around me as they did so, “Your father.”

For the first time since I had seen the moth from before, I ventured to speak up.

“My father?” It was just me repeating what they had just said but, still, it had taken me some type of courage to say so, “He’s dead, how is that possible?”

“Dead?” most of them laughed, as if I had told them a joke, “That’s not possible; he is a god.”

What?

“You heard us,” it seemed like I hadn’t only questioned it in my head, “You’re the daughter of a god.”

I stood frozen for a couple of seconds. A god…?

I recalled what the Cyclops had called me, a Half-Blood. Cyclopes, chimeras, half-blood, all of them were characters that my mother had once told me were tales. Stories in Ancient Greece, myths. Nothing more but stories.

But stories don’t simply come to life. They have to have always been there.

If they were talking about gods, they could only be the Greek ones, right? The Olympian ones and so on.

“How...” I tried to ask... Anything, honestly. But I didn’t even know where I could start; in the end, I was talking to moths, what was crazier than that?

“We can’t tell you everything,” some of the moths mumbled.

“Yeah yeah, he had told us just to help you find your way but we couldn’t stop ourselves,” others complained.

“Once we heard you were still alive, we were so excited,” the moths giggled, holding back screams of joy.

“Yeah, even if one of us ended up saying something about the titan, we wanted to risk a chance,” one in a million of their siblings said, and if almost every one of them were speaking at the same time, I heard it.

Every single one, but one brought my curiosity, “Titan?”

It was all I needed to ask before they went into a deep silence.

The moths hushed as my question lingered in the night air. Their whispering dance seemed to still, and the anticipation was palpable. Then, one moth separated itself from the swirling mass and approached me.

It wasn’t the same one I was already familiar with compared to the others, but its wings fluttered with a measured elegance.

“We should not say anything about it,” the moth said, “It’s just a rumor, a cruel one”

“But the prophecy?” one of the others questioned, daring the one that was speaking for them, “The prophecy says…”

Most of them hushed the little one, giving voice to the same one of before, “As I said, it’s just a rumor. Some things are better left unknown, life must unfold naturally..”

“You said about a prophecy,” I tried to reason with it, approaching the moth, “What prophecy?”

The moth shook its little head, “You must go now, Eurydice Gaumont”

“No” I persisted, stomping my feet into the ground.

But it didn’t matter what I wanted, slowly the scenario around me started to go blurry and slowly the sound of rain tapping returned.

I protested, but the scene blurred, and before waking, I heard the words, "In shadows deep, a reaper's kid must tread..."

Then, I was back on the bus again. Alone.

I looked around, trying to look for something. But despite the sleepy sleepers who snored near me, there was nothing new after the dream. It was still dark, the first sign of sun daring to peek out of their hidden spot.

Sighing, I looked at the sky, searching for an answer. At that point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the answer came in the form of a god of the sun trying to mime what I should do next. Or sing—I didn’t know much about Greek gods at that time, but I was almost sure that the god of the sun in the stories also sang.

What was that I had heard? A reaper’s kid, right?

Now, what did that mean?

Sighing once more at the dawn of that day, every time it looked like things were making sense, my life would get twisted.

A sound of wings caught my attention when I looked at the empty seat by my side. The moth from the convenience store and my dream was my company once more. If it had a face, it would look like regret or shame.

It flapped its wings, as if to call my attention again.

“I’m seeing you, stupid,” It flapped its wings one more time, perhaps it didn’t like being called stupid, “You didn’t talk like your siblings at that forest right, I don’t remember hearing you”

And I truly didn't. For some reason, I could recognize each moth that had talked in that clearing, but none of them was the one that had been with me since Springfield.

This time, the moth flapped its wings twice.

"Alright," I scoffed, contemplating the sanity of conversing with a moth. "Enough beating around the bush; what do you want to tell me?"

Rather than flapping, the moth took flight, turning beneath my seat. I didn’t know how to curse, but what I thought was similar to a ‘what the fuck?’

Leaning forward, I peered beneath my seat, expecting to find the bags from the convenience store—snacks, sweets, water, a flashlight, and some change. Yet, unlike what I remembered, there was also a backpack.

Which, by chance, was not mine.

It reminded me of the backpacks I had seen at the store or some of the other people on that bus wearing, but I didn't have enough money to buy even a fanny pack.

Puzzled, I picked up the backpack and examined it. It seemed lost, probably belonging to another passenger. To my surprise, my name was on a sticker affixed to it.

Was it truly mine?

I opened the backpack, looking for what could be inside.

If my expectations were set on receiving a cellphone, all-star shoes, additional snacks, clothing, or perhaps a map, I would find myself in a perpetual state of hope until the arrival of the non-existent date of February 31st. Alas, none of those anticipated items were to be found.

What I found was, in fact, a leather wristband with a snap button closure, adorned with small stones. Accompanying it were a couple of coins, featuring a peculiar carving that deviated from any standard penny. Doubtingly, I reached in, confirming the wristband, coins… Plus a map.

At least that.

Exhaling deeply, I hoped my godly father, wherever he was, could hear me. Was this his gift? A questionable assistance from a man presumed dead.

Truthfully, I anticipated something more beneficial for survival, perhaps a letter explaining his whereabouts and the ongoing events. It was the least he could offer after all these years.

My mother had portrayed him as a soldier with a calm heart, unwilling to return to duty but aware of their need for a reminder of peace. How every end no matter how it began, would meet peace. She would always remind me that he would be the one to go down in a nonviolent way, with his hand laying on his chest, above his heart.

Would. She never said he was. Because he was a god, a greek god.

Knowing I was aware of his divine status, he chose to bestow upon me strange money, a wristband, and a map. Well, the map, at least, seemed somewhat helpful.

I stowed away the bags containing my purchases from Springfield into the backpack, arranging the snacks and supplies meticulously to avoid any mishaps during my travels—whether it involved catching the next bus or evading a new monster.

The coins and map found their place inside the backpack as well. However, before I could tuck away the wristband, curiosity got the better of me. It was a finely crafted leather piece, elegant and delicate.

Examining it closely, I wondered if my father had crafted it himself. The mere thought tightened my heartstrings.

Looking at the inside of the wristband, I frowned when I found something carved into the leather. Something was written into another language.

I turned the wristband and looked at it closely, words were always hard to me so if I wanted to understand what it meant, I would have to take my time.  If I intended to understand its meaning, patience would be crucial. Or so I thought.

As the letters began to weave into each other, a surprising clarity emerged. Instead of becoming a confusing jumble, they started to make sense.

Tenebris.

While it wasn't an exact match to what was written, it was undeniably the meaning it conveyed.

Latin, perhaps?

Gazing at the wristband once more, I opted not to return it to the backpack. Instead, I made the choice to wear it.

Perhaps my father had indeed crafted it. Wearing it became my silent expression of appreciation, a subtle invitation for him to emerge from his hidden shell.

Ultimately, it proved to be a beautiful wristband.

When I looked out the window again, the sun was already rising. We seemed to have arrived in New Haven, recognizable to me from a previous visit. It appeared we were near State St, very close to Yale.

There was a time when I thought I might study there, a distant dream from my younger self. Back then, despite never attending a real school, I held onto the possibility.

Revisiting the city at fourteen, a few years later, doubt crept in.

Knowing what I now knew, it wasn't hard to recognize that the odds were always against me. I never had the chance, not before, and certainly not now.

As soon as the bus stopped and the other passengers started to get off, I did the same. I picked up my backpack and put it on, following the others to the street, deciding to be the last one to get down.

For a moment, I waited a bit before finally getting off, looking inside the bus and waiting for the moth from earlier to appear and follow it. But, it didn't happen.

So, I went my way. If I remembered correctly, there shouldn't be another bus stop so far away, I could eat something on the way while I looked and hope my change would be enough for the next ticket. Or, hope they would accept my dad's weird coins.

As I strolled down the street, I seized the opportunity to approach strangers, concocting a flimsy tale about a new school on Long Island and my ailing parents unable to assist with transportation. However, as they began to provide directions, a sinking feeling crept in.

Clearly, I lacked the funds for the entire journey.

Faced with limited options, I considered potential avenues. One option involved seeking employment on the streets, donning a somber expression and appealing to tourists for financial assistance. Ironically, the more morally questionable choice proved to be the swifter means of acquiring funds.

Anyway, I tried to risk it, at least make it to the bus stop that supposedly was the cheapest one to my journey. Maybe, the driver could take some pity on me and take me to Pennsylvania. If not, I would have start to figure how to gain money for the whole trip, I wouldn’t dare to walk all the way to that fucking camp.

I walked, walked, walked and walked down State St. As I traversed the street, covering only a fraction of the distance, I encountered a Thai Restaurant. The sight of it made my stomach protest loudly; I hadn't eaten in a while, and the prolonged walking intensified my hunger.

However, there was no way I would eat in the middle of the street, under the scrutinizing gaze of strangers. That was out of the question.

Despite mustering all the courage, I hesitated to knock on the closed restaurant's door. Even if a waiter were to appear, what excuse could I possibly give for not wanting to dine outside?

So, I found an alternative. In less than a minute, I seated myself in an alley, extracting a snack from my backpack and indulging in it.

In fact, that was within question.

Ignoring the curious glances of passersby, I continued my impromptu meal. Candies followed, accompanied by sips of water. This brief moment of rest was crucial before resuming my walk under the scorching sun.

I just needed two minutes, or maybe ten… Honestly, a whole thirty minutes were enough for me to restore my energy.

As I rested, I took another look at the wristband I was wearing. The more attention I paid to it, the more I noticed a strange energy emanating from it. It was difficult to explain and even less tangible—an unknown aura surrounding something hidden inside the leather, beyond the engraved letters.

When I opened my mouth to express the feeling, the only thing that came to mind was the night of a day or two ago.

My mother was held in the air by the monster's hand, the only one watching her intensely and impatiently, while all she did instead of fighting was ask me to run. And run was what I did.

Until I heard her scream—a stunning, heart-wrenching scream that froze my feet in place, forcing me to witness her body flying to my side, blood overflowing from her mouth. Her torso seemed broken or twisted enough to inflict severe internal injuries.

Still, she had the strength to ask me to keep running. How could I? How could I run and leave her behind?

I couldn't do that. Instead, I stood beside her, ignoring the disturbing footsteps of the Cyclops approaching.

I held my mother's hands, hoping to somehow absorb her strength. Perhaps I did, for even though I didn't follow her request, it seemed to matter little to her. As if, in the end, she felt no pain.

Tears and sobs dampened my face, but I could swear she thanked me. Ridiculous, considering I should be thanking her for being an incredible mother, sacrificing everything for my safety. If only I had known sooner...

After that, everything was a blur, difficult to understand. Holding her hands, a strange sensation tingled down my spine, adrenaline coursing through my entire body. When I saw my mother attempting to say something but succumbing to exhaustion...

The Cyclops was already beside me, reaching to grab me.

Anything between that moment and the hospital was a haze. Fragments of memories. I recalled his hands trying to lift me off the ground, my palms facing his monstrously large fingers. Almost facing a 5-meter drop but feeling no pain.

When the ambulance arrived and I reached the hospital, attempting to explain what I had understood about the situation at the time, they were most surprised that I hadn't broken my legs or at least sprained an ankle. But I think my exhaustion and grief were enough for them to believe me.

I tightened my lips, holding back tears at the memory. What did my mother's death have to do with my father's gift?

Tenebris—was that really the only clue I had?

Gradually, a shift occurred in the air, and it didn't escape my notice.

Within moments, an unsettling realization dawned – something was amiss. The streets teemed with people running in the opposite direction of my intended path once I felt ready to resume my journey. Fear and confusion etched on their faces left me puzzled about the impending threat.

Swiftly, I rose, stowing away my belongings in my backpack and hoisting it onto my back. Approaching adults warned me of an out-of-control truck menacing pedestrians, urging me to find safety. Some chose the rational path, sprinting toward the police station for genuine assistance.

However, skepticism gnawed at me. It didn't ring true. Something felt off.

My eyes caught sight of the unfolding drama a few streets away, just beyond the dog park on the opposite side of my position.

Initially, I perceived three kids, one notably smaller than the others, sprinting from an unseen threat. The girl in black wielded a makeshift spear, while her companion brandished a golf club. How could such feeble weapons aid their escape from an out-of-control truck? Why weren't they going to a store or going to the sidewalk?

Then, I understood.

At first glance, the runaway vehicle resembled a refrigerated truck, careening down the road with a desperate screech. The driver, concealed behind black-tinted windows, eluded my view from this distance.

However, as I advanced, sidestepping the frantic adults, reality emerged.

It was no truck, but a snake. A giant fucking snake. There was no other way to describe it.

All the sense I was lacking suddenly decided to take control of my actions. My brain, which had previously been unable to muster the courage to stand at the door of a closed restaurant, had now regained enough courage to force my feet to run after that atrocity.

For no logical or plausible reason, from one moment to the next, my rationality  was replaced by stupidity.

The monstrous serpent pursued the kids, including the one almost the same age I was when I met Viola. It seemed absurd to consider intervening, given the potential to continue on my way or capitalize on the disturbance to pilfer from unsuspecting pockets. Yet, I couldn't turn away.

Just as I couldn't flee when my mother's cries pierced the air or when she tried to wrench me from Viola's grasp as the Chimera's stinger pierced her chest in the past.

Perhaps it was stubbornness, authentic courage, or sheer impertinence.

It remained unclear where my resolve originated as the idea of confronting a giant snake pursuing a group of children took hold.

The snake, swift and destructive, both hindered the children and itself. Exploiting that and my familiarity with the streets and their shortcuts, I discerned an opportunity to intervene.

I ran like I had rarely ran before, until the tips of the toes hurt. My sneakers had already gone belly-up to that moment, after all the running I have being doing in the past months.

I walked around the streets, without for a second taking my eyes off the scales of that thing. Entering some alleys and following the murmurs and exclamations of the children as they tried to formulate a plan, even though they were at a disadvantage.

Swallowing hard, I took advantage of the shelter outside some buildings to avoid the fragments of asphalt, cement, poles and benches flying everywhere. Gradually but quickly managing to reach that monster.

But that didn't mean I didn’t continue to run, attempting to maintain a good and safe distance between the giant snake and the peculiar trio.

"Hey, girl!" the older girl from the trio shouted, attempting to grab my attention. "Get out of here, it's not safe!"

She wore dark clothes that complemented her short, black hair and extremely light blue eyes. In addition to the makeup on her face, which was almost gone, having been worn away by time for a long time.

It didn't take long to notice her limp, a testament to an injured foot sustained during the chase – or even before.

I just smiled, hiding behind some trash cans and away from the giant snake's senses, hoping it would continue to pay all its attention to that bunch of kids. Which, to be honest, weren't much younger than me, except for the little girl.

"No, you guys go," I shouted back, "Head into the park and blend in with the crowd there. It'll be hard for them to believe that a truck would actually enter a park."

At least, that's what I thought at the time. Nowadays, I know that mundanes would still believe in the idea of an out-of-control truck wreaking havoc, even within a park.

They didn't follow my advice; instead, they halted their escape.

“Aegis,” the girl from before exclaimed, and her bracelet transformed into an incredible shield. She shielded her friends, positioning the protective barrier in front of them, waiting to see my next move. The boy behind her appeared both confused and scared, alternating his gaze between me and his friend as if awaiting an order.

At this point, I was hoping for one too. I had no idea what to do, and I didn't even have a weapon.

However, the giant snake paid no heed. I could distinctly hear its slithering and the destruction of cars in its path. I refused to let fear or my earlier stupidity show on my face.

Instead, I glanced at my wrist, the leather band my father had given me. For a moment, I wished it were a weapon, similar to the girl's shield bracelet.

Despite having the slightest idea of how to handle a weapon, I hoped for anything that could help me assist those three.

Timing couldn't have been worse for it to resurface, but as I looked at a trash can in front of me, the usual moth landed patiently, as if awaiting something.

Perhaps it shared the girl's curiosity about what I would do.

Then, I remembered—the sound of rain yesterday morning, at the funeral, and even at night on the bus, a hostage to "what ifs" that could have transpired instead of my current reality. I remembered the blood, dark red staining my hands and clothes, and how cold it felt against my skin. I didn't care, holding my mother's hands with all my might.

Just like I tried to hold Viola that day, attempting unsuccessfully to move her body away from the Chimera's sting.

The giant snake drew closer, its slithering growing clearer by the second.

Glancing at my wristband again, the carved words caught my eye.

Out of the corner, I saw the snake's scales and its wild eyes. Emerging from my hiding place, a word escaped my mouth like a battle cry before I fully comprehended my own line of reasoning.

"Tenebris!"

A blinding light filled the air, halting the giant snake and diverting its attention towards me. I closed my eyes, feeling the wristband transform within seconds.

Suddenly, something weighed down in my hand, like the sheath of a sword. Its dark sheath matched my wristband's leather, and its slightly curved blade, made of an uncanny bronze material, felt strangely familiar. Bronze. The sword's blade was made of bronze.

As quickly as the light appeared, it dissipated, replaced by a cloud of darkness covering my ankles and part of the street and alley.

The trio gaped at the spectacle. The older girl struggled to maintain her defensive stance, her injured foot hindering her movements. The younger one's wide and curious eyes betrayed a mix of fear and fascination, while the boy among them clutched his golf club with a determined expression that hinted at a desire to help.

Without giving the serpent a chance to recover from the blinding light from before, I surged forward, the newfound sword in hand. The blade cut through the air with a metallic hum, and I slashed at the serpent's scaly underbelly.

It hissed in pain, recoiling momentarily.

In the end, the wristband was a useful gift. I had to remind myself, one day, to thank my dad.

Seizing the opportunity, I circled the serpent, keeping it off balance, continuing to slash its scaly skin. It tried to knock me down with a movement of its body, but before that could happen, I dodged it, cutting its scales once again. But this time I made a point of sticking my sword in, hoping to hit some organ of his, then pulling the sword out.

The boy with black hair, recognizing an opening, sprinted to the serpent's other side, wielding his golf club like a hero facing a dragon from the tales. His fearless determination served as a distraction, affording me yet another chance to strike.

The girl, despite her injury, bravely stood her ground, using her shield to protect us and the little girl. While, said little girl, spurred by a sudden burst of courage, found a dagger in her pocket and joined the fray.

The serpent, now enraged, lunged at us with deadly precision. The older girl skillfully deflected its strikes with her shield, while the boy continued to harass it from the side. The younger girl and I coordinated our attacks, aiming for vulnerable spots between the scales.

As the battle raged on, I felt a surge of adrenaline, my movements becoming more fluid and instinctive. My sword seemed to respond to my will, enhancing my speed and strength. Each strike resonated with power, and the serpent's resistance weakened.

Finally, with a resounding clash, I drove the sword into the serpent's forehead, or what looked like its forehead. The creature convulsed, its massive form thrashing before collapsing to the ground. The dark cloud dissipated, leaving only the echoes of the intense battle.

Breathing heavily, I turned to face the trio, equally exhausted.

They, too, looked weary, particularly the girl nursing an injured leg. Despite their fatigue, they regarded me with awe, as if I had materialized from the pages of a fantastical tale. Given the circumstances, I couldn't blame them.

I didn't blame them, I really had appeared out of nowhere.

"I'm Thalia," the older girl introduced herself, leaning against a wall as her shield reverted to a bracelet. "That's Annabeth," she pointed to the younger dark-skinned girl, now displaying a hint of shyness.

"And I'm Luke," the boy interjected, assisting his friend to stand while keeping a watchful eye on me, still processing the surreal reality of our shared encounter with the monstrous serpent.

"I'm Eurydice," I replied, glancing at my sword and back at them. "It seems like you needed a little help."

“We did,” Luke agreed, looking at me from head to toe, but keeping his eyes on mine while talking to me, “And I think we still do”

Shifting his attention to his injured friend, he examined her leg, revealing a severe wound beneath her baggy jeans. Thalia attempted to whisper something to Luke, diverting his hands away from the injury.

Feeling lost and searching for a solution, my eyes wandered, and I spotted a parked car on a nearby sidewalk—doors open and windows relatively intact. It seemed like an abandoned vehicle amidst the chaos.

"I can drive," I offered, drawing the trio's attention. "I just need to know where we should go and someone who knows how to start a car without a key."

Luke sighed, helping Thalia walk toward me, followed by Annabeth.

"Lucky for you, I know both," the grin he flashed at me while uttering those words hinted at one unmistakable thing: trouble.

#percy jackson fanfiction #pjo fanfic #pjo tv show #pjo series #dionysus pjo #chiron #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #clarisse la rue #thalia grace #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #female original character

[mehidktbh]

There's A First For Everything

Pairing: Mafia!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You find yourself surprised, shocked and all of the above with the recent discovery of that strange man working under the same business roof as you. But with your supervisor preoccupied, it's the mysterious consultant who steps in. He takes you under his wing, guiding you through the building.

Warning: A small mention of sex and intimacy

A/N: Getting back on that Tumblr grind after months of being off. Sorry about that and I apologise for the sudden drop in posting and this series cliffhanger. Back its back and improved with my more better writing improvement.

Taglist: @captainsbaby, @feedthefandoms995, @kyuupidwrites, @fatedeniedhope, @bangirl134, @blueoorchid, @iimfae, @a1nazzz, @motherofreposts, @emi-flaces, @liliumbosniacum, @whore-for-anime, @zeyzeys-stuff, @greenhornphotography, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @simonsslvt, @bunky101, @gisselleherrerposts, @natchayaphorn, @xdarkcreaturex, @theunknownartistsworld, @somelikeitmaat, @mxtokko

▻ Chapter 3 from the It’s Always Been You series ◅

Your heart pounded in your chest as you faced the reality that the mysterious man from the club was not only part of this enigmatic company but had a role that extended far beyond the dance floor. Mr. Riley, the man who had saved you from the clutches of danger, was deeply entwined with this organization.

Simon acknowledged the introduction with a nod, his expression giving nothing away. Those piercing blue eyes, which had held a hint of amusement when you two first met, his eyes ranked you up and down. He was like a wolf, picking out the things that you felt he could see made you squirm.

"Welcome, Y/N," he said, his tone neutral.

You nodded, struggling to find your voice. "Hello."

Mr. Reynolds, who had been observing the between you two interaction with an unreadable expression, suddenly stoped as he spoke. "I'm sure you have many questions, Y/N. But for now, let's focus on your role here. Mr. Riley will be your point of contact for any inquiries or assistance you may need."

Mr. Riley gave a curt nod, acknowledging his responsibility. "I'll do my best to ensure you settle in smoothly, Y/N."

With that, Mr. Reynolds excused himself, leaving you alone with Mr. Riley in the office. The weight of the situation bore down on you. As you watched Mr. Riley leaned against a nearby desk, studying you with a sudden and new hint of curiosity. "You seem surprised."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. "I am. I never expected… any of this."

He gave a wry smile, though there was a glint of something else in his eyes, something you couldn't quite decipher. "Life has a way of surprising us, Y/N."

As the minutes passed, Mr. Riley began to unravel the things of your new role, explaining the tasks and responsibilities that lay ahead. Despite the initial shock, his guidance put you at ease, and you found yourself drawn to his enigmatic presence.

"Sorry, but Mr. Riley-"

"Simon. Call me Simon."

His interruption was gentle, and his eyes held a hint of warmth as he corrected you. A strange mix of emotions bubbled within you - confusion, curiosity, and an unexplainable attraction to this enigmatic man. Simon Riley, the consultant.

You cleared your throat, feeling a nervous chuckle creeping up your throat at the realization that you were getting lost in his gaze. "Simon," you repeated, "I was wondering about my office and, well, where I'll be working."

Simon straightened, his posture commanding and confident. "Of course, Y/N. Follow me."

With that, he led the way out of Mr. Reynolds' office and into the corridor. The building's interior was a stark contrast to its unassuming exterior. Polished marble floors stretched beneath our feet, and the walls were adorned with sleek, modern artwork. As you two walked, Simon explained, "Your office is on the twenty-first floor, and it's ready for you. I've arranged a workspace that should suit your needs. I hope it meets your expectations."

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the prospect of your own office, yet questions nagged at the edges of your mind. "A workspace?" At previous office jobs those who are new start from the ground up, a bathroom-sized cubicle and an even smaller office for your 'hard-earned' work you did for the business for ten-plus years.

Simon raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Of course, I pulled some strings. I always aim for the best for newcomers like you."

As you and Simon reached the elevator, he pressed the button for the twenty-first floor. The ride-up was silent, but the tension in the confined space. When the elevator doors opened, you stepped out onto the twenty-first floor, and Simon led you down a corridor lined with identical wooden doors. Each door had a nameplate indicating its occupant.

Finally, you and he arrived at a door with your name neatly engraved on a nameplate. Simon opened it to reveal a tastefully decorated office with a large window offering a breathtaking view of the city. A sleek desk, a comfortable chair, and an assortment of office supplies awaited you.

You stepped inside, taking in the space that would soon become your sanctuary within this enigmatic building. "It's… perfect," you admitted, genuinely impressed.

Simon leaned against the doorframe, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "I'm glad you like it, Y/N. You'll find everything you need here." His gaze was like a caress, tracing the contours of your figure as you faced the expansive window that overlooked the sprawling city of Manhattan below. You were completely unaware of his secretive admiration of your tight shirt and unmatching heels. It gave him the feeling that you were cute to the picky eye of him.

As his eyes traced the lines of your fitted shirt and the unmatching yet oddly charming heels you wore. It was clear that he found your unconventional style appealing, a departure from the fake and bratty women he must have encountered in his world. The ones that throw themselves at him for a bit of his dick or just praise.

"Good luck on your first day, Y/N," he said, his voice low and intimate. With a faint, enigmatic smile, he closed the door. He was so quick to leave as if he realised he better leave before he did something embarrassing or regrettable. Yet only now do you turn around to drop an unheard "Bye" as he had already disappeared like the mysterious shadow he was down the hall. As you prepared for the new office day ahead.

Little did you know that Simon's fascination with you was growing into something far more powerful—an obsession that would shape the course of everything.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x s/p #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x s/o #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #mafia au

[whirligig-girl]

Star Patrol rocket Piccard-5 encounters an artifact of the incredibly powerful White Marble Civilization. circa 2169, colorized & shipgirlified.

Commission for @foxgirlchorix, based on a render by Holly for @torchship-rpg

This is some of my best rendering work ever! These commissions do have a knack for putting me out of my comfort zone enough to continue developing my technical skills and style.

Image ID: Digital art of two ship girls in a black and blue nebula background. One girl is a very large solid white marble statue with a naked feminine form, pitted and cratered with meteoric impacts, drifting belly-down though space. Instead of a face, her head has a large hole which glows yellow-orange, with a white marble sphere held in space outside of it. A green tractor beam is being emitted towards the second girl, a Torchship named Piccard-5. She is a silver girl with her body resembling a star patrol jumpsuit. Warp drive rings circle her waist like a hula hoop. She is wearing a spherical ball helmet. She is wearing white rocket boots. She has glowing red-orange radiator panels as wings on her back. The white marble sphere's tractor beam is slowly disassembling her into individual hull sections, disconnecting her radiator wings, removing her boots to reveal the rocket propellant inside her legs, and taking her body apart. Piccard-5 is reacting with a worried or confused expression. End Image ID.

Artist's notes and concept sketches in the read more:

When this render was posted Levana immediately had the idea to make it one of a series she was planning on commissioning me for, of shipgirls based on Torchship's Star Patrol (and alien) rockets. So we quickly brainstormed how it would go down and what she could afford price-wise.

When I do big commissions with new characters where I'm creating the design without an existing OC reference, I charge extra for character design. That doesn't just go to waste! Here's the concept art page:

The White Marble shipgirl is inspired by the Eerie and Enigmatic Empty Vessels by @murmurlilies, which Levana really likes--if you look at her blog you might see one of those posts reblogged multiple times. I wanted to pay homage to the eerie and enigmatic empty vessels without directly ripping them off! The first sketch on the upper left is imagining the girl poses by breaking her arms into segments and moving them around, but that never looked quite right to me. The second is basically just a direct study of the empty vessels (with a ball head). The third is after a little more refinement--I liked the cute hair on the empty vessels so I wanted to keep the head mostly intact, and I found a way of keeping the silhouette of the jagged angular hips on the empty vessels but in a very different way! Meteoric impact damage, just like on the original Torchship render. I also used an edited version of one of the Empty Vessels drawings for the thumbnail sketch in the lower right out of laziness.

There's also a sketch of what Piccard-5 looks like when she's not being disassembled. Piccard-5 has a rounded main hull, so it looks much more like a regular space suit helmet than the frustum-shaped helmet on the Newton-2 shipgirl I sketched a while back. The Newton-2 shipgirl had heat radiators as wing shapes on her boots, but making them actual wings on her back makes the disassembly image all the more unsettling.

I changed the hairstyle on the white marble girl when I drew the main drawing because I wanted to evoke like, greco-roman marble statues, and so a curlier/braided look worked better than the cute pixie cut of the empty vessels. I'm really happy with how the final product looks. I knew I wasn't gonna be able to half-ass it with the rendering, you know, just a little shading along the edge; this required a lot of careful thought and it was a lot of fun to do! Especially where the craters interact with the terminator (line between light and dark), just like on the Moon, which I have a lot of experience sketching (see below--the following sketches were made while looking through telescopes at the Moon at night)

Here's a WIP of just the line-art:

and with the basic shading done on the marblegirl

I started with like, a cel-shaded look (?), and then went in and softened the edges, then went over it again to fix the craters. I also added the marble texture to the unshaded base layer.

For the Piccard-5 girl, I spent a lot of time trying to get the pose right. I wanted it to be a little stiff, she's in a suspension beam after all, but not too stiff? And I had to decide like, what pieces should be detached, and where should they be going. In the render, hull pieces are often displaced towards the side, but when doing that to a humanoid, it ruined the pose too much, so i avoided doing too much weird stuff to the torso and kept the disassembled pieces largely to one axis. The cross sections are hollow because they're ship decks. She's a spaceship, not a robot girl. The warp ring was suspiciously untouched by the dissassembly beam in the original render, but i had the marble girl pull a few pieces off of it in my drawing.

Probably the one thing that isn't based on something happening in the render is the belt. Like, rockets don't have belts, cosmonauts do! So that was a fun little touch.

#commission #Torchship #Torchship TTRPG #TTRPG #Digital art #Star Trek #Whale probe #marble statue #rocket #spaceship #space #spacecraft #heat radiator #hard sci fi #science fiction #robotgirl #girl #shipgirl #disassembly #yuri #wlw

[thealmightyemprex]

Sci Fi Month Frank Herbert's Dune(2000)

So I talked about David Lynchs attempt at a Dune adaptaion ,but there have been other adaptaions of the story,with Denis Villenuves Dune PArt 2 currently in theaters by the time of this post,but the adaptaion I am looking at today was a 3 episode miniseries made for the Sci Fi Channel (Still never calling it Syfy ,I can be petty ) .Ive kind of avoided this version because welll......Its a early 2000's TV adaptation of an epic novel for the Sci Fi channel ,which is unfair,as I love a good miniseries but I'll admit I can be a snob sometimes,but over the years I have heard praise and to this day many people (My dad who is an old school Dune fan ) call tyhis the best adaptation of Dune

In this 2000's miniseries Duke Leto Atredies (William Hurt ) is given control of Arakis by the Emperor Shaddam IV (Giancarlo Giannini) who uses it as a ploy to destroy Leto by giving support to Letos enemy the Baron Vladimir Harkonen (Ian McNeice ) to destroy the house of Atredies,but Letos son Paul (Alec Newman ) and Letos concubine Jessica (Saskia Reeves) escape ,join the native people of Arakis ,the Fremen to seek revenge on the Emperor and House Harkonen ,while also taking advantage of a prophecy

.....SO I enjoyed this a lot.Its not flawless but if you are in the right mood it is enjoyable .I will say it is not as grand as the Lynch or Villinuve films,its shot on soundstages and lacks the all star casts of those films....But what I like is its more Shakespeare then space opera ,very theatrical sort of sci fi .I actually like the sets(GEidi Prime in particualr is perhaps my fave take on the planet ).The costume design is where this shines ,I heard the costumes were inspired by Moebius (The French comic artist) and you can tell,the characters feel like they walked right out of a sci fi comic,and with the designs and colors this mybe my favorite LOOKING version of Dune .I think the three episodes tell the story very well,though the best written is part one,and part 2 feels a bit padded but it sticks the landing for part 3 .I also think this miniseries nails the darker parts of the story better then the 84 Dune ,mainly that Paul is NO hero

The actors are mostly good,though very few are my favorite takes on these character.Some stand outs are Karel Dobry as the enigmatic Liet-Kynes(My fave take on the character),Julie Cox in an expanded role as Princess Irulan,Barbora Kodetova is good as Chani ,Saskia Reeves is a very good Lady Jessica ,Jan Unger is a suitably slimey Piter de Vries ,and Matt Keesler is suitably villainous as Feyd .The big star gets of the miniseries are Giancarlo Giannini as the Emperor who is better then Jose Ferrer but still lacking a bit of gravitas ,and William Hurt as Duke Leto ,who I think does a fairly good job as the noble duke even if its funny he is top billed as a guy wh dies in the first part .The scene stealer of the series is our villain ,the Baron played deliciously deviously by Ian McNiece ,who might be my favorite take on the Baron ,he feels like a classic Shakesperian villain and McNice is clearly having a ball without going as over the top as Kenneth McMillian in the 84 film

If the miniseries has a weak point the weakest has to be Paul.Alec Newman is not bad ,in fact hes pretty good at anti hero Paul near the end....But his begining PAul feels like it is written younger,and he comes across too petulent and whiney

However I do reccomend this and it is very solid ,higly reccomended

@ariel-seagull-wings @the-blue-fairie @piterelizabethdevries @themousefromfantasyland @theancientvaleofsoulmaking @princesssarisa @countesspetofi @filmcityworld1

[kingofangst]

Seven Ten Sentence Sunday Wednesday

I saw this now and I must make amends. Thank you for the tag @arewordsenough

This part of The Wings Of An Enigmatic is currently still in the drafts because I am going to post chapter 5 Sunday. This draft takes place in chapter 7 and a certain heroine decides to bring Seraph into her circle as a friend and confidant after the events of Night School.

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"Seraph," her soft voice, filled with uncertainty and apprehensiveness, trails off in Seraph's ears, as he awaits her next words, "Do you think I made the right decision?" And this is where Seraph knew he must word his response properly to Allison.

On one hand, the unforeseen circumstances and situation of that horrendous night was no one's fault but the Alpha. The strategic and ruthlessly designed plan to psychologically torment Scott, Allison, Stiles, Lydia and Jackson that night, as well as trap them and hypnotize Scott by utilizing the werewolf hierarchy and Alpha-Beta connection in order to kill his lover and friends was unexpected to Scott and had no option to tell them the truth.

Yet, in comparison to this, the moment of truth between them having a break isn't also bad. Because Scott is suffering trauma and having trouble maneuvering this evil Alpha, as well as the Argents, but Allison is also in free will of her emotions, and needs time to think things for herself. This also applies to Scott, whom Seraph doesn't criticize him for because of the consequences and circumstances thrust onto him against his will.

Seraph gathers his thoughts rationally, inhales through his nose and glances at Allison. "To be honest, as much as I prefer to not be involved in one's domestic affairs, especially affairs that regard romantic and intimate elements, I will share you my perspective from a neutral and pragmatic standpoint." Seraph's intriguing words gives a light glimpse in Allison's eyes. She nods her head in interest, proceeding for him to continue.

"In light of the traumatic events of that night, both you and Scott, as well as the others were frightened and petrified. More for each-other due to the unknown murderer involved within our geopolitical structure of Beacon Hills. McCall made the decision to protect you from harm's way by not disclosing information with you, and only telling you in vague detail, which is flawed, but there is a reason behind his decision and that is something to be taken into account. You, after facing the aftermath of the event and discordance, coupled with the fact that you felt betrayed by his sense of dishonesty and inability to confide in you, stemmed the decision to break up with McCall by choosing self-preservation and a need for a sense of self-control in the wake of chaos." Seraph explains, earning a weak nod from Allison who has a frown on her face.

"But, neither you or McCall is solely at fault here for the decisions you both made that night, which led to the dissolution of your relationship. The two of you acted on your own perceptions, fears, and cognitive thoughts in this time, exercising free will and thinking on your feet in the terrifying scenery of chaos. Plus, McCall isn't a selfish person. There is a reason regarding his protective measures to go out the chemistry classroom to enact his plan to distract the killer in order for you to escape, even as far as locking the classroom door to prevent the murderer from murdering you and the others. It is important to recognize that assigning blame to either party in this scenario would be counterproductive and unfair. Instead of focusing on fault, it may be more constructive to view this as a learning experience for you and him." Seraph continues thoroughly, and he can see Allison's face shift from confusion, to sadness, to realization, and then understanding in a span of 10 seconds.

"At the end of the day Allison, you and McCall are teenagers, and while it maybe painful and unbearble to feel due to heartbreak, the two of you need to take time to recollect your thoughts to be able to converse again to rebuild your relationship. Neither you nor McCall deserved this heartbreak, so when the two of you are ready to talk, the two of you can speak of your current issues, and then McCall maybe ready to tell you the reason of his secrets."

He honestly didn't think his pragamtic approach would be cordial for the Argent heiress, but judging by her expression of understanding and adherence, she nodded, giving Seraph a small smile for his neutral viewpoint. It was much better than Whittemore's disconcerting response to Allison's dilemma. "Thank you, Seraph. You're right, I should give it time and gather my thoughts between me and Scott."

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Preview for Chapter 7. Yes you are seeing some previews of Seraph's and Allison's acquaintances, growing into a friendship. And you will all see why very soon. Chapter 5 WILL be posted this Sunday!

May The Odds Be In Your Favour

No Pressure Tags: @hemlocksandfoxgloves , @thiamsxbitch, @ksbbb, @rhyslahey, @arewordsenough (once again, thank you), @wolfboy88, @chasing-chimeras, @mmoosen, @isaac-not-isaac, @unsanedes, @scisac, @thrillhoues, @moonraeken, @phantomraeken, @outcastpack, @princeescaluswords

#teen wolf #scott mccall #allison argent #lydia martin #stiles stilinski #jackson whittemore #teen wolf characters #teen wolf canon au #teen wolf fanfiction #the wings of an enigmatic series #twoae #seraph kingfisher #seven sentence sunday #well more like more than 7 sentences and on a wednesday #but this works

[scentedinksandwhackedseals]

some of my favorite webcomics

they all have queer main characters and they're all excellent.

completed:

Power Ballad: As personal assistant to an international pop star, Meera Verma has her hands full trying to keep the gorgeous and talented Carina Peterson primped, polished, and mostly on time. As personal assistant to a Los Angeles-based masked vigilante, Meera has her hands full repairing body armor, stitching up knife wounds, and generally doing everything in her power to keep the mysterious and reckless Skeleton alive and out of trouble. Carrie's just trying to make some music and fight some crime.

My note: Funny, interesting plot, great characters. I also love the role the internet plays in this comic. Btw, only the character on the left in the preview below is one of the main characters. The one on the right is her ex who makes a single appearance. She has a lot of exes who make appearances.

Muted (my beloved!!!): On the full moon of her 21st year, the young witch, Camille Severin, is expected to perform the traditional ritual to summon forth a winged demon for her families success and prosperity. But when the ritual goes wrong, it reveals the terrifying truths about herself and the secrets that threaten to tear her family apart.

My note: This might be my favorite webcomic ever, partially because it was one of the first ones I ever read. But yeah, I love it so much.

Heir’s Game: When a new heir to the duchy of Belluna comes of age, there is held the Heir's Game: a brutal series of duels to determine the heir's bodyguard. When Theuden, the new heir, meets Isran, a quiet duelist with a mysterious past, their love will threaten to change everything.

My note: Another one of the first webcomics I read. I love it very much. Warning: it has a lot of gory moments. Plenty of disturbing injuries.

Shoot Around (by the same creator as Heir's Game): When a zombie apocalypse hits during the practice of a high school basketball team, it's a whole new life for the coach, Jeff. The world's turned upside down and the girls seem to be handling the changes way better than Jeff, who has troubles adjusting. A close-knit group of friends, the girls are eager to tackle this new world with its challenges!

My note: ok maybe I won't have a note for every single one. But yeah, same creator as Heir's Game, also excellent. But they're all excellent. So.

Four Leaf: Pulled into a magical world by her enigmatic best friend, Lupe finds herself in the middle of an ongoing battle between witches who seek the remains of the Wolf, and hunters who are after the witches. There's not much Lupe can do to escape her fate; only the Lady of Wishes can send her home… if the legend is true.

A Week In Warrigilla: Three days into a road trip through rural Australia, girlfriends Hazel and Willie find themselves trapped within the supernatural region of Warrigilla. With nothing but their green Holden and the notes of a mysterious traveller, they drive cross-country in an attempt to escape. [cw: mild gore, mild body-horror, horror themes and suspense]

ongoing:

Broccoli Soup (will be going on hiatus soon): This is a story about a young Broccoli who lives in a void with their best friend Doris. Everything is ideal. There is definitely nothing wrong here.

My note: Weird, cute, and sometimes a little creepy. I am in love with this comic.

The Greenhouse: When a random stranger on the streets told her she was cursed, Mica didn't believe it. But once she's moved into her new apartment after being kicked out, she's starting to reconsider what they said might have been true.

My note: these characters have my whole heart. The main character, Mica, also happens to remind me of Julien Baker in a lot of ways as described in this post.

Ava’s Demon: Ava's Demon is about a girl named Ava and the demon haunting her. The demon, however, might just be the ghost of an alien queen, Wrathia, seeking revenge on the one that destroyed her empire, a god-like figure named Titan. The story follows Ava as she makes her way across the universe, teaming up with Wrathia on a quest for revenge, while fighting her inner demons along the way.

My note: The art. *Chef's kiss*

180 Angel: Chloe Heavenwood wants nothing more than to become a delivery angel like her mother, but her world turns upside down when she asks a disagreeable reaper for help. Soon she is thrown into the affairs of Hell, where she makes an unlikely group of friends and begins to question everything she has learned about Heaven. To make matters worse, it seems she has won the attention of Hell's fiery Princess…

to be continued since you only get 10 links per post apparently?

#webcomic #webcomics #webtoon #tapas #tapas comic #tapas webcomic #art #comics #whacked seal posting

[sergeifyodorov]

2, 5, 22!!

2. teams you have a soft spot for

ok i admit i am a tender heart and if you demonstrate some sweetness of guy or an inchresting dynamic i will attach myself... teams i like but arent my main:

dallas stars (tanya's fault). robo is my sweetest forever and ever bestest american girl. also helps me personally to have The Other Robertson Brother. roope is the most gorgeous enigmatic he/they i have ever seen... and ofcourse the likes of otter and miro and wyatt my english classmate and old man pavs and everyone's fav slut segs.

detroit red wings. mostly because of how deeply sergeipilled i am lets be honest. moritz is excellente tho

vancouver canucks... im a sucker for a good curse and they have Both petey and quinn. also it is very funny to have two (2) unrelated riots happen because of you as a team. 14 years apart.

other less strong but generally positive Feelings: pens, caps, preds, sharks, yotes

5. favorite piece of hockey memorabilia you own

THIS IS A GOOD QUESTION BECAUSE I HAVE A GOOD ANSWER FOR IT. okokokokok ok. okay. okkoook i actually have 2 answers the first is THIS

magazine from 1979 (stole the photo from google because it's in my uni apartment rn and i am at home)(same thing tho.) it's from the 1979 all star game which was nhl allstars v soviet national team and it's FULL of articles abt the 72 summit series, including ones from players themselves . slava fetisov jumpscare also

the second is This

which is a book this guy wrote about like. the oilers year 1 they were in the nhl (right after the merger). he is an important Canadian journalist and followed them around and stuff. it's first edition (from 1980) aswell but that's not the most important thing abt it. the most important thing about this copy is that the author owned it

i got it from someone i know who had a personal connection to him (he passed in 2002). dont ask i dont wanna dox meself

okayanway.

22. are you superstitious during playoffs?

yes.

#asks #ask games

[morebedsidebooks]

LGBTQ+ Characters in Comics from the 21st century I like

A few years back I did a post on LGBTQ+ characters in comics from the 20th Century I have a soft spot for. When it comes to the new millennium, the last two decades have seen an explosion of such comics and characters. So here is my short little follow up for the 21st century.

  Jade

Starting off the new millennium the French comic series Djinn with Belgian writer Jean Dufaux, illustrated by Spanish artist Ana Miralles would run through three arcs for 15 years. I’ll never forget the first time during a comics exhibition I saw an absolutely captivating illustration of the character at the heart of the series, Jade. A fascinating, queer, and amoral enigmatic figure, Sultan’s favorite in the last years of the Ottoman Empire spoken of as a djinn who also seems the key to an immense treasure.

  Fumi Manjôme

With little nods to Japanese girls’ literature and culture Sweet Blue Flowers by Japanese artist Takako Shimura is an enduring yuri series around high school girls and maturing. The shy lesbian Fumi and messy feelings are a major focus. Later adolescence can be an emotional time for anyone. Shimura softly explores when and how her characters mourn disappointments and disenchantment along with finding their identity.

  Kevin Keller

Archie Comics were a staple of my childhood. The quintessential US slice-of-life comic focusing on a group of teenagers goes way back to 1941. However, the 21st century saw a reinvigoration of the Archie brand. Among the successes the gay Kevin Keller created in 2010 by US comic artist Dan Parent debuted in Veronica #202 and has since enjoyed huge popularity. Eventually, I was also drawn back as an adult reader with the gang grown up in the Life with Archie series. In 2012 Life with Archie #16 saw Kevin not only following in the footsteps of his dad as a soldier in the Army but marrying Dr. Clay Walker. Despite protests from bigoted groups the installment of the series would be another sold out hit earning Kevin the designation as “most important new character in Archie history.” Further a character that has also represented fighting the epidemic of gun violence in the US going on in the series to become a State Senator on the issue.

  Richard III

Japanese artist Aya Kanno inspired by Shakespeare’s tetralogy Henry VI, Richard III and the famous 15th century War of the Roses in her series Requiem of the Rose King goes in a different direction, making her Richard intersex. Only the first of many choices in this girls’ comic which has also garnered attention from other well-respected artists. YMMV but the saga of this Richard has consistently been one of the more compelling examples over the last decade.

Lisa Williams and Ally Carter

Beginning as fetishistic illustrations and short strips by Croatian artist Stjepan Sejic (under a pseudonym) on DeviantArt, BDSM comic series Sunstone was a notable read for me in 2015. With genuine class and smart use of humour, the characters Lisa and Ally and their growing relationship are wonderfully relatable on many levels.

  Ace

If you love the movie Grease but crave something 1950’s vintage queer the webcomic Rock and Riot by Chelsey Furedi might fit the bill. The cast is as wide and beautiful as a rainbow. Among the many teenage delinquent characters is the 17-year-old agender, asexual, demiromantic Ace. And founder of their own gang the Bandits and who definitely does things their own way.

  Ionel

Another of the top titles from the 2010s I first came across the exquisite mystery webcomic Heart of Gold in the (now defunct) digital magazine Sparkler Monthly. The atmospheric ongoing series features Ionel a panromantic asexual pianist with albinism who is losing his sight and a gay priest Father Dunant who is known as a faith healer.

  Milagro Villa

I’ve seen feathers, wings, and birds stand in for representations about abuse and trauma before. In the short comic Songbird For A Vulture US artist Naomi Franquiz does exactly that. Crafting one of the most poignant examples of an abuse survivor, found family, and healing included in Power & Magic The Queer Witch Comics Anthology.

  Ed Fiedler and Lucardo von Gishaupt

Forgive me the terrible pun but I’m a sucker for vampires, especially the queer variety. Letters for Lucardo by Finnish artist Otava Heikkilä is a delightful erotic comic series with a romance between vampire Lucardo and the older Ed.

  Ryô Watari

I’ve gone on about self-actualization in fashion before. Series Boys Run the Riot by Japanese artist Keiko Gaku acutely presents a comic about trans teenager Ryô building confidence, friendships, and a street fashion brand.

#lgbtq characters #lgbtq comics #favorite lgbtq characters #djinn comic #sweet blue flowers #life with archie #requiem of the rose king #sunstone comic #rock and riot #heart of gold #songbird for a vulture #letters for lucardo #boys run the riot

[fandomtrashrat]

Whispers of the Heart

Solas//Lavellan

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Note: Finally had some time to write part 2! Enjoy ★彡

It had been almost two weeks since they had descended the mountains of Skyhold, and Lavellan felt like she was going mad. Whether that could be the relentless sandstorms of the Western Approach, or the fact that Solas had been avoiding her, she could not say.

Each day was filled with the same routine: the party would venture deeper into the arid wasteland, battling venatori, and closing rifts. At least there's a dragon to fight, as Bull would remind her every morning. She didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.

“Inquisitor, we have arrived,” Cassandra said, her voice cutting through Lavellan’s thoughts. “Griffon Wing Keep. According to Cullen, it would be of great benefit to capture it.” Lavellan looked at the outpost and sighed. Why do I only bring three people to capture a fucking fortress?

Her face must have shown her annoyance, as Bull leaned over and clapped her on the back. “Don’t worry, Boss. We’ve faced worse odds before. Besides, fighting Venatori gets the blood flowing.”

She managed a faint smile and nodded, “All right, how should we do this?” Pointing to her map, she continued, “ According to Scout Harding, there’s a sewer pipe that leads right into the—”

THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

As Lavellan turned to look, Bull had smashed open the front doors with a series of powerful strikes, the echoing reverberating through the courtyard. Any chance of having the element of surprise shattered along with the door.

“Or he could barge into the front door,” Solas quipped. Well, shit.

——————————————————————

“…and then I barge into the front door!” Bull exclaimed to the Inquisition soldiers, “I swear on the Qun that I saw one of them shit their pants! Oh what a rush!” The Inquisition soldiers looked at Bull in awe as he towered over them near the campfire. It was night, and by the old gods and the new, they had managed to survive. She sat at the base of a tree, positioned away from the group gathered by the campfire. She took a deep breath in, the isolation giving her a quiet retreat. For a moment, she felt as though she was back home with her clan.

“May I sit?” Solas’ voice called out. She looked up and saw him, giving her a small smile. It was one of the first ones he has directed at her since the beginning of the journey. She missed it. Lavellan nodded, making space for him beside her. As he settled down, Bull continued his lively storytelling, and the Inquisition soldiers hung on to his every word.

Solas glanced at Lavellan and said in a softer tone, “It’s moments like these that remind us of the humanity that still exists in a world gripped by chaos and conflict, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lavellan nodded in agreement. “It’s easy to lose sight of what’s worth fighting for, but these moments give us strength…at least that’s what Mother Giselle says.” As the campfire crackled in the background, Lavellan looked into his eyes and was inexplicably drawn to them. They held such an enigmatic wisdom that defied explanation.

He returned his gaze to the dancing flames, and so did she. They sat there in silence as the laughter of Inquisition soldiers filled the air. "Solas, I never asked you, but do you have a clan or a family?" She saw his jaw tense and a wave of guilt immediately welled up in her chest. "I-I'm sorry, I should not have asked such a personal question."

"I had...something that resembled a family, yes," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "But that was a very long time ago, and I do not wish to delve further into those matters." She nodded, mentally scolding herself.

“And what if your clan, Inquisitor? Surely they must miss their to-be Keeper?” Solas redirected the conversation, his eyes filled with a curious, yet gentle, inquiry. Lavellan couldn’t help but smile at the mention of her clan.

"Oh, I'm sure they do," she remarked, earning a small smile from Solas. She gazed up at the stars. "When I was with the clan, I would have done anything to go off on my own,” Lavellan admitted. “They had such high expectations for me to become Keeper, but it's not the life I wanted. But now…as I sit here responsible for the fate of everyone in Thedas, I’d do anything to go back to those days." She felt his stare but refused to meet his gaze. Somehow, the barriers she had managed to uphold over the last two months had crumbled within minutes.

Solas’ voice was soft, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “The burden of leadership can be heavy, and choices are seldom easy.” Lavellan turned her head to look at him, finally meeting his gaze, “Yes, but if we don’t make these choices who will?” The night wrapped around them like a shroud, the campire flickering, a silent witness to the swirling emotions between them. The serenade of crickets filled the air as Lavellan realized that everyone had gone to their tents.

Tension hung in the air as their faces drew closer, an unspoken yearning between them. She leaned in, her lips almost meeting his, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world had changed. As he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, he stopped himself. Her heart sank as the moment shattered before her.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot allow this to happen again,” he whispered, his eyes holding a mixture of longing and regret. With those words, he stood up, and walked away, leaving Lavellan sitting there in the night. She sighed as she leaned her back against the tree, looking at the stars who bore witness to the scene.

Dread wolf take me.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas #solas dread wolf #solavellan #dai #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan #solas x female lavellan #fanfic

[satoshi-mochida]

Multiplayer mech action game Mecha BREAK announced for PS5, Xbox Series, PC

Gematsu Source

Seasun Games has announced multiplayer mech action game Mecha BREAK for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, and PC (Steam). A release date was not announced.

Here is an overview of the game, via Seasun Games:

About

Mecha BREAK is a multiplayer mech game that allows players to choose from diverse mechs, customize appearances, and battle colossal war machines on treacherous terrain. Get ready for the ultimate showdown—blitz, brawl, and blaze!

Key Features

-Gameplay Modes – Choose from three-versus-three, six-versus-six, or Battle Royale modes for intense battles and survival challenges.

Six-versus-Six Battlefield Mode – The game features different mid-sized battlegrounds like “Eye of Misra,” “Mercury Shipyards,” and “Cape Blanc Observatory.” Players are randomly assigned to these battlegrounds, forming squads to complete missions. In the six-versus-six battleground, tactical decisions are crucial, including cover, strategic retreats, and baiting enemies. Choosing the right team tactics at the right time is key to winning.

Mashmak – Form a team of three or six players to execute combat missions. Utilize your piloting skills to defeat enemy mechas, or employ strategic coordination for seamless victories and game-changing maneuvers. You’re in full control. Immerse yourself in a 48-player battleground, where you’ll encounter ambushes, hostile resistance, and the looming threat of colossal weapons. Navigate lethal pulse storms, skillfully evade pursuers, and claim victory alongside an abundance of spoils.

Three-versus-Three Arena Mode – Three-versus-Three Arena Mode offers the ideal platform to showcase your exceptional piloting skills. Navigate intense combat with agile evasion of incoming missiles, while seizing strategic moments for decisive strikes. Your precise maneuvers will be the key to victory, propelling you towards becoming an ace pilot.

-Character – Customize paint jobs and create your own unique mecha. The appearance of the mechas’ weapons can be customized. You have the ability to personalize the weapons, shields, and wings, allowing you to tailor each mech’s appearance according to your preferences. Each mecha is divided into over 120 color modules. This allows players to create unique color combinations. Through battles or purchase, players can acquire common or rare paint colors. The game also offers a wide selection of patterns and decals for you to choose from, so you can personalize your mechas to your liking.

-Battle Experience – 1) Aerial and ground combat combined for a dynamic engagement. 2) Intense close-quarters brawls. You will experience a thrilling sense of speed, firepower, and strength as you control a 12-meter-tall mecha from a third-person shooter perspective. Engage in battles against other players in various battlegrounds while accomplishing difference mission objectives.

-Mechs and Pilots – Unlock a wide array of mechas and exclusive pilots, each with their own unique backstory. Each mecha is equipped with distinctive weaponry and serves a specific role, such as sniper, brawler, attacker, defender, or support. Coordinate with your squad members to maximize your advantages and secure victory.

World Setting

The Catastrophe – Triggered by a massive coronal mass ejection, the Catastrophe occurred as supercharged particle flows impacted Earth’s magnetic field. Collisions between highly active thermal mantle plumes and the crust led to earthquakes, volcanic activities, and the eruption of EIC.

EIC – Scientifically known as “Corite,” Eruptive Inorganic Carbide (EIC) emerged from geological disasters during the Revival Era. EIC manifests in towering mineral columns and hazardous mines formed by volcanic activities. With immense technological value, this enigmatic mineral possesses wide applications in the energy and tech industries, making it vital for post-Catastrophe reconstruction. However, it also poses a severe health risk and remains humanity’s greatest threat.

Epoch of Biped Strikers – After the Catastrophe, Lunarians invented bipedal machines as the primary mode of transportation. These walking vehicles were designed to navigate lunar terrain, surpassing the limitations of traditional vehicles. Eventually, they were weaponized, leading to intense conflicts among powerful mechanized soldiers called “Strikers.” These adaptable armored units replaced conventional vehicles and showcased their dominance in resource struggles. The third-generation Strikers emerged as the elite among their kind.

BREAK – “Third Generation Strikers,” often referred to as “Mind Projection Type Strikers,” use the power of the EIC supercomputer “Cubrain” to form a neural link between the human brain and the Striker unit. This concept, known as Mind Projection, is the cornerstone of their operation. BREAK Strikers take this technology a step further. By taking into account the pilot’s physiological indicators, they surpass previous synchronization constraints. This enhancement allows the Striker to deliver a significantly improved performance on the battlefield.

Moonbow – Moonbow is a powerful independent force, operating globally utilizing their airship of the same name. They deploy the formidable BREAK Strikers to address various EIC-related crises and explore the truth behind EIC.

Conflicts – Moonbow confronts persistent threats from EIC and the malice of humanity. While BREAK Strikers are more than mere weapons, they often become a necessary means while facing unavoidable conflicts.

Marcens Pandemic – The Catastrophe released EIC debris, contaminating the Earth’s atmosphere. High EIC concentrations result in plant mineralization and the fatal Marcens Disease in animals. Regions and cities transform into lifeless “Marcens Zones” through high-purity secondary Corite crystallization. Today, these zones rapidly expand via deadly EIC Pulse Storms, while humanity remains oblivious to EIC. Is EIC a natural disaster or something more sinister?

New Terrain – The Catastrophe shifted Earth’s tectonic plates, altering its landscape. New rifts and straits were formed, while mountains rose and landforms crumbled. Islands were engulfed, and volcanoes emerged, inflicting immense devastation upon both ecosystems and societies.

New Paradigm – As a response to Corite pollution, cooperation gradually became crucial, leading to the emergence of the Culturia Alliance, the Cygnia Union, and the Thalassic Federation. Meanwhile, the Lunarians proclaimed their independence under the name of the Commonwealth of Lunar-mare amidst the chaos.

New Conquest – EIC is an indispensable resource for science and commerce. Various factions are congregating at the largest Mercens Zone, Mashmak, preparing for an intense upheaval. The Catastrophe reshaped landscapes and disrupted the global order. Amidst recovery and Corite pollution, the Vulturia Alliance, Cygnia Union, Thalassic Federation, and Commonwealth of Lunar-mare emerged. Despite risks, these factions vied for self-interests. A storm is brewing in the largest Marcens Zone, Mashmak.

Watch the announcement trailer below. View the first screenshots at the gallery.

Announce Trailer

English

Japanese

Korean

Traditional Chinese

#Mecha BREAK #Seasun Games #action game #PS5 #Xbox Series #Steam #Gematsu #Youtube

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Gutted/Sorted the Series

submitted by: anonymous

gutted/sorted (83819 words) by @beatricethecat2 Chapters: 22/22 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Claudia Donovan, steve jinks/liam napier - Character, Abigail Cho Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, New York City, AU Week, Fire, Angst, there will be fluff for sure but later-ish, Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of gutted/sorted Summary: Change may be the only constant in a city like New York, but one can argue there are acceptable limits over the course of a day. Myka Bering, a relative newbie, had no idea just how quickly her life could go from sorted to gutted. When Myka loses everything in a tragic fire, she takes refuge at a nearby hotel offering room and board to catastrophe's victims. Helena Wells, a bartender at the hotel, instinctively takes Myka under her wing. Though a complete stranger, Myka feels compelled to accept Helena’s offer to stay with her and her daughter until she finds a new place to live. As the weeks pass, Myka rebuilds her life with a new sense of purpose and Helena's enigmatic backstory slowly unfolds. They grow closer over time, but just how close?

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

It starts as a quirky 'two people thrown together' story but very quickly becomes a twisty art crime conspiracy. The Helena, Christina, and Myka becoming a family elements are wonderful, and my favourite bit is when Myka finally goes to [place] and gets her family back: Christina tears across a field and throws herself into Myka's arms.

Is there something else about the fic that you'd like people to know?

Not gonna lie: it's a long one.

---

Remember that you can submit fics to be featured here, too! Here's the link to the submission form (Google Form)!

#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #gutted/sorted #beatricethecat2 #fandom classic #anonymous submission #published 2015 #submitted 2023 10 #2023 #october 2023

[thealmightyemprex]

Top 10 Ron Perlman roles

Want to showcase one of my favorite voice actors/character actors ,Ron Perlman .Now Perlman has a career over 40 years long and he is highly prolific,so I havent seen every piece of media with him in it so these are just my personal faves

10.Killer Croc from The Batman (2005-2008 )

Still my favorite version of Killer Croc .Love the accent

9.Father Duffy from I Sell the Dead (2009)

I will not say a word about this film,if you can find it ,watch it ,its a hidden gem

8.Pap Finn from the Adventures of Huck Finn (1993)

Small but important role as Huck's abusive alcoholic monster of a father ,and Perlman makes him FEEL like a monster

7.Podesta from Guillermo Del Toros Pinocchio (2022)

Perlmans cold and authoritative voice perfectly fit this abusive fascist take on the Coachman

6.Justice from Afro Samurai (2007)

Because who better to play the nemesis of a Samuel L Jackson Samurai then a scary cowboy swordsman played by a creepy Ron Perlman . Some of his best voice work

5.Clayface from Batman the Animated Series (1992-1998)

Perlman nails both the horror and tragedy of this actor turned monster

4. Angel de la Guardia from Cronos (1993)

The first teaming of Perlman and Guilermo Del Toro ,as the thuggish nephew of an evil old rich guy .Perlman is just a lot of fun here

3.Xibalba from Book of Life (2014)

One of my favorite dieties in film ,and a role that surprised me when I learned it was Perlman

2.Slade from Teen Titans(2003-2006)

CReepiest role he has every playedat least to me .Both manipulative and enigmatic.

1.Hellboy from the Hellboy series (2004 -2008)

Possibly Perlmans definitive role as this blue collar monster fighting demon with a heart of gold .Yes I am sad we most likely wont get part 3

If you have a favorite Perlman role feel free to share

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