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ghouljams · 8 days

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Home [Chapter 6]

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Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, healer!reader, Soap x f!reader, slow burn, f!oc cameo(Witch), sea travel, grief, kidnapping(sort of)

Summary: Again you find yourself at the mercy of the Vikings' will, moved without your consent to a place you'd rather not go. You must be going mad, somehow it all reminds you of home.

Packing up camp takes less time than you’d thought, though you suppose many hands make light work. Your hands aren’t saved from that work either. Despite decidedly not being a viking you’re directed to assist with collapsing and packing tents. Mactavish points out where to store them on the ship, before picking up crates and barrels with a soft grunt. You resent being given the easy work, relegated to burden before you even set out, but you would resent being given anything harder too.

Working with vikings. Your blood boils at the thought, but you have no other way to go. With no pressing medical needs you’re treated the same as every other man in the crew. You’re not sure whether to resent that fact or laugh. Are you a woman or aren’t you? Are you surrounded by wolves or are you taken into their burrow? Will you find hands shoved under your clothes, or won’t you?

You stick to Mactavish, try not to be underfoot after the first viking you bump yells at you. The men are all preoccupied with carrying their burdens, if it weren’t for Mactavish you might see threads of escape. You might have taken the chaos of packing the ship as your best chance to get out of here. But Mactavish seems to welcome your company, chattering away as he directs you to grab crates and load the long boat. His hand is firm on your back, always touchy even when it’s not called for.

“Is nae a long journey,” He explains, “jus’ across the straight. We’ll be there before ya ken it.”

It doesn’t escape your notice how excited your viking counterpart is at the prospect of going home. If it were you, and to some extent it is, you wouldn’t be so eager to part with your homeland. As you see it Mactavish may as well renounce the tartan he wears over his shoulders, eager as he is to be a viking. You don’t have much choice in where you go, but you’ll be damned if you’re eager to leave.

You’re employed, that’s it. You work or you die. You catch the captain’s eye as Mactavish shows you where you’ll be stationed for the journey. He tips his head to talk to the viking in the skull mask, his attention off of you as quickly as it had found you. Mactavish catches you staring and sighs.

“He’s just nervous about ya runnin’.”

“As if you wouldn’t strike me down before I left camp,” You mumble, your eyes following the trails of axes and swords where they sit on the hips of the men loading the ship. Mactavish winces. You don’t see how it could mean much to him, you’re just extra cargo, another mouth to feed that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“Ah wouldnae,” Mactavish tries, you push past him. You’re uninterested in empty promises, in words that have the same substance to them as the air they whisper through. He would, he just needs to be given the order and your life is forfeit. Wants disappear when viking’s greed is on the line.

“It doesn’t matter,” You tell him, you’re already stolen, you’ve nothing to return to, what reason could you have for running? You’re the only woman on the ship, and for who knows how long. That’s reason enough to run. There’s space to run on land, but at sea? You pause, frown at the rocky beach below your feet. You’d be better served dead than passed between oars.

The fears of women, you have no sane way of voicing them to your captor. Mactavish hands you a bag, the contents of it shift with strange shapes as you find your hold. It’s smokey, smelling of meat and brine. It grounds you a little. You clear the anxiety from your mind and glance out over the sea, trying to find the other side the way you used to when you were small.

You’re reminded almost immediately that Mactavish owns you as the longboat pushes off the shore. You’re caged between the wall of the ship and your least favorite viking, his words bouncing around your head as he directs men to row. “My catch,” “my watch,” “prey.” He calls you that again in a hushed tone,

“Dae ya get sea sick, Vaenn?”

You ignore him, turn your head to rest it against the wooden wall of the ship. There’s little for you to do on the ship but wait. You patch a few blisters on the youngest vikings, and tend to the fever that’s brought on by a night of rain. Mostly you find yourself with Mactavish pressed to your side. Big and warm, sturdy when you try to push him off. His eyes are stormy each time you look at him, the clouds parting when he turns to meet your stare.

He pulls on smiles like an old pair of shoes. They’re well worn, practiced to his face, but they never reach his eyes. You wonder what he must be thinking. You try to drown out that curiosity with a different one. What are you meant to do when you get to shore?

Four days of sailing and the only thing you’ve come up with is: doctor. You suppose there must be more vikings, more warriors returning from different pillages, that need patching up. You can’t imagine what that must look like, a whole village of brutes. You wonder if they kidnap all their women, or if you’re a special case.

Exhaustion weighs on you. The rocking of the boat, the unease in your stomach around sleeping with so many strangers nearby, you find little rest and in the short grabs of it you jerk awake to the heat of fire. Your grief has started to numb you, or perhaps that’s the ocean’s chill. Mactavish fixes his fur around your shoulders more tightly, checks the heat of you with a cool hand against your cheek. You wonder if he even has the capacity to worry for others. A man that would turn away from the screams of an entire village is a man that holds no one but himself in his heart. You turn away from him more often than not, feel the frustrated curl of his fingers before they’re dropped in a fist to his lap.

You can see it every time you close your eyes, so you don’t. You can hear your own sobs ripping from your chest, can feel the strength of Mactavish’s arm around you, in your dreams. You don’t sleep. What’s lost can never be regained, and now you slip further from it. Your skin is cold and your stomach churns with the waves. You tuck your resentment close to your chest, and nurse it with bitterness.

You’re not going home. You don’t have one of those anymore.

You’re startled awake by a familiar melody, words you know from your mother’s tongue. You mutter her name, still addled by sleep, and split your eyes open. Mactavish is studying his hands beside you, digging his short nails into the calluses at the base of his fingers. His voice is low, but the tune carries. The usually noisy ship seems to hold its silence. In the dim grey light of dawn you wonder if it’s just the two of you awake.

The only two souls alive that carry the land’s proper tongue.

And yet he mutters it, the words of the lullaby said under his breath, breathed through the chopped melody that leaves his lips. He doesn’t even seem to pay attention to it, his eyes focused on his hand’s work more than the tune. You listen to the sharp pick of skin, nearly louder than the familiar tune, and try not to move.

“-found the trial o’ mountain mist, but ne’er a trace of baby o,” He hums, his lips twitching with pain as he digs his nail too deep. Mactavish looks up towards the bow of the ship and you follow his eyes as best you can, watching Gaz and the Captain speaking in quiet tones.

Gaz holds a telescope to his eye, nodding and directing course when he brings it down. The air waits for them. There’s a near silent beating of wings, and the captain holds out his arm for a black bird to perch on. He strokes its beak with a finger, the creature clicking pleasantly before it alights again, back the way it came.

Your heart pounds in your chest. The threat of land never closer than it is when the Captain turns to the ship and announces,

“We’ll be sleeping in beds tonight, lads.”

Mactavish smiles to himself, his head bowed, while the rest of the crew cheers. You don’t share their excitement.

The port you dock in is nothing like you expected. Mactavish offers you a hand to help you off the ship, and though you reach for it instinctually, you ultimately spurn the gesture. You’d rather make a fool of yourself tripping over your skirts than take help from that man. Again you see his fist clench, dropped heavily to his side as he stares at the space you used to occupy. The skull faced viking directs the unloading of cargo, barking orders to the others while you look out at the town.

It’s not what you thought it would be. There’s no dismal hopelessness to the buildings that dot the grassy landscape. Women and children move between the houses without fear, and market stalls exchange their goods for coin under colorful banners. In the distance you can see sheep grazing, men fish along the shore, farms and gardens dot the landscape. The dirt path that winds around town works its way inward, all roads leading to the center, a longhouse built up on a hill. It reminds you too much of your own home. Bigger perhaps, but twisting the knife in your heart as clearly as your mother’s face might.

A viking carrying a heavy crate bumps you from your observation, and your arm is caught by another. You give a shout of surprise, looking around for Mactavish and finding the Captain instead. He all but drags you along the dock, his grip firm and unyielding even when you struggle against it. You’re deposited in front of a woman. There's darkness under her eyes, runes in coal over her cheeks, and bone woven into her red hair. She smiles at you warmly, and you jerk back away from her.

There’s something unnerving in her smile, in her movements.

Her brows draw together, concern coloring her expression. The black bird that you’d seen greeting the ship rests on the staff she’s holding, its beak clicks curiously at you. You ignore it. Birds like that are only good for eating.

“One Læknir,” The Captain presents you, he says something else, a word you don’t understand that makes the woman laugh. She looks more alive when she laughs.

“You are-” She seems to struggle for the word, your language ill-suited to her tongue, she asks the Captain something uses that same word “Læknir” and he responds with his correction:

“Healer.”

“Healer,” The woman finishes, you glance at the captain and give a small nod. She speaks to the captain again, speaks past you, you try not to take offense. You’re starting to get the feeling this woman isn’t used to people let alone talking to them.

“Need a translator?” Mactavish’s voice jolts you from your thoughts, too close beside your ear. He grins when you glare at him. The woman seems almost relieved to see him. She speaks to him now, and you hear him say it again:

“My catch, Völva, I’ll watch ‘em.” His eyes dart to you as you bristle. The woman, the Völva (you heard him use that word before, you file it as a proper noun, a title maybe), glances at you as well.

“You stay with -” She says a word and you frown.

“Soap,” Mactavish fills in, leaning to murmur it by your ear.

“Soap,” You confirm, “I’m staying with the lye.”

“You’re stayin’ with Mactavish,” The Captain tells you, no hint of amusement in his tone, it startles you still to hear your own tongue so proudly fallen from his lips.

“Not a proper name,” You grumble.

“Needed a bath when we caught ‘im.” The Captain sniffs, “If he’s smart he’ll give you one too.” You stiffen, any humor you may have found in the nickname lost with those words. You don’t look at Mactavish, at Soap. You keep your eyes on the Völva. She must understand that they can’t force you into lodgings with a man. She tips her head, smile blank. You can’t hold her gaze for long.

“You wanted responsibility,” The Captain pushes you towards Mactavish, “there it is, your catch, your watch.”

You suppose it makes sense, you stay with the person that caught you, but it still drops like a rock in your stomach. Mactavish may speak your language, but as far as you’re concerned he’s a viking through and through. You’re not safe with him, not safe in this village. Mactavish settles his hand on the small of your back, and leans close for a third time, his voice is softer but still rings like a death knell.

“Let’s go Vaenn,” He must take your hesitance for exhaustion because he adds, “it’s nae far, then ya can rest.”

You very much doubt that.

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year

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The Last Raid

MASTERLIST

Summary: You are a norsewoman, a Viking shieldmaiden from Norway, you were riding with the brothers Erik and Sigefrid, when Uhtred takes back the princess the army disbands, and you go on your own.

Pairing: Osferth x Shieldmaiden!lreader

Warnings: TLK AU, war, death, smut, profanity, religious themes, pagan rituals, and much more

Wordcount: 1.5 k

Notes: Is this a story? or a one shot? nobody knows hehe

The army of Danes that you were riding with had been annihilated, completely destroyed by the army of King Alfred and the command of Uhtred the Daneslayer, that is what you got for making an alliance with the Danes, you should have stayed with your people, with the Vikings from the North, from Norway.

After someone in the middle of the fight hit you in the head, you fell limply in the middle of the battle, when you regained your bearings, you could only see what was left of your “army” running for the hills, leaving you alone.

So you decided to go your own way, you didn’t fit with them anyways, but now you were alone, you luckily had time to gather your things, your horse and your weapons before the camp was completely destroyed. You rode until you came across a huge river, you didn’t have a clue of where you were, but you needed to wash away the blood from your enemies and the dirt from the fight.

You haven't come across anyone so you gathered you were alone, so you discarded your coat of mail, the leather shirt underneath, your boots and your thick leather pants, you only left the long shirt to cover in case someone did come along. You didn’t even have the heart to undo your braids.

You let yourself relax as you cleaned your face from the dirt and dried blood, you even submerged your head under the water, and when you emerged you let yourself hear the birds chirping from afar and even though the water was freezing, it was beautiful, calm, peaceful.

Were you going to try and make a life here like your grandfather had intended? you were growing weary of the fight, you wanted to settle, to plant, to farm, to have a house of your own with a big hall in which you could gather your friends and family… which you were lacking.

If you came close to one of those Saxon villages, would they let you stay? Would they give you a job? or would they hate you and pursue you for being a Viking?, the only settlement the vikings from Norway had in England had been destroyed, to find more of your people was going to be difficult…

You were so deep in your own thoughts that when you noticed the presence behind you, it was too late. You turned around quickly and you tried to run to shore, to your belongings, to your axe and sword, but a smiling man stood right by them, his hand in his own sword, so you took a step back, in fear.

You were still in the water, but you still had something. You extracted a small knife from a Garter you had tied in your thigh, and came face to face with four men. They had singular appearances, they did not look Dane, not at all, but they didn’t look Saxon either.

“She is a Dane, Uhtred”, warned one, that by the looks of him and his accent, was one himself

“Aren’t you a clever one?”, you mocked, “nothing escapes you, except, I am not a Dane”

“With a sharp tongue”, mocked the one who seemed to be the leader

“She is pretty Lord”, said a blonde, with wide innocent eyes and strange clothes, they all laughed, they made your skin crawl and you tightened the grip on the handle of your blade

“Baby Monk fell in love!”, mocked the one that was near your things, perhaps you should take that one first, grab your ax, you could at least take another one with you, they did not had a bow, so, they will have to come close to you to attack you, you looked at the path you were going to need to run by, careful of the sharp rocks under the water. Three long jumps and you could take him…

You took one step and the one they called Uhtred raised his hand, you looked into his eyes and you could tell he had all but read your mind, looking at the path in front of you and then at his man.

“Finan”, he called, and then he also seemed to notice, and he took a defensive position, so your plan was ruined, then you looked at the other Dane, and then at the priest looking one, who would be easier to kill?

“We will not hurt you”, Uthred said, showing you his hands, you were surrounded, and they were four warrior men, you did not believe him

“Four men, one woman, I know how this ends”, you growled, you looked to your knife and even though you wished a glorious death in battle, taking your own life seemed a better choice than to be… taken by these men. So you turned your knife and turned it towards you

“There is not need for that”, said Uthred hastily, truly scared

“I think there is”, you said defensively, holding the knife to your own chest

“We will not hurt you”, their easy way of carrying themselves turned serious, all four men looking at you wide-eyed, “I give you my word”, he said, taking a step back, his men followed him, as a sign of peace, so you relaxed your stance, “who are you?”, he asked, looking at your things

“A Viking shield maiden”, you answered quickly, “From Norway”, you said looking at the one that called you a Dane

“What is your name?”, he asked

“(Y/N), Bjorndottir, daughter of Bjorn Ironside”, his eyes went wide, as the dane’s, he all but wanted to kneel

“Bjorn, King of Kattegat? King of Norway?”, he asked, you nodded, “I’m Uhtred”, he introduced himself

“I know who you are, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, or Uthred Ragnarson, or the Dane slayer, or the Godless”, you listed

“You heard of me”, he said with a mocking smile

“I like to “hear” of my enemies”, you said, “or my leader’s enemies”, you continued

“This are my men, Finnan, Sithric, and Osferth”, he said pointing at each of them, you nodded, acknowledging them

“Why are you alone? I saw you in the battlefield”, said Finnan, “your army is far away by now, or what’s left of it”

“Those bastards left me for dead”, you said simply, “they only wanted me for my influence, that is gone now, along with my respect”, you said quickly, you relaxed the arm that held your knife

“Where are you heading?”, Uhtred asked

“I don’t know”, you answered truthfully

“Where would you like to go?”, he asked then

“First? dry land, I’m freezing”, you said bitterly, and they all seemed to notice, and they took another stepback, Finan walking away from your things and standing by his leader, so you walked to your clothes, drying yourself with your bloodied shirt, and then disposing of it.

“Do you mind?”, you asked, looking at them over your shoulder, and they turned around, so you could dispose of your wet dress, and changing quickly into clothes from your bag

Once you were comfortable, you turned to the men, who turned back to look at you

“So, you have something to eat?”, you asked

Two hours past, a fire was lit, the night had fallen, and you were roasting a couple of rabbits

“Why are you here? Bjorn Ironside is not in this country”, asked Sithric, you looked back at him

“My father is a bastard who left me me as soon as he noticed I was a girl and when he got tired of humping my mother”, you said dismissively, “He is terrorizing lands further than Frankia”, you saw them share looks

“So, why are you here?”, asked Uhtred

“I wanted to make a name for myself”, you confessed, “battles, glory, lands…”

“So, what happened?”, asked Finnan, by his accent, you realized he must have been from that country they called Ireland

“Couldn’t find any of those things”, you said simply, “who would have thought that slaughtering farmers and their families was not going to be as glorious as everyone said?”, you mocked, “I don’t like it”

“What do you want?”, he insisted

“A land to sow, a house to live in… something quiet, but I do like a good fight, I guess… I’m a sellsword now”, you whispered looking at the meat between your greasy fingers

“Pledge your sword to me”, he demanded, “fight for me and you can settle in Cuccham, the lands I’m the Lord of”

“I don’t want to kill more innocent people, or taking things I have not earned”, you said, as terms for your allegiance

“Good, we will not have you do any of those things”, he said, certainly, you barely nodded, “we are not very elite men, Finan here was a slave when I met him, Sihtric if the bastard son of Kjartan, and the baby monk, is the bastard son of King Alfred, turned monk, and now turned sword”

“King Alfred?”, you asked, “And Earl Kjartan?”, they only nodded, “Alright, I like this, a group of misfits, bonded by loyalty, I like it”, you said, clapping your hands, “My sword is yours, Uhtred Ragnarson, as long as you not ask of me anything that will bring me dishonor”

He only smiled, as did their men

#the last kingdom #uhtred #sihtric #osferth #sihtric kjartansson #finan #the last kingdom au #osferth x you #finan x reader #uhtred x reader #sihtric x reader #misguidedtlk

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chaethewriter · 1 year

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Jack Champion x gamer gf! reader

J. Champion with a gamer gf headcanons

a gym rat and gamer girl in love.

A/N: incredibly short and silly, because this was just on my mind.

◇ even before he had asked you if he could be your boyfriend, he knew about your gaming addiction— obsession.

◇ no matter where he saw you, your eyes were always set on a screen.

◇ whether that be on your PlayStation, computer or even the Nintendo Switch.

◇ he knew you liked gaming, but when you started dating, he truly got to meet gamer you.

◇ you stayed at his house often, it was almost your second home.

◇ the main reason being: the two of you were glued together.

◇ it doesn't matter what either of you were doing, as long as you did it together.

◇ moments when you sat somewhere with your phone being opened on Genshin, waiting at the gym while he was training.

◇ this also meant your stuff being in his bedroom.

◇ your Nintendo Switch for example.

◇ whenever the two of you were free from any work and college, you would be lying down on the bed, resting your head into his lap.

◇ you would be playing any form of tactical strategic game as he ran his fingers through your hair.

◇ he would watch the way your nose scrunched up as you glared at the screen to figure out how to ambush the enemy without getting your team killed.

◇ the movie he had put on the television long forgotten as he watched you in admiration.

◇ he would give commentary as he watched you, asking you things that he saw as he was genuinely interested in the stuff you like.

◇ "babe? What does that icon mean?"

◇ "do you get to dress up your main character?"

◇ "is there a reason why you put the arrow users behind the sword users?"

◇ he knows he might sound dumb, but he was genuinely wondering.

◇ you looked like you knew what you were doing, as if you put all of your energy into it.

◇ it was cute.

"Are you sure I can try? I mean I don't want to ruin your rounds-"

"Jack, babe, it's fine! I will help you." You were playing 'fire emblem three houses' on Jack's lap, but you couldn't help but feel a gaze burning into your skin. You had looked to the side, watching how he watched you with interest. You knew that look, he was curious, eager to try.

So you told him he could.

You were still in his lap, the Switch in his hands as yours were on top of his to guide him.

"What I always do is keep the bow user behind with the healer, before that I usually put mages, then axes and polearms and swords. I usually put cavalry on their own as they're pretty strong. Sometimes I leave them with healers, as they also have another weapon to use so that the cavalry isn't all alone."

He had no idea what you were saying and it was noticeable in the way he was playing.

Attacking a cavalry with a bow user, but he was getting there.

You couldn't tell him off, though. The way he was fully concentrating in the game with his chin resting against the top of your head.

◇ when the two of you were at your home, he would sit you on his lap as he watched you game.

◇ one of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, his other hand occupied by his phone.

◇ his phone was long forgotten though, as he watched you carry in your valorant match.

◇ you play without a headset when Jack is around so that he doesn't feel closed off or ignored.

◇ this is how he hears the toxicity of Valorant though.

◇ genuinely gets angry when you get insulted.

"Bro, why you assuming aimbot? Not my fault I can actually aim." You groaned into the mic as your fingers aggressively tapped on the WASD keys. You got into yet another toxic match and it was pissing you off.

"Make me a fucking sandwich, fucking bitch."

Now that made Jack furious. The grip on your waist got tighter as he cussed the other player out into the mic. He wouldn't let anyone get off the hook so easily, not when they degraded his girl.

"Who do you think you are, fucker? Treating women like trash? You're so fucking pathetic." His voice was hoarse as he spoke, venom laced into his words.

◇ worries when you play any game that involves communication via the mic after hearing what words are exchanged.

◇ call of duty, apex, valorant.

◇ any shooter games.

◇ he just worries that the words will get to you, but seeing how much you enjoy the game, as well as the way you knew how to reply to such comments he just knew you would be okay.

◇ that wouldn't stop him from being the overprotective boyfriend, though.

◇ eventually, Jack actually wanted to spend his time gaming with you as well.

◇ you were over the moon when he had told you that.

◇ your gym addicted boyfriend? Wanting to learn about the game world?

◇ you knew you had to start easy.

◇ something cute, interactive but romantic.

◇ minecraft.

◇ he knew about minecraft. He had played it a couple times with friends, but that was years ago.

◇ he had bought the game on his phone and you helped him with his own avatar!

◇ fun fact: the name of your shared world is actually your shipname.

◇ he hits all the flowers he can find for you.

◇ his entire inventory is filled with different kinds of flowers.

◇ follows you around like a lost puppy when the two of you go hunting.

◇ wants to be your knight in shining armor, but only has flowers to smack the zombies with.

◇ screamed when a creeper blew up not so far away from him.

◇ gets distracted by the most stupid things he can find.

"do we need this web?"

"rotten flesh? Should I take it?"

"this polar bear reminds me of you babe!"

"babe help! I lose you."

"can you come get me? I think I'm lost."

◇ he loves to spend his time building you guys' house and he acts like that's actually what your house will look like.

◇ "hmm, I actually want the dinner table to be here, since you like sitting down and facing that way, right"

◇ you told him it's just a game, but he wants it to be as accurate as possible.

◇ he squealed when you tamed a cat and called it Butters.

◇ he spends time fixing cute dates in minecraft while you're busy with college: picnics, mini zoos— since he knows you're more of an indoor person.

◇ you thank him with a lot of irl kisses.

◇ all over all, he's trying for you and he enjoys spending time with you, no matter what. <3

◇ BONUS

◇ he is so jealous whenever he catches you playing gacha games.

◇ why? He always catches you drooling at some hot animated characters.

◇ sits far away frowning, arms crossed as he watches you giggling at your phone.

"Babe! I'm the real deal! He doesn't exist!"

◇ he just wants attention, pls tell him you love him. <3

#chaethewriter #jack champion is taking my brain over #jack champion x reader #jack champion #jack champion imagine #jack champion headcannons #jack champion imagines #jack champion headcanons #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader

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queers-gambit · 1 year

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Creepy Crawlies

inspired by this image by @applegin

prompt: Aemond and Helaena witness how deep your fear goes.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader featuring: bestie!Helaena

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 1.7k+

warnings: cursing, spoiler FREE, author has arachnophobia and projects in this, spiders (it's a warning to me), generally pretty docile. oh, and, i'm def pretending Aemond's just strong enough to carry a human, so, use a bit of your imagination.

#WhyPayForTherapyWhenYouCanWrite

In truth, you're not sure how or why it happened. Some said it was the Will of the Gods, others claimed it simply made-up, while others said it could've been your own mind playing tricks. Either way, every which way you turned, someone was there to discredit your fears.

It's not like you asked for this kind of humiliation! Honestly! Did people genuinely think you did this on purpose? Did they think you liked this? Being this way? As if it wasn't enough to have fear in general, but tenfold when nobody seemed to understand nor validate the way you were engulfed in anxiety.

Over all, the creepiest, fucking eight-legged, eight-eyed crawlie around. Something you regarded as Hell Spawn, others might call a spider. Either way, you despised the wee creatures - and though you understood boot crushes the little guy, the idea of being so close to one that you could kill it sent you into overwhelming panic.

Ah, fucking spiders.

Again, you're unsure how this fear developed but it was as if you woke up one day and couldn't stop screaming at the sight of the little creature sent from the depths of Seven Hells. Your older brother became the official "Spider Killer" of the family since you spent most of your time with him, but after getting married, your husband now assumed the role.

Years ago, both your mothers had agreed to a marriage arrangement to ensure loyalty from your House (should the time come), and six weeks after your 17th nameday, you were reciting vows to your white-haired lover. He held no quarrel with your fear, and in fact, he was the first to ever not make you feet at fault for it.

It wasn't Aemond's place to ridicule you. He's seen you with a sword, with a bow and arrows, hell, even with an axe - and sometimes, doing all of that while on horseback! He understood you to have no fear, and yet, when a spider comes in your vision, it was as if any and all rational thought vacates your mind. He's seen you throw-up from your anxiety, so, he quickly understood his role and never once complained nor belittled you for it.

Aemond didn't mind killing spiders for you. He could understand that you needed "proof" of their vanquish, showing the squashed bug on his boot, and only then would you breathe easier. However, if around his family, Aemond knew his sister, Helaena, would become upset by him harming - like alone, killing - any insect. She'd prefer them to be set free outside, and as compromise, Aemond would simply escort you out of the room to leave his sister time to collect her buggy friend. He'd walk you to the kitchens, fetch some water, watch you crack your neck, and then venture back to whatever gathering.

You always hesitated before returning to events. Most times, wherever you saw the spider is the exact place you avoid - almost as if there was an invisible fence keeping you away.

Aemond would pause you, slowly pick up his sister's jar, and show you the little fucker was safely inside with a screwed-on-tight lid. You didn't like it, Aemond knew that, but you both made an effort to actively not upset Helaena.

One day, when a thick hurricane ravaged the city, Aemond found you in the middle of lessons and decided to seek out his sister - never seeking Aegon out unless for family matters. His sister, as usual, was catering to her collection of insects, smiling when she saw him, and inviting him over. She mindlessly explained who was who to Aemond, telling him what they did or what their purpose was in an ecosystem.

He listened.

He asked questions.

He was a perfect brother.

And he didn't think you'd know where to find him on such a day, because the moment Helaena handed over a spider to Aemond, bidding he be gentle and not let Aegon near the creature (who had been in and out all day), there came a squeak by the door.

"Oh," Helaena frowned, seeing your frozen form. Her brother had told her of your fear, thinking she'd understand the best. "I-I can introduce you, if you want? Wi-Will that help? Will that help you feel safe?"

You paused, heart melting at her words. "Um... Uh, I-I don't, I, uhhh... I just don't know what will help."

"It's okay, darling," Aemond soothed, nodding at you, hands turning over to let eight-legs carry the spider around.

"Here," Helaena nodded, waving Aemond after her as she approached you. "Why don't you just watch, say hello? No touching," she promised, standing slightly behind you as if you block your exit.

"Um... I don't know..."

Aemond took slow steps, eye never leaving your face. You gulped as he took another step, and from here, he could see a sweat glistening on your forehead - so he took another step.

"Wait! Wait, no!" You begged, feeling Helaena's hands on your upper arms from behind. Aemond was too close now, and you couldn't look away from the arachnid crawling around his flesh. The same flesh you touched, the same flesh that worshiped you nightly, the same flesh that warmed your own in the night. "NO!" You sobbed, backing up so forcefully, you almost tripped over you sister-by-law. "No, Gods, please, no! NO! Just no! G-Get away from me!"

Helaena gasped your name, but your eyes were blown, hands shaking, throat swelling, stomach churning. Aemond spoke your name softly, frowning, but you could only pant as you leaned against the chamber wall beside the door. "We're gonna put her back now, okay?" He spoke softly, nodding slowly at you.

"Please, please, just kill it, jus-just get it gone!" You begged,.

"We'll get it away from you, it's okay," Aemond agreed, his sister quickly opening her jar to let her brother lower the bug into the glass. "It's okay, love, look, just look here." When your eyes flashed to his, then to the jar, he made sure to move slowly and shake the little Hell spawn from his hand.

"I'm so sorry," Helaena frowned.

"It's not your fault," Aemond promised, watching you as you tried to regain your breathing. "It's not her fault either..."

"Um," Helaena looked at you with worry, "m-maybe you'd like to see the others? I have ladybugs, grasshoppers, too. They're nice."

You gulped, "I-Is the spider gone?"

She held up the jar, turning for her little work bench and setting the jar in a satchel - out of your sight. "Is this okay?" She made sure.

"I-It can't escape?" You squeaked.

"No," the girl shook her head. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"No, no," you assured slowly, "it's me."

"Can I ask?"

You eyed her for a moment, "I don't have an answer... I've been like this since I can remember."

She frowned, glancing at Aemond. "Why aren't you comforting her?"

"She doesn't like to be touched like this," Aemond whispered.

"My skin hurts when I'm having these feelings," you admitted with a frown. "I just... You gotta let me calm down."

"Come sit?" Aemond offered, gesturing to the furthest arm chair from the work bench.

"I-I think I should leave. You guys were having fun and - "

"No, no, I want you to stay," Helaena insisted. "We can do anything else!"

"I'm so sorry," you sighed.

"Don't apologize," Aemond frowned, slowly approaching you.

"Aht!" You warned with a finger to halt him. "You're not touching me after a spider!"

"Oh, sweetheart - "

"No, no, no, no, wash your hands," you snipped. "I can't touch you, please, Aemond... For me?"

He sighed, but turned for the wash basin as Helaena lead you to the sitting area. She showed you her ladybugs and grasshoppers, and soon, you were giggling as the grasshoppers just bounced around like a little spring was on their legs.

Aemond eventually joined you, but he could see the panic in your eyes from still being in the same room, knowingly, as a spider. He understood why you wanted them killed instead of set free, and he would've done whatever it took to ensure your comfort. However, it could mean putting his sister's comfort at risk - and nobody, but Aemond, cared about Helaena's feelings.

So, when you married Aemond, you both understood that you two were essentially Helaena's keepers. If that meant capturing spiders rather than killing them, so be it, but Aemond hated watching you suffer. So, he pretended he was needed elsewhere with you to make your escape, and only when out of the room did he swear you took a breath.

"I'm sorry I couldn't kill it," he sighed.

"No, it's okay... Thank you for getting me out of there."

"Anytime," he nodded with a frown. "I wish I could've helped more."

"You help plenty," you assured. "I should learn to knock before entering rooms."

Aemond chuckled, "Yeah, as if that would ever happen."

"Hush." But then, you admitted, "I wish I didn't have this fear."

"Then you wouldn't be you," Aemond eased, letting his hand slide around your waist. "It's okay to be afraid."

"Yeah?"

"'Course," he smirked, "because your husband isn't afraid of a thing and can easily take on the Hell Spawn."

"See!" You cried with a gasp. "You know they're devious little fuckers, too! Sent upon mankind to repent for our sins!"

"Maybe that's why you fear them."

"Hmm?"

"You sinned big time in another life and now the spiders are sent, seeking atonement."

"Oh, ha-ha. Thought I married a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, not a court jester."

"Perhaps, a bit of both?"

"You'd have to be actually funny to be a jester - OW!" You laughed when he pinched your ribcage to make you squeal. "Unfair advantage! You're so bloody tall and have an angle!"

"Hm," Aemond considered, shrugging with a relenting nod, and then stooped low to haul you over his shoulder as if a sack of flour - moving forward to your bed chamber.

"Aemond!" You squealed. "Put me down, this is not appropriate! You know I hate being man-handled! Oh, my God, please, love, there's people watching!"

"Then they can mind their own business, just like we are," Aemond grunted. "I am merely escorting my wife to bed so I can fuck the fear outta her all night."

"It's only past lunch, Aemond!"

"Then I know what I want for dinner," his other hand rose to give a playful swat to your ass; hearing you giggle as he turned the corner.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fluff #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond hotd #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen fanfic

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canyourfavesurvivecastledracula · 15 days

Note

Axe Cop, from Axe Cop.

He's basically just a guy with an axe, but he is absurdly good at athletic things; for example, he can jump fully into space. He doesn't shave (magic robot mustache). His body hair is canonically tiny swords, which might fuck up Drac's attempts to suck him.

With the crucifix, there are two options: 1. he doesn't take it, because he's arrogant 2. he does take it, because he gets power-ups from the most random of shit

GODDD I haven't thought about Axe Cop in YEARS.

Axe Cop is a reality warper. Doesn't he turn Flute Cop into a dinosaur just by fiat? Also he has an AXE.

Axe Cop tells it like it is. Which is to say he tells it. And then it is. I am leaning on the side of accepting every power up. The Inkeeper's wife gives him her crucifix. He gives her an avocado. She's Avocado Cop now. She's going to be throwing her avocadoes at the semi-vampire and her aged guide who ride through here in another couple of months and it's going to be EPIC. Because it's always epic.

(was there a thing with avocados? I feel like I said that for a reason.)

Can you imagine if the Girlies tried to eat Unibaby? Would they acquire his powers or would he just wreck them? Or both? But this ain't about him.

The thing about Axe Cop is that he is a COP with an AXE. He doesn't abide bad guys (though his own morality is ...dubious). He will cut off Dracula's head with his axe. It's what he does.

On the other hand, Axe Cop is built on his allies. It's not that he relies on them per se (his Axe and his Mustache are all he strictly needs to be Axe Cop), but he certainly does have them, and acquires them with great enthusiasm. It's the Power of Friendship! Or...something, because he's kind of a dick to them. Well, that's a type of Friendship perhaps. At least, it's the Power of Axe Cop. All this to say, if he doesn't chop off Dracula's head with his Axe, he may well recruit him. Dracula is Vampire Cop now. He still kills and eats people. Dinosaur Cop is not okay with this, but he has no room to talk, he's a Dinosaur.

Either way, Axe Cop can very much survive Castle Dracula.

#axe cop #cops #webcomics

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bokettochild · 1 month

Text

Febuwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

@kuroro-uwu Okay, I know I am LATE, but I did write it! I hope this suits your fancy!

Wordcount: 6,697

Rating: General

Summary: Minish Four and Fairy Hyrule go on a mini-expedition to seek out information. One minute, all is well, and the next- well, Four's not sure WHAT happened, but now he's got a passed out fairy on his hands and no clue what caused it.

(No warnings, this is all pure fluff)

They needed information.

It really was as simple as that. They’ve been trying to learn anything they can about what’s happening to the worlds around them, but hylians are so often ignorant and their group is anything but subtle, so getting it without causing a stir has become something of an issue for the traveling heroes.

It’s the weapons and armor, Legend tells them with a huff, and he’s not exactly wrong either.

People do tend to become more wary when they see soldiers around in the country.

He’d noticed it before, back when he hadn’t yet met the others. Carrying a sword put people on edge. An axe, a spear, or even a bow, out in the country, can be excused as a hunting tool or something to do with your trade. A sword though, a sword means that you are, undeniably, a fighter, and fighters don’t tend to go about armed unless there's danger around to be fought. So, correlation of swords to nearby danger makes people wary, and their group, all armed with swords, and many of them being intimidating looking persons, only further sets people ill at ease.

Getting concrete answers from people who are questioning your intentions all the while isn’t easy, and by now, their group has sort of given up. Or rather, almost all of the others have; Four still has an ace up his sleeve.

“I may have something I can try.” He states as the rest seem just about ready to give up for the day.

Eyes turn to fix on him, various expressions of discouragement, frustration, disbelief, and exhaustion coloring the different shades of blue. It’s Legend that speaks though. “If it involves pretending to be a child, keep me out of it.”

Twilight coughs into his fist, but his dark eyes sparkle. Simultaneously, Warriors rubs at his own brows, the captain following up their scholar’s words with his own. “What’s the idea, smithy? And please, do not say it requires-”

“It’s a me thing,” he assures them. “You guys being around actually won’t work.”

“No one is going off alone,” Time states, just at the same time as Warriors says: “What did we say about leaving the group behind?” Both men shoot glances at each other after, but then Four’s fixed with both stares, one tired and one firm, and neither wavering as he sighs.

“It involves magic, and it won’t work with a second person.”

Wild stares, pointed, but Twilight frowns. “S it what I think it is?”

Abruptly, he remembers that Twilight does, in fact, know, and has known about this as long as he’s known the truth about the wolf. They hadn’t talked about it since, and he’s not exactly employed the magic since then, but Twilight had seen it all the same. “Yeah,” he nods, ignoring the confused looks from the others, “that thing.”

“More secrets,” the captain sighs, “excellent.”

A few eyes turn to the soldier, annoyed, but they can’t blame him. Four can’t either. It’s been a bit rough dancing around the new things falling on their heads when their brothers deem it the time to drop new knowledge out of nowhere. Even if he did know about the wolf, there’s still knowledge he hadn’t had about that one.

“I’ll go with the smithy,” their rancher announces, turning to their leader.

Time’s brows raise. “You have similar magic?”

“Naw, but I can keep watch for him, an’ guard his back.”

“No going off alone,” Warriors repeats, again, this time from behind a hand that’s scrubbing at his brows. “How may times must I say it?”

But Twilight can’t come with, and neither can the others. No one else can because no one else can shrink down to the size of a minish!

If there’s anyone who will know what's going on across the kingdom at any given time, it’s always the little people. He knows they can give him answers even if no hylian will, but he’s not too eager to explain that. The other heroes might not even know about the minish, and if they do, the doubt on whether or not he should be able to see them still will linger or make them question his skill like they do with the sailor. Neither option is something he’s keen on.

“I’ll go with,” and he doesn’t expect the traveler to speak up, but the other lad does, stepping forwards with an awkward half smile. “I’m decent with magic, so maybe I can replicate whatever you’re planning to do.”

Given the choice between no answers and letting Hyrule in on it, he supposes the traveler is the better of the two options. The other lad is cheeky at times, but he’s capable, and trustworthy. Besides that, he’s kept so much secret about his own magic, to the point where they still have no clue about all of it. Surely, he can also keep Four’s secret as well, right?

“Fine,” he nods to their curly haired companion before turning to their leader, expectant.

Time sighs, glancing briefly at the captain, but then nods. “Be back at camp by dark.”

“Understood.”

The good thing about working with Hyrule is that he’s good at following directions, and he never asks unnecessary questions. It’s clear he’s thinking them, of course, but he doesn’t talk too much, and he doesn’t push things with Four, not ever. It’s a bit of a welcome change of pace after having the heroes all up each others’ tails about so many things.

They wander back through the village for a short while and into the inn and bar combo they’d been to with the rest. He knows the other two probably want to know what he hopes to achieve in here, even Twilight who knows his arsenal probably isn’t sure how it would be useful, but that’s not his main focus.

They can ask their questions later. Right now, we need that portal.

Where was it again, Vio?

Left corner, floor level. Looks like a mouse hole.

Well, it sort of is. Red snorts softly. It’s a minish hole.

Very funny. Blue deadpans back. If he had his own eyes, he’d be rolling them, but all of Four knows it wouldn’t be in any real ire. That’s just how their more abrasive aspect is.

Twilight and Hyrule are watching as he moves down to the corner. The rest of the folks within the inn don’t seem to even notice the trio, too busy with their own business. Those that do are carefully avoiding eye contact or even being caught staring, wary less they draw attention to themselves. It’s kind of sad, honestly, but Four doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

Ezlo’s spell plays across his lips with the ease of a thousand speakings, and in seconds he’s down to his other normal size.

Twilight grins down at him.

Hyrule gapes for a moment. “Is this what you were talking about?” He asks, as though it’s not rather painfully obvious. Before Four can answer though, the traveler’s face twists up into a grin, eyes sparking. “Alright, I- I can work with this.”

It’s his own turn to gape as the traveler himself mutters a few words, and in a brief cloud of magic, the young man is gone, replaced instead by the shimmering, hovering light of a fairy.

Four stares. Twilight does as well.

The ball of light laughs. “You said it yourself, we’re all sitting on something, smithy.”

“Ordonia’s kids,” the rancher murmurs softly, “’fore we know it everyone will out ‘emselves as a shifter of some sort.” Neither of the other two have any knowledge of how true that rings, but regardless, they don’t exactly have any grounds to deny it either, considering it seems to be true of their little trio at least.

Finally reclaiming control over speech, Four turns his face upwards to stare at his flying brother. Inside his head, Red is exclaiming in delight over the flight, Blue marveling at the wings, and Green ecstatic at the presence of a fellow shifter to match Four’s size, but outside his head, he has to focus. “This hole here should lead to a community of people more on the magical side.” he nods to the gap in the wall, starting a bit when the fairy’s light flickers and zips down to be level with him.

It’s definitely Hyrule, although the change from Hylian to fairy is more than just a shift in size. He’s not sure which set of eyes to focus on or how to react to other definitely not hylian features displayed beside familiar ones, but Vio somehow wrests enough control to keep his face straight and his jaw in place.

“It might take a bit, but the gossip vine is strong with these folks. They should have what we want to know.”

“Excellent,” Hyrule trills, voice more melodic, but pleasantly so. It has the smithy’s ears flicking forwards to catch it better, the warm fairy magic settling his own.

He glances up to Twilight, still normal sized and crouched in the corner, practically looming over them. “We’ll be back before dark. Just wait here, okay?”

A thumbs up is their answer, and the rancher stands, hailing a server in the barroom and claiming the table closest to their future exit as the two smaller heroes- and by now they are much smaller- pop through the hole in the wall to move along to their destination.

Minish passages are nothing new to Four, but Hyrule keeps gasping in surprise and delight as he looks about the lever and pulley systems between one part of the network and another. It has the smithy smiling to himself, and while it’s not his own work, he does take pride in the efforts of his little friends, and their skill, which he’s sure to share with the only other hylian (sort of hylian?) to get to see it firsthand.

“Inns like this are hotspots for minish too, just like people,” he explains to his wide-eyed companion. “They catch rides on wagons or in people’s bags sometimes, and, just like us, they need a place to stay when they tire.” He pads along carefully to the lift made from an old cup and some twine, climbing up into it and almost reaching out to offer a hand to the traveler, only to catch himself when he remembers the other has wings. “A big place like this is sure to house practically a city of minish, so it might take some time, but we’ll have lots of options when it comes to asking around for information.”

The traveler nods, gaze flicking to the little lever just inches from the smithy’s tiny paw. The signal is clear.

Four pushes the lever, and the lift starts its ascent, the fairy flying up behind him even as they watch another such lift lower, granting Hyrule his first sight of a real minish. The traveler’s catching breath and little gasp makes him smile, but he’s careful to warn the other the moment the other lift is out of sight. “Remember not to call anyone cute, okay? If anything, be prepared for them to call you that. They're not very used to fairies.”

“Understood,” the traveler’s voice is distant as he looks around, words almost an afterthought as he seemingly takes in the whole of the new world he’s discovering.

He won’t be much help, will he?

He’s here so we’re not alone, Green sighs, although there’s no lack of fondness in his tone, He doesn’t need to help us, just be here so Time and Warriors won’t get upset.

He won’t be able to understand the minish anyway, the more sedate aspect reminds the others, he’s never eaten a jabber nut.

Right.

Perhaps he should have remembered that earlier, but he wasn’t exactly planning on taking Hyrule this far along when he’d agreed to keep the traveler with him. If anything, he’d expected the other to wait with Twilight while he took care of the reconnaissance. Still, it should be alright, Hyrule seems content to stare about at the thrumming new world he’s witness too, and he lets Four take the lead as the smithy climbs out of the lift and starts towards the minish puttering about.

Greetings rise here and there and everywhere, although no one seems to recognize him. If anything, that proves they’re not in his era, so even the small things mean something (as a small thing himself, the thought makes him laugh). Still, he guides the way, Hyrule fluttering after him and attracting many a startled stare. In the long run, he thinks Hyrule’s presence works to his favor, because while a minish stopping by at an inn and wandering about a new place is hardly anything to look twice at, a minish with a fairy trailing after him garners much attention, and before they know it, a very elderly looking member of the community approaches. The staff in his paw marks him as an Elder, and while the traveler doesn’t know that, he still bows his head politely at the sight of long flowing whiskers.

“Greetings, strangers.” The elder smiles.

Four bows, politely. Hyrule cannot, not while flying, but he thinks the respectful bob of the head the traveler offered will be enough. Minish are polite, but they aren’t fussy about others needing to be so. Well, those who aren’t Ezlo. “Greetings, elder.”

“Greetings, elder.” Hyrule mimics, words a soft chime that echos off the interior of the inn’s walls.

The elder smiles again, thanking them for their kind welcome. “Forgive my asking, but what is it that brings two youngsters like yourselves here?”

“We seek knowledge of the world outside.” Four answers, because obviously Hyrule can’t. “We are travelers through time, and this era is new to us.”

“Ah.”

“We have hylian companions who need knowledge in order to travel safely, so we hoped to come here and inquire what there is to be known of the world outside.”

His explanation is met with some surprised twitching of noses and flicking of ears, little murmurs all around them, excitedly twitching tails flicking all sorts of colors from the many gathered minish peoples, but he pays them little mind, although Hyrule stares about in awe. The elder welcomes them though to speak to any they would like. “I have not been in the outside world for some time now, but we have many travelers, like yourselves. Please, ask all you would like. I hope we are of aid to you young heroes.”

It’s only when he’s watching the elder’s tail disappear into the crowd again that he realizes at all that they should not have been recognized as heroes. Then again, Minish Elder’s are proficient in magic most times, and maybe he’d sensed it. At any rate, the title seems to spark excitement among those gathered around the two heroes, and it’s no trouble at all to find who he should speak to. In fact, it’s more a matter of them trying to speak to him all at once!

Hyrule hovers at his shoulder as he asks questions and talks. Well, he does at first, but after a few minutes, the fae drifts away, looking around curiously, soft chiming voice echoing back to Four here and again from different parts of the space claimed by magic.

He’s able to learn there’s no hero known about in this era, and that the last one that anyone remembers was a little boy who was close to the fairies. Considering the fondness all his brothers have for all creatures magical, it’s not a very specifical descriptor, but it’s something at least. Maybe one of the others will be able to pinpoint who it is talking about, be it themselves or someone else they’ve heard of. He does learn though, that the world isn’t in the best of shapes. Dark magic is common, a side effect of Ganon’s power, despite the fact that the monster is sealed away.

That, he decides to ask about.

Most of the minish don’t have answers, saying they avoid it, saying they only heard it from someone else, but pressing them leads him on a bit of a goosechase all over the building, looking for this person who knows more and that one who does as well.

Like hylians, minish have many a trade, and a place like this is basically their equivalent to a trade city, even if the hylian town around it is rather small. Packed up in one building, but spread across rooms, attic spaces, the cellar, the larder, and even the bar itself, he finds himself hunting down leads and doing a few favors in order to get what he needs to know. He's halfway through delivering some mushrooms in exchange for more details on the dark magic that apparently lies around the world, when Hyrule’s soft glow returns to his side again.

“Four, I think we need to head back.”

He sighs. “I know, but I’ve got a lead.”

“We could come back tomorrow?”

A shake of the head as he adjusts his hold on the mushroom; it’s huge in comparison to himself. “No, apparently they’re leaving at dawn with the coach that stops here.”

Hyrule’s feet touch the ground, wings stilling. Honestly, he thought fairies flew everywhere, but he supposes that a shapeshifter might use various methods. “Four, we have to go back.”

“I’m this close to getting answers,” he drops his shroom to pinch two claws close together. “Just a bit longer, okay? Time will understand.”

He’s not sure what time it is, but the noise of patrons in the inn does carry slightly past the magic of the minish to sound in his ears. Inns and bars are always noisy, especially when combined, but while he’s not their old man, his inner clock isn’t bad either. They have time before sunset, and if they didn’t, he wouldn’t have risked trying this at all.

“Come on,” he urges. “Help me with this shroom. The sooner I deliver it, the sooner this guy will tell me what I need to know.”

Hyrule’s face is pinched, and briefly it registers that something isn’t quite right about it, but it’s hard to tell with changed features and maybe it’s just worry from the traveler. He dismisses it, promising both Hyrule and himself that they’ll only take a very little bit longer.

They deliver the shroom, but in true runabout fashion, the only knowledge he gets from the minish in question is a few wary words that had been heard from someone else entirely, and he’s sent darting across the inn again to try and find that other minish before they too decide to leave. It’s the frustrating thing about communities like this, rather than the ones he finds in the countryside. Minish who make their homes in the forest, the grass, or even up in the mountains and quarries, they all keep to their own space. Traveling minish, those in small towns and hylian communities, are often unpredictable from one day to the next, and there’s no telling when or where you’ll have a chance to see them.

Hyrule tries asking again, telling him that they really need to get going, but Four brushes him off. One or two minutes more. Just a bit. He’s almost done, he promises!

The traveler’s feet are dragging a bit as he follows the smith, and his wings have long since folded against his back. It’s clear he’s tired, and Four is too, but they’ve only got so many chances to learn what they need to know, and passing this up would be foolish. It would make this whole trip into the world of the minish utterly pointless!

Finally, though, he’s able to find someone who doesn’t send him on an errand, who doesn’t ask for anything he doesn’t already have and who is both willing and capable of answering his questions. Near immediately, Four dugs a notebook from his bag and starts asking. How strong is this dark magic? Has it affected any monsters? Have monsters been a prominent problem recently? Are they acting oddly? Does the magic have any effects on anything else?

The minish, who in an odd way reminds him of Time; a prominent scar running over one eye and with a shredded ear on the same side, answers his questions. The magic effects the water and the land, and monsters are more abundant now than they had been years ago. They get worse every year, and they are stronger than the elders say they used to be. None of it lines up with the supposed infection of the monsters in other eras, but Four is not ruling it out as a possible source or contributor. He keeps asking, getting more details, channeling his more pragmatic self, but also the tactful part. He needs to think of this as a traveler, a fighter, and a survivor. In a way, he tries asking what Legend or Warriors or Twilight might ask. What would Wild want to know? What would Time need answers too? He’s going to be the one passing on this information to them after all, so he needs to be ready for the inevitable questions they’re going to have.

He sort of forgets that Hyrule is still waiting for him. Really, the only reason he remembers at all is because his informant tells him that it’s getting late, and she can’t think anymore. “That should cover everything anyway, I hope it helps.”

He bows his head, still sitting, so he can’t offer a proper bow, even though he wants to. “Of course. Thank you so much for your help.”

She waves a farewell to him before heading off to wherever it is that she’s going to rest for the night. He’s seen beds around, but didn’t ask, and never does. Honestly, he should be heading back, because bed sounds fantastic right about now! He turns, stuffing his notebook back in his bag, only to stop short when he sees the traveler.

Hyrule looks like shit.

The fairy is slumped over, glow almost gone and while there’s no apparent injury, no sign of what on earth would cause him to look so, he looks a bit like death! The smith drops down beside his friend, catching the fae’s face in his hands and patting freckled cheeks cautiously. “Hyurle? Hey! Hey, I’m done. We can go back now.”

There’s no answer.

Despite knowing Hyrule was fine before, knowing the minish would never harm him, probably couldn’t without special magic, he still gives the other a once over. There are no visible injuries, nor blood. His eyes, when pried open with claws that struggle so hard not to slip, don’t show signs of being concussed. For all intents and purposes, Hyrule isn’t hurt, but his skin is pale, the fairy’s glow is absent, and he slumps almost lifelessly against the walls.

We need help. Green sighs, desperately trying to balance his thoughts.

Blue’s voice is low, straining. The elder?

Is he going to be okay?

Hush Red, and Blue, the elder can’t do anything for a fairy. Minish magic is too different.

Well, we could try at least!

Guys, please. No fighting. We need to focus on Hyrule.

Blue seethes, but doesn’t argue, something he’s been doing much better with as of late. Vio on the other hand, does continue his stance. We should take him back to Twilight. Maybe he can help.

But Twi doesn’t like magic!

But he is Time’s kid, and he loves fairies. Maybe he knows something about them that we don’t. Come on.

The logic of his logical facet wins over the rest of him, and for lack of a better course of action, the minish hero hefts his fairy brother up into his arms. Hyrule’s still bigger than him like this, but he’s also always been very light, and the smith is strong. Gathering his brother up onto his back, careful not to crush iridescent wings, he heads back for the lift.

Catching Twilight’s attention is hard, once they’re back out in the world of Hylians. His intent originally had been to shift back with a murmur, but he doesn't know how to trigger the change for Hyrule, and without a glow to aid him, he’s not sure how quickly he’d be able to find the traveler again after the shift to his normal size, which always leaves him just a bit disoriented. That, and if it turns out Hyrule needs help of the more hands-on sort, it’s more practical to stay on the same scale as the traveler in order to give it.

Luckily for him, and the traveler, he has lots of experience in trying to make himself heard, and while the sound of a screaming voice would definitely draw unwanted attention, there is a sound he knows will, without fail, catch the rancher’s attention without scaring other people. Four sucks in a breath, and with all the ability he’s got in him, he pushes it out in a sharp little ‘meow’.

Twilight’s ears prick up immediately, the rancher lowering the drink he was holding to scan the area around him, eyes glittering.

Four tries again, a soft ‘mew’ that takes every bit of breath he has but has bright blue eyes fixing on him in seconds.

Twilight chuffs, looking slightly disappointed, but also relieved. Well, until his eyes land on the traveler, and then the man is sliding from his chair to crouch, facing the wall and shielding the two small heroes from sight. “What happened?” he asks, offering a hand laid flat on the ground before them.

Typically speaking, Four does not care to be picked up, especially like this, but for the traveler’s sake, he allows it. Stepping onto the rough pads of the rancher’s fingers is a bit of a struggle with his hands supporting the fae slumped over his back, nd after failing twice he gives up. Instead, he turns and carefully lets his brother slip down into Twilight’s hand first, crawling after him once he’s got use of his hands again.

The rancher waits until they’re both stable, Four holding Hyrule with one hand and fisting a tiny fold of his glove with the other, before he stands again, carefully steady as he heads back to his table. “Is he okay?”

Four shakes his head. “I don’t know. He’s not injured, and I don’t think he’s concussed, but he just-” his gaze drops down to the freckled face cradled in his lap, “-I turned around and he wasn’t moving anymore.” Breathing, yes, softly and slowly, almost too slowly, but it was steady, and considering he doesn’t know how fairy bodies work, maybe that was how it was meant to be. He’s not sure, and he hates not knowing, but as long as Hyrule is still breathing, things will be okay. Goddesses, he hopes he’ll be okay!

Glancing up at the rancher, he sees furrowed brows and a harsh frown. It’s not angry, not fierce, but guilt plummets through him all the same as he watches it.

There’s silence for a spell, just blue eyes staring down at him as he sits in the rancher’s hand, Hyrule pulled into his lap, wings still behind him without so much as the slightest of twitches. The traveler’s breath is shallow but steady as it puffs against his collar. And then Twilight speaks. “Did he maybe touch something weird?”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t watching him, but this Hyrule, not Wild.” Hyrule doesn’t touch unknown things, not without taking every precaution to ensure they’re not dangerous. Besides, minish don’t tend to keep anything dangerous around, and if they do, it’s well hidden and out of sight. Even lacking experience with other living beings, Hyrule isn’t the sort of person to go poking around other people’s possessions in plain sight. No, he’d wait until no one was around to see or stop him, and then he’d get into their stuff.

The rancher’s frown deepens, but then midnight blue eyes are falling on Four again, something almost apologetic in their depths. “Look. I don’t got a clue, smith, but we gotta get him help.” The unspoken rings in the air between them: ‘we need to talk to someone else who knows about this stuff, and that means telling them your secret’.

He sighs, nodding. “Time seems to know the most about fairies.”

The rancher’s head jerks in a sharp nod, rupees hitting the table as the man pays for his drink and then he’s whisking them out the door and back towards camp.

It feels like it takes forever for Twilight to return with Time.

Rather than announce their presence, and thus secrets, to the whole chain, he’d carefully settled the two tiny heroes on an old tree stump at Four’s instruction. Vaguely, he thinks it might be a minish portal, or close to one, but that’s something to worry about later. For now, he’s looking after Hyrule as best he can in a cave made from the rancher’s pelt, erected for their protection against any predators while the other fetches their leader under the premise of Hyrule and Four needing to talk with him. The rest will worry, and have questions, but they’ll (probably) respect the privacy of the other two, if only as long as they’re gone. Returning to camp will, no doubt, come with questions, but right now, helping Hyrule is what matters most. He’ll handle anything that comes after, as long as the traveler will be okay.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into brown curls, not for the first time since Twilight left, “just hang in there, traveler, okay? Time will be here soon, and we’ll get you all fixed up.”

He dutifully ignores how dark hair darkens further in the fading light of twilight. How the hand that's fallen to brush his leg has claws at the fingers, that as the shadows grow longer, he could almost pretend he’s holding somebody else. No, he focuses on Hyrule and that it is, in fact, Hyrule he’s clutching ahold of under the fur, waiting for their leader to come to them.

Time’s puffing breath announces his presence, alongside heavy feet to match the easy lope of their rancher. The way that he heaves for breath, he really does sound like an old man, but when the fur is moved aside and Four can see their leader’s face, he rethinks that. Time looks worried, terribly worried, and the heavy breathing is probably from a slight panic rather than anything else. Hylia above, what did Twilight tell him?

“What happened?” Time demands, even as Four shivers slightly at the return of the breeze the fur had blocked off.

He sighs, tired, worried, and tired of being worried. “Hyrule collapsed. I don’t know why, but he’s not waking up no matter what I do.”

The blue arrow painted between their leader’s brows distorts as his face pinches up, the man dropping to a knee with surprising grace in order to be better level with the two shrunken heroes. “Is he injured?”

Twilight shakes his head. “Four already checked.”

A hand, slightly smaller than Twilight’s own, but somehow more callused, is extended towards them. Even that motion is more graceful from their old man than from the rancher, and Four is surprised by the lack of panic having it settle before him causes. “Let me look at him?”

It’s work to climb up again, shifting Hyrule with all the care he can before depositing him in the old man’s palm, but he does it. Time doesn’t say anything as the man pulls in their precious cargo a bit closer, staring down with his good eye and prodding gently at the fallen form of the traveler.

Behind him on the stump, Four feels Twilight settle, blocking off the breeze and providing a wall of warmth that assures nothing else will appear behind him. “Well?”

“Shh.” Time breathes, but it’s not harsh. His gaze is incredibly gentle in fact, and as he handles the tiny form in his hand something impossibly warm lights his blue eye beneath the worried furrow of his brows. They wait. It feels like forever, but they wait, and they don’t press until, at last, their leader lifts his eyes to them instead, relief coloring his expression. “Magical exhaustion.”

“No,” Four shakes his head. “I’ve seen Hyrule overuse his magic. He gets tired, but he doesn’t turn.... grey. And he doesn’t stop moving!”

“That’s when he’s a hylian,” one blue eye drops again, a sad little smile tugging at the mouth of the elder man. “As a fairy, it works differently.” The hand lowers, moving close to Four again, offering him the responsibility of taking back his unconscious brother while Time turns his attention to his bag. “Transformation magic takes a lot out of a fairy. For Hyrule, being a fairy would be the transformation, but if, for some reason, he’d been brought into a space where only tiny beings could exist, rather than changing back when his magic runs out,” the potion’s cork pops loudly in the night air, “he’d get stuck.”

“Stuck?” He and Twilight chorus together.

Time nods. “Yes. His magic knows he can’t change back inside a tiny space, but if it’s run out, then he can’t maintain his form normally either. Instead, he has to draw directly on his magical core, which strains him considerably. That’s why usually, when fairies are weak enough to need to pull on their core, they slip into a hibernation so that their magic can keep them alive at the least cost to their core.” As if sensing the inevitable question, the man adds, “drawing on a core for too long damages it.”

“So...” Twilight blinks, speaking for them both. “He’s in hibernation?”

“For now.”

“How do we fix it?” Blue takes the reins, and the others let him.

The old man raises the potion bottle in his hand. In the faded light, Four can’t make out the color (how appropriate) so he waits to hear it spoken. “A green potion ought to help restore his magic and stop him drawing on his core for survival.”

“Then he’ll change back?”

He sees their leader wince, and Twilight does too, shoulders tightening above him. “He will change back, right, old man?”

Time avoids their gazes, reaching for his bag again. “Not without doing it himself, but he should, yes.”

“Good.”

“We just have to wait until he wakes up.”

“And...how long will that take?”

A flinch. “Even with his magic restored, it’s unlikely he’ll come back immediately. He’ll need time.” If Legend were here, or Wild, one of them would point out that their leader is here now, so what else could be needed? But they’re not here, and neither Twilight nor Four speaks up in their place. Instead, Four stares as Time produces something else, settling it before him carefully, before lifting his hand away. With nothing blocking him, he’s able to see that the object set before him is a thimble, “I think you ought to help him with the potion, Four. At his current size, we’re more likely to harm than help.” Which isn’t true at all.

In reality, Time helps quite a bit as he pours out the potion (that they all claim is green) into the thimble, which is far more manageable for Four to lift. Situating the traveler against his front, he has to fumble a bit to get the rim to his brother’s mouth, but Time’s finger helps steady the traveler while he does so, stopping him sliding away from the smithy’s front or his head falling to either side. It’s awkward, when he actually stops to think about it, but they make it work.

After the first thimble, Time pours three more, which is honestly more than Four thinks he could hold in his own body at this size, but the old man assures that it’s basically liquid magic, and the traveler will need lots in order to wake again. “Four thimbles might not be enough, but we’ll see.” He tells them, once more taking the traveler in his own hold, hand cradling the limp form of the fairy with all the care he’d show a baby. More, maybe. Fairies are smaller than babies, so they are a bit more delicate.

“What now though?” He asks, watching.

Time’s gaze falls on him in answer. “Do you need help shifting back?”

“Should I?”

“If you can.”

“And if he needs more of the potion?”

“He won’t,” the hand holding his brother tilts slightly, although Time needs not lower it at all for Four to see the faint shimmer of green light that the fairy within is emitting. “I think that was enough. I’ll have him drink the bottle when he’s changed back, but you don’t need to help any further, smithy.”

He nods.

Finding a portal in the dark takes some help from Twilight, but once he has, and has shifted back, it’s a breath of fresh air. Returning to their leader’s side though, he finds the man now seated on their previous stump, gaze fixed on the tiny, unmoving, but also unwavering, glow in his hands.

“Is he waking up?” He asks, slipping from Wolfie’s back to stand at their leader’s side. At this size, Hyrule looks even tinier, and so much more breakable in Time’s big hand. He’s not moving though, still.

Time shakes his head though, as though the smithy can’t see for himself. “As I said, he’ll need a while to come around.” Blue lifts, and it’s strange to have their leader level with himself. “You boys should head back to camp. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“What about you?” Shadows slip free of the wolf, leaving the rancher standing in it’s place, brows furrowed and voice low.

Time’s gaze drops to his precious cargo, a tiny, almost tender smile touching his features. “I’ll wait for him. Tell the rest that Hyrule needed my time a bit longer, but we’ll be back when he’s ready.”

So, they do.

They head back to camp, joining the others for dinner just as Wild’s beginning to serve it. There are questions, and he still is yet to make his report, but doing so is a quick way to divert attention from their absent leader and wanderer. Later, Time will come back, a sleepy, but normal sized Hyrule curled in his arms, face buried against his chest as the traveler dozes, but for now, the camp muses over the information they were given. Any questions on how he’d gotten this knowledge are lost to worry about Hyrule’s absence, and any fear for Hyrule is lost to questions about the report Four gives.

When Time does come back, it’s only after Warriors has assigned shifts and most of them have at least pretended to go to bed. Their leader’s return has them all watching though, no longer pretending as their eyes, so many shades of blue, follow Time’s path through camp to his bedroll, to Hyrule’s settled beside it at Warriors behest. The man settles the traveler down carefully, but the hand caught in his tunic isn’t pulled free, instead tolerated as long hair is brushed back from freckled cheeks and their leader settles down beside the younger hero.

Even when his good eye slips shut, there’s something warm playing on Time’s face as Hyrule unconsciously nestles up against him once more, and a callused hand becomes lost in dark curls.

Twilight’s gaze meets his own, something like a smile in them as he shrugs, disrupting his blanket. Four just smiles back, shaking his head. Fairy boys, the unspoken thought flickers in both of their heads. It’s only when he lays down again though that he realizes that Time might even be who the minish meant when talking about the last hero.

Well, that would make sense. He’ll ask tomorrow though, right now, he has no interest in disturbing either of the two heroes.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #ketto writes #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #lu four #lu hyrule #lu twilight #lu time #fairy hyrule #minish four #fluffic

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hadesisqueer · 1 year

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Individually speaking most Roman demigods always seemed weaker than Greeks to me and there's a good reason.

Basically Greeks are trained to survive in the outside world, while Romans are mostly trained to be part of a legion, which isn't really useful if you're not with said legion.

First of all, at Camp Half-Blood, demigods are trained by a teacher with several thousands of years of experience, while at Camp Jupiter, they are trained for a while by Lupa and then when they are already at camp, they train themselves. Romans are also trained as a legion with mostly always the same weapons—a gladius or a pilum—while Chiron trains every camper of his own individually and helps them figure out what they're best at depending on who they are, who their godly parent is or what powers they might have. They also have more freedom to explore themselves and their powers individually, and they get to choose their weapons. Bows, swords, spears, axes, daggers, even celestial bronze shotguns; whatever suits you more. Meanwhile, Camp Jupiter, being a lot more strict, doesn't give that same freedom to their campers, who generally don't get to develop their powers the same way Greeks do. Romans, generally, don't encourage choosing your own weapon either, and the ones who do so, like Frank—who wanted to be an archer—or Hazel—who uses a spatha and wanted to ride a horse—were berated and frowned upon for doing so, because those aren't legionare's weapons. So most of them use a gladius—or a pilum—, which in many cases it's probably not the weapon that suits them well, and they probably wouldn't do good in an individual fight.

Also, at Camp Half-Blood all campers are equals, and anyone can be given a quest. At Camp Jupiter, you have to at least be a centurion to lead a quest, and unless there is an exception like Frank, you have to have served five years in the legion AND have been on a quest before to be a centurion. At Camp Half-Blood they're giving quests all the time, regardless of a rank or the time they've been there—in the summer of The Last Olympian it's very much said that basically all demigods at camp have been on quests by now even without the oracle's word—while most Roman demigods don't get to go on quests, which means that they actually have no real world experiences when it comes to fighting, at least outside the legion, where they really don't have to be spectacular warriors as long as they follow their tactics.

And even so, when they were against a guy like Percy—an unorthodox, natural warrior who has a weapon that suits him, who's been in quite a bunch of quests and has a lot of experience fighting monsters and who wasn't even using his powers at that moment—fighting against them in their war games, they got their asses kicked by him. One Greek.

So yeah, Romans generally have less real combat experience, they generally are worse fighters because they're trained to fight together and a bunch of them are probably fighting with a weapon that doesn't suit them, while Greeks are more individual, they get more freedom to explore their powers and abilities and they get to use whatever weapon they want. Therefore, while Romans are more organized and can probably fight better together, individually speaking, Greeks are generally (not always; Jason, Reyna, Frank or Hazel are a few exceptions) more powerful and better warriors than the Romans.

#nico also beat up six romans on his own with no powers and he doesn't even have formal combat training #i firmly believe clarisse could probably take on a couple of cohorts on her own #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #toa #camp jupiter #camp half blood #percy jackson #jason grace #nico di angelo #hazel levesque #clarisse la rue #frank zhang #reyna avila ramirez arellano

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poisonheartfrog · 6 months

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Here's my piece for the Limited Life edition of @trafficzine, about Pearl, Big B, and Grian dying outside the border in the finale:

The rules of the game can’t be broken, but they can be bent.

That’s what brings Pearl, Big B, and Grian to a barren hilltop in the middle of the night as Grian explains his trick for getting across the world border.

Pearl is exhausted after their many trips up to, down from, and across Skynet, and she can tell her allies feel the same. They’re all covered in dirt, blood, and scrapes. Big B is restless, constantly checking over his shoulder and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Seeing him so nervous only makes the pit in her own stomach worse.

Grian is better at hiding his anxiety, but it’s still there in the ways his hands twitch as he sets down a dispenser.

She’s hanging a lot of hope on Grian being able to pull this off, that there really is a way beyond the border.

Pearl reaches her hand out towards the barrier in question. There’s no surface there, nothing to actually touch, except maybe a slight buzz of magical energy. She still feels air under her fingertips, but it’s as unyielding as a solid slab of stone. Diagonal bands of teal light inch along the border, casting eerie shadows across her hand.

Cleo’s blood is under her fingernails. She wants more.

The click of the dispenser going off snaps her attention back to Grian’s contraption. A dark oak boat sits on a puddle of water, split in half by the border. Grian climbs in and rows through like it’s nothing.

Pearl gasps. “That’s so cheaty. I love it.”

Big B laughs, a look of slight confusion on his face. “So wait, what?”

Pearl guesses it’s her turn now.

She drops a boat in its condensed item form into the dispenser. She flicks the lever. Nothing happens. Did she already make a mistake? No, she flicks it again and the dispenser does its magic, conjuring a whole boat in front of her.

She lowers herself down into the boat and her left shoulder passes through the border without her even trying. She feels that slight current of energy again, a little stronger this time.

She pushes off the ground with one oar and pulls forward with the other, with the usual gracelessness of rowing a boat on dry land. The border is closer and closer and then with a shock of static electricity throughout her whole body, she’s on the other side.

Once out of her boat, she swings her axe down to break it back into an item. The diamond blade bounces off the wood without even leaving a mark.

Grian goes back to get Big B and the pair row through triumphantly.

Once they’re all on the other side, Grian lets them in on a wonderful secret. “Here’s the thing about being beyond the veil,” he says, “we’re already dead.” There’s a glint of mischief in his dark eyes.

Grian does always have a flair for the dramatic, but when he swings a sword at her to demonstrate, it hits her with about as much force as a feather. She attempts an axe swing back at him and then Big B. It similarly fails to connect. Her whole body feels a bit numb, now that she thinks about it.

Her time is still ticking away, but she feels like she can finally breathe instead of thinking how much she wants to rip someone’s throat out with her teeth.

As Grian demonstrates that they can still break blocks and damage mobs inside the border, she gives Big B a conspiratorial smile.

He grins back, his face lighting up under his war paint.

They’re here. They’re really here, where even her standing on this grass should be an impossibility.

Maybe being the last ones standing isn’t so impossible either.

Grian forges ahead. Pearl follows behind him, with Big B after her.

Grian swerves too far from the border and winces like he’s been punched, despite there being nothing around.

Pearl can’t blame him because she immediately makes the same mistake. There’s no way to know when you’ve gone too far, only the sudden phantom pain. Why would there be? They’ve already ignored the universe’s equivalent of a giant flashing sign that says “Don’t go here!”. If you die from going farther out, that’s just paying the price.

So Pearl hugs the border. She reaches her hand towards it and from this side her fingers pass through it as easily as if it really was just air.

She draws her hand back and slings her axe over her shoulder.

This might be one of the best ideas Grian has ever had.

It really does feel like cheating. The play is almost over and they’re sneaking around backstage instead of finishing their scene. It’s invigorating, the feeling of a trick well played, of breaking the world apart at the seams.

The trio keeps on walking. As they leave a spruce forest for a rocky plateau, Pearl watches two spiders climb the border, each of their eight legs waving as if they were swimming in mid air. There’s something almost hypnotic to the motion.

“We obviously can’t spend the next few hours here, but-” Grian breaks off in surprise when he sees the spiders.

“I don't know about you, but I could spend the next few hours here.” Pearl replies.

Grian laughs at the spiders and Big B lets out an uncertain “oh”.

Grian runs ahead. Big B stays back with her. One hand grips the hilt of his sword.

His red eyes meet hers with a pained smile and he says “Well you know, Pearl, I can't- I can't.”

She can’t acknowledge the seriousness in his voice because that would mean breaking the spell. Big B can’t be almost out of time. They can’t be anything other than safe here.

So she laughs and runs on ahead.

“That’s true.” She admits quietly.

A little while later Pearl and her allies reach the ocean. She dives in, now leading the charge ahead of Grian. Big B still hangs towards the back with very reasonable caution.

Swimming in full plate armor is about as easy as rowing a boat on land, but Pearl makes do. She spots a school of tropical fish and kills one with her axe only for its body to drift out of reach in the current.

It probably would have tasted terrible anyway.

She pops her head back above the surface. Behind all the bamboo and sugarcane, the Mean Gills’ base is deserted. The beach house has certainly seen better days. Half of the foundation is scarred and splintered from TNT blasts and the porch is littered with broken glass.

Scott and Martyn are probably still up on Skynet, which means their crops are free for the taking.

Stealing from them one more time can’t hurt, right?

Pearl tears wheat and carrots from the soil. Most of them go flying out of reach farther inside the border, but she manages to keep hold of a few.

The group briefly discusses where the Mean Gills might be and then all get a good laugh when Grian drops his loaf of bread in the ocean.

As they approach the corner of the world, Grian points towards the TIES base. “Scott’s clocked us.”

The Mean Gills and what’s left of TIES are spread out behind the squat base of the stone tower and its defaced bowtie. Etho sits on a horse, watching them from the path. Martyn and Impulse charge down the steps towards the beach while Scott cuts across the hill.

Pearl swims on ahead, watching as their enemies take position on top of dirt and stone eyesore of Etho’s mob farm. She can’t can’t wait to see the look on Scott’s face when he realizes they’re invincible.

Scott stands right at the edge and peers down at them, his bow in hand. His clothes are tattered and a bit singed. There’s grim determination in his eyes as he nocks an arrow and pulls back the bowstring.

“Hello!” Pearl smiles up at him as cheerfully as if they were meeting up for lunch rather than trying to kill each other.

“Hi!” Scott fires. The arrow misses as Big B echoes her hello.

“How’s it going?” Pearl says, just as brightly.

Scott responds with another arrow.

It hits, piercing her armor and lodging just above her heart.

The pain is even worse because it’s unexpected. Grian was wrong. You can try to bend the rules as much as you want, but they will snap back into place like a rubber band.

“Ow! What? They can get us!” She cries out.

They barely even had a plan, just a naive hope that they could hurt their enemies without getting hurt themselves.

The fight breaks out in earnest, arrows and shouts flying with abandon.

Pearl dives towards the seafloor and grabs fistfuls of the arrows that miss, barely noticing the ones that find purchase in her body.

“Oh no, I’m dead.” Big B says matter of factly.

Pearl lets out a horrified gasp as she sees his body dissolve into smoke.

Adrenaline propels her through the water. Scott and Impulse congratulate Martyn on his kill. If she could she’d strike them all down right then and there to avenge him.

But Scott and Impulse keep shooting at her and she has no way to fight back. She can barely pay attention to what’s going on through the pain.

Where did Etho go?

Where did Grian go?

If only she could just swim a little farther.

The seawater turns pink with her blood. The armor that failed to protect her is now dragging her towards the bottom. She tries to breathe but her lungs only fill with water and sand.

In the dark seconds before respawn she reminds herself that she still has time.

Before the light comes pouring back in she remembers that Big B doesn’t.

#life series #limited life #pearlescentmoon #bigbstatz #grian #traffic zine #poisonheartposts

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sylasthegrim · 10 months

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The Silver Princess - Chapter 14

Pairing: Cregan Stark x original female character (Targaryen OC)

Tags: arranged marriage, romance, romantic and sexual tension

Word count: 3,550 words

MASTERLIST

The Silver Princess

CHAPTER 14 - THE BLOOD OF THE WOLF

As the smoke slowly faded from the air, the shadow of a man appeared. Standing at an impressive height, his bulk accentuated by leather armor, a man holding a thick sword in one hand and a large ax in the other was walking toward her. Sylas the Grim.

The man was injured, Rowena could tell. He had a large gash across his leg and limped quite heavily, but it didn’t seem to dissuade him —rather, it seemed to spur him on. Half of his face was covered by the collar of his coat, and the white and gray furs were matted with blood. His hair was flaming red, and so was his beard, and Rowena was so stupefied by finally putting a face to the name that she could not react. A few feet behind her, Silverwing was still spewing fire at a few men who had tried to sneak up on the beast while both she and her rider were busy removing the spike from her side.

Rowena took a step back, intending to warn her dragon of the man approaching them, but either because of the shock or the smoke, she could not find her voice. Instead, all that came out of her throat was a whimper that turned into a cough as she tried to raise her voice —paralyzed by the sudden reality that she had landed in the middle of a battlefield, she was helpless to warn anyone of the man walking toward her, and had no weapon to defend herself.

Silverwing seemed to sense her distress, but she was swept up in her own as another spear was launched at her, and it snapped Rowena out of her stupefaction. She quickly bent to the ground to retrieve the large spear that she had removed from Silverwing’s side, and even though the weapon was too heavy for her to use, it gave her a sense of protection. She shouted at Silverwing but the beast was still occupied, her attention captured by the numerous men around her, and as she tried to swing the spear above her head, its weight took her down.

Stumbling in the mud and frost, Rowena cried out as the man they called Sylas marched toward her, his grip firm on his weapon and determination etched across his face —he raised his ax as though the weapon weighed nothing and Rowena sprung to her feet, ducking under Silverwing’s folded wing, but the sudden instinct to protect her companion overtook her and she ran.

She took off from the scene, running as fast as she could despite the spear she was dragging behind her, and she knew it would only be a matter of seconds until Sylas would reach her. She tried to scream but the smoke choked her and she sobbed, panic coursing through her veins.

In a last, desperate attempt she turned and tried to grab the spear with both hands to protect herself, but as Sylas came face to face with her, she realized how defenseless and helpless she really was.

Before she could even form a last thought or a last prayer, a dark shadow appeared behind them, and Sylas was dragged away from her —it was a horse, large and black, and the man atop it made Rowena’s heart soar. It was Cregan, his hair in disarray and his leathers caked with mud and blood, and Rowena breathed a sigh of relief.

On the ground, Sylas struggled to get back up, blood pouring from his leg wound. Ax in hand, Cregan jumped from the saddle, and it was only by a last second reflex that Sylas avoided it. Cregan landed on his feet with a snarl, and as Sylas got up, both men jumped at the other.

Swords and axes clashed, and as Rowena cried out, Silverwing finally turned to them and roared. A cloud of red set the air ablaze over them and it seemed startle both Cregan and Sylas, and in a flurry of leather and steel, they fell to the ground. Rowena cried out as Cregan found himself on his back, the Wildling straddling his chest with his sword under his neck, but he regained the upper hand as he managed to hammer the handle of his ax into the other man’s wound. It was not enough to push him off, but it did create a second of confusion, and as Silverwing crawled toward them, her folded wings displacing dust and smoke, Rowena knew she had to act quickly.

“Stand down, Silverwing,” she shouted over the deafening sounds of the battlefield, and ran toward the two men, hoping she would be quick enough and that her dragon would keep holding a part of Sylas’ attention. Silverwing roared with a deep rumbling that signaled the mounting fire in her belly. Picking up a stone she found on the ground, Rowena hit the man over the head as hard as she could —blood sprayed from the flaming red hair, and then from a gash on his neck as Cregan dragged the dagger he kept concealed in his leathers across his face and throat.

Cregan pushed the man aside and rose, tugged along by Rowena as she screamed a word he had never heard from her, but did not need to to understand its significance.

“Dracarys,” Rowena roared and Silverwing engulfed the scene in flames —faces tugged in each other’s shoulders, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell bore the sudden heat in the air as Silverwing reduced Sylas to ashes. Rowena breathed a sigh and Cregan grunted in relief as they realized what had taken place, but there was no time to savor any victory, as the fight was still raging all across the Gift.

“Call back your men,” Rowena shouted to Cregan, barely waiting for his nod of confirmation before she took off, running toward her dragon. She was stopped as her husband caught her by the arm, and soon a cold mouth was pressing against hers clumsily. She pressed back against Cregan, and their kiss was more pain than comfort, the taste of blood on their lips.

Cregan nodded again as he pulled back, and she thought she heard a go from him. This time he didn’t stop her as she ran and climbed atop Silverwing, barely taking the time to buckle herself to the saddle before the great silver beast launched herself into flight.

In the cold of the early northern spring, the northmen retreated and dragon fire burned the valley until silence spread over it, heavy and victorious.

Rowena would have never guessed silence could sound so overwhelming.

She had made Silverwing land atop a hill overseeing the valley, and as she came down she took in the sight of devastation and loss. Bodies littered the frosted grounds, and all over, men were helping others, healing the wounded or putting the dying out of their miseries.

Her throat tight with a pain she had never felt before, her chest clogged with the smell of smoke and dragon fire, Rowena made her way down under the gazes of a few of her men who nodded at her in respect, all keeping a solemn silence. She was glad for it, as she would not have been able to find her voice —comforted by Silverwing’s presence and very nature, she tried to remind herself that all she had done was in the best interest of her men, of her people.

In the middle of the field, among the fallen men from both sides, Cregan was on his knees, his forehead resting against the handle of his battle ax. He was praying, whispering under his breath as silent tears were making their way down his cheeks, leaving clear tracks in the dried mud and blood on his face.

Without a word, Rowena kneeled at his side, her hands joined on her lap. She wasn’t sure which Gods to pray to, and so she sought all of them out, hoping at least one was listening and would be carrying those lost souls.

In the morning, Rowena would fly back to Winterfell while Cregan led a party of men that were still able to fight, to find the rest of the Wildlings that had escaped the Gift and risked running more raids down south. After it was done, they would be reunited at home, but the two of them would be very different from what they had been when leaving.

When Cregan crossed the gates of Winterfell one evening over a fortnight later, it felt as though it had been years since he had left his home, and yet it had only been close to two months. Nothing had changed in his rooms, only he was not the same man he was when he had left. He felt tired down the bone, his spirit frayed at the edges, more brittle than ever. He had thought the battle would make him stronger but it had eroded something in him he did not know how to name.

“I will help you,” Rowena offered as she closed the door behind them, and she started to tug at the buckles of his armor without waiting for his answer. The leather was stiff under her fingers and she struggled a bit, but Cregan was grateful for her effort.

The steaming tub standing between the foot of the bed and the fire was calling to him, and he longed to sink in the hot water and scrub the blood and grime from his skin and hair —the quicker his clothes and leather were off his body, the better. He kicked his boots off and relished in the feel of the soles of his feet on the cold stones of his bedroom. It was a simple but pleasurable feeling after weeks of riding and walking across the encampments, and of course, the ensuing fights. He had not had more than a rough and quick wipe with cold water since he had left Winterfell.

“Wait,” Rowena called, and he turned to her. “I need to wipe some of the mud and blood before you get into the bath,” she told him, and he nodded as he was too exhausted to even think of protesting.

He let her drag a damp cloth from his shoulders to the hollow of his throat, then down to his chest and stomach. He had a few wounds that had already started to heal during their way down to Winterfell —the stitches in themselves did not sting anymore, but there was a deep ache beneath his skin, into his muscles and perhaps even in his bones. He inhaled deeply when Rowena got to her knees to wipe his legs, but he said nothing, only widened his stance and did his best to remain steady.

There was an almost solemn silence around them, and the soft way she was looking at him made him feel cherished and worshiped. He knew he should have been the one to worship at her feet and he hoped she would forgive him for his exhaustion —despite how tired he was, there was tension under his skin, in the pit of his stomach. A need for comfort, for some kind of familiarity and relief.

As she was done, Rowen guided him to the tub with a hand between his shoulder blades and Cregan groaned as he sank into the hot water. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rowena throw aside the dirty cloths, caked in mud and blood so old it had turned black. He held his breath in and let himself sink fully under the clear water, rubbing his face with both palms and running his fingers through his hair to shake the strands loose. When he emerged, Rowena was waiting for him with soap and oils. She had removed her robe and was now only in a nightgown, her sleeves pushed up her elbows.

Without a word between them, Cregan rested his neck on the edge of the tub and his wife ran her nimble fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and cleaning the weeks of grime and oil from his roots. Soon the braids were gone and so was the matted mess that had kept them intact, almost dried in place. Cregan groaned in pleasure but still spoke no words as Rowena slid her hands down his neck to work the tension in his shoulders, and soon he was shivering under her hands as she pushed herself closer to the tub. The feeling of her thumbs pressing into the sore muscles of his upper back was heavenly, and the tension in his stomach only increased at that, and he realized that despite his exhaustion, he was getting hard under her care.

Rowena sighed as she slid her face in his neck, not kissing him but breathing him in, enjoying the closeness and the feeling of their skin pressed together. For a long minute they stayed this way as he washed the front of his body, and she hummed when she looked down and watched as he cleaned between his legs.

“Cregan,” she murmured into his ear, and the sound of his name felt both arousing and comforting. It was said in such a loving way that it made him want to weep, but as soon as she slid her hands down his chest, chasing the curves of his muscles, he forgot about the prickling behind his eyes and surrendered to the instincts ruling his body.

Sliding her hands back up, Rowena rinsed his hair, using the flat of her hands to wipe the suds from his shoulders before rising. Cregan pushed himself up and took the soft cloth she handed him gratefully —he wiped his face dry, and almost dropped the cloth when he opened his eyes again. Rowena had dropped her nightgown on the floor and was stepping out of it, and before he could say a word or compliment her, she had pressed herself close and wrapped a hand around his cock.

“Fuck,” he grunted and she laughed —clearly a few weeks in his men’s company had not improved his manners and language. He smiled at her amused reaction but could not join her in laughter as she started an almost punishing rhythm, her grip firm and her movements practiced.

Cregan dropped his head into her neck, widening his stance again and curling a hand around one of her breasts. His head was blissfully empty, now from exhaustion and pleasure both. Selfishly, he surrendered to her hand as she kissed his chest, nibbling at his skin in the most pleasant manner, and all he gave her in return was rough swipes over her nipples. She seemed to enjoy it, as she pushed her chest further up into his hand, sighing.

He grunted and cursed under his breath as she circled the head of his cock with her thumb, spreading the wetness that was beading from it. His pleasure was sharp, almost painful, but he couldn’t resist the mad chase toward release, even though she had only started. Tonight was not for slow enjoyment, he knew, but rather for a fast release that would purge some of the tension that remained from the battle and the aftermath of it.

Rowena pushed him with a hand on his chest, guiding him backwards toward the bed until he fell back, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She captured his mouth in a kiss that could only be called passionate; it was deep and quick-paced. He suspected his beard must have been scratching her skin but she moaned into his mouth as she climbed on his lap, her soft thighs on each side of his hips.

It turned frantic in a matter of a second, her hand never leaving his cock, up until the moment she sank around him, her cunt tightening and her hips rising and falling at the same fast pace she had been stroking him. Both her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him back until he was lying flat on his back, and he wanted to protest his lack of leverage, except he could not find his words.

Rowena looked down at him, her white waves gathered at the back of her neck, a few loose strands framing her face, and he wished to tell what a beauty she was, and what a good wife she was to him, but it was all lost to the grinding of her hips and the tightness of her walls. The pleasure was taking him fast and deep, barely spreading over his body, but instead like a hot coal sitting in his core, building in intensity rather than expanding.

“My love, I’m afraid I can’t…” he groaned, certain he could not satisfy her before he reached his peak, but Rowena shook her head, a satisfied smile spreading on her sweet face.

“Take what you need,” she breathed, clenching around him, “The night is young.”

It was all it took for him to spill into her —he hadn’t realized his peak was so close, and for a second he felt ashamed of himself. He deeply wished to please her, but as the aftershock spread in his limbs and the relief soothed the remaining tension in his muscles, he could feel slumber pull at his body and mind.

“Sleep now, there will be more time later,” Rowena murmured as she kissed his pliant mouth, curling up against him on the sheets, her head pillowed on his chest, and soon sleep took him.

When Cregan opened his eyes a few hours later, the room was plunged in darkness, the fire little more than cooling embers. At his side Rowena was asleep, her back turned to him, and her curves looked like frosted hills to his half-asleep mind, her long hair spilling out like icy rivers on the sheets and pillows —it never ceased to amaze him how long it was, reaching past her waist to graze at the top of her bottom.

He loved how it tickled his thighs when she rode him and threw her head back in pleasure; that image rekindled the simmering fire of his loins. Even in sleep there was something regal about her, in the way the curve of her hip narrowed down to a small waist that he hoped would soon round with a child, and the soft sighs she made as he took his lips on a journey along her body were the sweetest sounds he had ever heard.

Cregan started at her hip, gently biting the jut of her hip bone, then continued up to where her skin was the softest, as the skin over her ribs swelled into the side of her breast. He felt her rising from slumber, coming alive under his touch, and soon she reached back to wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him in by the hair. It had grown quite significantly —the sides would need shaving again, and the top would need to be braided, and so for once it all hung loose.

“Yes?” he breathed in her neck, and he knew he did not have to elaborate as she sighed pleasantly, and he perceived an obvious smile in the way she breathed.

“Yes,” she answered, her breath catching in her throat as he pushed inside without warning and little fumbling, hotter and harder than a few hours prior. “Harder,” Rowena asked as he started firm but slow, and she was grateful when he complied.

She rolled to her belly, taking him with her and he covered her body with his, his knees on either side of hers, making her cunt a tighter fit and he groaned at that. She did not relinquish her grip on his hair, only tugged harder at his dark strands, urging him on. His hips slapped against her bottom as he thrusted into her with more force and vigor than he usually allowed himself. Rowena cried out as he hit the spot at the deep end of her cunt, a sharp pleasure running up her spine, toeing the line with pain —but she needed to feel him, alive and healthy and strong, and she needed him to prove her their passion and fervor would endure war and the pain that came with it.

She screamed into the pillow as ecstasy erupted at her core, and Cregan followed her in the next breath, groaning in pleasure between her shoulder blades, louder than she remembered him to be, the guttural sound making her spine shiver in delight.

He pulled out carefully and she whined as she felt his seed spill between her thighs, but waves of the most pleasant sensation were still coursing through her body. She started to laugh, joy and hope bursting in her chest as an entirely new feeling bloomed behind her ribs.

“Rowena?” Cregan asked, and she turned, her face glowing in the white light of the morning peeking through the barred window. As they caught their breath he looked into her eyes, clear and bright, a glint of something akin to anticipation in her purple irises.

With a grace and a tenderness he had only ever seen a handful of times on her face, she spoke in a whisper, like a confession. “I should have bled a fortnight ago.”

Authors' note:

We have reached the end of this story. The prologue will come in a few days. I have really enjoyed writing this story, I hope you have enjoyed reading it just as much. Thank you to those who followed it ♡

Comment to be added to the taglist. Reblog to show love.

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#fanfiction #hotd fanfic #cregan stark #house targaryen #targaryen oc #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x oc #cregan stark x oc #cregan fanfiction #house stark #cregan smut #fanfic smut #hotd smut

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racefortheironthrone · 11 months

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I understand that knights normally followed a fairly set career path: start as a page, get taken on as a squire, and then if they merit it and have resources, knighthood. How did it work for other classes of soldier? How would one go about becoming say, a man at arms, or a specialist like a long bowman or a crossbowman or a pikeman for example?

Ah, excellent question!

One preliminary thing, you do have to be mindful of the distinction between actual training and social organization. Let's take your "career path" for knights, for example - at its heart, the whole page/squire thing was essentially a two-stage apprenticeship, but there was both a mix of actual martial training (I'll get into the curriculum in a bit) and what we would think of as socialization into the noble class - things like music, dancing, literacy, manners, and so forth aren't really directly related to the job of an armored heavy cavalryman, after all.

Importantly, when it comes to the distinction between various ranks, we have to keep in mind the importance of both material resources and sociocultural status. As you note, the difference between a squire and a knight was really about whether the squire could afford the full complement of arms, armor, and a horse, and there were more than a few grown men who were squires their whole lives (this is the inspiration for characters like Squire Dalbridge) because they just didn't have the money to advance to knighthood.

At the same time, the difference between a knight and a man-at-arms came down to social class - in order to be a man-at-arms, you had to have the same training as a knight and own the same equipment (arms, armor, and horse), which is why a lot of the written sources simply call all such men men-at-arms whether they were knights or not - although some sources took more pains to distinguish between the milites gregarii (the plain man-at-arms) and the milites nobiles (which, as you probably have guessed, refers to actual knights).

The former tended to be from the gentry rather than the nobility, and as a result of their lower status, they were usually paid half the wage rate of knights despite doing the same work and taking on the significant risk of providing their own equipment. (The fact that they were cheaper also explains why the proportion of actual knights on the campaign rolls dropped rather rapidly between the 13th and 14th centuries - knights were more expensive, so hiring men-at-arms instead meant you could stretch the budget for heavy cavalry.)

The Knightly Curriculum

As I suggested above, the training for knights was essentially an apprentice system where the page and then the squire provided service to their master in exchange for education. When it comes to the actual content of this training, the curriculum was actually pretty ecletic:

As you might expect, training in arms was an important part of the program. However, this training included a lot more than just swordsmanship. While the sword was very culturally important, when it came to the actual military function of a heavy cavalryman, the lance was arguably of greater importance. Training also tended to include other sidearms - axes, maces, and the like. In later periods, as armor got a lot better and mounted frontal charges tended to be de-emphasized in favor of having men-at-arms fight as dismounted heavy infantry, the curriculum expanded to include new weapons like the poleaxe and other polearms that Gary Gygax was obsessed with.

Training in horsesmanship was also a core part of the curriculum. GRRM is not wrong when he says that "jousting was three-quarters horesemanship," and this is why pages and squires were not only taught formal equestrian lessons, but were also taught how to hawk and hunt as part of their training. Hawking and hunting were the past-times of the nobility in no small part because they involved riding horses very fast through difficult terrain while simultaneously handling either a dangerous animal or weaponry, and were thus were considered good training for future cavalrymen. As Hillary Mantel puts it, "la chasse...we usually say, we gentlemen, that the chase prepares us for war."

Training in armor tends to get downplayed or overlooked, but it was considered so important that a major portion of what pages and squires did was deal with armor - carrying it, maintaining it (scrubbing with abrasives to prevent rust, oiling the straps to keep the leather straps supple, polishing - it was really endless labor), repairing it, putting it on their master and taking it off, and so on and so forth - so that they would understand every step of the process and be able to fend for themselves later on if they didn't have attendants of their own. The famous French knight, Jean "Boucicaut" le Maingre, was held up as an example to pages and squires for constantly wearing full armor while undertaking exercise:

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What About the Man-at-Arms?

As you may have noticed, I've been mostly talking about how knights trained rather than men-at-arms. So how did your gentry-born homme d'armes train? Essentially the same as a knight, but with less of the aristocratic bells and whistles of ritualized service and socialization to the nobility. So a son of the gentry would probably be training under the tutelage of their father or other male relative - and given that we're talking about a society in which the overwhelming majority of people did the same jobs as their parents, often being legally bound to do so, this was a very common phenomenon all the way from peasants upwards - or perhaps from a professional tutor who would most likely be a veteran in working retirement.

Towards the later Middle Ages, as literacy rates increased and book production expanded to match supply to demand, your more traditional systems of apprenticeship and one-on-one tutoring became supplemented with written manuals of arms. While this genre of military literature goes all the way back to classical antiquity - and indeed, Roman manuals like De re militari were very popular in the Middle Ages, as were translations of Byzantine manuals - these lavishly illustrated manuscripts were both practical teaching tools and status objects for the families who owned them.

Specialists: Longbowmen, Crossbowmen, and Pikemen

Ok, enough about the upper classes, what about the commoners who served as specialist infantry in Medieval and Renaissance armies?

Well, I've already written a bit about longbow training, but the gist of it is that what started out as a (Welsh) hunting tool was recognized by the English royal government as a vital aspect of military readiness, so laws were promulgated that required essentially all but the poorest to own a longbow and that "that every man in the same country, if he be able-bodied, shall, upon holidays, make use, in his games, of bows and arrows… and so learn and practise archery." This training started at a fairly early age and lasted at least a decade, because it involved both the acquisition of technique and the development of the body (not just the arms, but also crucially the back muscles, as the "special sauce" of the English longbowman was his ability to "lay my body in my bow" rather than relying solely on the arms) - such that archeologists can identify longbowmen from the over-development of the shoulder and arm bones.

What about crossbowmen? Well, as I've already written a bit about, one of the major advantages of the crossbow over the longbow is that you could train someone to be a crossbowman in as little as four months, compared to the decade at minimum for a longbowman, because most of what you were teaching them was accuracy in shooting (hence why the recruitment process often involved eye exams) and the procedures for loading and cocking the crossbow - which required a certain amount of physical strength to pull back the string to the nut that would hold it in place, or to work the winch or the lever or the gaffe or the windlass if you were using a heavier crossbow, but nothing like the physical conditioning required for a longbow.

One of the reasons why the term "Genoese" is so often associated with the crossbow is that the Republic of Genoa established a corps of crossbowmen to serve both in the army and as marines in the navy and these experienced soldiers in turn provided a ready supply of labor for mercenary companies. While the captains who recruited on behalf of the great companies might have to put in the up-front investment of equipment (the crossbow and its accessories, pavise shields, armor,and sidearms), they were able to essentially outsource the training costs to the Republic.

When it comes to training, pikemen were somewhere in the middle between the longbowman and the crossbowman. Because pikemen have to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with lots of other pikemen without stabbing one another accidentally or getting their polearms tangled up, coordinating movement and action was vitally important. Hence, pikemen learned a series of quite complicated drills to teach them how to move in formation in different directions, how to change formations from line to square and back, how to switch from pike to sidearm and back, how to work with missile infantry, and so forth.

As I've talked about before, a big part of the reason why Swiss pikemen were so feared on the battlefield is that, because they were very well-drilled and disciplined due to the policies of universal military service adopted by the Swiss cantons, they could execute these drills very quickly, which meant that the Swiss pikemen could turn on a dime from an impenetrable defensive pike square to a shockingly fast and aggressive deep column which beat the ever-loving shit out of the Burgundians, the Hapsburgs, the Italians, the French, and pretty much everyone - until the Swiss ran up against a nasty combination of the German Landsknecht and the Spanish tercio.

#history #military history #knights #men-at-arms #medieval warfare #mercenaries #longbow #crossbow #pike #medieval history #swiss pikemen

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nix-writes-mcyt · 6 months

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Autumn with Grian Headcanons

Contains: Fluff

Another for the series, and we're still not at the end of it. If you've enjoyed these feel free to go check out my other autumn headcanons :)

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The first thing you do when the weather turns colder is steal Grian's jumpers It's not like he doesn't have plenty of them

Even when summer ends the two of you spend a lot of time outside

Walks are frequent, you'll even take the cats out with you every now and then

When the cats are at home sometimes you and Grian are able to be out for even longer in the small cabin tucked deep in the trees There's not much to it, but it's cozy

The main reason you both go is to watch the birds

Occasionally you'll spot other animals among the trees too, deer and hares, all kinds of bugs

Once winter comes you see a lot less in the woods so you make the most of the cabin in fall

With so many leaves on the ground it'd be hard not to even have a go making your own little den

More than once you've both competed to see who could make the best den

Den making usually ends with one or both of you having leaves and twigs stuck in your hair

You can't say you haven't taken the chance to stuff leaves down Grian's shirt either Neither can he in all fairness. His and yours.

It doesn't end with the two of you either

All you have to do is ask Mumbo about the pinecone incident. That was a fun one

The outdoor adventures don't end there either

You might both own swords and axes, but combat with those isn't quite as fun as combat with sticks

There is nothing more satisfying than the loud crack of your opponents stick snapping in two

Of course the fun isn't exclusively outside

As the year ends you and Grian get to bring out the themed cat toys, And just about everything else

Plus you also have the blanket you and Grian spent almost a year on, that gets brought out when the weather begins to change

Every day always ends with you, Grian and the cats cuddled up nice and cozy, which is one of the best things about the season

#grian x reader #hermitcraft x reader #mcyt x reader #hermitcraft #hermitblr #mcyt #mcytblr #grian #autumn headcanons #fall headcanons #headcanons

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dappersautismcreature · 8 months

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mushroom stew

characters: Bad, Cellbit

tws: cannibalism, violence, gore, slavery/indentured servitude, child solider(ish), death of many npcs, spiders

Bad stretched and yawned as he strode out onto the field— he looked over his opponents for the games.

Nobody looked particularly dangerous. Most of them were young, 18-25 looking, with tough faces and plain clothes. That was pretty usual for the games. People joined or were forced to join by a company or a slavers crew, either for their own money, or someone else’s money. Bad had almost never met someone who was there purely by choice, they could say they were, but the unbearable hunger in their eyes gave them away. Life spent drifting from PvP server to PvP server was wretched, and poor. People needed to hope for more— the games gave them that.

But there was a price— Bad grimaced as he did another pass of examining his enemies— the first fifty of these people to die would be perma-killed. Forty-five would be stuck in limbo for anywhere from a couple days to a month, depending on how long it took between the time they died and the game’s end. Only the last five could come out alive— and only the winner would be blessed to erase all his wounds. Bad had met people on these fields with limps, with twisted spines, and burns, broken fingers, and missing limbs, eyepatches. Bad himself sported almost a dozen deep scars on his torso and neck and face. In his early days he’d been stuck in limbo for almost three weeks. Now though, after a few decades of practice— he was confident in his ability to come in the top five. Now he could actually fulfill his purpose, the reason he was here.

Snow crunched under a hundred bodies, everyone held their breaths. Silence was mandatory before the start. The horns sounded— and Bad had never felt so alive. He took in a deep breath, letting time slow, and watched as people around him scattered. Boots skidded on icy ground, there were yells, cries of terror. Bad blinked, coiling his muscles, and leaped from his position. His feet thudded against snow, he lengthened his stride, running and running.

A body slammed into him, small, compact. Bad fell straight on his ass, hissing. The demon sprang to his feet, hands clutching his wooden ax. “Who dares.” He growled, tail curling up like a scorpion’s. The air fizzled, his Thor’s Curse reacting to the sudden threat.

“I-I-” a kid gasped. His voice was thin, and young. He was still on his back, scattered snow and mud all around him. The young human’s curly brown hair hung around his face, covering his ears completely. He was ragged and boney. Stark blue eyes wide and rimmed with exhaustion. Barely a wisp of peach fuzz graced his chin and upper lip.

Bad’s posture relaxed slightly. The demon knew what he had to do. He grabbed the kid by the wrist and hauled him to his feet. Then the demon began to run again. “I’m Bad.” He said between breaths. “My name is Bad.”

The kid could barely keep up, stumbling over himself. Eventually he seemed to find his feet, and his breath. “Cellbit.”

They slowed down when they reached the outskirts of the swamp. Bad took his ax and felled a tree, while Cellbit gathered mushrooms. Both of them worked with ruthless efficiency— and Bad was calmed by the fact that at least this wasn’t the kids first game. Somewhat friendly people ran by, calling his name in recognition. But a few called Cellbit’s. Bad’s ear flattened against his head, ok, definitely not this kid’s first game. How old was he? The demon held his ax out to anyone who got too close, tail lashing. He made it clear, this kid was his team now.

“Stone swords?” Cellbit asked once they had a good supply of mushrooms and wood tucked into their backpacks. Bad nodded, and followed him to a cliffside. He quickly made himself a wooden pickaxe, and got just enough stone to craft a stone sword. He could hear Cellbit working next to him.

When he looked up, another player was in front of him, staring wildly at him over his crafting table. Flames licked their limbs, and they had glowing red eyes. They looked hungry. Bad stared back, gripping the handle of his new sword. “Cellbit?” He called.

“Yeah?” The kid called back.

“I’m going to kill this guy, I’ll be right back.” He lunged at the player, hearing a faint confirmation from Cellbit. His opponent desperately held up his wooden sword, parrying Bad’s first blow. But the demon was too fast for him, stabbing underneath his defense and sliding his sword clean into the other’s ribs. The player’s red eyes widened, and he sank to his knees, mouthing something that Bad couldn’t understand. The demon stepped back, his sword was yanked from the body with a slick noise. Blood fell on the grass.

As he walked back over to Cellbit something nagged at him, the way that player had stared— he hadn’t fought back. Maybe he knew him, maybe he knew of him. Dread sank in his stomach but he shook his head and turned to the kid.

“There’s a guy over there, in a ditch.” Cellbit said, eyes stony. He was clutching his new stone sword with one hand, and with the other he pointed. “Let’s go kill him.”

Bad’s breath stuck in his throat, but he nodded and the two crept over. The demon gave the go-ahead to the kid— time to see how he came this far in the games. Time to see what he could do.

The kid leaped over the side of the ditch, sword held low and out. “Die!” He screamed, stabbing it into his opponent's stomach. The player fell without a sound. Bad watched as Cellbit twisted the sword deeper and lunged forward to bite into the dead body’s throat. Blood sprayed across the kid’s cheeks and he tore up, stripping flesh from where the neck met the torso up to the jaw. Cellbit raised his head to meet Bad’s eyes, and the demon shivered. The hunger in them— stronger than he’d ever seen.

The kid did not break eye contact, as one hand left the sword’s handle, and shoved the hanging strip of gore into his mouth. Blood still fountained out of the hole in the body’s neck, bubbling and spilling into the mud. Bad looked away as Cellbit went for one more bite. This kid was muffined.

A few moments later Cellbit met him at the top of the ditch— with his sleeve the kid wiped dripping blood from his chin. Then he took his fingernail and picked at his teeth, all the while watching the demon in front of him. Bad had at least three feet’s height on the shrimp, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated.

“Well done.” Bad spat out. It wasn’t near the worst thing he’d seen here, but it was close. Still, time to put his mind back to the games. “Nice kill. Let’s go find a ravine.”

They found one a couple hundred meters away, Bad dropped down and killed the player hiding in it. The ravine was all theirs. Time to get some iron. Bad mined some of the more open veins, then set up a furnace. While he was stationary he brought out some of the mushrooms and began to make soup. Cellbit returned with more iron, and together they crouched in the corner and waited. Bad leaned against the stone walls and stared at the sky. Cellbit awkwardly checked and rechecked the furnaces.

“So how old are you kid, hm?” Bad asked in the quiet. “Don’t lie to me, I can smell when you do.”

“I don’t believe you.” Cellbit snorted. But he still answered the question truthfully. “I’m fifteen.” Now that he was talking more, Bad could hear an accent in his speech.

“You company?” Bad asked, tail flicking lazily.

“No, why? You company?” Cellbit grinned, showing his teeth.

Bad rolled his eyes. “Nope, just curious. Slavers then? You get snatched? Slavers are scum, but slavers who take kids are worse.”

Cellbit was quiet, staring into the coals of the furnace. “Worse than scum. Yeah.” He shifted to curl tighter up into himself.

Bad allowed himself to close his eyes for a second. A fifteen year old who was experienced in the games, kidnapped and entered into them by slavers. Muffins. He had to get Cellbit out of here. “And your curse? You really chose Cannibal, you know what that can do to a person? Why not Stomper? Something safer?”

“I didn’t choose.” Cellbit growled, baring his teeth again. “Shut up Thor.”

Bad thudded his head against the wall and laughed coldly. He was going to find these slavers and tear them to bits. “Do you wanna know why I’m here then?” He offered an apology.

“No.”

“Okay.” Bad stared up at the blue sky, watching for enemies. He turned to the furnaces to check on things, musing over calculations in his head. They’d probably have enough now. He made himself an iron sword and some armor.

“Guy up there!” Cellbit shouted quietly to him.

Bad’s head shot up. “Oh snap!” He held his sword up, spotting the guy crouching over the edge of the ravine. “Don’t come down here!” The demon called, showing his teeth and swinging his sword.

Cellbit quickly crafted himself iron gear and jumped up on top of the furnaces. “I’m full iron!” He cried defiantly— despite definitely not being full iron.

Bad’s eyes caught sight of the white ball in the player’s hands, but before he could call out Cellbit had already seen it. “Switcher!” The kid cried, backing up. Bad also retreated, staying out of sight under some rock. The two of them crouched down, waiting for the enemy to make a move.

Another player fell down, landing on some rock’s above them. They cried out as they took damage from the fall, still raising their sword. They were no match for Cellbit who lunged at them and sunk his sword into their stomach. The player’s dead body fell with a sickly sound at the bottom of the ravine.

Bad raised his head at the death message, realizing that over half of the players were now dead. No more permadeaths from now on. Deep down he breathed a sigh of relief. Up above them, another player ran away. Bad shook himself. “I forgot I was a Thor!” He laughed, raising his ax and sending lightning down to strike them. He missed.

Cellbit handed Bad an iron chestplate as he watched for more opponents, ax still raised to the sky. Lightning thrummed through him and he whooped. His hair stood on end, he felt unbeatable. “We’re going to dominate this game kid!” The demon grinned. Cellbit handed him iron pants and shook his head in disbelief.

Bad continued to send lightning towards anyone who got close to their ravine. Soon they were ready to leave. They both quickly ate some mushroom stew, then towered up quickly to the top.

The sun was setting, and they ran through the darkening swamp. Using their compasses, they looked for more people to kill. “Over here!” Cellbit called. “There’s one of the people that tried to get into the ravine earlier!” He ran off.

Bad followed, pulling out his sword in one hand, compass in the other.

“They are going to pay for that!” Cellbit cried darkly, letting out a fake evil laugh. Bad snickered. They lost sight of the player a few times, but eventually found him again, they got closer and closer.

Cellbit was right on their tail. “Come back here!” He snarled.

“I’ll cut him off!” Bad called as they turned. He dove around a pond and a tree, readying his sword as he closed in on their victim. The player turned towards him, a few seconds too late, as Bad slashed them across the chest. Cellbit got in a good hit on their shoulder, making them stagger away. Bad chased, slashing twice through their back. But the player was fast, and gained ground, getting out of the demon’s reach.

They lost sight of him going around a ravine, but they kept up the trail. Bad met up with Cellbit and the two of them ran hard, keeping the same breakneck pace. Eventually Bad had to stop, bending over with his hands on his knees. Curse these old lungs. He gasped. Shouldn’t have smoked so much in his early days. “You got this!” He called to the kid, who was still sprinting ahead of him. After a second’s rest Bad ran after them. The chase wasn’t over.

They burst out of the trees, and back onto the snowy plains. Bad caught sight of Cellbit once again. The kid was booking it across the flat space, closing in on their target. Bad grinned as he saw Cellbit work to curve the frantic player back towards him. They met soon enough, sandwiching them between the two. Bad swung and missed.

“How did you miss it!” The kid growled, running past him. Bad rolled his eyes and gave one last burst of speed. He got ahead of Cellbit, and with one swift brutal slash to the back of the neck, he severed the player’s spine. They fell face-first into the snow, head twisted unnaturally. Cellbit pounced on their backpack, looting it quickly.

“Nice one.” The kid panted, shoveling containers of mushroom stew into his own backpack. He sat back on his haunches, staining his pants red with bloody snow.

“You too, you too.” Bad hunched over again, breathing deep. “C’mon let’s go.” He hauled Cellbit to his feet, the two of them took up a steady jog once again.

They found the next player on the edge of a ravine, Cellbit got the first few hits with his sword. Then they were chasing again. The player tried to double back after crossing another ravine, getting a good hit on Bad. The demon fell back.

Cellbit growled and body slammed the enemy into the deep hole. The kid leaned over the side. “They survived!” Bad joined him at the edge and peered down. A moment later they saw the player’s death message. Bad met Cellbit’s eyes, and then they both turned back to the ravine.

“Must be a team down there.” Bad grit his teeth. He saw movement, at least two people.

“There’s water over here!” Cellbit called from one end of the ravine. “C’mon!”

“Cannonball!” Bad jumped down first before the hotheaded kid could, landing perfectly in the small cave pool. Cellbit landed behind him. Both of them were soaked up to their knees now. They advanced. The remains of a mineshaft lined the sides of the ravine, cobwebs and oak plank supports. They scrambled over collapsed rocks.

“They’re dying to the spiders!” Cellbit laughed, jumping over the last pile of stone and leaping towards the players.

Bad caught sight of one of them running for cover, a giant cave spider right on their tail. When the two of them caught up, the players had squeezed themselves into a hole and sealed it off with cobblestone.

“Look at them!” Cellbit cackled. “They buried themselves with the spider!” The kid was loose and happy, seemingly in his element. He swung his sword lazily in arcs.

“That’s- yeah that’s not a good idea.” Bad laughed, bringing out his pickaxe and smoothly tearing into the rock. Cellbit joined him.

“Careful Cell-” Bad called. Suddenly the players spilled out of their hiding spot, getting two good solid hits on the kids shoulder and chest. Bad stepped back and was caught off guard as two thick fangs sunk into his calf. “Go away!” He growled, stabbing his sword straight into its skull. He turned back to see Cellbit holding his own against only one of the player’s. The other had retreated back into the hiding spot.

From the side he surprised the one attacking his kid by stabbing his sword deep into their ribs. Seeing their friend being double teamed, the other sprung back out and both focused on Cellbit.

“Die!” Bad snarled, slashing at both of them from behind them as Cellbit was backed into the wall. Bad managed to sink his sword into the first player’s stomach, ripping it out brutally, almost cutting them in half. The body fell, glancing off of the demon on its way down. Bad felt gore slide down his iron chestplate.

“Help!” Cellbit cried, blood dripping down his face. The remaining enemy had him pinned against the stone, their blade plunged deep into his shoulder. His sword had been knocked from his hand, and was now a few meters away from his straining hand. The kid kicked at his enemy desperately.

Bad slammed into the player with his shoulder, throwing them off balance and allowing Cellbit to fall away and scramble for his sword on the stone floor. The demon snarled as the player turned to lunge at him. Bad twisted, letting the blade slash through his shirt and ribs. He spun and slashed his opponent across the chest. The player fell back and returned the hit.

Cellbit came in and slammed the flat of his sword against the back of their knee. They buckled and swung their blade around to meet Cellbit’s iron as the kid blocked. Rising back to two feet, the player pushed down, trying to overpower him. Bad stabbed them in the shoulder, making them twist as the demon drove the sword into an oak pole, pinning them there.

“Just die!” Cellbit finished them off by driving his sword through the middle of their throat. Bad met the player’s eyes as they went dim. Blood gushed out to fully coat Cellbit’s blade, spilling down the body’s chest and onto the dusty stone.

Cellbit staggered to the side, leaning heavily against the wall. “Holy shit, that was close.” He gasped, hand reaching up to the cuts on the side of his torso. He winced.

Bad yanked the sword out of the body’s neck. It slumped against him on its way down and he kicked it to the side with his knee. “Good fight kid.” He handed Cellbit his sword back. He wiped his own sword off on the body’s clothes. The demon stayed alert. “Stupid spiders.” He growled, keeping his eyes peeled for more. “Must be a spawner somewhere.”

Cellbit just nodded, exhausted. He started rooting through the backpacks, pulling out a few iron ingots and some sponge. “Must’ve been a Launcher.” He murmured.

“Oh! You wanna use those to get out of here?” Bad asked, scooping a few from his hand.

“Can we?” Cellbit asked, hesitant. “I thought it was just Launchers.”

“Yeah.” Bad nodded. “If you take them from a Launcher you can use them yourself.” He started placing them on the ground.

“Oh.” Cellbit watched him. The kid cried out as a spider leapt onto him and sunk its fangs into his upper arm. “Shit! Spider!”

Bad stabbed it through the abdomen, knocking it off of him. Cellbit staggered away, biting his lip to keep from crying. This was clearly getting to be too much for him. The demon reached out to pat the kid gently on the back. Then Bad kept stacking the sponges, and climbed up the rocks.

“Wish me luck.” He said, then jumped onto the top sponge. “If I die-” the demon shot upwards, flying over the top of the ravine and crashing to the ground up above. “Ouch.” He grumbled, sitting up and leaning over to see if Cellbit was coming.

“Ah! I hate spiders!” He heard the kid cry out— voice cracking— before he too was sent flying. Bad just stood back as Cellbit also crashed into the grassy mud. “That was cool.” The kid groaned, lifting himself off the ground. Bad laughed. Cellbit laughed back, near hysterical. They were both absolutely done with things.

They found a place to take shelter for the rest of the night and heal. Bad helped Cellbit dress his wounds, and taught him to use swamp lily for cave spider poison. Then the demon started a fire and cooked up some warm mushroom stew. Cellbit had set out his bed roll against a huge log, and was curled up against it. His thin blanket was draped over his shoulder and tucked under his chin. Bad wouldn’t be surprised if the kid fell asleep before dinner was ready.

Tomorrow was the Feast, when a big supply drop would happen. Whoever got this drop was almost sure to win, Bad was humming with tension,even though the drop was at least 7 hours out. He wasn’t sure of the exact time, as nobody carried clocks on them, but his idea would improve once the sun began to rise. The kid could sleep, Bad would keep watch. He didn’t need as much sleep.

The mushroom stew didn’t take long, Bad ladled a portion each into the two bowls he always carried with him. He crawled over to Cellbit’s still form, gently tapping his shoulder twice with the tip of his tail. The kid was awake after the first, a hand darting out— fast as a snake— to grab the tail tight in one fist.

Bad grimaced and smiled. “Just me.” He whispered. Cellbit let go. “Before you go to bed, eat some stew, drink some water. Please.” He handed the kid his bowl, and crawled back to his spot— on the other side of the fire.

Cellbit sat up slowly, no doubt his entire body was sore. He took his spoon from his pack and shoveled bite after bite into his mouth. They were all used to mushroom stew, the same two edible mushrooms that spawned in the swamps were always there, always quick to take and eat. But Cellbit’s eyes lit up at the taste of Bad’s stew. The demon knew how to make those knobby, nasty mushrooms taste somewhat decent. “Thank you.” The soft accented whisper was barely heard over the fire. But Bad appreciated it, and bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

After soup was eaten, and water drunk, Cellbit turned back over on his bedroll. The kid had one hand on his iron sword, which he held down by his side. His other arm made a makeshift pillow against his face.

Bad pretended like he didn’t watch as slowly, Cellbit allowed himself to let his guard down, and sleep. The demon wondered just how often the kid had slept during these games— if he’d ever slept on these fields. Bad certainly hadn’t, even in his many rounds. Only six-ish more hours until the sun rose, and they’d pack up, head out for the Feast. Bad leaned back against his tree, and kept his ears perked for movement. They’d set up camp in between the swamp and the snowy plain, tucked in a ditch with a log and a few small trees. There was cover for them, but not much beyond that, several dozen meters of empty ground were their best protection.

He was used to this— running scenarios through his head the night before a Feast. By his estimation there should be less than a fourth of the original number of players. If he was going on averages, the number was more like ten to fifteen. Bad squinted at the leaves over his head. Most people who survived this long probably had a teammate, at least one. So they could probably expect six to ten teams to also be after the Feast, maybe minus a few because of distance or reluctance. There were always a few people who just hunkered down and hid until the Pit. A shiver went up Bad’s spine, the amount of times he’d died in that Pit ran through his mind. Death after death after death, his hands scrabbling at the stone. The worst part was always knowing he was so close.

Bad let out a small scream as he felt teeth gouge into his upper arm. His other hand came up to press back against the forehead of Cellbit. The kid’s fangs were fully dug into his flesh and Bad winced as they tugged the wound wider. “Cellbit!” His eyes were fully narrowed into slits, shiny and hungry and violent. Bad shoved again, shaking his shoulder in another attempt to dislodge the grip. Blood shone on Cellbit’s chin as he only dug in deeper. “Cellbit stop! Please.” Bad hissed louder. “I don’t want to hurt you.” The kid did not let go.

Bad grit his teeth and with his free hand reached to where Cellbit’s jaw hinged. Pressing down with a firm thumb, he worked at the joint until the pressure caused pain. Cellbit yelped and his grip on the demon loosened. Bad slipped away, leaping over the fire and on top of the log. His tail was curled up over his back in a defensive position.

Cellbit stayed frozen, teeth snapping shut with a click. He opened his mouth again, and shut it again. Then repeated the action a few more times. His eyes were still, empty hungry slits. He turned his head to stare at the demon on the log.

Bad shook his head and sat back, gripping the bite mark and wiping the blood away. “Kid, it’s too late at night to do this please.” He swung his legs back and forth. “Wait until morning?” He spoke softly and calmly, not letting fear into his heart. As far as he knew it was the only way to calm the Cannibal Curse, to show it no fear, and hopefully no more blood.

Cellbit stayed still, only his chest moving up and down in slow, steady breaths. Bad crept down from the log, reaching into his backpack to retrieve some bandages. The kid’s eyes watched his every movement. Bad kept talking calmly to him, telling him about the ingredients in the stew, and where they were, and how very very chill he was right now. Yep, Bad was not creeped out by this at all. It definitely wasn’t disturbing to see a Cursed kid staring into his soul with the demon’s own blood staining his teeth. Bad cleaned the bite wound and wrapped bandages around his upper arm. When that was settled he sat down where he was, only a meter from the kid.

Cellbit was crouched in the dirt. His hair was wild, mussed from sleep. Somehow his eyes had gotten crazier than his normal. Bad stared back at him, blinking slowly. Seconds passed, then minutes, and finally after about half an hour Cellbit was settled and awake. The kid groggily stared at the fresh dressing on Bad’s arm. His hand slowly rose to his mouth, and he twisted his body to sit back down on his butt. With dirty hands he wiped the sticky dark red blood from his lips— again, again, again he wiped. He couldn’t get clean, and he was frantic for it. Frantic for the demon’s blood to never have been spilt by him.

Bad wilted with sympathy, and handed the kid his water bottle. “It’s ok, I’m not mad, you do what you have to Cellbit.” Bad scooted over to sit next to him.

The wild haired kid laughed. “Never had someone have that reaction to me trying to eat them.” He took a big swig of water and spat it out.

Bad smirked. “Never had someone try to eat me before. There’s a reason why people don’t choose the Cannibal Curse.”

Cellbit’s cracked smile morphed into a sour frown. “Yeah.” He murmured.

“Hey.” Bad flicked his tail. “Once you’re out of here, you’ll be free, okay?”

“Sure.” Cellbit growled.

“I mean it, you point me at em and I’ll rip those bastards to shreds. You’ll never have to see this place again.” Bad clenched the dirt beneath him in his clawed hands.

Cellbit leaned into his side, the kid’s head smashing against his heart. “I don’t know if I want to believe you.” He mumbled, then yawned.

The demon was stiff with shock. The kid— besides the time just now when he’d tried to eat him— had never even brushed up against him. Muffins, had he like, imprinted on him or something? He didn’t know how kids worked!

Bad patted Cellbit’s head awkwardly, cooing noises coming from somewhere deep within him. His fingertips brushed up against something hidden within the kid’s wild hair, two somethings actually. They were ears, two small, fluffy cat ears. Perched where Bad had expected human ears should be. The demon froze again, was this kid seriously also a cat hybrid? Bad looked up at the sky and cursed the universe for sending him the cutest little murder-muffin child ever. Cellbit fell asleep like that, and Bad could swear he started purring.

When the sun rose, Bad was deep in meditation. His legs had long since fallen asleep but he didn’t dare move and disturb the sleeping cat hybrid. But as the birds started chirping, Cellbit blinked himself awake. The kid sprang away from Bad, embarrassed. Smoothly— the demon just ignored him and stood up to stretch.

“Time to get going for the Feast.” Bad murmured, doing a quick survey of the fields around them. No players in sight, good. They were a good 1000 blocks out from where the drop would be, they needed to leave, now. Bad had his things packed up in a minute, and Cellbit was right behind him. The kid was oddly cheery given the circumstances, but Bad just accepted it. The games made everyone a little weird, even if that weirdness was being a morning person.

The two of them trekked towards the coords, alert for danger. Their compasses pointed to people ahead of them, at least a couple. Bad readied his sword and advanced— Cellbit was about three meters back and at 4 o’clock, flanking him. The players came into view, one dashing by and the other ahead, in full iron.

Bad signaled for them to focus the fully armored player first, they were the most dangerous. Cellbit nodded in agreement, and they crept up towards them. A lava pool sat to their right, and Bad circled around it, hoping to catch the player off-guard and knock him into it. Unfortunately they saw him. When the demon lunged, they met him with equal force, exchanging blow after blow. Cellbit came up behind both of them and body slammed the player into a nearby ditch. They scrambled to their feet and took off running. Bad and Cellbit took up the chase.

Horns sounded, nearly knocking Bad off balance. He stopped running. Cellbit skidded to a halt next to him. “The Feast!” The kid cried, spinning around. The two of them focused on a thin beacon in the near distance, announcing the location of the large supply drop.

“Let’s go! Go go go!” Bad shouted, sprinting off towards it. Cellbit whooped and followed. They dashed towards it, anxiety building the longer they were away from it. The horns meant that there was 40 seconds until it dropped, hopefully just enough time to get there— and kill anyone guarding it.

Cellbit passed by Bad, terror spurring him onward. “There’s a full iron!” He called back once he reached the lip of a large circle of cleared terrain. The ground below was pure stone, inorganically dug out just for the Feast. Cellbit paused, staring down at it.

“Let’s get them!” Bad cried, running straight up to him and leaping down without hesitating. The two attacked the full iron player viciously, Cellbit taking on the bulk of the attack. The kid swung his sword over and over again, clashing against his opponent's iron chestplate. Bad helped him at his flank, getting in a few good hits before he was hit from behind.

A wildcat dragged him off his feet, sinking its claws into his shoulders. Bad twisted and stabbed wildly at it. “A Chameleon!” He cried out a warning to Cellbit as the wildcat shifted back into a player and ran off towards the middle of the circle. Bad ran after it, running directly into Cellbit’s fight. He took his chance and cut through the full iron player— wedging his sword in the slot by his armpit, shoving up and through the important artery there. Blood spurted around the iron blade as Bad uncaringly dragged it back out and the body collapsed.

In just a split second Bad glanced up at the tower above them— made of spindly oak planks. Muffins, a player tower. He brought up his ax, calling a warning to Cellbit. Thunder shook his heart as he called down lightning— directly to the top of the tower. The wood was burnt almost immediately to a crisp, showering debris down on the both of them.

Another lightning strike landed just a meter from him— and suddenly the Feast was here. A player jumped down and landed brokenly on one of the chests— desperate for anything. Cellbit dispatched him swiftly with a calculated slash to the throat. “He’s dead!” The kid called, giddy.

Bad opened the closest chest to him and snatched the diamond sword within. As he was scavenging Cellbit called out warning him. Bad turned around to see another desperate player attempting to open another chest, Cellbit chased him off with a couple of well placed hits. It was a mad frenzy. As Bad took a second to watch, he saw another player run up out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh no you don’t!” Bad yelled, lunging and slamming the butt of his new diamond sword into the side of their helmetless head. The body crumpled immediately. Bad stepped over it to run and help Cellbit with one of his fights. But the kid had his teeth sunk in— and the player dead— by the time Bad arrived. They turned back without a word to the Feast.

Quickly they looted. Like deer, looking up every other second. Bad slipped on some diamond boots and gathered precious health potions into his backpack. The demon grinned as Cellbit slipped on a diamond chestplate.

“I need boots!” The kid called and Bad spun, looking over the dead bodies around them.

“That guy has boots.” He said, gesturing to the full iron player he had finished off earlier.

“Look out,” Cellbit warned, rushing over to yank the boots off of the dead player. “There’s a guy up there.”

Bad looked up and sure enough, on the lip of the circle was yet another player. This one waited, and watched. Bad switched between watching them, and the other player, who’d slowly been towering above them still. The demon shifted on his feet, anxiously holding his ax. With a cry he called lightning to hit the tower once more— another miss, more burnt wood and splinters.

Cellbit and Bad stood back to back, ready, waiting. The demon aligned himself with the tower, and called down yet another strike. His teeth tasted weird in the back of his mouth, and he could see faint spots in his eyesight. But Bad felt on top of the world. “Die!” He cried, sending another, then another, until the tower exploded violently.

“Woah!” Cellbit shouted from behind him, the kid turned to stare.

Somehow the player was still alive. Not for long, if Bad and his undefeatable lightning had anything to say about it. The demon waited, aligning himself perfectly this time. “Die die die!” He laughed, lightning struck once more, and the player’s body slammed to the ground.

“Nice one!” Cellbit called. Bad turned back to the Feast, ready for more.

“Let’s clear these out.” Bad instructed, digging into the chests. Cellbit lay his chestplate on the enchantment table in the middle. Mere seconds passed.

“Watch out! Behind us!” Bad jumped over the chests and sprinted towards a player who was headed their way. He hit them once, a slash deep in the shoulder, and they turned away. Bad returned to Cellbit, not wanting to lose anything good in the Feast.

They stayed like that for a bit more, anxiously scaring off other players. They were gathering like hungry ravens around a kill, eyes dark. Bad and Cellbit burned any remaining items, and exploded the chests, before heading out once again. On their way they added yet another player kill to their list. Bad had lost count at this point.

The sun had risen on a cloudy day in the snowy plains. Their breath turned to wisps of fog, and the wind nipped at their faces. Distantly small songbirds sang in the bushes, but nearby it was silent, scared. Bad pulled out his compass, looking for their next targets. They headed towards the swamp once more.

But the demon’s compass pointed down, deep down. So they dug down as carefully as they could, passing by a spider spawner on their way. It was good for gaining levels, so they camped it and each enchanted their swords.

Eventually they were met with an underground ravine, and spotted the player they had been searching for. Bad pulled out his tnt and raised an eyebrow to Cellbit. Cellbit stared back at him and then nodded once. The demon snickered, and placed it right above the player's head. He was lost in it now, as Thor Curse’s said, he was lightning sick. Bad lit the tnt with his flint and steel and backed up. The first missed, so he placed another, then another. And finally, their enemy was dead.

Embarrassingly, on their way out— they got lost. The cave tunnels were winding and dark, with random torches placed by the player they had just killed. The two bickered and complained. It was a whole hour before they were finally out again. Rain was falling lightly on the swamp grass, but dark clouds and rumbles on the horizon forecasted a big storm.

They searched for loners in the swamp, using their compasses and hefting their backpacks over their heads to keep dry. Cellbit’s ears kept flickering in annoyance at the wetness. Bad had such an urge to tease him about it— but something told him he’d be bitten again for that.

A lone player they found was trying to hide in a small hole. Cellbit quickly finished them off out of sight of Bad. When the kid emerged he was wiping bits of flesh from the corners of his mouth. Bad’s tail danced in the rain, he didn’t care anymore— whatever it took to win. It was raining steadily now, and rolls of thunder made their ears ring. Lightning lit up the fields in the distance— the sun had set.

They went after a team of two next, these players had also chosen to stay underground. Bad was cautious, ready for traps. He knew of at least a few that meant death for them, almost instant death.

Cellbit found the players first, driving one of them— unarmored and defenseless right into Bad’s waiting sword. The demon cut them almost in half, sword sinking up through their ribs and lodging into their spine. Bad hissed as he drew his blade out— and wiped it on the body’s clothes.

Next, the teammate. Bad found them first this time, as they quite literally ran into each other. Bad sprung back as they placed lava in between them. The demon sidestepped and stabbed at his enemy. He quickly disoriented them and spun smoothly to strike them from behind, killing them instantly with a blade through the back of the neck.

Bad checked, four players left, two enemies. They could do this, they could actually win. Bad would let the kid take the win, and then they could both go kill his slavers together. The demon almost skipped at the fantasy.

They went back up to the surface, compasses out and ran across the snowy plains hunting for the last two people. Eventually they came across a tower, and Cellbit groaned as the compasses pointed down once more.

“You gotta be kidding me.” The kid moaned, throwing his head up.

“Underground again.” Bad rolled his eyes, crouching down to pinpoint the location. The demon offered to dig down, and in a one by two hole, started his descent. Dirt turned to stone. Cellbit followed him down with a water bucket, and soon they were right on top of their enemy. Bad frantically mined through stone, teeth bared, ready for a fight. Cellbit broke through the rock first, jumping down to brutally stab through the poor player’s iron chestplate. Bad only heard a choked scream, and they were dead.

Bad sighed, and backed up. The kid emerged smiling wide. “Good fight.” The demon murmured. Cellbit shrugged and started towering back up. Bad followed. One more person left.

Their compasses pointed right at them, off in the distance. They were on the hunt again. Red poppies stood tall out of snow covered grass. Scattered footprints scuffed the white powder, spraying it every which way. Bad and Cellbit thundered past.

Bad looked down at his compass, swerving side to side to check if they were close. The needle barely moved, they were. The demon slowed down next to a pond, circling it. Cellbit was opposite him, also examining his compass closely.

“Another one underground.” Bad growled— pocketing his tool. His tail lashed with frustration.

Cellbit looked up at him, a quip forming on his lips. He disappeared. Just like that.

“Cellbit!” Bad yelled. Muffins, this wasn’t good. That meant only one thing— this player was an Endermage. The demon dug his pickaxe desperately into the earth, nearing the fight, not hearing anything besides his own desperate breaths. His kid was going to die if he couldn’t get there in time. He tore at the stone, lightning sparking in his eyes and mouth. He could smell the ozone— like burning plastic.

Bad’s heart sank as Cellbit’s death message popped up. The demon screamed out in rage and dug even faster. Panic shot through him, he could be next, at any minute. There was a cool down— and five seconds of invincibility immediately afterwards— but it was still putting his life in his enemies hands. A horrible tugging feeling in his gut was the only warning he had before the demon was pulled through space.

Then he was falling. One. Solidly hitting lava, screaming as he expected to burn. Two. Bad wasn’t burning, wasn’t dying. Three. Get up, get up, get up. Four. The demon screamed again, dragging himself out and onto nearby cobblestone. Five.

The heat from the cobblestone hit him suddenly as the invincibility wore off. He was down in a ravine— lava pool right next to him, enemy above him. Bad crouched, backing up until he was hidden from sight by a large stone overhang. Good, the Endermage shouldn’t know where he was. His breaths came heavy as the heat sucked the oxygen from the air. Bad set his backpack down carefully— and withdrew his bow and quiver. He slung his quiver onto his back and then the pack after it. Carefully, the demon nocked an arrow, and swung up and around to where he’d last seen the player. He aimed, and fired. Bad didn’t know if he’d missed or not, but he nocked another arrow and waited three seconds. No retaliation. He popped his head out again, and shot once more. The player had built up a wall, blocking Bad’s arrows.

“Muffins.” The demon cursed under his breath. There was no other option besides chasing after them. Bad started towering up, building a wall at his back first so he couldn’t be knocked off. When he was level with where he’d last seen his opponent he looked over, a similar— but taller— walled tower had been built. Bad rolled his eyes. Now what.

The demon scooted over to it, sliding along a precarious ledge in the wall of the ravine. Grasping a handhold he leaned forward and placed two tnt, hoping one would launch the other towards the tower. Bad lit it and scrambled back to his tower. When he looked back— the top of the tower, and the player, were gone. He flicked his flint and steel desperately needing light, and spotted them just as they whipped around the corner on a ledge across from his.

Bad growled and bridged over the ravine as fast as he could. The demon crept quietly along the wall, sword drawn. He fought off a skeleton that blindsided him— but once he was done with that, the player had disappeared. The compass pointed down into the ground once again. Bad wavered, unsure of what to do. The player could have laid down traps, they could still Endermage him. And the Pit was coming up soon— when they’d be teleported instantly into a deep deep hole to fight to the death.

Bad decided to follow the player down, parallel to their deep tunnel. He dug and dug, getting closer and closer. The compass in his hand was shivering madly. Bad could practically smell the blood already. He needed to get his revenge for Cellbit, needed to sink his teeth into the flesh of this player.

That same tugging feeling was back, swooping his stomach out from under him. For a second he thought he’d been Endermage-d again. But when he blinked his eyes open and staggered on his feet— he could see the tall walls of the Pit surrounding him. Bad lashed his tail and spun around, ready to face his enemy. He twirled his sword once, gripped the handle tight, and raced over to where the player was desperately towering up the side.

In a flash of brilliant thought, the demon whipped out his only enderpearl. Bad tossed it smoothly a few blocks above the player’s head— then he held his breath. Bad sprang into re-existence right on top of them, wrapping his legs around their neck, he leaned back into the wall and pushed. The player toppled off of the tower and the demon spun midair to catch himself on the lip of the tower. Bracing himself with his feet against the stone wall— he looked down at his enemy.

The player had staggered to their feet and taken a few steps— desperately trying to distance themself. Bad shook his head, grinning— and leapt off to land smoothly in front of them. He advanced, sword out. “Bring it buddy.” The demon slid his tongue over his sharp teeth and tensed. With brutal force and no time for his opponent to react— Bad stabbed his diamond sword through their neck and up into their skull. The thrust carved through flesh, cartilage and bone�� settling the blade solidly into the body. Bad swung the sword to the side and sent it crashing to the stone floor. That was honestly a little underwhelming.

He kicked dust at the body— before turning and looking up at the sky. Bad felt the familiar instant drain— as the lightning left his blood and exhaustion swamped him. He always hated the silence right afterwards, how it made his skin crawl and jaw ache. Soon, he would be teleported back to the Game Hall, and paraded around in front of businessmen and server owners. The demon tapped one clawed finger against his palm— anxious, tired, and sick.

He was looking forward to finding Cellbit. No doubt the slavers would be bragging about their prized third place catch. Bad would find them— Bad would probably meet them, shake hands with them and memorize their faces, as Cellbit was trapped somewhere, still wounded. Bad had talked to slaver’s catches before— those types of organizations had special arrangements to teleport their players right back to their cages.

The demon stretched with his arms over his head, and yawned. The Game was over— but another one was beginning. Bad lunged to one side, then the other, working cramps out of his legs. His tail twitched. The pull returned one more time, sinking into his gut harshly and tugging him through space. Time to go rescue his kid.

#qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #badboyhalo #cellbit #q!bbh #q!cellbit #mushroom art spores

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2-braincells · 11 days

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this pic was supposed to become a lineup of Magical Girl Mountaineers but i realized designing 7 cohesive yet distinct magical girl designs is a mite difficult. so i will just ramble abt the au instead

My sister helped me come up with it ofc. shout out to her <3

ok so from left to right: Joel (green, axe), Grian (red, tnt), Impulse (yellow, hammer), Gem (blue, trident), Scar (orange, bow), Skizz (black, sword), Mumbo (purple, end crystals).

Big Salmon is their benefactor/god/boss. tells them what to do. skizz would prob be the first to aquire his magical girlieness. all their outfits would have some sort of nautical design. and also maybe cherry blossoms (this is why i didnt actually draw it. theres so many elements to balance)

the snails are their lil friends. whatever the cat does in sailor moon (ive not watched it o7)

their transformation trigger is either the salmon noise or a bell. while they transform, time freezes. if ur nearby, ur still concious and can hear "please hold" playing. this is a tactic to give them an advantage as it deals psychic damage. in their own personal bubble, the magical girl's timelapse music plays.

they fight doc. cuz salmon

they all have big colourful anime hair ofc.

and i think thats it????? idk. have fun.

#tag me if u do anything with this :))))#rain's brain #mcyt au #magical mountain #hermitcraft s10 #joel smallishbeans #grian #impulsesv

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pippin-katz · 1 year

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Favorite Merthur Things

Obviously everyone loves this scene in general and while my little shipper heart loves to see that, what I’m gonna say could be true either way!

Something that I think a lot of Merlin fans notice about this scene is just how distraught Arthur looks.

I think the big reason Arthur is so upset here is because he actually sees Uther trying to kill him.

He knows that Uther has been trying to kill the others, (Gwen & Percival) but he didn’t see it happen. It can be upsetting to know something, but it is so much worse when you see it for yourself. There’s also the denial he had been clinging to that they had just been accidents before they actually see Uther.

Those incidents were indirect attacks. Granted the one on Percival could’ve been way worse, but it’s not as though Uther swung the axe himself. It’s not as thought he murdered Gwen outright; he trapped her so that she would die, but he didn’t literally try to kill her.

Here, Uther has him pinned to the wall with spears, and is actively advancing on him with his own sword.

Any hope or scrap of denial that his father cares for him is shattered.

Uther never approved of Gwen or the non-noble knights idea, but it was him who appointed Merlin his manservant in the first place. While he’d been willing to let Merlin die over the years, he had never attempted to murder him. Even when Merlin was being a nuisance and terrible servant, he didn’t order Arthur to get rid of him. He even acknowledges and appreciates Merlin’s loyalty.

There’s other moments, but this is the really big one. Uther is being completely honest and genuine because he thinks he’s going to die. As big of an asshole he is to Merlin, there is some sort of underlying respect for him because of his dedication to Arthur. I think Arthur knows that too, at least a little bit.

So to see Uther trying to kill Merlin outright even though he knows all that he’s done for him, it makes the damn crack. He doesn’t know that Uther’s so determined because of the magic, so all he sees is his father trying to kill his best friend. Knowing about the other attacks and now seeing this one? He is justifiably devastated.

I wish Arthur had been allowed to cry more. I know Merlin suffers the most, but it’s not even a question that Arthur is right behind him in second place.

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin thoughts #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #uther pendragon #favorite merthur things #merthur #medieval husbands #two sides of the same coin #merlin 5x03 #the death song of uther pendragon #the once and future fandom

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justcallmefox89 · 1 month

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Consequences (Rolan x m!Drow Paladin fic)

Drakul has reached the end of his very limited patience with a certain wizard.

It had been four days, four bloody days, since Drakul and his merry group of misfits had appeared at the Grove with wild promises of aid against the druids and the goblins. But as far as Rolan can tell the under-elf hasn’t accomplished anything of note. Oh, he’s charmed the other tieflings surely, especially Cal and Lia. And he manages to flirt with Dammon every chance he gets, flustering the usually oblivious weaponsmith until he’s a blushing mess. Not that Rolan cares who Drakul flirts with, of course he doesn’t.

What he does care about is the way Drakul looks at him, watches him when he thinks Rolan doesn’t notice. The way the drow’s eyes linger over his form, drinking in every inch of his body like it’s water and he’s a man dying of thirst. And when Rolan dares to meet his eyes Drakul smirks at him, impish and lascivious, crimson eyes widened in faux innocence. It’s maddening, the reactions Drakul can tease from him with just a look… and even more infuriating is that Rolan finds himself enjoying the attention, even searching out Drakul’s flirtatious gaze on occasion, eager to once again feel the heat that races over his skin every time their eyes meet.

With considerable effort Rolan wrenches his thoughts away from Drakul and back to more immediate concerns, namely getting himself and his siblings to Baldur’s Gate as soon as possible.

“We should have left by now! Damnation!” he growls for the umpteenth time, scowling at his siblings. “Instead we’re just sitting here- practically begging to be attacked. Staying is a mistake.”

His sister glares right back, ready to retort but is interrupted by approaching footsteps.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Karlach says, hefting her battle axe on her shoulder. “The tieflings need help.”

“And what about us?” Rolan argues. “There’s every chance we’ve doomed ourselves by helping these people. We will end up fodder for some goblin’s blade – all because Lia insists on helping every wounded foal we see. Our best chance is to make it to Baldur’s Gate own our own. This place is lost.”

Drakul snorts and mutters something in the drow tongue, too low for Rolan to make out, but the tone is clearly disparaging.

“Something to add?” Rolan sneers.

Drakul laconically shrugs one shoulder and continues cleaning bloodstains from his sword with a damp cloth. He pointedly avoids Rolan’s gaze, refusing to acknowledge the patronizing tone of the wizard’s voice.

“Why the rush to leave?” Gale, the human wizard and only sufferable member of Drakul’s company as far as Rolan is concerned, interjects.

Rolan sighs. “My apprenticeship with Lorroakan begins shortly. I cannot be late.” He pauses to allow the revelation sink in. “Yes, that Lorroakan. The greatest wizard in Baldur’s Gate.”

Gale hums in contemplation. “I’ve heard that name before. A young man, yes? Lives in Ramazith’s Tower in the Upper City?”

“The very same.”

“Word in Waterdeep is that he’s a bit of a cad. But you say he’s an accomplished wizard?”

“Of course he is!” Rolan scoffs. “The greatest spellcaster along the Sword Coast. As if I’d settle for a lesser mentor.”

“Of course he is!” Drakul mimics him, chuckling and sheathing his blade. He rolls his eyes. “You colnbluth are rarely as powerful as you believe yourselves to be. ”

“In that case, I’d very much appreciate it if you could arrange an introduction should we reach the city,” Gale cuts in, shooting Drakul a warning look. “One can never have too many powerful acquaintances.”

“If it’s powerful acquaintances your after, you have to look no further than yours truly.” Rolan preens, brushing down his robes. “Few can match me – in either magic or talent.”

“Then by all means, oh great and powerful magus, please rid these wilds of all the dangers you will face on your journey to Baldur’s Gate,” Drakul drawls, lowering himself into a deep bow. “Surely one so powerful as yourself will have no issues eliminating these obstacles posthaste.”

Rolan gasps, outraged. “You dare speak to me-”

“I will speak to an arrogant child however I like,” Drakul replies calmly, straightening up and meeting his eyes.

Knowing their elder brother’s temper and the storm that will soon be coming, Lia and Cal take several steps away from the pair. Barely a heartbeat later, Gale and Karlach follow them to safety.

“Arrogant child?” Rolan sputters, completely incensed.

“What else would you have me call you? You sit here, behind the safety of these walls, whining and complaining. You do nothing to aid your kin or assist in your escape from this place. Oh you posture and you brag about how powerful you are, how easily you could vanquish the goblins… but like a child you cower behind the true warriors. You disparage our efforts, my efforts, extolling your own virtues like a puffed up iblith, unconcerned with anyone or anything else. Do you think I choose to be here? That my companions and I are just on holiday, that we have nothing better to do than solve the problems of other people? You take for granted the fact that we give over our might and our talents to your cause and have agreed to protect you and your people. Thankless, egotistical child.” Drakul steps toe to toe with Rolan, so close that their chests brush together, and stares down at him with cold, furious eyes.

Rolan grits his teeth, his anger flaring even as his traitorous body responds to Drakul’s close proximity. He breathes in deeply in an attempt to calm himself, but only succeeds in dragging more of Drakul’s delicious scent into his nostrils. Beneath the smells of sweat, musk, and blood, which even under pain of death will Rolan never admit that he finds deeply erotic in their own profane way, he smells the scents he associates only with Drakul… night-blooming flowers, sandalwood, and evening twilight.

“You pompous, self-important, high-handed bastard!” Rolan hisses.

Drakul lashes out, catching Rolan’s jaw firmly with one hand. He tilts Rolan’s face up so that he can stare directly into his eyes. Rolan flushes a deep burgundy as his cock thickens in his trousers, licking his lips and involuntarily swaying closer to Drakul, painfully aroused by even this fleeting touch from the drow.

Something Rolan can’t quite decipher flashes across Drakul’s face, but it is quickly replaced by stern, uncompromising authority. He leans towards Rolan, bringing his mouth close to the tiefling’s ear. Rolan shudders and his cock grows even harder as Drakul’s warm breath ghosts over the sensitive shell of his ear.

“Usstan'sargh wael! I am Drakul’ayne, eldest son and weapons master of the noble and honoured House Barri’mtor. I am a lord, and you will give me the reverence I am due. Am I understood, little wizard?” Drakul growls, his deep voice rumbling low in his chest.

Rolan nods wordlessly, for once eager to obey another. To please.

Drakul draws back, a faint smile on his lips as he carefully studies Rolan’s face. “I asked you a question, Rolan.”

“I understand,” he answers, nodding rapidly.

“I understand, what?”

Rolan scowls, realizing what Drakul wants but reluctant to give it to him. He hesitates long enough for the smile to slip from Drakul’s face, replaced by a look of disapproval.

“I understand, my lord!” Rolan blurts out, tension seizing him at the thought of disappointing the paladin.

Drakul smiles at him then, bright and dazzling, releasing his jaw and gently brushing the backs of his fingers against Rolan’s ridged cheek. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Rolan flushes with equal parts shame and pride at the praise.

“Uh, Drakul?” Karlach call hesitantly, shuffling from foot to foot. “We need to get going. Astarion is waiting.”

Drakul huffs and rolls his eyes. “And just when we were getting somewhere,” he grumbles under his breath, taking a small step away from Rolan.

Rolan mourns the sudden loss of his heat and internally curses Karlach, wishing for nothing more than to keep basking in Drakul’s presence, reveling in his fleeting touches and authoritative words.

“Be good for me, little wizard,” Drakul says, tapping the tip of Rolan’s nose with his forefinger, the seemingly innocuous words a thinly veiled command.

“I… um…yes,” Rolan stutters.

Drakul wordlessly arches one white brow.

“Yes, my lord,” Rolan quickly amends.

Drakul’s eyelids flutter and he releases a quiet, slightly obscene groan, just loud enough for Rolan to hear. “Such a good boy,” he whispers, before turning and quickly rejoining his comrades.

Rolan stays rooted to the spot, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he gasps for breath, aroused and furious.

How dare he?! How dare he speak to me like that! And what the hells is wrong with me that I… that I…

Rolan huffs and crosses his arms, unable to even finish the thought. Cal and Lia approach him slowly, trying to gauge his mood.

“So uh… that was something,” Lia says slowly, biting back a smile. Cal elbows her, unable to conceal his own smirk.

“Oh shut up!” Rolan snarls, shoving past his annoying siblings, eager to find some place where he can be alone and sort through the confusing jumble of feelings and thoughts Drakul has awakened within him. He unobtrusively tugs at the front of his trousers, annoyed to find himself still hard and wanting. Yes, some place with a bit of privacy would be welcome right about now.

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