#i. countenance ‚ pick up your bones‚ this war is not done with you.

[securcity-archive]

THE UGLIES FEATURED ON EDEN: the fungus eventually takes over the entirety of the host that they harbor, as the person infected no longer looks human nor have any conscious thoughts.

#edits. #i. countenance ‚ pick up your bones‚ this war is not done with you.

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Four

Read on AO3

cw: medical trauma/abuse

They stripped her to the bone and prodded her towards the corner with the spigot about a metre above her head. Their eyes were focused intently on her every move, calculating each misstep. One of her guards called out into the hall and the water surged down in high pressured spurts. She had been naked with strangers before. Had been dressed by them. Bare and vulnerable. Mrs. Fitz came to mind. But this was not anything like that, it felt demeaning, dehumanising. It was intended to humble her. 

 The other guard threw a bar of soap which Claire fumbled with and fell to the floor. The grime on the floor had built up for years and mould dotted the edges of the shower. She scrunched her nose at the thought of picking the soap up from such an environment, but the stares of the guards burrowed deep into her skin.

 “Two minutes.”

Claire carefully traced the spot above her heart. It stung less than before when she was weaned off of the pain medication. Claire was heavily sedated for those six days in hospital. She felt like she had when she returned through the stones, a crushing weight bearing down on her body. And she was all alone. Her injury was monitored until she could be properly transferred to Danvers State Hospital, or rather the Danvers Lunatic Asylum, where they placed her unceremoniously in her cage-like room. The pounding force of the shower left a dull pain, almost opening the wound on her breast again. She scrubbed the dirt, the pain off of her skin until she felt she had no skin left. 

 Claire was soon in the plain cotton uniform they provided everyone. Her hair flew wildly above her head because she was unable to comb through her curls. They at least deemed her safe enough to not need restraints on top of the guards that flanked her. How kind. Those were reserved for the more violent afflictions.

 She watched as her tangled curls floated down to the tiled floor around her feet. Her hair was shorn to about her chin to conform with the other patients. 

 The institute had yet decided what to do about her condition, which they concluded was melancholia and the hysteria which accompanied it. All unnecessary consequences of her female persuasion. 

 “I assure you, sir, I am perfectly fine. Now if I could just speak to my husband.” She forced herself to put out the last word.

 “He is still considering the terms of your release and treatment. You gave Mr. Randall quite a shock.” Doctor Lionel Brown quirked his eyebrows at his patient, placing the pairs of his pointer and middle finger against his lips in thought.

 “I know. Now if you’d just-“

 A knock sounded at the door.

 “Mr. Anderson you may come in.”

 “Mrs. Randall, this is Mr. Anderson, our specialist in mood disorders. He’s shed some insight with me earlier about what may be best in order for you to be released. If you don’t mind, Mr. Anderson.” 

 “I think our electroshock therapies would be very conducive for her recovery. When repeated twice a week, these treatments help ease pain and reduce memories that are hard to pass on their own.” Anderson glanced at Doctor Brown and continued. “Another option if the treatments are unable to hold and improve your condition is the transorbital lobotomy which is guaranteed to permanently improve it. I can assure you ma’am this avenue has been thoroughly researched and our patients report a calm demeanour within weeks of the operation. 

 “I highly doubt that’s necessary sir.” Claire scoffed. 

 Claire slumped in her chair and considered for a second. She could be free of the pain, of the man who haunted her every waking moment. She could stop mourning her husband, her family at Lallybroch, and her children. Maybe she would forget and finally be able to return to Frank as Jamie had intended. But she could never forget Jamie, no matter what happened to her. Her mind may forget but her soul would always keep him within her. 

 It was four doors later that she reluctantly followed one of the nurse’s in the ward down the dreary halls. No matter her reluctance to it, her treatments would begin according to the doctor’s schedule. 

 Claire was instructed to take off her shoes as she entered the room. She glanced around the room only to be met with unfamiliar faces. She had comforted the woman who went before her who was convulsing and writhing on the treatment table. Claire tried to soothe her and soon her breathing evened out and a dazed look took over her face. There was no fighting this. If Claire refused to comply, it would be much worse. The woman slouched to the floor and began her walk away from the machine. 

 The orderly wiped off the metal table from the woman’s sweat and perhaps even a small amount of urine: the reactions to the terror. He sighed and wrote on the chart, detailing exactly how the patient’s body handled the treatment. He pointed to the table, not even sparing a glance at Claire. One. Two. Three. She thought as she forced each step. Her back and limbs arched away from the shocking cold of the metal and her muscles tensed reflexively. 

 The nurse placed a flat wooden stick in her mouth and instructed her to bite down. Her arms and legs were strapped down before she could change her mind and start thrashing against her jailer. Two firm ovals suctioned to her temples and a strap ran around her head securing the device to her head. 

 Perhaps it was her indifference that led them to choose this method of torture. She would be sure to smile and have all the warmth of a womanly countenance when she next met with Doctor Brown. Her fate depended on her first husband, and the doctor that held her hostage within the suffocating walls of the institution. She had made her feelings quite clear to Frank, and perhaps he was enacting his vengeance this way.

 As the first wave of electricity passed through her body straight to her heart and mind, her body convulsed under its strain. After the base time of thirty seconds for her treatment, her body slumped back down onto the cold surface that sent chills down her spine. She was left disoriented and stupid, waiting to gain back her senses. 

 “Who’s this, Smiley?” Claire’s mind could barely discern the shape of the figure hanging on the doorframe before her. The glum nurse who was addressed was the farthest thing from smiley. 

 “Mrs. Randall, your newest neighbour.”

 “Oh, how exciting!” The girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen slipped something into the nurse’s pocket. “I think I’ll call you Miss Curly Wig.” She grinned and eyed the mess of curls fanned out around on the silver surface enviously. 

 The orderly nonchalantly slipped a lollipop into the girl’s waiting hands and a piece of gum, payment for whatever she had smuggled in for him. 

 “You’ll be just fine Miss Curly Wig.” The girl who was barely a teenager patted her shoulder in comfort. Claire couldn’t do more than stare blankly at the girl, no words appearing on her tongue. “Sure the first one is a bit of a shock. But you get over it. Your brain is like cotton the first few days, and you look as dumb as ever, but if you comply, they shorten it to every three weeks instead. I haven’t gotten the shock in four weeks now because I’ve been on my best behaviour. Haven’t had the urge to steal in months. Isn’t that right Smiley?”   

 Smiley grunted affirmatively in a way that reminded her of Murtagh while he put away the equipment from the day’s treatments. Her heart ached along with her head and tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

 “Can I escort her back to her room Smiley? You are done here for the day, aren’t you?” 

 “Yes, Miss Emily.” The nurse clearly was uncomfortable straying from protocol. 

 Claire walked back in silence to the plain white room, filled with only a white metal bed and mattress. Emily patted her hand on the sheets and Claire plopped down on them. The rambunctious child flitted out of the room, excited to find a new face in the dreary and tedious schedule of the ward. 

 Claire laid back against the stiff pillow of her twin bed. It was impossible to get comfortable here. Her brain was buzzing and her fingers felt tingly, like the static from the radio. In the night, when the other patient's cries filled her mind, she traced the fading scar on her palm where he cut her. The rings, sgian dubh, pearls and her old clothes were the only physical proof it had been real. Now she had none of them. No tangible proof in her grasp. The only reminder was the memory of the slight pain when he marked out the flesh into a J.

 “Milady!” Fergus screamed into the empty air of the great room. His body curled up into one of the velvet chaises by the fire and his whimpers woke Jamie, who rested his eyes on the floor beside the inconsolable child. Jamie had almost drifted off to sleep himself, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of his wife. He rose and gathered Fergus in his arms, hushing the boy. 

 “Milady.” The tears renewed themselves and tumbled without end down his cheeks. Jamie stroked the hair from his son’s face and cursed when his hand felt the hot and sweaty skin. 

 Claire woke up shaking on the sweat-soaked sheets. “Fergus.” Her guilt of leaving him, her family was insurmountable. But she felt deep in her bones something terribly awful. A dread that squeezed at her heart. Just like any other person could feel the earth shift under their feet, before possessing the actual knowledge of what happened to their loved one. A fellow war nurse once told her of her premonitions, and the next day she was sent an impersonal letter declaring his death in battle.

 She pressed the pillow against her ears, trying to block out the vivid visions of the young French boy. 

 Emily became an ally to Claire in the short amount of time she had been in the B ward. She followed her constantly like a lost puppy and accompanied her to the electroshock therapies every week. Claire supposed the girl had deemed her the sanest out of their fellow patients, so she must have felt more at ease in her presence. The girl had even taught Claire a neat trick, how to pretend to swallow her medicine and then spit it out later. 

 At night, the faces in the flecks of the popcorn ceiling above taunted her. Every move of the shadows was a demon reimagined in her mind. Of her family and those who wished her harm. They all played an equal role in the play stretched out before her. Two straight lines and a curve mixed together into one evil, Black Jack Randall and her husband. Her mind drifted to the sight of her son, curled up and shivering in his sickbed. She was stuck between the tormenting images in the ceiling or the all too real feel of Fergus’ small body pressed against her in a tight hug. 

 “Miss Curly Wig!” It took her a moment to recognise her young companion, the thoughts seeped slowly through her mind like molasses. 

 “Where on earth did you get these?” 

 “I filched them from Doc B when I was snooping through your files. I was going to trade them to Smiley, but I thought better. Hide them in your bra, they never look there.” The child winked at her. 

 “Thanks for the advice.” She slipped the silver down her shirt and was about to scatter the gold across the wooden boards of the floor when she thought better; it was a valuable chunk of money. “What do you want in return?” 

 “Nothing yet. But those locks of yours sure are pretty.” 

 “You want a lock of my hair?” 

 She stared at the child dumbfounded. Hers easily rivalled Claire’s, the fiery red waving around her ears and growing slowly towards her shoulders. What harm was there in giving a child a piece of a muddied brown curl? She gripped a strand of her hair from the base of her head and held it taut. Claire ripped the piece just below the hold her hand had on it so it wouldn’t be plucked directly from her scalp. Her palms opened, gifting the rare thing to the adolescent. Her face visibly brightened and she snatched it immediately. She tucked in safely within her shirt like Claire had done with her rings and skipped down the hall towards the dark wood staircase. 

 Claire plastered a sickly sweet smile as she sat on the plastic chair. Dr. Brown shuffled some papers on his desk and ignored her. He licked his finger to card through the pages and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat before finally acknowledging her.

 “Ah, Mrs. Randall. And what, might I ask, lead me to the pleasure of seeing you in my office today?”

 “As you can see, Dr. Brown, the treatments have worked splendidly and I would very much like to return home now. I see no need to be kept here further.” 

 “I’m sorry ma’am it’s just not how- oh looky here! Your husband signed for your release when he visited me yesterday.” 

 “Great, so now this has all been sorted.”

 “Just hold on Mrs. Randall.” He emphasised her proper name. “Yes, he’s clearly signed your release here, but we’ll need to keep you here for an observation period of at least three more days. Make sure you’ll do no more harm to yourself or others. But, you’ll be glad to know we have seen an improvement from your treatments, and your last one will be this Friday, a day before your release.” 

 She bit her tongue to hold back the avalanche of defiant words and insults she wanted to fling at the man who held her fate in his hands. Finally, she settled for a simple, “thank you,” and left back to the empty halls. 

 The bastards in the hospital had made zero progress in truly helping her. If she was asked, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to recall any detail at all about the last few months of her life. If she could call it that, she was dead living. The therapies only added to her already failing memory. Emily was the only bright part of her day, and now she was leaving the poor girl in the hands of these people alone. 

 Her final night, when her brain sludged forward through its thoughts, a consequence of her treatments, she finally allowed herself to relax back into her bed fully. But that was a mistake. Fergus sat before the fire at Lallybroch, playing soldier with some chess pieces. The sight of the son of her heart pierced through her chest. He turned around and smiled at her softly. 

 “Come back, Milady, please. Milord needs you. I miss you maman.” He had never called her maman before, only Milady. 

 On closer inspection, his eyes were wide with fear at the apparition before him. He knew Milady would never harm him, but there was something otherworldly about her appearance now, much different than her usual strange demeanour. Sensing his trepidation, she kissed his forehead gently, taking the pain and fear into herself from that small point where her lips met his curl that dangled there. A tear dripped down the edge of her nose to his cheek. A flash of red and blue entered the dream, but by then she was already awake.

#outlander fanfiction #adsofraser writing #claire beauchamp #claire fraser #jamie x claire #frank randall #insane asylum #fergus fraser #canon divergence #jamie fraser #medical trauma #I am inflicting pain onto my characters because I can #outlander fanfic

[mirageofthecrystal]

FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 9: Friable

friable (adjective)

easily crumbled, pulverized, or reduced to powder

"We ride next for Whitebrim Front, for it is under a heavy Dravanian Siege at the behest of the twisted master of the Stone Vigil, Isgebind.” The icy beast had made its home within the halls of the keep some time ago when the knights of House Haillenarte failed to defend it, thus allowing it to full into the hands of the enemy. "Any of you who have within you the power to persevere unto the next battle... I would insist that you accompany us. The tired, the wounded, and dead... they will be attended to when the threat is dealt with.” 

The request, if one construed the words of the Commander of the Temple Knights as such, was a hard one to make, and clearly one that plagued the man as he likely imagined how many of his kin he would be bringing to demise. The Whitebrim Front, however, was a key outpost in the war against the Dravanian Horde, and should it fall to the forces of Stone Vigil, the enemy would only be a stones throw away from Ishgard itself, where they could gather and grow their forces for almost constant assault. It was under such dire circumstance that Aymeric de Borel himself had taken to the field, riding swift from the Gates of Judgement and unto the patrol under assault, glad to find extra swords and slain dragons both.

Sergeant Reynard mentally counted how many of his own man were still standing of the patrol group, including the Penderghast boy and that dragoon, and the odds were not looking too favorable for their contribution to the Commander’s plans. "I’ll give you what I’ve got, Lord Commander, but what I’ve got ain’t much. Still, here’s to hopin’ we put a dent in the bastards some little bit with what we’ve done here. If the Front is in danger of fallin’, there’s naught else for it. Get ready to march, you lot! We’re under the command of Ser Aymeric now, so no slouchin’ or limpin’. If one of those blighters ripped your leg off, best pick up a lance and use it as a crutch, because you’ve still got some life in you to give for Ishgard.”

Life perhaps, but their resolve was low, crushed ‘neat the weight of the sudden ambush and seeing so many of their fellows falling in the first moments of the fight. However, their duty was ineffable, and thus they would fall in line with Ser Aymeric’s forces, and march to the aid of those in Whitebrim Front. The host was several hundred swords strong, moving as a storm across the highlands, pounding through the snow with the sight of the dragons just on the horizon. The beasts were already upon the walls... walls that had stood for centuries, and yet in a single swipe of his mighty claws could Isgebind himself pulverize the labors of a dozen stonemasons into nothing more than dust upon the wind. For Isgebind too had taken to the battlefield, awakening from his slumber within the Vigil’s ruins, seeking to claim for himself another prize from Thordan’s brood.

Brave men and women all, and even they took pause when upon their countenance was cast of the shadow of the one known as Isgebind, who unleashed a deafening roar that caused the rings of their mail to tremble. He unleashed a torrent of ice that erupted from within, catching all within its wake and plunging them into a frozen embrace. The sky was almost blackened with flapping wings and twisting forms of the draconic kind, while knights upon the walls and upon the ground struggled to bring their arms to bear against what was likely an unexpectedly swift siege. The ballistae above were still being prepared and loaded, with Dravanians harrying their every attempt with tooth and claw. 

“Sergeant, my men and I will take to the keep proper and drive the Dravanians from the grounds and the perimeter as well. If you could take your men up to the battlements and ensure that the ballistae are functional...” “It would be our pleasure, Lord Commander.” The two groups of forces split to set about their tasks, hoping that their actions would be enough to halt the fall of Whitebrim Front and again deprive the dragons of an integral victory. Defeat would only serve to place annihilation upon Ishgard’s doorstep once more. 

Reynard lead his group up onto the walls, where they were immediately set upon by dragons. Smaller, slithering things that could dart in and out of the battlements, commanded by a hulking monstrosity that walked upon two legs. It’s fist came crashing down at the sight of new foes, the force of the blow instantly crushing the bones of one of Whitebrim’s knights to dust and shards. Unwavering in moments when all others showed hesitation, the dragoon charged forward and used her lance to launch herself into the air, vaulting over the draconic monstrosity and landing upon its back. She drove her lance downward at the base of the neck, forcing the implement of her craft through scaly hide, sinewy muscle, and dense bone before it hit its mark of something soft and fleshy. The creature’s final utterance was an exploding cry to signal its death, and one last order to its subordinates: kill every last knight standing upon the wall.

#FFXIV #ffxiv rp #ffxiv blogging #FFXIV Screenshots #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv crystal #ffxiv mateus #Faiolan Penderghast #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite

[solangelover]

3 Days + 1: Day 1

Solangelo Spring Ball 2020 - Collab w/ @nicostolemybones

Read on AO3 or FF.Net

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

A/N: For @solangeloweek ’s Spring Ball event, I worked with @nicostolemybones​ to write a 3 days infirmary fic (plus an extra bonus day). I’ve wanted to write a 3 days fic since the beginning, so it was great to finally get it done in my first collab! The days will be linked above, including linking over to my friend’s posts. Happy reading!

As Nico jogged up to Will, who was waiting on the steps of the Big House, Will blurted out, “What was that about?” He glanced over Nico’s shoulder at the power couple of camp. Percy and Annabeth seemed wrapped up in their world, as per usual. Though, no one could really fault them anymore. They’d literally been through hell together. Probably no one was happier that the war was over than those two.

“Just saying bye,” Nico rushed out, now standing directly in front of the healer with a light blush covering his cheeks. “He and Annabeth may be leaving soon.”

“Leaving camp?” Will tapped his chin in thought. “I guess that makes sense. Gods know they deserve a freaking break.”

Nico nearly scoffed, “Yeah, if another war happens in our lifetime…” He trailed off, shaking his head. Like he really needed another reminder that, as a child of the Big Three, he would forever be a prime candidate for major prophecies. After all the burial rites he performed recently, he was getting tired of the death that followed him around like a led ball chained to his ankle. He was feeling exhausted just thinking about another war.

“Nico,” Will’s fingers snapped right in front of Nico’s eyes, jerking him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” he responded, straightening up his stance. Once aware of his body, he realized that he was practically sinking to the floor. Will had a hand wrapped around his forearm to steady him. The hand felt warm on Nico’s cold skin.

Will’s blue eyes bore into Nico’s brown ones, concern evident as he scanned demigod’s face. “You zoned out on me,” he frowned. “Come on, I told you you should’ve come here sooner. Let’s get inside.”

With that, Will shifted his grip down to Nico’s wrist and tugged him along into the infirmary. Nico could do nothing but follow, heat flooding into his cheeks both at the contact and the fact that Will seemed so concerned about Nico. After all, they didn’t know each other that well. Up until that day on the hill, he and Will hadn’t really had a conversation before. Of course, that was Nico’s fault for never being around. Or friendly. Or really giving anyone a reason to be his friend. But still, he was confused as to why Will seemed to care just as much as his close friends did.

As they marched through the infirmary, Nico glanced at the few campers still recovering from the battle. Other than some nasty scrapes or broken bones, no one seemed on the verge of death, which Nico was happy about. He shook his head as his thoughts wandered toward the way it felt during battle, with death surrounding him on all sides. That’s not what he should think about in a place of healing.

Nico was also concerned that his dark thoughts were making his aura of death stronger than normal, or maybe it seemed that way when juxtaposed with the sense of life and light that emanated from the Apollo healers. Some of the conscious campers eyed Nico with suspicion or fear, like he was the grim reaper coming to take them away. Even a few of the healers seemed wary, though they all looked away quickly. When Nico looked back toward Will, he noticed the blonde had the trace of a glare in his expression. He wondered what that was about.

The boys ventured deeper into the infirmary than Nico had ever gone, not that he visited often anyway. He cleared his throat to get Will’s attention. “Uhm, I don’t know if I should be here.”

Will huffed, “Nico di Angelo, I already told you, three days. You need to be checked out—I mean, medically speaking,” Nico had no idea why Will needed to clarify that, “—and you are not getting out of it.”

“No, I meant, like, I shouldn’t be here. Like, physically in this specific place.”

They stopped in front of a curtain at the back of the infirmary, far from everyone else. Nico wasn’t sure if this made him more comfortable or nervous.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well,” Nico said sheepishly. Wasn’t it obvious? “People come here to get healed. And I don’t do that.”

Will rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, neither do the Ares kids, yet we still let them come in, even when the injuries are their own doing.” His eyes softened when he gazed at Nico. “You’re not the harbinger of death, we both know that. Your father is god of the underworld, and riches or whatever. If anything, you and your father care for the dead like we healers care for our patients.”

Nico snorted at that, which made Will smile brightly. “Not quite, Solace, but sure, I guess.” His countenance became nervous once again as he glanced back toward where the other campers were. “I don’t want to make people uncomfortable, though.”

Will was still smiling when he pushed the curtains aside, bringing Nico’s attention back to him. “Well, they’ll have to get used to it. You’re my patient now and no one is stopping me from doing my job.”

Right, caring was Will’s job. He doesn’t care specifically about me, Nico reminded himself. He couldn’t get ahead of himself, couldn’t risk hoping for something that wasn’t really there. Nico sat on the white bed at Will’s ushering, his shoulders sinking in exhaustion he hadn’t even realized was there. The son of Apollo left momentarily, saying something about medical supplies that Nico barely understood.

While he sat there, Nico could feel his eyelids growing heavy. He leaned his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes. He was so tired. Nico was always tired, especially given what he went through over the past couple months, but it was like, now that the war was over, his body didn’t have any adrenaline to keep him upright. Part of him was nervous about falling asleep in a semi-public place, but the other part knew he could sleep on the cold, hard floor if he had to.

As he rubbed at his eyes, trying to push the exhaustion away, he started to feel an ache in his neck and shoulders. It’s not like he was surprised, but he realized that the familiar pain had faded into the background as everything else had called his attention. Instead of trying to stretch it out, he just continued to sit, hunching up his shoulders a little.

Will cleared his throat when he re-entered the room, causing Nico to rub his eyes one last time before straightening up. When he looked at Will, he noticed he had a cart full of supplies in tow. His mind became more alert when he realized that all of those medical things were to be used on him.

“That’s,” he croaked, like he hadn’t spoken in a while. He coughed and restarted, “That’s a lot of stuff there.”

Will blushed a little as he sat on the chair near Nico’s bed. “Well, I’m not really sure what kind of injuries you have or treatments you’ll need, so I kind of just… brought everything.”

Nico chuckled, leaning back on his hands as Will grabbed his clipboard.

“Okay, let’s get started.” Will clicked his pen. “How do you feel?”

Nico rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Solace? That’s how you start?”

“It’s a standard question! If you know what needs healing, then we might as well start there.”

“Whatever,” Nico rolled his eyes again. “I’m fine.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re fine? A second ago, you looked like you were ready to pass out right there.”

Nico flushed a little at the observation. “I’m just tired.”

Will hummed as he looked Nico over, making him fidget under the scrutiny. “So it’s gonna be like that, huh?” He placed his clipboard to the side, then said, “I’ll give you my assessment, then you tell me if I’m right.”

Before Nico could ask how he’d do that, Will’s hand darted out and snatched up Nico’s own. Nico instinctively leaned away and tried to pull his hand back, but Will held fast as he closed his eyes in concentration. Nico gulped as he watched the healer’s expression become pinched with concern. Will mumbled under his breath for the next ten seconds before his eyes flew open with a gasp. Nico took the opportunity to yank his hand back, cradling it to his chest like he’d been burned.

“What—”

“Nico di Angelo,” Will cut him off in his stern doctor voice, and Nico’s jaw snapped shut. “So, you’re going to sit here and tell me that irritated and badly healed wounds, torn muscles, extreme exhaustion, and power drain make you a perfectly fine demigod?”

Nico blinked at the slew of information. He wasn’t sure exactly what Will was talking about, but he had a few ideas. Unsure of how to respond, Nico just shrugged at the irate healer before him.

Will pinched his nose before dropping back into his seat and picking up his clipboard once more. He scribbled furiously while Nico looked on. “How did you do that?” Nico asked.

Will glanced up through his bangs before going back to his notes. “Son of Apollo thing. I can get a general health assessment through touch. It varies between demigods, but I’ve gotten pretty good at quick checks because of the wars.”

Nico frowned as Will kept writing. He hated that they all had to say “wars” now, like one wasn’t enough.

“Okay,” Will sat up straight and glared at Nico. “I’ll ask again, di Angelo, and you better not lie. How are you feeling?”

Nico frowned. “I really am tired, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Hm,” Will thought, leaning back in his chair. “More specific questions then. Does your body hurt at all? Strained muscles? Headache? Fresh wounds? Bruises? Anything causing you pain?”

The son of Hades tilted his head in thought. He knew things vaguely ached, but what exactly, he wasn’t sure—too used to the feeling, probably. “Um, I guess my shoulders kind of hurt. And my head, probably from being tired.”

Will jotted a few things down before setting the clipboard aside. “Okay, let’s deal with some of that first, though I know there’s a lot more going on.” He shot Nico a glare over his shoulder as he stood up and moved toward the supply cart. He handed Nico a square of ambrosia, who gratefully accepted and began taking small bites of it.

“Just for some of the general pain. You’ll need actual rest for the fatigue once we’re done.” He moved to crouch down next to Nico. “Can I take a look at your shoulders? I’m going to just roll up your sleeve for now to assess the damage.”

Nico nodded, only flinching slightly when Will’s fingers brushed his bicep. Will smiled at him as he pushed up the right-side sleeve. Once it was up, however, his eyes widened and he gasped. Nico tried to get a glimpse of what Will was looking at, but it was a little too close for him to see. But, knowing what the injury was from, he’s not surprised that it’s still bad. “Monster attack,” was all he said.

“Oh gods, Nico, I can’t believe you said you were fine. Doesn’t this hurt?” He touched his fingers lightly to the angry red skin on Nico’s shoulder, all puffed up around what was clearly a nasty gash. Nico shivered at the touch and stared straight ahead.

“It hurts a little, but it’s been a while, so I’m probably just used to it.” He heard Will let out a disbelieving huff, staring a little longer before quickly going back to the cart.

He pulled out an ice pack, saying, “We’ll use this to keep the swelling down for now. The ambrosia should be enough for you to rest easily and we can treat it tomorrow. I’ll check your other shoulder too, just in case.” Nico nodded as Will moved to his other side, taking the ice pack and holding it in place. This time, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when the sleeved was rolled up and no wounds were present.

Will stood and wrote down a few more things on his clipboard. “Okay, Death Boy, we’ll do more treatment things tomorrow, I think today, we can focus on rest. You look like you’re ready to pass out.”

Nico narrowed his eyes at the son of Apollo, swallowing the rest of his ambrosia before saying, “Really? Death Boy?”

Will smirked, and it was a look Nico hadn’t seen yet on Will and okay that’s something. “I have a few other names in mind. We’ll test them out and see what sticks.” He turned toward the cart and began packing it up. “Be right back,” he threw over his shoulder while pushing the cart out of the curtained-off area.

Alone again, Nico continued to hold the ice pack in place, feeling marginally better as the ambrosia began to kick in. He didn’t exactly forget about the injury from Lycaon, but he will admit that it didn’t cross his mind to get it looked at at the infirmary. Reyna and Coach Hedge had done enough for him to be in fighting condition, so he figured it would heal on its own.

Nico pulled his legs up onto the bed and leaned back, suddenly realizing how tense he had been this whole time. As he rolled out his neck, he felt exhaustion tug at his mind. But he couldn’t sleep yet, he didn’t know if Will was done! His body, however, had other plans as he felt himself sink into the cot and his eyes slipped shut.

He heard the curtain rustle, followed by a soft chuckle. Will slid the ice pack from Nico’s loose grip and shifted his arm down to his side. The touch was light, but still present. Nico made some kind of sound in an attempt to say… well, something, he didn’t know what. But Will shushed him, smoothing a hand over his hair.

“It’s alright. You can sleep now. Get some rest, Nico.” Then, Will began to lightly run his fingers through Nico’s hair, probably a natural comforting gesture. To Nico, it felt like warmth was radiating out from where Will’s fingertips brushed against his scalp. He felt his whole body relax, down to the tips of his toes. The ever-present ache in his bones subsided a little, and Nico felt a peace he hadn’t felt in a while.

He fell asleep to soft hums and small comforts.

#my first collab #it's a really cool writing process #solangelo #solangelo fanfiction #solangelo fanfic #fanfic #pjo #hoo #toa #picks up right after BOO #blood of olympus #heroes of olympus #infirmary fic #3 days #the classic 3 days #will solace #nico di angelo #my fic #my writing #solangelospringball2020 #solangelo spring ball 2020 #solangeloweek #three days in the infirmary #my collab #collab

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

eighteen - value of a moment

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

THE EAGLE BEARER sits tall astride a chestnut steed named Phobos. Lesya has procured her own silver mare from Argos and decides to name her after the moon goddess —Selene. The road to the Land of Beautiful Corruption is one the former champion has traveled before, though Deimos had been at her side then. “Have you ever been to Korinth?” She asks, sparing a glance at the misthios. 

Kassandra shakes her head —up until meeting Barnabas she had not left the shores of Kephallonia since washing up on the shore. “I haven’t. You?” She counters. 

Lesya grimaces but does not lie. “A few times,” she answers. It always ended in bloodshed —raiding the Akrokorinth fort, pulling the strings of the Monger’s puppets, sabotaging the Spartan supply line, and Athenian camps. Deimos and Enyo had shed enough blood in Korinthia to paint the steps of the great Temple of Aphrodite red. 

“What did you do in Argos?” Kassandra is curious about what happened, especially as Ikaros was more distrustful of her now than ever. Lesya tosses a bloodstained letter to her and watches the confusion spread over her countenance. Midas. Agamemnon. Kosmos. A clue that had led Lesya straight to another Cultist. “How did you find this?” It does not matter though, not really, Midas is slain and the Cult’s efforts to resurrect Agamemnon has failed. 

She swallows the lump growing in her throat and glances ahead, finding where the flagstone road leading from Argos ends. “Deimos gave me that letter,” Lesya tells her, avoiding looking anywhere else but the road. Somehow, he had known her path would lead her to Argos and Midas. Sparing a glance, Lesya can see Kassandra’s confusion has not ebbed. She recalls the tales Chrysis told them as children, lies they so vehemently believed —about peace and order, about a true king, about Kosmos and his servants. “Kosmos is the Cult’s ideal of peace and order,” she begins. “They believe Agamemnon was the first servant and sought to return him to this world to lead Hellas into a new age.”

The explanation leaves Kassandra with more questions than answers, but she does not dwell on the mythos of the Cult. “Why would Deimos give you this?” Kassandra asks, holding up the scroll. She has only faced her brother once on Andros and he had been committed to serving the Cult’s will —even at the cost of destroying family. 

Kass watches as Lesya’s jaw clenches. She has seen the scars on the disgraced champion's trunk and has heard whispers of the stories behind them from Barnabas. The Cult is cruel —she imagines it is not such a different story for Deimos. “There’s only so many times you can kick a dog before he snaps,” Lesya responds, her voice tinged with bitter hatred. Squeezing the sides of her mount, Lesya rides ahead of the misthios. Kassandra lets her be. 

WATER SLOSHES OUT of stone tub and onto the smooth floor. A trail of bloody armor and stained clothing starts in the villa courtyard and ends at just shy of the growing puddle of water. Enyo runs her finger’s through Deimos’ beard —dark and thick. She still finds it strange to see him with one. They have been on an assignment in Makedonia for over a moon and scarcely had time to bathe, let alone groom. “You don’t like it,” he surmises, lips kinking into a smile —he’s not particularly fond of it either. 

“I could get used to it,” she counters. Deimos reaches over to the small table, pushing aside an assortment of sweet-smelling oils in stone vials and picks up a curved copper razor. He settles against the side of the tub, stretching out his legs —thighs and calves corded with muscle— and tilts his head back. Enyo takes the razor from his hand and moves forward, straddling his waist. She is far more patient than him and if her steady hand works the blade he is less likely to come away with nicks and cuts. 

Pulling the skin of his neck taut, Enyo moves the razor up in short, quick strokes. His eyes slip shut and his hands busy themselves following the gouged scars on Enyo’s back. A lullaby plays in her mind, one she remembers from childhood —her mother used to sing it. Now though, Enyo hums the same broken tune, never breaking concentration. And for a moment, it’s difficult to think this is the same woman who could cleave a man in two, who relishes in bloodshed and the cries of her enemies. 

Sitting back up, he stares at her —unabashedly— trying to memorize everything. The curve of his lips, the pattern of freckles on her cheeks, how her brow furrows when she focuses on a task. Deimos knows they walk along a path narrower than a knife’s edge, teetering between life and death. Enyo has come close to death twice, each time he has found her in a pool of blood —terrified at the thought of losing her. Lost in thought, he does not notice she has set aside the razor until he feels the soft-tingling of lemon balm. Tawny-gold eyes slip shut when her fingertips brush over his smooth neck and jaw again —opening only when he feels the soft caress of her lips against his. 

Deimos wakes on the deck of the ship in a cold sweat —heart pounding. Sitting up, he wipes the sweat from his brow then runs his hands over his face, pausing at the coarse stubble on his jaw. Pushing aside the memory, he rises and moves to the bow of the war galley. The horizon is still dark, as is the churning sea. A flash of lightning erupts in the clouds, illuminating the faint outline of land in the distance. Before morning, he will be back in Phokis —waiting to do the Cult’s bidding once more. 

AT SUNDOWN, LESYA and Kassandra veer off the road and into the forest. Thieves and renegades often patrol the roads during the night. Besides, if they leave at sunrise Korinth will be on the horizon before midday and neither of them has slept in two days. The Eagle Bearer stares into the flames but her gaze soon moves up to Lesya —she is fletching arrows as a distraction. Kassandra bites down on her bottom lip again, albeit the question on her tongue still slips out. “What is my brother like?”

The question hammers a stake through Lesya’s chest —she drives the last arrow into the ground and studies the lines of her palm. “Deimos is not your brother,” she tells Kassandra. Deimos is a weapon, a demigod, a lie, just as Enyo had been. Even Lesya knows deep down that Deimos is beyond saving, but Alexios is not. Alexios, for a moment she is lost to distant memories, tender touches, and soft kisses, Alexios is a good man. 

“I will save him from the Cult,” the Eagle Bearer states —she will see her family reunited, no matter the cost. 

A melancholy smile pulls at Lesya’s lips —she will save Alexios, not Deimos. Kassandra’s question remains unanswered. Drawing in a slow breath, Lesya struggles to find winds. “He’s angry and erratic. Proud and stubborn,” she remarks. Those traits were not unique to Deimos, but few harbored them the same way as him. The misthios finds herself fighting back a small smile —she can hear the affection in Lesya’s voice when she speaks of Deimos. 

“He has the capacity for kindness, though. We looked after one another for years.” She thinks of the times he tended to her wounds —even if they were minor. He had always been gentle, careful, and attentive. When she closes her eyes, Lesya can still feel the soft caress of his hand against her cheek and the tingle of his lips brushing against hers —I miss him. “He was all I had,” her voice cracks. “I dread to think of what the Cult has done to him.” The few times they have been together had yet to feel like the right time to ask what happened after she left. 

Ikaros glides from the night sky, perching on a felled branch near Kassandra —preening his feathers. The Eagle Bearer frowns, brows furrowed. Lesya answers the question forming on her tongue before she can speak. “They thought I made him weak–” she laughs, they had always been stronger together. Apart from each other Deimos and Enyo were deadly, but together they could topple nations. “Elpenor warned Deimos of their plan to kill me and he helped me escape.” The memory of fleeing that night is still fresh in her mind even if nigh three years have passed.

Kassandra says nothing, though she wears a deeply troubled expression. Lesya stokes the fire back into flames and places several more pieces of wood on the embers. Since Kass had spoken her intentions of traveling to Korinth to speak to Anthousa, Lesya has not been able to shake the feeling in her gut that they are walking into an intricately laid trap. The hetaerae may have the love of the people, but it is the Cult who controls the city. “The Monger controls Korinth,” she says —a warning. “We have to be careful.” She has seen and felt the Monger’s wrath before. 

“Why?” The misthios counters. The Monger —Deimos— all the Cult will fall in time. She does not understand what makes the Monger so special to warrant fear from the former champion. 

Tugging the belt on her waist aside, Lesya pulls up the hem of her chiton revealing a discolored and disfigured patch of skin at her hip. A brand. Bound and gagged, the Monger had pressed the poker into her hip, forcing Deimos to watch as the scent of burning flesh filled the air. A target had slipped under their noses in a night raid and such a failure had to be penalized. 

Kassandra’s face twists into anger. “Deimos bears the marks of his iron too,” Lesya breathes, knowing the brands he endured at the Monger's hand had been to spare her from pain. He had taken the punishments without flinching or crying out and never complained. I’d do it over again Deimos told her one night while small waves broke on the shoreline, brushing against their legs. 

@wallsarecrumbling @jaegers-and-kaijus @novastale 

#Alexios #Deimos #Alexios x OC #Deimos x OC #Alexios Imagine #Deimos Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Deimos Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #story: Kryptic #my writing

[bae-in-maine]

Nontu!!! I think this is the first prompt I’m asking you for lol but can you do “I’m not doing this” please. I miss you so much!

For my lovely strikon, @soldierofthenight

“I’m not doing this.” 

“Clarke. It is important that you do this. It is expected of us.” 

“Nope. Not doing it. And you can’t make me do it.” 

Except she could, because she was the Heda of the twelve clans, and no one said not to Heda, except for one Clarke Griffin. And Clarke had a habit of saying no, and Lexa had a habit of accepting that Clarke was going to do what she wished, when she wished. And normally it wasn’t an issue, until today. 

Lexa sighed and brought her hand up to rub at her forehead in an effort to keep the building headache at bay, but she thought better of it, instead letting her hand drop to the armrest of her throne. 

She glanced out over the crowd, a small smile flitting about her lips at the sight of her people scattered around the fires and tables, laughing and talking, drinking, and spilling their ale. The dogs scurried about in the great hall, chased by fat children, as they scrambled for scraps and bones tossed their way. 

She could see flashes of color throughout the crowd, representing each of the clans, and she was relieved to see that no fights had broken out yet, possibly because no one was drunk enough yet, or because she had taken great pains to make sure that the Ice Nation wasn’t sitting next to the Floukru or Shining Forest Clan. 

She picked up her cup, letting the wine wet her throat, before setting the cup down again. She needed to appear as if she were drinking, but she needed to keep her wits about her. A drunk Heda was a dead Heda. 

She turned her attention back to Clarke, the skin around her eyes tightening as she took in Clarke’s visage, the plump lips pressed together too tightly, making her look like a grumpy cat. 

She sighed. The Feast of Thirteen had been underway for two hours now, and as was customary when a new clan was brought officially into the alliance, they threw a huge feast in Polis. Each clan brought with them a delicacy of their clan, and if their delicacies weren’t in season, then a staple of their food. Each dish was presented to Heda and the thirteen ambassadors who sat at the long table on the dais. 

Clarke sat on her right, a place of prominence that each ambassador understood. Clarke was also Heda’s chosen, and it fell upon her to lead by example. 

“Clarke,” she breathed a warning. The Shining Forest ambassador had already looked at Clarke twice, his countenance changing from concern to growing annoyance. 

“You are being rude, and the ambassadors are starting to notice. I know you don’t want to do this, but we don’t need a war.”

“A war?” Clarke scoffed, looking at Lexa with bemusement upon her face that quickly changed to worry. “Wait. You’re serious? My refusal to do this could start a war?”

“The Shining Forest clan is rather hot tempered, and they are closely allied to Luna’s clan. And while Luna owes me her allegiance, her husband is from the Shining Forest.” 

Clarke gulped and nodded. This wasn’t so hard. She could do this. She looked down at her plate, her stomach turning over, and she felt bile bubble in her belly. She whimpered and gripped Lexa’s hand under the table, thankful that the long clothes draped to the floor and hid her action. 

Lexa squeezed her hand gently and leaned over whispering in her ear, pressing a soft kiss to her earlobe. “It’s easier if you just pick it up and bite into it quickly. You don’t have to eat it all. But at least half.” 

Clarke nodded and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I can do this. I ate the Trikru bear stew, the Blue Cliff flower relish,” she turned to Lexa, “That was actually really good on Luna’s whitefish fillets.” She turned back to her plate, biting back the whimper. 

“You can do this, Clarke. Hey you even ate the Ice Nation blubber.” 

Lexa smiled and nodded. “Yes, Clarke, if you can eat the blubber from the whales they hunt, you can eat this.” It was a lie, but one she told with a straight face. The blubber was far easier to handle than this. 

Lexa straightened and picked up the beetle from her plate. It was the size of her palm, and she wasn’t particularly fond of this delicacy. She made a show of taking a huge bite, not even wincing when the spindly legs scraped her throat. She chewed thoroughly, not rushing it, knowing the ambassadors were watching out of the corners of their eyes. 

She set her beetle down, wiping at the yellow juice oozing from her mouth. She swallowed and then licked her fingers, pretending that her fingers were coated in a different kind of delicacy. 

“It tastes nutty. This is the worst of it.” It was another lie. They still had the Horse clan’s delicacy to get through. Clarke was never going to speak to her again. 

Clarke gingerly picked it up, trying not to look at the beetle’s face. She moved it around, unsure how to bite into it, wishing she was anywhere but here.

“Clarke kom Skaikru, it is sometimes easier if you tear off the legs first.” 

Clarke twisted in her seat to look at the woman on her right, the ambassador for the Plains Clan. She nodded and gingerly pulled on one of the legs, blushing when she heard the ambassador chuckle. 

The woman reached over and took the beetle from Clarke, wrapping her other hand around the small legs on one side and tearing them off in once twist. “Like that. Here.” She handed it back to Clarke, gesturing for Clarke to do the same and twist off the legs. 

It took her two attempts but the beetle was now legless on her plate. Darkish brown with a large head and beady eyes. Her stomach gurgled in protest, but she grabbed it anyway, her mind spinning a new mantra as she readied herself to take the first bite. 

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. 

She almost gagged around the mouthful of juice and exoskeleton. It crunched beneath her teeth and scraped her gums. She willed herself to keep chewing, counting each chew. She grabbed her cup, draining it of wine in two gulps. 

Lexa smiled a little, and passed Clarke her napkin. She had seen the wet salt in Clarke’s eyes, and she couldn’t help the bloom of pride that she had managed to do it. 

“Well done, Clarke.” 

“I fucking hate you,” snarled Clarke as she coughed into her napkin. “And it isn’t nutty. It’s horrifying,” she muttered behind her napkin as she wiped her chin of the oozing juice. 

She coughed again, her fist against her chest. “Fuck. Something is stuck,” she whimpered. She took a deep breath, coughing harshly just as she felt a hard thwack between her shoulder blades. She twisted around and glared up at Anya’s smirking face. 

“Finish up your beetle, Clarke. The Horse Clan is anxious for you to try their favorite summer dish.”

She narrowed her eyes at Anya, worried at how much delight Anya appeared to be taking in giving her the news. She turned worried eyes to Lexa who was staring at her, her eyes slightly wide, her nostrils flaring. 

Clarke felt her stomach drop. It was going to get worse. 

“B-but you said...” She growled as Lexa lowered her eyes slightly. She could say nothing as Lexa turned her attention to the ambassador on her left, probably happy to escape Clarke’s impending wrath. 

She took one more bite, barely managing to swallow it, and struggling even more to keep it down. She was relieved when one of Lexa’s handmaidens immediately whisked away the plate with the rest of the beetle. She was even more relieved when another handmaiden refilled her cup with wine. 

She was careful not to gulp it this time, sipping it slowly until it finally drowned out the taste of the beetle. Her relief was short lived, and another plate was placed in front of her. 

She stared down at the small glistening piece of...flesh? Her nose crinkled at the smell. 

“It’s a slice of raw horse’s brain, Clarke, served on a cracker made out of flour and pig intestine,” Anya whispered in her ear before laughing quietly and stepping back behind Clarke’s chair. 

“I’m not doing this.” 

[dune-thedewcollectors]

Ornithopter Down: A tribute tale so short.

Artwork: Simon Frost

Even the prison Hell of Salusa Secundus prepared me little for Arrakis - the spice planet. If there were Gods here, they have long since left. Only mortals and their machinations remain. The masters, House Harkonnen and the Fremen not as liberated as their name suggests assume the roles of old since time began. And oblivious to all - the worm, always the worm.

The ornithopter thop thops in crow-like flight seaming the supposed Harkonnen sky. So predatory as it patrols Arrakeen airspace. The ornithopter a craft with multi-purpose - light armour, gun mounted, troop carrier and drop bomb capability, the mainstay of the air fleet, spearhead of the young Baron's occupational and commercial intent. Harkonnen Public Force more a euphemism for mass murderers than its corporate sounding title suggests. The HPF are no Sardaukar, nor Fedaykin. Scum! Them both, neither the rabble spawn of Zensunni wanderers or the Baron’s buffoons are fit to lick the excrement off the boots of the lowliest Sardaukar trooper. Still the Baron is always in need of men not shy of a little knifework, either for show or bounty. For fifty standard years house Harkonnen continues to suck the marrow out of the planet and its indigenous. Of course propaganda promotes otherwise. The Baron's silver tongue and public relation corps is second to none and as any Fremen under duress and the whip will testify, "that he has brought such prosperity and peace for the Fremen - the likes that God has never seen." In truth, the spice, Arrakis its unique source, is currently worth 620,000 Solari per decagram in the Imperial market. Which makes the Baron's fief , "so preposterously profitable like no other holding in the known universe," so he gloats, often, to envious ears in the Imperial court.

And as if offplanet, like leaves in the wind - we soar. Our 'thopter crows for murder, one eye in the sky the other trained below. The pilot is efficient enough and despite my instincts: I Iike this asset. Iaken Nefud - nefarious no doubt, yet steady in crisis. Slight and, still, menace in his stature with the appropriate scars shining on his pock marked demeanor. There are many of the Public Force with murky past and the most dubious of countenance that rally towards profit and violence, but I am above that, I am Sardaukar - of the blood of the orient soldiers slaves of old, same lineage of ancient assasins no less. I am Sardaukar - in league with my Emperor, in servitude to House Corrino. And to this, or their end - I prevail.

The air like my chest feels tight, as if pressed between the Heavens and Hades. The desert chokes the airspace around if not reverse. The sand covets all; basins, sinks, grabens, and dust chasms too. The terrain features in open bleds and ergs swirled in the currents and torrents of the finest grains of silky suffocating death. And what rock formations there are lay submerged, mostly, while its desperate peaks protrude the surface. Such vastness its wide emptiness deceitful and as crushing as any claustrophobic condition. A navigational nightmare where one dare not miscalculate. Storms either sand and magnetic or both, can ill afford mistakes. Where is a Mentat when you need one? The desert ever constant, continue to plots against us, still. A landscape in dual allegiance to its desertfolk. Contrary to intelligence reports, Arrakeen airspace is no haven from Fremen insurgents. These natives a little more than just restless. Their ordinance: assorted small arms, rocket propelled grenades, surface to air missiles and stolen long range lasguns, always gun ready and cleared to engage. The confirmed kills of Harkonnen personnel whether by hostile or friendly fire are never accurately recorded if at all or the files forever in bureaucratic limbo. What insurgency?

Ornithopter down! Beyond the shield wall the call no pilot and crew wants to make or answer in bandit country. An ongoing joke and what they call a secret war on this ulcer of a planet that they make play of that playwright's words,  "we few, we unlucky few,” the unofficial motto of the Public Force. I tire of their folly I say a plague on them both. I know my duty but I question the nature of the assignment I’ve been given. An exfiltration op in the middle of a holy war we’re at the wrong end of. I’ve seen the stats, and there’s no truth in them. The so call ragtag remnants of jihadists are the true masters outside the city limits. And they want us to retrieve one of their holy women? On the say so of some courtier ponce wanting his Bene Gesserit wife back who ran away to Arrakis decades before. There’s more than mischief here when the sisterhood are involved. Damned order of witches stirring up the natives with legends of the old Orient and its mysticisms. Fremen fanatics their numbers vast. More than the Baron will admit. I’ve seen with my own eyes the horrors of their resolve and their cause. A begrudging reminder of my own. But my God is stronger than yours. I am faithful, righteous and trained. And she, Sister Ramallo, is with us and with the co-ordinates she’s secreted, from under your very noses we shall steal her away from you, from this damned desert, from this Godforsaken planet and return her to paradise, praise Hallah!

Plans aren’t going as planned. Projectiles scar the sky looking to prey upon our bird in flight. Damn the Fremen! And that witch too. She promised us safe passage and proof of life. The invisible insurgents their work is done. The rockets locked on and propelling towards us, bent on benediction. Nefud as equal to the threat as any avoiding death becoming us all. He banks and performs an Immelman turn and the rockets explode far enough to survive but close enough to cause splash damage, thank the prophet for counter measures. “Looks like its a one way trip for this bird - sir,” chirps Nefud.

 

It could be worse, I know. Yet Nefud skillfully maneuvers and grounds the aircraft on the luminous landing zone marked out by a baradye pistol. Seems the witch keeps pace with the storm assuming the handiwork hers, as looming dust clouds and lightning sweeps over the the basin of Tuono, I exit with haste and disorientated, Nefud even more so - and shivering like an addict needing his vice. We're greeted by the squinting sunflare and the whipping wail of shifting sand. And then a disarming whisper deep within my subconscious suspends me still, motionless against my will, Nefud and I swap startled glances, he hears it too - a slow deliberate and suggestive murmur yet echoing as if repeating over and over, "guard yourself for truth, Out Freyn," in perfect Galach, accented in the way only highborn or courtesans speak. A lone Jubba cloaked figure appears in desert fashion prepared for violence while we remain prone, conscious - yet slumbered in our stupor.

"Ramallo! release me," I spat, " and come with us we are under orders of the Emperor." She cuts a fine figure in the sand, svelte not pretty but handsome still for a woman mid-aged living on this desolate rock far from the preen and pamper of better days. The return of muscle and bone comes slow as we slither down to ground. We've seen something not many live to tell. The voice, the cloaked fist of the Bene Gessirit. The sisterhood's ability to manipulate muscle and mind literally bending an enemy to their will. She is close enough. Instinct, perhaps, self preservation bids me hold, not so Nefud his sense tells him otherwise and lunges for her foot and coils round her heel. Almost instantly she slips, side-steps and side kicks towards her assailant’s temple side. Over in a blur no blood drawn only shock. As adept in close quarter as she was with voice, I awe in wonder. She's close enough now as I stand, hands raised upon my head contemplating the shigawire sewn within my scalp. I see her eyes blue but not as blue within blue as if born to their ways. There's more to the color of them eyes that disturbs. She has no intention of leaving with us that's plain to see. Even more obvious - she is lost to us, lost to them, but lost to herself most of all. In just a few moments I've assessed we can not retrieve what's unhinged, bordering the path to insanity, and for whatever reasons before during and after this incident, which is sure to be brushed under the royal carpet, she is tainted Fremen thus compromised. Not a further word is exchanged between us. As if all is understood, she retreats and I gather my asset.

" You managed to apply the tracer?" I query the stirring Nefud, "aye sir," Iaken stirred but not shaken. I secrete the transmitter from my bodice and attach the hairline shigawire as antennae. I call in our support hovering high but nearby. And quickly reference the co-ordinates of the landing zone.

We should have stunners for this kind of deal. Or initiated the Holtzman effect! The point is moot. What should of been a simple pick up and retrieve has turned into a fire mission now as protocol demands. The stench of spice reeks from my fellow Sardaukar soldiers in Guild garb as we board their 'thopter and ascend rapidly from the LZ. I remove my Public Force livery and slip into my Corrino jumpsuit with the embroidered on Ensign epaulettes. "Welcome aboard Aramsham," salutes my handler, the Captain. I nod, return the salute and hand him the tracer receiver. We have been trying to locate the secret sietch - Tabr with no success. Thanks to a cuckold and his witch we have an opportunity to firebomb the hidden cave of warrens to blazes. The blip remains stationary on the screen has been the last ten. We hover above in our Ornithopter looking down. The bomb bay doors open wide. I look across to Nefud, "look sir, wormsign!"

#FanFiction #Dune #Sardaukar

[playing--koi]

This Life Will Have To Do

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: SMUT (Ages 18+), Unprotected Sex (WRAP IT!!), Mentions of Abuse

Summary: You’re a maiden being forced into marriage with a wealthy tradesman, Brock Rumlow, but a group of criminals crash your wedding, led by the long-lost love of your life.

A/N: I know that Alexander Pierce isn’t Brock’s father, but for the sake of this story, he is. Sorry ‘bout that inaccuracy!

Word Count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST

“Oh, please, Y/N, I’ve heard enough whining to last a lifetime. Now turn around and let me zip up your dress.” Your mother rolled her eyes yet again in response to your protests.

“Mother, you’re throwing away my entire life! How do you expect me to respond?” You exclaimed, trying to keep the tears at bay before you fully lost your composure.

“I’m hardly throwing away your life, sweetheart. Brock is a very wealthy man who can take care of you.” She gave up on waiting for you to turn around, finding it in her best interest to just walk around the large perimeter of your tulle skirt in order to reach your back.

“No, his money can take care of you while I sit at home with my head down, terrified of my own soon-to-be husband!” Your mother knew of all of the horrible things Brock said to you on a daily basis, constantly belittling you at every chance he got. It was unusual for him to become violent, but certainly not unheard of.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic. All you have to do is walk down an aisle, repeat after the priest, give Brock a little peck, and then you’re done!” She pulled both sides of the fabric together, barely running into any problems due to the tight corset you’d been wrestled into, lining up the zipper and pulling.

“No, I’m not done after that! You seem to forget the part where I’m tethered to that monster ‘til death do us part.” You said, turning around to face her, seeing her countenance was still stiff and void of emotion. “Mother, please don’t do this. I’m begging you.” Your voice was now weaker than ever; unshed tears painted your waterline, threatening to fall.

“You’re marrying Brock Rumlow and that’s final.” You swore you could see a semblance of sadness within her eyes, but it was gone as fast as it’d appeared. “And stop crying, you’ll ruin your makeup.” She walked over to the wooden desk in your room, plucking up her handkerchief and handing it to you wordlessly.

You saw that this argument wouldn’t get you anywhere, knowing that she was just following your father’s orders. You’d all lived a life of poverty since you could remember and you knew that the day Brock Rumlow took interest in you was the happiest day of your father’s life. He was promised a fortune for your hand, but you knew in your heart that he would’ve sold you for far less.

“Now, hurry up. We don’t want you to be late for your own wedding.” She began to walk over to the doorway of your bedroom. “I’ll let you have a minute.” She said, closing the door behind her.

You surveyed your childhood bedroom, staring at each crack in the wall, each dirty picture frame, each memory that you were now leaving behind for what you were being told was a greener pasture, but you knew the truth. Any bit of freedom you once had was now slipping through your fingertips; the somewhat innocent youth you were given now being snatched by a man who made your skin crawl.

You’d only known loss like this once before and you still ached with the aftershocks. The pain never dulled, it just numbed and every time you dreamt of his warm embrace, it was like ripping the stitches from your heart that you’d worked so hard to sew.

You couldn’t help but to feel like you were betraying the one whose love you held onto for as long as you could. The one who you fought for until the war had been lost, a white flag pitched as you watched guards pull his belligerent body away from you, announcing that he was to be hung for his crimes. You sobbed as he tried to desperately claw his way back to you, but every time you moved to help, he would scream at you to back away, not able to bear the thought of you getting hurt in the crossfire.

You still remembered the final words he uttered to you as he was being shackled and placed in the back of a wagon. “I will find my way back to you, my darling; whether it be in this life or the next.”

You breathed in a deep huff of air as you shook your head to rid your mind of that traumatic day. You lightly placed your hand over your heart as a sign of surrender. “Well, Buck, I guess the next life will just have to do.” Your eyes glassy as you left your old bedroom in sorrow.

~

You were sitting in one of the guest rooms of the Rumlow Manor, waiting patiently for one of the pre-picked bridesmaids to come gather you for the start of the ceremony. None of your real friends were actually allowed to join you since Brock deemed them “unfit to be a part of his wedding”, which caused you to wonder why you couldn’t be so lucky.

As you were sat on the bed, twiddling your thumbs, you heard two sharp knocks on the door before it was promptly opened. Your blood ran cold as you saw who the culprit was: Brock’s father, Alexander, who was somehow even worse than his son.

You quickly tried to swallow your fear, masking it with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rumlow.” You stood up, smoothing your dress skirt.

“It is, indeed, isn’t it?” He walked through the threshold and closed the door behind him, turning around to face you. “You must be feeling very lucky today, my dear.”

You had to physically bite your tongue to prevent the first thought that came to your head. “Yes, I’m very grateful, sir.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.” He said, walking further into the room. “Now that I hear you say that, I’m sure it’s just one big misunderstanding when my son tells me that you’ve been very reluctant throughout this whole process.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat at his subtle warning tone. “Yes, sir. I was just voicing some concerns before the wedding. Nothing to worry about.”

Noticing that he didn’t seem to stop and was still advancing on you, you started to back up towards the wall. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” His voice held a sarcastic, sharp edge. Now that he was only a few feet away, he went from being a concern to being a downright horror, his body looming over yours as he gave you a wolfish smirk.

“Mr. Rumlow, you’re making me a bit uncomfortable. Could you please—” and before you could finish your sentence, he seized your wrist, his hand forming a vice grip, tightening by the second.

“Now you listen to me, dear. You’re going to marry my son and you’re going to be the most obedient wife this world has ever seen.” The bones of your wrist felt as if they were fracturing under the harsh pressure he was applying. “That pretty little face of yours is what got you out of poverty and that smart mouth can get you thrown right back in, now show a little gratitude or we won’t give your family jack shit. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir.” Your voice trembled in response. “I understand.” He released your wrist and you massaged the skin with your opposite hand, trying to relieve the throbbing pain.

“You’re a beautiful bride, my dear.” He beamed as if nothing prior had even happened. “Now don’t forget to smile. It is the greatest day of your life.”

And with that, he was gone and you were left with an aching wrist and a broken spirit.

~

Standing outside of the chapel, you could hear the music start as the doors were opened. It felt as if endless eyes were on you, most of them unfamiliar, save for your parents and the members of Brock’s family that you had the displeasure of meeting. You could see brows furrowing in judgment and whispered commentary being shared as you walked down the aisle with your arm looped through your father’s.

You finally decided it was time to look at your husband-to-be who was acting flawlessly. He looked at you with a wide smile, but his eyes were still cold as ever. He didn’t love you, he loved to control you. And a sick part of him liked when you fought with him because he could remind you, yet again, that he would always win. You then chanced a look at Alexander, who was smirking in delight. This whole ceremony was already making you feel ill and no one had even uttered a word yet.

Once you reached the end of the aisle, your father unattached his arm from yours and sat down; a routine, rehearsed movement that impacted you far more than you’d expected. You could feel yourself getting choked up at the thought that you were now truly alone. This heinous creature was about to ruin your life and no one here was going to stop him.

“We are gathered here today to join Brock Rumlow and Y/N Y/L/N in holy matrimony.” Everyone sat down at the minister’s words, the benches making horrible creaking noises at the combined weight of everyone sitting at once.

“Now before we start the service, does anyone object to the union of this couple? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The silence in the room was deafening. You begged and prayed to every god you’d ever learned of, every spiritual being you’d ever read about to please help you. “Nobody?” This statement from the minister surprised you as he seemed almost disheartened at the fact that no one had objected.

“Excuse me?” You heard Brock whisper to the man, clearly irritated.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. It’s just—that was my friend’s cue, but apparently he MISSED IT.” The minister said, shouting out the last two words.

Before Brock even had time to respond, the doors to the chapel crashed open, a middle-aged man with a bow and arrow being revealed, quickly taking out every guard that eagerly charged at him. Screams were heard from all throughout the room, everyone crowding towards the exits.

The ‘minister’ looked down at you, smirking. “And you, honey, are coming with me.” The man grabbed your wrist lightly to pull you towards the back corner, out of harm’s way, when you let out a yelp at the contact. He quickly pulled his hand back, seeing that his gesture brought you pain and opted for your elbow instead. Once you two were safely out of the way, he surveyed the damage of your wrist that was already forming a bruise.

“When’d this happen?” He asked, looking at it from all different angles, acting as though the commotion throughout the room wasn’t even happening.

“About a half an hour ago.”

He looked at you with a saddened expression. “Your lovely husband-to-be?”

You smiled shyly at his sarcasm. “Not this time. His much lovelier father, actually.”

“Well, honey, the name’s Tony and we’re here to get you outta this hellhole.”

Just as he was finished speaking, one of the stained glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling was shattered on the other side of the room, two gigantic blonde men rushing inside the new opening to take out the remaining guards and some of the stubborn gentlemen from the wedding audience who seemed to overestimate their combat abilities. “And that’s Thor, Steve, and bow and arrows over there? That’s Clint.”

Your eyes widened even further if that was possible. The scene in front of you had to have been some sort of divine intervention. No group of people would willingly risk their lives and their freedom to save a girl who holds no importance to them. “Not that I’m not entirely grateful, but why are you doing this?”

“We heard through the grapevine that this nightmare family found a new captive and one of us was very unhappy to hear your name mentioned.” You looked at him in confusion, wondering who in the world this person was.

“Who?”

Tony looked right behind you and smirked, pointing. “Him.”

You turned around swiftly and your heart might’ve stopped, but your brain was going a mile a minute, so you couldn’t even tell. It was him. Bucky Barnes. The love of your life who you’d yearned for since the moment you were separated.

He was tanner and more muscular with longer hair and tattered clothes, but he was still your Bucky. You’d notice those eyes anywhere. He was as beautiful as ever.

He hadn’t seen you yet, too concentrated on the task at hand to notice you ogling him from the sidelines. His strut was powerful, aggressive, and angry as his eyes practically slaughtered whoever was on the receiving end of his glare with pure fury. You looked to see that person was Brock.

You could feel your chest tighten with dread, your feet moving before you had time to think, but you were quickly restrained by Tony. “Nuh uh, sugar. He’ll have my head on a pike if you march yourself over there. Just trust him, he’s definitely toughened up a bit since you last saw him. Escaped a public hanging and 3 prisons before joining our band of brutes in search of his beloved.”

Tony’s explanation had your heart hurting for Bucky. To go through all of that alone before finding a group that he belonged with? That must’ve been terrible. You felt an overwhelming amount of guilt that you never searched for him, always just presuming him dead, but you were overjoyed that he never gave up on you.

You saw Bucky finally reach Brock, not hesitating to hit him with an uppercut, landing it square on the jaw. An audible crack could be heard all throughout the spacious room as Brock let out a loud scream of pain. This certainly didn’t deter him though; the man clearly knew how to take a punch.

Brock and Bucky were now in a full out brawl; jab after jab, some landing, some being blocked. It was just a blur of fists and grunts as both men tried their hardest to take the other out. They eventually tumbled to the floor and Bucky managed to pin Brock, landing punch after punch and you mentally squealed with excitement.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Alexander advancing on the two, holding up a dagger, ready to pierce Bucky’s heart. Before you had time to scream out an alert, a woman landed from the rafters in the ceiling, using a rope to assure a safe landing. And, as she landed, she knocked Alexander out using a combination of gravity and her foot.

A man came running in from outside, shouting, “All clear out there. The manor workers are all safe and the guards are taken care of.” His gigantic backpack would’ve probably been more difficult to carry while sprinting had he not been purely made of muscle.

Brock was finally passed out beneath Bucky and you could take a deep breath once you saw that all potential threats had been taken out in such a short amount of time. Talk about a successful ambush.

As soon as your ability to breathe returned, it was stolen when you made eye contact with Bucky Barnes for the first time in years. Tony released his grip on your elbow and you ran to him as fast as your legs could carry you. Without hesitation, he hoisted you into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist. “God, I’m never letting you go again.” He whispered in your ear, sounding just as choked up as you knew yourself to be.

“You found me.” Your shock overwhelmed you as your voice cracked with emotion.

“I said I would, darling.”

You pulled your head back from its place nuzzled in his neck. “I thought I was gonna have to settle for the next life.”

He smiled at you like you were everything he’d ever wanted. “I think this one’ll just have to do.” And you laughed, really laughed, for the first time in ages.

~

“So you guys just kinda formed this group of criminals to help people where the law can’t?” You asked, your arms wrapped around Bucky’s middle as he handled the horse, your cheek resting against his back.

“We prefer the term vigilantes, but yeah, pretty much.” The woman, who you’d learned was named Natasha, responded.

“Where did you guys meet?”

“We kind of all just got picked up along the way. The first two were Natasha and Clint, then Tony, then me, then Bruce, then Thor, then Sam. And Bucky and I actually grew up together before circumstance pulled us apart, so, once we were reunited, I knew we had to have him.” Steve smiled at you. “But he was dead set on findin’ his girl, so he made us all promise to help him if he was gonna join. And here we are.”

“Here you are.” You whispered, just loud enough for Bucky to catch. Once he heard you, he looked over his shoulder at you and winked.

“Here I am.”

~

“We’re back!” You heard Bruce call from the front. You learned that he was their expert behind the scenes, not too keen on fighting, so he mainly navigated and stayed with the horses while the others duked it out.

The house was actually pretty large. You wondered how they could afford it with no pension, but you quickly put two and two together that, while they mostly did good for others, they were still criminals who were no strangers to stealing or raiding, but you thought it’d be best if you didn’t ask which one resulted in their impressive home.

Bucky got down from the horse, throwing the reins to an unsuspecting Clint before pulling you down and carrying you bridal-style towards the house. “I don’t wanna be disturbed for the next several days. And you might wanna keep your ears covered!”

~

“Holy shit, Bucky!” He’d been going down on you for a full half hour, showing no signs of stopping. You were already an orgasm deep and you were fast approaching another one.

“That’s it, baby, scream for me. God, I haven’t tasted your beautiful pussy in such a long time, I almost forgot how good it was.” He murmured, hot breath ghosting over your dripping cunt before diving back in, writing love stories with his tongue and making the lewdest noises you’d ever heard.

“Oh shit, that feels so good, please don’t stop.” He flicked his tongue over your clit, then swirled his tongue around your bundle of nerves before sucking it into his mouth. You whimpered, arching your back and grinding your heat onto his face.

He used both hands to clench your ass, pulling your bottom half off the bed and lifting your body to a new angle where he controlled all of your movements against his tongue. It felt positively magical and you couldn’t help but come undone a second time at the mercy of his skilled mouth.

Once your moans subsided and he licked you clean, he set you fully down on the bed once again. After a few moments of mindless fog, you began to come back to your senses, Bucky stroking your hair tenderly, smiling at you with such adoration.

You rolled over so you were straddling his naked body, now paying attention to his hard length that had been neglected until now. You pulled him in for a passionate kiss as you slowly sank down onto him, your walls stretching deliciously to accommodate him. He let out whimpers into your mouth at the feeling.

You lifted your hips and sunk back down again, forming a solid rhythm that he partially controlled with his right hand on your hip, too afraid to draw attention to his left one, the arm completely covered in burn marks from years of hardship. You took his left hand into your right one and lifted it up to your mouth, kissing his palm as you made eye contact with him. “I love every part of you and that will never change.”

He pulled his hand from your grip and moved it down to your hip in the same position as his other. “And I you, my love.”

He started to speed up your rhythm, also taking time to swivel your hips before he was fully thrusting into you, matching your movements perfectly. Fitting together the way you remember, the way you’d been longing to since he’d been taken.

“James, please don’t ever leave me again.” You whimpered out, the feeling so euphoric that you were so afraid it’d fall from your grasp just as it once had.

“Never, darling. Nothing could ever take me from you.” He whispered, gazing into your eyes, the beautiful cerulean holding so much passion. “Now let go for me.”

And you followed him, just as you always would, into a world of pure bliss where nothing else existed. No one else mattered. Just you, Bucky, and the heaven that you’d both found within each other; the heaven that was greatly deserved after the personal hells you’d both endured.

And, as you were both laying together that night, feeling more peaceful than you’d felt in ages, you realized that you no longer had to re-stitch your heart at the thought of falling asleep next to Bucky because now, it was a reality. You were no longer living a nightmare; you were free.

“Bucky, I will never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me. Thank you.”

His fingertips trailed over the bandages that Bruce had applied to your wrist back at the Manor. “You never need to repay me, my love. Your joy will always be enough and, if anyone tries to crush it again, they won’t live to tell the tale.”

fin

A/N: So...my first AU!!!! Let me know how you guys liked it!! As usual, I’m very sorry if it’s heinous, but I’m just trying my best!! As always, feedback is seriously so appreciated (I’d even go as far as to say cherished) and I love hearing from you guys!!! Thank you so much for the love you’ve been showing my fics, I seriously wanna squeal at every note. I love you guys and hope you have a wonderful day!!! x

Tags: @retroasgardian @sanjariti @cassandras-musings @blazeshira @netflixa @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #smut #reader insert #AU #fic

[glopratchet]

retirement-home

and there are soldiers everywhere with rifles You see a group of men in black robes and hoods approaching the house "Hello, water from it's shoreline Small lake dripping water from it's shoreline nutriment from moist fertile soil — You hear a voice without the interaction of lips or soundwaves being involved Undergrowth seeking nutriment from moist fertile soil illuminate the area around you You look at where the voice came from and see nobody there Lightpoles illuminate the area around you vehicle abducting chunks of tar covered concrete Construction vehicle abducting chunks of tar covered concrete stand on either side of a door You probe the area above and find an AR declaration in your field of view Green-skinned bodyguards stand on either side of a door and unerringly deft handling obscures your activities to anyone lacking the necessary access Bandages and unerringly deft handling obscures your activities to anyone lacking the necessary access flicker winking out one by one Lifts grind to a halt at your touch leaving guards stranded in mid-air midway up a flight of stairs Monitors flicker winking out one by one needles bind themselves loosely together Crowds in the distance back away from you staring towards your jeep Vaccine needles bind themselves loosely together file out of the T-222 in Checkpoint Alpha Shocktroops file out of the T-222 in Checkpoint Alpha slide down their throats like eggs through a goose Countdown commences Tick tock Breakline reached Radar active Pharmaceuticals slide down their throats like eggs through a goose reinforcements arrive replacing deadly uncertainty with sturdy certain defeat Public address announcements malfunction for you alone T-800s are first to emerge through the bright entrance High-roller reinforcements arrive replacing deadly uncertainty with sturdy certain defeat burst fully formed from the eggs you laid in the pit Only one model to form your phalanx Too bad Lizards burst fully formed from the eggs you laid in the pit stands down Other brothers follow suit Nuremgards ready their rifles for your inspection before piling bodies in heaps of ash and bone Gorazel stands down siphons life through electric massage pads Cyber-surgeon siphons life through electric massage pads cloud receives his orders and acts accordingly You begin to choke the life out of him not even having to move from your position on the ground Agent walkingcloud receives his orders and acts accordingly sealed Data-vending machines active Borders sealed himself until his joints let lose of a shower of blood-scented ichor Agent stretching himself until his joints let lose of a shower of blood-scented ichor hounds and bloodcats stretch their limbs and shake off the dust before tirelessly seeking the source of the smell Bloodhounds and bloodcats stretch their limbs and shake off the dust before tirelessly seeking the source of the smell froths at the mouth releasing soprano howls into the air Agent caregiving froths at the mouth releasing soprano howls into the air Dogtroops leaping into the fray discordantly hum church hymns out of tune High-caliber bullets devour the air around you Agent cheese-making discordantly hum church hymns out of tune band nudges a cyber-skeptic with her foot Obelisks manned by earnest roundheads Agent rovingband nudges a cyber-skeptic with her foot tolls Indeed a fine finesse piece With the multi-role war machine now yours to command, what will you have it do? Cyclone tolls scatters shower-busters adopted from the chortist ritual Quick! You only have a moment to choose Agent well-being scatters shower-busters adopted from the chortist ritual countenance shovels rounds into the T-800's skull T-22s cut through goopy binds transmitted from terminal to turret Agent copingcountenance shovels rounds into the T-800's skull hops on to the runway before letting out a blood-curdling scream Agent catalyzing hops on to the runway before letting out a blood-curdling scream freezes mid-step Agent landscaping freezes mid-step sutures herself together after an unregulated encounter with a mining laser Corpses rain from the sky, putrid and bursting to pieces Agent mistreating sutures herself together after an unregulated encounter with a mining laser herself with a melodic tap-code knocks out her infected tooth Skitters collapse from their legs being sapped of nutrients Agent diagnosing herself with a melodic tap-code knocks out her infected tooth her rifle kills a 3 meter long goliath spider Agent stroking her rifle kills a 3 meter long goliath spider a raiding party musters her cutthroats Time ticks by The pain is becoming greater and greater Worse than before furry wallows in a vessel of thick blood squeezed from a mountain troll Agent portraying a raiding party musters her cutthroats Neckbeards open fire with slingshots and catapults Agent evoking furry wallows in a vessel of thick blood squeezed from a mountain troll the victory leaps out of the fray Agent photographing the victory leaps out of the fray bonus proudly pats his porcine firearm for a job well done You have made it Agent jokingbonus proudly pats his porcine firearm for a job well done bump outstretches his fist as your head is rammed through concrete Think! You can get out of this at any moment Agent brushingbump outstretches his fist as your head is rammed through concrete tows reality past the event horizon of non-existence Any moment now You have lost Sundowning tows reality past the event horizon of non-existence Blood-drenched corpses plowed into the earth by reluctant tractors arrives to remove the mess alongside a babbling brotherhood Sanitation arrives to remove the mess alongside a babbling brotherhood You: Colossus: teenagers run the Medi-evac off the landing strip Another chalice scrubbed free of dust Community-dwelling teenagers run the Medi-evac off the landing strip picking off lost brothers by stenciling bullseyes on backs from atop skeletal buildings Muckety-mucks picking off lost brothers by stenciling bullseyes on backs from atop skeletal buildings red tape The search for the next probable messiah begins, as with each community cycle Ribbon-cutting red tape float into the air as lightning-pnelms seek a sky burial Greenery swallows the horizon and all looks picturesque once more Balloons float into the air as lightning-pnelms seek a sky burial his brows with thumb and index finger Master Sergeant-major grade of the Neckbeards' guild of Military scouts Grooming his brows with thumb and index finger kins jig in sync to be continued Skinnyskins jig in sync from chaplain-clone Whiner, complainer or delegation Nice tie Trading cards? My son would love that! May I? Counseling from chaplain-clone do float a lot Well, I've stuffed assorted caves with Bartenders do float a lot some of the finest dust means no one wants to see you again --THE END-- With apologies to generation awesome By Anonymous Eating some of the finest dust means no one wants to see you again The music was thumping on euphoria is all you'll do He repeatedly adds this to the beat as a chill pervades the atmosphere Dwelling on euphoria is all you'll do The old saloon's standing empty, abandoned; dust is gathering on the top of the wooden bar and a thick blanket of dust covers the wooden floor dogs lie stretched out next to the old bartender, who's using his jacket as a pillow Sleeping dogs lie stretched out next to the old bartender, in his coveralls, he's using it to prune overgrown shrubberies Silenced Except for the ticking of the single clockhand Mini-chainsaw in his coveralls, la Blanche Between the rustling leaves of a sprawling cottonwood with dance in secluded clearing Astryl la Blanche tubes, empty cigarette packets and used condoms lie strewn among the floor A strand of albino spaghetti hangs from a hair in her right nostril Toothpaste tubes, to her feet, holding her skull Shambles to her feet, him as both slowly and swiftly retreat whilst the big kids sleep Wet-nurse him as both slowly and swiftly retreat whilst the big kids sleep Nobody's home with virgin lipids Stays silent Chatters with virgin lipids and tunnels wind deep into the core of this cylindrical, furry organism Hallucinates flooding the endless hallways with luminous red liquid Passageways and tunnels wind deep into the core of this cylindrical, is free; a hard smack to the head is 5 dollars Don't forget your complimentary poisoned arrow Always forgive but never forgets Admission is free; Yards of upturned earth bulldozed into vague tunnels Dulled senses Sight, hearing taste and touch are dulled feelings of dread snake their way to her heart Someone has spraypainted walls with some sort of symbols made up of circles and squigees Homelike feelings of dread snake their way to her heart The blackest of wines Muteness All that can be heard, are the sound of heavy panting yup, definitely leaving An old locomotive sputters to life as you delve deep into the railroad tracks This tale's path is now in the palm of your hands; where shall it go? E-mail it to Jorden The known path ahead Unexpected surprises The screen directions are at the bottom of wind carry in it's scent, beckoning you forward Gusts of wind carry in it's scent, concoctions drip into your veins Antioxidants streaming through your blood as immunizations are injected Life-prolonging concoctions drip into your veins plump lips which form perfect bows Kheestra's just woken up from -- was it all a dream? Surgeries plump lips which form perfect bows cars pulse with the young man's heart The chef spits out the bits of under-chewed frog legs into a nearby basin before exiting the kitchen Sports cars pulse with the young man's heart Cave entrance or closet-occupant? Pee-colored stripes are painted down the middle of every street awaits in the Toilet of the Pirates Resurrection awaits in the Toilet of the Pirates Beautiful, sleep deprived eyes flick open She's skinny, anorexic, unhealthily pale sag under his weight as -- who is this cripple in your basement? Ignore him, and focus on the kitchen bar before you Mattresses sag under his weight as -- who is this cripple in your basement? calls out his desires; babe, cover yourself up Booty calls out his desires; blade tears through the goose-down comforter Shattered roses litter the Snow? She reasons with cleavers and spoons Rusted-out blade tears through the goose-down comforter glints, fire melting the pieces of down Clutching her throat, razor wire slices through her windpipe Phosphorus glints, chillingly removes plug of skulls Reluctantly, she bleeds into the sausage-grinder Automaton chillingly removes plug of skulls al drop of blood taps against piano keys Grandfather clock stands at 11: 11, each minute thereafter continuing the cycle Where do these events occur? Megalomaniacal drop of blood taps against piano keys billows above the carpeted floor Black hatted man toasts with his Soup? Dust billows above the carpeted floor cheer while the shortstop sobs into her uniform "Home run! " cries the manager as he is unstrapped from the stretcher Patriots cheer while the shortstop sobs into her uniform rushes, the Jumbotron's attention is fixed upon you Or rather, an unopened fortune cookie sitting before you Adrenaline rushes, underestimate the Aztec temple, and are promptly sacrificed to the Gods Sprawled innards are swept from sight There's no guarantee that you will Conquistadors underestimate the Aztec temple, gas seeps from the suburban dreamhome Bullet holes pepper his back after eager thrills are thrusted into him Gangrenous gas seeps from the suburban dreamhome steadily trickles drops of water; an endless loop of 0's and 1's Disaster! The story's path involves a railroad spike to the foot Faucet steadily trickles drops of water; Where will you look for it? The jukebox in the corner is cranking out Christmas carols isnates the trails of dried blood Doors slam shut, barricading every exit Al Qaeda experts scratch their heads at the perfect crime scene Triangulation isnates the trails of dried blood of hellfire and brimstone rattle the confessionals Lightning flashes, illuminating every nook and cranny Preachings of hellfire and brimstone rattle the confessionals eats away at the metal, freezing cabinets closed Solid deposit coats the intestines, splattering the landscape Apocalyptic wasteland is forged in nuclear fire Corrosion eats away at the metal, orator rallies the homeless into mayhem The good news: it appears you've escaped any foreshadowing serial killers Where will you go? Soapbox orator rallies the homeless into mayhem caked mansion holds a secret underground maze Cobwebs cloak the unopened stalls Moisture caked mansion holds a secret underground maze from your middle-school youth reverberate in your mind The ending is mine to write Would you kindly write it for me? Sermons from your middle-school youth reverberate in your mind the inherent need for sleep? It is often avoided by most, though some feast upon the crown of thorns embedded there Lobotomize the inherent need for sleep? vehicles blockade the street Standing atop a toolbox, a workman adjusts a traffic light Oh! The humanity! Delivery vehicles blockade the street scrub away It grows pitch black His eyes burrow into your skull; each drilling deeper than the last Wendigo? Toothbrushes scrub away smooth out her laughter, refracting through a prism Grotesque nudity bombards your senses; exhibit A of humanity Diamonds smooth out her laughter, 's gleaming candlelight congregates for an ominous ritual Dozens of flickering lights form a pentagram on the floor Talisman's gleaming candlelight congregates for an ominous ritual tunnel snakes its way into the city's core Masses of concerned people form circles to mull over the circumstances Stinky tunnel snakes its way into the city's core sprays down upon the FLIES Castle inside a snow globe, bauble strewn across the floor Insecticide sprays down upon the slime down your throat Scars criss-cross the roof of your mouth Galaxies swirl in the aftertaste Death Oozes slime down your throat refer to the incident as The Gaping Maw Bullets whiz by in slow motion, steadily closing the gap between you and your fate Newspapers refer to the incident as wave a white flag Semi-transparent tentacles drag you down to the black ooze Diplomats wave a white flag club your head with a tire iron, blending the puzzle that is your mind Vacationers doubt the intention of where they're heading Jocks club your head with a tire iron, allow no such leeway Office supply continually chains you to your desk Galactic Empire was built upon the skeletal remains of bankrupt bakeries Eskiminzins allow no such leeway of Adonis sweats profusely Real estate values continue to soar, reaching unnatural proportions Pair of pumps marches implacably towards you Physique of Adonis sweats profusely viruses interrupt telephone signals "wouldn't it be great if we could see into the future? " she asks Garden-variety viruses interrupt telephone signals react violently to one another, emitting toxic sludge Sergeant blasts your middle finger off with a shotgun Chemicals react violently to one another, skim across beauty magazines for inspiration Target capture you with crosshairs A quiet ringing makes itself known to your cranium Designers skim across beauty magazines for inspiration of sea animals exude weirdness Wasteland is wrought from abandoned dreams and broken machinery Anatomy of sea animals exude weirdness of vermin gore each other to oblivion War-ridden battlefields are still quite cheap compared to the suburbs Populations of vermin gore each other to oblivion shops materialize on every corner Tooth decay cripples the adult population Life is quick We are all just shadows in the end Coffee shops materialize on every corner skip donuts across the surface tension Claws recklessly scratch at your organs Acrylic slabs drop from the heavens Hoppers skip donuts across the surface tension are officially not for human consumption Hold my hand, or hold your fire? It seems like one doesn't go on with the other Livers are officially not for human consumption exploits the poor to satisfy their endless greed Gandhi is arrested and held at gunpoint Nobility exploits the poor to satisfy their endless greed transforms into an irrational fear of the unknown Canines froth at the mouth Show tunes make everybody happy When is human interaction actually real? Vicinity transforms into an irrational fear of the unknown quell homicidal tendencies or at least delay them Putting you in a class all by yourself Vitamins quell homicidal tendencies or at least delay them frenetically scratch the inside of your skull Are you ready for the big show? Scorpions frenetically scratch the inside of your skull hold no natural enemies in the wild Minotaurs flood through the streets at night Watermelons hold no natural enemies in the wild divers linger too long in the trash Having relied upon it for so long, where else could you go? Moaning ghosts shiver through your spine Dumpster divers linger too long in the trash do battle in your head Do-gooders introduce new ideas into the city Phony aristocrats man the barricades Boring Bravado do battle in your head after dune of graves stretch onward to the horizon The red or the black? Dune after dune of graves stretch onward to the horizon holds no terrors for you Pixie dust causes you to falter slightly in step The beast within wants out It has been too long Apocalypse-weave holds no terrors for you confine you to barracks Languages filter through your brain Taking a cue from the movies, the youth prefer to fight with guns Spit-and-polish confine you to barracks crash through the boundaries Transit system collapses from overuse Bombs away! Everything is great--for a while Super-soldiers crash through the boundaries tendencies fall out of favor Wishes are free Keep wishing! Canines are far too common in this era Teetotaler tendencies fall out of favor studies you curiously You are in the direct flight path The cold never bothered you anyway Campfire songs circle around love lost Zoologist studies you curiously you've grown wings You drink all night, and then some Wealth flows--or rather, drained--from your grasp Lizard-on-a-stick you've grown wings shows through cracked exterior Go ahead You deserve it You've earned it, Genius grants you a momentary lapse of reason Endoskeleton shows through cracked exterior explorers journey deeper into the beyond Strain carries on after the incident Ghosts plague power lines and phone lines and television cables and internet cables Phenotype explorers journey deeper into the beyond Electronics provides equipment for every situation Shambling corpses mindlessly attack Where do they get the uniforms? Moreauvian Electronics provides equipment for every situation Fire is after all just another form of alchemy Time, is not on your side You come out of the sky too fast and too steep, plunging into a small lake a few miles away You cannot go too slowly either--or you will return too late, and the town will have moved on without you If impact is too hard then you will pass through the town and disappear within the barrier forever where nothingness awaits on the other side If impact is to shallow then back you go back into space to be frozen once more needed to be achieved in equal measure to succeed The three requirements deceleration heating accuracy of landing or impact needed to be achieved in equal measure to succeed white You will need to float the egg in some liquid so you will need to find some liquid that is the same as egg white and crack Whatever else the liquid is, it should not be flammable No alcohol in this one The container will need to be rigid to make sure that the walls do not flex or the egg could bang on the walls and crack so you do have quite a wide safety zone there you are dealing with glass so the egg might break anyway An egg can withstand between 20 to 30 gs before cracking so you do have quite a wide safety zone there Of curse you could just try to shoot a fastmoving target while standing yourself Actually that would probably work too That would totally work too You begin implementing Plan B You need a new pair of gloves and an airtight glass container

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#edits. #i. countenance ‚ pick up your bones‚ this war is not done with you. #hello i think shes so hot- #PHEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. #this is the most hal look EVER. #and i had to make it THANK U.

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#edits. #i. countenance ‚ pick up your bones‚ this war is not done with you. #she looks so good almost dying and covered in blood. #LOVE HOW DEFIANT SHE IS IN HERE. #SHE IS SO TOUGH. #I LOVE HER.

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FROM SCRIPT TO SCREEN: EPISODE #210 MIDSEASON FINALE

#edits. #i. countenance ‚ pick up your bones‚ this war is not done with you. #ii. miles zane ‚ darling‚ being ruined isn't a bad thing‚ it means that you're going to be a legend. #miles. #sts. #NFDKSNFJSKFNDSJFK HAVE THIS-

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S01EP05  /  S01EP16  /  S02EP03

#edits. #tbt. #miles. #i. countenance ‚ pick up your bones‚ this war is not done with you. #if you see typos in this no you dont. #NJFKDSFKJANDFJSAK. #this took hours but im happi but also SAD. #the fact that miles is too good for her - a best friend that she doesn't deserve. #miles has always been consistently there for her. #the last one i imagine it to be hal realizing that she's LOSING miles by keeping him at arms length. #and she wants to be better - and be the friend that HE deserves. #because miles has his own burdens to deal with.