#they both wear capes & metal chains & swords

[shortnotsweet]

This technically applies to my Stepmother AU in which Alicent is around six years older than Rhaenyra, and occupies a wicked stepmother role as opposed to ex ‘friends-to-first loves-to-enemies’. Despite lacking the foundation of shared girlhood, both find simultaneous comfort and rivalry in one another, and undergo a gravitational pull. A young Rhaenyra’s eagerness to participate in swordplay and political affairs at a young is accommodated for, and she grows up with a sword in one hand and the weight of experience in another, which further helps pave her way to the throne.

Alicent’s Costuming

Alicent’s clothing is almost entirely bottle, emerald, or forest green. While there is layering present in her skirts and jackets, the accent should always be a darker green than the base color. The fabric is deep, rich, and retains an undeniably high-quality luster. Look to velvets and silks. Gold embroidery lingers around her sleeves, neck, and hemline to elevate the coloring.

Metallic embellishments should be almost military-like, and appear heavy. Contribute to the imagery of chains or shackles in addition to her status

Draws inspiration from historically accurate stiffness and Victorian shapes, with a tapered waist, imposing, puffy sleeves, and a high neckline. Despite inaccuracies, this shape is evocative of someone elegantly and conservatively feminine, repressed, and capable of exerting power over others. Reference a classic, trussed hourglass shape. Skirts should be notably heavy and full; may make noise in movement

The coloring and shapes remain relatively consistent but lack variation; this is to demonstrate a lack of freedom and exploration, as well as an adherence to conventional feminine roles

Despite these limitations, her costuming should always be put-together, coordinated, and unquestionably fashionable. Tight sleeve cuffs may be accompanied by a more traditionally medieval fan sleeve

Shoes should stick mostly to slippers, or flat designs

In this AU, her hair leans more towards a dark brown instead of auburn, as her show counterpart. This is mostly due to faux-book accuracy and to simplify the sketch process, since keeping her hair darker in comparison to Rhaenyra’s lighter hair translates more easily in uncolored renderings.

Keep her hair either in a tidy bun or pulled back and loose; avoid too many intricate shapes, braids, or styles. Occasionally, the hair will hang loose. Lean into medieval or royal headpieces, clips, coverings, etc.

Rhaenyra’s Costuming

Rhaenyra’s clothes are primarily black and red, occasionally accented or substituted with neutrals such as beige, white, or gray. Exceptions may include blue or yellow, but she generally stays in this color palette.

Strong focus is drawn to her shoulders and neckline, sometimes with embroidered or embellished detailing. She often has strong, angular shoulders in her dresses or jackets, occasionally theatrically pointed. Off-the shoulder necklines emphasize her collarbones and a certain broadness.

There should be decent variety in her clothing; there is a hypothetical outfit for every occasion and more (for battle, for riding, everyday, formal, feasts, everyday, etc.), and most should be composed of multiple pieces and utilize generous layering. This includes under-fabric, belts and corsets, jackets and doublets, draped fabric for aesthetic purpose, and even functional capes.

Most of her clothes should provide visual aid for movement; additional fabric to her skirts, for example. Her clothes should be highly stylized but still easy to move in. In riding and battle gear, it is presumed that she wears pants and boots under her skirts, even if they are not visible.

Shoes lean more into boot cuts, still practical but should have a sleek and uniform quality to them. When she walks, she should make some kind of noise. Shoes should usually be black or potentially red, the latter for decorative purposes.

Overall her style should be more contemporary and lean into the fantasy element. She’s not opposed to oriental details or showing skin, and her costumes should reflect both couture-height drama and period-reliant aspects. Longer lines and diagonal hems mean she is not as devoted to an hourglass shape, and her high collars should always be decorative in some respect.

Keep her hair long and mostly loose, sometimes pulled back. Small braids should be implied as incorporated. Occasional hairstyles feature complicated braids. With the exception of highly decorative braided styles, simple buns should be avoided unless accompanied with very high necklines.

Avoid headpieces that are not either a) her crown or b) ceremonial.

#rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra x alicent #asoiaf #my art #thinking about how their character and costume designs are so communicative and are designed with each other in mind. for example havijg bc #the strong shoulders and embroidered necklines keeps them connected although imo they could’ve played around with it a lot more #I just have a lot of thoughts about them ok

[moonlight-stalker]

# Dcu x Dp 142

In the center of Gotham there stood two unique and strange statues.

One of the statues was of a humanoid man that stood up straight at 5 feet 8 inches both of his hands resting on the top of a sword that was in front of him. He wears a cape that was sculpted to look like there is fur on the edges a chain holds the cape in place, where the chain meets the cape there is a human-looking skull on both sides. His head is slightly tilted down so if you stood a couple of feet away he would be looking at you, he has a soft open smile on his face if you look closely enough you can see he has fangs. His hair looked as though it was floating, on top of his head sat a crown, he had pointy ears the hands that rested on top of the sword had nails that looked like claws. He wears a bodysuit baggy pants and what looks like combat boots, on the center of his bodysuit there is a D with a P inside symbol.

At his feet lays the other statue, a big Rottweiler. The dog came up to his hip while lying down and was at least 7 feet long, his head was by the man's hip and his body was curled behind the man's legs. The dog had his mouth open partially with his tongue hanging out you could see his teeth when looking at him the dog's head was looking at the same spot that the man's head was looking at. The dog wore a collar with spikes at the front there was a tag that had the name Cujo and on the back of the tag the same symbol that was on the man's bodysuit. One of the dog's paws was resting on top of an actual dog toy made of rubber.

They both are on a stone pedestal that is about 3 feet tall and 6 feet wide the pedestal is decorated with symbols of death and protection. You can find other humanoids sculpted into the pedestal and over time people have noticed that you can also find the Bats and Birds symbols on the front of the pedestal and in the corners you can find symbols that represent the rogues.

The statue had both precious gemstones and metals decorating it. The statue of the dog had the least, the dog's eyes are made of rubies the claws are made of obsidian. The spikes on the collar seemed to be an actual metal, in between each spike a star sapphire sits. Under each spike, a small chain is attached and connects to the next spike.

The man had much more, his eyes were made of Alexandrite stones but changed from Emerald to Sapphire and they changed at random. His freckles are a combination of Opal stone and Moonstone that are spread across his cheeks and nose, and his claws and sword are made of obsidian. The cape outside of the cape has small silver spots, and on the inside, there are many different gemstones that are decorated to look like stars in the sky. Crown is made of a combination of Amazonite and Malachite and is decorated with Ammolite, papagoite, shattuckite, and star sapphire. Bracelets are made of Azurite with grandidierite, he has Paraiba tourmaline earrings with one star sapphire earrings hanging from his right ear. He has three rings one made of Garnet, the second one is made of Grandidierite, and the last one is made of Jeremejevite. On his left hand, there are some cracks that disappear underneath the sleeves of his bodysuit and appear again on his left cheek the cracks seem to be filled with emerald ( the bats know it's not emerald it's crystallized LaArus water ) it is like a kintsugi.

Several things make these two statues very unique

1. No known history there is nothing about who made the status or why they were placed there

2. Destroy or steal no matter how many times people try to blow up the statues or smash them no damage can be done, and no one can remove any of the gemstones that are on them. The person would also become sick or be injured after trying

3. Can't be Recorded or take pictures it's difficult to get clear pictures and videos unless they're from an older model

4. No one can buy or take them many wealthy people have tried to buy the statues and take them but every time that's happened the machines and cars that were there to move them were shut down and the person who tried to buy them would get extremely sick and be haunted by nightmares, night terrors and paralysis.

5. Crused and blessed as mentioned before people would get sick be injured get nightmares, night terrors, and/or paralysis. People that stand in a 15 feet radius of the status can't get infected by any of the gass that are release and people that are already infected by them are inside the radius will get cured, and has also protected people from getting attacked inside the circle .

#My post #Dcxdp #Dpxdc prompt #Dpxdc #Ghost king Danny #Or he can be a prince #Danny is the spirit of Gotham #He and Cujo are stuck as a statue #Danny does not have the power to protect the city #He can protect people who are close the him #Danny could have been cursed by so magic user or another ghost #Or mabye his parents caused it

[istherewifiinhell]

I am... ALL the way here for Leo's short little dark turn. HELLO?

[All of 2012 Leo in his "foot clan" outfit. A black eye mask with scrap wear armour pieces on his limbs, extra straps, fish net like gloves and sleeves, black shoulder/knee pads and foot wraps]

[IDs from alt: 1. No visible irises, sword in both hands, ready to fight. Brothers behind him. 2. Action shot, striking a Footbot with his fist. 3. Sitting with his head in his hand, looking troubled. April standing behind him. 4. Crouched on his knees, looking furious, enemies behind him.

END ID]

LIKE HE JOINED A GOTH GIRL GANG??

[Features Karai, an armour wearing teen with red eye and lip makeup and short black hair with a bleached uncut. And Shinigami, Shini for short, a teen with a witchy hat and black corset and cape outfit. Long black hair with a widows peak, and bold purple make up]

[IDs from alt: 1. In a room with money and fine art. Leo and Karai stand to either side, Shini kneels and celebrates the riches. 2. Shini sits in foreground, chin in her hands, smiling. Karai in background, legs crossed on a throne. 3. Shini, hat on, holding up a large, handle-less crescent blade, hair over one eye. Red clad ninja on either side of her. 4. Karai standing, wearing her metal half mask. Shini crouched, brim of her hat covers her eyes. Battle ready and surrounded by their ninja mercenaries.

END ID]

less aesthetic but for the full picture sake

[IDs from alt: Full body Leo standing from the front, you can see more of the outfit at once. He's got one spikey pauldron, and one with bolts. Shin guards, one clearly from a can, other darker and less distinct. A seat belt acting as a shoulder strap. Plates of metal at his hips, and wraps and chains on the upper thighs. 2. Leo sitting from the back, he has is swords hanging from the hip, and his black mask tails reach down to his belt, worn and blue at the ends.

END ID]

^last bits like thematic huh... like the blue isnt all gone but was just kinda hidden from view. also he dip dyed his hair : }

#some shit #turbles... #SORRY FOR WHAT IM ABOUT TO SAY ITS NONSENSE FOR MYSELF #[on one knee holding up a crown] leo can i offer u this. our highest honour. trans fem turtle #itsssss not myyy fault hes. DOING HOT GIRL SHIT. WITH COOL GOTH GIRLS #and YES theres still the weird romance vague underpining with karai whose kinda his sister. WHATEVER. IGNORING IT. #its like... leo what are u hiding from ur family...... its the gender babes......... #sorry sorry for any time i think the turtles are extra cool looking call that pretty girl moments.... #is goth inhernetly gnc? is being gnc inhernetly trans? what does it even mean for a mutant turtle living in the sewer to BE gnc??? #i will not be answering any of that their doing HOT GIRL SHIT #part of whats happening i think is it just reminds me of jennys metal band look from. whichever comic that was. #also this outfit is based on comics when leo goes. evil brainwashed dark side but LITERALLY. #in this ep he just feels like he should be helping/keeping an eye on karai. cause hes worried/feels responsible/looks for control #SO ITS COMPLETELY. VOLUNARLY GOTH GRUNGE. JUST FOR FUN. SHITS AND GIGGLES. Mutants dont got hot topics its ALLLL diy babey. #let it be noted the ep after this is a raph bug phobia one and he also looked real pretty in that. theyre upping their lighting game..... #OKAY BYE. SLEEP. #turtle fashion digest #<- so excited to have more of this (and rememeber my tag correctly on the first try yup definitely)

[fantasy-on-parchment]

“Oh, Little Fox…”

Evangeline x Jacks

An evajacks fic… bc how else are we supposed to wait for the ballad of never after?? And I REALLY need some soft yet angsty Jacks today... this is my first time writing in a while so please be nice.

Disclaimer: obviously none of these characters are mine, I’ve simply put them in new situations to help my addiction to anything Stephanie garber writes. She is amazing, she is holy, she is god. Please go read her books. WITH THAT BEING SAID, please do not use my work as your own. Give credit where credit is due.

Warning: depictions of torture, nothing too bad.

Summary: After Evangeline sneaks into Wolf Hall, she finds herself imprisoned after rightfully accusing Tiberius of the "murder" (as we know he's still technically alive) except this time they believe she's poisoned him in a different way and send her to be punished. Of course, the prince of hearts couldn't let his pet be hurt.

Art: also, not mine. Couldn’t find who made it. If you know plz message me so I can fix it.

P.S: this is set after the graveyard scene.

Continue to under cut

It wasn't sneaking into the palace that was the hard part, it was as easy as throwing on Jacks cape, adding more powder to my hair, and wearing clothes baggy enough to hide my figure.

No. The hard part was standing in front of a girl who was supposed to be my sister, watching her yell for the guards just when I started to believe she could be on my side. I cringed as I saw her fall to the floor, a whimpering mess. I was seized in seconds, two guards holding my arms in a way I knew would leave bruises. Tiberius had knelt next to Marisol, and I saw it then. It was so obvious he'd been cursed, I wondered how the rest of Wolf Hall didn't see it right in front of them.

That girl is not your friend.

The chains holding me to the wall seemed to chant that phrase as I pulled and tugged. Tiberius and Marisol stood before me, having just confessed that he killed his brother... only, no one believed it. The guards assumed I'd cursed him to take the blame instead of using a simple truth spell. I'd been moved to a lower part of the dungeon, one that looked strikingly similar to Chaos's lair. Except, Chaos's lair didn't include such various mechanisms of torture.

I'd been thrown on the ground and kicked around before chained to the wall. My dress was ripped, Jacks' cape was shredded. I couldn't breathe. My head throbbed.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't breathe.

Where are you, Little Fox?

I couldn't think straight enough to even try to respond, not as one of the guards punched me across the face. When Tiberius wasn't looking, Marisol smirked at me. I've won, she seemed to say.

"Why so quiet?" Tiberius strode forward, he swiveled a chair in front of him and straddled the back of it. I tugged on my chains again.

Little Fox?

Just listening made me want to cry out. Every little sound, inside and out hurt so much.

"You could make this so much easier, Evangeline..." Marisol clasped her hands and made her voice sound like a plead. Like she wanted this to end.

"Your sister's right, just tell me why you killed my brother and cursed me. We don't have to beat you up too much worse." He chuckled at the end, because we both knew. Yes, yes he did.

Little Fox, are you okay?

The chair slammed against the ground and suddenly a sword was at my chin. "You are so selfish," he seethed, "You just had to have all the power, all the say. You couldn't stand by my brother's side, no, you had to have the spotlight."

I looked at Marisol as he spoke. We both knew who those words defined.

Tiberius growled, obviously displeased with my quiet. He waited a second, lowered the sword.

But then he let out a yell, and his fist swiftly collided with my stomach. Again and again.

Little Fo--

Help.

Was all my pounding head, in a moment of desperation, could get out. Help. My mouth tasted of metallic, and my chest started to hurt as I breathed in and out. I hadn't told him where I was, I could only hope he'd find me like last time.

The punches stopped, but were soon replaced with lashes to my stomach, thighs, and shoulders. I started coughing, tears running down my dirt-stained face and landing on my torn-up corset.

It was too much, all of it. I wanted to sleep. To go somewhere else for a little while, just until this was over. My breathing started to slow... I-

Then it stopped. Suddenly, no one was touching me. I let my head hang, the shackles the only thing holding me up. I stopped feeling my wrists a long time ago.

"Stand... very still. Don't you dare speak." A voice, calm yet viscous, spoke to everyone in the room. They must have obeyed, because no sound was made, not even the movement of feet.

I cried when hands touched my waist.

No, I just want it to be over. Just want my happy ending...

Fingers at my jaw supported my head enough to lift it until I met two blue eyes. I whimpered. He found me.

His eyes searched my face. "Oh, Little Fox... I'll always find you."

Jacks' hands pushed me against the wall, so my wrists were no longer holding me up. He took a small step back and scanned from the bruises on my shoulders to the deep wounds on my stomach and scuffed knees, then he found my eyes again. He brought up his sleeve and wiped the blood from the side of my mouth, his eyes swimming with fury.

I let out a sob, trying to find my voice. "Th-the pain... can't you... can't you take away the pain?" It was a desperate, pathetic whisper. His mouth turned down at it, with something that looked like his own desperation. We both knew he couldn't, it wouldn't work on me.

Instead, he gently clasped my cheeks and leaned his forehead into mine. His eyes found mine when he whispered, "Which one of them did this to you?"

"Jacks..."

"Evangeline. Which one of them did this to you?" He emphasized every word in a way that made me fear for Tiberius yet feel so, incredibly safe.

I swallowed hard, my teeth chattering. I pointed with my eyes to Tiberius, who was watching the exchange with paralyzing fear. I wished I wasn't so bloody, so I could give Marisol the same smirk she delivered to me.

Jacks followed my eyes, making a note of Tiberius. "None of you are to move until I am back."

Then he was undoing my chains, an arm at my waist to keep me steady.

"This... this isn't a good idea. I can't walk." I croaked, pushing on his shoulder to keep myself up.

"I don't want you to worry about any of that right now." When I didn't respond, he slid an arm under my knee and one under my back. I groaned from the movement, but it wasn't so bad once I was settled. In fact, it was rather comfortable to lay against his chest as he led us up the dungeon stairs. Undoubtably, I knew he was taking me somewhere safe.

I never realized how long I spent taking care of myself until I realized how nice it was to not have to think while in pain, to know you will be taken care of.

We entered a room that smelled so overwhelmingly like him, I sighed as I was placed on a cool counter. I felt my head loll to the side, but he pulled me upright.

"Let me clean these and then you can rest."

"Mm, right. Can't have your key to the prophecy hurt now, can we?" I laughed a little.

He stopped his movements and leveled me with a look that stopped my giggle. Then, he lifted some towels to my stomach.

"Oh, Little Fox..."

We sat in silence as he cleaned and wrapped the wounds before letting me change into one of his shirts. I entered his closet with the oversized item, both of us assuring the other I wouldn't need help.

But it had been five minutes when he knocked on the door. "Evangeline?"

"I... I've got it." I said, out of breath. My wrists were so numb, I could barely lift them over my head. I had to sit on the ground to take the weight off my knees. The shirt was long enough to cover my thighs, so at least I wouldn't have to worry about trousers.

"Evangeline. What's taking so long?" He sounded impatient, and I tried to hurry. I had gotten it over my head but stretching to get my arms through only worsened the pain in my sides. With a groan, I put my arms down to let them rest for a moment.

"It's just getting my arms in... my sides still hurt when I stretch." I hated how out of breath I was, it was stupid to be exhausted from such a small task.

I almost jumped when the door creaked open.

"Ja--"

"Shh," I couldn't see him from where I sat with my back to the door, "I can't see anything since you still have your skirt on, let me help you."

He kneeled behind me, and I straightened my back instinctively at the presence of him so close to me. The chill of him sent shivers down my spine, yet I wanted to lean closer.

Stupid Fates...

His fingers gently reached for one shirtsleeve, and I turned my head to watch him. He was so close, so undeniably close and for some reason I didn't mind that if I turned he's see...

"Careful, Little Fox..." He smirked, lifting my wrist and slowly guiding it through the shirt. One side done.

My face flushed at the idea that he might have heard my thoughts, but then he moved to the other side, and I caught sight of a flicker in his eyes. A want.

I was able to stand up once he was done and shimmy out of my skirt, letting the shirt fall to its full length. I watched him look me over, his hands reaching out to graze my sides.

What were we doing?

I'm just a prophecy, nothing more. So why look at me with so much concern? I watched his eyes flicker between mine, watched the emotions swirl behind them...

"I--"

We both spoke at once. My face grew hot as I watched him smirk. His hands at my side tightened, pulling me closer but being wary of my wounds.

I wanted to sound strong, prepared, but my voice was barely a whisper when I asked, "What now?"

He chuckled, brushing my hair behind my ear. "Now, you rest..." He leaned in, and I instinctively wanted to pull back at his lips grazing my ear.

Danger.

But then he was speaking, so quiet I almost missed it.

"Can't have my pet in bad condition, now can we?"

I barely knew what to say to that, so taken aback by how close he'd managed to get. How it had felt like a whisper of a kiss. So, I simply let him lead me out of the bathroom and into the bed chamber, to the pure white sheets. I sat carefully on one side, but...

"Where will you sleep?" I looked up to him, but he was already halfway to the door.

He turned slowly, a coy smirk dancing across his sharp lips.

"If you'll remember, Little Fox, I have prior engagements in the dungeon."

I gasped, he really had left Tiberius and the guards down there.

His smirk only grew as he twisted the handle, "I expect you to be asleep when I'm back..."

And he was gone, but my heart wouldn't let go.

#romance #once upon a broken heart #jacks #evangeline #evajacks #angst #who hurt you #ouabh #the ballad of never after #tbona #stephanie garber #Evangeline fox x jacks #evajacks fanfiction #jacks fanfiction #prince of hearts fanfic

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

no but hear me out: vampire hunter movie, but given the ubiquitousness of the black-leather-overcoat-billowing-in-the-wind aesthetic, the audience doesn’t figure out for sure who’s the hunter & who’s the monster until 50 minutes in

#vampires #bonus: crossbows are BOTH character's weapon of choice #bc the vampire can't be 100% certain their victims won't turn out to be undead #and a crossbow works on humans AND vampires so it just makes sense #they both wear capes & metal chains & swords #bc that shit is HELLA RAD and neither of them is required to wear a work uniform so #also i want a 3rd character who the vampire & hunter both stalk bc they're convinced this dude is a vampire and/or fellow hunter #but nah they're just a normal grocery store clerk whose really into the Aesthetic

[teatitty]

Alright here’s the Diarmuid Merc Uniform notes fuck it. I apologize for the lack of ref photos I couldn’t find all the ones I wanted :’) Such is life I guess

First Layer: cropped/vest binder (clasps, not buttons) and tight fitted shorts (boxer briefs? boxer shorts?) both black. Binder is technically optional if you don’t HC him as trans like I do or if you prefer he has no titty but I like boobs so. There ya go

Also an iron naval piercing with a dangling crescent moon (shown before but here it is again)

Second Layer: thigh high boots with block heel (further up the thigh than the pic ref, can be any material but I go with leather) and leather chest piece. Black and dark green respectively

Third Layer: crop blouse/shirt (optional), sleeves cinched at lower forearm and wrist. bell bottom trousers buttoned up the sides. Both dark green, shirt is either satin or silk

Fourth Layer: velvet gloves, leather vambraces

Multiple belts at waist (has a leather pouch hanging from them and various other trinkets), sword always sheathed at left hip. Gloves are black but everything else is brown, tan and orange. Belts are of various materials; some plain leather, some woven and others hanging chains

Fifth Layer: blue linen sash weaved through the belts, usually around the right hip. Has the Fianna crest (the one on Fionn’s cape) sewn in white and gold thread. Sash can also be satin but linen is preferred, they’re most famous for being The Pirate Sash

Sixth Layer: various kinds of coats and jackets across the seasons but typically wears long coats either buttoned from waist to collar (like his third Lancer art) or with folded lapels. Velvet, fur and/or wool are preferred. Tend to be dark greens or blues. Chains hanging from hips and shoulders, always has pockets. His chains are quite thick and heavy because kids like to play with them 

Seventh Layer: in winter will always be seen in a wolf fur cloak/mantle with metal soles and toe caps on his boots. Unclear if metal is attached or removable. Metal is silver, cloak/mantle is black. Inspired more by Trevor Belmont’s cloak in Castlevania but I liked this photo

All his clothes have fine gold or blue detailing bc Draíochta (magic) has been infused/sewn into them, giving a nice shimmer effect in certain lighting. Everyone within the Fianna wore vambraces, thigh boots, belts and cloaks. There were varying levels of leather armours but higher ranking officers (like Diarmuid) have the fanciest looking uniforms to discern their rank more easily

I wanted to give a nice blend of all the Dia designs: Lancer’s greens and browns, Sabers armours and stomach exposure, Avenger’s air of nobility/importance and accessories and finally Assassin’s cloak. I probably didn’t need to include the undergarments but I have so it’s there now, hopefully I succeeded in what I wanted to do 😅

#fate series #diarmuid ua duibhne #fanfic reference #this took forever to do hhhh anyway #feel free to draw any level of this if u want just tag me in it so i can reblog it #this was mostly just a fun exercise for me honestly haha #hopefully some of yall like it too tho!

[mythrilhusk]

Despite Everything - Chapter 2

NOT RPF (Ao3 link) Words - 2,243 Last Chapter

Next Chapter

CW: violence, imprisonment, inhumane treatment

"You see, Quackity, the idea is to not get caught." Technoblade whets his battle axe with firm, lazy strokes as he leans on a blackstone pillar. 

Quackity laughs nervously and reaches for his sword. "I, uh, didn't see you there, Techno." His six pairs of wings flutter and ruffle, barely hidden behind his crude glamour. 

"K." 

"You're not going to stop me." Quackity gathers his courage-- a contradiction considering he's literally the Angel of Fear-- and steps forward, sword ready. 

Technoblade, Angel of Wrath, strikes a terrifying figure as he steps into the glow of Jupiter shining through the windows. "You sure?" The gold-sheathed tusks glint as a grin crosses Techno's bristly muzzle. His two massive wings rustle behind his back, flaring menacingly. 

Quackity gulps and points a furious finger at Techno. "You- you fucking took the last biscuit, but I won't let you get away with it, Technoblade, I will have my revenge!" 

Technoblade splutters, then laughs. "That's the best you can come up with??" 

"I'm under pressure, here!" Quackity blushes angrily. "Just let me beat you already!" 

"High hopes for a man who just claimed revenge for a biscuit." Technoblade chuckles. "But alright, let's see if you've improved since the last time I handed your ass to you." 

Quackity drops his glamour. Technoblade flinches back from the blazing light of Quackity's multi-winged amorphousness. "Ha!" Quackity slams his sword down at Technoblade's arm. 

Techno's axe deflects the sword and his fist slams into Quackity, knocking the Angel against the wall. Quackity heaves instinctively to regain his breath, despite not needing air. Techno roars and leaps at him with his axe upraised. 

Yelping, Quackity rolls out of the way. The axe slams into the floor, and Techno rips it out before stalking once more for Quackity. "The fuck, man, are you trying to kill me??" 

"Treat every fight as a life-or-death situation." Technoblade intones. 

Quackity reaches for his sword, which leaps into his hand. He deflects Techno's next swing, then ducks under the axe and slashes for Techno's ribs. "Eat shit, motherfucker!" 

Techno doesn't even falter as the sword slices through his shirt, doesn't even flinch as blood wells from the gash. Roaring, he knocks Quackity's sword from his hands and lashes the axe across his form. 

"Stop, stop, haha, stop, wait!" Quackity cowers, retreating behind his glamour, wincing as his form regenerates the deep wound.

Technoblade slips the axe into the sheathe by his side and raises his clawed hands to show he's unarmed. He shifts down to his smaller, less intimidating form. "You fool." He chuckles with light mockery. "Train for another hundred years, then we'll see." 

"You damn bastard, you never let me win." 

"Let you win?? Why would I do that??" Technoblade guffaws. "Let you win. Wilbur, you hearing this?" 

Wilbur emerges from the ceiling. The Angel of Deceit's figure never settles on one form, glittering and glitching as he morphs continuously. "I heard." He says, grinning down at Quackity. "I bet I could beat you, Technoblade." 

"Really? Wanna test that?" Technoblade reaches for his axe, baring his teeth with excitement for battle. 

"Nah, not right now. I'm still asleep." Wilbur drops to the floor. 

"Hey, boys." Philza's voice filters through the sparring room. 

"Philza!" Technoblade cries joyfully, bounding to give the old man a big hug. 

"I heard that, you little shit." Philza snaps. "I'm not fucking old."

Quackity stomps his foot, laughing nervously. "I didn't think anything, you didn't hear anything, fuck, I'm sorry!" 

"You better be." 

"What's up, Philza?" Wilbur grins eerily. His grins always manage to be eery somehow, even in the more attractive forms he occasionally wears. 

"I just got a message. Someone's got a new job for the Pax Triumvirs." 

"Pog~," Technoblade hums. 

"What is it?" Quackity steps forward, taking the proffered scroll from Philza. He looks into the holographic screen. "The Lucid Spider? Who the fuck is he??" 

"Dunno. But the job seems fun enough. Techno, you'll like this one." 

"Oh? Oh?" Technoblade grunts, doing a little shuffly dance of excitement. "Are we blowing up another government?" 

"Seems like." Philza takes his scroll back from Quackity. "This Chiaroscuro Emperor has been gettin' a little too cozy, anyway. It's about time we stirred up some bees in his bonnet." 

"Who the fuck is the Lucid Spider, though??" Quackity cries. "Can we trust him to pay us?? How much are we getting paid, anyway?" 

"Quackity, money is merely material, while destruction of enforced hierarchies is spiritual." Technoblade hums. Wilbur tries to fistbump him, but his hands turn into lobster claws and Techno refuses to notice, so Wilbur sags, feigning dejection.

Quackity sneers. "That's bullshit, Techno-" The chrysaor reaches for his axe. "Ahaha, I'm joking, I'm joking, please don't punt me!" 

Technoblade keeps one hand rested on his axe just to spite Quackity. "Phil, he's got a point. Who is this Lucid Spider fellow?" 

"I dunno, mate. But he's paid half a billion up front, an' promised the rest when the job's done, so I think we're all cool." 

"Alright, alright. That sound good to you, Quackity?" Technoblade cocks his head, his ears pricking hopefully. "You're the money-guy." 

"You shoulda told him a trillion up front, and two trillion when the job's done. One fucking billion is pauper-speak." Quackity scoffs. "We need supplies and shit for the coup, we can't just summon food and allies out of thin air." 

"True, true. Philza?" Technoblade only ever yields to Quackity's expertise when money matters are concerned. In all other fields, he or Philza takes the lead. Quackity enjoys being the technical treasurer of the Pax Triumvirs, but he wishes he had slightly more control over the missions they went on. 

"Eh, I'll let'im know." Philza shrugs, then winks at Quackity. "Beat Techno once and maybe we'll talk about letting you lead a mission, kid." His forest-green cape billows behind him as he spins to leave the sparring room. 

Quackity laughs, preemptively nervous, and backs into a pillar. "Technoblade, don't get the wrong fucking idea, man."

"K." Techno's eyes gleam with amusement. "You want to try?" 

"I could beat you with my eyes closed." Quackity scoffs. "I don't need to try, I already know I could, I- I just want to spare your dignity!" 

Techno keeps giving him that damn sadistically amused look. "K." 

"I'll fight you, Quackity." Wilbur pipes up, still grinning. "I don't have any dignity to spare." 

"Nah, I'm actually really fucking tired right now, so maybe later, ahaha, or never, seeya losers!" Quackity hastily camouflages and flees from the sparring room. 

He's still not used to this, even after three years. He's not used to sharing a literal underground mansion with literal terrorists, much less being dragged into commiting acts of minor terrorism himself. He's not accustomed to the casual violence, the utter apathy towards other lives, the reckless attitude towards death. 

He plops down on a beanbag in his room and stares at his shaking hands. "If I had a choice," He wonders aloud. If he had been given a choice, would he have taken the cleaner, less bloody route? 

But the gods don't allow their Angels to choose. Theirs is not to question why, theirs is but to do and die. 

++++

Ponk paces restlessly, fire flickering in his eyes and hands. Hannah Rose watches him from her corner, cold tears dripping down the steel muzzle over her jaws. The two captives have only each other. The passage of time is lost in the silence. 

Rose raises her head as the massive door outside their cell slides open with the blaring of an alarm. She glowers silently at the Scythes, who enter before the Chiaroscuro Emperor. 

"Well!" Emperor Schlatt claps his hands together cheerfully. "Well, well, well." The forcefield is all that stands between the prisoners and their captor. 

"Fuck you, man." Ponk snarls. "Let us go." 

"Hm, lemme think about that. How about no." Schlatt shrugs, grinning. "You little fucks think you can cross me, eh? Around here, my word is law." 

The three Scythes step forward in unison. Schlatt leans against the wall. "You ready to talk nicely, Rose, or do we need to keep you silenced?" 

Rose scowls at him. Her hands are chained to the wall, so she can't even respond with a crude gesture. Ponk kicks the forcefield, then yelps as it disappears. He backs away from the Scythes stalking towards him. 

Scythe Ranboo approaches Rose. His green eye narrows, hard and cold, the pupil constricted to a mere slit. The red cybernetic implant of his other eye whirls and spins in its socket, trying to see everything at once. The black and white metal exo-jaws keep his mouth clamped shut. Rose almost feels bad for the Scythes. They're not allowed to speak either, muzzled like dangerous dogs, like herself. 

Ranboo removes Rose's muzzle and she works her sore jaws. "Thank you." She murmurs. If she can get even one of the Scythes to sympathize with her, she and Ponk may have a fighting chance of escape. Ranboo replies with the slightest of nods, then retreats back to Schlatt. 

In the meantime, Scythes Tubbo and Tommy have cornered Ponk as Schlatt interrogates him. "I don't know what you mean!" Ponk cries, cowering. "I don't know where the heart is!"

Schlatt turns to Rose. "Hey, bitch, you want to help your buddy out?" 

"I'll tell you fuck-all." Rose snarls. 

"Heh, okay. Guess I have no use for either of you, then. Tubbo?" Schlatt turns to his Scythes. Tubbo removes two painfully familiar phylacteries from his suit pocket, handing them both to Schlatt.

"No!" Ponk cries. "You can't- please don't, man, I really honestly don't know what you want!" 

"I want the Cosmos Heart!" Schlatt bellows. "And I'm going to get it!" 

"You motherfuckers don't know what you're playing with!" Ponk snarls right back. At a gesture from Schlatt, Tommy slams Ponk into the wall. 

"Hannah Rose?" Schlatt turns to Rose. Ranboo stalks towards her. "Sing for us, birdie, or your little fuckbuddy here dies first." Schlatt dangles Ponk's phylactery on his finger. 

Several colorful curses leap to Rose's tongue, but she restrains herself, trying to meet the predicament with a clear head. "I'll tell you." She growls. "If you give those back and free us." 

"What, do I look like a cruel person to you?" Schlatt laughs. "Tell me and I'll do you one better! I'll hire both of you!" 

Rose shoots Ponk a warning glance. He can't continue to defy Schlatt, or they'll both die. She answers, "Fine. The Cosmos Heart can be found in the Unity of the Dragons." 

Schlatt laughs. "What's that supposed to even fucking mean?"

"The Spirits. Find them, unify them, and their powers combined will form what you desire." 

"Alright. I'm a man of my word. Ranboo, escort Hannah Rose to the Butterfly suite." 

"Let Ponk go, too." Rose demands. 

"Sweetie, I don't have any reason to let either of you go. I could kill you both and not lose anything, right now. But I'm being nice, here." 

"Please." Tears well in Rose's eyes as her lip trembles and her breath catches on feigned sobs. "I can't lose him, too." 

"Aww, c'mon, sweetheart. Alright, alright, fine, don't cry, he can share the suite with you. But I'm keeping these." Schlatt hands one phylactery to Ranboo, and the other to Tommy. 

"Thank you," Rose keeps up the act, sobbing almost for real out of relief. 

Ranboo leads Ponk and Rose through the vast space-castle in silence. Ponk is unusually quiet, glaring down at his grimy boots as he stomps on the clean tiles. Rose stares out of the portal windows they pass, watching the stars. 

"Now I have three souls I can't lose." Ranboo mutters. Rose glances up at him, noting that the exo-jaw has loosened its hold to allow him speech. His eyes drop to her forehead, avoiding her eyes as he always has, and he smiles weakly. "Nevermind." 

"Can I have mine, please?" Rose dares to ask. 

"I- I can't, Schlatt would be so furious if I did, I'm sorry." Ranboo shakes his head hastily. "I'm supposed to obey him." 

Rose gives him a pitying smile. "Please keep my soul safe, then." 

"I'll do my best." Ranboo replies. He stops by a hatch and taps the ID pad with a finger. "Here you go. Butterfly Suite." 

The hatch flowers open to a spartan set of rooms. Rose enters the cold space and sighs, longing for her tapestries and carpets. "Can I decorate it?" 

"Uh, you can ask Schlatt, or whoever he puts in charge of you guys." Ranboo deflects nervously. 

Rose nods to him. "Thank you, Ranboo." 

"Oh. I- oh. Please don't thank me." Ranboo backs out of the room. "Someone will come with food later." 

"Thank you." She repeats with an innocent smile. Ranboo retreats. The hatch closes and locks behind him. Her smile falls into bitter hatred. "Damn them!" She snarls and kicks the wall. "Damn them all to the pits of Tartarus!!"

Ponk drops onto the only seating present, a wooden bench. "Why'd you tell them?" He sounds lost, broken.

  "I couldn't let you die, Ponk! I can't fucking live with that, not even for a few moments!!" Rose paces the main room, then inspects the offshoots. Two bedrooms, a bathroom with a luxuriously deep tub, and a kitchen. Not bad, and certainly a step up from the cell. But they're still trapped here. 

Hannah Rose hates being trapped. 

Next Chapter

#imprisonment cw #violence cw #technoblade #quackity #wilbur soot #philza #hannahxxrose #ponk #ranboo #tubbo #tommyinnit #jschlatt #dream smp au #magical girl au #magical warrior au #dream smp #not rpf #rainbow arson

[inactive-zym]

Zymphadora “Zym” Purpura  CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONNAIRE

BASICS 

1. Height?

5’4

2. Eye color, skin color, hair and horn color?

Completely, moonish white with no visible pupils. 

Her skin is light purple like lilacs and her horns darken to near black-purple and lighten as they get longer, however the remaining sections of her horns are mostly dark. 

Her hair is a darker shade of purple than her skin. 

3. Do they need glasses?

No.

4. Scars and birthmark?

Zym has thin scars on her fingers and knuckles. Her knees and shins are also pock-marked from less than graceful falls from trees and stairwells while exploring her father’s estate. 

Her broken horns are still jagged beneath the metal caps. 

5. Tattoos and piercings?

Zym’s ears have several piercings, though they aren’t particularly dramatic or gaudy. She has two piercings on each lobe and two in the cartilage of her right ear where a small chain connects the two silver studs. 

Delicate tattoos of her her favorite flowers drape across Zym’s shoulders and tumble down her sternum and across her collarbones. They flood down her left arm and across the back of her hand, but her right arm has yet to receive the same treatment and the flowers are limited to her shoulder on that side. Sunflowers, violets, lupins, cornflowers, trilliums, irises, and many more are all carved into her skin. 

On the inside of her right upper arm, normally only visible when her arms are raised, is the symbol of her bandit crew, the Lurkers. The crudely drawn symbol itself is of a set of scales with a cartoonish eye sitting in both sides. The black, harsh lines are incongruent and ugly beside the flowers. Next to that is a small, equally crude bird in reference to Zym’s nickname within the gang. They called her their Larker rather than Lurker because larks always sing at daybreak and even while they’re flying unlike most other birds. The sight of a meadowlark is meant to signify abundance and good harvest as is the case when Zym reappeared after a heist. 

FLOWER TATTOO REFERENCE 

6. Right or left handed?

Ambidextrous. 

7. Any disabilities? Physical or mental.

None.

8. Do they have any allergies?

Ironically, she has seasonal allergies and her favorite flowers make her nose stuffy. 

9. Favorite color?

All of them, but pink especially. 

10. Typical outfits?

Day-to-day Zym wears gathered white shirts that, while occasionally billowing or lacey, can be tucked into her waist or tightened to remove risks of it getting caught during her sneakier deeds. She rarely, if ever, bothers to button them up all the way and the tattoos down her chest and dancing on her clavicle are always in view. Pale rainbows of color, suggestions of what lies beneath the fabric, peek through the white as she moves. 

She wears plain, often black or brown pants that are gathered and tucked into her laced boots. Both are unremarkable, but functional. Atop her pants she ties a shin-length skirt of light, breezy, and layered fabric of whatever color she decides on that day. Most often it will be pink, pale blue, or ivory. The skirt itself is not a full circle skirt and instead is much like a cape and ties secure around her waist with a ribbon. There’s always a slit up the side, but the fabric is bushy enough that the slit isn’t easily visible and it acts like a normal, full skirt. She can easily pull her skirt free if she needs to flee or climb, but she’s nearly always wearing it and it’s light enough not to encumber her. The layers of the skirt also hide the large number of small pockets and sheaths strapped along her thighs where she keeps her keys, trinkets, daggers, and her thieve’s tools all secure and easily accessible. 

When cold, she wears thicker pants and a jacket that fits snugly to her frame. Alternatively she’ll wear billowing cloaks that are easy to throw off and leave behind. She wears no jewelry other than her earrings. 

11. Do they wear any makeup?

She rarely bothers with makeup and her skills begin and end with lining her eyes in black kohl. When she wants to feel festive, or pretty, she’ll apply some. 

12. What weapon do they use, if any?

She carries a short sword, a shortbow with a quiver of arrows, two daggers, and her thieves tools. The latter pieces of equipment are secured to her thighs beneath her skirt while the former hang from her waist or her pack. 

PERSONALITY 

13. Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

She’s utterly, irrevocably, impossibly optimistic. Really, it should be rather concerning how hopeful she is and how enduringly cheerful. 

14. Are they introverted or extroverted?

Extroverted, but not always in her excitable, hyperactive way; she desires to be near people and adores being in people’s silent presences as much as she does the bustling, loud atmosphere of a tavern or party. 

15. What are their pet peeves?

People who are needlessly negative or who go out of their way to try and make others feel the same. 

Squirrels. They’re always better climbers than she is and she doesn’t like it. 

16. What bad habits do they have?

She bites the tips of her fingers when she’s nervous and is unable to sit still for long if she doesn’t have something specific to focus on. If she’s laying in wait and preparing to rob someone, she can stay still and silent for hours at a time. Similarly if she’s having an interesting conversation she won’t fidget. If not, she bounces on the balls of her feet, swings her arms back and forth, hums, spins or dances in place, and swooshes her skirt back and forth. 

17. Do they have any phobias?

She’s scared of the dark, but it’s not quite a phobia as she can still function in darkness. It’s one of the many reasons she adores cities: their lights never dim. If she’s forced out into the wilds, she’ll refuse to leave the safe net of light from the campfires or insist on carrying the lantern or torch. If someone knows the Light cantrip that’s the person she’ll stick close to. 

18. How do they display affection?

Zym is incredibly tactile and if given permission, or not outright refusal, she’ll hold anyone’s hand, link arms with them, hug, and kiss them freely. When given the opportunity, she’ll often show her affection for someone by merely pressing into their side and resting her head on their shoulders or lap. 

She’s always enamored by one thing or another. An activity, a book, a performance and she’ll always want to share whatever neat thing she’s fixated on with people. 

19. How competitive are they?

Extraordinarily. If she’s in the competition, she wants to win, but the moment it becomes too serious, or the fun is lost, she likewise loses her competitiveness as well as interest.

20. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

She’d want her horns back. She knows her personality is pretty great, and so is her smile, and she’s a great thief and all, but her horns were always part of her. She’s an even better thief and burglar because of their absence and she no longer runs the risk of the long, curling protrusions catching on something or stopping her from fitting into small spaces, but she feels like she’s lost her crown and will be self-conscious about them.

21. Do they have any obscure hobbies or routines?

She loves to find academics and experts and ask them as many questions as possible. She’s both truly curious about anything and everything, finding art as well as plants endlessly fascinating, but she also wants to see how many questions it takes for them to become irritated with her. The better professors take several hundred questions, but the stuffiest, haughtiest ones only take three or four of her truest inquiries. 

She then steals from the mean professors. 

Before she joined the crew of thieves she would change her name every few weeks. Not for any particular reason, but they all got boring after awhile. Her name is from a very old, silly tale of adventure she read only a few weeks before joining the crew and it’s stuck for many years.

BACKSTORY 

22. What are the names and ages of their close family members? Parents, siblings, etc.

Father [human]: Lord Argus Encrois, 67

Father’s wife [human]: Lady Gisella Encrois, 52

Their four legitimate daughters: Heather, 27; Holly, 25; Merilla and Jonie, both 20.

Too many bastard siblings to name: Aged 16-40s. She isn’t in contact with any of them, but fears the worst for some of the bastards left behind in Itresa and knows her father wouldn’t do anything to protect them or keep them from going to the plantations or into the slave army. They never cared for her, but she still wishes them the best.

She never knew her mother, but she knows she’s a tiefling. She likes to think that she’s a grand adventurer or thrill seeker, but also never wants to meet her because she might not like the truth. 

23. Is their family alive and are they still in contact with them?

Yes. Definitely not. A few of the bastards she hadn’t minded, but they all acted as a hivemind and scorned her. 

24. Where are they from? City, nation?

She was born and raised in Itresa. 

25. Did they have a childhood best friend?

No. 

26. Have they had any pets?

No. She wants a monkey, though. Especially the species that look like they have mustaches (Emperor tamarins).

27. Did they grow up rich or poor? What were their living conditions like?

Sort of rich, but mostly poor. She was raised as the ignored bastard daughter of a low-ranking, yet rich merchant noble and wanted for nothing but attention until her early teen years. Living on the streets she was technically homeless and often times penniless, but it never felt like poverty to her. 

28. What is their educational background?

Tutored by the best and the adequate until she was fourteen and was thrown from the estate. Any other skills she has she picked up from people she met in Itresa, from being taught by members of the crew, and by harassing academics. She has fun facts about nearly any body of research, but very little technical or applicable knowledge. 

29. As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up?

She wanted to be an adventurer and a treasure hunter. She still entertains herself with fantasies of far-fetched heists and journeys to the center of the world or to the depths of the sea in search for gold and magic. In a way she is a treasure hunter… she just happens to hunt for it in people’s houses. And pockets. 

30. What advice would they give to their younger self?

Run away sooner and look back a little more. 

31. Growing up, were they ever bullied or were they the bully?

Her half-siblings, the legitimate ones and her fellow bastards, all bullied her. She stared too much, she was too quiet, she moved too much, she spoke too much, her horns were funny, her eyes were scary, she was dumb, she was too smart, she was too fast, she was disrespectful, she was a know-it-all and a teacher’s pet. She could never do anything just right for them so she stopped doing anything for them at all and avoided them whenever possible. 

32. Who do they look up to/who is their role model?

She used to say Garriss, the unquestionable leader of the Lurker crew, but now she has no one. 

PRESENT 

33. Do they currently have a place of residence?

Nope.

34. What is their most treasured possession?

She has a gilded, ever-sharp dagger she stole from someone her first week free and loose in Itresa. It’s never failed her and has a habit of always returning to her even when she thought it lost. 

35. What is their drink of choice?

She hates bitter drinks, but anything else she likes. If offered coffee she has to put at least a pound of sugar in to enjoy it. 

36. Which king/queen are they loyal to, if any?

None. 

37. Have they ever killed anyone?

Never and she doesn’t want to. 

38. What was their last promise and did they keep it?

She promised Garriss to keep her theft from the other crewmembers a secret. She kept it and technically has continued to keep it as no one gave her the opportunity to reveal the truth. 

LOVE 

39. What was their first kiss like, if they’ve had one?

She kissed a fellow street rat after they successfully upturned a market stall to avoid the raging guards and the tavern keep they’d stolen a bottle of mead from. She and the girl were street partners and hellions together for many months, but one day the girl left without a word and never returned. 

40. Are they in a relationship/have a love interest?

No and beyond casual flirtation she’s never had an actual relationship. 

41. Have they ever been in love?

Never, but she really wants to fall in love. She’s read about it and it sounds very nice. 

42. Have they ever had their heart broken?

Only by her family, but not by a lover. 

SPIRITUALITY 

43. Do they follow a god, if so who?

No, but Mask and Sune intrigue her and she prays to them when she’s bored or needs guidance. 

44. What do they think happens to them after death?

A sparkling void of something-something. 

45. What is their spirit animal?

Sugarglider. 

#zymphadora purpura #romtask #character development

[itsshortfurball20]

Percy Jackson, The Avenger

Summary: Percy has an encounter with Nick Fury. A year later, he’s being called on to help protect the world… again. He’s not alone in this Avengers Initiative. A genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist; a super soldier; a green scientist; a Norse god; and two secret agents. What could go wrong?

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This chapter has 5,518 words

9 – Not all Heroes Wear Capes (Just tight Spandex)

Percy ran through the road, weaving in and out of abandoned cars that had been overturned and were on fire. A loud siren rang through the city. Chitauri flew overhead, taking aim at shop windows and people who ran past the demigod, screaming.

He, Cap, Natasha, and Clint ran up Park Avenue, where STARK Tower stood high behind Grand Central Terminal. It was impressive, Percy admitted, with its sleek design and clean energy plan, but he would never admit that to the billionaire, whose ego already seemed inflated enough if the huge lettering of STARK plastered on the building was any indication.

A deep, primal roar came from the portal, echoing off the buildings. The small group skidded to a stop. Percy craned his neck so that he was looking right above him, where the portal hung over their heads. He brought a hand up to his face trying to block the sun. Inside the blackness of the portal, it was hard to make out much, but the demigod could’ve sworn he saw something massive move.

Then it emerged.

The son of Poseidon’s jaw slacked, watching as the humongous alien-whale hybrid flew down from out of the portal. It let out an ear-piercing screech as it made its way down towards the city. Percy couldn’t help but feel way out of his element, standing in the middle of New York City with an army of aliens flying around him, with nothing to fight them with other than a sword and shield.

The space-whale flew down over the Terminal, flying so low that it smashed the statue of Mercury into pieces. Percy got a flashback from the last time he had fought a battle in the city, where Annabeth and he had used the statues to help aid them.

There’s an idea, Percy thought. He wondered if the statues would still work, or if it was a one-use thing. But, if he could get them to activate, then the statues could help get the civilians to safety.

He was brought out of his thoughts when the space-whale started dispensing Chitauri who latched onto the sides of the buildings. Percy figured that the space-whale has to be carrying over a hundred Chitauri. If too many of those came through the portal, then they’d have a very big problem.

The Chitauri on the buildings started shooting. People below screamed as they ran for cover from the hailstorm of energy.

“Stark, are you seeing this?” Cap asked.

“I'm seeing, still working on believing.” Tony’s voice came through. “Where's Banner? Has he shown up yet?”

Cap frowned as he surveyed the area around them. “Banner?”

“Just keep me posted,” Tony asked before leaving.

Just then, Percy caught sight of Loki. He was flying on one of the alien scooters with a group behind him, setting off a chain of explosions as they flew down the street. Percy watched as one car narrowly missed a woman as she ran as fast as she could to escape the attack.

“Those people need assistance down there,” Cap informed. Next to him, Natasha pulled out both of her guns and started firing, picking off Chitauri like ducks at a shooting booth.

“We got this.” She told Cap. “It's good. Go!”

Steve turned to Clint. “You think you can hold them off?”

“Captain.” Clint pulled a trigger on his bow, and Percy watched as an arrow was mechanically chosen before the archer loaded it in his bow. “It would be my genuine pleasure.” He then proceeded to shoot the arrow into a Chitauri’s head, exploding the alien.

Cap took the moment to gain a head start, running away from them and to the people in danger. Percy also took off, running in the opposite direction from Cap, towards a motorcycle that had been abandoned from the fighting. Quickly making sure it worked, he sped off, looking for any close statue that hadn’t been smashed to pieces already.

He zoomed between cars, picking up speed as the seconds passed. Careening onto Madison Avenue, the demigod kept his eyes open, scanning for a statue he could awaken. Nearing the intersection of thirty-seventh street, his eyes caught sight of a bronze sculpture.

Percy pulled over, jumping off the bike and running to the undamaged statue. The bronze man was sitting on a park bench with a chessboard lying next to him. There was also a simple cane he held in his left hand. Percy could remember seeing the statue before, but never really paying close attention to it.

Suddenly he realized he had no clue what to look for. He started looking around the bench that the person was sitting on, trying to look for anything that might activate it. He checked on the chess board, the man’s body, and the bench. Finally, the demigod spotted it on the side of the cane; the Ancient Greek Delta.

Daedalus’ symbol.

Percy pressed his finger to the delta symbol. It softly glowed blue. He took a step back, trying to remember how Annabeth had activated the first statue. “Uh, hey there… Jan.”

The statue didn’t respond. Jan’s stone face looked unimpressed with Percy. The demigod tried again. “Err, command sequence: Daedalus Twenty-three. Protect people and kill aliens. Begin Activation.”

Jan stood up, abandoning his game of chess and ran off. Percy hoped that he would wake other the statues. He started heading back to the motorcycle when he heard a kid scream.

Percy took off running in the direction of the scream. Up ahead, he saw a group of three Chitauri surrounding a young boy and his mother. Rage flooded Percy. Reaching into his pocket, he drew Riptide. The bronze sword grew to its full three feet.

“Hey, ETs!” Percy shouted, drawing the Chitauri’s attention. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

The Chitauri’s turned around to face him fully, forgetting about the son and mother. They slowly started walking away from the family, advancing towards Percy. The son of Poseidon gripped his blade tighter and readied himself to fight.

With one swipe, his sword sliced through the Chitauri, its body collapsing. The other two aliens held up their weapons. Percy moved to stand in front of the mother and boy, pushing them back.

“Go hide,” Percy instructed. “Don’t move until I come back.”

The two ran into the building behind them, leaving Percy alone with the aliens. One of the Chitauri lunged at Percy. The son of Poseidon grabbed the shaft of the alien’s weapon and pushed it down, effectively knocking it out of the Chitauri’s grasp. Percy then swung his sword.

The blade cut through the alien like it was butter. Percy grimaced at the black blood that clung to his sword. He realized how lucky demigods were, not having to clean up or hide the bodies of the monsters they killed.

The other Chitauri roared at Percy, apparently angry at the demigod for cutting his friend in half. Percy lunged forward. The Chitauri deflected his swing and charged up its gun. Percy swiftly dodged the blast and the bolt hit the building.

The bolt shook the building, causing chunks of concrete fall from above. Percy lifted his shield to protect him from the falling stones. They clanged against the metal, sending jolts up Percy’s arm every time one hit the shield. When the small hailstorm finished, Percy found the Chitauri hoisting its blaster, getting ready to fire.

Percy threw his sword. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the smartest move, considering how terrible Percy’s aim was (Chiron still wouldn’t come near him when the demigod had a bow in his hand). But he wasn’t sure if his shield would’ve been able to take the damage.

True enough, Riptide sailed past the Chitauri. However, it did grab the alien’s attention enough to take his eyes off Percy for a couple seconds.

And that was all he needed.

The demigod ran at the Chitauri. He managed to get a hold on the gun and ripped it away from the alien. Now weaponless, the alien swung its arm to punch Percy.

The Chitauri’s fist connected with the side of Percy’s helmet. Percy stumbled backward. There was a faint ringing in his ear as he quickly backed away from the alien.

His foot hit something. Looking down, he saw the Chitauri’s gun which he had thrown. Percy swiftly bent down and grabbed it. There wasn’t a trigger, like a normal gun, but rather a series of four buttons.

“Oh, come on,” Percy muttered as he tried to figure out how to shoot the gun. Taking a quick glance at the Chitauri, he saw it walking closer, only a couple feet away. Percy figured, screw it, and pressed all four buttons.

A blue bolt shot out the other end and hit the Chitauri. The alien exploded, going up in a small burst of fire. Percy could feel the heat from the blast. He turned away from the dead aliens and dropped the gun, running into the building.

His footsteps echoed on the marble floor. He looked around for any sign of where the mother and son might’ve run off to hide. “It’s all right now,” he called out. “They’re gone. You can come out.”

There was a small shuffle from one of the back rooms. Small eyes stared at him. Percy gave the boy a small wave, trying to ease the boy’s fright. The mom appeared, grabbing the little boy’s hand and pulling him out.

“Thank you!” The mom cried. “Thank you so, so much!”

Percy stiffened slightly when the woman suddenly brought him in for a hug, but relaxed when he heard her sobs. His eyes drifted down to the boy, who was still staring at him.

A loud bang from outside the bank had Percy on alert. He gently pried the crying woman away from him. His hand wandered down to his pocket, where he drew out his pen, uncapping the sword. “I’ll get you guys out of here, just follow me.”

Percy peered out the door, making sure the coast was clear, before beckoning for the family to follow. He started to lead them down thirty-seventh. The demigod made sure to keep his eyes alert, looking for any sign of a Chitauri.

Half-way down the block, Percy felt something tug on the back of his shirt. He quickly whirled around, raising his sword and preparing to fight, when he realized that it had been the little boy, who was now staring wide-eyed at Percy.

Percy hastily lowered his sword. The kid’s eyes trailed after the sword, a gleam in his eyes that reminded the son of Poseidon of a ten-year-old Nico di Angelo. “Woah,” the kid muttered, totally oblivious to the fact that Percy had almost impaled him (not that it would’ve done anything, Riptide being harmless to mortals). “That’s awesome! What’s it called? Is it really sharp? Can I touch it?”

A small grin appeared on Percy’s face. He made sure that there were no Chitauri around before he crouched down to the boy’s height. The demigod held the sword to where the boy could get a good look at it. “It’s called Riptide,” Percy told the kid. “like the current that drags you out to sea.”

“That’s so cool!”

“I think so too,” Percy pushed himself up. “Let’s get you guys out of here.” The son of Poseidon led them down the rest of the block. “Keep going down until you can get some help. You should be safe as the fight hasn’t spread over there yet.”

Percy was about to take off when the small boy latched onto his legs, giving him a hug. “Thanks,” he muttered. The son of Poseidon smiled.

“No problem, buddy. Listen to your mother, stay safe.” Percy watched as the kid detached from his legs and grabbed his mom’s hand, making their way away from the fight.

Percy headed back towards where he left the bike. He didn’t run into any Chitauri, but he could hear them pass overhead on their fancy flying chariots. There was another noise overhead, but it was different from the Chitauri. Looking up, Percy managed to see a huge burst of lighting followed by the blond Norse god as he flew down.

Percy hopped back on the bike. He revved the motorcycle and took off, heading back to the group. The sounds of explosions and screaming got louder as he drove into the heart of the battle.

Up ahead there was a lone Chitauri, shooting at a group of people. Percy picked up speed, turning his bike so he was heading straight towards the alien. The Chitauri noticed him coming and didn’t have any time to react before Percy rammed the motorcycle into the alien.

Percy found himself face-to-face with the Chitauri who was now hitching a ride on the front of the motorcycle. The alien growled and swung its arm around to hit Percy. He quickly raised his shield to block the blow. The Chitauri growled, its ugly and mangled face less than a foot away from Percy’s own.

Unable to see around the Chitauri, Percy tried his best to navigate the street, pushing the bike to go faster. The Chitauri tried climbing onto of the bike, standing above Percy on the front fender. Through the Chitauri's legs, Percy could just see the road ahead of him and further on, the rest of the team.

Just as the alien raised his gun, Percy gripped the brakes. The bike came to a sudden stop and the Chitauri flew forward, skidding on the road and coming to a stop near the god of thunder’s feet. “Thor!” Percy yelled, catching the god’s attention. He pointed down at the alien at his feet. With a simple nod, Thor raised his hammer and brought it down swiftly on the alien.

Stepping off the motorcycle, Percy walked up to the group, stepping into their half-formed circle. “What’s going on?”

“The powers surrounding the cube is impenetrable,” Thor informed the group.

“Thor is right,” Tony spoke through the comms. “We gotta deal with these guys.”

Natasha looked over the destruction that Loki had caused and frowned. “How do we do this?”

“As a team,” Cap answered.

“I have unfinished business with Loki,” Thor announced.

“Yeah, get in line,” Clint argued with Thor. Percy felt the same, and he knew that just about every New Yorker would be feeling the same after this fight. But he couldn’t worry about that now.

“We need to plan,” Percy spoke up. “Our priority is getting the people to safety. The fight is between us and Loki. They didn’t sign up for this.” The demigod turned to Cap. “Anything you’d like to add?”

Steve nodded. “Loki's gonna keep this fight focused on us and that's what we need. Without him, these things could run wild. We got Stark up top, he's gonna need us...”

He trailed off as the sound of an old motor got louder. Percy turned around to find Banner getting off of a small motorbike. The doctor looked around nervously, taking in the sight of the crumbling city. “So, this all seems horrible.”

Natasha didn’t even blink. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” she told him. “We could use a little worse.”

“Stark?” Cap called. “We got him.”

“Banner?”

“Just like you said.”

“Then tell him to suit up,” Tony ordered. “I’m bringing the party to you.”

The next second, Percy spotted Tony in his suit flying around the corner of a building. Following him was the big space-whale, its tail knocking into the corner of the building and sending a large cloud of dust and debris down onto the street below.

Percy reaches into his pocket and gripped Riptide. He saw out of the corners of his eyes the others readying their weapons, trying to prepare themselves to fight the huge monster.

“I… I don’t see how that’s a party…” the son of Poseidon heard Natasha comment softly as Tony flew closer.

Tony landed in front of them. The space-whale started to fly lower to meet them head-on, barreling down the street like a freight train. Percy gripped his sword even tighter, trying to find any weak spots in the whale’s armor.

He watched as Banner walked past him, heading to meet the whale. “Dr. Banner,” Cap called after him. “Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.”

Banner gave them a small smile. “That’s my secret, Captain. I’m always angry.”

The doctor started swelling and turning green just as the space-whale seemed to be on top of them. Hulk punched the whale right in the nose, bringing the gigantic monster to a halt. Percy watched with fascinated horror as the creature started to flip over, its large and heavy body about to flatten them to pancakes.

Tony flew up, raising his arm. He shot a small missile out, aiming at the space-whale’s spine. Percy grabbed Clint, who had been standing next to him, and pulled him down in a crouch as he lifted his shield above their heads. He felt the heat from the explosion and a couple small dings from various parts of the space-whale’s body armor hitting his shield.

From all sides, the team could hear the screams of the Chitauri echoing off the buildings as they roared in anger. Soon enough, the Hulk roared back, his cry far louder than those of the Chitauri. But maybe that was due to proximity, Percy thought.

They closed ranks. Clint stood on his right, drawing an arrow and loading it into his bow. Thor was on his left, gripping Mjölnir tightly. Percy was comforted by the feeling of being in a team again. He knew that, no matter how much they argued, they’d have his back.

There were a few seconds where everything seemed to still. The city became quiet and the only sounds that Percy could hear were his own heartbeat and the crackling of nearby fires. Percy tensed, feeling that something else was coming.

The next second, hundreds of Chitauri started coming out of the portal, accompanied by a few space-whales. Percy watched as they flew out of the portal and straight to the streets, shooting anything that moved.

“Guys,” Natasha said, worry lacing her voice as she pointed out the growing number of aliens.

“Call it, Cap.”

“Alright, listen up,” Cap ordered. “Until we can close that portal up there, we’re gonna use containment. Barton, I want you on the roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays.”

“Tony can work on the perimeter,” Percy offered. “We don’t want anything getting more than three blocks out. If we have him flying around, he can make sure that we keep the battle in one area.”

Steve looked over at Tony, before he nodded in agreement. “Percy’s right. Tony, if you see anything, I want you to turn it back or turn it to ash.”

Clint looked over at Tony. “Wanna give me a lift?”

“Right,” Tony walked over to Clint, grabbing the back of the archer’s suit. “Better clench up, Legolas.” Tony flew away, taking Clint with him.

Steve turned his attention to the Norse god. “Thor, you've gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow them down. You've got the lightning. Light the bastards up.” Thor nodded and took off.

“We need people down here,” Percy commented to himself. He turned to Cap, waiting for him to give the next order. Instead, Steve gestured to the demigod, asking him to continue. “Steve, Natasha, we’re on ground duty. Let’s try and keep the fight in this area.”

Natasha and Steve nodded. Percy wondered what else was missing when he remembered Hulk. “Oh,” He turned back to the large green doctor. “And Hulk… smash.”

Hulk gave him a grin before jumping away, latching onto the nearest building. He threw several Chitauri off as he ran up the building before jumping to another building and doing the same thing.

Percy watched him before turning his attention back to the ground. Together, the group ran down the street towards where they could see a large group of Chitauri. Steve jogged up next to him. “Where’d you learn to strategize like that?” The captain asked the demigod.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Captain. I’ve fought in wars before.” Percy told him, before running straight at the nearest Chitauri, slicing it before it even had a chance to react to the son of Poseidon. “At this point, it’s almost like a… hobby.”

Steve threw his shield at another Chitauri before responding, “Well then I think we need to find you a new hobby soon or you’re going to be really bored for the rest of your life.”

“Boys, maybe less talking and more killing,” Natasha yelled as she flipped over a Chitauri and used it as a shield as another alien shot it, killing its own. Percy nodded and reached out with his senses. He pulled some water from a nearby building with plumbing and used the water to trip up the Chitauri before plunging Riptide into them.

They fought for a while, the stream of Chitauri never slowing. Percy could feel a small strain as he cut down Chitauri after Chitauri. It seemed pointless. As soon as he killed one, there was always another to take its place, with several more behind it.

To his right, he noticed Natasha struggling with a Chitauri. With a flick of his hand, a trail of water wrapped around the alien’s waist, pulling it back from Natasha. The agent took the opportunity to grab the alien’s rifle and use it against the Chitauri. She gave a small nod of thanks towards Percy.

“Guys,” Natasha spoke up. “None of this is gonna mean a damn thing if we don’t close that portal.”

“Our biggest guns couldn’t touch it,” Steve told her, walking up to the two of them.

Percy frowned as he stared upwards at the portal. “It’s not about guns,” the demigod muttered.

Natasha eyed the alien scooters. Percy followed her eyes and understood what she was going to do. “Need a hand?”

The agent nodded. Steve backed up, readying his shield. “Are you sure about this?” He asked her.

Natasha nodded, though she didn’t look fully convinced. “Yeah. It’s gonna be fun.” She ran forward, jumping onto a car and using it to springboard onto Steve’s shield. Steve sent her flying high into the air, just in time for her to grab one of the Chitauri’s passing chariots.

Percy watched her fly away until he heard the sound of Chitauri grumbling behind him. The demigod smirked under his helmet. He looked over at Cap and, With a nod, they both lunged into battle.

\~*~/

When the invasion started, it had become apparent to Annabeth that, while large in number, the Chitauri weren’t much for planning. From what she could gather, their only strategy was to shoot anything. Annabeth knew from experience that the monsters with no plan were just as dangerous as the ones with. At least if they had plans, you could calculate what their next step might be. With the Chitauri, there was no logic.

Ever since the invasion had begun, Annabeth had been running around, aiding people to safety and killing the occasional Chitauri. That was how she ended up in the bank, her Yankee’s hat on, sneaking up the stairs. A group of Chitauri had managed to find the bank that people had been hiding in from the battle. Annabeth had been dropping off an elderly couple when the aliens had barged in, blocking the doors.

She reached the top. Quietly, she unsheathed her drakon-bone sword. The daughter of Athena could see the three Chitauri: two of them aiming their alien-energy rifles (she’d definitely have to grab one for later, maybe let the Athena cabin dissect it), and the third one messing with what appeared to be a bomb.

Schist. She needed to move quickly before the aliens blew up the place. Moving quickly, she got halfway across the room when she saw someone jump in through the window. She paused when the man stood up and threw their shield at the Chitauri holding the bomb, revealing himself to be Captain America.

The other two Chitauri turned around. Annabeth saw them raising their guns to shoot the Captain. She jumped in, her sword plunging into the chest of the first one. The one next to it turned to its dead friend. Annabeth turned her sword on that one. Unable to stop the invisible attack, the Chitauri dropped dead next to its friend.

Annabeth turned around to face the Captain, only to find that the third Chitauri had snuck up behind him and jumped him. At her foot, the bomb beeped, and Annabeth smiled as a plan formed in her mind. She sheathed her sword and scooped up the bomb, taking her Yankee cap off. “Hey!” She shouted, drawing the attention of both the Chitauri and the Captain. The bomb started beeping faster in her hand as the two regarded the woman in front of them.

“Catch.”

Annabeth threw the bomb at the alien. The alien let go of Captain America to hurriedly catch the bomb. Cap scrambled away from the Chitauri, backing up closer to the window. Annabeth was also moving away from the space-invader. Her back bumped against the rail. Unable to go any farther without jumping, she watched as the Chitauri reared its arm back to throw the bomb at Captain America.

She knew what was about to happen before it happened. Quickly, she jumped over the rail. Below her, the people parted, and she landed on the ground. “Get down!” Annabeth yelled. The crowd listened and crouched down, hands covering their heads just as the bomb exploded upstairs.

A large blast of blue energy spread across the ceiling. Little bits of dust rained down on the crowd as the room shook slightly. Annabeth prayed that the building didn’t come down on top of them.

After a couple seconds, the energy from the blast died down, and the building stopped shaking. People slowly started looking up. Annabeth stood up, surveying the room for any structural damage. None of the pillars looked too damaged, and as most of the blast had been upstairs, not much of the downstairs had been affected. But it was better not to risk it by staying in here for much longer.

“We need to move out of here!” Annabeth shouted, encouraging people to start moving towards the door. On the other side of the banks’ doors, police and firefighters swarmed up to meet them. There was an ambulance waiting with paramedics to take some of the more injured people up to a hospital far from the fighting.

Annabeth looked around for any sign of the Captain. She had no idea if he had made it out of the blast. Looking to her left, she saw the Captain gingerly picking himself off of a car. He seemed fine from afar, just dazed.

Satisfied, Annabeth stuck her Yankee’s cap back on and disappeared, off to lead more people away from the invasion.

\~*~/

Percy could feel the adrenaline that had fueled him earlier fading away. The fighting had picked up as more and more Chitauri came through the portal. Over the course of the battle, he had gathered a collection of scrapes and cuts that had begun to sting. There was also a but on his leg from where a blast had grazed him. He could feel the bag of ambrosia that he had stuffed in his pocket, saving it in case of emergency.

Thor fought next to him. He swung Mjölnir around, knocking aliens aside like they were dolls. But Percy could see that Thor was getting tired too. The god’s swings were becoming slower as more and more Chitauri surrounded them.

Distracted and tired, Percy didn’t notice one of the alien’s sneaking up behind him until he heard the sound of Cap’s shield bouncing off the Chitauri’s chest. Percy turned around, seeing Cap sling his shield back onto his arm.

“Thanks,” Percy told him. Cap nodded, waving him off. They hopped back into the fight. At one point, Percy remembered Thor flipping a car over, crushing a few Chitauri that Percy had used water to freeze them in place.

The son of Poseidon was about to launch another attack when Natasha yelled through the comms, “I can close it! Can anybody hear me? I can shut the portal down!”

Percy grinned and jumped in victory, only to almost be impaled by a Chitauri’s weapon. The demigod waved his hand a burst of water flew up and landed on the Chitauri’s face before freezing. “Then close it,” Percy told Natasha.

“No, wait!” Stark shouted through the comm.

“Stark, these things are still coming!” Steve argued.

“I got a nuke coming in, it’s gonna blow in less than a minute.” Percy shared a concerned look with Steve. A nuke? They’re sending a nuke? Thor, who had no idea what a nuke was, could only guess that it was bad news from his teammates' faces. Percy turned back in just as Stark said, “And I know just where to put it.”

The son of Poseidon could hear the sound of the jet repulsors on Tony’s suit as he appeared, the nuke right above him. Tony flew upward, pushing the nuke upwards towards the portal.  

“Stark, you know that’s a one-way trip?” Steve asked, fear and concern lacing his voice.

Tony didn’t respond. Percy watched as the man flew closer to the portal, picking up speed as he went. Closer… and closer… and gone.

Percy waited with bated breath for Tony to reappear. He didn’t look away. Not even when the Chitauri collapsed around him. “Come on,” Percy muttered. The demigod could see the cloud from the explosion growing closer to the portal.

“Close it,” Steve ordered, having also seen the explosion.

Percy turned to the man. “Wait!” He tried to tell Natasha, but he could already see the beam keeping the portal open disappearing, Natasha having already done whatever needed to be done to shut it down. In his head, the son of Poseidon cursed his fatal flaw. Logically, he knew that it was better to lose one man’s life than to risk thousands. But it didn’t stop him from staring up at the portal in hope.

Just as the portal was about to close for good, a small dark figure came out.

Tony.

Percy released a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding in. He could feel Steve’s and Thor’s relief as well, their bodies relaxing, even Steve’s disbelieving “Son of a gun,” as they watched their friend make it out alive. Tony was alive.

And he wasn’t slowing.

Percy’s smile faded as he realized that Tony wasn’t flying back down, but rather falling. Next to him, Thor started whirling Mjölnir, preparing to fly up and grab Tony when Hulk appeared, grabbing Tony. The Hulk leaped from building to building, slowing making his way down to the street.

Steve, Thor, and Percy ran to greet the two. They surrounded Tony, who Hulk had set on the ground, where he laid unmoving. Thor ripped off the front part of the mask, revealing an unbreathing Tony. Percy rocked back on his heels, forcing himself to take a deep breath as Steve leaned his head down by Tony’s chest. Unable to hear anything, Steve leaned back.

They were silent. The entire city was silent. Percy only remembered the city being this quiet when Morpheus had placed his charm during the - War. It had been unnaturally quiet then, like it was now. Percy hated the silence. He wished that there was something, some sort of noise—

Just then, the Hulk roared. Tony shot up, breathing harshly from Hulk’s angry roar. “What the hell?” Tony asked. “What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me.”

Steve let out a small smile. “We won.”

Percy couldn’t help but let out a huge grin. “Good job, man.” He patted Tony’s arm. “You did it.”

“Alright. Hey, alright. Good job, guys. Let’s just not come in tomorrow. Let’s just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma?” Tony rambled. “There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it.”

“We’re not finished yet,” Thor told them. Percy noticed he was staring straight up at STARK tower. Oh yeah. Loki.

“We better go get him before he disappears,” Percy warned the team.

Below him, Tony heaved out a heavy sigh. “And then shawarma after.”

\~*~/

Percy stood in the penthouse level of STARK tower, sword in hand. He stared at the Norse god, Loki, who looked a little worse for wear after his run-in with the Hulk. Loki slowly crawled up the steps. He paused, sensing that someone was behind him.

The Avengers stood behind him. He came face-to-face with the seven heroes, all staring at him with hatred and anger.

Loki spoke softly. “If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink.”

10

#Percy Jackson the Avenger #PJO #pjo fandom #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #fanfiction #fanfic #marvel #MCU #marvel mcu #Avengers #avengers (2012) #the avengers #battle of new york #percy jackson #Iron Man #tony stark #captain america #Steve Rogers #hawkeye #clint barton #Black Widow #natasha romanoff #thor #Thor Odinson #hulk #the hulk #bruce banner #loki #loki (marvel) #annabeth chase

[damijon-supersons]

The years that passed - a damijon fic

Hi. I ate this really good kebab. And that means it’s angst time.

Summary: Years after the Super Sons disbanded and went their separate ways, Jon gets a call from Damian. Try as he might, he couldn’t put everything in the past, especially since that last time Jon saw Damian, was the last time they were on speaking terms.

 “Damian…” Jon breathed in surprise. He was staring at his phone with half-lidded eyes, the caller ID still with that matching picture of his erstwhile partner when he was still a boyish 13. Jon hadn’t thought to change it over the years until it became pointless because he never expected to hear from him again.

Jon hesitated for a few seconds more before he took the call. He sighed deeply as the crisp, straightforward voice of Damian Wayne hit his ears once more.

“J, the Super Sons need to get back into gear. We have a mission.”

There’s something I never thought I’d hear again, Jon mused in his head. True, they were still the sons of super heroes, but the name they’d taken to using when they were still partners sounded almost too silly, too childish, now that Jon was a freshman in college. It was silly just like how Jon had been silly in his youth, and just as silly as the fact that Damian, of all people, would be calling him out of the blue.

“It’s Jon,” Jon replied stiffly. “And I have midterms tomorrow, Damian. I don’t really have time for…whatever this is.” Jon tried his best not to sound cold. He almost succeeded, and he could almost hear Damian pause and flinch.

But just as he’d known, the young man on the other end of the line easily regained his composure. “What, using school as an excuse again? We’re not kids anymore.”

We’re not partners anymore, either, Jon barely managed to stop himself from saying. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t angry at Damian. Not really. He was just tired, and he didn’t think the years apart were enough to ever stop him from being tired.

“I have my priorities, Damian. Get to your point.”

Another pause from Damian. When he replied, it was a little more subdued, as if the smirk was unceremoniously wiped away from his voice.

“It’s the Amazo armor,” Damian said quietly, in an un-Damian like way. “We defeated it when we were kids, and the league has since kept it on lockdown, but apparently it made copies of its programming in Lexcorp’s computers and now it became self-aware and took over one of its manufacturing plants. It’s self-replicating new robot avatars.”

“I take it no one else is available?” Jon asked wearily. He was dreading what he knew was inevitable.

“This was our case, Jon,” Damian insisted. “We’re the ones who have to end it.”

On that at least Jon agreed with him.  “Okay. I’ll come.”

“Do you want me to pick you up at your dorm or…?”

“No,” Jon cut him off. “Just send me the address.” The last thing Jon needed was a painfully awkward jet ride with Damian.

Jon took his letter jacket emblazoned with the initials of Metropolis University, and put on his last pair of jeans that were a few inches short above his ankle. He rummaged in his closet to find his old childhood second-hand jacket with a cape—his old uniform. A wave of bittersweet nostalgia hit him with the force of a freight train. It used to be his uniform, but now it was too small. Jon had grown up—and out—of the need to wear the jacket. And if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t just the jacket he grew out of.

**

Try as he might, Jon couldn’t escape that awkwardness. He’d arrived thirty minutes later at the address Damian had provided, at a medium-sized factory 10 miles from the outskirts of Central City. The few local police available had already cordoned off the perimeter, looking both clueless and helpless at the same time. Beyond the chain-link fence, the factory spewed smoke, and paramedics were rushing back carrying gurneys carrying survivors. Damian was already there coordinating with the authorities.

Damian was…well, Damian, though older than when Jon had last seen him. Just barely out of his teens, Damian had the physique of an athlete at peak condition. His hair was still spiked up with what Jon assumed was half a tub of wax, and he’d changed his uniform to look less like a traffic light, into something sleeker and cooler. His outfit was carbon-fiber black designed for stealth, with red highlights, and a red cyber-styled bat symbol on the chest that looked like it could glow with the flip of a switch. His cape was a dark reflective gray on the outside and crimson on the inside, and it was draped around him like a roman sagum—a military cape fastened with a clasp on one shoulder.

But besides the new costume, which echoed that of Dick Grayson’s previous renditions of Nightwing, Damian was still the Damian that Jon had known. The Damian he’d loved. The Damian he’d lost. They saw each other and walked closer to greet each other, but stopped before any hands were raised for a handshake. For a brief moment, they were both just boys again, and the starburst-laced memories flashed in their eyes. Then it was gone and the awkwardness settled—a heavy, uncomfortable pall of the years that passed hanging over them like a miasma.  

“Hey,” Jon began shyly.

“Hey,” Damian replied.

Damian had gotten taller over the years, but he was still an inch shy of reaching Jon’s height. It used to be a point of endearing banter between them. Now that they were older though, it seemed like such a petty matter—the mirth and good-natured humor in the fact dried and shriveled up in a corner of the past.

“You have a new costume— it looks good,” Jon said with all the air of a man commenting on the weather for want of something interesting to say.

“And you’re still wearing a jacket,” Damian said.

“It’s a letter jacket now, Damian,” Jon sighed, though his lips twitched into the beginnings of a wistful smile.

“I remember when that letter was an ‘S’,” Damian continued.

Jon’s almost-smile faded. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Damian blinked as if something surprisingly unpleasant backed up his throat. Then, as if resigning himself to a grisly fate, he nodded.  

They both casually walked into the factory together. The nearer they got, the louder the whirring and buzzing and clanging of machinery seemed to get. The air smelled of rust, ozone, and diesel. The hairs on the back of Jon’s neck stiffened as he recognized another odor underneath…a metallic greasy bile flavor that he’d only ever smelled in the presence of the Amazo armor, all those years ago.

Jon was just about to open the door when a three-foot-tall black robot with far too many legs burst forth from it, leaping in the direction of Jon’s face while hissing a metallic screech. In a split-second, it was thrown against the wall, impaled by a heavy batarang. It sputtered as sparks flitted from the hole in its thorax.

“I had that,” Jon snapped, his eyes glowing bright red with power.

“I was just covering you,” Damian said. Jon’s super-hearing picked up a distinct hint of melancholy in his tone.

“Sure…” Jon replied hesitantly. The biting retort that he expected from Damian didn’t come. He expected Damian to criticize his slowness, or chide him for getting rusty. He expected Damian to scold him with all the magnanimous condescension his pompousness afforded him. But it never came, and this caught Jon off-guard.

“What’s our win condition here? “ Jon asked as he recovered himself.

“There’s a central terminal that’s probably reinforced and defended at the heart of the factory by those robots,” Damian began as a hologram of the factory’s insides emerged from his gauntlet. “The Amazo programming should have housed itself there while it creates more of these face huggers.” He gestured to the many-legged black robot that was still impaled in the wall.  

“So, wreck all the alien-looking robots?”

“Yes,” Damian confirmed. “They’ll swarm us and attempt to encase us in metal, so we need to work together and cover each other’s bases. It’ll just be like old times…” he smiled slightly.

“Right…old times,” Jon muttered. Seeing Damian’s smile again tugged at his insides, but not in the way that it had when he was younger. As a young boy, Damian’s smiles gave Jon hope for something indescribably wonderful. As a young man, it reminded Jon of his youthful folly and gave him a sour feeling in his guts, much like bile that precipitated vomit.

They opened the ruined door and stepped inside. Despite his age, Jon had to steady himself and remind himself that adults shouldn’t be freaked out by bugs anymore—even if they looked like black, skittering manifestations of his every childhood nightmare he’d ever had. The whole factory was crawling with the same many-legged robot that attacked them. They all sported black jagged metal plates that could be mistaken for a chitinous carapace, giving them a horribly similar appearance to shiny black scorpions. Every movement they made emitted a low creak of metal grinding in on itself, and with the hundreds of robot crawlers that covered the walls, floors, and machinery, the factory hummed and buzzed and chirped like the world’s most horrific menagerie of bird and crickets.

Jon had only a few seconds to appreciate the grotesque scenery before the first crawlers started their attack, springing up to his head in an attempt to do unsavory things to his face. Damian’s coined name of ‘face huggers’ sounded about right. Jon quickly batted one of them away, while beside him, Damian had sliced another one in two using an extendable segmented sword. They stared at each other and then nodded.

The factory wasn’t very large, all things considered. They would be able to reach the center of the machinery, and the terminal within ten minutes at a leisurely pace. But with the dozens of face huggers that had begun to assault them with every step they took, it would probably take them a little over an hour at most. Even then, both of them were unfazed. They’ve definitely been through worse. The hum and buzz of metal reached a deafening crescendo as they descended upon Damian and Jon. Then, a new sound punctuated their passage through the factory—the distinct screech and groan of metal being rent, torn, and destroyed.

Jon was starting to get familiar with the routine again. He and Damian had adopted one of their classic stances, where they stood back to back, covering each other’s blind spots, all the while moving forward with a deliberate pace. Jon didn’t bother to count the number of face huggers he’d had to punch out of the air—all of them were easily dispatched by a single punch. Every now and then he’d sweep the floor with a burst of heat vision to take out ten or twenty at once.

Damian was having a similarly easy time himself. Every swing of his sword was a dead face hugger on the floor, and he even had time to be flashy with his sword strokes. Jon was certain Damian was twirling his swords around just to show off. Jon had always found it cool and impressive when they were kids. But now? It just seemed odd. It dawned on Jon that this whole mission seemed odd, if only because it was so easy. That, and Damian seemed like he was beside himself with glee, flashing Jon a grin every so often. Jon felt like Damian was checking up on him not to see if he was okay, but to make sure that he was having fun as well. Jon grew suspicious.

It felt like no time at all when they’d reached the central terminal. What remained of the crawling face huggers covered the control board in an eight-foot mass of bulging black spiky metal, not unlike a doomed Spartan phalanx that had resigned itself to dine in hell.

“Would you do the honors?” Damian gestured to the crawlers with a thickly gloved hand.

Jon nodded as his pupils glowed a searing red. Wide beams of blinding red light erupted from his eyes and incinerated the face huggers, peeling them off the terminal one by one until the control board was finally visible. The layers of black face huggers had apparently been shielding one of their own, this one a rusty shade of brown and green. A cable that sprouted out of its back was connected to one of the panels, and what passed for the thing’s head glared balefully at the pair of them. It was clearly the Amazo remnant that Damian and Jon had been looking for, and its small body’s gestures gave it the barest hint of recognition that it was about to finally meet its end. It howled an ear-splitting screech that sounded like nails scratching on a blackboard as Damian severed the cable with his sword at the same time as he threw an explosive batarang at the robot. It exploded into a hundred tiny inconsequential fragments of scrap.

“So ends Amazo, finally,” Damian said with a grin. “We make a really great team, don’t we?”

Jon turned to stare at Damian. His expression was nothing short of furious.

“Enough, Damian!” Jon growled. “Stop it. I can’t do this. Not again.” Jon turned away from Damian to look at anything other than the latter’s face, his arms crossed and his eyes shut as if in pain.

“Jon, what do you—“ Damian tried to say. He raised his hand in an attempt to reach Jon’s shoulder, but Jon cut him off.

“I said enough!” Jon repeated, and his voice carried weight. Damian could have sworn the air around Jon rippled outwards in a tiny shockwave.  “This mission of yours was too easy, Damian. You could’ve done this yourself. What’s the real reason you called me here?”

“I needed your help…” Damian began, but he stopped when Jon gave him a look that clearly knew he was lying. Damian sighed heavily. “I wanted us to partner up again. I wanted you to feel like we used to when we were still…”

“I can’t do this,” Jon repeated with a hurt tone. “You’re leading me on, Damian. You’re playing with my emotions. You made it perfectly clear you didn’t want anything from me!”

And Damian had. That day, though years past, had etched itself in Jon’s then young mind. He was but a boy that was full to bursting with love he was just aching to share, but the one person in the world he’d wanted to give it to shot him down harder than a bullet to his heart.

What do you think this is? Damian had said back then.

Don’t taint this with your emotions, Jonathan. Get your head out of the clouds. We’re heroes.

This is a professional partnership. Act like it. Damian had sounded so disappointed back then, and his words rang with icy finality.

In the days and weeks that had followed, Jon tried his best to understand why Damian had reacted that way. But young as Jon was, he only ended up blaming himself. He blamed himself for not seeing how nearly every other conversation he’d had with Damian was brutally sarcastic and mean-spirited in some ways. How Damian’s means of appreciation were varying degrees of insults. How even when Damian had claimed they were friends, he only ever said it sparingly and warned Jon not to make a big deal out of it. Jon blamed himself for not recognizing that Damian was just utterly disinterested, and he felt so rotten because in his mind, he was forcing himself on someone who didn’t want him.

The blame had turned into shame, as Jon saw his affections as something to be embarrassed about, something to be hidden and never talked about. Over time, being with Damian on their patrols had become unbearable, because he felt his affections were synonymous with childish stupidity. He wanted to spare Damian from all of his worries and fears and shame—and it came to pass that he decided Damian was better off without him, and he was better off without Damian. 

Their partnership ended gradually but unremarkably. Jon just turned to his studies, his friends, and his hobbies. He turned up less and less for patrols until he just didn’t anymore.In the years of disuse, the Super Sons headquarters had become an abandoned and forgotten thing, serving little more purpose than an artificial coral reef.

Now, just when he thought he grew out of being that little kid with the red cape and a second-hand jacket, Damian was making him remember just how much he’d loved being a superhero with a friend. That, and how much he’d loved that friend. And worse, how painful it felt to force himself to think that all of his emotions were a mistake.

In as few words as possible, Jon had tried to say all of this to Damian. Amid the ruins of vaguely insectoid robot corpses and sparks of electricity and puffs of acrid smoke, Jon tried his best to remind Damian why they’d stopped talking to each other all those years ago, and that they had both tacitly agreed to go their separate ways.

“I was stupid, Damian. I was a kid, and I was stupid, and I’m sorry. Maybe I’m still stupid right now. But I don’t want any of this anymore. I don’t want to give you my baggage. We both stopped it. Why are you making me go through this?” Jon sounded as pained as he looked. His brows were furrowed and his tone was both demanding and pleading.

“I thought you’d like remembering how we worked as a team,” Damian replied patiently.

“It just reminds me of how badly I wanted something I could never have when I was a kid, and how stupid I was for wanting it,” Jon said bitterly. He turned to leave. “I already made my peace with you, Damian. I’ve learned from the mistake of loving you too early on.”

Damian clenched his fist and inhaled sharply. “I did all of this because I’m sorry for loving you too late!” he almost shouted. Color rushed to his cheeks and his expression was a mixture of frustration and regret.

“What…?” Jon stopped in his tracks.

“We’d stopped talking by then,” Damian continued with grim determination. “But the silence was worse than the most deafening sound in the world. We were always together, and when we weren’t anymore, I felt like I lost an important part of who I was.

“You offered me love but I couldn’t understand why, Jon. I could never consider myself worth that kind of selflessness, or deserve anything that pure.  I thought we didn’t need it. I thought I didn’t need it. I thought I was doing us a favor. But when you left, everything just felt…wrong. And all that time when we were still partners, some part of me wanted to thank you, to ask you, maybe even plead with you to just always be…there. I just didn’t know how to say it. I never really knew how to talk to you even when we still talked to each other.”

“It’s been years, Damian!” Jon replied angrily. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because it took me years to find the words I needed!” Damian said, the sorrow ringing in his tone. “For half of my life, I was an assassin whose raison d'être was to dominate. For the second half, I was raised to be a hero whose sole purpose is to succeed.

“For most of my life, I’ve divided people into allies and enemies. When I met you, all I knew was that you were neither, and that you were more. All I knew was that I felt safer and more complete when you were around. All I knew was that I could stand to smile a little more than usual without feeling guilty when you were beside me. I didn’t have a word for that, Jon. And it took me years contemplating the distance, and silence, and the wedge that drove itself between us for me to realize that I loved you. It took your absence in my life for me to realize you were trying to tell me the same thing.”

“I can’t, Damian…” Jon said after a sober pause, his breath hitching. “I can’t just forget everything that’s happened since then. You can’t just say you love me and expect us to team up again, or even talk again the way we used to. There’s just too much. It hurts too much, and that’s not going away.” He turned to look at Damian again, his bright blue eyes filled with a deep-seated weariness from years of sadness and guilt.

“I know,” Damian said with a miserable smile. “That’s why I orchestrated all of this, gave you some semblance of what we had before…because I wanted to properly say goodbye.” His eyes glistened, and though no tears fell, the lines in his face reflected a heavy sense of loss.

“I love you, Jon. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

Jon blinked a few times as his words left him. He stared at Damian as though seeing him for the first time all over again. Then he looked away.

“I’m sorry, too. Goodbye, Damian.”

**

“That’ll be $200, please.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” Jon said as he winced. He knew it wasn’t all just his money, but he felt a phantom pain in his pocket nonetheless. He placed the thick book in his backpack and left the counter.

After seeing one of his classmates tearfully calling her mom about not having enough for one of the term’s new required textbooks, Jon and a few of his friends had thought of buying the book and reproducing it for the needier members of their class. Granted, it set Jon back a lot in terms of his stipend, and he wasn’t exactly sure of the legality of photocopying the book, but he was sure that supporting the cause of education and helping people out was a cause his dad would have approved of. Besides, Jon reasoned that his dad wasn’t always that law-abiding either. He was sure his dad’s uniform’s red trunks violated international decency laws.

He was just about to leave the store when a brightly colored book caught his eye. He picked it up from its small wooden pedestal in the ‘recommended for kids’ section. He grinned in surprise to find that it was a book about his and Damian’s adventures, made into a children’s book.

“The Super Sons: even kids can be heroes, volume 3,” Jon read out loud. The cover prominently showed Damian as Robin when he was thirteen, and Jon as Superboy when he was just ten. Damian was swinging off to the right using his grapnel, and Jon was running on the rooftop just below him. It seemed like a paparazzi photo taken in secret, and Jon could have sworn he remembered the exact circumstance of when that picture was taken.

We’d just stopped an armed robbery on a Whole Foods. One guy tried to shoot the old lady cashier to distract us and let his gang get away, but I stopped the bullet, Jon thought to himself. He flipped through the book to find more pictures, and even artistic portraits of him and Damian in their uniforms. There were stories of their exploits written in a way to impress young readers and encourage them to emulate the bravery and values of the Super Sons.

“Huh, I don’t remember it happening quite like that…and I’m pretty sure this was supposed to be Kraklow,” Jon said to himself in amusement as he skimmed through a story detailing how they’d once defeated an extra-dimensional wizard by summoning the magic power of an ancient castle to give themselves strength.

Jon paused, the book open in his hands for a good two minutes as he stared off into nothing at all. He hadn’t thought of Damian in weeks, and now he found that he could call to mind that handsome face and those piercing green eyes without  flinching. All of a sudden, his memories of his time with Damian during their run as the state’s most famous kid hero duo flooded him with all the torrential force of a burst dam.

Damian…Damian would have been amused to no end if he saw this, Jon thought. To his surprise, remembering Damian, and their adventures, and their time together…actually felt wonderful. Exciting, even. Jon remembered that time they had to save their moms from each other, that time their sleepover was interrupted by an international syndicate of animal poachers, that time they drove away what was possibly a rabid alien saber tooth lion… and Jon laughed.

For what felt like the first time in his life, he felt like he could reminisce without pain, and remember without regret. All he felt was the exhilaration he’d had as a child and Damian…he started to see in his mind all of the little things that Damian said and did that made him love to be around the older boy so much back then. 

Damian would have sarcastic quips, but Jon always did him better. 

Damian would be overly serious and aloof when talking to the people they rescued, but after he went away Jon would grin and tell them not to take Robin too seriously.

He remembered all the times he’d held Damian’s hand and dragged him off somewhere in giddy excitement, all the times that he’d ruffled Damian’s hair without the threat of dismemberment, and all the times Damian sat beside him without speaking, sympathizing through silence.

Jon felt like his memories could finally breathe, and he could look back clearly with fondness at what should have been the best times of his life. Everything was different because now, Jon could see how Damian had been enjoying himself as much as he did. He knew that Damian, in his own way, was loving every moment just as he did.

“Hey, mister!”

Jon snapped back from his reverie when a curly-haired boy with a Superman shirt and flip-flops tugged at his jacket.

“Wha…what?” Jon said, struggling to find his words.

“You gonna buy that?” The boy asked impatiently. He couldn’t have been more than 12, yet he had the unfaltering confidence to sound like he was challenging Jon.

“I uh, I was just browsing,” Jon stammered.

“Good, give it here,” the boy said. “The lady over there told me they ran out and only had the display on stock, and I’ve been wanting to get the new Super Sons for a whole week! I saved up my allowance on it, I’m probably their biggest fan in all of Metropolis these days! If you bought it, I’ll make sure Robin and Superboy find out you’re stealing things from kids and you’ll be in trouble!”

Jon could only chuckle at the boy’s fervent look. “It’s all yours. The last thing I need is Robin scolding me. Even Superboy wouldn’t want that for his worst enemy.”

“Hey, whattaya know, the old guy actually know how jokes work,” the boy said with a sly grin. Then, with a more serious expression, he asked, “When you were a kid, the Super Sons were still around, right? You ever know much about them?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Jon replied with a knowing smile. “Why?”

“I know they’re older now, and they’re probably doing something else,” the boy asked hesitantly. “They’re not a team anymore…but do you think they’re still friends?” he looked anxious, as if he was hoping for an answer that he knew must have been impossible. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” Jon asked, grinning widely.

“What?”

“It took me a while to find out, but…they were always more than just friends…” Jon smiled, and he exhaled deeply as if a tight knot in his chest had finally been undone.

The boy’s eyes widened as he pondered on Jon’s words. Jon handed him the book.

“They haven’t been together for a while, and so many things have happened since then. But I know there’s still something between them...something brighter than sunshine. All they need is to see each other’s smiles.” Jon continued, though more to himself than the boy. “I think I’m ready to see the sun again.”

He left the bookstore lost in thought, leaving behind a boy who had no idea his most secret romantic pairing fantasy had just come true.

#fic #fanfic #DamiJon #Super Sons #Damian Wayne #jonathan kent #jonathan samuel kent #Jon Kent

[into-the-labyrinthe]

I did say I would do a breakdown of my Empire kit. Well, here it is...

Start - This is just me in my day-to-day clothing

Base - A pair of Primark leggings (£5) and a shirt I picked up from a Dark Angel sale for £10-15 (cheaper options do exist)

Boots and Jerkin - A pair of Aigle Coupe Saumur riding boots that I picked up for £10 in an Oxfam shop and a jerkin I made myself from fabric I bought in Oxfam for £10 - apologies for the Jarething now my shirt is tucked in

Sash - This is a scarf I found in Oxfam, 2 for £5 or so; my daughter wears its twin

Accessories - The half-cape (previously seen) was made from leftover fabric and a chain from a broken handbag years ago, the belts are both from Oxfam, the pouch (thick leather) was from the Czech Republic back in the 1990s, we’ll get to the other bits later...

Finishing Touches - A hat from eBay (£12) with feathers from a craft shop (£6) and a wooden box I found in Homesense (I’ve done a breakdown of the box and contents before)

Rings and Brooch - The signet comes from a vendor at Empire for £4 and the rest was from Oxfam for £1.49 - £2.49 each

Weapons and Mask - Here’s where you cannot skimp; £101 for a first-gen Calimacil Agrippa (2nd Gen here), £26 for a brown Calimacil Lucrezia in an end-of-line sale (Current red Lucrezia here) and... okay, £2.99 for a plastic mask that happens to look metallic

You may notice that Oxfam shows up a few times here; charity shops are an amazing source of LARP gear and Oxfam just happens to be the closest one. Costume rings, random clothes, chiffon scarves, coin pouches... I have seen lots of good stuff in charity shops.

Weapons are expensive, which is hard to get around. A cheap dagger is £20 (£15 if you are lucky), but short swords seem to start at £40 and go up quickly as the length and detail increase.

Now, as for me, I do still have my eye on a codpiece from Wyrmwick... 

#LRP #LARP #empire larp #Empire LRP #costume #Jareth #the goblin king #Swashbuckler #Leandro Niccolo di Sarvos

[texanredrose]

The Burdens We Bear

The Imperial Palace stood far taller than the castle back home, shadows hiding the ceiling as the torches failed to shed light throughout the impressive structure. Along the walls hung pictures of various landscapes, some part of Vytal and others across various seas, newly acquired holdings of the empire, and murals depicted the Imperial army falling upon their enemies with deadly and decisive force. A common figure appeared in almost each one, the Empress clad in her armor- standing taller than the other soldiers, a veritable giant among her forces, with a glittering golden helm and cape, wide shoulders and a stocky build. A smaller figure appeared in most, too, draped in red bright as blood, but Winter didn’t have an abundance of time to parse the significance as she was led along, shoulder-to-shoulder with her sister and brother following a few steps behind, their father ahead of them and a small retinue of guards to offer a bit of comfort as they walked through the enemy’s home, deep in hostile territory.

Over the past ten years, the face of Remnant had changed dramatically. How it started in Vale remained a mystery but Atlas became highly aware of the rising Empire when Vacuo fell and Menagerie, too. Mistral had held out for three years before they submitted and now only Mantle remained, with Atlas as the strongest of the Kingdoms there. King Jacques had proposed an alliance throughout Mantle, with himself as the head, of course, and many kingdoms agreed, if only to preserve their holdings. Some refused, though, and the King seemed content to let them remain independent of the alliance that stood ready to protect all of Mantle.

But the royal children knew better.

“I can’t believe you honestly think this will work,” Winter said, chin tilted up proudly. Clad in nothing more than a shift of white fabric tied at the shoulders made it difficult to carry herself with the same pride as befitted her station... but that wasn’t her place anymore. A heavy metal collar around her neck, the chain lightly beating against her chest with every step while keeping her bound wrists just above her waist level, and the thin sandals on her feet marked her not as the heiress apparent to the throne of Atlas but rather a simple slave- though, to some extent, she supposed her place truly hadn’t changed all that much, because one wasn’t born into the Schnee royal family with any modicum of freedom at their disposal.

“The reports are very clear,” her father replied, the crown resting against his temples reflecting fire and shining bright, a contrast to his snow white hair and pale skin. Indeed, they all looked out of place in a place where tanned skin and bright hair seemed to be the norm, but the King even more so, his heavy cloak embroidered with gold and blue at the borders, the white snowflake in the dead center of his back standing as both a sigil of their home and a target. “The Empress keeps a varied assortment of slaves. This is a means to secure an alliance- peace for our people.”

“You mean more power for yourself,” Weiss said, no longer flinching when he turned towards her sharply, hand raised as if to strike but stopping short. The scar across her left eye stood as a testament to the times he didn’t hold back but, considering they were about to be offered up as presents, he somehow summoned his restraint.

And she wasn’t wrong. The King had little interest in securing peace for Mantle; he wanted absolute power. With enough of the kingdoms already under his thumb, in a manner of speaking, all he truly sought was an induction into the Empire without a formal invasion, and the leave to take the independent kingdoms by force. From there, he would do what he did best: connive and scheme, plot for the Empress’ assassination and prepare for his own ascension to the throne of the Empire. Of all their father’s qualities, none could compete with his ambition.

“You will hold your tongue.” His eyes flashed dangerously, peering down his nose at Weiss. “Or I’ll suggest she have it removed first thing. No one has any use for a mouthy servant.”

Winter balled her hands into fists. First and second born children, royal by blood, reduced to bartering chips- it made her blood boil, but she remained outwardly calm. She hadn’t been idle in the weeks since being informed of the decision; she’d analyzed the situation, considered the ramifications of every actions, and knew only one thing.

They had to escape.

There was nowhere to run to, no one to trust, and no hope of truly surviving the mess, but she wouldn’t submit to another’s will. She wouldn’t allow her little sister to be used for someone else’s pleasure. It would likely mean a quick death... but at least they’d have their dignity.

Their father turned away to continue down the hall to the throne room, where the Empress awaited them. The two guards standing beside the tall doors regarded the Atlesian royalty and their small retinue of guards with mild disdain and a touch of exasperation before opening the doors, revealing a magnificent throne room easily three times the size of the one back in Atlas’ castle.

The whole room was awash in a golden glow from the sun setting behind the throne, fires burning in sconces and pits scattered throughout, and people talked quietly, some dressed in strange but fine fashions while others wore varying suits of armor- leather, chain, heavy plate. Some were archers and others carried their weapons on their hips or back, swords and axes and maces and all manner of staffs. 

And in the throne- the seat wide enough for Winter and her sister to comfortably sit side-by-side- was the Empress, wild blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, a crown settled about her temples, dressed in leather with glimmering bits of metal scattered throughout the ensemble and a fur of some beast settled on her shoulders, its paws tied at her neck to keep it in place. Even from a distance, the broadness of her shoulders and the thick, corded muscles of her arms and legs could be seen, and as the Atlesians drew closer, the furrow of her brow made lilac eyes shine all the brighter from a mix of curiosity and confusion. Seated behind her, previously preoccupied with a meal of some sort, a Faunus with raven dark hair and bright amber eyes leaned closer and whispered something to the Empress, receiving a nod in reply.

Then she stood, clearing her throat before speaking, voice a low, even drawl. “Greetings and welcome to Her Imperial Majesty’s court.” The feline ears atop her head flicked, flattening out into a straight line. “That’s far enough.”

Winter felt no small amount of gratification at how quickly her father halted nor how much it pained him to do so; ever since assuming the throne, he’d used Faunus as a scapegoat for all manner of ills befalling the land, turning the people against their countrymen. For him to be ordered by one now... if nothing else, she could take solace in knowing that this Faunus appeared to speak for the Empress and would remain above him in station.

It was a small comfort.

“Greetings, Your Imperial Majesty,” her father said with a booming voice, bowing at the waist. The guards followed suit and Whitley too, but she and Weiss stood tall, wearing inscrutable masks that likely passed for contempt considering the quirk that appearing in the Empress’ brow. “I am King Jacques, ruler of Atlas. I entreat you: listen to my offer. There’s no need for bloodshed between our armies when Atlas is willing to join the mighty Empire.”

The Faunus turned her head, speaking rapidly in a language that sounded like nothing Winter had ever heard before, nothing at all like the tongues of her homeland. Beside her, though, Weiss stiffened.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said, glancing towards her sister, but a sharp look from their father silenced her.

“Her Imperial Majesty is willing to hear your request,” the Faunus said, crossing her arms over her chest while her liege leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and watching intently. “But first, she asks why two of your number are bound and chained.”

“Of course.” He swept an arm towards them, stepping aside so the Empress had an unimpeded view of Winter and Weiss. “Atlas wishes to see no bloodshed upon Mantle’s shores. We have united many of the lesser kingdoms under our banner and wish to join the Empire.” He snapped his fingers. “We offer these two daughters of Atlas as a sign of our servitude to Her Imperial Majesty.”

Unfamiliar hands grabbed at her shoulders and it took everything in Winter’s power not to shudder or turn away as gloved fingers pulled at the knots holding up her shift, the fabric falling away to leave her naked before the Empress’ throne. Beside her, Weiss faltered as she was similarly stripped, ducking her head for a moment before raising her chin up, defiant despite the tremble in her shoulders.

Gritting her teeth so hard it felt like they might crack and clenching her hands into fists, she ignored the bite of her own nails drawing blood.

Blonde brows rose to the woman’s hair line before she shot to her feet, bellowing out something in her native language that sent a flurry of activity throughout the whole hall, not even her attendant immune as she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor and stepped behind the Empress. All others- the people who milled about, the guards, the servants, everyone- dropped their gazes as well, those with shields hiding their faces behind them, some even turning their backs to the spectacle.

It soothed her dignity, some, until the Empress stalked forward, the Faunus falling into step behind her. Quick, long strides, descending the small staircase that lead to the throne with a purpose as lilac eyes changed to something more akin to blood red, expression twisted into something ugly in her fury.

“Your Imperial Majesty, please-” The King stepped back, surprised by how quickly she moved, that conniving mind of his running fast as it ever had to try and find a way to survive angering the Empress.

But it seemed his panic was all for naught as she ignored his presence completely in favor of barking out a quick word to her attendant and reaching up to untie the fur about her shoulders, throwing it over Winter’s. It wasn’t the length of a cape or cloak, but the Empress stood a few inches shorter than herself and about that wider, and the thick fur was much warmer than the shift. It left a thin strip of her backside exposed but... well, the majority of the... Empress’ property was hidden away, and as much as her gut churned to the allow herself that thought, bluntly confronting her reality would keep everything in perspective. The moment the Empress accepted, the moment Atlas didn’t stand the chance of being invaded out of spite, then all bets were off. 

A quick word from the Empress and her attendant had followed suit, pulling the long black coat affixed to her shoulders off and draping the fabric around Weiss as best she could without looking.

“My apologies, Your Imperial Majesty.” The King chuckled, bowing again. “I didn’t mean to cause affront. I simply thought you’d like a preview of the gifts we offer-”

“Did not give permission to speak,” the Empress said in slightly broken Atlesian, her consonants harsh, either through ill practice or anger it was impossible to say. Blood red eyes fell on the man, lips twisting into a sour expression. “Daughters?”

He hesitated before responding, faltering for perhaps the first time in his life, and it mollified Winter only a little to see him squirm. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, they are daughters of Atlas-”

“Yours?” A single syllable, growled through clenched teeth.

“Oh, of course, Your Imperial Majesty- only the best for you.” He puffed his chest out, as if proud of the words tumbling from his mouth like fragile excuses. “My daughters are willing to serve you, just as all of Atlas is; we are your humble servants.”

At that, the Empress directed her burning gaze up into Winter’s eyes, searching... for something. She couldn’t be sure what but she knew one thing for certain: as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t spit in the woman’s face while the fate of her people hung in the balance. Stripped of her title, she had no duty to them, but for well over twenty years, she’d been raised with the expectation of one day assuming her mother’s throne. That her father took it for himself, twisted it, and pulled her birthright beyond her reach didn’t matter; they were her people.

It was that very conviction that her father relied on for her cooperation thus far. It galled her that something which should have been one of the finer points of her personality actually provided her downfall.

Winter stared back into blood red eyes, not faltering, not bending or breaking, and hoping beyond hope that she could keep the woman’s attention. If nothing else, she could protect Weiss from the Empress’ searing gaze, and it seemed that she’d done just that when the woman shifted her attention to Whitley.

“Son?”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, that’s my son, Prince Whitley, heir to the-”

“King,” the Empress said, gesturing to the crown at his temples, and then towards Whitley. “Now.”

“I...”

The Faunus uttered a few quick words, receiving a nod from the Empress before speaking again, this time to the bemused man. “Her Imperial Majesty decrees that you relinquish your title and pass it to your son. Atlas is now part of the Empire; he will rule your lands as her proxy and servant. You are to serve a different purpose.”

It made Winter sick to this his blasted gambit had worked but she did her level best to keep the snarl from her face as he pulled her grandfather’s crown from her temples and quickly handed it off to Whitley.

“Of course, as Her Imperial Majesty commands.” He settled the crown on his son’s head with pride, stepping back and looking to the Empress, like a dog awaiting a treat but Winter could only see him as a wolf with blood on his jowls.

The Empress said something, rapidly, and it earned a nod from the Faunus. “King Whitley, Her Imperial Majesty would like you and your guards to take two steps back.”

“O-of course.” He swallowed, turning to look at the captain of the group. “Do as she says. Two steps.”

As they moved, metal clinking and leather creaking, Winter sent a prayer to whatever power might have a hand in shaping the world; he’d followed their father around like a lost puppy, but her brother hadn’t learned anything aside from his ambition and his lust, neither of which boded well for the people of Atlas.

For a moment, all was still, and then the Empress nodded to her attendant and turned towards Jacques.

“There’s something you should know, Your Majesty.” She intoned, a grave sort of finality in her words as amber eyes held the new King’s gaze. “You are member to the Empire now, all of you. We are bound together by a sacred duty: to bring peace to the lands. You serve Her Imperial Majesty’s will, and her word is absolute. The Empire will not hold past transgressions against you and your people but any aggressive action taken henceforth will be considered sedition and treason, neither of which will be tolerated. Pacts like these are not paid in the Empire by pounds of flesh.” Her eyes narrowed, ears flattening against her skull. “They are paid in blood.”

Like lightning, the Empress’ arm shot out, hand grabbing hold of Jacques’ throat. His eyes widened, nearly bulged out of his head as he tried to pry the woman’s grip open, but her fingers tightened, clearly cutting off his air as he began to choke. Winter watched, numb, as the woman used her other hand to grab his forehead while yanking back with enough force to tear the man’s throat out, blood spattering the floor of the throne room.

As her father fell lifelessly to the floor, Winter supposed she should feel something- pity, sadness, horror- but all she could process in the moment was a deep sort of satisfaction.

It served him right that his ambition should lead here, to an undignified death in a foreign land.

With a single growled word, four guards with shields still covering their faces drew shoulder-to-shoulder and began marching forward, in step, with halberds in their hands. Once close enough they could see the dead man’s blood oozing out onto the throne room floor, they turned their weapons around, using the jutting blade on the backside to stab into him, then retreating the way they’d come. Another shout and the room began to empty, people scurrying to whichever exit seemed closest- wide open doors or servants’ corridors, it didn’t matter- and the Faunus spoke up again.

“Your price is paid. Atlas is now under the protection and rule of the Empire,” she said, tilting her head forward. “Her Imperial Majesty demands you send five hundred born and bred Atlesians to the capital at once. No harm shall come to those you send and they will remain here for three years before being sent back to Atlas.”

“Wh-what are you going to do to them?” Whitley- bereft of father’s guiding hand and faced with the task of returning home as the sole surviving member of the royal family- looked as white as his hair, horror flashing in his eyes.

The Faunus gave no answer, merely directing her gaze to the ground as doors were pulled shut all around the room- all save the way they entered. With the heavy tromping of her boots, the Empress moved to stand before the new King, leaning forward to growl in his face.

“Go.” She jerked her chin towards the doors. “Now.”

“Y-yes, Your Imp-perial Maj-jesty.” He bowed, much lower than his father had, and turned tail, the royal guard following confused and conflicted, the whole lot of them sounding like mice scurrying away from a cat before the last set of doors closed.

That left only Winter, Weiss, the Faunus, and the Empress in the throne room, the former two covered just barely by a fur cloak and a silk one respectively while the other two exchanged words rapidly in their common language.

“Winter.” Weiss tried speaking softly, wincing as one feline ear flicked her way.

“Follow my lead,” she replied, steady as stone even as the red drained from the Empress’ eyes, reverting them to lilac.

The woman heaved a massive sigh, setting her hands on her hips and shaking her head, words falling from her lips like water over a fall. Winter couldn’t understand a word of it but the tone sounded... annoyed, chiefly, with a bit of... was that sorrow pulling her lips into a frown? Whatever it was, her attendant could only reply with a helpless shrug.

Finally, the Empress turned her attention to Winter, the cadence of her speech slowing to make each syllable distinct as she pressed a hand to her chest. “Yang Xiao Long. Yang.” 

Then she extended a hand towards the Atlesian.

“Winter,” she replied coolly, regarding the outstretched hand for a moment before flicking her gaze back up. “I have no other name now.”

Awkwardly, the Empress let her hand hang there for a moment longer before withdrawing, reaching up to adjust her crown and muttering something.

“She’s trying to introduce herself.” The Faunus clarified, spreading her hands. “Her Atlesian isn’t... the best, but she’s trying.”

“And Her Imperial Majesty may try all she likes,” Winter said, trying to rein in the vitriol in her voice, moving her hands beneath the cloak just enough for the iron links to clink against each other. “I’m in no position for pleasantries.”

Understanding splashed across the Empress’ face, a quick series of words accompanied by a motion that looked like the turning of a key. At which point, the attendant simply pointed towards the doors- likely conveying that the only people who might be capable of releasing them from their bonds were just summarily dismissed from the Imperial Palace and likely at a full run for the harbor.

In the next second, a quick motion of the Empress’ arm had Winter stiffening, mentally preparing for the incoming blow, while Weiss flinched, the solid smack of leather gloves impacting flesh echoing in the empty throne room... but rather than strike her new slaves, the woman had merely slapped a hand to her face, sighing heavily and muttering something that sounded distinctly like a curse.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing. “Was angry. Did not think.”

The Faunus replied with something that had to be along the lines of ‘not the first time’ considering the look shot her way, but after another sigh the Empress made a motion towards Winter.

“Yang can break them off.” Raising her hands, the Faunus approached slowly, as if dealing with a wounded animal. “It may be a little uncomfortable for a moment, though.”

“Free my sister first,” she said, nodding towards Weiss as a plan- a poor one, to be sure, but a plan nonetheless- formed in her mind.

Without question or hesitation, her request was met, with the Faunus carefully maneuvering the cloak so Weiss could bring her hands out in front of her, as much as the chain allowed, while the fabric preserved her modesty, held up by the attendant with her head turned away as the Empress first worked free the bindings at her wrists and then forced the pin out of the hinge on her collar, the metal tossed away with a sneer. After being freed, the cloak was draped over Weiss’ shoulders again, even as she rubbed the stiffness from her wrists and looked over at Winter.

Her gaze flicked towards the balcony behind the throne, hoping it would be enough to convey her intent even as the fur was pulled away from her. She offered her hands, allowing the Empress to pry the shackles open with nothing short of immense brute strength, warping the metal. From up close, Winter could see the definition in every muscle in her arms, put on display by the vest and short sleeve tunic beneath, and her core, exposed in a way that would be unseemly and perhaps a touch foolish in the mild chill of an Atlesian spring. Stocky and well built, but every wall had a weak spot, and as fingers brushed against her neck to work her collar open, she looked at her sister again, noting the anticipation looking back at her. The Faunus had her head turned away again and the Empress focused on the collar; they had a chance, and hopefully the drop from the balcony wouldn’t be deadly.

As the collar was pried away from her neck, Winter wasted no time. Lowering her shoulder, she lunged forward, knocking the Empress off balance even as she threw a punch to her gut- a weak one but it brought forth a gasp of surprise, and Weiss elbowed the Faunus in tandem to bring her to her knees.

And then they ran, straight for the setting sun, feet slapping against the stone as they couldn’t afford to slow or falter. The stone railing only came up about waist high so they didn’t have to bother climbing over the thing, jumping up and hurdling it as best they could- a slightly more difficult task for Weiss, considering her shorter stature.

But they made it, falling down into a wide, deep pool just below the balcony, sending water spraying into the air as they sunk down beneath the surface. For one horrifying, disorienting moment, Winter nearly breathed in the water, but managed to catch herself in time and swim, breaking the surface just a few feet shy of the edge as another splash sounded, and she frantically searched for her sister.

“Weiss!” A moment later, the younger of the two surfaced, coughing water but keeping herself afloat as she tried to scrub the water from her eyes; she never liked swimming, couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open underwater after earning the scar across her left one. Winter reached out, tugging on her sister’s arm while trying to swim for the ledge. “Weiss, come on, we must-”

The words died in her throat as another broke the water’s surface, already at the ledge- the Empress, hefting herself out of the water with ease, splashing on the tile and the grass beyond. As she stood, Winter began treading water, casting around for some alternative- any alternative- and finding none.

When the woman turned, she expected to see those blood red eyes again, but instead found lilac glancing her way before being directed up, hands settling on her hips as water dripped off her still. If anything, she looked frustrated, perhaps annoyed, but not angry.

“Injured?”

Weiss stiffened, finally clearing her eyes enough to see why her sister had stopped them both from swimming forward, the two sharing a worried glance. It was never a good plan, but it was all they had at present, and now they were effectively backed into a corner, with the high walls of the Palace at their backs and no hopes of swimming to either side before the Empress could get there herself.

“Winter,” her sister said, tenuously maintaining her composure. “What are we going to do?”

“If I may make a suggestion?” She couldn’t be sure how, having kept her attention focused on the Empress before them, but Winter suddenly found the Faunus dropping down into a low crouch beside her liege, carrying the cloaks that had covered them previously and handing the fur one back to the Empress, though neither put them on again. While the latter kept her gaze skyward, the former had her back turned to the pool, speaking over her shoulder. “Come out, dry off, and allow me to show you to your rooms. You both undoubtedly need rest and perhaps food.” They remained silent, long enough for the Empress to mutter something. “And Yang wants to know if either of you are injured. It’s... quite the fall from the balcony.”

Winter’s brows furrowed, not so easily deceived. “Does your master know you take such an informal tone?” 

“She’s not my master; she’s my friend.” The Faunus sighed. “I know you’re disinclined to believe me, but what I say is the truth: you have nothing to fear from her.”

“You honestly expect us to believe that?” Weiss puffed out a bitter laugh. “Do you take us for fools?”

“If you keep acting foolish, then I’ll be forced to,” she replied, turning around to face them though she had her eyes closed, relying on the sound of them treading water to direct her expression. “You want your freedom and you shall have it; Yang keeps no prisoners, at least not the sort you’ve been lead to believe she does.” She knelt down at the edge. “I know how hard it is to believe; I heard the same stories you no doubt did when I was brought here.”

Winter narrowed her eyes. She liked to think herself rather attuned to reading postures, pulling signs of deceit out of the best facades, but she found no hint that the Faunus lied. And given the way the Empress shifted, as if reliving a painful memory, the shame that seemed to come to her expression for a brief moment... it certainly seemed genuine.

“I come from Menagerie, from before it was part of the Empire, and I was offered up as tribute much like you were.” Her lips curled into a small smile. “I even jumped off the balcony to try and escape like you, and broke my leg when I landed.” She reached down, gloved fingers breaking the water’s surface for a moment. “Yang dug this pool herself after that, to prevent anyone else from getting hurt.”

“You honestly expect us to believe that.”

“Then test us yourself.” The Faunus swept an arm towards the Empress. “You believe yourself slaves? Speak, and see what reaction you get.”

“We want to leave,” Winter said, calling the bluff for what it was. “Stand aside and let us go.”

“Go to where? Atlas?” The Empress’ voice held curiosity but no disdain, trepidation but no scorn.

“Winter... we can’t go back.” Weiss spoke softly, shaking her head. 

That much was true; they couldn’t return to their homeland. Their father had made it rather public that they were to be offered up as slaves to the Empress, and going back would mean shackles, collars, and more ‘masters’ to serve.

“Anywhere except Mantle,” she said, looking up to find the Empress shifting her gaze, lilac meeting blue. “Where we go is no business of yours.”

And much to her surprise, the woman nodded, holding up a hand. “Five months. Learn languages, cultures, food, and skills. Go now, have nothing. Only struggle.”

“Stay here for five months and you’ll teach us what we need to know.” She scoffed. “And what is the price for so high an education?”

The Empress inhaled deeply, as if trying to keep from becoming frustrated and just barely managing. Finally, she spoke. “Smile. Find happiness. Live life.” She nodded. “Be free. That is price.”

Winter frowned, glancing down at her sister. Her suspicions remained- more than sensible, she thought, considering the circumstances- but if she had to trust the Empress’ word, then she had to make it count. “Swear that my sister will come to no harm- none. No one will lay a finger on her-”

“Winter-”

“Hush, Weiss.” She shook her head. “We can’t even be sure she’ll keep her word, but I must do what I can to protect you.” Defiantly, she looked into lilac eyes. “I’ll handle whatever plans she has for us.”

“Swear,” the Empress said, tapping her attendant’s shoulder and stepping back, giving them plenty of room at the edge of the pool and both kneeling down, offering up the cloaks with bent heads. “No harm. Honored guests.”

Winter sighed, not yet ready to feel relief at the declaration. She couldn’t be sure, couldn’t allow herself the luxury of letting her guard down, but swam to the edge of the pool and got out, taking the fur from the Empress’ hands and wrapping it around herself as best she could, ignoring the chill in the air as the sun began to set. It wasn’t nearly as bad as back home but she also didn’t make it a habit to walk around the royal castle naked.

The Empress spoke a few short words before turning away, heading off to attend to some other duty no doubt while the Faunus bowed to them.

“Please, follow me; I will take you to your rooms.” She paused, turning to shout something at her liege, which was answered with a gruff response and a shrug. “Would you prefer to share a living space or have your own rooms?”

“Keep us together,” Winter replied, narrowing her eyes at how... unperturbed the Faunus appeared, as if they were discussing the weather, not the terms of enslavement.

“As you wish.” Without further delay, they were lead through a door on the northern side of the courtyard, through long hallways and up stairs, until they finally came to a wing of the palace with more guards patrolling the perimeter than they’d seen in the rest of the palace combined, the four standing by the great oak doors stopping them briefly to exchange words with Blake.

But Winter noticed how none of the guards would look anywhere other than directly at Blake, at the floor, or at the ceiling as they passed, and when they entered the wing, with the great big doors swinging closed behind them, the servants they passed paid them the same respect... but there were others. Nobles, had to be, walking around uninhibited wearing all manner of clothing- some of which she could hardly call such- and with weapons of all shapes and sizes hanging from belts or strapped to their backs. Their skin ranged from pale to bronzed to a deep chestnut, the languages falling from their lips alike and drastically different, some bearing paint markings on their faces while others didn’t, and they all nodded politely to the Faunus escorting the sisters. A few were Faunus themselves, one calling out jovially from the other end of a hall, monkey tail curling behind him.

“I recommend you speak to some of the people here,” she said, gesturing around as they proceeded deeper into the wing, past what looked to be a dining hall and a library. “They hail from all over Remnant and some may be able to teach you the things you wish to learn: languages, skills, cultures and customs.”

“Who are these people?” Weiss glanced through a door way, where more shouted what sounded like encouragement to two combatants enjoying a friendly spar.

“They are like you and I, those sent to Yang as tributes. Early on, when Yang had just barely united Vale and Vacuo under her banner, bad blood made this place a target for saboteurs, so you will find many guards here, but they are here for your protection. If you wish to leave, they will not stop you.” They climbed another set of stairs. “But I suggest you take Yang up on her offer. In five months, you can learn enough to start a new life anywhere in the Empire you wish, and be welcomed as a local.”

“And these others haven’t because..?” Winter ventured as they came to a stop in front of a room down one hallway of many.

“We’ve found places here.” The Faunus smiled. “I did leave, for a time... but I meant what I said.” Her expression smoothed out into one of seriousness. “Yang is my friend, and she needs someone true at her side. She’s not as strong as she likes to think.”

“She did rip my father’s throat out, quite literally.” She shifted the fur a little higher. “I would hazard a guess that she’s plenty strong.”

“She... does tend to be rather to-the-point when angered.” Feline ears flicked back. “I’m sure she’ll apologize-”

“I’d rather she didn’t.” Winter tilted her chin up, not wanting to give her captors an ounce of leverage. “He did nothing but make our lives hell and sell us into slavery. I’ll shed no tears for the man.”

“... right.” With a nod, the Faunus opened the door, pulling back on a barely-there seam to slide it open, revealing an expansive space within. “This will be your living quarters during your stay. If they do not suit your needs, please let me know, and I’ll arrange something more to your tastes.” She bowed again. “You can ask anyone- those who live here, the guards, the servants, anyone- to send for Blake and I will arrive as quickly as I’m able.”

“No title? Formal address?” Weiss raised a brow, skeptical, which was good- they couldn’t let their guards down. Not even for a moment.

“No. Just Blake.” Her ears perked up. “And, please, if you happen to cross paths with Yang, just call her by name. She actually hates the title.”

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Winter replied, waiting for the Faunus to take a step back before entering the room. 

A large, four poster bed about the same size as the one she had enjoyed for most of her life seemed at odds with some of the other furniture, and she eventually realized that it wasn’t anything indigenous to the Empire at all, the room a mishmash of various Mantle kingdoms, the dressers and vanity both familiar and just enough off to hint and not being from Atlas at all. Still, the room was much better than a dungeon cell, and Weiss followed her inside.

“There are clothes in the closet.” The Faunus pointed towards the far wall, where a small handle much like the one she’d used to open the room could hardly be seen against the design painted across the wall- depicting a dense forest with birds flying overhead and mountains in the background. “They may not fit well but it’s just until we can have the Imperial seamstress come take your measurements. Would you like to take dinner with the others or have it brought to you?”

An odd question but one with an obvious answer: much hard to poison or drug them unless they did so to the entire room. Or so she hoped.

“We’ll sup with the others.”

“I’ll let the staff know.” She bowed, stepping back out into the hall. “The meal will begin in about an hour. Please, take the time to rest until then.”

They waited until the door closed and the footsteps faded before turning towards each other, and Winter could see plainly the worry in her sister’s eyes.

“What are we going to do?” Her shoulders fell. “Where are we going to go- we can’t stay here.”

“I know.” Despite the awkwardness of the circumstances, she stepped forward and drew her sister into a hug, cursing their father for the umpteenth time. “We’ll escape at the first opportunity. Run, and never look back. We must remain strong until then.”

“What about Father? Whitley?” Weiss shook her head, clinging to her sister even as she tried to force back tears. “I don’t- I don’t know how to feel, but I can’t get the sight out of my head-”

“Hush, Weiss.” She reached up, releasing the younger sibling’s hair from her bun; four years separated them, and half a hundred little preferences, the chief of which being that Weiss rarely liked having her hair bound like that. Their father insisted it be up to show off their slender necks and shoulders, because they were goods meant to be consumed, but now that had changed.

No. No, it hadn’t. She couldn’t allow herself to buy into the fantasy; they were prisoners still. Perhaps not slaves, but not free. 

She couldn’t lose sight of that.

“Hush, little Songbird,” she said, marshaling her strength and offering a smile. “It will take time, but the memory will fade, and we can sort out how we feel about it later.”

“I don’t think I miss him.” A frown tugged at her lips, eyes downcast. “I know that sounds heartless- he was our father- but I... I don’t think I do.”

“I don’t blame you for that,” she said. “And I won’t blame you if you cry.” Her gaze fell on the cloaks they still wore, fur and silk at odds. “Let’s find something decent to wear, first. Then we can talk about it- or not talk.” Winter bit her lip briefly. “No matter what, we’re all each other has left now. And we’ll overcome this.”

“Right,” Weiss replied, at first sounding only half convinced herself before nodding. “Right. Focus on small steps- we can deal with the rest later.” A sigh left her lips. “We have plenty of time.”

Well... they had five months.

Hopefully.

#Elderburn #Monochrome #Empress!Yang AU #TRR writes #The Burdens We Bear fanfic

[strivingscribe]

Salt of the Earth ~ 004

Salt of the Earth by MsMoon

Chapter 4 ~ The Sword of Damocles

Chapters: 4/?

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4,

Fandom: Young Justice

Rating: ExplicitWarnings: Angst, Feeling? Violence?

Relationships: Maybe I was a little hasty in my last post…but no. She’s still 14, and this is Gen.

Summary: After responding to an incident, members of the team are saved by an unknown metahuman. But no protocols are in place to deal with the series of unfortunate events that assail Anitia Moore. What exactly should the team do when a someone with powers needs training but doesn’t want to be a member of the team?

Batman slipped back into the bioship with Miss Martian, Bumblebee, and Robin. It wasn't the first or last time he envied Martian tech, with their semi-sentient vehicles with superior camouflage. 

"We managed to plant two listening devices." Robin reported. "Both are operational and online. One is in the kitchen, and the other is in the girl's room."

"I got a few pictures of the girl's room." Karen offered.

"Anything of note?" Batman asked.

"She's into collecting…." She reported, typing in rapid-fire on her holo-computer. The images she'd captured began to upload.

"Everything's in bags." M'gann notices.

And it's true to a certain extent. There are a few bits of art and fabric on the walls, a single bed, a desk, dresser and sundry. The 'collections' that Bumblebee mentioned, assorted music, books, tiny stone statues and such, are all localized around collapsed bags...ready and waiting to go. The books and CDs were all stacked vertically, smallest on top of largest inside of soft bags... The bags sizes varied, but the obvious purpose remained. 

"Picking up anything interesting over the listening devices?" Batman asks.

"The only thing I've picked up thus far is the mother promising to talk later, and the beginnings of a very tense meal." Tim reported.

"That gives us time to reconvene back at HQ." Batman decides. Robin sets about connecting the software to transcribe whatever the listening devices might overhear on their way back.

Anita knows she's stalling when she realizes she's drying a perfectly clean pot. Also, Mom's leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, and she has no idea how long that's been going on.

"I don't think we can put it off any longer." Mom says.

Anita nods at the bone dry pot in her hand.

"I take it you were not crying because you remembered our dearly departed Sirrah Bowie earlier today."

Anita shook her head.

"Come and sit down, dear." Mom said, sitting at her usual spot at the kitchen table.

Anita's shoulders wilted at the term 'dear'. She hated 'dear'. 'Dear' in mom-speak (at least in her Mom's mom-speak) meant 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed and-a-little-mad-ok'. Still, there wasn't much she could do about it...Anita sat down, half melting in the wooden chair.

"Tell me about your morning." Mom insisted.

Anita took a deep breath, scrubbing her face with both hands before leaning her elbows onto the table for support. "I decided to wake up early… Beat the morning commute and all."

"On a Sunday?" Mom didn't have to say 'you odd duck', because it was implied with her tone.

"I wanted to get some shots over the Metro-Narrows before it got really congested and while the light was decent. Mostly the water against the bridge's trusses. I was thinking of working them into a report that I'm going to be writing at the end of the semester about long term effects of salt water against different metals… Professor Llom really enjoys that level of showmanship." she let out a huffy little laugh, finding it funny how much things had changed in one simple day. "Metro-Narrows has that beautiful structure, it's trussed deck extends below the deck as well as in the arches above…." she shook her head. "Anyway. I was taking pictures. Distracted by that, mostly."

"Did you get into your 'zone'?" Mom asked, smiling the way people do at videos of kittens trying to jump and usually failing.

Anita hesitated, thinking about it. "No…" she murmured with a tiny shake of her head. "I mean, I got some shots, and I tried to focus on what I was doing, but there was this feeling I kept getting like.." she took a deep breath, not sure how to describe the sensation. "..like I wasn't entirely safe or something… or maybe like...like someone was watching me or something. That weird, low-grade tension that builds up before a jump-scare in horror movies, I guess."

"And that's when hell broke loose?"

"Uhhh, yeah." Anita squirmed in her chair, her spine undulating slightly as if she needed to work a kink out of it. "I thought….maybe one of those big tankers got in a wreck or something. It felt like there should've been some sort of explosion, but there wasn't any fire or anything. There was just this guy. This guy wearing masks." she rolled her bottom lip into her mouth, biting it before continuing. "People started rushing everywhere at once. I darted behind one of the beams… I stayed there. I knew if I tried to run, I'd just trip or get shoved and...everything was just chaos."

"You pressed yourself against a beam?"

"Yeah. I ducked behind one and just let everyone run past me...used to beam for cover, I guess." she snorted. "I didn't realize how many commuters walk on that bridge till then."

"Then what happened?"

"Capes showed up. I didn't see where from, but they were there… and things got bad fast."

"And that's when you pitched in?"

Anita took a deep breath in and met Mom's eyes. "He was gonna die."

Mom closed her eyes, leaning her elbows on the table. "Baby." she said, trying to soften the next blow. "We have had this talk." She paused, waiting for a steady moment to round out the final statement in the argument between them. "People die by the billions every day. That doesn't mean you have to risk yourself."

Anita rolled her eyes. "Mom, it was Superboy. Superboy was going to die! Super. Boy. Superman's Boy. Might as well be Metropolis boy, Our boy, and there was no one else there!"

"Anita, really? Superboy is our boy?" Mom held up a hand. "If you're willing to make decisions worth dying over, that's...that's not fine, I'm not happy about it, but it's your decision. Die for the people you love, die to make the world a better place, but don't die for some pseudo-fascist iconography! I'm sure that works really well for Superboy, but everyone else doesn't think of you as their girl, and they're not willing to save you. Clearly!" Mom rolled her eyes heavenward, squeezed them shut to pray for strength and serenity because she didn't want or need to yell right now. "So, what? You just jumped into the fray? Caution to the wind, and all that."

"I changed my shape!" Anita argued before her expression went a touch watery. "But.. I guess I just...forgot my—" The rest was muffled as she groaned into both hands.

"Your fingerprints." Mom grumbled. She shook her head. "If I ever find the asshole that suggested a fingerprint day..."

"That was the year a bunch of kids went missing, Mom." Anita reminded, forking the fingers of both hands into her hair and pushing it back away from her face. She rested her chin on the table and left her hands on top of her head in a deflated-flan-in-a-cupboard sort of look.

Mom put both hands on the table, her shoulders arching just a touch as she took a deep breath and then relaxing as she let it go.

"So...you...stepped in. What happened, exactly?"

Anita sat up a bit, keeping her hands in her hair. It felt comforting for some reason, and she wasn't willing to let it go yet.

"Hit the guy with the masks. Hard. I rarely take my jasper off, so." she made 'you know' expression on her face, and Mom nodded. "The guy had put a glowing green rock on a lead chain around Superboy's neck…" Anita tapped her own collar bone as if to illustrate this scenario. "It's what was killing him."

"A glowing rock? What was it?"

"It was Kryptonite."

Mom's face wrinkled in a harsh squint. "Krypton… where Superman is from?"

"Yeah. Evidently, Kryptonite is really bad for Kryptonians. Something to do with the sun's radiation affecting the rock.… I'm not clear on that." she shook her head. "Lois Lane wrote an article about Superman when she interviewed him way back in the day, and another one about Krypton later on... it's not as enlightening as I'd hoped it would be." she sighed.

Mom was still squinting. "Why would you tell a reporter these things….?" she mused.

"There aren't a lot of scholarly articles about kryptonite out there, sadly." Anita shrugged. "Anyway, I was going to try and get rid of it, but I couldn't. I think that guy in the masks had some sort of holding ability, because he had Robin and that Lagoon Boy pinned too."

"Lagoon boy...that's the one that actually looks like the creature from the black lagoon, right?"

Anita paused. "I mean...yeah, but young and hot." Mom paused, tilting her head sideways and suppressing a smirk. "Don't give me that look."

"Young and hot, huh?"

"Sooo not the point right now." Anita reminded.

"Right, right." Mom sighed, but she occasionally slid suspicious eyes towards her daughter...the smirk totally ruined the effect. "The lead death necklace."

"I took it."

"...the ...lead?" Mom sat up straighter, leaning over the table, closer to Anita. "You know what lead does to you."

"Not the lead, Mom. I mean, I did tap the lead too. But...the kryptonite. I took it." Mom froze in place staring at her. "I took it all."

There was a heavy beat of silence as they surveyed each other.

"How...is that?"

"Uhhh." Anita half laughed, her eyes drifting towards the ceiling as she nodded rapidly. "Horrific." she continued laughing breathlessly. "It's like… like I feel really weightless, or I could be if I want to, but there's this weird...shortness of breath. And I want to cry. Like, all the time. And I keep going between really just wanting to curl into a tight ball and sob and wanting to stare listlessly at the dirt, but I feel like I need to run or something's going to eat me." she shook her head. "It's like… like being clinically depressed, being aware of the depression, and trying to rationalize it and knowing you don't have time for this shit."

Mom reached both hands across the table, taking Anita's in hers and keeping them in a gentle grip.

"That explains why your eyes turned so green." Mom observed, wondering how her daughter had managed to hide that from her for this long. Anita ducked her eyes, staring at their joined hands instead. "It's ok. They're still your eyes." Mom picked up their hands and kissed Anita's knuckles. "What happened then?"

"Uh…" she swallowed harshly. "I'd uh… So, I'd punted the ass in the masks across the bridge, right? He was on the other side of the bridge. And Superman shows up…" she chuckled softly. "He just t-balled the guy with an enormous metal beam, and the guy flew all the way back across the bridge, back near us again." her expression sobered significantly. "But then, he flew towards us, and he… I was affected by it."

"By what?"

"The kryptonite. I mean, I'd taken it all but… but kryptonite's such a trip. Like, I couldn't—" she shook her head. "I was the thing that was killing them."

"Ok, first, you are not a thing."

"Not really the point, Mom." Anita reminded. She sighed. "Anyway, something hit me and knocked me off the bridge." Mom's grip became tighter. "And I was full-on hovering out there… like.. Kryptonite's really really intense and horrible, but evidently, it gives you wings." Mom let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding, deflating like a cheap wal-mart balloon. Anita started chuckling softly again. "I remember thinking, 'I lost my camera, my scarf, and I lost my peace of mind all in one outing'." she laughed, shaking her head. "It shouldn't be funny."

"I think we've gotten into hysterical territory, hon." Mom said. "Come here." she rose and drew Anita into a hug. "You don't have to go to school tomorrow if you don't want to."

"I think I need to. I think I need something to focus on."

"We'll see in the morning." Mom decided. Maybe Anita did need things to think about, but it wasn't as if she couldn't occupy herself on her own. She would also need to sleep, and Sharon had no idea if she'd be able to manage that after such a trying day. "I'm sorry about your camera."

Anita drew away, shrugging. Thinking about it made her feel sick to her stomach...but it wasn't like there was anything she could do. "I mean… it's been four months since the last birthday, and I backed-up daily..." the words sounded hollow, even in her own ears.

"But you love taking pictures." Mom reminded, as if she needed to.

"Yeah.." Anita croaked before clearing her throat. "..but it is what it is." she said sullenly. "I can...just use my phone if I really want to take photos. I use it for everything else." She finally met Mom's eye. "What… what are we gonna do?"

"What do you mean?"

"About.." she waved her hands in ambiguous circles. "All this."

"We can tell the boys whenever you're ready."

"I'm not talking about the smols, Mom. We had Batman on our doorstep tonight. Like…. Batman. It doesn't get much more serious than that."

Mom shifted her weight slightly, shrugging as she leaned her elbows on the table, stacking one forearm over another. "According to what you've said, I don't see where you've committed any crime. I can't imagine that we'd have to worry about superheroes." she took a deep breath. "You are a law abiding citizen, after all."

"Yeah, but… I mean, there's gotta be more to it than that." Anita reasoned. She sauntered back to the drying board and and started putting the dishes back where they went.

"Hm… He did say they wanted 'access' to you…" Mom leaned back against the doorway. "That's a vague term at best." she shrugged. "I guess we just do what we always do." she said with a smile. She let her hips slide forward in the seat, resting her shoulders back against the chair back in a collapsed slouch. "We play it cool, close to the vest. We've done nothing wrong, and no bills are due."

"I guess… just.. feels like... You know that term 'I have the sword of Damocles hanging over my head'?" she stalled, shaking her head. "I think that this feeling I have... that's what it is. Like there's some ambiguous penance ready to smite from on high."

"It'll be ok, sweetheart." Mom said, standing up and drawing Anita into another hug. "I don't know how, but it will."

"You don't know how?" Anita asked, drawing back to look at her mom's face.

Mom shrugged. "Most of life is just figuring out how to keep on keepin' on." she smiled. "That's just what we'll have to do now." 

#Salt of the Earth #SotE #Anita Moore #Sharon Moore #DC Universe #Young Justice #Young Justice Fanfiction #Batman #Bruce Wayne #M'gann M'orzz #Miss Martian #Bumblebee #Karen Beecher #Tim Drake #Robin

[alcyone2305]

The Kingsglaive + Their Appearance (Spoilers?)

And here I am once more, trying to pick apart the armor the Glaives have available to them. I’ll be honest: I always thought they have two outfits, the black coat one with black boots and their battle uniforms.

But since I took my time to find every little bit of clothing, I’m wiser than before. Read More if you want to!

We’ll kick it off with the shirts they wear beneath their typical black coats:

I’d consider this one to be the most basic one as we’ve seen numerous Glaives wearing this plain shirt with a sword pattern on its front part.Most of the time the Glaives are wearing their coat over the shirt so we only get to see small bits of the sword. It’s obvious the sword is a reoccuring symbol on the clothes. The most prominent sword would be either on the back of the black coat or on bits of the armor.

Anyway, we also get to see this type of shirt:

I’m still unsure. Is Luche’s shirt part of his outfit or not? Because it’s of the similar color and fabric. There’s also a pattern reaching all across his chest down to the hem. But I’ll settle with “Not part of the uniform” as the wing pattern on the side sticks out too much and tends to be covered by the coat anyway.

The female uniform is more.. delicate. I mean the whole construction with the red crystal makes it seem like it. There’s not really much I can say though except for the male and female uniforms are different. We never get to see a female Glaive sliding into a Niflheim soldier’s DMs and fuckin’ shit up, so I don’t know whether Crowe’s outfit is a mage or female specific outfit.

Side note (and a spoiler for FFXV!): It’s possible for Ignis, Gladiolus and Prompto to wear the uniform of the Kingsglaive, with and without the coat! This is where we get to see another piece of clothing, a vest. Its sword pattern spreads over the entire front of the shirt and doesn’t just go down to the hem. It doesn’t have sleeves. We know that because Prompto only wears the vest and no shirt in game.

EDIT: Would you look at Nyx though in the following picture:

Nyx is indeed wearing the vest the Chocobros are wearing in game. So there are different pieces for the upper body and Luche’s might be just a variation. Maybe he was on a different duty that day? (Thanks to @honeyflavour-blog for telling me it’s not a shirt, but a vest!)

To back it up, have a look at this concept art inspecting every layer of clothing of Nyx further (and backing up my claims):

Carrying on!

Of course it’s the uniform we most likely see them wearing when we mention the Kingsglaive. (I think I won’t lose too many words about this part.) I’m wondering: Are they wearing another long sleeved shirt beneath the heavy coat? Because I’d say the sleeves of the coat are pretty short, covering only half of the upper arms. Or is this bit connected to what I’d consider to be the second shirt? It seems just (or almost) as thick as the coat itself.

The boots, mhmmmmmm, good stuff!!! The sound of those boots being put on and the buckles being closed.. Yas, yaaaaas. If you inspect the shoes, you’ll also notice a small metal plate protecting the heel of each boot. Extra protection maybe? I like to imagine it gives them more support and more strength to run/kick stuff in certain situations.

The female boots though.. They must be pretty uncomfortable to wear. I mean, just look at them!

Reaching all the way up to the thighs. Wouldn’t that restrict your movements? Who cares, it looks damn fine. If we further look into the concept art of Kingsglaive we get this “full set up” of the female Glaives:

The first thing I can think of is ASSASSIN! And what a pity we never realy get to see Crowe kick some ass. This outfit makes her look even more badass, if not intimidating.

I’d consider the pants to be.. less interesting so let’s move to the gloves!

Whenever you see pitchblack gloves like the following one, it tends to be (or even always is) just a minor character.

Why am I saying this? Because Tredd and Luche for example do not wear those thick gloves. Instead they wear those: (brown - Tredd, black - Luche)

I guess our main characters are too cool for school, idk.

I won’t try to justify their usefullness in battle and instead only claim “Hey, they’re different from the rest because they’re much more important than other Glaives”. Of course Nyx also has different gloves.

And Libertus’ gloves could probably knock out anyone since there are even small metal (glass? I don’t know) attachments.

Let’s get to the more juicy stuff: Their battle armor they select for missions. This is where I was genuinely surprised. I won’t argue about the practicality of the pieces we’ll inspect. In fact I’d consider most of them.. impractical. Oh well.

Notice how the usual uniform doesn’t have Bahamut’s symbol like we can see here. It’s clearly a seperate piece and being worn on top of the coat. (I’ve actually gone back and checked which uniforms have such a symbol on them. As long as I’m not entirely mistaken, the movie can’t settle with a clear option anyway. Some uniforms have this symbol, some don’t.) 

This is also where the hood they wear on missions comes from. It’s a seperate piece they choose to wear.

The metal visor thing and the bandana covering their mouth are attached to the hood and guarantees protection from dust. Furthermore they also cover up their faces which might confuse enemies. If Tredd didn’t get rid of his hood, we wouldn’t have got to see he was one of the betrayers. And today’s lesson we learned is: If you want to remain unnseen, make use of masks and similar objects and doN’T REMOVE THEM. It’s always wiser to just keep yourself covered up. Anyway, I’m getting carried away.

Instead I’d like to pinpoint a similarity: For some reason I’m reminded of Bahamut when the Glaives are wearing their masks. Only Bahamut’s eyes are visible, the rest is entirely covered. Just like when the Kingsglaive is out on a mission. Coincidence? I don’t think so since Bahamut seems to be damn important entity. Maybe the Glaives are supposed to be Bahamut’s swords..? I don’t know where I’m going with this.

Let’s get to the armor in particular.

The metal plate with Bahamut’s symbol is probably the most recognizable as we’ve seen it almost everywhere and anywhere. It typically covers a part of the chest. If I’m not entirely mistaken, we’ve seen Glaives wear them on both sides.

And then there are three bits of shoulder protection. The first one is the one we see in the picture above. Its pattern is similar to a wing (Bahamut’s wing?)

Just noticed Mr. Unknown up there makes it clear they are indeed just wearing their usual uniform and just pile everything else up on top on it... C’mon, that should get uncomfortable at some point! Aren’t they supposed to be quick and deadly? Whatever.

Luche is wearing the wing as well. And Axis went for the second kind of shoulder protection we get to see. Sonitus should be wearing it as well. And Tredd doesn’t need to be wearing a fuckin’ hood, okay.

Nyx has the third and last one and probably the most useless one.

Thin metal pads. I have nothing else to say. If someone understand the structure of the Kingsglaive outfit, please enlighten me.

@laciewhy came up with an interesting idea when it comes to the protection, though it sadly doesn’t seem to fit for every single Glaive: Maybe the different parts indicate the Glaive’s preferred fighting style. Heavy, thick armor implies brute force and heavy impact while the lighter parts are worn by people who move fast like assassins and don’t want to decrease the speed they move forward.

I sadly can’t get solid screenshots of the reoccuring daggers wielded by the rather unimportant members. The one we see in the picture above is rather.. untypical. But then there are people like Nyx and Luche with different daggers.

LIES, ALL LIES! Of course you can get good pictures of their daggers. Would you look at that:

The typical daggers have a slightly curved shape. I guess it makes it easy to ram the blade into either the enemy or an object. 

This is the one Luche is using and it’s even more curved than the one before. (Sadly hard to see.) And then there’s Libertus with something more of an axe/butcher knife than a dagger, holy shit. I never noticed that before!

Since @the-galahdian-warrior wanted to have Drautos’ outfit as well, let’s go for Daddy Drautos, no? 

His first appearance in the movie. (I’ll directly assume the producers/animators/whoever forgot to add Drautos’ medals to his chest but I’ll get back to those later.)

Whenever I look at a shot of Drautos’ whole body, I get this sense of sheer authority and force. You really don’t want to mess with this guy. It’s obvious he’s part of the Kingsglaive. Just look at the back of his coat (Bahamut’s sword) and at his chest (similar to the Glaive’s shirt with Bahamut’s sword). But overall it’s vastly different. First of all, his color (of course), but also the collar is more impressive. But the outfit is also asymmetrical. A cape which actually consists of two layers over his left shoulder, but not his right. Chains on his right side, but not his left. You see him and you just know this guy means business.

I don’t know about the quality but of course there’s also a concept art of his outfit. Definetely check it out! There’s one last thing I want to inspect though: His medals and his sword.

While the Glaives stick to daggers and similar, short weapons, Daddy D has a real sword, distinguishing himself further from the members. Now the medals.. If I’m not mistaken, he wears each medal twice. So let’s cross fingers and try to find a medal similar to his. Since the production team of FFXV has stated they directed the game towards the Western audience I think it’s fine to check Army Medals and Ribbons.

I’ll simply let good, old wiki speak: “The medal was created in the aftermath of the Second World War to recognize those who had performed occupation service in either Germany, Italy, Austria, or Japan. [...] The Navy and Marine equivalent of the Army of Occupation Medal is the Navy Occupation Service Medal.”

“The NATO Medal is an international military decoration which is awarded to various militaries of the world under the authority of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO).”

“The Commendation Medal is a mid-level United States military decoration which is presented for sustained acts of heroism or meritorious service.”

Listen, I’m not saying that’s what Drautos’ medals represent, but it’s either thought through or a fitting coincidence. The pendants beneath the ribbons seem to be a Lucian/Insomnian inspired medal referring to the shape of Insomnia’s walls.

EDIT: Thank you so so much for all the active support! Because of you guys, this post grew even further and even more beyond of what I had in mind.

#kingsglaive final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv kingsglaive #kingsglaive #nyx #nyx ulric #luche #luche lazarus #tredd #tredd furia #axis #axis arra #crowe altius #crowe #ff #ffxv #ff xv #ff15 #ff 15 #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #live well young glaive

[prettycanarybird]

Heir-Apparent: Chapter One

Chapter One

I can only recall walking down the Marble Avenue exactly one other time in my life. The first flakes of snow had begun to fall, catching in my father’s dark curls. They looked like diamonds glittering in the early morning sunrise, which peeked out beneath the fluffy clouds, casting a golden glow low over everything. 

I remember my mother crying.

I didn’t understand why we were awake so early in the morning, and why my mother and not my nurse had dressed me, hastily, roughly, not even bothering to comb out my unruly black ringlets. She had thrown some of my things into a trunk, stuffing clothing, my beloved stuffed horse, Brownie, and whatever jewels a small child like me could have possibly possessed, which was quite a lot given my heir-apparent status. My feet, crammed in last year’s snow boots and pinching, barely touched the ground as she dragged me from the room.

The halls, all the paintings of old family members that terrified me as they stared down with judging eyes, were still dark. As my mother pulled me along, everything blurred together. I don’t remember if I protested, or if I was too shocked and too scared by this sudden departure to utter a sound. 

We rushed out of the Capital and stumbled down the grey stone steps, carrying our lives with us. My father’s jaw was sharp, and his eyes never looked down at me. I think he might have been ashamed, but I was too young to know what that sort of thing looked like then.

When we reached the bottom of the steps, we stopped. My father looked behind us, then scooped me up, pulling me away from my mother. He jabbed a finger at the Capital building. “Remember, my sweet Jade, this is where you will always belong.” His voice had wavered, holding back tears, but I did as he told me, looked and remembered.

I always remembered.

Now, instead of being rushed down the Marble Avenue, sneaking away in the dawn, I was sitting atop my proud, feisty mare. We were both decorated in silver plated armor and delicate white wildflowers. I had specifically asked for wild flowers and nothing more pretentious like a rose. Other conquerors would have chosen roses or something expensive. The people, who lined the avenue, needed to see the wildflowers; that I wasn’t some conqueror, but the rightful heir who was raised among them. I was one of them.

I wished my father could have been riding beside me. To have been able to bring him home would have been my greatest joy. But war has its costs, and my father had paid the price early on. He had paid it so that I could ride up to the Capital with my armor, my army, and my mother at my side.

She was beautiful: mother. Grey streaking her hair, which she braided delicately around her head. Around her neck, on a silver chain, she wore my father’s wedding band, and had since the day they had returned his body to us. It was the only piece of jewelry she had chosen to wear, a small restraint at my own request. Though, she had managed to commission a new gown of lavender silk, embroidered in gold instead of the silver I was trying to brand everything with in my new world. She was a good woman, but not once had she lost her regal-ness. 

All around me, I could hear the snap of the velvet standard flags, a rearing stallion emblazoned in silver on each one, my personal crest. I had created it in the fading embers of a battle fire when I was just sixteen, a slice across my chin, the scar of which I still carried, and watched as the flames flickered into the shape. I knew then what my destiny was, and what we needed to do. Win back the Capital and win back my home. I lifted that scarred chin just a bit.

I scanned the crowd. They crushed together, a mix of the lower working and merchant classes. If the wealthy were there, they weren’t making themselves visible, and a part of me didn’t rightly care. They would either accept the change or not, but the people who mattered to me were here to watch me re-enter my home. That was all that mattered to me today.

My eyes settled on a small boy sitting on the shoulders of his father. He waved a dirty hand at me, the sort of dirty only a small child could acquire. A smile slid over my face and I raised an equally dirty and worn glove to wave back. He beamed, and bounced, and almost threw his father backward with the effort. I held back a laugh, and adjusted a scratched piece of the armor on my elbow.

General Merien had begged me to commission new armor before entering the city. His intentions had only ever been for my good. He had wanted me to look the part, and I supposed there was some value in that; certainly my father would have heeded his advice. I wasn’t my father, however, I was my own woman. Several months past my twenty first birthday and now empress. I would enter the city as myself: a battle worn knight with a scar on my chin, bad hearing in my left ear from a blow to the head at one point, and dirty leather gloves. I would not be some sparkling goddess who was untouchable.

“Really, Jade.” My mother kept the polite, regal smile on her face, back rigid in her seat. I braced myself but did not even shift my eyes in her direction. “You could have at least let me do up your hair. Something with ribbons, perhaps.”

It took a considerable amount of through to keep my face even. “Ribbons? I haven’t worn ribbons since I was a child.”

I didn’t have to look to know that she sagged a little bit. “Just would have been a nice touch.”

We were nearing the base of the stairs, when I would dismount my dear mare and climb the steps to a new future, which seemed altogether daunting. I chewed my bottom lip, a horrible habit, and finally glanced over at her. “Maybe,” then I held up a finger when she turned to me hopefully, “maybe you can braid my hair for the coronation.”

She smiled, and when she smiled, she was truly beautiful. My mother was the type of beauty that could be wearing burlap and still make knights fall at her feet. I was never quite sure if she knew that or not. “Just a few, I promise.” It would be more than a few, but I smiled back at her as the whole procession halted at the base of the tall tower of stairs. She reached out of me, her slender hand callused the way no Empress-consort ever should be, and I reached out and took her hand with my dirty glove. Her hand might have been small, but it was strong. She squeezed through the leather, holding mine tight for a long moment. There were tears in her green eyes, though I knew she’d never let them fall in the presence of so many people.

“Empress.”

Slowly, I turned in my seat to see General Merien at my other side, his hand outstretched. I hadn’t needed help dismounting a horse since I was five years old and could find a way to tumble out of the saddle on my own. A part of me wanted to swat it away, but the general wasn’t doing it because he thought I really needed assistance; it was a show, a sign of respect. It was something I was going to have to get used to, or so he had told me time and time again over the last two weeks as we made preparations for this moment.

I took a deep breath, my chest pushing against the metal of my armor. This was it. The moment my father had told me to remember all my life. A chill slithered down my spine, and the weight settled onto my shoulders. No longer “Sir Jade” or “General” but Empress. 

I extended my hand down to the general and deftly dropped to the ground. Brownie, my mare, tossed her head, and I gave her nose a gentle nuzzle. She would behave, I knew that, and she knew that, but she just wanted to remind me that it was her choice and not mine. Fine. I could live with that little bit. I couldn’t wait to see how she bossed her way around the stable horses here.

My feet stopped at the base of the stairs. There were two rises of stairs. In the middle where it hauled its steep incline for just a few feet, little children sat holding bouquets of flowers, probably ready to give them to me. I gave Merien a look.

“It wasn’t my suggestion. The Capital House-Mistress insisted.” Merien was hiding a smile, I could tell by the pull in the corner of his eyes.

“I didn’t practice holding all of those.”

The general shifted a shoulder ever so gently, “just pretend they are a bunch of swords, Empress.”

“Not helpful.”

He snorted, but then his face turned serious, and he grabbed my other hand, holding both of them. It was an oddly tender gesture for a man who had helped teach me how to shoot an arrow between someone’s eyes. “I have never been so proud. And I know he would have been too.”

I swallowed hard. I had not inherited my mother’s ability to keep a stoic face but I would not cry. While not a particularly vain person, I knew that I did not want to reach the top of the stairs splotchy and tear stained. “Thank you. Merien.”

The general gave me a deep brow before releasing my hands. There was no more stalling. The only thing left was to make the climb, and face the crowds. Those daunting crowds. Leading troops into battle and making battlefield speeches was easy. I’d been doing it all my life. What I was embarking on was a whole other matter.

“Right. Here we go.” I tossed the ridiculous cape they had all forced me to wear, and took the first step. Then another, and another until I was properly scaling the steps. With each step, I was further and further from the general and my mother, from the troops that felt like home. It was like I was ascending into the clouds and I wasn’t sure my wings were going to hold me up. Even the crowds were hushing, and I desperately wished they wouldn’t. 

I reached the plateau, and a woman in a navy silk dress and a sheer headdress waved the children forward. All four of them rushed up with bouquets of blue and white flowers, most of which I couldn’t identify. Their little faces were innocent, scrubbed clean, and eager to please. It was hard not to smile at them, though it was harder still to be graceful and take each bundle of flowers from bouncing, tiny arms. 

We managed it, though a flower dropped down to my feet. One little girl picked it up and offered it to me. “No, no. Why don’t you keep it safe for me?” Her face lit up, and she clutched the poor flower to her chest. The poor plant wasn’t going to make it crushed to her like that.

I walked up to the next set of stairs, the last set and paused next to the House-Mistress. “You know, I didn’t really need these.” I shifted the flowers a bit.

“You don’t, Empress,” her voice was low but soothing, “but they do.” She jutted her chin toward the crowds behind me. I refused to turn around. “You’ll have to excuse some ceremony. You’re not on a battlefield anymore.”

I gave her a look.

“Pardon my tongue.”

“Never pardon your tongue around me, House-Mistress. The day that happens, I expect you to give me a hard slap across my cheek.” And I meant it.

“The day that happens, Empress, you will have more to worry about than a slap from me.”

I liked her already. “I like you, House-Mistress.”

“And I like you, Empress. Now climb those stairs before you make a mess of these flowers.” She stepped away from me. My mother was going to adore her. Good. She needed a friend who wasn’t coated in mud, horse sweat, and stinking of camp fires.

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my calves were burning, and I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck. It was near noon, the sun beating down on all of us, when I turned to face the quiet crowd. My arms were laden with flowers, and the cape was pulling at the attachments in the merciful breeze. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do now that I was there. I had prepared a couple of speeches, but looking over everyone, they seemed so ordinary. 

A servant, a small woman, slipped up besides me, her head down, and slowly took the bundle of flowers from my arms. Before I could even thank her, she was gone, and I was left standing there awkwardly, the crowd waiting for me. My tongue was lead, my throat dry, until I saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. One of my standards. I nodded to myself, perfect.

In two swift steps, I strode over to the flag and snatched it out of its stand. With the wind picking up, lifting the heavy fabric into the air, I made my way back to the center. Once there, I took a moment. I looked over the masses, then down at my troops, at General Merien, and finally my mother. I held her gaze as I lifted the standard high above my head.

I said nothing, but the crowd roared.

I sat in the window bench in one of the central bedchambers. It wasn’t the “emperor's” room, that was I giving to my mother since she had shared it with my father and I thought she might like it, but it was the best of the guest chambers. The room would suit my purpose, looking out over the inner courtyard which would need some updating from its pretentious flowers that both my mother and I wrinkled our noses at when the fragrance had hit our noses.

My mother sat behind me, her slender fingers weaving my black curls into an elaborate plaited design. Playing with my hair was so soothing after the morning events, that I wasn’t even protesting whatever design she had settled upon. No doubt it would be far too fancy for my tastes, with one too many jeweled pins stuffed in it, but as the House-Mistress had told me, a little ceremony had to be excused. I could go back to my tunics and trousers tomorrow.

She hummed a little tune as she worked, the same one she used to sing to me when I was just a child, and father was on one of his campaigns. I closed my eyes until she patted my shoulders. “There. Fit for an empress.”

I glanced in the window, just making out my reflection. I sighed.

“I know,” Her face appeared next to mine, “but humor me for today, my little wildflower.”

Gently, I moved away from her and got up to pace about the room. It was filled with floral brocades and gold trimmed furniture. Everything would need to go. Except the bed. I had already tested the bed with a good leap, and it could stay. The final verdict would be tonight after I slept on it, but for now, I was pretty sure it would stay. 

“Only for today.” I dropped down onto the heavy wooden trunk of my things I had brought in, sitting at the foot of the bed. Behind me, a silk gown was laid out, a deep v cut into the neckline, and obnoxious long, draped sleeves. How I was to eat without dragging food about the table, I wasn’t sure. 

“And your wedding day.” My mother turned to face me, but didn’t leave the window. I glared. “Don’t look at me like that, wildflower. It’s not going to be your choice. You’re an empress now and a union will need to be made, for the safety of the Empire.”

I chewed my lower lip. At this rate, my lip would be raw before I could toast at the feast tonight. “Not for some time.”

“Sooner than later. You know this.”

I did. She was right. All the generals had hinted at it over the past few weeks. I was young, but in their minds, I also put myself in danger more than they’d like, and a marriage would add some stability. I hated the thought, quite liking my freedoms, but I supposed, just like ceremony, there were things the people needed that I would not like. Marriage being one of them. I shuddered at the thought of sharing a bed with some nameless man picked out by a committee. 

Seeing my discomfort, my mother rounded the bed, nudged me a little to give her space, and sat on the trunk beside me. “Your father and I were arranged. Carefully. We’ll just be more careful with your match, but know, you can only stall so long.”

I gave her a look and she chuckled. “Don’t underestimate my powers to stall. I am Empress now.”

“Yes,” she patted my knee and stood, “an empress who needs to change out of her riding leathers and prepare to put a crown on this head.”

I swiveled to look at the gown. How revealing it would be, even in yards of silk. No armor, or leather, or loose linen to hide in. “Must I?”

“Don’t be a child, Jade.” She scolded. I groaned, very child-like.

Before she could scold me more, a knock on the door interrupted her. I raised my hand vaguely. “Come in.”

The House-Mistress entered, same dress, but a more elaborately embroidered headdress. She bowed and stayed just inside the door. People standing so far away from me would be the first thing to go. I didn’t need the distance for protection; I could certainly protect myself. Nor did I care much about it from a respect level. The generals and I had shared small tents for headquarters for years.

“I’ve come to introduce you to your maid, Empress. So you may be on time for your coronation.” There was a subtle jab there. I bit back a snort of approval.

“A maid?” I frowned. My mother shot me a look of disapproval. “Right. Send her in.”

“Good.” The House-Mistress waved a hand and a young woman, probably three or four years my junior slipped in. 

She was a slight thing with a dress too large on her, but made of fine linen. Mousy brown hair peeked out from beneath her headdress that when the sun caught it, almost looked like gold. Her face was warm, full cheeked and though she kept her eyes down, I liked them. She looked trusting, like a sister or a distant cousin might.

“This is Amalthea. She’s a good girl, and the third daughter of one of your wealthiest lords, Lord Burley.” 

Ah, that explained the fine linen. 

“Well, a pleasure to meet you, Amalthea.” My mother, ever the diplomat, went over and took the small girl around the shoulders, leading her in. With a nod, she dismissed the House-Mistress as only a former empress-consort could. “Why don’t you and I both help the Empress today. She’s in a mood.”

I huffed. “I am not. I’m in a mood not to wear a dress that will catch on a random corner and drag me to the ground.”

Amalthea’s lips twitched toward a smile. Good. She had spirit, and mother seemed to like her already. No doubt Amalthea would be the daughter she never had in me. That would suit me just fine. Maybe she could focus her braiding on her in the future.

An hour of fussing later from both my mother and Amalthea, and I was standing facing the closed doors to the Grand Hall. As a child, I had never been invited into this space of the Capital. The ceilings floated into the sky in beautiful interlocking arches with paintings depicting the history of our empire. The doors were heavy, dark wood, carved with flowers and vines and stags. I was memorizing the little imperfections in the hand carving of one elaborate rose bloom when I heard trumpets on the other side of the door. 

My heart stopped.

I looked over at General Merien at my side, a stand-in from what should have been my father’s place. He gave me a comforting nodd, but I found little comfort in it. I was too bare. The dress hugged too many curves and exposed too much skin at my throat. I wanted my armor. Where was my armor?

The doors swung open and a long line of the most ridiculously dressed individuals in my Empire crowded before me. Their heads swiveled almost comically, jewels and chains jingling. I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the sight of it. All the wealth in the room, so much gold and velvet, even in the late summer heat, and outside these walls my people adorned themselves in linens and common stones. The latter was far more beautiful than the people before me. They were a stain, one I had plans to remove. The overdressed people before me would have to either adapt or leave. 

Their judgement flooded me in waves, raking down my athletic form, less voluptuous than most of the ladies, noting the calluses and scars, and deciding they found me wanting. I lifted my chin at them. What they found wanting, I was proud to flaunt. I hadn’t just waltzed into the Capital, but fought and bled for it. 

My mother was already waiting at the end of the long line of courtiers, and it was her soothing presence that drew me forward down the row. Slowly, step by step, I walked past them, refusing to even glance at their faces. There were quiet whispers from those furthest from me, but the clang of the armored men, some of my most trusted knights, drowned them out. I hadn’t lived twenty one years as a woman amongst men to be bothered by whispers. 

As I came to the steps that led up to the small platform where the throne sat, my mother stepped back, leaving the space open for me. Ceremony, I had to give them their ceremony. Well, a little bit of ceremony. I had no intention of putting on a coronation that would take more than an hour, as the holy men had dictated to me. When they had told me, I laughed in their faces. I was not going to kneel and stand and repeat pointless speeches. I told them I would repeat one oath and be crowned. This was a new empire and I did not have patience for the old.

The holy man I had selected, a sweet faced elder named Horrick, took my mother’s place near the edge of the top step. In his hands was a simple circlet, a hereditary crown from the time the Empire began, roughly forged with set rubies and emeralds. The first real thing about the whole day that felt authentic. I had already set about ensuring that my own personal circlet looked very similar.

As he stepped forward, the room fell still. This was it. Nothing would be the same again. He drew a breath. “From the First Age our emperors have been crowned with this circlet, forged by the first blacksmiths to signify the never ending, and unwavering leadership of our emperors. Many have fought for it, many more have died for it, and should it continue, many more will live to see it sit upon the head of our emperors to come. Today, we come to sit it upon a new emperor in a new age. We come together to forge a new promise that this great empire will remain strong and true. It is our promise from our emperor to us, just as it is our promise to do our part and pledge our duty to the crown.  

“Sir Jade Gwenyth Bertha Virillia, first of her name, the Silver Winged, General of the Twin Armies and Empress of our golden Empire, do you swear by the blood in your veins to hold true to your people. Protect them. Guide them. Love them as if they were all your own children, until the last breath has been uttered from your lips?”

I let the last echo of his voice die out, to make sure they were listening. With the glare of the sun in my eyes as I knelt before the holy man and dipped my head for him to better seat the circlet, I made my promise. “I, Sir Jade Gwenyth Bertha Virillia, first of my name, the Silver Winged, General of the Twin armies, promise by the blood in my veins to protect, guide, love, and above all, give my life for the people of our golden Empire until the day my last breath has left me.”

“Then by the power given to me by the Great God Above, I place this treasured crown upon your head. From this day forward you shall be Empress Sir Jade Gwenyth Bertha Virillia, first of her name, the Silver Winged, General of the Twin Armies. May your reign be long.”

The audience echoed, “May your reign be long.”

Gently, the holy man set the heavy silver circlet onto my head of braids, and I found myself thankful for all the plaiting my mother had done to protect my skull from the weight. I stayed kneeling there for a long moment, even after sweet Horrick had stepped back. Slowly, I lifted a hand to kiss my fingertips, then leaned forward to touch those same fingertips to the marble platform just before me. My own solemn promise to never let the weight of the crown distort my soul as it had so many other emperors before me.

I climbed to my feet, overly careful of the hem of my ridiculous dress and took the final steps to the dark wood throne waiting for me. Turning, I looked back over the crowd, their upturned faces and glittering jewels. I began to chew my bottom lip and abruptly told myself to stop. Instead of worrying it, I swept my arms wide, the draped fabric flying out of the way of the armrests as I took my seat.

“Hail Empress.” And the crowd knelt in a ripple.

I locked eyes with General Merien as he knelt. Nothing would be the same. I had the distinct feeling that I was locking myself into a cage of my own making. My life was not my own anymore. While I was proud to fulfil my father’s dream, I found myself mourning. Mourning for myself and the knighthood I had so long enjoyed.

#story #newstory #fantasy #epic #medieval #medievalfantasy #ladyknight #femalehero #writing #writer #novel #fiction #empress #chapterone

[bluemoonmiqote]

Voyage of the Blue Seas

Outfit descriptions:

<Alston>

A tanned skinned brown and black waist long braided haired man with grass green eyes with gold fluxes, walking along the shore line as the sun shined down from the sky high above as the Flaming Tempest was docked a few miles away near 'Sol Pearlla'. A white wrap based bandage was wrapped around the middle of his neck, as if from an injury or for various other reasons. However, hidden underneath the bandages was a metallic blue set of markings around his neck, consisting of a pair of rings with triangles and a few squares in the middle, centered with a dot each, tattooed into his skin. Although why only both Vossler and Captain Corvell know of. The end of his braid was tied with a red ribbon band, holding his long braid together so that it wouldn’t unwind itself on a whim. His light materialed light yellow orange slightly puffed sleeved shirt glowed from under the sunlight, adorned with a orange shirt rim near the neck and the sleeves ends with ruby red buttons. Dark brown leather made straps were fastened securely around his wrists, making sure to keep the ends of the shirt’s sleeves in place and in check in case of a fight or scuffle broke out. Two brown leather made belts were wrapped securely around his waist, one slightly darker in color than the other. The first and lighter of the two bore a golden made buckle on the right, adorned with an ocean blue gemstone on the buckle itself. A light brown sheathe was held securely around a bolted down strap, revealing the light gray hilt and royal blue colored pummel of a sword as its bar made crossguard separated the slightly curved blade and hilt from one another smoothly. On the left side of the second darker colored belt, a silver made plate buckle was fastened securely onto the leather made belt.

Tucked between the top belt and the belt below was a miniature wooden made crossbow, ready to be used in case of an emergency and a small brown quiver right by the left side of the silver buckle filled with small golden arrows inside as ammunition. Something that he had brought with him from his homelands. His slightly baggy light black pants stayed within the shadow of the slightly long shirt, held in place at the ends by his dark brown mid calf high boots with very dark brown to almost black soles. Two sets of lighter brown leather straps were wrapped securely near the rim of the top of the boots and at the ankle area of the boots near the soles. On both boots, a silver buckle facing left on the right boot and right on the left boot. The second strap near the ankles was centered with a small gold plated buckle, held in place to make sure that the straps didn’t fall or fling off from the elements around him as he walked about.  

<Vossler>

A pale skinned pale light blonde shoulder lengthen haired man with sea blue eyes looked out towards the sea from a high point away from the cliff’s edge looking towards the Flaming Tempest in the distance as his crewmembers were at the shores or 'Sol Pearlla', donning a pair of silver moon earrings studded with a ruby gemstone on each earring. A silver chained necklace was worn and held around his neck, centered with a circular silver pendent centered with a blue sapphire as it shined like the vastness of the ocean itself. He wore a very light turquoise sleeveless shirt with the rims in a slightly darker shade of light turquoise, held together by ice white colored laces at the big V necked collar. A turquoise colored vest was worn over his light turquoise shirt, adorned with a design of silver up right pointed crescent moons and dots on both sides at the bottom of the heavily fabric made vest. A pair of indigo blue arm band straps were worn secourly around his upper forearm near his shoulders, adding a bit of toughness to his appearance. His hands were covered in a pair of black leather made gloves, as black as the night and in prime condition. A wide dark lavender made belt held up his periwinkle blue pants, fastened securely by a center large gold made buckle. A pink sash was worn underneath the dark lavender colored belt out of sight, but most of it draped out on the right side of the belt; blowing through the wind as it lightly blew with a gentle breeze in the air. A pair of orange leather made boots was worn on his feet, rimmed in light orange at little over mid calf length to almost knee high.

Light orange straps held the sides of the boots together, aided further with three sets of two gold plated buckles on both sides of the zipperless sides from the right side with the right boot and the left with the left boot. the heeled dark orange soles of the man’s boots were well anchored down into the earth, making sure that he didn’t fall down, nor pushed over the edge by any other means. A sheathe with a dark gray rapier hilted long sword, decorated with a blue sapphire embedded into the pummel of the weapon, was attached to the left side of the dark lavender belt. The sheathe was tipped at the bottom end in gold, including the rim edgings in a decorative swirl like pattern. A light brown tanish gold pouch was also attached on the same side of the man’s belt where his sword was, storing ammunition for his second weapon of choice: a long barreled pirate made pistol that appeared more like a mini rifle than a pistol. The weapon was held upward near the handle of the gun like a stick, made from silver birch wood and decorated with tan golden metal made swirls from the handle to the tip of the barrel itself.  

<Ren>

The first of the two women was a chocolate brown brunette woman with light brown eyes, adorned with a silver metal made headband across her forehead. A light gold hair tie was worn at the top of her head, keeping her ponytail in place from the wind and the other elements around her. The brunette’s main attire consisted of a blue over shirt with a slightly raised collar, almost hiding the pale blue shirt styled armor from sight. A pair of slightly small shoulder guards were worn securely on her shoulders: One of the same silver as her headband and the other in golden yellow. Black lower forearm long armbands was worn from her wrists to her elbows, even as her left hand was wrapped with silver gauze at her fingertips. A dark brown leather strap went diagonally across her chest, centered with a golden buckle as a quiver was held securely on her back. An hard wooden made bow was held securely in her left hand, stringed and ready to go. A purple belt was worn around her waist, holding up her pure white pants as a tied sky blue sash was tied securely diagonally across her waist. Her knee long silver black soled boots were worn comfortably on her feet, adorned with light blue to possibly light teal rims at the top.

<Mura>

The second of the two woman was a pale red mid back lengthen haired young woman with soft brown eyes, dressed in a yellow purple sleeved shirt and a pair of green and light green arm bands where the top of the purple sleeves which had white stripes. A tied light red sash styled poncho was worn securely from her right shoulder to her left, actting as some sort of sideways cape. A light green belt was worn securely around her waist, centered with green in almost the same fashion as her arm bands. A beaded belt was also worn around her waist in a diagonal fashion, made with blue and light blue beads in a pattern with a pink center bead. Her dark red pants snugged up to her skin, just like her black colored boots with black soles. The boots were both adorned with cool gray laces, all in a criss-cross fashion to the top rim of her boots. Her weapon of choice was a black bladed short sword in her right hand, while a type of mirror with a gold edge was held in her left, either a weapon, or not, wasn't ever told of.

<Lula>

A dark dirty blonde haired prewinkle blue eyed woman wearing a light blue bandanna with an emerald green stripe and a pair of dark pink rimmed glasses. Her red cropped top was edged at the bottom in cocoa brown, covered by her green sleeveless to extremely short sleeved like jacket with yellow colored ends. Even her skirt was in the same green as her jacket, but her shorts underneath were in yellow, the same color as the edges of her jacket. A golden chained necklace was worn in a wrap like fashion around her neck, centered with a blue crystal type gem. A pair of dark gold bracers was worn on her lower forearms above her emerald green gloves, edged in golden yellow with a blue gem studded in the middle for decorative purposes. A gold ring was worn on her left index finger, over her glove to ensure it stayed in place. A silver belt was worn securely around her waist with the aid of a gold buckle, holding her dagger in place as she made her way down a stone made pathway, allowing the ruby gems on the brown leather sheathe to glisten under the sun’s light from above. The pummel and crossguard of the dagger were in a light yellow as the hilt of the blade was centered in a dark gray, with the edges of a lighter shade of gray. Her boots were also in the same emerald green color as her gloves, decorated with golden yellow at the rim of her boots and the toe area, along with a golden yellow point down triangle below the rim above a small blue gemstone on both boots. The soles of her golden heeled boots were a metallic green, adding a unique effect to her footwear. Her almost knee long socks revealed themselves from within the emerald green boots, colored in light sky blue, the same shade as the sky above. A pair of white round studded pearl earrings were worn securely on her ear lobes, hidden underneath her long locks of hair.

<Robin>

Dressed in a white topped black bottomed shirt with the top edges blue with the collar tips decorated in golden yellow. Even a line of blue was shown above the black bottom corseted half of the shirt, held together with a brown leather lace ended with three blue gems. The frilly sleeves were wrapped in three sets of blue armbands, keeping the sleeves in place so that it wasn’t a bit too fluffed in case she gets into a serious situation. A light orange choker was worn securely around her neck, centered with a crystal blue gem in the middle. A few red, blue, and white beads were well secured in her mid back long light dirty blonde hair. Her ears were decorated with three silver loop styled earrings at the rims of her ears, along with a medium golden loop styled earrings attached to her earlobes, studded with an emerald. Her eye shadow and lipstick makeup were consisted of a soft rose red, allowing her light brown eyes to stand out. A pair of brown gloves was worn on her hands, studded with silver near the fingers of the gloves as a trio of gold made bracelets were worn over the wrists of the gloves. A gold ring was worn on her middle index finger on her right hand, over her gloves to ensure it stayed in place. As she walked along her path, the brown leather made pouch swished from side to side, decorated with a pink heart shape design and light teal tassels that swayed in the wind. A pair of buttons in gold and in silver was shown on the flap of the pouch. Both the pouch and the tannic brown gold ringed sheathe of her short sword were both attached to her red ruby studded belt, adorned with a light gold band for each segment of the belt.

Her light to pale yellow baggy ended pants were held up wit h the aid of her belt, held securely in place as the bottom of each legging was held together by her black and dark tan boots. The edges of the rim of her boots were ended in golden yellow. Even her heeled soles were in the same golden yellow, along with the toe areas of her boots. Two pairs of brown leather made straps were fastened securely around the middle dark tan section of her footwear, adorned with a gold buckle on each strap. A golden band was worn on the ankle area of her right footed boot, studded with a pair of rubies near the right side of the gold made band. A third ruby was studded below the smaller of the two gemstones, actting like a bead as it dangled a pink tassel ended in golden yellow.

< Luca>

Looking out towards the sea from the main deck of the ship, a hot pink slightly wavy haired greenand blue eyed woman watched the churning sea in silence and awe as the waters were clear. She was dressed in a slightly fluffed mid sleeved long cream white shirt and a black corset styled vest with central brown edges, fastened and adorned with light to pale blue laces. The ends of the mid long sleeves were fastened with brown leather arm straps, holding the sleeves in place. A pair of golden loop styled earrings were held securely on her ears, centered at the front end with a bright green gem. A white colored small square shaped hairclip rested on the left side of her head, holding a few locks of hair in place. A gold chained necklace was nestled securely around her neck, centered with a crystal blue gem as it was studded into the downward crescent moon shaped centerpiece topped with a silver colored bead and golden loop. The front area of the chain was embroidered with six silver colored gems.

As a crew member of the pirate ship, she too was adorned with jewelry than just her necklace. On her left hand and wrist, she wore a golden beaded teal gem centered bracelet, along with a gold ring on her pinky and a red violet metal made ring on her index finger. On her right hand and wrist, she had a orange yellow stitched tied wristband, along with a silver banded ring on her wedding ring finger. She also wore a pair of pale tan colored pants and a brown leather made belt, held securely by the various loops attached to her pants. A band of silver metal was fastened securely between two loops on the right, near a silver made buckle at the center. Fastened from a strip of leather with the aid of a silver buckle made link, a heart shaped purple pouch was held securely from a golden yellow made loop to hold the pouch in place. Fastened around her left mid thigh with a wide strap of brown leather and a silver buckle made link, a square made pouch for carrying tools and supplies with a silver made buckle to keep the pouch closed.

She also wore a pair of black leather made heeled boots, edged in brown at the ends of the folded rims. The soles, toe area, and even the heel area were in brown as well.

<Corvell>

Looking out into the vastness of the sea from one of the lower sails was a pale tan almost shoulder yet neck lengthen haired man with two toned silver eyes, wearing a blue-violet bandana on his head, adorned with a pair of lines and a sun design with a dot in the middle in bright blue. The tied ends of the bandana were embroidered in white and the other in rose pink. He bore a small goatee, along with a stubble made beard from not shaving for some time while out at sea. Well placed on both ears, a pair of dark gold metal made loops shined underneath the brightly lit sun, topped with silver orbbed studs as the center orbs in a group of three were centered in royal blue as two more silver smaller orbs were placed on both sides of the center orb as a centerpiece. His attire consisted of a brown orange edged sleeveless vest, buttoned close with the aid of silver buttons. A flap of extra fabric draped down to the third silver button, adding more to his pirate appearance. Underneath the vest, he also wore a long slightly puffed sleeved white shirt, held closed at the cuffs with the aid of red gem made cuff links. The collared neck of the shirt was open like a big ‘V’, exposing most of his fitly toned chest as the vest’s flap of fabric covered half of his chest, just underneath the shirt was a black fabric of unknown materials to the crew, yet this man knew what it was made of, for he gad made it himself.

A brown leather made belt was worn around the waist area of the orange edged vest, over a slightly bright blue sash with golden yellow stitched styled lines and yellow embroidered fringes. A dark gold up pointed crescent moon was at the center of the belt, acting like a buckle. The other buttons were hidden underneath the sash, revealing only the last two buttons that were unbuttoned for decorative purposes. Black fingerless gloves were worn on his hands, along with a dark gold ring on his right middle index finger. Even his pants were in the same color as his fingerless gloves, held securely at the ends by a pair of reddish brown boots with a strap of brown leather near the ankle area of the boots, centered with a silver buckle. The soles and the short heels of the white folded top fashioned mid calf high boots were in light to pale orange, as if the color was that of the sun itself.  

<Virion>

Standing on the main deck of the ship inspecting the sails for any damages was a almost shoulder lengthened light orange vivid sunset haired man with fire ember colored eyes, dressed in a brown leather made vest as his only shirt. Black tribal swirl designs were embroidered into the leather, decorated with three evenly spaced buckles in golden yellow on both sides from below the chest to near the waist of the vest. A set of three light tan brown straps were the only thing keeping the vest in place, allowing the article of clothing to slightly stay open to reveal a bit of his athletic built body. A silver chained necklace was held securely around his neck, centered with a winged serpent like pendant. A light tan hide made wrist band was worn around his right hand, hand stitched with white heavy made laces on the side while a gold made armband with a orange colored gem in the center was worn on his left wrist. A tan leather made wide belt was worn securely around his waist, holding his white slightly puffed out pants in place to prevent them from falling down.

Shining under the sunlight above was a sterling silver made plated buckle, fastening the belt in place with a snug fit. A strap of the same materialed leather as his belt was pinned in place with two light gray pins, holding his weapon of choice in place inside its sheathe. Held inside its sheathe, all black with gold and silver ancient vine like designs on its central body and golden rim and tip, was a scimitar styled long sword with a Greek styled crossguard and hilt. The pummel of the blade was an ember stone made jewel, finely smoothed by either magic or other means. A dark brown silver tipped and rim sheathe was tucked between the belt and to the wielder's skin, housing a dagger that appeared like a smaller version of the man’s long sword. A pair of black mid calf high boots were worn on his feet, adorned with a silver tinted straight lines that looks like it was separating the boots into sections. Even the rim and the front tip was adorned with the same silver line, as if it was dipped into silver white paint.

The soles of the footwear was in dark gray, almost blending in with the black on the footwear. Even though the boots stretched up to his mid calf, a type of leather hide made cloth was single wrapped around his leg over the boots from knee to ankle in dark brown, held securely by a pair of night black straps with golden made buckles.

#Voyage of the Blue Seas #VotBs #LLight is Eternity #LiE 2 #Part 2