#The duck is magnificent

[destiny-moonforge]

some shots from my next pirate101 animatic coming out later this month

[retrohockeyhell]

A very chaotic 7 minutes and 30-something seconds of Mario Lemieux doing Mario Lemieux things

Spoiler alert

[sweetsinbaby-art]

breaking news! funky little man excited about giant rubber ducky: more at 9!

[ultraericthered]

General Lunaris Appreciation Post

2017 DuckTales' strongest Big Bad. He is the mighty, he is the Moon!

[fuck-yeah-pierrelepew]

how we rating tha husbando chart 🔥🔥🔥

[piecesofchess]

🦆 will be your huckleberry

[margarine-and-cape]

*Click for the full view*

Story: The Magnificent Seven (Minus Four) Caballeros! Art: Don Rosa

[idkartbychillsfrosty]

They're grotesquely hilarious to me lmao

also, I somehow managed to get this expression:

[stormbreaker101]

The Contest of Champions (Intertwined AU)

The Magnificent Seven have all joined their new captain, Owen, in piracy. In their journeying across the Spiral, the Eagles of Aquila strike at their pride, calling them not real heroes. The Seven resolve to do whatever it takes to prove the Eagles wrong, and maybe relive their true glory days as a team and family again.

I started writing this for @destiny-moonforge a little over a month ago (Owen is their OC in their personal Pirate101/OCverse, the Intertwined AU). i finished it last night and couldn’t post it to tumblr because I was on the verge of passing out.

Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence, canon-atypical gore (descriptions of wounds, blood)

Word Count: 10332. Yea, it’s a doozy.

“CAPTAIN!” Billy the Kid’s voice burst from the docks of Nova Aquila. “THE EAGLES ARE SHITTALKIN’ YA!”

Owen put down their coil of rope and hopped from the ship’s deck. “THEY’RE WHAT!?” they shouted.

“SHITTALKIN’!” Billy repeated. He ran up to them, panting. “So, we’re in the tavern tellin’ the Eagles about our own escapades, y’know, trading stories from legend to legend an’ all that, and— get this— they say we weren’t any of us heroes! NONE!”

“No!” Owen gasped. They knew the Eagles of Aquila were rude, cocky, self-centered assholes, but this was a new low!

“YES!” Billy insisted. “You, me, us, Wyatt, none of us! All that we’d done here with their Trojan War, also nothin’! Why, if I weren’t with the others I’d whoop every one of ‘em turkeys for saying that!”

“They’d deserve it,” Owen muttered.

Billy closed his eyes and took a few breaths through gritted teeth. He was gettin’ too riled up about this. He’s gotta be a lil’ bit hinged if he wants to be a hero— and a good model t’ Owen and Timmy. “Wild Bill told me to get some fresh air so I didn’t direc’ly explode in the tavern. But the way I sees it, he’s gonna have to tell off Buffalo and Jane too. We’re all pissed! An’ rightly so. So! What’cha say we go an’ show those big-beaked ninnies what kinda heroes we really are?”

“You’re not thinking of starting a fight, are you?” Owen asked.

“HEAVENS no!” Billy burst. “I’m supposed ta’ be respectable. They already call us barbarians, we don’ need to be called taverntossers too! I’m jus’ thinkin’ the birds might listen to us more if all of us were there. Maybe they don’ believe we’re really the Magnificent Seven because in there we’re six- Five. We’re five cuz Wild told me to step out. God they’re gonna believe ‘em less now!” He stomped his hoof in frustration. Damn it, Wild! In tryin’ to diffuse the situation he only made it worse!

“Well let’s not waste a second!” Owen shouted. They grabbed Billy’s hand and rushed off to the tavern.

~

Billy kicked the door open. The rest of the Seven turned their heads at Billy’s loud entrance. The other taverngoers turned their heads as well.

“That’s the last of the Seven?” someone asked. “That’s hardly a child!”

Owen’s grip tightened in Billy’s hand. Gods dammit, they weren’t a child. They were sixteen and had hella babyface. Everyone’s judgemental gazes shot through Owen like bullets.

“I feel ya, bud,” Billy murmured, so just Owen would hear. They were crushin’ his hand now but Billy had come to understand the gesture as I need support. He wouldn’t deny Owen that support. He’s gotta be there for ‘em. He looked out to the rest of the Seven. Jane waved him over. Billy nodded. “Hey, let’s head over to the rest of ‘em, yea? I think Jane’s got an idea.”

Owen nodded.

The Seven were seated around a table in a small alcove. The tavengoers’ gazes burned at the back of Owen's head. “What’s going on?” they asked.

“Billy’s probably told you everything you need for context,” Wild Bill said.

“For obvious reasons, we can’t let their insults stand,” Buffalo Bill said. “Especially not that they insulted you to your face now! And they dare to call us the rude barbarians. Preposterity!”

“Nothing we say seems to convince them that we’re heroes, so there’s gotta be something we can do instead,” Jane said.

“But even helpin’ in Troy wasn’t good enough, remember?” Billy brought up to the group. “Their own damn happenings here in Aquila that we lent our hands to, and all the glory goes to one o’ their own instead!”

“It seems there’s no pleasing them,” Barklementizov worried. His mouth was in a strained little frown. He didn’t like leaving this unresolved, but he couldn’t see a solution himself.

Owen racked their head for an idea. “They refuse to listen… their standards too high… Why don’t we ask them what we could do to prove it? Get their standards right from them, and hold them to their word?”

The rest of the Seven looked at each other. Indeed, why hadn’t they tried to ask? It was such a simple solution, but one they all overlooked in the moment. Duck was the first to break the silence. “Why don’t we, indeed?” He stood on the table and cleared his throat. It was different from his usual coughs, louder and with more voice behind them, but he held his hand over his beak anyway. He spoke to the entire tavern. “Gentlemen, you’ve heard our tales-” koff- “and you deem us not heroic enough. Is there anything that we could do, so that-” koff koff- “my friends are heroic enough for y’all?” 

The tavern fell quieter than Owen imagined possible. Well, that’s their huckleberry alright. A skilled weaver with words, and gentle but sturdy in tone, even with his chronic coughs breaking up his sentences. An orator, that’s a word Owen’s heard floating around the marble and cobble central square of Nova Aquila.

“Well, there’s the Contest of Champions,” someone at a table Owen couldn’t see said.

Barkle gasped. “I’ve read of the Contest of Champions! It’s the peoples’ variant of the legendary Olympic Games,” he explained to the rest of the Seven.

“Are you kidding?” a second stranger’s voice asked. “There’s no way in Tartarus that Pindar will let them in!”

“And that’s the person we gotta talk to to get in,” Jane pieced together.

“The Contest starts at noon. It’s far too late for any new contestants to enroll!” a third Eagle added.

“It’s not noon yet, is it?” Billy asked the crowd.

“No, but-”

“So what you’re saying is there’s still time,” he finished up.

“Owen, do you want to do this?” Wild Bill asked. He didn’t want to force Owen into any sort of clout-chasing contest. He knew the Magnificent Seven were heroes enough; they didn’t need to prove themselves to people who wouldn’t appreciate them. But, he wouldn’t say no outright. Owen deserved to choose.

“Of course I do!” Owen answered. They appreciated Wild Bill checking in, but to suggest they wouldn’t want to prove how heroic their family was and to show these jerks up would be an insult to their character had it come from anyone else! “To Pindar we go!”

~

Pindar, an older Eagle with graying feathers and a heavier toga, was standing by the gates to Nova Aquila’s busy docks, looking out to the skyway.

Buffalo Bill called out to him, his voice running faster than the Magnificent Seven themselves. “PINDAR!”

Pindar turned around. He looked at the seven foreigners. “Yes? How can I help you, sirs?”

“We’d like to join the Contest of Champions!” Owen spoke up.

“The Contest of Champions?” Pindar repeated, tilting his head. “Oh, you haven’t missed it, yet. This year’s winners will be announced in but a few hours, and the play-by-play within the week. Partake in the city’s wonders in the meantime.”

“We’d like to join the Contest of Champions,” Wild Bill repeated. He emphasized the ‘to join’, in case Pindar’s ears were beginning to fail him in old age.

“What?” Pindar asked. He looked the group over. He saw them as a handful of birdfolk (though none Eagle), one person who seemed a blend of human and bug, a vampire immune to sunlight, and two particularly rude-looking people with fur instead of feathers. “Oh, you all must be quite new around here. Only the finest heroes of Aquilan blood, kin to the Immortals themselves, can compete in the Contest. They’re the only ones who would have any chance to win the Contest and bear its Prize. In fact, I suspect there’d be a rule against foreigners competing in the first place.”

“I see how it is. Hiding behind your uptight rules then, are we?” Buffalo Bill challenged.

“Why?” Billy goaded. “You scared we’d show you featherbrains up?”

“There should be a first time for everything, don’t’cha think?” asked Jane. “Why not let us try?”

“This Contest could be something extraordinary if we participate!” Barkle suggested. “Let us match our wits and hands against your best and brightest! It would be a spectacular thing to watch, a new marvel, perhaps on the level of the legendary Olympic Games!”

“And, if we fail as you think we’re destined to-” koff- “it would make your heroes shine even brighter in contrast,” Duck mentioned, appealing to Pindar’s preconceptions.

Pindar stroked his feathered beard. “I suppose exceptions could be made, rules could be bent, favors could be had.” He looked at the wax tablet in his hands. “Our victory wreaths are yet to be delivered from Sparta, I suspect the Vulture Raiders plundered them. If you could fetch them for us, it would be enough of a favor to let you in.”

“So we fetch your wreaths, and you let us compete?” Owen asked, to make extra sure they were hearing Pindar correctly.

“Yes,” Pindar agreed.

“Then it’s a deal,” Owen promised. “How many wreaths?”

Pindar read over his tablet. “Eight crates of them.”

“We’ll be right on it!”

~

The Magnificent Seven all went down to the docks, where Owen’s main ship, the Silver Moth, floated. “Can you tell the rest of the crew what’s up? Muster on the docks? I gotta find our other ship,” Owen asked as they climbed aboard.

A chorus of “Yes”s and “Sure thing”s and other agreements rang from the adults as Owen rushed to their cabin. The cabin was a bit of a mess, by most peoples’ standards, but it was a mess Owen could navigate as deftly as the many skyways they had sailed in. Eventually, they found the other ship, the Santo Oro, in its neat little bottle. Owen rarely used the Santo Oro for many reasons, but it was undeniably a good ship. If part of the crew ran the Santo Oro while the other part manned the Silver Moth, they could be twice as efficient in raiding the Vulture Raiders back. “Divide and conquer”, as the strategy’s called.

Ship bottle in hand, Owen flew out to the docks. The crew had all gathered, and though the Seven had told the rest of the pirates about what was up, they still waited for their captain’s word. There’s a situation, what’re the Silver Moths all gonna do about it?

Owen wasn’t the best at public speaking. They’d never be cut out for ambassador business; it’s a good thing they’re only a pirate captain. “So, we’ve gotta fight the Vulture raiders for something the Eagles want. It’ll let us get into the Contest of Champions. It might be quicker if we take both ships at the same time.” They held up the Santo Oro’s bottle, then tossed it down.

Subodai caught the glass bottle and handed it to Ratbeard in one quick motion. He didn’t even consider keeping the ship for himself. Owen knew why; Subodai's great at many things, but sailing wasn’t one of them.

Ratbeard popped the bottle’s cork and the skiff appeared next to the Silver Moth. “More grocery shoppin’ fer the blasted birds,” he kvetched.

“It’s either grocery shopping or not doing the contest entirely,” Wild Bill said. “And the second is hardly an option anymore.”

“Right, right, yer pride’s all been wounded, I get it,” Ratbeard said. He climbed aboard the Santo Oro. “But do ye really have to do this?! I say gettin’ the birds what they want’s more woundin’ than lyin’ down!”

“It’s been a while since we’ve done some good old raiding, Vermi,” Catbeard pointed out. “It’ll be fun pirating together again.” He hustled aboard the ship with Ratbeard.

“Yeah, yeah, th’only reason it’s been a while’s because we had to bust yer ass outta jail, kitty!” He rolled his eye at Catbeard and gave a crooked half-smile. So the banter was all in good fun, probably.

Jane nudged Billy in the side. “You know who they remind me of?”

“Who?” Billy asked.

“Duck and Big Bill.”

Billy made a face like he’d just eaten a lemon whole. “You’re kiddin’! They’re nothin’ like ‘em!”

Jane laughed. “Oh, they are, alright. Maybe you’ll see it when you’re older.” She patted him on the back. “C’mon, we’ve got work to do.”

~

The sun steadily climbed in the sky as the crew fought a handful of the vultures’ ships. Though the Silver Moths had just a fleet of two ships, their teamwork softened up the other ships like butter. Owen would board the other ships and ask to search for the crates of laurels. “That’s all I’m looking for. We can be chill,” they would assure. And when the vulture pirates decided to not be chill back and try to attack Owen, then the rest of the crew would get involved.

The crates soon began to stack up. By the time the eighth crate was recovered, the sun was firmly overhead. 

“That’s all of them,” Buffalo Bill confirmed, counting them up.

“Finally!” Billy exclaimed. “Let’s get ta’ competin’!”

“Say, Barkle, you seem to know more about the contest than the rest of us,” Wild Bill said. “D’you happen to know what’t’ll ask of us?”

Barklementizov shook his head. “I can’t remember. I only know the general layout; three events, and the competitors are scored on how well they do in them. The winner is the person with the best score after all three.”

“Three events under one Contest,” Duck realized. “We have signed up for more than we bargained for. Well-” koff- “let the games begin, I say.”

~

The Seven rushed to Pindar. Owen took the lead, their wings abuzz. Barklementizov and Buffalo Bill were right beside them, keeping up. Billy was right behind, constantly looking back at Calamity and Wild Bill (and Holliday too, as much as Billy still wanted to keep mental distance from ‘im) and telling them to keep up. The three slowpokes were reserving their energy; they’d need it for the coming events, why waste it on a short mad dash?

“PINDAR!” Owen called, waving their arm high so Pindar could see them from a distance. “We got the laurels! The rest of my family’s unloading them right now at the docks, if you wanna get 'em. It’s too much for us to carry to you directly.” As they spoke, they made it right up to Pindar himself. The rest of the Seven followed in 

Pindar nodded and checked off something on his tablet. “Well done. You lot may have the makings of a hero, after all.”

“More like the makings of your damn errandboys,” Billy scoffed, mostly to himself but still aloud.

“Billy, please,” Barkle asked. He understood that Billy was bitter and feeling disrespected, but he also knew that, as an outsider, standing up for oneself like that will only make one more hated. 

Billy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, but canned ‘imself.

Pindar looked up at the sun. It was past its zenith. “The contest has already begun. Are you sure you want to begin at a disadvantage?”

“Are you being polite, or going deaf?” Buffalo Bill asked. “We’ve said time and time again-”

“We will take on the contest and all the disadvantages,” Wild Bill cut in. Like Barkle, he knew civility had to take center-stage when talking with the Aquilans. They

“So be it,” Pindar said. He was beginning to have his doubts, letting all seven of these outsiders compete as one team. They couldn’t even control their sharpest tongues without reprimanding. But, they had done him a favor, so he had to let them in. “All heroes have to excel at defeating monsters. The first Contest is the Great Hunt. Report to Orion, in Calydonea. He will tell you more.”

~

Orion was easy enough to find. He stood on a rock outcropping in the fields of Calydonea, overlooking the gates to civilization in Achaean Sparta. He saw the Seven and some others approaching (Timmy wanted to come with the rest of the Seven, and Bonnie Anne volunteered to keep an eye on the kid while the Seven were doing… whatever it was they’d end up having to do), and waved them greetings and well-faring.

Owen waved back. “Hey! We’re here for the Contest!” they announced.

“The Contest, you say?” Orion asked. “I bid you beware, for I fear only the mightiest can hope to succeed.” He pointed to the cliffs, the caves within them, and the hills around them. “The monsters that haunt these hills are fearsome.”

“Do we look scared to you?” Calamity asked.

“We’ve seen our fair share of monsters,” Barkle assured. “No need to fear for us.”

Orion chuckled. “You are bold, outlanders, I’ll give you that. Very well, then! The first Contest is to hunt down a dread manticore. They lair in those very caves over there. When you’ve defeated one, take one of its claws to Pindar as a token of your victory.” He looked the crowd over. His gaze landed on Timmy and Owen. “I fear you may be doomed, but the Immortals favor the foolish, or so they say.”

Owen didn’t like that Orion was singling them and Timmy out.

“I’m not gonna be fighting,” Timmy said. “I’m just comin’ along for the ride!”

Orion gave the kid a gentle smile. “Well, youngster, you’d best listen to your… parents, alright?”

“I will!” Timmy chirped. “And miss Anne!” He took her hand.

The group set off through the fields. They made sure to give the monsters out and about plenty of space. If a pack of the manticores decided to pounce on them before they were ready…

Bonnie Anne noticed a set of tracks in the ground. The tracks matched the manticores’ paws, but were significantly bigger. “Look there,” she said, pointing the oversized tracks out. “I think those are the dread manticores’ prints. We can track ‘em from a distance to one of the caves.”

“Why thank you kindly, Anne,” Jane said, giving the fox a smile. “Lead on.”

Bonnie Anne took the lead. She kept her eyes trained on the tracks. They eventually led to a cave burrowing into the cliffs. “Here we are.”

Jane whistled a tense little tune as she looked into the cave. 

All of the Seven, save for Timmy and Owen, tensed. They knew their friend’s song well. If Calamity Jane Canary was whistling such a worried warble, that meant this cave was trouble.

“Welp. Here we go,” Billy said. “Don’t’cha worry, Tims, we’ll be fine.”

“If you need an extra musket, call for me,” Bonnie Anne asked. “Your safety’s more important than the Contest.”

“We’ll call if it gets to that,” Owen promised. They hoped it didn’t.

“Y’all got this!” Timmy encouraged.

Owen led the Seven into the cave. Some regular manticores and one oversized one (no doubt the dread manticore in question) slept in the cave.

“If we’re-” koff- “stealthy, perhaps we can-” Duck tried to suggest. A big old bout of coughing seized him. Caves, dank and dusty as they were, were never good for his lungs.

The dread manticore woke up. It pushed itself to its paws and unfurled its wings. It let out a guttural, cranky roar. The smaller manticores woke up as well, seven of them in total.

“You were saying, Duck?” Buffalo Bill sassed.

“Come on! We’ve got a pack of manticores to take down!” Owen butted in. Now was no time for infighting, even if it were maybe teasing and lighthearted (though they really couldn’t tell, Bill sounded genuinely pissed to them). They readied their knife and pistol.

The rest of the Seven readied their weapons too. Even Barklementizov, who had no held weapon of his own, gathered his wits and magic.

“If we focus on the little ones one at a time, we defeat them quicker, and have less of them attacking us at once!” Owen strategized.

It was a good enough plan for most of the Seven. However, Buffalo Bill and Billy went against the plan. “We’ll soften the others up while y’all take out that one,” Billy said.

Duck had a feeling they were avoiding aiming for the same monster he was shooting down for more reasons than just strategy. The li’l gunslinger wasn’t one to follow through with a strategy like that.

The manticores were quite the threat! Eight vs seven. The dread manticore was all but unharmed as the smaller ones went down. The fight went on for far longer than Owen would’ve liked. The manticores’ claws were sharp, their teeth bit hard, and their tails stung like whips. Their healing magic couldn’t keep up.

The dread manticore was the only one left. It towered over all of the Seven, even Buffalo Bill. It reared onto its hind legs, standing even taller now, claws unsheathed and fangs bared. It brought its paws down on the nearest target-

“DUCK!” Owen shouted. 

Duck couldn’t back away fast enough. The manticore cut a nasty set of gashes over his face. His left eye was clawed shut.

Panic peppered through Owen. They flew up and stabbed the dread manticore at the back of its throat. It whirled around in pain, its wings slapping Owen away. They lost their balance and fell, distant from everyone else.

“OWEN!” Barklementizov panicked. He flew after Owen, but the dread manticore bit at his wings. He fell down too.

Calamity ran towards the manticore. It’s distracted- oh fuck it’s distracted by Owen and Barkle- she can try and save Duck in the meantime!

Billy shot at the manticore as Calamity Jane made her daring move.

“Jane! Look out!” Wild Bill warned.

As Jane got close, the dread manticore hissed at her and tried to swat her aside. Its claws tore at her, but she was steady. She helped Duck up to his feet and hurried him to safety. “Duck, we gotcha. Bill, shield him. Billy, let’s raise hell. It’s after Owen and Barks!” She picked her musket back up. She and Billy then ran towards the dread manticore, guns blazing.

Wild Bill stepped in front of Duck. If the dread manticore dared to come back here, ideally it would target him and not Duck, being the closer and bigger and brighter of the two birds. Bill kept an eye and ear on Duck as well. “How bad is your eye?”

“Out of commission till it’s cleaned up,” Duck responded, coughing from fatigue. “I hope it’s not lost for good.”

Buffalo Bill had been trying to keep consistent fire trained on the dread manticore. It wasn’t enough to stop any of what’d just happened. It just took his hits and focused on the more vulnerable! He had no hope but to charge headlong! He tightened his musket’s bayonet and rushed to the manticore. “Get away from my calf!” he roared.

The dread manticore whipped its head to him. He plunged the bayonet into the manticore’s neck, piercing its throat. The beast’s blood burst from the wound. It flailed and flopped and fell in fury, only tearing its throat further open. It collapsed dead on the dusty cave floor.

Barklementizov ran to Owen as quickly as his legs could manage. He tried to help them sit up. “Are you alright?”

Owen, shaking, was not alright. They nodded anyway. “Any higher, and that fall might’ve done me in,” they said. They tried to laugh the pain away, but… god damn they were scared. They looked at the manticore’s corpse. Manticorpse. What if it wasn’t dead? What if it rose again?

Billy hung his sparklocks on his belt and dashed to Owen. He helped them stand. God. They were shiverin’ in his arms. “We gotcha, kid. That kitty ain’t so bad anymore.”

Owen felt something in them break. They held onto Billy’s hands and leaned against him. They looked around. Everyone was some sort of battered, bruised, or bloodied. Buffalo Bill was absolutely drenched. If Owen were any more emotionally sound they’d make a milk webkinz joke. Milk is just blood with extra steps. But no, they were in no state to do that right now. They couldn’t see Duck from where they were. “Where’s Duck?” they asked.

“I’m right here, peach,” Duck spoke up. He wiped the blood from his eye and made his way towards Owen. He glanced at Billy. Billy, one of the two who’d been so loud about his old blame on Duck. Billy, who’d never forgiven him before.

Billy looked back at Duck Holliday. He, god, he could’a been blinded. Or worse, killed. The Seven lost one already, years ago. They really can’t afford to lose another. Not even Duck.

Duck got a bit closer. 

Owen pulled him into the hug. They cried into his shoulder.

Bonnie Anne and Timmy ran around a corner into the cave. “We heard the fighting get bad, is everyone-” Bon’s words dried in her mouth as she saw the battlefield. Manticores dead, the Magnificent Seven wounded, her captain and friend crying in Duck’s and Billy’s arms. “Oh, god.”

“Wh- What happened?” Timmy asked. He’d never seen anybody so… hurt. Let alone the Magnificent Seven! His idols, his family!

“We’re worse for wear, but we’re well enough,” Big Bill promised. “Please disregard the fact that I’m covered in blood.”

Owen lifted their head from Duck’s shoulder. When did Timmy get here? They wiped away their tears. “Hey, don’t worry about us, okay?” They gently pulled themself away from the hug, and grabbed their weapons from the floor; apparently they’d dropped them when they were knocked down. Knife in hand, they approached the manticore. “Let’s get this claw back to Pindar. We’ve got more Contests to win…” 

~

While sailing back to Nova Aquila, everybody got themselves fixed up. Duck had to check in with Nurse Quinn for his eye (Quinn said he’d have to keep it shut while the skin healed, but thankfully he wasn’t going to lose it), and everybody needed their fair share of bandages, but everyone seemed to do well enough.

Owen needed some time away from everything, a bit of quiet to try and decompress. They lied in their hammock, letting the ship’s rocking calm them down. They held the dread manticore’s claw in their hands, turning it over and over like Duck and his poker chip. So much pain and frenzy for just one itty bitty claw. For one blasted contest.

Was it even worth it?

Owen’s right hand dropped to the brass badge pinned on their vest. Wyatt Chirp’s sheriff badge.

“Of course it’s gonna be worth it!” Owen argued with themself. “If we win the contest, the Aquilans will finally respect the Seven.” Their family’s reputation mattered most in this. If they backed out now… it’d probably reflect so badly on the Seven as a whole. They couldn’t do that; they would not besmirch the Seven by association.

Pindar awaited the Seven where he always was. He saw them coming up the hill, and the various bandages decorating their bodies. “Ah, you’ve returned,” he said. “Hard day?”

“Not in the slightest,” Duck answered, his voice level with cool confidence and his expression not holding the slightest bit of pain (well, besides the fresh cuts down his face). “We’ve got your manticore’s claw. Owen?”

Owen nodded and showed Pindar the claw.

“Oh!” Pindar gasped in surprise. “You actually did it! Unexpected, but well done. Though, I must warn you, there are two more contests left, and they’ll only grow more difficult.”

“Difficulty is our bread and butter,” Barkle assured. “You’ve no need to fear for us.”

“As you wish.” Pindar clacked his beak. “For the second Contest, bring back the Golden Laurel from Sparta. It’s the prize for the Archery contest.” He looked up at the sky. “You’re very late for it. I suggest you hurry.”

Barklementizov was starting to regret feigning such confidence. He couldn’t hold a bow at all, let alone fire one. And nobody else in the Seven was all too familiar with archery.

Buffalo Bill, however, was cooking up a little idea. “Oh, we’ll bring back that wreath,” he promised. He went down to the ship with a real hustle to his bustle, and everyone followed

After boarding the Silver Moth, Wild Bill decided to check in. “Now that we’re outta earshot… you seem to be planning something.”

Buffalo chuckled. “Pindar never said anything about us winning any competition. Just that we have to retrieve the prize.”

“But how are we gonna get the prize without, y’know, winning the contest for the prize?” Owen asked.

“Easy. We get the winner to put it up for a bet.”

“Is it really gonna be that easy?” Jane asked.

“Pride is the Eagles’ greatest failing,” Duck said. He twirled his little mustache and fidgeted with his favorite poker chip. “If we stroke their ego enough, it’ll blind them.”

“Ooh, it’s been a while since I swindled someone!” Billy chuckled, almost nostalgic for his old outlaw days. Almost. “This’ll be fun!”

~

The docks of Achaean Sparta had become more crowded than it had been when the Seven had left it after fighting the dread manticore. “Looks like they’re all still hangin’ around after the contest,” Jane said, watching the crowd from the deck of the ship.

“Splendiferous,” Buffalo Bill said. “Our wreath-bearer is likely still in there.”

“Let us not waste another minute, then!” Barkle said. He flew over towards Owen at the wheel. The ship suddenly lurched under him for a second, then studdered to a halt.

“SHIT-” Owen yelped. “Sorry, everyone! Meant to drop anchor, not hit the gas!”

Most of the crew on-deck tried to stand back up. Subodai could only lie on the deck. “You’re starting to sail like me, Owen!” he joked, his booming laughter bubbling up from him.

“Gods, I sure hope not!” Owen laughed back.

The Magnificent Seven all got off at the docks. Tims came with, holding Owen’s and Billy’s hands.

Big Bill led the way. The crowds parted around him to give him and the Seven enough space to walk. He caught sight of an Eagle wearing the Golden Laurel Wreath. Jackpot. “Yo!” he called to her. “You, miss, with the wreath!”

She caught sight of him as well. “Oh, a fresh face!” She saw the rest of the Seven come out from behind him. “Have you all come for the Archery contest?” she asked. “I’d heard there’d be a group of seven barbarians competing. You’re too late, though. I’ve won it.”

“Oh, well if that ain’t a shame,” Calamity Jane said, with a slight Western belle’s pout in her voice. Completely for the act’s sake. “Still, I reckon it were for the best. Archery ain’t really our kind of shooting, y’see.”

“I wouldn’t be able to hold a bow in the first place,” Barklementizov added.

“Our skillsets are likely so wildly different from each other,” Wild Bill began, “that it begs the question on who’s truly the best shootist.”

The Eagle’s cocky expression faltered. She gripped her bow tightly. “You doubt my prowess?”

“Certainly not,” Duck assured. “You’ve earned that laurel-” koff- “versus the many other archers, fair and square. But I-” koff- “I reckon, why not give us a… fighting chance as well?”

“It could be fun, too!” Timmy chirped.

“A fighting chance, you say?” the Eagle asked. “Fine then. Surely barbarians like yourselves can fight, at least. I’ll duel the best of you, then.”

“What, just one of us?” Billy goaded. “Are you scared you can’t take us all at once? Surely you and your high-falutin Aquilan training makes ya think you’re the best of the best, yea?”

“Of course I’m not scared!” the Eagle snapped. “If anything, dueling only one of you is for your sakes than mine. It’s less of an embarrassment to you if only one of your group loses to me, rather than all of you at once!” She forced out a haughty laugh. She took an arrow from her quiver and pointed it at the group. “I’ll tell you what! I’m so certain I could beat you, no matter your skills and numbers, that I’ll bet my wreath on it! I’ll give it to you- if you can beat me.”

Owen grabbed onto the arrow’s shaft. Their cue in all this was clear as day. “You bet!” They and the Eagle went into the shooting range. “For extra fairness’s sake, let’s give each other some space. Start back to back, ten seconds of walking from each other, then we go all out.”

“A formality,” the Eagle said. “I don’t see why not.” She went back to back with them.

Timmy climbed up onto the fence. Buffalo Bill held him steady. “I’ll do the countdown!” he volunteered from a distance.

Owen and the Eagle nodded.

Timmy counted loud and steadily. “ONE! TWO! THREE!”

Step, step, step.

“FOUR! FIVE! SIX!”

The Eagle archer notched the first arrow into her bow.

“SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE!”

Owen gripped their pistol and knife.

“TEN PACES! FIRE!”

Owen turned on their heel and tried for some quick shots at the archer’s shoulder. She can’t shoot if her arm’s busted.

She dodged the shots nimbly enough and let her prepared arrow fly. It nicked Owen’s ear, missing their shoulder by a fair margin. So, she had the same strategy as them. Incapacitation over straight up murder. The eagle wasn’t trying to kill Owen.

“You got this, Owen!” Jane cheered.

The eagle shot some more arrows, aiming for Owen’s leg. The arrow stuck into them.

Owen leaned on their good leg. They aimed for her nearer arm.

The eagle flinched at the shot, scattering her arrows from her quiver.

Now’s their chance! Owen rushed in, knife at the ready. They stabbed her side. Again, steering clear of any vital organs. Not trying to kill. Just wound. Defeat. 

The eagle grabbed a cluster of the arrows and tried to backhand Owen as she scampered to her feet. Owen blocked the cluster with their knife’s blade. It cut through the arrows’ shafts.

The eagle dusted herself off and rushed away from Owen.

Owen shot the eagle’s leg. A bit of true grit from them, bearing the pain and returning it equal. It’s not like they could heal the wound. No doubt the eagles would call magic in a nonmagical duel cheating.

The eagle fell. “Why, you barbarian!” she spat.

“You did the same to me! Fair’s fair!” Owen called out.

“Yeah, you tell ‘er!” Billy shouted from the sidelines.

“Stay steady!” Duck advised.

Owen twirled the pistol around their triggerfinger, a trick Billy taught em, and shot once more at the Eagle. The shot burst from the barrel, flashy more than real damage.

The Eagle reached for another arrow in her quiver. Her eyes went wide as she realized something that she hoped the kid wouldn’t pick up on. She’s only got one arrow left. The rest of her arrows were either cut in half or still scattered on the ground from her first fall. She aimed for Owen’s chest, desperate to not lose like this.

Owen’s eyes went wide. They tried to dodge the arrow. It dug into their arm. Better that than any of their guts or lungs or heart! 

“She ran out of arrows, Owen!” Wild Bill called.

The Eagle gave Wild Bill a furious glare.

Owen walked up towards the Eagle, calming down from the fight. “Well, ain’t that quite a predicament?” they asked. They leaned into a bit of a Western accent for funsies. “Like, golly flippin’ gee willikers, it seems you can’t do much to attack me anymore.”

Timmy gasped. “SKILL ISSUE!” Uproarious laughter came from the rest of the Seven.

Owen brought their hand to their mouth to tamp down their laughter. They were still talking with their opponent, they can’t completely lose face. “Meanwhile, I could keep attacking. I won’t, cuz that’s not fair, but… I think it’s clear to me who wins, yea?”

“Fuck you,” the Eagle spat. “This damn duel, this was your intention from the start, wasn’t it!? You, and your barbarian friends.”

Owen raised their knife. “Hey now.” Their voice dropped. Their playfulness gave out. “Please don’t call my family barbarians. Now, can I kindly have that wreath of yours? You did bet on it.” They glanced at the rest of the Seven. Buffalo Bill gave them a giant thumbs up.

With a huff, the Eagle unceremoniously put her golden wreath on Owen’s outstretched arm.

Owen put their weapons away, put the wreath on their head, and gave the Eagle a bright smile with a few too many teeth (for good measure). “Thank you!~” They skipped over to the Seven. 

Buffalo Bill picked Owen up in the air. “You were outstanding out there!” he cheered. “What phenomenal pugilistic prowess! A stellar show! I daresay I’m running out of words!” He put them on his shoulders.

“If you’re running outta words, I guess that’s how I know it must’ve been great!” Owen laughed from the pure joy of it all. Oh, they felt they were on top of the world! And in a way, they were. They were on Big Bill’s shoulders. “And you all were great too!” They looked down at Timmy. “Quick question, Tims. Skill issue!?”

“Billy taught me that,” Timmy answered, pointing at him.

“I sure as hell did NOT teach you that!” Billy protested.

“Are you sure you didn’t just-” koff- “say it in front of him, at one point?” Duck asked.

Billy opened his mouth to retort, but, yeah no that totally sounded like him lol. He didn’t remember everythin’ he said, let alone everyone who was around when he said said everythin’.

“Come on, let’s get back to Pindar,” Jane said. “We’ve got one more contest to get over with!”

~

“PIIIIINDAAAAAAAR!” Owen hollered as they and the rest of the Magnificent Seven rushed to him. They held the golden wreath against their head so it wouldn’t fall off. “WEGOTTHEGOLDENWREATH!”

Pindar looked up at the Seven. “Pardon?” he asked. He had already gotten news of the winner of the archery contest, and it certainly wasn’t the Seven.

“We got the golden wreath!” Owen repeated themself.

“Now wait a moment,” Pindar said. “You did not win it from the archery contest. I’m afraid such fraud must disqualify you all.”

“But-” Owen started.

Buffalo Bill put his hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Allow me.” He stepped towards Pindar. The rest of the Seven took a step away from him. He lifted his musket and slammed the wooden end against the cobblestone path. “Now just one minute, Pindar,” he growled. He took a step closer to the Eagle, towering over him. “You never told us to win the archery contest. You only told us to bring back the golden wreath, and this we have done, by thunder!” He let his shout echo off into the distance before continuing. “Do you intend on keeping your word and playing this contest fairly, or do you only wish to bend over backwards so only Eagles can win!?”

 “I- er-” Pindar stuttered for an answer. Buffalo Bill was meaner than any man or beast he had ever seen before. “I-I suppose exceptions c-could be made, ag-again. Rules… bent. You all may n-not have the blood of Eagles, yes, but you are c-cunning as Ulysses himself. The terms of the Contest can still be honored.”

“There. Now was that so difficult?” Buffalo Bill asked, his demeanor becoming sunny as a paper daisy as if he hadn’t just been verbally storming over another man. He picked up his musket and held it safely by his side.

So this was what everyone meant when they said Buffalo Bill was meaner than a mountain lion, Owen realized. Holy crap. They had never seen that side of him before. Was that even another side to him? He seemed like an entirely different person. Not the Big Bill they knew and loved.

They didn’t ever want to see that side of him again.

“Certainly not-” Pindar gulped. He tried to “Anyway, the last Contest is a footrace all over Illios. Whoever can find the most golden apples scattered throughout the land by sunset wins.”

The Seven all looked at each other. Everyone except for Billy and Owen had a concerned look. They were old, and weren’t fit for something as strenuous as a race. Billy the Kid, however, just looked annoyed. “Oh bother,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This’ll be fun.”

“Indeed,” Duck wheezed before coughing for five seconds on end. Wild Bill gave him a few sturdy but gentle pats on his back. “I can hardly contain my glee…” Duck continued his thought. “Thanks, Bill.”

“‘Course.” Wild Bill took a breath. “We’re in this deep into the contest. I don’t think our prides will let us back out now.”

“I just hope there’s another way to finish it besides running,” Barkle said. He swung his small taloned legs. “My legs are far too small…”

“We’ll find a way,” Owen promised. The way they had in mind was doing the race themself (they didn’t mind, they like running :D), but maybe something will come up and there’ll be a way for everyone else to get involved without hurting themselves. Owen could only hope.

~

In Illios, the Magnificent Seven found Atalanta, the Eagle managing the final event. She had a bow slung over her shoulder, a quiver of arrows at her hip, and a wax tablet and stylus like Pindar in her hands. She was managing this final event in the Contest. 

“‘Scuse me!” Jane called, waving at Atalanta. “Miss Atalanta, was it? We’re here for the Contest of Champions!”

Atalanta looked up from her tablet. “Another pack of runners? You’re very late, I’m afraid. Most of the apples had been taken. Why, I doubt there are any left in the regular course at all.”

“That implies there are some apples left-” koff- “in more unconventional places,” Duck mentioned. “If we were to press on against all wisdom, where would we look?”

Atalanta brought a finger (feather?) to her chin. “The only other place where I’d find the golden apples are in the Ettin caves, to the north.” She pointed out the way. “You’d have to fight them for it, of course.”

“And just how many do we gotta collect to beat first place?” Billy asked.

“The current leader, Philipides, has… six apples,” Atalanta answered, checking her tablet. “The event officially ends at sundown. I don’t envy the task you’ve set for yourselves, but the Immortals favor the foolish, or so they say.”

“Or so we’ve heard,” Buffalo Bill said. “Thank you. We’ll be well on our way.”

As the Magnificent Seven went northward to the Ettin caves, Owen couldn’t help but chuckle to themselves at the funny little coincidence.

“What’s gotcha so giggly all of a sudden?” Billy asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking, we gotta get more than six apples, which means we gotta get seven. One for the each of us!” Owen explained.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Barklementizov admitted.

“Well, isn’t that a fun coincidence?” Wild Bill asked. He couldn’t help but chuckle along too.

“Almost feels like fate…” Buffalo Bill remarked. Seven apples for the Magnificent Seven, The Seven were together again, sailing all over the Spiral… but it didn’t feel quite as whole as before Wyatt’s death. And, indeed, that gaping emptiness was his fault. He kept the wound open, still staying distant from Holliday. Closing the gap between them would be too painful and take too much effort now. Bill had to reserve his energy for this confounded contest.

But were they not doing this contest for the entire Seven’s sake in the first place? Not just each member’s individual pride, but for their collective honor. For their history as a team. They were heroes together, and this damn contest was to prove it to the Eagles.

Maybe to prove it to themselves and each other, too.

The namesake ettins in the Ettin caves were nasty, big ol’ brutes, with double the heads and half the brain cells. “Hey, listen up, ya two-headed turkeys!” Billy shouted. “We need your golden apples! If you give ‘em nice an’ quiet like, there’ll be no trouble.”

“We’ll even give them back if you’re nice about it!” Owen interjected.

One of the ettins readied their club. “CRUSH THE LITTLE ONES! CRUSH THEM ALL!” their heads thundered.

“You tried,” Wild Bill assured Owen.

“Yeah, I did…” Owen shrugged. “Guess we gotta do it the hard way.” They readied their weapons, and hoped that these ettins wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as the dread manticore.

Owen’s hope came true. The ettins were tough to defeat, but often their two heads wanted to do different things at once, which only made them weaker. If one head wanted to attack Barkle and Owen flying around their heads and getting what melee hits they could, and another wanted to charge at the rest of the Seven firing at them from all around, the ettin would flounder around and accomplish neither.

The metaphor wasn’t lost on Buffalo Bill. He stood by Duck’s side, protecting his blind spot.

Duck turned his head and looked up at Bill. His behavior confounded him. He had to wonder, what was Bill up to, choosing to stand next to him in all this?

Bill caught Duck’s gaze, and then immediately glanced away. He wasn’t ready to be quite face-to-face with Duck Holliday yet. An ettin was conveniently in his new line of sight, an excuse.

The tension and bond between the two didn’t go unnoticed. Between shots, Jane nudged Billy the Kid in the side. “Y’see?” she asked.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Billy gasped. 

The hours ticked down, the orange light of the sunset outside pouring into the caves.. The apple count ticked up. Soon enough, everyone had a golden apple in their pocket (or, in Barkle’s case, his talons). “Finally!” he cheered. “That’s all seven apples. Let’s get our prize, before it’s too late!”

The Magnificent Seven rushed from the cave. The lights from Owen’s antennae started to brighten the area around them, as the day darkened. As they all approached the camp, Owen hollered, “ATALANTA!! WE GOT THE APPLES!”

Atalanta’s eyes widened. She looked at the setting sun. “You’re all just in time. I’m amazed! I won’t be able to send the news to Pindar faster than you can sail. Take the apples to him directly.”

“Sure!” Owen chirped. “Thank you!”

~

While on the ship, Owen realized something. “I promised to return the apples back to the ettins, didn’t I?” they asked.

“You said you’d return the apples if they were nice about giving them to you,” Wild Bill remembered. “And they weren’t.”

“Oh yea, I forgot I said that bit. Thanks. I don’t feel bad about it anymore.”

“Always.”

~

Miraculously for the entire Seven, Pindar hadn’t gone too far from his usual perch. Owen ran to him as fast as they could while holding all of the apples themself (they’d gotten worried at the last minute that if everyone held one apple, Pindar wouldn’t count it as seven apples collected, but just one for each). “PINDAR! WE WON!” they shouted.

Pindar blinked. “Pardon?”

“We’ve finished the final contest!” Barklementizov explained, flying past Owen.

“Seven apples, more than the previous leader,” Jane announced. Her voice shone with pride. Owen tried to hold the apples further up in their arms to really show them off. The light from their antennae reflected off the apples’ golden skin.

“Atalanta told us to report to you directly,” said Buffalo Bill.

“I cannot believe it,” Pindar gasped. “The contest is won by a pack of outlanders this year!”

“We told you it was possible,” Wild Bill said with a proud little smile.

“So, about that prize?” Billy asked

“Yeah, the prize!” Timmy chirped, bouncing up and down in excitement while holding onto Billy’s hand. “Give them the prize! They earned it!”

“Ah, yes, the prize.” Pindar cleared his throat. He looked to Owen. “Child. Owen, was it?”

“Uh- Yes, that’s me, hi,” Owen said. They were very confused.

“Because you have presented all of the tokens for the three Contests, Owen, you have won the right to climb the peaks of Achaea and sacrifice yourself to Typhon the Terror. Your virtuous death will keep Aquila safe for another year.”

“WHAT-” the Magnificent Seven all shouted. Owen dropped their apples. Timmy clung onto Owen’s side. Wild Bill put a hand on Owen’s shoulder and his tail feathers rustled up. Barklementizov put his wing in front of Owen. Duck gripped his poker chip so hard his knuckles went white. Billy pointed his sparklocks at Pindar. Jane slammed the wood end of her musket onto the cobblestone. Buffalo Bill’s voice thundered.

“The fuck you mean that’s the prize?!” Billy stormed.

“This is a joke, right? This has to be!” Barkle begged.

Pindar shook his head. “That is the prize. If you refuse, Owen, you’ll be reviled as a liar and a coward through the empire.”

Owen shook their head. They put one arm around Timmy and held him close. They stared up at Pindar. “No. I refuse both options. I’m not a coward, I’m not gonna drag my family into that reputation with me, and I’m not going to die. I’ll… fight Typhon myself if I have to!” It was an outrageously bold outburst. Owen had no idea how they were gonna fight Typhon, they just knew they had to say something.

“You won’t be alone, Owen,” Wild Bill promised.

“We’ll fight Typhon with you,” Jane insisted.

Pindar could not believe the Seven’s determination. “It’s impossible. Typhon is invincible,” he warned.

“We’ll see about that,” Duck vowed. 

“Perhaps the inventor, Daedalus, may have an idea to better our odds,” Buffalo Bill strategized. “We should go see him.”

Owen was relieved that their parents were there for them, and could keep a cooler head than they themself could ever. They noticed Timmy was still tense against them. “Hey, Timmy, let’s go back to the ship, yeah?” they offered him. “We can chill in my cabin. I’ll stay with you.”

Timmy nodded.

Owen nodded back. They then looked to the rest of the Seven. “When y’all have a plan, come find me?”

“We won’t come back ‘til we get a plan outta the ol’ bird,” Billy promised.

~

It wasn’t terribly long until the adults of the Magnificent Seven came back to the Silver Moth. Jane knocked on the door to Owen’s cabin. “You in there, darlin’?”

“Yeah, we’re here,” Owen called from inside. They and Timmy were sitting on the floor of the cabin. They had a ukulele in their lap, and Timmy was nestled under their arm. “The door’s unlocked.”

Jane stepped in. “We’ve got ourselves a gameplan. Daedalus mentioned a magic charm that’d protect us from Typhon’s magic.”

Owen smiled. “Great! Thanks so much.” They then looked down at Tims. “See? I told you they’d come up with a plan.”

“Yeah, you did say that, didn’t’ya?” Timmy asked.

“We’ll have to make a quick stop at Illios to get it,” Jane continued. “Are you gonna take the wheel, or should I find someone else?”

“Someone else! Please?” Timmy begged, looking up at Owen with the sweetest eyes known to birdkind.

Owen chuckled and nuzzled their head against his. They then looked up at Jane. “You simply must understand my predicament. There is a child nested in my arms. There’s no way I can sail.”

Jane chuckled as well. “Makes sense. I’ll come back when we’ve docked.” She closed the door.

~

Soon enough, the Silver Moth docked at Illios. Jane knocked on the door again. “Owen? We’re here.”

Owen finished strumming their song. “Give me a minute?” they asked. Timmy had fallen asleep in their arms. They didn’t want to wake him up. They put down their ukulele, picked Timmy up, and put him in their hammock. Once he was tucked in, they opened the door. “Timmy fell asleep. I had to put him in my hammock.”

“That’s alright. You all set to go?”

Owen nodded. They glanced back at their cabin. “Should I tell him that we’re going? If something goes wrong…”

Jane shook her head. “Let him sleep. We’ll be fine.”

Owen snuffed the magic lights around their cabin and got off the Silver Moth. The rest of the Seven had been waiting for Owen and Jane on the docks. “So,” Owen asked, “what exactly is the plan? Where do we get this charm from?”

“The last person to have the Aegis- the charm we need to find- was last known to be in a cave system here,” Barklementizov answered. “He and his legion hadn’t come out. I wouldn’t be surprised to find their undead spirits there.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Owen agreed. “Give me a sec, I gotta get some gear really quick.” They flew back onto their ship and silently went into their cabin. From a lockbox in their closet, they grabbed a few items that they’d once been given by their uncle Thanatos: a cloak, a helmet (“head protection is key for meat jenga towers like yourself” Thanatos would always say), and a scythe. They donned that reaper-gear and came back out. “Alright,” they said to the rest of the Seven. “I’m ready now.”

Duck chuckled. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”

“Let’s go,” Buffalo Bill suggested. “The quicker we get the Aegis, the quicker we can be finished with this Typhon tomfoolery.”

The Seven followed a map that Daedalus gave them. The caves were a bit of a trek away from the docks, deeper inland in Illios than the Ettin caves were. Soon, they all came upon the caves Cadmus had disappeared into.

Barklementizov took a deep breath. He hesitated outside the cave. “Here we go…” he murmured.

Owen tilted their head. They hadn’t heard him so… apprehensive? Tired? Emotions are hard to name. “What’s up?”

“I’m just tired of all the caves, don’t worry about me,” Barkle assured Owen.

Owen frowned. They absolutely will worry about him. They went in, and everyone else followed them. Their antennae lit the way.

The caves were teeming with shade remnants of Cadmus’s legion. Jane whistled in shock. “Well ain’t this the sorriest cave I’ve ever seen?”

“Not as sorry as those undead,” Wild Bill remarked.

“Right… let me,” Owen offered. They held their scythe at the ready and approached the legion. They gently touched the shoulders of every spirit they could with their scythe’s blade. “I spare you all from this cave. Move on. Be free, gentle souls…” The shades dissolved into nothingness. Owen sighed heavily.

“Dang, you make it look easy,” Billy quipped. They really didn’t, Billy could see the emotion mounting on their shoulders, but he wanted to help them feel calm and confident. “How’d ya even learn that magic?”

“Oh, uh, Thanatos is my uncle,” Owen explained. Their own shoulders relaxed. Billy was always lighthearted about everything, wasn’t he? “He had a water allergy, so he made me a reaper to help out in Celestia.”

Billy laughed. “A water allergy? I’m not even gonna begin to ask how that works.” 

Owen couldn’t help but laugh along with Billy. The idea of a water allergy was quite silly, now that Owen thought about it out of context. They smiled.

“I see Cadmus’s spirit around the bend,” Barklementizov butted in. He pointed the way with his wing.

“Great. Lead the way,” Owen invited.

Barkle led the rest of the Seven around the bend. The light from Owen’s antennae filled the chamber. Cadmus’s spirit stood, shield and spear at the ready. He glowered at the Seven.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to reap him as easily as the others,” Owen worried.

“We’ll keep his attention on us,” Duck offered. He drew his pistol and shot at Cadmus.

The shade turned his head to Duck. His red eyes glowed with hatred.

Duck glanced at the others. “What’s with the holdup? We’ve got a spirit to pester.”

The Magnificent Seven fanned out into a line, Duck in the center, Wild Bill, Jane, and Owen to his right, which left Buffalo Bill, Billy, and Barkle to his left. The five musketeers shot at Cadmus, trying to get his attention with the damage and the brightness of their shots. Barkle and Owen ran towards Cadmus, flanking him. 

“CADMUS! OVER HERE!” Barkle shouted. It felt weird for Barkle to shout in combat, but it was his best way to serve as a distraction since he couldn’t fire a gun himself.

Owen silently rushed to Cadmus as his head was turned and his focus was shattered. They slashed through his shadowy form. He vanished into mist and nothingness. A necklace dropped from where he stood.

“We’ve got the Aegis now,” Jane said. She picked it up. “Typhon, here we come!”

~

They sailed to Achaea and climbed the peaks to Typhon’s lair. It was the dead of night by now. Only by the peachy light from Owen’s antennae and the reflection off of Barkle’s silver eyes could the Seven navigate through the wilds.

If Owen had a nickel for every undead-filled cave they had to venture into in the past four hours, they would have two nickels, which wasn’t a lot, but it was concerning that it happened twice now.

“Mercy!” Buffalo Bill gasped as he saw the undead. He brought his free hand to his heart. “It’s Miranda all over again!”

“Typhon’s victims…” Owen realized.

“So many people sacrificed…” Barkle lamented.

“We’ve come this far,” Duck said.  “Let’s get this job done. Owen, can you do the honors?”

“Of course.” Owen stepped forward and reaped all of the souls they could. They were starting to grow tired. They couldn’t tell if the exhaustion was all emotional, or if the day was dragging on too long for them.

Owen shook themself out. They had to stay strong. It was nearly the end of the quest now. They could feel it. “We’re coming for you, Typhon!” they declared.

Typhon’s growls echoed off the walls of the caves.

“Ooh, he’s cranky!” Billy jeered.

“He’s almost as bad as Buffalo in the mornings,” Jane joked.

“Hey,” Buffalo Bill said.

“Come on! This way!” Barkle said, following the echoes of Typhon’s roars.

“Wait up!” Wild Bill called.

The Seven ran down the twisting caves to Typhon. The great serpent, father of all Aquilan monsters, with blood as hot as the Titans running in his veins. Typhon rose upright. He stared down the group: six mortals, and one child in Thanatos’s gear. “Child of Thanatos,” he hissed, focusing his gaze on Owen, “your interference is futile. This band of Aquila’s champions will die by my fires, not by your scythe.”

“Nobody is dying here,” Jane insisted.

“Nobody besides you, that is!” Billy shouted.

“Now hold still, Typhon, and this won’t hurt a bit,” Duck promised.

Typhon unsheathed his swords and unhinged his jaw. Fire gathered in his maw, bright and boiling.

“HUDDLE UP!” Jane shouted. The Magnificent Seven huddled together.

Typhon spat fire at the mortals. His fires bent around them. Damned Aegis, protecting them from his flames! He had other weapons at his disposal, at least. He slithered towards them at breakneck speeds.

“OH NO YOU DON’T!” Wild Bill shouted. He took some quick shots at Typhon, leaning to the side to not hit any of his friends.

Typhon raised his swords and slashed at the group. Buffalo Bill blocked one strike with his musket. He shoved the sword off to the side and rammed his bayonet into Typhon’s arm. The second strike cut into Billy’s arm.  Owen raised their scythe and hooked Typhon’s second arm down.

Typhon pulled his arm free from the scythe, but the pain kept eating into him.

“Now!” Duck called.

The Magnificent Seven tore into Typhon. Owen’s scythe, knife, and pistol. Duck’s revolver. Billy’s twin sparklocks. Jane’s musket. Buffalo Bill’s bayonet. Wild Bill’s rifle. Barklementizov’s magic.

Typhon was relentless, but the Seven overwhelmed him with their attacks. Mortal as they all were, they still chipped into him until eventually, he flinched away, unable to bear all the pain. “I yield! Damn you all!” he hissed.

Owen brought their scythe to Typhon’s shoulder. The blade curved around and behind his neck. “I’m gonna make one simple demand. Vow you’ll not take another sacrifice. Aquilans are rude jerks, but none of them deserve to die for your hunger or for Aquila’s ego.”

“FINE!” Typhon spat. “I swear upon the Gods I won’t take another sacrifice from their Contest of Champions.” He slithered out from Owen’s scythe and curled up into a disappointed coil. “Now get out of here, before I decide to kill you all for being here.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Billy teased.

“He would,” Wild Bill warned. “We should leave while we have the chance.”

The Magnificent Seven left Typhon’s cave and slowly trekked their way back to the Silver Moth. The sun began to rise, peachy pink above the Achean mountain range.

~

Ondeck, Owen asked the rest of the Seven, “Should we tell Pindar what we’ve done, or go to sleep?” 

“Eh, fuck Pindar,” Billy said.

“That Contest was-” koff- “bothersome, tiresome, and tedious. I will take any excuse to be done with it,” Duck admitted. 

“But, we did so much for it,” Owen said. They were confused. “Shouldn’t we get credit?”

“We don’t need their credit,” Barklementizov said. “It’s no use bending over backwards to gain the approval of people who try so hard to kick you down.”

“Wait, did y’all… not want to do the Contest?” Owen asked.

“We wanted to do it to salvage our own prides, but I think we all got something more important out of it,” Jane said. “I promise, it wasn’t a waste. We’re just tired.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pass out for sixteen hours,” Buffalo Bill said. As he went down to his cabin belowdeck, he raised a peace sign up. “Goodnight. Love y’all.”

[apple-talk]

Day Nineteen, Magnificent Seven

Pittyober Day 19- Magnificent Seven/Life

Erin never wanted to wear Wyatt Chirp’s old deputy badge to begin with. She had hidden silently in the shadowy dust-infested corner of the old Chirp place and waited for the seven- or the six she supposed. She waited patiently for them to hash out whatever issues had arisen between them, she didn’t know all of the details, but from what she had managed to pick up was that some of the group blamed Duck Holliday for Wyatt’s untimely demise. She had managed to decipher through all the shouting between the buffalo, goat, and the few defensive words from the duck that Holliday had lost his peacemakers, the same ones that had killed Wyatt, in a bet which led to the, landing in the hands of Old Man Bronco. The same damn horse they had to face now so Erin could get access to the damned haunted skyway to get the piece of the damned map to El Dorado. She never wanted this golden star deputy badge engraved with the name of a dead man, to begin with. She thought it was in poor taste for anyone to wear it, let alone her.

She had hardly noticed the remaining members of the Magnificent Seven collecting their badges from the old wooden box on the desk. She vaguely heard them talking about who the seventh badge should go to; the seven wouldn't be “The Magnificent Seven” as a group of six after all. Would that make them the Magnificent Six? Erin snorted absentmindedly at her own horrible attempt at humor, she was running on only mere minutes of sleep. She shifted her weight on her feet, blinking away dreariness from her eyes as she leaned against the wall. She yawned, raising a hand to her mouth silently before she noticed the gaze of all the members of the Magnificent Six had landed on her. She straightened her posture giving them all a strange look, an awkward silence settling over the room.

Holliday cleared his throat, but it turned into a harsh koff, “Miss Devereaux, you will be our seventh.” The rest looked at her expectantly, this was seemingly the first thing they had all been able to come to a firm agreement on. So who was she to argue with the grand Magnificent Six?

Erin looked at the hopeful look on the faces of the six and huffed, holding her hand out for the golden star-shaped badge of a dead man. A dead man she knew they had already compared her to, she saw it in all of their eyes with every movement she made. She knew they compared her to him, they were a part of the same anomaly after all; both were part of the very few within this ever-turning Spiral that harbored no magical energy at all. Magic connected every living thing in the Spiral, just not them. But she hated the looks they gave her, ones of recognition and mourning; they looked at her like she was him. She hated it. But she took the badge of a dead man, she accepted the way they all looked at her. No one said she had to wear it where it was visible though, so she hid it in the interior of her coat.

When the battle with Old Man Bronco came the stakes were higher than she had anticipated. She didn’t have her crew with her, instead, she was surrounded by the members of the Magnificent Six. They all had looked at her as their impromptu leader, and Erin knew the reason why, but she had no choice but to begrudgingly accept it. This was a life of death situation, and they had to save the young Timmy, there was no time to think about petty issues now. 

The fight was intense, so much so that Erin lost herself in the fight. She was so used to having Helena as her lookout that without her it felt almost wrong. More and more hits were landing on her, but she was fine. She was Erin Devereaux, Captain of the Queens Vagabond, how would she fail? Maybe if she had been paying more attention, maybe if she had been paying attention to the sudden opening on Holliday’s six she could have been able to call out to him. But she got cocky, so she missed it, only catching his error at the last second. She only had a split second to act, so she made a choice: she wasn't a member of the Magnificent Seven, they were only the Magnificent Six now. She lunged for Old Man Bronco as he pulled the trigger on his Peacemaker pistol, the shot rang in her ears as she tackled him to the ground. She felt a strange pain in her chest, she could hardly breathe. The shot had hit her, not Holliday. At least the six wouldn't be reduced to the Magnificent Five. 

The old stallion laughed as he heard the cries of the other six, the cries of little Timmy. Her chest ached even more than it was for the little boy, Erin knew better than anyone how violence such as this could affect someone as young as he. Old Man Bronco planted his booted foot on her chest as she tried to inch away from him. “Now you’re going to learn what happened to heroes, just like Wyatt did.”

Erin had enough, she would stand for the Magnificent Six seeing her as their deceased friend, but not this man. Not the man who murdered Wyatt Chirp in cold blood. Her hand darted for her rapier, her adrenaline must have been dulling her pain, it wasn't hurting as bad as the shot should have. When he stepped over her writhing form, flaunting her state to the other six she shakily made it to her feet before plunging her rapier through Old Man Bronco’s chest. His corpse limply fell off the metal edge and fell to the stone flooring of the old jail with an unpleasant sound. 

Her rapier fell to the ground with a metallic clatter from her shaking hands as she crumpled to the floor. She expected the waves of pain to crash over her at any minute, like an angry ocean onto the shore. Duck Holliday knelt beside her, he made it to her first, he was the original target after all, but the rest of the six were right behind him. He was frantic with his movements, his words cut off by a harsh koff. She raised a hand for him to stop, but a frown formed on his bill.

“Miss Devereaux, you’ve been koff koff, you’ve been shot,” he ranted. She didnt pay attention to the next few words out of his mouth. Her heart had managed to somewhat calm itself, her breathing had evened out, and sure her chest was aching, but it wasn't in pain. She raised a hand to her chest and hesitantly undid the first few buttons. Her hand raised to her chest, where blood should have been, only for it to come away semi-dry, with only a few small drops on her fingers. Her brow furrowed as Holliday continued to rant. A small tink sounded in the old jail, and Erin hastily unpinned the dead man's badge from the inside of her coat. She looked it over and couldn't help but smile; the small badge had taken the shot for her. 

She held the ruined golden star up for Duck and the others to see, “Duck, I’m fine,” she assured him gently. She frowned slightly, “Sorry, I kind of ruined Wyatt’s badge. I know how much he meant to you…to all of you.”

Jane managed a laugh despite the predicament, “Darlin’, it's your badge now, not his.”

“We made you one of us, koff remember?”

Maybe they were still the Magnificent Seven after all.

[nicoliine]

The day you noticed Lucifer was using his wings to court you.

☆彡 In birds, there is a great variety of nuptial displays at the time of courtship, especially in species that have melodious songs or show very striking plumage.

Little did you know, this would include angels or the king of hell himself.

 

☆ English isn't my first language. Sorry in advance.

☆ The reader is g/n; no pronouns or y/n are used.

 

You were always fond of birds, and you dedicated much of your life to helping preserve endangered species. You studied them, spent countless hours learning about the hundreds of species, a lot of diets and their behaviors.

This didn’t seem to stop once you found yourself in Hell; in fact, once you discovered there were a bunch of sinners with bird-like features, you just seemed content to be there.

When you arrived at the Hazbin hotel, you claimed one of the spare rooms as your personal studio, and after what you have called "the toughest battle in your life," you convinced Alastor to let you have a camera "as long as you never get that frivolous technology box near me."

Husk had to ask you not so politely to stop when you first met. Before you could even take his hand, you had started to ask questions about their wings; sometimes you even wrote on an oh-so-worn notebook of yours; it became a common topic of discussion between the two of you. When you forget he has work to do and start to take multiple pictures of his wings and even try to take one of his wings when he is not looking, Angel starts to think that your bartender friend is about to lose it, and you will end with a scratch or two.

 

Besides that, one could say that your presence in the hotel was appreciated; you could be found watching some funny shows on TV with Angel and never saying no to Vaggie when she asked for a favor. Soon, you started to feel part of the hotel, and the rest of the staff agreed with that.

 ☆◦ •◦☆

Lucifer was nothing like any man you had met in life or hell; he was, to put it simply, an awkward guy, always so silly yet so elegant. He had managed to get you longing for his presence more often than you would like to admit.

You are not sure how you and Lucifer became friends, but having a shared interest in ducks seemed to help. You gave him all kinds of facts about them, and he would step by your room every so often to show you the new rubber duck he was working on. Not that you're complaining, but one of his ducks set your courtains on fire on an occasion.

Charlie says that she is proud of his "social advances,” as she used to call your interactions. Seeing him out of his office more often and having an actual conversation with someone seems to make the princess happy and less worried about her father, and if that someone turns out to be you, it is so much better!

  ☆◦ •◦☆

The first time you noticed this weird behavior of his was the day you two met. You couldn’t help but mention, after his bickering with Alastor over who was Charlie’s father figure, that you found his wings precious. Lucifer, being the prideful man he is, wasted no time on extending his wings only for your delight, a smirk on his face as he saw your eyes wide admiring that part of him; they were so magnificent, you could swear they were shining in the light of the room, and you'd die to see if the feathers were as soft as they seemed.

 

Just a simple touch, please.

 

Before returning his wings to their place, there was a flutter of his wings, so slow that there was no way someone could notice.

But you weren't just someone; you knew it. What a coincidence! You could recap an article about some birds courtship.

The second time you saw it, you were in your room minding your own business. He came to you with a smile, but your eyes were looking past him, his wings on full display as he greeted you. There, his wings started flutter again, now lasting more than the last time. Now there is no way it was just a coincidence. “My eyes are up here, darling,” he said, that smirk on his face turning into a pout as you were not paying him enough attention. You just shake your head, focus on the man before you, returning your full attention to him, and the pout on his lips dissapears immediately as your eyes are on him.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

You are getting crazy; every time you get a glimpse of him, you find his wings moving in an oh-so-familiar way that you could swear it was a courtship dance, every time bolder than before.

That is when you decided to confront him, getting just a chuckle from him. It made you think maybe it was just your imagination, and you finally lost your mind.

 

While sitting on the hotel balcony, Lucifer was telling you one of his ideas for this new rubber duck. He said it would be the best one he would work on so far, even though you doubted that. Then you stopped listening, your eyes fixated on his wings. Every time he looked at you, they would flutter not so subtly, distracting you from everything around you. Your head rested on your palm, almost feeling bad for not listening to his rambling.

 

"Luci, you're courting me." It was supposed to be a question, but by the way the king of hell stopped his rambling and, looking at you with wide eyes, you found that maybe it was not.

"And what would make you think that?" He said mocking you, he also rested his head in one of their hands.

 

"Your wings, the way you move them," you pointed to his wings; they stopped his movements when you mentioned it; he just chuckled, then started to laugh. Was he laughing at you? It made you want to hide yourself from him; was it your imagination? No way.

 

"So you finally notice," he then said. Once his laugh was gone, he adjusted himself on his seat. Now, with both of his hands holding his face and looking at you with a smirk, his wings started to flutter once more. "I thought it would take you less time, may I be honest"

 

"Actually, I noticed it long ago; I thought it was just my—" You felt the air leaving your lungs once he got on his feet and moved closer to you. "...Just my imagination." You were not strange to his proximity, but this time he just looked so imponent, wings on full display and fluttering around. Now it was definitely a courtship dance, and you were on the receiving end.

 

"Now, what do you think?" He hovered over you who still sitting, a hand resting on the back of your seat, taking one of your hands on his and kissing your knuckles. The kiss lasted longer than you thought was the average time for one, and even then he didn’t let go of your hand. "Was my dance enough to impress you, darling?" Now, looking into his eyes, you could only see adoration, awaiting your response.

 

You couldn't speak; you can't imagine the king of hell pulling up something like this for you.

 

"My dear, please talk to me," he pleaded, a sigh leaving his lips as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his warm breath in your skin, burning like hellfire.

 

"It was," you said, Lucifer now turning his face to look at you. You took his face in your hands and moved him closer, he gave you an inquisitive look but with no intention to move from your touch. "I should have mentioned it earlier; it was quite impressive." You smiled, and he did the same.

 

Now, how long you two kissed, you also don't remember; what you remember, however, is how he held you against him as if you were just about to disappear right then, and that when you finally got to touch his wings, you were proved wrong.

His feathers were much softer than you have imagined.

This idea came to me yesterday when my dad showed me a reel of a lady bird who epically ignored the male who was dancing to her, I felt so bad and immediately thought about Lucifer.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated 💞

[destiny-moonforge]

my entry for a spooky spiral contest on twitter!

[luveline]

Heyyyy can you do a Hotch x reader where readers just kinda been down all day but doesn’t wanna tell Hotch because she’s kinda used to being the badass with all her walls up? And hotch kinda pulls her to the side and forces it out of her 😊😊

thank you for requesting!! fem, 1.2k

Hotch has dark hair. He’s an older guy but he’s yet to grey, hair like the strands are soaked with coal pitch, even darker under the office lights. He braces his hand on the desk and ducks toward Spencer’s computer screen, pointing at a corner with patience. 

“This one,” Hotch says. 

“Why would they organise it like this?” Spencer asks, his voice bordering incredulous. 

“I’m not sure. You’ll remember where this is?” 

“Do you usually have to tell me more than once?” Spencer says lightly. 

“Ask your licence to carry.” 

You’d laugh, his wit quick and poor Spencer a good sport, but your head feels heavy with a forming upset. Like your mind has turned to thick porridge. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but you don’t feel angry, more magnificently empty. Nothing is touching beyond your surface level. 

“Thank you, sir,” Spencer says. 

You ignore the weight of a gaze on you while you click through your emails, prioritising what needs to be answered before the end of the day, the end of the week, and the end of the month as Hotch taught you to. You double click an email chain from a consult you’d been assigned from out of state and reread your response, nervous that your lack of confidence today might have shone through blunt wording. Hotch is looped into the chain —he can correct any glaring errors should you have made them. 

“Hey,” Hotch says when you don’t look up. He doesn’t use your name, and he doesn’t need to. “I’d like to talk to you. Let’s go up to my office.” 

“Can I have a half hour to work through my emails?” you ask apologetically.

“I’d prefer we talk now. Any overdue reply can be blamed on me,” he says. 

The way he talks is natural to him but perhaps strange if it were another person, with another disposition. You know Hotch to be both gentle and stern at once. His tone leaves little room for debate, but it reassures you to hear the measured cadence of each word without rush. The openness of his expression is similarly comforting, and though he doesn’t know it —you would never own up to feeling this way, verbally or physically— you’d quite like to be comforted by him. Even if he takes you to the office to reprimand you, you’ll at least have been near him for long enough to forget your odd aching. 

Hotch doesn’t walk until you do, taking each step by side until he gets to the office, where he opens the door to encourage you in. 

You drift a few feet inward, shoes soft on clean, crisp carpeting. Hotch closes the door, where he stands momentarily, silence held.

“Everything okay?” you ask. 

Hotch pulls out one of the two black chairs in front of his desk and gestures for you to sit. “Everything’s okay,” he says, standing back to give you space to sit, his hand moving to rest on the back of the chair as you sit. It whines as you shift to see him. “With me, everything’s okay. How about you?” 

“Everything’s fine with me.” 

You’d pad your explanation out if you didn’t think he was about to tell you what you’re in the brig for. No one likes a nervous Nelly. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

You glance at his hand behind you and he moves it swiftly. “Hotch?” you ask tentatively. 

“I’ve noticed you aren’t yourself today.” 

“I’m completely myself.” 

“It’s not like you to stare into space.” He frowns. “I want to sit down because I don’t like towering over you, but I don’t want you to internalise this as a meeting.” 

“You’re not towering over me, Hotch.

His frown doesn’t ebb. “…We each have our own unique levy to carry the weight of, I know that. But it’s not… nice, to see you like this. I’d like to know what’s wrong.” 

Again, no nonsense and reassuring at once. 

Maybe he is towering a little. You avert your gaze from his, feeling uncharacteristically meek for a weak moment. 

“I think I woke up mixed up,” you confess eventually, picking at a stray thread on your skirt until the tips of your fingers burn. “Like, nothing happened to upset me, but I…” 

“You do feel upset.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“You’re not sure why?” 

“Not really. I think that–” You lick your lips nervously, not finding the right words, wanting to be vulnerable and simultaneously reluctant to show him anything he might not like. “I think it’s lots of smaller things and they’re layering on top of each other. Do you get that?” 

“All the time. Though usually my way of dealing with it is less pleasant for others.” He looks down at you steadily. “And yours,” —he aims enough fondness at you to stop your heart— “is self-contained. But I don't want you to think you’re walking through life unseen.” 

“Unseen,” you repeat. 

He stands very still. “Can I touch your face?” he asks quietly. 

You don’t know why he’d ask, but you say, “Yes, please.” 

“Please,” he says. You’re repeating each other. The air in the room feels thicker as he lifts his hand to your cheek and cups it gently. “When you’re upset, I notice. I can’t help but notice.” Your face lists into his palm slowly, worried he’ll move, but he holds you and he watches you with care. “Is there anything I can do to make it all feel better?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “No?” 

You close your eyes. “No,” you say, matching his volume. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he murmurs. 

“Sorry, I’m okay,” you say, asking yourself to move away from his touch, but unable to force it, “I’m gonna…” 

It’s a boundary crossed, but you and Hotch are good at that. He’s constantly treating you with more sweetness than a boss should show toward his employee, and you eat it up despite every instinct in you that says you shouldn’t. So you won’t tell him you’ve had a bad day until he asks, and even then, you have nothing permanent to offer him for fixing, and still he’ll hold your face and make it feel ordinary. Like he’s touched you a hundred times, something about it feels right, and real. Your cheek feels softer under his tracing thumb. You could fall asleep in his hands. 

“How can I make you feel better?” he asks again. 

“It’s not that bad.” 

“But what can I do?” 

You want to ask for a hug, but even the idea of it is too much to think about. Miss Independent admitting she needs more than this? When it’s already more than you should have? 

Profilers profile, and somehow you give yourself away. 

“Come on,” he says softly. 

He hugs you. His hand falls from your face to your shoulder, wrapping behind it, encompassing you in a strong arm as he bends down to embrace you fully. 

“I wish you’d ask for more,” he says, his free arm slinking between your arm and side, hand to your back, encouraging you to hug him back. 

You don’t know what to do with your arms. Each movement feels stilted, but Hotch makes up for it. He hugs you without inhibition, like he’s wanted to do it for a long, long time. 

[mrskokushibo]

Lead us not into Temptation

Kokushibo x nun!reader

Warnings: Sex, Smut, MDNI, NSFW, strictly 18+

Summary: A young nun struggles with her carnal desires, and in the midst of that, she gets corrupted by a hot demon.

Masterlist

…And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and, the power, and the glory, forever. Amen. (Matthew 6:11-13; King James Version (KJV) of the Bible).

This was the fifth consecutive night that you were kneeling alone at night in the convent’s empty chapel, saying the Lord’s Prayer repeatedly. Your thoughts were, to say the least, impure, and this was the penance that the friendly old priest administered you in the daily confession. With autumn at the threshold and the harvest over and done with, there was much less physical work for the nuns. Autumn and winter were the time for prayer and withdrawal. A time to give the tired physical body rest after the intense labour of spring and summer. The convent’s gardens and orchard were breaming with fruit and vegetables, the bee hives full of honey, and the poultry barns overrun with chickens, geese, and ducks. Everything was now harvested, prepared, and stored for winter. Enough food to provide for both the convent’s needs as well as to help the impoverished families in the nearby settlement.

But your body was as fertile and ripe as the gardens in summer, and rest was not what it seemed to crave… You often wondered what it would be like to belong to a man. Your family could not afford the dowry, and there were only two choices for you: the brothel or the convent. When the latter was chosen, you knew you would never experience a man’s love. The former option, however, would have only given you a corrupted and twisted mockery of such love.

When you first stepped over the worn-out stone threshold of the large, grey medieval building, you felt apprehensive, to say the least. One look at the large crucifix, the only thing adorning the spacious vestibule, and the worry of a lonely and cold life were gripping you as tight as a vice. With time, you learned how wrong you were about life here. The nuns were warm and kind and since this was not one of the strictest orders, you were allowed to venture out to the village bringing food and medical aid to the inhabitants, who in turn treated you all as if you were angels. This was not a bad life. You enjoyed the gardens, and your favourite chore was tending to the animals.

At last, you finished your fiftieth Lord’s Prayer and slowly stood up, straightened your black nun’s habit, and readied yourself to walk back to your cell. The shortest way was to walk through the glorious sacred garden in the courtyard adjacent to the chapel. The cells were situated in the cloister, the open gallery walk that wrapped around the courtyard. The garden was magnificent in autumn, with leaves turning all shades of fire and sun.

As you stepped on the gravel pathway, you stopped in your tracks. There, in the corner near the large acacia, was a tall figure, judging by the broad shoulders, a male. You realised this could have not been any of the priests as they did not stay at the convent at night, but also, none of them was this tall… Apprehensive at first, you cautiously decided to approach him, your natural curiosity was always stronger than fear. As you were getting close, suddenly three pairs of eyes stared at you. They were red with golden pupils. Was this a dream? Who was this?

‘Who are you…?’ You spoke with a slightly hitched voice, but before you managed to finish your sentence, he was gone.

You stood for a while as petrified but then hurried to your cell. It was a sparse room, big enough for a simple bed, a closet for your habits, and any other garments you needed. There was also a desk, a chair, and several candlelights, which you requested, especially since you were an avid reader and writer, and the convent’s library had a wealth of approved literature.

After finishing your bedtime routine and saying your prayers, you crawled into bed, the last thought occupying your mind being the strange sight you encountered in the garden.

Without the candles being lit, your room was pitch black. You could barely make out the contours of your furniture. Suddenly, you heard a quiet rustle next to the foot of your bed…and then six burning eyes appeared out of the dark. A large hand started caressing your thigh and moving up toward your groin, a sudden light kiss on your lips, and a hand stroking your cheek and neck. You almost flew up, but the same strong, large hand pinned you down in place.

‘Shhhh, someone will hear you.’

A deep, masculine voice came from the direction of the eyes. You were speechless, this was surely a dream and well…you were curious as to what would happen next… A hand was now massaging you between your legs, not moving in under the cloth of your undergarment yet, but this was enough for your juices to slowly overflow. You moaned quietly, and this was encouragement enough for the male to slide his fingers under the cloth. As he was spreading your slick-covered folds, your pleasure was slowly taking over you. He was rubbing you up and down between your labia, not even yet touching your clitoris, a long finger slowly tracing circles around your opening and another prying its way inside you…

‘Father, forgive me for I have sinned.’

You touched yourself so many times before, but this was so entirely different. The anticipation of where his touch was to land next was the difference between a deliberate move of your own fingers. This was indescribable. You were trying not to moan too loud, but staying quiet was not an easy feat. When his touch finally reached your erect little bud, you were close to bursting. It did not take him long to push you to your orgasm and as you climaxed, you released your juices all over his hand. The next moment, you woke up, still riding out your orgasm. You were completely soaked between your legs from all the cum you squirted out. Sunlight was peering into the room through the narrow window, it was most obviously morning. You were in bliss, but also shaking your head at the dream that left you in this state. Because… this surely must have been a dream… This would be an interesting confession…

*****

The old, kind priest sighed as you uttered the routine phrase.

‘Is it the same… as usual, dear child?’

‘Yes, father, but this time it felt like someone … did things to me. I was not touching myself at all. Well, it was a dream, actually. But it evoked an indecent response from me… The thing that did trouble me, was that even though that someone was human, at the same time, he did not seem to be. He had six eyes and had a demonic aura about him.’

The priest sighed again and shook his head.

‘Look, dear child, what you are experiencing is normal for someone young. Believe me, we all had such thoughts in our youth. Just try and work on changing the focus of them. As for the form of your assailant, well, do not dwell on that too much. I am sure it is not possession or anything unholy like that. The human brain is blessed with the capacity to imagine, so do not dwell.’

He paused and smiled a little to himself.

‘You know, you are a good kid, the villagers adore you for your kindness and help. I am sure the Lord will overlook your recent troubles with yourself.’

With that, he drew the sign of the cross in the air in front of him and said the prayer of absolution:

‘(…) I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’

The week that followed was a blur. For every day that went, your focus on daily chores and routines was diminishing as the wet dreams were increasing in length and intensity. Your thoughts were preoccupied with…him. The six eyes were etched in your mind like an unholy vision. Every night spent in the chapel on your penance prayers was wearing you out and making you more and more susceptible to daydreaming of being ravaged by the male. You were imagining what he looked like, what his manhood would feel inside you…Every time you were dismissing these thoughts in a futile attempt to regain some sanity, they were hitting you twice as hard as soon as you lost your slightest focus. It was all a dream you were telling yourself…

It was a particularly dark night when you ventured back into the empty chapel after the Sunday evening mass. A part of the penance was to tidy up and blow out the candles, leaving you with only a couple lit at the altar near the main nave, where you usually knelt to say your prayers. At this point, you started to feel like maybe an exorcist would be your best option.

Your obsession with carnal pleasure and that demon or whoever that was that invaded your thoughts was becoming unbearable. No matter how many wet dreams, how much you touched yourself, and how much you repented and tried to push these thoughts away, your senses seemed to not even come close to being satiated. You knelt in resignation, the burning sensation between your thighs as intense as ever, wetness pooling between your legs at the only thought that was occupying your mind.

‘… and lead us not into temptation…’

but the temptation was only getting stronger. At that moment, you sensed a presence behind you. The already dark, sombre space suddenly grew darker. You turned around only to see the six ferocious eyes staring down at you. But this time, you finally got a chance to see their owner. You gasped at the sight. The demonic eyes and strange red marks on his face and neck aside, he had a fully human form. A tall, solid-built male with a huge mane of thick red-black hair. He wore an outfit whose origin you did not recognise, but it did do his figure justice. Apparently, he was a warrior of some kind as there was a foreign-looking sword at his side.

‘Greetings, holy woman’ his polite words were laced with scorn.

‘Greetings’ you managed to stammer in reply.

He was foreign-looking. How could he speak your language? He could apparently read your thoughts as he indulged your curiosity:

‘I am an ancient demon, and human language is a mere trifle to me.’

A demon, so your fears were confirmed… How did this happen? Did you somehow manage to summon him?

‘You did not summon me, you foolish girl. I roam this earth, and when I stumble upon something that appeals to me, I merely claim it as mine.’

His self-indulgent speech was making you nervous but also weak at the knees from anticipation.

‘The dreams when I touched you were not dreams at all, I was there with you, and I already savoured your sweet juices. I could have ravaged you many times over, but you humans are a special kind. Playing hard-to-get and pretending to be pious and oh so holy. But deep inside of you all dwells a beast so ferocious that it makes us demons seem like angels at times. But now, it is time you give in to me and to the beast inside you. I will fuck you right here, for your Lord to see. And he will watch while you begin to serve a new Master.’

His deep, melodic voice was sending shivers down your spine. It resounded perfectly in the solemn space of the empty chapel. His lewd words gave this medieval temple more justice than any sermon you ever heard…

You stood up in the last and futile act of defiance, but in that instant, you were pushed by the large male toward the nearest wall. His large frame dominated you and pressed you into the hard stone of the wall behind you, making you almost breathless.

‘Look at you, so beautiful and innocent. A flower ready for picking’ he was talking in a hushed, slow tone.

‘I bet you will not be as innocent once I show you what real pleasure feels like.’

His handsome face was now adorned by a smile, a vicious one at that, as the thought of corrupting this holy servant of a God so many worshipped, was making him crazy with lust. It was his work as a demon, to kill, enslave, turn people into demons, and corrupt women into the deepest abyss of carnal yearning. He enjoyed this, the power of it, as centuries went by and his strength grew, so did his desire for more conquers.

His hands were slowly starting to take possession of your body, gently, but deliberately caressing your face, neck, bottom, and breasts. He lowered his head and kissed your lips with the lightness of a falling rose petal. He kept on kissing like this down your neck and then back up to your lips again. This time, the kiss claimed more of your lips, and his tongue slowly snaked its way into your mouth.

Your mouth welcomed him greedily, and soon you were intertwined in a passionate kiss. He held your head in his large hands while kissing you, and when he let go, he helped you remove your clothes and went down on his knees before you. He cupped one of your breasts with one large hand and started spreading your swollen, slick-covered folds with the long, calloused fingers of the other. You were now so familiar with this from all the wet dreams that were not dreams at all. The coil in your belly was tightening slowly, and you were starting to edge when he moved to rubbing circles around and on your blood-filled clitoris.

He then leaned into your sex, blowing soft kisses on the outside of your pussy. His tongue started darting over your clit, flicking it lightly, eliciting even more moans from you. The warmth in your belly was turning into burning heat. You felt like soon you would be losing all control over yourself but before that happened, there was something you wanted to know. Without asking him directly about his identity you posed a more indirect question.

‘Don’t you want to know my name?’ You moaned.

‘I already do, y/n. And my name is Kokushibo. Remember it well because after tonight, it will be the only name you will need to repeat in your prayers.’

With that, he stood up again, and you automatically wrapped your legs around his strong hips. He was now carrying you in the direction of the altar, and soon enough, you were shamelessly splayed on top of it. Not lifting his burning gaze from your naked form, he started removing his own clothes, leaving you to admire what was slowly being unveiled to your vision.

If it wasn’t for the scars that covered his entire torso and arms, he might just as well have been a statue that came to life. His body was as if carved of stone, with skin deliciously stretched over the defined muscles. As he removed the last clothes covering his body, a black, skirt-like garment tied with ridiculously long belts, you could now admire his manhood in its full glory. It was already erect, huge, straight, and veiny with a bright red tip.

At this point, there was not a clear thought in your head, your lust fogging up whatever reason and decency that was left. All you wanted was him inside you. The tingling in your belly was increasing as if a swarm of butterflies was attempting to find a way out of your insides. Your craving was that of a beast, your inner muscles spasming and clenching on air, slick pooling out of your cunt, all in expectation of him finally granting you the fullness you so much lusted for.

And you did not have to wait very long because as if in response to your body’s call, he grabbed you by the hips and slid you closer to his rough ones. His cock was now perfectly aligned with your entrance and he slowly started pushing into your clenching walls. The sensation of being filled up like this was making you delirious with pleasure. Every inch he gained was adding more and more to your already peaking arousal. At last, he bottomed out, but before starting to move, he stretched out his arm and grabbed your chin with his large hand, tilting your head so that you could look at the crucifix above the altar. His lips were contorted in a frown, he was baring his fangs.

‘He is looking at you. And now, I want you to tell him who is your new Master. Say it.’

With that, he started slowly thrusting into you. You were moaning, but his grip on your chin did not lessen.

‘Say it!’

‘Lord Kokushibo is my new Master, my only Lord.’

You moaned out, your breath getting heavy. Satisfied, he let go and increased the force and pace of his thrusts. It was as if time had stopped, and there was only now you and him, in this sacred space, performing this unholy sacrament. Your juices mixed, your bodies intertwined. Every spot inside you was stimulated. You could feel the veiny texture of his dick rubbing back and forth on your plush and swollen walls. If this was a sin, then you for sure belonged in hell. Because this was something you no longer could live without. And when your body finally reached the limits of what it could take before being plunged over the edge and into the eruption of your orgasm, you knew that this demon would be your bane. You were indeed possessed.

As you were riding out your climax, he kept on pumping into you with unchanged force. It was now his turn to grant himself a release. He pulled you closer to him, changing the angle slightly so that his rough hips were even closer to you. The sound of flesh smacking flesh, the wet squelching of his cock pumping in and out of your pussy, and your lewd moans echoed through the sacred building. His eyes were closed and his head thrown back, a glorious fallen angel with a halo of black hair with red tips that in the dim light of candles made it look as if he was emerging out of the fires of hell. His thrusts were not losing any of their strength or speed as you started to feel another orgasm approaching.

‘Kokushibo, my Lord, I am…. going… to come again’ you managed to moan out in your hazy state.

He opened his eyes and looked straight at you with a dark, lust-filled gaze.

‘Then I want you to say my name when you do and tell your old God who your new one is.’

He said with a vicious smirk while increasing the pace and strength of his actions. Every thrust was sending you closer to your climax, and when it was time for you to come again, you moaned out loudly

‘My Lord Kokushibo… you are… the only God… for me now’

And with that, you climaxed, and your consciousness started to blur.

He leaned over you now, small droplets of sweat running down his chest, making his skin glisten in the dull, warm light. His breath was very heavy, and his thrusts were getting sloppy. ‘I am close now’ he hissed through gritted teeth ‘I will fill you up with my demon seed, and from now on, you will forever be parched for it.’ With a final powerful thrust, he climaxed and emptied himself inside you, riding out his high with a few slower thrusts at the end. You were so overfilled, that his semen was pouring out of you around his cock and onto the altar. This was sacrilege, a sin beyond repentance. Yet, you knew, that this was just the beginning of your journey to hell and that you would not allow anyone to exorcise this demon out of your life.

You were still lying flat on top of the altar, breathless and blissed out, looking up at the crucifix and then at your demon lover’s face, when he finally pulled out, resulting in the remaining semen flowing out of you shamelessly onto the sacred stone. He smiled at the sight and lifted you up toward his chest, landing one last deep, hard kiss on your lips. He moved the hair out of your face and caressed your back, you reciprocating the action, barely able to reach around his large torso.

‘Will you be back?’ You asked in a weak voice.

‘If you pray to me, I will.’

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Tagging my friends in this re-release: @doumadono @muzansfangs @sunsblaze @warringwarrioridiot @horror4themasses @cursetopia2 @misslauravillanueva @sunandflame

[fuck-yeah-pierrelepew]

okay i know this is a pierre le pew blog and all but thIS ONE CHARACTER FROM DUCK DODGERS????

[missterious-figure]

(Hey guys! Sorry for being so absent lately! It's not cause of anything bad, it's just cause I've been hanging out with friends and family more often with school out of the way! Thank you guys for being so patient!)

You weaved through a large crowd hurriedly as you heard your name being called out after you. It probably wouldn't be to hard to escape, with the flashing lights of the bar making it hard for on lookers to tell one body from another. You ducked lower to try and break out of his field of vision. Who were you hiding from? Why it was Sun, of course. One of the three Celestial peacock brothers.

He was standing tall amidst the many groups of drunk partying patrons. However, he was scanning the room only looking for one person. You. His favorite little handler. The only person who has ever downright tried to avoid him. It always baffled him as to why someone would consciously choose to stay away from him and his magnificence, but he was determined to bless you with his presence regardless.

If he could find you, that is. He was on the outskirts of the crowd of party goers. Unbeknownst to him, you had scurried your way to the bar counter in the middle of the bustling bodies. He would search farther into the groups, if it wasn't for them trying to touch his beautiful tail feathers. No way was he risking getting their grease on his gloriously golden feathers. He walked around the crowd a couple times to see if the could catch a glimpse of you, to no avail.

You were still semi-crouching, keeping your eyes on Sun as he searched in vain. You were pretty confident with your position, that is, until the group parted to give enough room to a member who started break dancing. You froze as you were left in a quite visible opening in the crowd. You stopped breathing as you noticed Sun was staring in your direction. His eyes met yours for what seemed like eternity. A few heartbeats later, he smirked and kept walking as if he hadn't noticed you.

You were puzzled, but taking this opportunity, you dashed to the counter and stood near some people who were sitting at the bar. They were loud and annoying, but made for good cover. You were constantly keeping an eye out for the large golden harpy, unsure if he really hadn't seen you. With every passing minute you felt a little more on edge, as he had disappeared. Maybe he gave up and left the bar? No, that didn't sound like him. Knowing Sun, he would probably wait for the right moment to ambush you when you least expected it...

No sooner than had you finished your thought, your view was blocked by a feathery chest. You squeaked as your back was gently pushed into the counter. He placed his elbows on the counter and held his chin up with his palm. Your eyes found his pale blue ones only inches from your face. You quickly looked away, trying to hide your face from him. His elbows blocked your arms from your sides and effectively made a cage around you. He slowly opened his golden tail feathers with a shake, pretty much insulating you all to himself.

"Now that we have ourselves a "private" place, we can have some time to ourselves."

You were about to protest, but the back of your head was cupped by one of his hands. He nestled your face into the crook of his neck. He grabbed your waist with his free hand and pulled it closer to his body. He loved how fast your little heart pitter-pattered at his touch, and how your skin burned with longing. You were such a poor thing. Clearly your body loved his presence, so he didn't understand why you kept yourself from his majesty.

With your face still crammed into his neck, he closed his eyes and licked the back of your head. He began to slowly groom the hair he could reach from the awkward position you both were in. Your mind was in a daze and you could barely think. You knew lots of birds groomed each other to form stronger bonds, especially between mates. The thought made your cheeks burn hotter than before. However, even despite the embarrassment, there was something so oddly soothing about all this. It felt so good...

With each passing stroke of Sun's tongue, you began to melt into his touch. You closed your eyes and accepted that you were, admittedly, enjoying this. You also knew your fellow employees were never gonna let you live this down if they found out... good. You were too groggy to care anyway. You just wanted to be in the moment.

Here's the picture with out shading.