#as they streak through the heavens their light illuminates the face of The King

[gobboguy]

Chapter 19: Tempest of Betrayal

The once-calm waters surrounding Farfield erupted into chaos as the Naga rose from the depths, their serpentine forms gliding swiftly through the ocean. With venomous determination, they attacked the port with a ferocity that matched the storm brewing above. Ships were dragged beneath the waves, their wooden hulls splintering and sinking into the abyss. Sailors screamed as they were pulled beneath the dark waters, their cries drowned out by the roar of the sea.

On the city's ramparts, the defenders found themselves caught in a desperate struggle on two fronts. The soldiers of Farfield, their eyes filled with defiance, fought valiantly against the relentless onslaught of the Naga. Yet, their attention was torn as they also had to defend against the Orcs who pressed against the thorn barrier, their brute force rattling the defensive line.

Amidst the chaos, King Zeshar slithered triumphantly through the city, his eyes glinting with malevolence. With a flick of his tail, he summoned tendrils of dark magic that snaked out, coiling around unsuspecting soldiers and crushing them with merciless force. His eyes fixed on the medallion around his neck, an image of a screaming Arista etched upon it. He rubbed it, the artifact pulsating with an ominous glow that seemed to fuel his power.

Reaching the heart of the city, Zeshar raised his head to the stormy skies above. Chanting in the ancient tongue of the Naga, he invoked a powerful spell, his words resonating with the wrath of the ocean. Dark clouds gathered, shrouding the heavens in an ominous gloom. Thunder rumbled, echoing the rage of the gods, and lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the darkness with jagged bolts of pure energy.

With a triumphant cry, Zeshar directed the fury of the storm towards the thorn barrier. A blinding bolt of lightning struck the barrier, igniting it in a searing blaze. The thorns, once impenetrable, now withered and crumbled under the intense heat, their protective embrace reduced to ashes. The Orcs, their roars of triumph drowning out the crashing thunder. Meanwhile, Arrowcatcher, his armor adorned with the skulls of fallen enemies, raised his blade high. With a fierce grin, he announced a full attack. The Orcs, their green skin glinting in the eerie light, charged forward with an unstoppable momentum, breaching the walls directly. The defenders, now outnumbered and caught between the wrath of the Naga and the savagery of the Orcs, found themselves facing a nightmare incarnate. The once-mighty city of Farfield trembled under the onslaught, its fate hanging precariously in the balance.

In the heart of Farfield, chaos reigned supreme as the defenders fought desperately against the invading Naga. The once-peaceful streets turned into battlegrounds, echoing with the clash of steel and the screams of the wounded. Civilians huddled in their homes, their eyes wide with terror, as the sounds of warfare reverberated through the city.

Naga warriors, their scales shimmering in the flickering firelight, slithered through the streets with deadly grace. Their eyes glowed with a sinister light as they lunged at the soldiers defending their city. The defenders, their faces etched with determination, stood their ground, wielding swords, spears, and magic in a valiant attempt to hold back the onslaught.

Amidst the turmoil, King Zeshar moved with malevolent elegance, his serpentine body weaving through the chaos like a shadowy specter. His eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure as he hissed and cackled, the medallion around his neck casting an eerie glow in the fiery illumination. The power of the captured queen fueled his strength, his spells growing more potent with each moment.

Bolts of dark magic shot from his fingertips, striking down soldiers with ruthless precision. With a wave of his hand, he summoned torrents of water from nearby fountains, sending them crashing into the ranks of the defenders. His laughter echoed through the streets, a haunting melody amidst the cacophony of battle.

The defenders fought valiantly, their hearts fueled by desperation and the determination to protect their homes. Swords clashed against scales, and spells collided in bursts of vibrant energy. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

In the midst of this fierce struggle, the fate of Farfield hung in the balance. The defenders stood as a bulwark against the Naga onslaught, their bravery shining amidst the darkness of war.

Amidst the deafening roar of battle drums and the rallying cries of the Orcs, a massive green tide surged relentlessly toward the walls of Farfield. The defenders, their faces etched with grim determination, stood firm, their weapons poised for the onslaught. Arrows flew through the air, finding their marks in Orcish flesh, but there seemed to be no end to the relentless horde.

At the forefront of the Orcish assault, a colossal wheeled battering ram loomed, its monstrous frame shaped into the likeness of a menacing Orc's fist. The ram, a symbol of their brutal strength, was aptly named "Gelbeg's Wrath" – a testament to the fury they intended to unleash upon the city.

As Gelbeg's Wrath rumbled forward, Orcs roared in triumph, their voices melding into a cacophony of victory. "Gelbeg'uk wraavh!" they bellowed, the Orcish translation of Gelbeg's Wrath echoing off the city walls, a chilling reminder of the impending doom.

With a thunderous crash, Gelbeg's Wrath collided with the sturdy gates of Farfield, the impact reverberating through the air. Defenders threw themselves at the ram, their bodies straining against the unstoppable force. The gates groaned under the pressure, resisting the onslaught for a fleeting moment before succumbing to the relentless assault.

With a rhythmic pounding that matched the beat of their savage hearts, the Orc horde chanted in unison as Gelbeg's Wrath relentlessly smashed the gate of Farfield:

Gelbeg'uk wraavh, mog'uk mighav, farfield falluk, shal orciukh nighav!

mog'uk tarbam, our guidaumn ukavar, vicavorausan ouruk, no maavavas nalkren largat!

shal avhornuk agh gijak, kulknej gadulhend our claim, farfield crumbleuk, shal orciukh name!

gelbeg'uk wraavh, our hokur ukong, farfield'uk mubarum, kulknej now prolong!

"Gelbeg'uk wraavh, MOG's might, Farfield falls, in Orcish night! Mog's fury, our guiding star, Victory ours, no matter how far! In thorns and blood, we carve our claim, Farfield crumbles, in Orcish name! Gelbeg's Wrath, our iron song, Farfield's end, we now prolong!"

Their voices, a symphony of conquest, echoed through the city's walls, filling the air with the ominous certainty of defeat. The chant grew louder, infused with the ferocity of their assault, a testament to their unyielding resolve. Farfield trembled beneath the weight of their battle cry, a city once proud, now quivering in the face of an unstoppable force.

With a final splintering cry, the gates exploded into a shower of wooden shards, leaving a yawning breach in the city's defenses. The Orcs poured in, their eyes alight with savage glee. Gutd and Arrowcatcher led the charge, their massive forms cutting through the ranks of defenders like scythes through wheat. Orcish warcries filled the air, drowning out the desperate shouts of the city's defenders. "Mog, granav uuk vicavorausan!" they howled, their voices a symphony of bloodlust and triumph.

Within moments, Farfield was engulfed in chaos. The Orcs surged through the breached gate, their numbers seemingly endless, overwhelming the defenders in a tide of green-skinned fury. The once-proud city now echoed with the screams of the fallen and the triumphant snorts of the Orcs, their victory assured as they carved a path of destruction through the heart of Farfield.

[loserboigavin]

Hoboken Terminal

The train was five minutes behind schedule. There was almost no one on the train, and scantily anyone aware of the delay besides myself. Two old men sat in the front of the car, seemingly deep in their own thoughts with one leaning on his cane and one sprawled against the burgundy seats. Upon closer inspection one could tell that they were merely asleep after a slow journey on this line from Paterson. A mother and her child sat a few rows ahead of me, speaking their own language to each other in their own little world. The little boy enjoyed the sights of the yard we were rolling through and his mother beamed at his joy, though it had little effect on the dreary mood of the car. Outside the streaked window, it was May and the trees had begun to bud, and Hoboken sat still against the bright blue sky. People moved in the distance though no detail could be met, no one would want to hang around a train yard. The train finally made it under the station shed, making it so dark that it could be anytime of day as our nearly empty train joined a long line of fully empty trains.

I rushed down the steps at the end of the car to make it onto the low platform, everyone else behind me as I rushed down towards the ferries. It had been years since I was last there, though it hadn’t changed at all with huge trains waiting to whisk away the few people that would board them. The yellow lights of the huge departure board displayed the lack of departures for the middle of a weekday, just when the rush would start around four thirty. Despite the lack of trains the board was still a beauty, old lettering and back lighting straight out of the seventies, which was probably the last time anyone cared about what happened in this place. When I turned back away from the board all of my fellow former passengers were gone, probably down in the PATH tunnels waiting to leave on a train that would rather wait until all of Hoboken got on. People were waiting for coffee and reading the paper at the small stalls in the dark green walls of the terminal building. The doors to the lobby were adorned with gilded handles harkening back to the terminal’s origins, seemingly the only thing the place could boast about anymore. Boast they should however, the lobby was a masterpiece with large hanging bulbs affixed to the crown mold surrounding the terracotta tiled ceiling. Wooden windows lead to ticket booths with windows so clean the black and white tiles of the floor made the workers inside look like a silent film. The small offices served no one however, and the workers inside seemed to fit better in a vintage photograph than reality. Stairs at the far end lead to more offices beyond the sturdy and tall wooden waiting benches in front of me, and below the stairs was my destination, the ferry slips. I walked through the lobby like a King in his court, though the desolate nature of the hobby perhaps made me more like Hades.

As the gilded handles of the doors on the other end greeted me, the austacious lights of the lobby said their goodbyes. The ferry slips were much darker than the terminal, despite being nominally outside. Narrow walkways extended out into the water with small ordenmants of metal on either side, though no ships were present to meet them. The departures board said that they were at most every half hour, so assuming that I had just missed one I moved to look out across the hudson. Manhattan gleamed in the distance, the buildings were playing king of the hill with each other to see would reign supreme. Claying their way ever higher to the Heavens, Olympus, or any other greater plane couldn’t be decided. The water was blue under the sun, but more of a gray in actuality. It lapped against the pier pillars, and beyond that the wall that the building sat on. Little waves crashed and retreated, over and over and over, the same splash everytime could be heard from every pillar and every surface that could ever be hit. As I watched the water and its flows, it did what was expected of it everytime, until I caught a wave with no origin crashing sideways into another one. Vortexes then formed all around the pillars as the water decided to travel as it may without any regard for physical laws. A stream of yellow light then appeared on the slips, as I looked back towards the city the light of a setting sun was being reflected back across the river towards the terminal. A ferry could never realistically travel in such treacherous waters I thought, I should’ve just taken the PATH.

I rushed back inside to find my way to the PATH entrance, but scant signage proved useful in keeping me in such a useless building. The lobby was busier now than it was before, with people standing about, unmoving while they stared at nothing in particular. They were not fiance types in suits, but not the poor homeless of Penn Station either, far too regular for the fanciful lobby. I was the only one moving as I moved towards the doors labelled “exit”, as if they were too shy to even look one in the eye. A man lit a cigarette as I was about to exit the building, I didn’t think anything of it. The terminal was a castle of evergreen metal outside, with a large clocktower dwarfed by the more modern buildings across the river and farther down in Jersey City. “LACKAWANNA RR” was written in large letters above the entrance, though a few of the letters decided to take an evening off when their lights were most important. Police cars were parked in front of the barren square, though no human could be seen anywhere, just their built creations. No official sign for PATH trains was anywhere to be seen, but a small piece of printer paper had an arrow pointing towards a staircase on one side, and an apartment listing on the other, as it was perpetually close to falling from its tape. The staircase was so unimportant that it must have made any man who walked down it feel like a lesser rat. The tiled walls were dirtier than those in the Lincoln Tunnel, and the floor looked like a congelement of puke and misery with cheap concrete. As I walked along the corridor it turned and turned back on itself, I passed a homeless man and gave him the quarters in my pocket, but I thought I had just seen him before so I have him a five on top of that. I kept going, following the singular line of green tiles that contrasted the pissed stained yellow ones. I came across a staircase, it led back up to the barren square I was in before, still lonely, but now with a purple sky in the background. I had thought New Jersey faced the east, but maybe they were having some sort of special event.

I somehow found myself on a PATH training bound for midtown, the car was packed and the doors were still open. Everyone was silent as everything was in Hoboken, all staring into their own worlds. An old woman sat in her fancy hat at the end of the bench, her eyes were hidden in her glasses but it was obvious that she was staring out the window. Her hands were sad as was her posture, hunched over like everyone on the train would attack her at any minute. Everyone’s posture was sad, hunched like cold and hungry dogs in the commercials all while wearing large coats and holding huge bags like runaways in a teen drama. We arrived at Christopher Street Station and a good amount of people got off, while no one got on. Across from me was a man with a large duffel bag, he wore three coats and the densest pair of jeans I had ever seen. He wore headphones, but no sound could be heard from them. His eyes were closed though he wasn’t asleep, he seemed to be rocking back and forth like he was praying. He gripped the bag strongly, his hand seemed to be bleeding from the dig of his finger nails. Despite all of this his face was as serene as anyone else’s, everyone looked like a stoic subject in a painting. The lighting helped this image as it flickered on and off, illuminating and reilluminating the subjects as they sat in their repose. The ads on the car wall spoke of help for New Yorker’s through some new shoe or a new kind of taxi company, but they didn’t draw the eye of anyone on board. The journey of the city is eternal, its struggles superseding anything material for that was the city in its birth and it will be the city in its death.

The train arrived back in Hoboken sometime later, I must’ve been distracted by some hustlers selling candy or CDs or some other oddity. The waiting area sat at the head of the trains as they stared you down, trying to convince anyone to choose them over the identical rolling stock next to it, destinations differed though all were the same. I boarded one with red seats and end car stairs as a light flurry began to fall. The train was warm with cold passengers, its conductures rushed up and down the aisles checking tickets that could never pay by themselves to have the train run. A young family sat near me as I stared out the streaky window at the lights of Hoboken with the snow falling in front of them. We departed five minutes late.

[mythiica]

Hideyoshi Toyotomi x Reader x Nobunaga Oda - Reward

Title: Reward

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Hideyoshi Toyotomi, Nobunaga Oda

Genre: honhonhon

Warnings: sin

Kinks: Three-way, ultra sub!mc, overstimulation, internal cumshot, blowjob, dirty talk, idk a lot of stuff

Intended Gender Audience: Female audience

Word Count: 2150 words

Other comments: my head hurts

When Hideyoshi comes into your room, you’re expecting him to simply ask how you are. Instead, he tells you that Nobunaga requires your presence in the tenshu. The message is brief and curt – different than his usual demeanor – so you simply assume that the matter at hand was rather pressing.

          After stowing your sewing materials away, you compose yourself and follow Hideyoshi through the winding hallways of the castle. Upon reaching the closed door to Nobunaga’s room, Hideyoshi knocks his finger against the wood.

         “Lord Nobunaga?”

         There is a moment of silence before you hear Nobunaga answer.

         The two of you enter at the same time. You stop and bow your head before proceeding further. “You asked for me, Lord Nobunaga?”

         He looks up at you with a lazy expression and shifts his weight over to his left arm. “Yes… Tell me, how do you like it here, Lady (Y/n)?”

         You raise an eyebrow at his question, unsure how to respond. “Well, you’ve gifted me so much for the little I have done, so I am thankful for that.”

         Hideyoshi walks past you, raising a small breeze as the corners of his haori brush past you. The two stand in front of you, and you can’t help but feel their gaze sharpen… almost as if they were scrutinizing every detail of your body. Nobunaga’s eyes follow the curve of your shoulder, down your waist, and to the fluttering hem of your newly made kimono. For a moment, you thought that he was admiring your handiwork, but when he tips his head back up to the light, you catch a glimpse of the carnal desire that illuminates his beautiful orbs.

         “The little that you have done?” He toys with the words, unhappy with the expression. “You did more than just.. a little…”  

         Hideyoshi nods. “You saved Lord Nobunaga’s life. That is no small deed.”

         “Oh! Well, anyone really would have done it if they were in my position…”

         They both shake their heads. “On the contrary, most would likely have thrown Lord Nobunaga into the fire rather than drag him away from it.” He looks like he wants to say more, but Nobunaga cuts him off. 

         “I don’t believe I ever thanked you properly, my dear…” He begins to circle you like a hawk does to its prey. “So I’ve called you here because that is what I intend to do…”

         Nobunaga stands behind you, but you can feel his warm breath beating against the back of your neck. Your hair was still lifted into a bun because you wanted it out of the way while you worked, but now it just exposed more skin to him. He lifts a few stray strands of hair between his fingers and presses a gentle kiss to them. Electricity pulses through your chest, sending ripples of excitement down to the tips of your fingers. Nobunaga really knew how to tease a woman…

         “My Lord,” you ask with a shaky voice. “I’m not quite sure I understand…”

         You don’t expect Hideyoshi to answer for Nobunaga. He steps forward and cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “Lord Nobunaga will reward you. I suggest that you accept his praises, Lady (Y/n).”

         As your name falls from his tongue, Nobunaga’s hand crawls past the part in your kimono and his fingers graze the soft skin of your breasts. You cry out at the sudden coldness of his hands, but you quickly adjust to it and lean back against him. He tucks his chin into the crook of your neck, catching a glimpse of your face as he pinches your nipple.

         To coax more moans from you, Nobunaga rolls his tongue over your neck while Hideyoshi pulls the ties of your kimono open. The fabric falls from your shoulders and he helps you step away from it. With your hand in his, Hideyoshi smiles gently and spins you around. Now, your back is pressed to Hideyoshi’s solid frame and Nobunaga as the pleasure of admiring your nude form.

         You want to moan more, but the reality of the situation hits you, and you clamp your hand over your mouth. Panic flashes in your eyes - should you really be doing this with Lord Nobunaga and Lord Hideyoshi? Sure they wanted to reward you… but sleeping with the most powerful warlords in the county surely would not be an easy feat.

         However, when Hideyoshi pulls your leg up to rest on his hip, he simultaneously exposes your cunt to Nobunaga. Exhilarated by the position, you relax your muscles and allow the situation to continue.

         Nobunaga smiles happily and drags his hand across your folds. “Yes… how beautiful you are…” His hand cups over your breast, and he begins to work your mound back and forth to stimulate your body. As he works his digits through your pussy, you feel a knot begin to form in the pit of your stomach. The sensation of his skin against your most sensitive of areas makes you wild with lust.

         He continues to tease you though, and he grinds himself against you, pushing you harder against Hideyoshi. You are tempted to fall to your knees, and as pleasure begins to overcome your limbs, you indeed sink to the ground. Hideyoshi grips your waist and takes a seat before hoisting you into his lap. He nips the skin behind your ear, equally aroused by the sounds coming from your mouth.

         His hands wander across your open thighs as Nobunaga disrobes himself. He sheds the layers of fabric until he is completely naked.

         No words need to be exchanged in the moment – Nobunaga only flashes his vassal a quick smirk, and he understands completely. You tip your head back to look at Hideyoshi. His beautiful brown hair curls over his eyes, and unlike Nobunaga, he wears a soft smile.

         “Princess, won’t you reward us as we do you?” His voice drips with sweetness, but it entrances you at the same time. “Give yourself to him,” he urges, nodding to Nobunaga.

         With your mouth agape, you look back to Nobunaga. He runs a hand through his hair, and it stays in place for a moment before falling over his forehead. His cock is hard, and when he runs his fingers over himself, he releases a deep, guttural groan.

         You let HIdeyoshi pry open your legs further as you tuck an arm around his neck. The haori slips down from his shoulders and you feel his warm skin against yours. Time retards, and Hideyoshi dips his head to taste your neck. His tongue flicks over your exposed skin as Nobunaga pads over to you.

         The desire in his eyes burns bright – the sight of you in HIdeyoshi’s arms excites him greatly. Indeed this would be a reward for you... the tip of Nobunaga’s cock rubs against your wet folds. You pant heavily, waiting for what is to come.

         He enters you in a swift motion, and waits for a moment as to allow you to adjust to him. His girth stretches your walls, causing you to arch your back with pleasure. Nobunaga thrusts in and of you after the moan leaves your mouth. You reach out for him with an arm as Hideyoshi has a strong grip on your other one.

         You wrap your free arm around Nobunaga’s neck as he fucks you – Hideyoshi keeps you upright and trails loving kisses down your skin.

         “Fuck! Oh… yes…” Nobunaga growls with pleasure and flicks his tongue out against your skin, tasting the salt of perspiration.

         This makes Hideyoshi smile, and he rests his head on your shoulder. “Princess, you’re doing so well. Scream for him!”

         A cry is trapped in your throat, but when Hideyoshi’s hand snakes around you and lands on your clit, the sound erupts from your lungs in a blaze. The sensation of Nobunaga’s cock rubbing against your insides and Hideyoshi pinching your clit causes you to arch your back. The strain of the new position allows Nobunaga to hit even deeper inside of you.

         “Hide-“ Nobunaga starts, but Hideyoshi reads his mind and hoists your legs upwards. He props himself up with an arm and leans backwards. You are completely are their mercy, sprawled upon the vassal as the devil king pounds into you.

         Their movement become fluid, as if they were one. It amazes you, and you probably appreciate it more were you not drowning in an ocean of pure bliss. You’ve completely forgotten how you got into this position, but you would not trade it for the world. Sandwiched between their warm bodies, you are in heaven. Your eyelids droop as curses escape your lips.

         Nobunaga gabs hold of your jaw, but his cock is still inside of you. “Say that again, (Y/n),” he demands.

         “N-Nobunaga! You feel so good, ahH!”

         He smiles and kisses you deeply, his tongue invading your mouth. Saliva dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and when he pulls back, he whispers in your ear. “Don’t neglect Hideyoshi. Tell him how wondrous he is as well.”

         On cue, Hideyoshi fondles your breast, his fingers running over your sore nipples.

         The knot in your abdomen threatens to explode, so you do your best to sing your praises. “Hideyoshi, you’re going to make me cum if you keep touching me there,” you whimper between pants. “Both of you…. Ahh!”

         You unravel before them, and as your climax consumes you, Nobunaga’s warm fills you. He moans your name as you fall against Hideyoshi. He strokes your hair and commends you for your actions. Smiling weakly, you move to hug Hideyoshi, and Nobunaga pulls out of you. Instead of doing as you wish though, Nobunaga flips you over onto your stomach and spins you around so that you face him.

         “You’re not done, princess,” Nobunaga hisses. He pumps himself, semen streaking down the side of his cock. “You’ve neglected Lord Hideyoshi.”

         Hideyoshi chuckles and grips your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. Nobunaga’s seed runs down the back of your thigh, so Hide rubs himself against you to lubricate his member. He presses himself inside, bringing you back the same warmth as before as his cock rubs against your walls. Unlike Nobunaga, he has less girth, but more length, allowing his tip to rub against the spot that drives you insane.

         You’re a moaning mess now, but Nobunaga picks up your head buy your hair and slaps his cock against your mouth. “Come now, help me clean up…”

         He does not give you a chance to refuse, and he slips his member into your mouth. HIdeyoshi thrusts into you from behind, pushing you forward. Nobunaga’s dick goes deeper down your throat, causing you to cough for a moment as tears prickle in your eyes. He runs his hand through your hair with a tender grip.

         Nobunaga simply smirks at you when Hideyoshi leans over you, his fingertips digging into your ass. Still not completely down from your previous high, you struggle to keep yourself upright. Somehow, you manage to continue lapping at Nobunaga’s member. The bitter taste of his semen fills your mouth, but you love it. The air is heavy with lust, and the squelching sounds coming from Hideyoshi’s cock harmonize with both mens’ moans.

         Hideyoshi’s thrusts become more sloppy and desperate as his hands search for your breasts. He pulls you back into his chest just as Nobunaga takes a step back. He pumps himself a few times before he ejaculates. His seed paints your breasts and he grunts loudly.

         At the same time Hideyoshi reaches his own climax, and he thrusts into you deeply. As his own semen fills you, you are thrown over the edge yet again. A strangled cry escapes your throat and your body trembles with pleasure. Your vision goes white for a moment before you feel yourself fall forward.

         Nobunaga catches you and wraps his arms around you.

         He’s smiling happily as he pets you gently.

         “That was quite the reward, was it not?”

         You imagine that you look like a common street whore in the moment – you can feel their seed dripping down your sin and your hair likely looks like a tangled birds nest. Despite this, you can see the adoration that shines in his eyes.

         Hideyoshi tucks his hand around your thigh and kisses your skin, coaxing you to sit down with him on the futon. You take a seat next to him and glance at Nobunaga. He too takes a knee before resting his head on the pillow.

         You nuzzle into the crook of his arm and place your palm over his heart. His eyes flutter closed, and before long, you hear his soft snores vibrating from his chest.

         Hideyoshi pulls the blanket over your form and kisses your shoulder blades, a silent way of thanking you and saying goodnight.

         Strands of your essence drip from his tongue as he leans back, dirty smirk plastered onto his smug face.

[olympicoath]

CHAPTER  ONE  : COUNCIL  OF  WAR

Zeus sat on his golden throne with pride, although a storm surged below him in his anger.

           Flanking his right and left was his faithful, if not angry, sister-wife, the White-Armed Hera, her silk dress adorned with a cloak of green, blue, and purple peacock feathers. The Queen of the Heavens gripped her scepter tight in her soft hands. Her hair was well-kept, laying in a crown of braids atop her head.

To the Thunderhead’s left sat his second-in-command and brother, Poseidon, King of the Seas. He bore blue tattoos in which depicted his undersea kingdom. In his hands was his trident, a mighty symbol of power forged from bronze and whalebone. The Earthshaker’s hair and long beard was a sea green, his sides bore a set of fish-like gills.

           The Mountain King’s most adored son and daughter walked into the atrium, bowed, then took to their thrones awaiting council.

Phoebus Apollo, God of the Sun and Patron of the Arts, golden-haired clad in a golden tunic, thrummed the strings of his lyre, filling the room with the sound of his sweet music.

Pallas Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and Strategy of War, wore a long blue dress reinforced with pieces of bronze armor and a helmet decorated with a plume of blue horsehair. Her eyes were gray, her skin fair, her hair a jet black. The owl that perched itself on her shielded arm bore feathers the color of rainclouds.

“Where are the others, your Highness?” Athena asked, tucking her helmet in the crook of her arm.

           “They will be here soon enough. My bastards arrive now,” Zeus gestured to the Warrior and the Blacksmith. Ares Enyalios, God of Warfare and Murder, glowed like the bloody red of his fallen enemies, a spear in one hand.

Ares said nothing to Zeus, not even looking in his direction, but he did march to his mother Hera. He planted a kiss to her cheek, then asked, “Why have I been called, your Majesty?” One couldn’t even see his face through the darkness of his iron helmet with a crest of fire, although they could lay witness to the horror of his exposed body. He had no skin, showing only pink and red muscle, sinews and tendons under his armor.

Hephaestus, on the other hand, was not as large or as strong as his brother Ares. He was lame, his left leg shriveled like a sun-dried worm. He made up for this, though, with his industrial intuition. He burned with an orange light and used his black sledgehammer as a crutch. He, too, walked to his lone parent Hera, asking, “Where is my beloved, your Grace?”

“I’m here, you pig,” Beautiful Aphrodite walked into the room, the violet silk of her dress covering the marvel that was her body. A mortal would see their wildest desires come to life, but Aphrodite put on a specific appearance today for the Olympian Council. She was fair skinned with flowing ginger hair. She stalked to her love Ares, running her perfectly manicured hands down the length of his body. The Smith ignored his wife’s infidelity, as he still loved her with all his heart. “Is there a reason as to why I’ve been evicted from my lovers, your Bitchiness?”

“You will cease your perversions, Patron of Prostitutes.” Zeus commanded, slamming his lightning down onto the marble floor. “My love,” Zeus pointed to Hera with the bolt, “The floor is yours.”

Hera rose from her throne and tapped her lotus-tipped scepter on the oval floor, creating a window of magic on the grounds surrounding Mount Olympus. “The Titans are back. They have broken free from their prisons and are declaring war on the Greek Pantheon. My messenger, Iris, has informed me that they have gained the trust and support of the Hecatoncheires.”

“How many are still alive after billions of years in Tartarus?” Ares asked as he sat Aphrodite on his lap, her soft hand continuing to run along the swirls and slivers of his flesh.

“Enough to storm Olympus and burn it to the ground.” Poseidon solemnly answered.

“I see,” Ares picked up his spear and paced the length of the room, the fire of his helmet leaving behind a trail of embers. “And what of us? What say you? Are the Olympians fighting alone or are we fighting the Titans with our full ranks?” As Ares paced, his bronze armor changed and shifted. He remained skinless but was now armored in many plates of SWAT gear. His spear had been replaced with an assault rifle adorned with a grenade launcher, and at his side was a large assortment of explosives.

The waves of the sea stirred along with Poseidon’s mind. “We can all fight for a millennia if we must, Manslayer, but it will hardly be enough. The Moirai, who will be fighting in their own ways, have glimpsed the future. They have told our King what will happen after this war…”

Zeus held his head high, “We will all perish, my bastard son. You will die, as will Atlas. Aphrodite will fall, as will Mnemosyne. And I will die, as will Kronos.”

Ares sat back down, now wearing no armor, the entirety of his flayed body on display. “I see…” He now saw a young woman with sharpened teeth singing of war and destruction for a crowd of rejects. “We need new gods to replace us. The war will end us, but the universe still needs to be kept in balance. We will hold the line, and Olympus will prevail!” Ares now stood in his iron fortress at the edge of Mount Olympus, his soldiers ever ready. They were all dead veterans, all spanning different time periods.

Apollo rode on his Sun chariot, watching over the confounds of Olympus. He called down to Zeus, his father, “We need a contingency.”

Zeus nodded, then wore a gray business suit. The King now stood on a beach, where children were being taught how to surf along the waves. As he walked, his thundery hair and lightning filled eyes crackled with solemn determination. He conjured his lightning bolt, a column of crackling copper, silver, and gold coiled around each other.

He paid no mind to the surfing children, focusing his attention solely on their instructor. She was young with long black hair with a gray streak in it, stormy blue eyes, and a mind that wanted to command. A mind that wanted to rule. She was happily clapping at one of the young ones for managing to surf along a sizeable wave. Zeus put the bolt between her hands, and in that instant, Audra fell to her knees in pain. Her hands burned as glowing gray lightning bolts branded themselves into her palms. “Audra Noelani, I give you my blessing.”

Artemis walked through the tents as the soldiers of the Northern Union recovered themselves. Apollo walked beside his sister as they searched the tents. It was then that they saw them.

One child bore long, wispy black hair and gray eyes, while her cousin had golden brown eyes and blond locks. Artemis and Apollo, Twin Gods of the Sun and Moon, took aim with their golden and silver bow and arrows, then released them with pride and determination. As the arrow pierced Charlotte’s shoulder, a crescent moon burning itself into her pale skin, Artemis knelt before her and said, “Charlotte Reiner, I recruit you.”

As Charlotte’s younger cousin fell to the ground in agony, a sigil replicating the sun itself etched into his Adam’s apple. The Golden Archer kneeled before the young boy, offering a smile and smaller bow and arrow constructed of gold and cherrywood, and said, “Gabriel LeBeau, I choose you.”

Hephaestus rolled around the Microsoft headquarters decked out in a brown pinstripe suit, his electric wheelchair humming as he went. The God of Fire ventured to a room where a paraplegic boy with red hair and a lanky body moved wires around one of the many generators of the building.

Hephaestus’ hands conjured a flame, eliciting a flow of lava to pour out of the seams of the walls surrounding the boy. Hephaestus retrieved his massive sledgehammer, then struck the boy in his kneecaps. The blows burned into the shapes of orange anvils, causing the boy to bellow in pain, tears pricking his eyes. Hephaestus leaned in close to the boy’s ear, whispering a quick, “Leslie McKenna, this is my gift to you.”

Ares, wearing a full set of riot armor, perched himself at the balcony of the underground club where punks and rejects and society’s shit stains gathered to relax. On the stage, illuminated by red, black and white lights, was a band which deemed themselves Bloodshed Werewolves. Then he saw their lead vocalist, a rather tall Latina with short, choppy brown hair and somewhat sharpened teeth. She was infertile, Ares immediately noticed, and she had an athletic build. A crow, as if on cue, perched on her shoulder.

Ares Enyalios, God of War, drew his long, razor sharp spear, then took aim. “Aloisa Alger, I enslave you.” Ares threw his spear at the girl, her collarbone now burning as a red boar’s head took its place where the wound should have been. She laughed at the pain, proceeding to pull out her pocketknife and lunged at her guitarist.

Athena wore a simple linen gown, though it was adorned with identifying plates of Athenian armor. She studied the scrolls strewn across the villa floor, her face as stone cold as it had been during the Council meeting. Most depicted machines that would never work, others were just the ramblings of a madman. She set one of the scrolls onto the mahogany table, casting her gaze over to the boy who stood idle in the doorway. He was twelve, maybe older, with hair was that was so blonde it was nearly white and striking silver eyes.

Before he could speak and alert anyone that could be lingering outside, Pallas Athena took a paintbrush from one of the cups littering the table and broke the art supply into two, jagged sticks. The boy stared at the Goddess of Wisdom with wide eyes, the papers he’d been holding crashing to the floor. She approached him carefully, a rare smile on her wise face. Kneeling down to his height, Athena used the broken end of the brush to carve an owl into the side of the boy’s neck. The young one seethed in pain, digging his nails into the palm of his pale hands. The sigil burned with a silver light, and Athena took the opportunity to claim him as her successor. “Alistair Knowles, I bless you.”

[secrettimetravelparadise]

Subha

When the girl was given the name of Subhashini, who could have guessed that she would prove dumb? Her two elder sisters were Sukeshini and Suhasini, and for the sake of uniformity her father named his youngest girl Subhashini. She was called Subha for short.

Her two elder sisters had been married with the usual cost and difficulty, and now the youngest daughter lay like a silent weight upon the heart of her parents. All the world seemed to think that, because she did not speak, therefore she did not feel; it discussed her future and its own anxiety freely in her presence. She had understood from her earliest childhood that God had sent her like a curse to her father's house, so she withdrew herself from ordinary people and tried to live apart. If only they would all forget her she felt she could endure it. But who can forget pain? Night and day her parents' minds were aching on her account. Especially her mother looked upon her as a deformity in herself. To a mother a daughter is a more closely intimate part of herself than a son can be; and a fault in her is a source of personal shame. Banikantha, Subha's father, loved her rather better than his other daughters; her mother regarded her with aversion as a stain upon her own body.

If Subha lacked speech, she did not lack a pair of large dark eyes, shaded with long lashes; and her lips trembled like a leaf in response to any thought that rose in her mind.

When we express our thought in words, the medium is not found easily. There must be a process of translation, which is often inexact, and then we fall into error. But black eyes need no translating; the mind itself throws a shadow upon them. In them thought opens or shuts, shines forth or goes out in darkness, hangs steadfast like the setting moon or like the swift and restless lightning illumines all quarters of the sky. They who from birth have had no other speech than the trembling of their lips learn a language of the eyes, endless in expression, deep as the sea, clear as the heavens, wherein play dawn and sunset, light and shadow. The dumb have a lonely grandeur like Nature's own. Wherefore the other children almost dreaded Subha and never played with her. She was silent and companionless as noontide.

The hamlet where she lived was Chandipur. Its river, small for a river of Bengal, kept to its narrow bounds like a daughter of the middle class. This busy streak of water never overflowed its banks, but went about its duties as though it were a member of every family in the villages beside it. On either side were houses and banks shaded with trees. So stepping from her queenly throne, the river-goddess became a garden deity of each home, and forgetful of herself performed her task of endless benediction with swift and cheerful foot.

Banikantha's house looked out upon the stream. Every hut and stack in the place could be seen by the passing boatmen. I know not if amid these signs of worldly wealth any one noticed the little girl who, when her work was done, stole away to the waterside and sat there. But here Nature fulfilled her want of speech and spoke for her. The murmur of the brook, the voice of the village folk, the songs of the boatmen, the crying of the birds and rustle of trees mingled and were one with the trembling of her heart. They became one vast wave of sound which beat upon her restless soul. This murmur and movement of Nature were the dumb girl's language; that speech of the dark eyes, which the long lashes shaded, was the language of the world about her. From the trees, where the cicalas chirped, to the quiet stars there was nothing but signs and gestures, weeping and sighing. And in the deep mid-noon, when the boatmen and fisher-folk had gone to their dinner, when the villagers slept and birds were still, when the ferry-boats were idle, when the great busy world paused in its toil and became suddenly a lonely, awful giant, then beneath the vast impressive heavens there were only dumb Nature and a dumb girl, sitting very silent,—one under the spreading sunlight, the other where a small tree cast its shadow.

But Subha was not altogether without friends. In the stall were two cows, Sarbbashi and Panguli. They had never heard their names from her lips, but they knew her footfall. Though she had no words, she murmured lovingly and they understood her gentle murmuring better than all speech. When she fondled them or scolded or coaxed them, they understood her better than men could do. Subha would come to the shed and throw her arms round Sarbbashi's neck; she would rub her cheek against her friend's, and Panguli would turn her great kind eyes and lick her face. The girl paid them three regular visits every day and others that were irregular. Whenever she heard any words that hurt her, she would come to these dumb friends out of due time. It was as though they guessed her anguish of spirit from her quiet look of sadness. Coming close to her, they would rub their horns softly against her arms, and in dumb, puzzled fashion try to comfort her. Besides these two, there were goats and a kitten; but Subha had not the same equality of friendship with them, though they showed the same attachment. Every time it got a chance, night or day, the kitten would jump into her lap, and settle down to slumber, and show its appreciation of an aid to sleep as Subha drew her soft fingers over its neck and back.

Subha had a comrade also among the higher animals, and it is hard to say what were the girl's relations with him; for he could speak, and his gift of speech left them without any common language. He was the youngest boy of the Gosains, Pratap by name, an idle fellow. After long effort, his parents had abandoned the hope that he would ever make his living. Now losels have this advantage, that, though their own folk disapprove of them, they are generally popular with every one else. Having no work to chain them, they become public property. Just as every town needs an open space where all may breathe, so a village needs two or three gentlemen of leisure, who can give time to all; then, if we are lazy and want a companion, one is to hand.

Pratap's chief ambition was to catch fish. He managed to waste a lot of time this way, and might be seen almost any afternoon so employed. It was thus most often that he met Subha. Whatever he was about, he liked a companion; and, when one is catching fish, a silent companion is best of all. Pratap respected Subha for her taciturnity, and, as every one called her Subha, he showed his affection by calling her Su. Subha used to sit beneath a tamarind, and Pratap, a little distance off, would cast his line. Pratap took with him a small allowance of betel, and Subha prepared it for him. And I think that, sitting and gazing a long while, she desired ardently to bring some great help to Pratap, to be of real aid, to prove by any means that she was not a useless burden to the world. But there was nothing to do. Then she turned to the Creator in prayer for some rare power, that by an astonishing miracle she might startle Pratap into exclaiming: "My! I never dreamt our Su could have done this!"

Only think, if Subha had been a water nymph, she might have risen slowly from the river, bringing the gem of a snake's crown to the landing-place. Then Pratap, leaving his paltry fishing, might dive into the lower world, and see there, on a golden bed in a palace of silver, whom else but dumb little Su, Banikantha's child? Yes, our Su, the only daughter of the king of that shining city of jewels! But that might not be, it was impossible. Not that anything is really impossible, but Su had been born, not into the royal house of Patalpur, but into Banikantha's family, and she knew no means of astonishing the Gosains' boy.

Gradually she grew up. Gradually she began to find herself. A new inexpressible consciousness like a tide from the central places of the sea, when the moon is full, swept through her. She saw herself, questioned herself, but no answer came that she could understand.

Once upon a time, late on a night of full moon, she slowly opened her door and peeped out timidly. Nature, herself at full moon, like lonely Subha, was looking down on the sleeping earth. Her strong young life beat within her; joy and sadness filled her being to its brim; she reached the limits even of her own illimitable loneliness, nay, passed beyond them. Her heart was heavy, and she could not speak. At the skirts of this silent troubled Mother there stood a silent troubled girl.

The thought of her marriage filled her parents with an anxious care. People blamed them, and even talked of making them outcasts. Banikantha was well off; they had fish-curry twice daily; and consequently he did not lack enemies. Then the women interfered, and Bani went away for a few days. Presently he returned and said: "We must go to Calcutta."

They got ready to go to this strange country. Subha's heart was heavy with tears, like a mist-wrapt dawn. With a vague fear that had been gathering for days, she dogged her father and mother like a dumb animal. With her large eyes wide open, she scanned their faces as though she wished to learn something. But not a word did they vouchsafe. One afternoon in the midst of all this, as Pratap was fishing, he laughed: "So then, Su, they have caught your bridegroom, and you are going to be married! Mind you don't forget me altogether!" Then he turned his mind again to his fish. As a stricken doe looks in the hunter's face, asking in silent agony: "What have I done to you?" so Subha looked at Pratap. That day she sat no longer beneath her tree. Banikantha, having finished his nap, was smoking in his bedroom when Subha dropped down at his feet and burst out weeping as she gazed towards him. Banikantha tried to comfort her, and his cheek grew wet with tears.

It was settled that on the morrow they should go to Calcutta. Subha went to the cow-shed to bid farewell to her childhood's comrades. She fed them with her hand; she clasped their necks; she looked into their faces, and tears fell fast from the eyes which spoke for her. That night was the tenth of the moon. Subha left her room, and flung herself down on her grassy couch beside her dear river. It was as if she threw her arms about Earth, her strong silent mother, and tried to say: "Do not let me leave you, mother. Put your arms about me, as I have put mine about you, and hold me fast."

One day in a house in Calcutta, Subha's mother dressed her up with great care. She imprisoned her hair, knotting it up in laces, she hung her about with ornaments, and did her best to kill her natural beauty. Subha's eyes filled with tears. Her mother, fearing they would grow swollen with weeping, scolded her harshly, but the tears disregarded the scolding. The bridegroom came with a friend to inspect the bride. Her parents were dizzy with anxiety and fear when they saw the god arrive to select the beast for his sacrifice. Behind the stage, the mother called her instructions aloud, and increased her daughter's weeping twofold, before she sent her into the examiner's presence. The great man, after scanning her a long time, observed: "Not so bad."

He took special note of her tears, and thought she must have a tender heart. He put it to her credit in the account, arguing that the heart, which to-day was distressed at leaving her parents, would presently prove a useful possession. Like the oyster's pearls, the child's tears only increased her value, and he made no other comment.

The almanac was consulted, and the marriage took place on an auspicious day. Having delivered over their dumb girl into another's hands, Subha's parents returned home. Thank God! Their caste in this and their safety in the next world were assured! The bridegroom's work lay in the west, and shortly after the marriage he took his wife thither.

In less than ten days every one knew that the bride was dumb! At least, if any one did not, it was not her fault, for she deceived no one. Her eyes told them everything, though no one understood her. She looked on every hand, she found no speech, she missed the faces, familiar from birth, of those who had understood a dumb girl's language. In her silent heart there sounded an endless, voiceless weeping, which only the Searcher of Hearts could hear. 

     - Rabindranath Tagore

[reginrokkr]

6. lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up / Kurasame

Streaks of light pass through pallid curtains, illuminating the tranquil chambers after a long night devoid of any source of light. A few rays reach Ace’s closed eyes, making him stir slightly in his slumber as awareness that it is morning starts to sink in. Long time ago, in previous lives when he wouldn’t understand this unreasonable world as much as he does now —or rather, he knows he would have understood Orience better weren’t for the fact that memories were erased with every new revolution—, he would hardly feel the first sunlight rays until an alarm awakened him or he eventually rose when Kurasame did.

Unbeknownst of what time is it —neither does he care—, he remains with his eyes closed in wait for the man sleeping beside him to awaken so they can start the day with their usual morning routine until he starts to feel shuffling beside him and incomprehensible murmurs, perhaps in complaint when the light hits him too. Strong arms wrap around him once Kurasame found him after a blind search for the source of warmth that has been accompanying him recently. Ace is almost tempted to open his eyes, to see the man he loves in disarray which he knows not many ever had the opportunity to see. Ultimately, he chooses arbitrarily to bask in the tingling sensation within his stomach the moment the indigo haired presses a kiss atop his brow and then a trail of more kisses follows in search of his lips.

Ace cannot help but find irony in this candid moment as he remains still in wait to see how long it will take Kurasame to find his lips. In their previous lives shared as lovers, he was the one seeking attention as the other is now— wanting to take as much as he could before other priorities and obligations forced him to stay apart from the person he wished to stay with the most. Despite his cold façade and sharp tongue, Kurasame is a man who needs love, too. In retrospect, Ace wonders if that is the reason why he accepted him in his wounded heart time and time again notwithstanding the questionable implications due to their age difference and their military and academic position.

Plump, roseate lips part in silent invitation once Kurasame found his way to the desired destination as his own arms wrap around the man and moves slightly so he may rest fully atop him. Ah, how he loves this. There is a certain satisfaction in feeling his beloved’s weight without any concerns as their kisses grow in fervency. Albescent eyelashes flutter open when the need of oxygen started to be imminent, kiss-swollen lips curling in a rare smile as a string of saliva byproduct of their sloppy and messy kisses unites them temporarily. No matter if their kisses may be lazy or heated as passion takes the wheel of their senses, Kurasame’s lips have always been the closest to touching heaven. The sight of the Heavenly King of old’s furrowed brows earns him a soft gaze from Ace, hand caressing his way up to cup his cheek.

❝You hate mornings so, do you not?❞ Nothing but a low, almost grumpy groan escapes the man as he nestles his face on the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply his scent. In response, Ace trails his hands upwards to bury within indigo locks to massage the scalp. ❝Or is it dealing with cadets the source of your seeming bad temper?❞ ❝Those kids are a headache.❞ A silent, breathy chuckle escapes the blond as he continues massaging his scalp, wondering for a moment if he accustomed to think so about him too. 

Perhaps he did not use to be that bad, granted that he must have been clearly attracted to him to even consider a relationship of romantic nature to begin with.

❝Then, stay.❞ He suggests, feeling soon after Kurasame turning his head so their eyes can meet. ❝I am positive that most of them will be euphoric to know that they’ll spend a day off and you do not seem that eager to give them classes today.❞ Namely Nine, Jack, Cinque, Cater, Sice, King... there is surprisingly a bunch of them who did use to skip his classes on purpose. Cyan irises focus onto emerald ones anew as his hand descends to ghost his thumb over his lower eyelid. ❝I would say it is a win-win situation for both. And frankly speaking, the prospect of spending the entire day with you doing whatever we wish sounds lovely.❞

@rhyra ⭑

[shadowfaximpala]

Prince Charming

Anon Request: I HAVE AN IDEA FOR A CROWLEYXREADER WHERE CROWLEY HAS TO POSSESS THE READER FOR SOME REASON. IT COULD BE A COOL CONCEPT AND YOU COULD TAKE IT JUST ABOUT ANYWHERE

Thanks for the request! I had fun with this one, I hope you like it too ~ It’s cheesy! You have been warned. 

Crowley x Reader

MASTERLIST

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Your wrists were bound, your head strapped to the chair to stop you from thrashing around. Dean’s jaw clenched tightly as he looked at you, worry and panic evident on his face.

“Are you sure about this?” He looked at Crowley with a deep set of concern lining his face.

“She will be fine, I’ll flush this winged rat out of her, don’t worry.” The king of hell cracked his neck as he readied himself, Castiel stood on guard next to the warding ready to pounce if anyone dared to attack.

Your mind had been sealed away, off limits. Thanks to the impending doom that had befallen heaven, the angels were cast out in search of vessels, you had unwillingly said yes, your body beat and broken from battling with numerous onslaughts of angelic dicckbags who ambushed you. Writhing in agony you were forced to oblige to Tamuriul, an angel with a nasty streak, he had bound you, his vessel falling apart day by day. You were a worthy match to hold his powers. Once he had you cornered you had no choice but to let him in, knowing that Sam and Dean would find a way to cast him out.

“Right let’s get to it then.” With that Crowley’s vessel unleashed red smoke, it lunged violently into the air before using your mouth as an open door.

Your mind was awash with darkness, you had sealed yourself inside a hollow shell of a place you once called home many years prior, a childhood sanctuary. Crowley looked around, surprise evident on his features that you would have chosen such a dark and yet innocent place to retreat in your subconscious.

He couldn’t find you in the small child like room he had landed in, he decided to venture further out into your mind, reaching for the branches of your soul; it led him down a long hallway, outside of a set of heavy oak doors and onto a rather luxurious looking front lawn. There you sat perched on top of a tree, looking out into the sky above, awash with morning light that illuminated your figure in a serene and beautiful way. He smiled fondly to himself, this wasn’t at all what he expected.

“And here I was half expecting to find you in some sleazy bar or back at the bunker, this is a pleasant surprise.” He offered, you ignored his voice for a moment. As always Crowley was never short of words so he tried again to reach your deaf ears. “You know this place is actually more terrifying than I expected, it’s like something out of an 80s horror movie.” Still nothing.

He sauntered closer to the tree, leaning his body against it casually.

“Well? You know you’re being violated by an angel right?” Silence. He cocked his eyebrow in frustration and decided to be a bit more devious.

He grabbed your ankle and yanked, hard. You fell from the tree but not without landing on something or someone… Crowley grunted underneath you, you smiled eerily down at him as you twisted to straddle his waist.

“Crowley…” You whispered softly, moving your lips to his ears. “I knew you’d find me…”

He shifted uncomfortably under you. “Darling, usually I’m not one to shove off a beautiful woman, but I need you to wake up.” You stared at him, your head tilting to the side in an innocent feign of confusion.

“I am awake.” You stated bluntly.

“Oh how I wish you were, you’re being possessed. By Tamuriul, and by me… but long story short I’m here to wake you up and to get that vile thing out of your mind.” He gave you a wide grin. You giggled at his antics and hopped off him, jumping to your feet. He twisted and picked himself up off the ground, dusting off the dirt and grass from his freshly cleaned and well tailored suit, usually he would grumble but he was merely a figment of representation within your soul.

“Wake up.” His voice was gruff and hoarse around the edges as he regarded you with curiosity.

“I am awake Crowley, what are you talking about?”

“No. You’re not. We don’t have much time before he knows I’m here,” he retorted

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re behaving weird.”

“Kitten, the only thing here that’s weird is you, now snap out of it.” 

“Hmm…” You walked off, shrugging at him as you bounced your hips. Crowley licked his lips, distracted by your curves as you swayed past him to go indoors. Entering the kitchen you poured yourself a glass of water from the faucet. He let out a sigh.

“Y/N, this is serious.” He tried again.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, why are you even here?” You turned to face him, swigging a sip from the ornate glass in your hands.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank god you’re beautiful.” He sighed. “Get a grip and wake the hell up before we both end up crushed.”

“For the last time Crowley-”

The world around your vision began to shake, the glass fell from your hand and shattered into a million fragments onto the tiled floor. You were hurled backwards by an unrelenting force.

“Well well well… If it isn’t the demon king himself. You aren’t welcome here, leave.” Tamuriul’s voice was low and threatening.

“I won’t leave without the girl. Piss off and find yourself another vessel.” Crowley spat as he threw himself between you and the angel.

“That’s no way to speak to a servant of the lord you demon scum, step aside or I’ll crush you and her soul. It won’t be long now until this vessel is mine!” The angel growled.

“Not going to happen mate, I suggest you leave now if you know what’s good for you…” Crowley became menacing, his eyes glowing red as his body squared up for a fight.

The angel simply laughed at him. “You’re going through great measures for a human. Just let her go, she’s a worthless life in a sea of many souls, she let me in remember?”

Crowley flicked his wrist, sending the angel flying out of the room, he quickly rushed to the doors, sealing them with a chair propped against the handles. The door rocked backwards and forwards with a ferocious groan. It stopped momentarily, Cowley had enough time to rush to your side, carefully picking you up off the ground.

“Come on… Fight it.” You stared up at him, your E/C orbs gazing into his hazel ones, clarity regained looked around with worry before reattaching your vision to his features.

“Crowley?” Your expression was that of a dazed and confused damsel waking up.

“Come to your senses? Good. Wake up.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re being possessed by-”

“ Tamuriul.” You spat. “Shit.” You muttered under your breath. “What do I do?” You stared hopelessly at the demon before you, his face hollow with worry as the pounding on the doors began to sound again.

“Just wake up, cast him out! Tell this prat to get himself a new vessel.” You nodded.

“ Tamuriul!” You shouted. The beating against the doors stopped as the angel on the other side heeded your call.

“I cast you out! You hear me? You’re not welcome here! I dispel you.” The world of your conscious mind was impacted with an earthquake of violent shuddering.

“No!” was the scream on the other side of the door before it swung open, shattering the chair holding it a closed hostage. He stood before you, his body stalking quick and fast.

“OUT!” You screamed defiantly. “I dispel you. Leave now!” It suddenly became hard to stand as everything around you began to shake once more. “Out!” With that everything fell silent. The angel had dissipated from view. Crowley surveyed the area making sure the rat had gone.

“I think you’re safe, now do me a favour and wake up.”

“Uh… How?” Looking around you tried to find something that would most certainly work on a slumbering body. Usually when you jolted up awake it was thanks to falling or almost dying. Since you didn’t want to take the chance on doing either you groaned.

“Can’t you just zap out of here and you know… Like slap me awake or something?”

The king grinned at you, he motioned closer towards you.

“I have a better idea.” With that he pinned your body against the countertop, his lips crashed against your own, his tongue sliding into the caverns of your mouth with such wanton passion and hidden emotion. That most certainly did the trick. Your eyes flung open, sparks of daylight burned your eyes as you looked at the scene laid out on front of you. Sam, Dean and Castiel stood watching over you carefully, Crowley was just beginning to wake as his vessel regained animation.

“Charming.” You scoffed as you glared at him.

“Snow white… She awakens.” He shot you a playful wink, a wry grin spread from ear to ear. Your face heated up instantly at what transpired between the two of you. It most certainly wasn’t a dream. You didn’t know what you wanted more, a spiritual cleanse or a cold shower.

[nayrusfountain]

Warm Blood

Attention! This is mostly for followers of my stories, Little Mikau and especially the upcoming The King of the Waves. This prompt may contain some noticeable spoilers for either stories. Proceed with caution. Enjoy

Lulu panted quietly, a slur of luminous crimson bubbles drowning out her tender facial features as it beheld a pained wince. Trying to push herself up from her sore knee, she felt the muscles of her aching arms screaming in protest as they stretch the wounds of her limbs, causing a curtain of red silk to ooze from the openings. The dancing liquid entwine and twisted regally in the ghostly currents as the silver gales of the sea pick up the threads of brilliant scarlet and yank them greedily from her gashes. The red swirl in loops as the tides receded back into the depths of the night, shattering the delicate threads in which they bust into plumes of ruby mist enshrouding her beaten frame, tickling her scales as they comfort her in their cold embrace. 

Cold blood. The Malletila Zora cough in slight disgust, her sharp fangs glinting silver in the pale blue frost of the full moon's rays. She tremble with pain and once again pants, her fins scrunch up as she try her best to not cry out. Ugly gashes and bloody cuts shredded the pearly scales of her limbs, and her hands felt numb from striking constantly with her glowing amethyst claws. Her teeth ache, having bitten through metal plates earlier and even broken some off, though this does not phase her as it'll grow back by the next two days. Her ears and tattered dorsal fin were pressed back with uncertainty, and velvety fins that dress her body were pulled or ripped. Again, these appendages will eventually return in pristine condition. However, while her broken frame is the source of her current physical misery, the scent of her own and the blood of the fallen overridden her delicate senses as they engulf the dimly lit waters in rusted red or deathly black. The curse of being a shark...the curtains of red and black silk was almost intoxicating. The clouds of red and black bubbled tauntingly as they sizzle around her, teasing her, daring her to attack as they gently caress her cheeks in brisk whispers. How they toyed with her...the scent was sweet and heavenly, with the odd mixture of salt twisting their velvety plumes into whirling mist. They were sinisterly cold, she noted, a reminder of their ichthyoid ancestry. She shudder at their frigid embrace. But she dwell little on the tempting liquid consuming her rational thinking, her sights lock on the figure before her in hopes of not losing her sanity. His slick scales were a stark contrast to the darkness of the echoing seas around him; they blazed in a majestic snow white glow graced with beautiful, luminous swirling markings entwining across his lean, athletic body. The artistic patterns glisten softly, like twirling tidal waves of royal purple dotted with galaxies of starry specks glittering against the blackness. The pulsing lights reflected off of his beautifully decorated frame as they send rays of lights in every which way, though they fail to emitted their glow far enough to ignite the reef. His snowy denticles were as if they were bejeweled purely with molded pearls, slick with a brilliant, captivating majesty shinier then the brightest sapphire. Beady "pearls" which are in actuality are tint bumps that only male Zoras have naturally encrusted the grooves in between his scales, so minuscule that one would barely notice their existence least they catch a hint of light. The more she looks at him, the more his contrast between white and shadowy purple sprinkled with stars represented the time of day. He resembles the personification of night. Such beauty and loveliness of colors he has. The white represent the ghostly frost of the moon, and the waves of gentle luminescence represent the stars and constellations. Lulu can almost swear she can see the cosmos through his purple swirls of colors, and for a moment fooled herself into seeing literal space. A glitter of light blazed across his body from one marking to another effortlessly, then a shower of shooting stars races through his artistic patterns almost as if to show off and impress her, though he never looked over. The lights illuminated her face and a glint in her amethyst eyes reveal her fascination with the display of dancing lights before her. Its almost like a Moon Pearl, a sacred jewel with the ability to cast visions of the starry skies far beyond the heavens. Lulu recalled the tales concerning the scales of his kind being crafted into beautiful and exotic jewelries with different uses, and worth more then diamonds for their rarity and magical properties. And seeing his precious scales, like silvery pearly mirrors bless with an elegant glossy sheen and the rippling colors of the night, she can understand why these Zoras had been hesitant of approaching outsiders for centuries. Their attractive jewel like scales and colorful patterns alone would make them targets of men blinded with greed. He didn't say anything, nor did he look at her. Instead, his eyes, like twin sapphires, streaked with ruby stripes kissing the lower lid, stare down at the mangle body of a downed Zora, his expression unreadable. His eye lids were shaded in dark grey, a natural protection from the glare of bright light. His claws were a metallic blue, and his muscular chest, stomach and back were a midnight black rimmed with gold and electric blue, complete with entwining streams of artistic colors. Various shades of shadowy purples were adore regally on his head and across his body, and his neck and crown were adore in lilac and plum arrows respectively. Trident like symbols and arching designs ran along one of his strong arms and legs, but his right one was coated in a permanent tattoo with rivers of reds and blues with a questionable design resembling a skull on his upper arm. He looks like a Zora one wouldn't try associating with if they could help it. He was well build and very large, his colorful body ripple with lean muscles. The tattoos alone makes her weary, having associated them with street Zoras as they all wore similar looking body paint. His mouth, though close, is a chamber of teeth as sharp as steel, cutting through basically anything with ease. Perhaps that's why his kind don't necessarily have the strongest bite force among the shark Zoras; their teeth are so wickedly sharp that they get the job done with minimal effort. She seen him in action when he assaulted the Zoras, his eyes blazing madly as he cut right through their metallic armors and severed their bones with minimal effort. Just gently touching his fangs will draw an insane amount of blood even from the most armored scaled Zoras. They are basically knives, and understandably most Zoras are wise enough to leave them alone or not agitate them badly enough to trigger an attack. This also holds true to his claws. A gurgle of bubbles whooshed out of his gills, and reaching out with his left hand, he grasp tightly on his bladed fin and yanked it out of the dead Zora's skull. As it slipped out of the wound with a sheathing sound of a sword, cool black blood oozed rapidly into the sea around them, further tainting the waters in its tempting toxicity as it hurried out of the stab wound. Lulu squeak as she try to hold back to urge to bare her fangs. Not only will it cause her to inhale the vile liquid and make her loose it, but exposing her fangs might send the wrong message to the male and thus trigger a fight. She is no pushover by any means and can hold her own in a fight, but the one Zora species she never in her whole life wants to engage in battle with was his kind. The Sylovaakien Zora. The male place the large blade into an opening slit in his lower right arm, slipping it in easily and making sure it reconnected into its socket. The palms of his hands are padded to protect against the sharpness of the sword he wields. After fiddling around a bit and fixing it snugly in place, he cast his beautiful gaze towards the violent waves above them as it glows an mystical azure hue during its raging fury. They crash and battled viciously, moaning painfully as the ocean churn inside out. Like the gales of the Watarara's Sky Kingdom, the brutal underwater currents whip and lash both their fins in every which way, his long dangling ear fins, tinted in tawny gold half way down, swooshing back and forth in the rhythm of the sea's wrath. Lulu stare at his scimitar fins, the signature weapon of Sylovaakien Zoras and the only one in Zora kind, as they bend and twist to the lashing sea gales while still retaining their iconic sharpness. They are extremely flexible even when in sword forms, and even more sharper then his fangs. In fact, they are the sharpest natural weapon on Termina, sharper then the mythical Great Fairy Sword. It was glazed with a shininess that one could see their own reflections on it, but in the middle lays a beautiful bejeweled symbol of the Zora's Sapphire, embedded into his fins by the Mother herself. He turn to look at her, his eyes glowing softly. Lulu watch as he tilt his large snowy head slightly to the side as he lock his sights with her, the rays of moonlight rippling across his vibrate scales like shimmering waves. She knew that he was reading her, studying her closely just as the rest of his kind did. She knew from experience Zoran Heroes held the uncanny ability to sense wickedness within a person's heart thanks to their bizarre association with shadow magic despite their closeness to Nayru herself, and will slaughter that person on sight with zero hesitations. She by no means is a bad Zora by definition and thus he would most likely loose interest and disappear back into the inky depths, never to be seen again. So why does she feel this looming sense of distrust and dread gripping at her heart as the other stare at her? Perhaps its to do with the eerie unreadable expression he wore? Or his intimidating, erect sword fins that gives off the illusion of him being bigger then he actually is? Probably, her weariness were in relations to the fact that he wore that questionable tattoo? Or just the fact they he hadn't spoken at all the entire time they'd been here? Maybe because the current season, autumn, is traditionally the time of year that Sylovaakien Zoras breed, and he sees her as a potential plaything? Oh, hell no! She'll rip his claspers off if he even thinks of going that far. They barely even know each other! Besides, Sylovaakiens and Malletilas breeding together rarely ends well anyway. Getting in a squabble with him during a courtship ritual will get awkward and messy very fast, something she learn from her perverted relatives when they try to mate with several Zoran Heroes; it only ended with both parties spatting hissy fits at each other. During her thought process she nearly fail to realize that the male had slowly close the distant between them. He bounded over to her, bouncing with each step he took as he trotted closer to her. His caudal flippers were disrupting the silty soil as they rose in dusty clouds around his ankles. He slowly crawl to a stop as they came within striking range of each other, cautiously flicking his fins as he lower his head. He merely stare down at her now, his sapphire eyes still illuminating their ghostly glow as the lights of his marking died down. His tail slowly elongated with each breath he took as his muscular chest pumped out the water through his five gill slits. The frosty rays of the Naryu's lunar body shone from behind him, casting his faint silhouette a haunting hue of moon silver as they dance around his muscular frame. Shadows twisted and crackle from around his facial features. Lulu stare back at the great mako Zora, a brief sense of enchantment accompanying her jittery systems as her webbed hands clenched the powdery sand tensely. He was a very attractive and marvelous representation of his species, blessed with the most vibrant and beautiful patterns she seen in any shark Zora. Even more so then other similar looking Zoran Heroes...But as she stare up at the Zora, she saw that all wasn't well with his regal appearance. There were slashes and bloody holes across his mid-section and gills, and bite marks raked across his shoulders and neck. Some of the red stripes running up from his jawline to his eyes were claw marks slashing open his snow white cheek, but his captivating orb of sapphire had been unharmed thanks to its protective, transparent membrane shielding it from assaults. She also notice their was a slight limp to his gait and he's favoring his right flipper as the left was held at a an odd angle, realizing that his ankle had been shot and swollen. He's bleeding, she told herself in frustrations, knowing that if he get any closer the scent of his blood would finally cause her to snap. She slowly back away with a slight reptilian like hiss as his blood lazily slid through the openings, picked up by the whooshing currents and lash around them. It was as if the sea was trying to have her go insane and fight. The Sylovaakien didn't seem at all phase by his injuries; he simply didn't feel his wounds, at least for the moment. He stare down the growling Malletila through his now slit eyes, calculating his next move carefully. Unexpectedly he kneel down to her level, his blue eyes taking on a particular glint. His fins stiffen and the look on his face seem to change to for a brief second. The Zoran Hero sniff the waters around her, to which Lulu reacted with flagged fins flailing in warning. Her heart rate accelerated as her mind went wild with horror. 'No you fool! Stop that! The scent of blood will taint your rational thinking! Don't sniff the water! Don't sniff the water! Don't-' She were just about to rake his eye out, anticipating the inevitable attack that will transpire now... When gingerly, the male cautiously snake his arm around her shoulders and stroke her delicate dorsal fin back. She froze, unsure of how to react as he gently caress her spine. His powerful arm felt like pure iron with how hard they are, and they ripple with lean muscles, but at the same time his winter scales were as if they were made of milk and honey with how silky smooth they felt. His large hand press down her fin as he silently soothe her, the pads in his palm massaging her strong back. She felt the tense muscles relax as he relive her tension, noticing that he fingers had callous as if he played an instrument of sorts. Though having been associated with the music industry, that was her first logical conclusion. Chances are he probably did. But the curtain of blood had thicken now. The sinister waves of velvet danced around them, still mocking her and possibly the male as they engulf the pair. However Lulu realize they were no longer as icy despite Zoras being cold blooded and the autumn waters embracing the chill of the season. The male grew bolder, as he slowly brought her to his midnight chest and allow her to rest her head on him. His body seem to burst to life as the cosmos of colors shimmer from his sangria markings. Lulu was too adsorb in the blood's strange rise in temperature to pay attention to his actions. When she did took wind of his behavior, a wave of shock wash over her slender features. Zoras felt cool to the touch, hence their blood. Every Zora she had contact with always had the same comforting coolness of their skin when touched. But this male felt wrong. Extremely wrong. He wasn't a stroke of chill that ran through a human when touched. He skin felt warm, as if he were a mammal. This is wrong....Very wrong! What kind of a fish, normal or anthropomorphic, feels like a literal mammal to the touch? His blood mingle with the her own cold ones, soaking them in an unnatural warmth not commonly seen in the fish world. It stroke her cheeks and brush her fins, bathing her in tender warm calming gestures like the pleasant golden rays of Din's sun. She released a breath she hadn't known she was hold in, the sprays of bubbles pulsing through her gills like jet streams. She realize how foolish she had been as she remembers. Sylavaakien Zora evolved from Longfinned Mako Sharks (Isurus Paucus; meaning few, not many, rare, which makes sense as Zoran Heroes themselves are extremely rare) and are in the lamnidae family which consist of mackerel sharks like Great Whites and Porbeagle. These are the only sharks who are partially warm blooded thanks to special heat systems that warms the blood vessels. They rely on this for their active burst of energy during hunts, and are able to survive cold waters easily. As such Zoras such as Korieop (great whites) Makiiekdo (shortfinned twins of Sylovaakiens) and Zoran Heroes themselves are all warm blooded. The warmth also helps increase their brain power, specifically in Makos like him, making them extremely cunning and always alert. They are more intelligent then an average Zora. She simply never bother associating with these highly intelligent breeds because their beastly size and territorial behavior towards outsiders made them difficult to approach. Most Zoras wisely keep their distant from these self centered sea creatures. Never had she experience such a comforting warmth from any Zora... Except Mikau. She snap her eyes open and abruptly push away from the male. He made a startle trill as she look into his eyes. He seem to had been agitated by her sudden movements, his sharpen pectoral fins rapidly fluttering in disapproval as he burn a hole in her skull with his stunning eyes. His gills puffed to accommodate for his displeasure and the corners of his mouth twitch as they pull back ever so slightly in a hiss... Those fangs...so frightening... Lulu cursed herself for her actions, remembering how skittish Sylovaakien Zoras are. They'll attack for the slightest movements, trigger by their desire to hunt. They are true carnivores of the Zoran race, encouraged by their high prey drive, and the wrong move can be disastrous. 'Now I've done it...' But the beautiful deadly Zoran Hero wasn't growling at her, she soon concluded. Instead he held the wound in his adornment, waves of sparkling crimson flaked with hot white light flashing across his markings to signify pain, and she came to the realization that her sudden actions had accidentally hurt him. Guilt wash over her systems, and against her better judgement of taking the opportunity to get away from him, she reach out a regretful hand and gently touched his shredded cheek. He completely froze at her actions and his fins tensed dangerously, not looking up, but she knew his gaze was staring right at her for any sudden actions. As tenderly as she could, she caress his cheek and brush away the silt and mud clinging to the tooth like grooves of his pearly scales. Her fingers careful not to prod his bleeding gashes, she stroke the side of his face with much care and gentleness. His blood felt so warm as it wrap around her hand, so alien of a shark to have access to. She could feel the hot veins pumping under his skin, comfortably heating his body above the frigid water temperature. He still didn't budge from his frozen state, but she saw his regal patterns changing colors in accordance. They shifted from a stinging red to a turquoise blue, with sprinkles of cerulean dust and azure stars. Lulu could feel a slight rumble vibrating from his throat, and his colors tone to a navy blue. He close his eyes momentarily and allow her to continue stroking him before slowly lifting his great head, his sights lock right at her. Lulu felt a sudden chill when she saw those cold sapphire eyes ablaze, but she held her breath as they commit a staring contest. Despite his apparent hostility, Lulu did not remove her hand from his face despite the threat of him biting it off. She felt a kinder connection to this individual who reminded her of an old friend from long ago. His eyes were finally calm, a glint sparkling within his pools, and his muscles relaxed. To her surprise the Sylovaakien Zora lifted his right hand and set his palm atop of hers on his cheek. His hand dwarfs her own, but their fingers entwine around one another and he gently stroke her own hand with his thumb. He rumble softly, enjoying her touch, and Lulu found herself purring with him. A wave of peace wash over them both, Lulu felt her heart pounding in her chest as their gazes connected once more. It was at that moment that she finally understood his true intention. Without hesitation, she carefully lean into him and nuzzle her head onto his chest, her previous fear evaporating with the waves as the currents tumble over them, threatening to knock them over. The Sylovaakien Zora made a small whistling squeal as he now held her protectively in his strong arms, rooting himself firmly in the loose sandy ground as he resist the angry ocean. Lulu felt his heart thumping against his great chest in her ear as she held onto him for dear life, finding the rhythm relaxing as pump the soothing warmth across his body and comforted her cold scales. Her own heart hammer against her ribcage, and she felt herself trembling with a hint of joy and nervous fear as she contemplate what she'd just done. His muscles relax, and he flutter his fins lightly as he lay his head atop her crown, wrapping his long slender tail around her small frame. He close his eyes and savor the moment, chuckling sadly to himself as he stroke her. A wave of emotions flooded his conscience, memories of the past overwhelming his visions. Images of simpler times cast over the world, and in the sunny tropical bays of Zora Cape he saw himself as a pup running across the white sands as he chase a giggling Malletila guppy. Behind him was the loud cheers of a Trejax guppy, his trademark head fins nearly covering his emerald eyes as he try to keep pace with them. Soon they all pounce on each other in a heap of laughing Zoralings, tossing powdery sands and wrestling playfully as their parents watch proudly. Looking down at her, he knew this was the Zora of his childhood, and a sigh of gratidute escape him as he thanks Nayru for their reunion. Lulu remain nestle in his embrace, safe from the cruel world around them. Her breath grew raspy, and her tattered body tremble as a wave of emotion threaten to break through. She felt small bubbles pooling at the corner of her eyes as tears well up, fluttering free in twiddling dances as they escape into the open waters as tiny orbs. But she felt compel all the same and a small smile grace her lovely, gleaming face. She knew now that he would never leave her again; they had found each other at long last, and the tender warmth of his powerful arms promise her that for now on they will always remain together. That she should never fear of being left alone again. That she no longer has nothing to fear as long as he is by her side. Finally, she had found him, for she knew it at the bottom of her heart. She had reunited with Mikau.

Alright! This is the last of the Fanfictions I had written for Luku Week. This is the one that I pour the most heart into, and I think it paid off. Now comes the art. Get pump! I’m getting started on them as we speak. Warning, I’m very lazy at coloring though, and some drawings might be left uncolored. But who cares when you have more Mikau and Lulu fluff? I don’t! Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

[drafts-from-the-past]

13 Blackbirds

Flocks of onyx feathers melded with the tempestuous heavens as the emerging sunlight was swallowed by the dark abyss. Blazes of amber struck at one another as 13 blackbirds dropped from the skys, crashing to the ground like fallen soldiers. The woman gazed upon this sight, bewitched. Inching closer to the limp bodies sprawled across the grass, the swarm of birds began screeching louder, the incandescent chorus emitting quakes onto the Earth below. The woman took one final gaze towards the birds as they plummeted towards her. Standing firm, she dug her feet into the muddy ground, remaining stagnant as the nefarious barrage consumed her. A single white feather lay dormant on her unmoving chest.

***

In the distance, 20 snowy mountains stood like Kings over the frozen town. The man gazed upon them in dismay, he was 6 foot tall and yet it was as if he was a child again. How could something so far away make someone feel so small?

***

The 1st blackbird sat on the lampost watching the man with intrigue. It watched as the man carefully avoided the cracks in the pavement. It watched as the man hummed and as he bit his lip when chewing his cheek. Once the man had left, time froze in place, for the only moving thing was the eye of the blackbird.

***

The gentle but potent fragrance of freshly cut flowers drew the man in like moths to a flame. The man was of three minds as he fished spare change from his tattered pocket and clutched it in his sweaty palm. His eyes raced across every pot, unsure of which flower to possess. Dustrubed by a sudden noise, he saw a single lilly laying on the ground. Thinking this was a sign, he shoved the change into the florists hands, bundling the flowers as if it were a newborn child.

***

The 2nd blackbird dropped the lilly it had plucked from a nearby field, the fragile flower landing just short of the man. The bird took shelter in a tree; together the three birds watched over the man.

***

Burnt leaves fell around the man, whirling into his face in the autumn winds. Sweet symphonies played for the eardrums as the man stopped for rest at the park. A young woman sang solemnly for the crowd that had gathered at her feet, her sorrowful complexion almost tangible.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

***

The 3rd blackbird flew over the woman’s head, joining its voice with hers in perfect harmony, as if it was part of the pantomime.

***

He pulled a piece of paper from his chest pocket - a photograph of a daring young woman whose auburn locks clung to her forehead. He could feel her alluring denim blue eyes through the picture, staring at him, smiling at him.

***

The 4th blackbird perched itself on the green flaking bench opposite to the man, carefully watching as the man hugged the photograph to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. The man and woman were one. But the man, the woman and the blackbird were also one.

***

The birds and the bees sung with so much delight that the shrubs they played in began to shake. This is how the man knew it was almost spring time.

***

The 5th blackbird saw this and began to whistle.

***

Staring at his reflection in the icy window, his thick breath clogged up the glass even more. He chuffed as he dragged his index finger across the cold glass and drew an image.

***

When the man had left, the 6th blackbird flew up to the window, resting itself against the ledge. But when the bird searched for the man’s work, all it saw was its own reflection, the glass refreezing over the creation.

***

Glimmers of gold reflected against the glass window, blinding the man as he strolled past. Shielding his eyes from the light, he saw a pair of golden shoes on the foot of a mannequin; shoes that resembled a particular bird. The man just couldn’t remember which bird.

***

The 7th blackbird licked its black feathers. It wished its own skin was as golden as those in the window.

***

The man leant against a lamp post, watching as people rushed to be somewhere else without acknowledging the beauty of where they were now - they were bound like slaves to the master that was life.

***

The man saw the shadow of the 8th blackbird gliding across the sky; he wished he could be as free as it was.

***

Coming across a well, the man flicked his last coin into it. He intertwined his fingers and prayed.

***

The 9th blackbird dove into the well, retrieving the coin just as it was about to hit the stone bottom. It couldn’t hear what the man had wished for, so it made its own wish.

***

The man patiently waited in a sea of impatient pedestrians as the red light flickered. An ambulance raced past, the unmistakable sound of ear popping sirens remained in the air long after the vehicle had departed.

***

As the red light finally turned to green, the 10th blackbird darted across the murky skies, its black body turning green, just for a second.

***

The man didn’t think the air could turn any colder, that is until a glass coach draped in darkness came trotting along beside him.

***

The 11th blackbird sat on the roof of the carriage, it's dark eyes becoming hollow.

***

Buzz-Buzz-Buzz, mosquitos flew blindly into the man’s face as he tried desperately to swat them away. This was not the only thing that the thrasing river enticed - a snake lay alert in the overgrown grass awaiting its next meal.

***

The 12th blackbird glided along the river, its claws grasping hopelessly at the water. Two young children bundled in warm layers played by the bank. The bird flew past the young boy - knocking him off his feet and into the rapid freezing water as the young girl screamed.

***

It was evening all afternoon. Chunks of white ice were catapulted by the Gods onto mankind - it was snowing; and it was going to snow. Rows of headstones poked their withered heads from the soil, standing inert in silence as the wind howled and thrashed around them. The sea of the dead drowned the man who simply stood idle inhaling and gasping the crisp evening air as the rotting corpses of forgotten children lay in eternal slumber under his feet. While some tombs were littered with floral arrangements, others were littered only with the excrement of long gone rats. Most though were untamed and dishevelled, for even their visitors had joined them in the forgotten realm. The rustle of the burnt leaves tethered to the branches of the old manchineel tree cast shadows that lurked along the walls of the mausoleum, threatening to consume it.

After trekking the length of the graveyard, the man halted, his charcoal eyes set on the writing on the tomb below him:

Here lies an unknown woman

Found dead in a field of blackbirds

May she rest with God

02. 08. 1945

The moonlight glimmered against the stone, illuminating a single white feather resting on the tomb. Swiftly reaching into his satchel, he produced an identical feather, allowing his fingers to curl around the pair, his thumb running against its bristles. As he raised his chin, looking out to the distance as the moon disappeared behind a cloud, the 13th blackbird perched itself on top of the headstone. Lifting its right wing, the man noticed the single white streak of feathers contradicting its usual darkness. The bird simply stared at the man, its beady dark abyss’ meeting the man’s constricted pupils.

Without leaving the bird’s eyes, the man reached back into his satchel, pulling out a small knife. He wrapped his fingers around the bronze hilt, tracing along the grooves of the beaten steel blade. As the moon light bounced onto the blade, specks of crimson dust and discernable dents became illuminated. Without hesitation, without consciousness, without palpable emotion, the man thrust the blade into his abdomen - the hilt disappearing into his fragmented body. Slicing through his soul as if his body was nothing but softened butter, the tip of the bloodied blade reappeared through a crack in his spine, almost as if it was taunting him. As he fell to his knees, he looked up to see the bird had vanished. Swallowed by silence, his lips curled into a smile as he clutched his stomach, collapsing onto the grave.

A flock of 13 blackbirds began violently circling the sky above him, screeching.

[magmasliveblogs]

interlue - king edition

i was almost late because my uncles pool collapsed! to recap: last chapter we got a bunch of lore! this chapter seems like some earthlings are going under the attention of a king!

A boy and a girl stood in a throne room, talking. When one fell silent, the other spoke in their place. They were twins, and they were similar enough that one could pick up exactly where the other left off.

Occasionally, they would be asked a question and one would falter until the other came up with an answer. None of their answers were wrong, but some created more questions. Eventually though, the questions ceased. The twins fell silent, and nervously regarded the hunched figure in the chair in front of them.

“Hm. Hmm. Fascinating. And is that the entirety of your world?”

On first glance it could have been any dignified older man that addressed the twins. While this man’s clothing was finely woven and inlaid with artistic designs embroidered in gold, any nobleman might claim such finery. Indeed, this man’s clothing was worn thin and bore the faintest signs of ancient stains; a sure sign that while his attire was well cared for, his servants lacked the money to replace his wardrobe.

And while the man was old, he wasn’t so old as to be notable in that sense either. He was simply an older man in his forties, with the first streaks of gray beginning to invade his mane of red-gold hair. It could also be said that his remarkable physique and muscled body was unusual, but then, many warriors of his age were equally well-toned.

However, a few definite things stood out that made this man unique. The first was where he sat.

He sat in a throne room, facing the boy and the girl as they stood at attention before him. The great, cavernous ceiling made the room feel even larger than it was, and it was a room built to hold thousands. But at this time, the throne room was empty, and time and decay had cracked the marble flooring. Only a few of the many windows were drawn, so that the throne room was only illuminated in places by faint shafts of light.

This is the place where the man sat, and the gigantic golden throne was clearly an invitation to any who entered the room. But he did not sit on the throne. Rather, he sat in a smaller chair across the room, facing the throne.

He sat like a man waiting for something. And though his posture was languid and relaxed, a spark shone within the depths of his emerald eyes.

The second unusual aspect about him was that underneath his gilded robes he wore chainmail. The metallic links caught the sparse light as he shifted in his seat, but the man seemed oblivious to the heavy armor. When he moved it was with swift clarity, as if he did not even notice the added burden on his body.

The last thing that was notable about this man was that he was a king.

“Magnificent. Truly, magnificent.”

oooo a king! is this a high level [king] or is this man just naturally regal?

The king stood up from his chair in a sudden move, knocking it back. The twins flinched, but the king made no move towards them. He strode about the great throne room, his long steps a flurry of movement in the silent emptiness.

“A world unlike this one, full of miracles such as I have never dreamed…? Inconceivable. And yet—you tell the truth.”

The king spun towards the twins and they jumped as one.

“You tell the truth. I know it. Not just because of a Skill, but because it is too incredible not to be the truth. I could believe a world ruled by magic, but a world ruled by—machines? A place where magic is myth and technology has advanced to the point where men fly for business and convenience? That cannot be a fairy tale.”

He swept past the two again, this time towards the throne. The king put one foot on the dais, and then shook his head. It wasn’t time. Once again he stalked around the room.

“And when you did lie—when you dared to conceal the truth—it was to lie about the strength of your armies! The sheer power of a single weapon in your world that could shatter armor like paper and lay waste to even the strongest walls—that is the might of the world you claim exists beyond this one! Where I would be naught but a primitive beast from a forgotten era.”

He spread his arms as he came to a stop before the boy and the girl. They looked up at him fearfully. Not because he had been violent, but because he was a king to be feared or exalted—or both.

“So. What should I do with two strangers from another world? What would any man do? Perhaps kill you.”

They flinched at that. The girl moved protectively in front of the boy. The king’s lips twitched.

“Do not fear young lady. I am no ordinary man, ruled by his flaws. I am a king, and my flaws are a lesser man’s strengths. No; I believe I should keep you two safe. You have more knowledge I am sure, and you may be key to finding more of your kind.”

The two twins looked up at the king nervously. They paused, and then the girl asked a question. The king nodded as he stroked his beard.

“The prospect of you two being the first is possible. But the odds that more of you strangers have come to this planet is altogether more likely. Perhaps a portal is open, and the armies of this other planet pour through already to sweep through nations like a reaper’s scythe.”

The thought of such devastation made the king smile.

“How wonderful.”

The twins glanced at each other nervously, but the king only laughed. He spread his arms wide as he faced them.

“You do not understand. How could you? But think for a moment, as a king would. Think as I would. Come.”

With one word, the King moved the twin’s unwilling feet. He strode over to one side of the room and yanked open a set of double doors. The red light of a fading sun blinded the two for a moment, but the King strode out onto the balcony.

“There.”

He gestured out across his balcony at the crumbling city below.

“Behold my empire. Once, each street was packed with people from every nation. Every storefront held goods brought from countless thousands of leagues away, and messengers sped to every corner of my expanding kingdom. By day and night my armies marched forth, and the world trembled to hear the clash of blades and my name on the lips of men.”

The twins looked out at the city, but couldn’t imagine the sight the king described. All they saw were crumbling bricks, and ragged people walking without life. The gutters ran with filth, and what food was on display in the shops was rotten or rotting. The king gazed down upon his city and shook his head.

“Once. But I abandoned my dreams of conquest and let the nation I had built collapse around me. And why? Because my vision was too small, and my goal too achievable. I had swept through a continent and brought low countless kingdoms and yet—it was an edifice of the moment, a paltry creation born of opportunity and luck. It was worthless.”

The twins stared at the dying city below them. They shuddered as they saw the malnourished faces of the people below. The king glanced down at the two.

“You pity them?”

Both nodded.

“Well and good. They deserve a better ruler than I. In my regret and self-indulgent misery I have failed my subjects. But the fire in my soul had long been extinguished. Until this day.”

interesting, lets hear more about this ruined kingdom and this mans lose of passion

He swept back into the throne room.  The twins ran after him, drawn in his wake like minnows in the tide. The king ascended the dais of his throne two steps at a time and stood looking down at the two twins. He seemed larger all of a sudden, and this was a man already commanding by physical presence alone.

“Once, my name echoed throughout the world! My deeds were spoken of in awe! And yet you have come here—come here, to the heart of my fading kingdom to tell me that a greater world exists than I had ever dreamed?”

His voice thundered through the throne room. The twins gripped each other in mortal fear. The king pointed at them.

“And to be told that all I had accomplished in life—all the glories that empires dare to claim as their proud history—to be told that is nothing compared to the wonders of your world. Is that not intolerable? Yet, for all the strength of my armies, we cannot match a single—bomb. And though my mages could labor a thousand years, even they have not looked up to the twin moons in the sky and dared to land on them. Land on them!”

He raised his arms and roared with laughter. The cavernous room echoed with the thunder of his voice.

“What a jest! What a challenge the heavens have sent me!”

The boy and the girl held each other. They had seen many things in life, at least compared to the citizens of this world. They had seen men and women flying, they had looked upon their world as a small orb of blue and green, they had witnessed armies marching on television screens and men walking upon the moon. But all of that was dust compared to the reality of standing before the king. His laughter beat down upon them like a physical thing until it stopped.

All at once the king sat down on his throne. In a moment his mirth was gone, and the insane energy that had filled him had been replaced. Now he seemed to smolder on his throne, and when he stood up, he was a different man.

He was a King.

this man seems to have the personality of Napoleon! this should be interesting

“Come, then. Let us wake this sleeping nation and bring death and glory to this hollow world once more!”

He walked down from the dais and began striding across the throne room towards the double doors. The twins followed him, not daring to be left behind.

“Orthenon!”

The King bellowed. He stopped beside the smaller chair and planted one foot on it.

“Orthenon! My steward! Come to me!”

For a second all was silence. And then the double doors opened, and a man entered the room. He was a tall, gaunt man who walked with unnatural grace across the marble floor.

The twins watched him with interest. For a second as he entered, the man called Orthenon had glanced hopefully towards the throne. But when he’d seen his king standing next to the smaller chair his head had bowed. He approached his king and bowed perfunctorily.

“You summoned me, lord?”

The King nodded. He was still smoldering from the inside, and the fire was growing, but his steward didn’t see it. Not yet.

“Tell me, Orthenon. What is the state of my kingdom?”

The man made a bitter face. He answered without looking directly at his king.

“As I have told you time and again sire, we are dying. This nation is crumbling away. Our enemies take our land, your vassals bend knee to foreign powers, and we cannot even feed our youngest.”

The King nodded. His eyes seemed to burn in the half-light. If Orthenon would look up—but he didn’t. The steward continued talking, his voice slowly rising with passion as he listed the frustrations of years.

“The Emperor of the Sands leads his armies across the deserts even now! The other nations break their armies upon his forces as he burns and pillages every village in his way. To the east, the Minos stir and war drums can be heard beating from their shores. Rumors of war spread from the northern continents, and our people starve in the streets! I have told you this time and time again, lord! If you will not take the throne, why do you ask it of me?”

“Because I am your King.”

Orthenon looked up. The King stepped forwards and placed a hand on his shoulder. And the fire spread from one man to the other.

“Rejoice, my steward. I have returned. I sit upon my throne at last.”

For a moment the gaunt man gaped. Then his eyes filled with tears. He clasped his King’s hand and the two embraced for a moment.

“I had hoped—we have waited so long lord—”

“I know.”

The King patted Orthenon gently as the man choked on his words. But in seconds he had mastered his weeping and bowed low to the ground, one leg extended forwards, as the other swept back. One hand on his chest as the other extended outwards. It was a different gesture than the stiff bow he had given earlier.

The King nodded in approval. He lifted his foot off the chair and picked it up with one hand.

“Never again. You have my word.”

With a sudden move, the King hurled the chair. It flew through the air across the room and shattered on the far wall, fifty feet away. The twins gaped as the wood splinters rained down. The King nodded and turned back towards his steward.

“Now then. Report, Orthenon. Tell me of my kingdom once more.”

Orthenon spread his hands out as he faced his king. His expression was conflicted as he spoke. The weight of starvation and the pain of years weighed him down, and yet a fire was stirring in his eyes. He did not look as he had a few moments ago—a broken, exhausted man.

“How can I report upon chaos, sire? I could list a thousand dire issues and still have a thousand more left unspoken. The kingdom is failing. Our treasury is empty, our people are starving, our crops have failed, our animals are dead and our armories full of rust and decay. Every decent soldier save a loyal few has fled for greener lands, and we teeter on the precipice.”

“Wonderful.”

Orthenon stared at his king. The twins stared at the King too. They gaped at him as if he’d gone mad. But that too was being part of a King, and he was used to their incomprehension.

“We have never fallen so far before. My kingdom and I have sunk to our lowest. How wonderful. It shall make the coming days, weeks, and years all the greater.”

The twins didn’t understand. But the embers began to burn, and Orthenon’s eyes flashed. The King looked out towards the balcony.

“What of those loyal to me? What of my vassals, those I chose to lead in my absence? Have they abandoned me as well?”

“Not abandoned, my king. But they were forced to bow or be broken by other nations. Even now foreign armies hold your lands and impose their laws upon your people.”

The King nodded. He swept towards his throne, and now the fire in him was fully lit. As he passed by the twins they shivered uncontrollably. What was happening? The old man they had first met was gone, and in his place something fierce threatened to burn down the entire castle. The King was far larger than his mortal shell. Even his clothing seemed to be brighter than before.

“Send word to my vassals. Tell them they have three—no, two days to dispose of the worthless dogs that would grind their pride to dust. They will rejoin me here with as many warriors and youths of worth as they can muster.”

Orthenon hesitated.

“I am not sure they would believe it is you, sire. And it has been so long—some might turn away.”

The King stood by his throne. He pointed down at Orthenon.

“Then tell them this: I await them. And I shall raise my banners and set each place at my table myself. Until they have gathered here, I shall not rest upon this throne. But let the kingdom know, and the world hear! I have returned!”

Orthenon touched a trembling fist to his breast. His eyes were blurred with tears, but he didn’t look away from his king for a second.

“Go!”

This time the King’s voice was a roar. He shouted again, and it was thunder. It echoed through the throne room, out the double doors, and reverberated through the entire city. The twins thought they felt the ground trembling.

“Let this nation wake from its decade-long slumber! Let every hand grab sword and axe! Stand, all those who still remember my name! Hear me and obey! Rise!”

The last word shook the air. The twins leapt forwards and then stopped. They didn’t know what they were doing, only that they had to move. The King’s voice seized something inside of them and struck sparks in their very souls.

Orthenon raced out of the room. The twins heard him shouting wildly, and then it was as if wildfire fueled by madness consumed the castle. His shouting was joined by another man shouting—not in panic or fury, but with joy. It was quickly joined by more voices, men and women crying out and the pounding of footsteps.

From the castle the commotion grew and spread into the city. Open-mouthed, the twins watched as a man ran into the street, screaming and shouting wildly. The people he passed looked up, and it was as if they caught the same wild passion from him. Some fell to their knees, other wailed or shouted, and more began running throughout the city, or out the gates towards other villages.

Not a single person who heard the wild shouting was spared. The fire raged, and spread to every soul in the kingdom. A dull roar of sound rose from the city and every part of the castle. It was deafening, wild; rejoicing mixed with relief and sadness and hope.

It was the sound of a city coming back to life.

The King strode out onto his balcony, and the people shouted and the sound grew louder as they saw his face. He raised one hand, and the twins were nearly deafened by the noise.

He turned towards them. The light was fading, and the sun had nearly set. But the King glowed, and it may have been a trick of the lights or their imaginations, but the twins could swear the light formed a halo above his head. Or…not a halo.

A crown.

The King pointed at the twins.

“I have much to do. But you two. I will have you accompany me. You shall be my personal attendants. Bodyguards? Yes, bodyguards. I will properly train you to your role in the coming days.”

The twins gaped. They began to protest, but the King laughed. He listened to the boy speak, and then the girl, and shook his head.

“Hah! It matters not what you wish. Your lives belong to me.”

Again, they argued, but their words trailed off as they stood before the King. He looked down at them, surrounded by the dying glow of a sun and lit by an inner fire.

“These things you speak of. Freedom…? Liberty? Justice? Pah. They are not yours by right. If you would claim yourself, take arms against me. For I hold all these things.”

He gestured towards the city stirring into life.

“Know this: wheresoever I walk, and so far as my reach extends, I claim this world and yours as my own. So long as you are within my grasp, I shall rule you. For I am a King.”

He raised one hand and his voice became thunder once more. It echoed out across the city, and across a nation.

“Let the world take arms against me. Let the peoples of every race march upon my people, and let the earth itself open and the pits of hell spew forth. I care not. I am a King, and all those who would follow me are my people. I will not be stopped. The world is mine!”

The King spread his arms wide and laughed. The fire left the city and raced out across the countryside, spreading from person to person, bringing with it a single message. It echoed from every hill, in every street, and every heart. He shouted it from his crumbling castle at the heavens, and the word of it spread to every corner of the world.

“The King of Destruction, Flos, has returned!”

oh yeah this man is a conqueror all right! this is the sort of large personality you would expect from a man who would call a gun pathetic and plan to conquer the world! some dont like this guy, but in my opinion he is fun! also, is [king of destruction] his class or just a title?

thats the end of the chapter! will this king rejuvenate his kingdom? what sort of skills could he have? will we see him again soon?

see you next post