#fighting through the end times means battles against more than flesh-and-blood

[mondoreb]

End Times Prophecy Headlines: March 24-26, 2023

End Times Prophecy Report HEADLINES FRIDAY-SATURDAY-SUNDAY March 24-26, 2023 And OPINION “And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you.” —Matthew 24:4 “The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison.” —Fyodor Dostoevsky ===INTERNATIONAL UKRAINE: Russia Launches Attacks Across Ukraine, Killing Seven in School…

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [4/...]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

"I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die, I think my body's falling in pieces, I think my blood is passing me by."

— Mitski, "Brand New City"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, Buggy is a lonely asshole, "Cross-Hairs"/reader is a lonely asshole too, flashbacks, semi-canon divergence, Reader is strong AF, a mixture of both the Reader's and Buggy's POVs, angst

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual with only 2.2k words... Sorry.

Taglist:@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

You’re like a savage beast when you’re fighting, Buggy admits to himself in awe as he watches you tear through your opponents one by one with substantially more strength than anyone thought your body capable of.

But Buggy's not just anybody. He's always known that your body is of a special sort, an Iron Maiden encompassed by skin, flesh, veins, arteries, and ligaments; capable of bringing ruin to anyone and anything if only you have reason enough. Chains can't hold you, nor can any power on this earth.

He relishes in it.

You have your sword and your pistol both disposable at the belt on your hip, but you seem to have no interest in wielding them for the battle. No, your body is a weapon on its own; a blade cutting through people like grass straws on a narrow field.

It’s during times like these — when he gets to watch your strength from the front rows — that he wonders whether you’ve eaten a Devil Fruit of your own at some point, but that can't be. He’s seen you swim.

You, him, and Shanks had been simply traveling through the town where the Oro Jackson was docked, minding your own business when a group of rival pirates suddenly ambushed you. Thinking they easily could kidnap the apprentices of the famous Gol D. Roger and demand ransom, the shidiots would quickly come to realize that they made a mistake.

A very costly one at that. One they will be sure not to repeat.

Whereas he and Shanks stand partnered together against a few of the rival group, you are holding your own quite well from the other side of the fight. He swears he saw one of the men flying over him at some point, though it might’ve just been a trick of the adrenaline.

Kicking one of the larger pirates straight in the balls with his lower body severed from the rest, he turns his upper body to catch a glimpse of you in case you need help.

What he sees instead is a flash of the sun reflecting in your eyes as you pounce at your prey, casting a yellow line in the air that reminds him of lightning about to strike the ground. Everything around him seems to cease mid-motion save for you. There is no fighting going on, no shouting, no Shanks telling him to take cover from an incoming blow.

All he sees is you, and all he hears is his own voice telling him: "Gods, you’re fucking marvelous."

The last thing he hears is Shanks shouting his name before the world begins to darken around him, and the last thing he sees is lightning making its way toward him, destroying everything in its path to get to him.

He wonders drowsily if it's going to strike him too.

———

The fight that ensues reminds you of the battles you partook in during your years as Captain. The chaos in it all. The carnage. The general inability to think properly as you fight. Of course, your opponents back then lacked Buggy's uncanny ability to split up into multiple parts while still alive, but it doesn't stop you. 

Nothing on this earth can.

Blades are thrown, skin is cut, and by the time you get close enough to reach him, a number of props have scattered to pieces in the midst of your warfare. It seems like an endless battle trying to defeat him, just get him to fucking stay still.

Just as you reach for Buggy's chest with your nails reached out to claw at his vest, his midsection separates and all you're left with is air. Just empty air.

He cackles as he puts himself back a few good feet from where you're standing. "C'mon! Put your back into it! It's like you're not even tryin—!"

In a flash, your face is hairsbreadths away from his, and it feels like everything around him stops. 

At that moment, he realizes that the golden color of the sun has not left your eyes. Only to find that, upon closer inspection, it's not the color of the sun that he's met with.

It's thunder, and it strikes hard.

Before he has the chance to blink, the next thing he knows is the feeling of a boulder being pushed against his stomach. Not a sound leaves his throat save for a guttural groan, and he finds himself on the ground before he knows it with stars adorning the edges of his vision.

Gods, he thinks while in a state of both pain and exhausted satisfaction, your face a blurred canvas in his eyes. You’re so fucking marvelous.

By the time Nami and Zoro debut to join the battle, you have already pinned Buggy to the ground with your legs planted firmly on each side of his hips, and a bruising grip around his neck as you press your forearm down onto it. Not enough to cut his flow of oxygen, but enough so that he doesn't have the capacity to move unless he splits.

His face, the very same face you used to paint when you were younger, looks up at you with nothing short of manic glee. He doesn't even divide himself up to get free this time. It's almost like merely connecting to him, even during an act of violence such as this, is enough to keep him entertained. Happy, you dare think.

You find those sea-blue eyes looking up at you, and before you try and strike the finishing blow, you hesitate. You fuckinghesitate, because when it all comes down to it, you can't find it in yourself to kill him. 

The legendary Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the executioner of a thousand marines and other pirates, can't kill something this time.

You can't kill him. You can't kill those ocean-blue eyes, even when your body yearns to see through with what you promised. You always stick to your promises, but for the first time in forever, you don't. You can't. 

Not him.

Never him.

Meanwhile, Buggy can't help examining you like you're the most fascinating creature he's ever laid his eyes on, because you are. Even after all this time, he's still as drawn to the fire in your eyes that as he was all those years ago. It's a feeling he can never hope to extinguish.

Nor does he want to.

Being the jester that he is, however, he takes the moment to his advantage. This one, vulnerable moment. It's not out of pettiness, but survival. Nothing personal.

He separates his femur and exploits the momentum to knock you off him. He can tell you're surprised as you position yourself on your knees and hands, yet it only takes you a ghost of a moment to recover.

The fire is back in your eyes, a thousand times brighter this time, and the fight continues. 

Now, neither of you holds back, and he becomes first-hand acquainted with just how ruthless truly you can be. When there is nothing keeping you down.

Truth be told, it excites him. Very much so. 

He has the Bounty Hunter and the Tangerine-haired girl hot on his tail, but he hardly provides them a medium of his attention. You're the only thing he can't take his eyes off.

"NAMI! THE CRATES!"

And that's where the entire play gradually comes to an end. Maybe it's what pisses him off the most?

You stalk after his separated body parts like a hunter after a flock of deer, throwing them into the crates as the rest of your companions follow suit. Whereas Nami and Zoro are strategic with their actions, complementing each other, you're acting on pure, unadulterated wrath. 

You do not have Luffy's stretchy capabilities, Zoro's precision, or Nami's diligence. 

What you have is something far, far deadlier.

It's twenty years of pent-up heartache.

Catching pieces of him is much easier than catching all of him.

This is what it's come to, with you and him fighting; with you and him having different goals. It's not the future you envisioned for yourself at all. In fact, it's the exact opposite. If you knew then what you know now, you would've ... 

Once, it was you and him together against the rest of the world. Now, it's you against him, against the rest of the world.

You can feel your eyes threaten to sting as you catch his femur and throw it in an open box that promptly shuts, but like with everything else, you push it down. You push it until all that remains is the vague ache. 

It doesn't matter, you tell yourself. This is what it will stay like. 

In the end, all of his body parts save for his head, hands, and feet are spared from the confinement of the containers, and when he melds them together to a pathetically small version of his usual self, you can't help but address the irony of the situation.

"What have you done to me?!" Buggy cries.

Luffy grins as he caresses his beloved hat, having suffered the most injuries. "Cut you down to size."

Buggy looks as small as you felt that day. Helpless. Pathetic. Reduced to almost nothing.

Still, it's not a moment that brings you any happiness. Not any victory, or satisfaction. You don't even have the urge to gloat. 

All it brings you, as you tower over him from the side, is nothingness. 

You're tempted to kick him, and you almost do. You take a step closer to him, a river of anger rushing through your veins. With nowhere else to go, it circles.

"The One Piece will never be yours!" Buggy yells and flaps his hands, too focused on Luffy to notice you calmly stalking toward him from the dark. "You're just a sad, lonely little boy, wearing another man's hat!" 

It’s Shanks’s hat, you want to scream. Our friend’s hat. Don’t you remember?

Luffy's words don't register with you as you kneel in front of the shortened clown, nor do Nami's questions or Zoro's inquisitive eyes. It all tunes out into the background as you raise your hand slowly to Buggy, and you think about how easy it will be. It will be so easy to end it now. He's weak, he's practically defenseless. There's nothing to stop you now.

Buggy simply stares when he notices you, his mouth slightly parted in what you can only perceive as surprise and ... disbelief? You take one final look at his face, the same face you used to paint long ago, and you briefly wonder how many layers of white, red, and blue separate this one from the touches you applied years ago. 

Is there still some residue left? Any fingerprint? Does anything from you still linger with him, or did he try to scrub your touches off his face the same way he tried to scrub you from his life altogether?

Buggy is completely still as your outstretched fingers close in on him, and he thinks that this is it. Now's the moment when you will make good on your threats, where you'll finally kill him. Truth be told, it's a less-than-satisfactory way to go, but surprisingly enough, it doesn't bother him half as much as he expected it would.

Maybe it's because, after all this time, it's still you until the end? You and him, like it was always meant to be.

He closes his eyes with a sigh and finds that the edge of his lip tilts a little up. "Go for it," he says, awaiting the moment when your calloused fingers grip him. He can anticipate your nails clawing at his scalp, tearing the skin of his cranium, digging until there is nothing left to tear at.

Devil Fruit or not, you're the only one he'll let end him like this.

Except, you don't.

All he feels are your fingertips gently grazing the sides of his cheek, so uncharacteristically soft against his thin stubbles that he could've mistaken it for air brushing his face.

The same hands he knows capable of such great feats of violence and brutality, the same ones who had just fought against him with enough strength to match a beast, are touching him like he's made of glass. 

He snaps his eyes open, and when he meets your gaze, he's surprised to find them ... empty. Hollow. 

The sun is gone, and so is the thunder. Now, there are only clouds in his view.

"Goodbye, Buggy." Your voice is so tranquil that he strains to hear it, and before he gets to, you stand up again and turn your back to him. "He's all yours, Luffy."

No, no! He tries to walk up to you, but his shortened sature won't let him. Don't look away, not yet! Look at me! If only to keep your fucking promise! Just fucking pleas—Please just look at me again!

"GUM-GUM—!"

"No, no, no!" Buggy, for the first time in his life, begs as the kid stretches his arms backward. Not like this. Not yet. He tries to search for you, only to discover that you've already left the circus tent. "Wait, wait, wait! Just wait!"

"— BAZOOKA!"

[evolutionsvoid]

The battle was lost before the first blade was even drawn, we knew there was no way we could win against such odds. They easily had ten men for every one we had, with far better armor and weapons than we could ever afford. The empire and its hungering god knew we didn't stand a chance, yet wanted to ensure us "heathens" were utterly decimated. They sent an army against a village whose only crime was to not bow and beg for their very existence. They already had everything, what use was there killing us? But yet they did, and we had only one choice. The men who charged into battle knew there would be no victory, no coming back alive. They threw themselves against the overpowering horde to buy the others time, so that those who could not fight could instead flee. If we could save the children, save the elders, then perhaps we as a people could survive. But the sacrifices weren't enough, the hounds were tearing through our men and there wasn't enough time to evacuate. It seemed our hopes had been for naught, until She appeared. 

Our Goddess, our divine Mother. She whose image the empire so despised, whose idol we prayed to made us an "enemy" to the wretched regime. We chose Her over their cruel god, and thus we were to be destroyed. Yet She came before us in this moment, to protect Her children when they needed Her. She towered before the horde and pushed them back with Her might and aura. For a moment, we stopped in our flight, believing that She had come to save the day. She would defeat this army and save our home, but that hope was lost when the empire called forth their god. While She could fend off the waves of men, their monstrous deity was not so easily pushed back. Powered by countless believers, vile rituals and sacrifices of blood and wealth, it was far greater than Her. We cried in despair as the great beast smashed through Her defenses and tore into Her flesh. Despite Her intervention, we would not win. We fled in fear, as our beloved Goddess was torn into pieces. We heard the triumphant roar of the greedy god as we ran, signaling the end of our people and Goddess.

For days we fled into the wilderness, far from the reach of our pursuers. Though we had succeeded in evading our enemies, we refused to slow or rest. Surely they were still on our tail, waiting for us to grow weak and tired. The journey was brutal and long, desperately trying to carry our young and old to safety in this treacherous world. At last, there came a day when we could run no more. Fear and exhaustion took their toll, and we had no choice but to stop and pray. Pray that this was far enough that the hounds would not find us. We found shelter in forgotten caves, where we could at least hide from the rain. We were able to capture water from the plants and rain, but food was scarce. The plants here were unknown to us and we had no means or energy to hunt beast. Even if we could find edible berries, it would not be nearly enough to feed the remains of our village. It seemed like our efforts to flee only prolonged the inevitable. The death of our people would not be by blade, but through starvation and sickness. We tried to pray to our Goddess for guidance, but knew She could not hear us. We saw Her perish at the hands of the empire's god, ripped apart and scattered to the winds. We were a people with no god or home, what hope did we have?

One of the children found it when they ventured out of the cave one morning, calling the adults to something that sat right outside our shelter. At first we thought they had spotted our foes, who finally caught up to finish us off, but what sat upon the dirt was Her. The head of our idol we had back at the village, one we had assumed was long destroyed. But it seemed someone or something had snapped its head off and dumped it before our cave. Was it the empire mocking us? Or was it some kind of warning from above? We didn't know, until She spoke to us. She told us to take this piece of Her and bring it into the cave. Give it water and prayer, and all would be well. We did not hesitate to follow Her words, and within hours, something marvelous had occurred. The head of the statue grew soft and spongy, and then began to swell. It grew like a miracle, becoming a massive head that soon drew breath. Though Her body was destroyed, this part of Her survived! When She was fully grown, She told us what we must do. It was to live. Survive. Hope. Her intervention during the attack was not to defeat the army, but to save our people. She knew we could never win, but we could survive. Her "death" had been enough to distract the empire, allowing our village to escape. And with her public execution, the empire was sure they had totally won, and thus sent no hunters after what they believed to be the random stragglers. We were safe from the empire, but we worried if we could live long enough to make a difference. 

She heard our fears and called forth Her power. Her hair grew long, like tendrils, and formed small bulbs and caps at the end. In minutes, She had grown into a garden of mushrooms, one She had assured was safe to eat. She told us to find nourishment from Her own flesh, to feed our people and make them strong. In time, we would find our way in this new world, learn how to survive off its offerings and make ourselves a new home. Until then, She would give us Her flesh, to ensure we would survive, for that is what truly mattered. 

We had lost much of ourselves to this empire, but a piece of us survived. One big enough to grow strong and rebuild. We may not be whole like we once were, but we are not broken. We shall regrow, like our beloved Goddess, and our people will live on.         

------------------------------------------------

"Mother of Plenty"

For Week 3 of Funguary, the theme being "Edible" so I picked the Enoki!

[blackjackkent]

Like most of her fights, Rakha's battle against Balthazar is brief and brutal. He spends most of it encased in columns of fire Rakha summons to come crashing down on him, and his attempts at raising further minions come to nothing in the end.

And Rakha stands over his body and winces as the beast urge in her head purrs with satisfaction at his death.

He had to die, this one. There was purpose in it, she tells herself firmly. He was at Ketheric's right hand. His death will let us strike at Ketheric for good.

As for her...

She turns just in time to see Shadowheart taking up a position in front of the Nightsong's cage.

"Balthazar has drawn his final rancid breath," Aylin hisses. "A pity it was not my hand that brought it about. Instead... it was you." The aasimar turns, peering intently at Shadowheart, reading the determination in her bearing, the dark armor she wears. "You who have come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart."

She sounds deeply exhausted. Grief-stricken. Angry, in a soul-deep way beyond anything Rakha has ever witnessed. Despite Balthazar's death, the claws of magic still hold her captive as she tries to lash out in Shadowheart's direction.

"Not a dagger," Shadowheart snaps. "A spear. My Lady Shar's spear!"

Every molecule of her body vibrates with resolution, but her voice is high and sharp. She sounds, Rakha thinks, suddenly terribly young. A child seeking approval.

As if she can hear Rakha's thoughts, Shadowheart's head turns to face her. "Her fate is mine to seal," she growls. "Let me handle this."

"The fate you seal is your own," the Nightsong says bitterly. "To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy - only servitude. Until, of course... your mistress inevitably discards you." She takes a step forward - slower this time, so the claws do not dig into her flesh. She seems utterly uninterested in Rakha's presence; all of her attention is on Shadowheart. "And there is much she does not tell you. A terrible blood price that may extend beyond my own death."

Narrator: You feel Shadowheart bristling. This is important to her. But your bond is strong. You may yet be able to sway her from the path of duty to the path of light. And Nightsong is not blind to your conflict. Behind that raging heart is the restless beat of one who knows too well that her fate hangs in the balance.

For a moment, Rakha's attention turns entirely inwards. The beast, not sated by Balthazar's death, growls excitedly. Kill. Rip her apart. Sink the spear deep into her flesh and watch the blood ooze around it. She is trapped. Innocent. Her death will be sweet...

This is wrong. She knows it by the very fact that the beast wants it. This woman, this aasimar, whoever she is, does not deserve to die. Rakha can see the workings of the magic that holds her; there is some way to break it while she lives. The beast does not have to feed here.

But more important than that by far is Shadowheart. This is important to her. She believes this to be her destiny, inescapable, incontrovertible.

There is purpose in that; Rakha's interest in her companions has been one of the things that has helped her hold the beast back in its worst moments. But now those two things stand at odds - supporting Shadowheart means indulging the dark urge. She swallows, trying to clear a sudden tightness in her throat.

"Is this truly what you want?" she mutters hoarsely.

"I... yes, I think so," Shadowheart says. For just a moment, her eyes show a flicker of uncertainty. Then her expression hardens with visible effort. "My whole life's been leading to this. No turning back now."

Yes, growls the beast. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

"Do as you must," Rakha rasps. Her fists clench at her sides.

Aylin can see the way the conversation, and that anger-fear in her rises in a sudden sharp roar. Even in rags, even trapped here for a century, she has a level of strength in her that Rakha cannot quite fathom. "Well, well, well," the Nightsong snarls. "What's that I sense? A spear intended for my heart. Empowered by your goddess, aye - empowered to kill the child of a god!"

Rakha blinks. Child of a god? What is she talking about? She can see the words work on Shadowheart too; she takes a step back and her eyes widen just slightly.

"Do you know who I am, little assassin?" Aylin continues. Her eyes are hard; she looks Shadowheart up and down with a gaze that seems to rip and tear at the Sharran's carefully crafted defenses. "For I know you. A lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark."

Shadowheart's head snaps up she goes deathly still. "What did you say?"

(A/N: Larian's skill at Saddest Wettest Eyes strikes again.)

Rakha remembers the memory Shadowheart shared with her. The day the Sharrans found her. The wolves chasing the small girl down, driven back by Sharran spears. Her eyes narrow, looking at the Nightsong with new interest. How does she know of that?

But Aylin offers no explanation, no sign that she recognizes how her words have struck home. "Much has been promised to you, hasn't it?" she says. Her voice is softer now - still cold, still angry, but more careful now, a dagger point rather than a greatsword blade. "But what has been taken from you?? What do you know of your own heart? Your own life?"

Another slow step forward. She is pressed up against the very bounds of her cage, staring into and through Shadowheart's eyes. "I sense more in you than you know..." she murmurs.

Shadowheart's poise is stripped away now. She has started to tremble violently, and she rounds on Rakha again - this time not with anger but with pleading desperation. "I-- what do you think? What should I do?"

Rakha's jaw works. Every instinct in her says to tear out Aylin's throat just to watch her bleed. Every better part of her - what few there are - screams to leave this place before the blood urge can win.

But Shadowheart is one of the only people Rakha cares about. She cannot be responsible for shattering this thing that she believes is her destiny.

Rarely has she felt so conflicted. It feels as if her head is going to split apart.

"This is your choice," she says. The words come out too harshly. "I can't make it for you."

Silence, but for the swirling roar of the wind around them. Shadowheart for a long moment does not move at all. Then she turns. The light of the mark flares around her hand as she lifts the Spear of Night.

Aylin flinches backwards. The green necromantic claws drag at her, holding her in place, unable to dart away from the impending attack. Rakha squeezes her fists so tight that her fingernails dig into her own palms, and braces for the beast's feral joy at the coming spillage of innocent blood.

Then Shadowheart turns. And with a sudden sharp motion she hurls the spear away.

Rakha feels the stirring of the air as the spear travels past her ear, then hears the clang as it hits the solid rock. For a moment it teeters on the edge of the platform, as if daring Shadowheart to snatch it back.

And then it is gone, toppling into the abyss and out of sight.

[frayaziwriter]

The Strings Of The Universe Will Lead Me To You

Chapter 1

It wasn’t always like this; humans considering themselves at the top of the food chain, egotistically calling themselves the Apex Predator. Hunting and trapping animals, only to sometimes release them back to nature horribly disfigured and dying all for the name of sport or ancient science. Pollution and deforestation running amok while the world was under their rule.

There was a time when humans were hunted. A time of man-eating creatures called demons. They ruled from the shadows, intent on turning humans into cattle and claiming the very top of the food chain. Egotistically thinking of themselves as the Apex Predator. Hunting and massacring villages of humans in their hunger and blood lust. Torturing their prey before eating them alive, most often in gruesome ways. They rose with the moon and ruled over humans with an iron fist.

They couldn’t be killed, at least through normal means. Their only weaknesses were the sun itself, a beautiful and unassuming flower called Wisteria, and a blade made from a strong metal that absorbed the sun’s celestial fire.

And the one that lead them? The devil himself, who had crawled straight out of the deepest and darkest hole from hell.

He thought he would reign for eternity, cheating death until the end of times, and possibly even after. 

And he would have if it weren’t for the Demon Slayer Corps and a small, unlikely group of slayers that just so happened to be at the right place at the right time. Seven slayers with extraordinary senses and powers.

A boy with a sense of smell so strong, he could pick up the slightest change in emotions of others around him with a sniff from his bloodhound nose. He was able to remember and track scents for years with just one whiff and could smell the difference between demon and human. His forehead was as hard as the densest diamond, just as strong and unbreakable as his determination, and he had the power of the sun flowing through his veins.

A once human girl who was forcefully turned into a demon yet retained her human mind and soul. A traitor to the Demon King, and a demon who refused the flesh of humans. She fought for the light, for those that she held dear both dead and alive, and for the hope of reclaiming her human body. A demon whose Blood Demon Art harmed those of her kind yet protected humans, and a demon who conquered the sun.

A boy charged with the thundering of lightning, whose sense of hearing allowed him to clearly hear whispered words from far away. It was known that even while he was asleep he could listen in to conversations around him, and it was rumored that he could even hear someone’s private thoughts. His speed was ungodly; those who faced him only heard the clap of thunder before their head slipped off their shoulders.

A boy raised with the soul and breath of a wild beast. His sense of touch was so enhanced that he could even feel the slightest vibration in the air. He could sense the precise location, species, and intent of another with his incredible spatial awareness. His battle lust and ambition drove him to be physically stronger and more flexible than anyone else in a fight, even altering his twin katanas to rip and tear the flesh of a demon with a serrated edge. 

A girl as delicate and beautiful as a deadly flower. She could track the movements of any being, whether slow or quick, with her sharp sense of sight. She was quick and strong, expertly dodging and performing effective counterattacks that left her opponents stunned. She navigated her life with only a singular normal coin, yet it was a coin burdened heavily with all her previous and future decisions. 

A boy who gained the powers of the demons through consuming their flesh yet retained his human body. Despite not having a breath style, he decided to fight against the demons. He sought the approval of his estranged brother, hoping to prove himself despite all the odds. Instead of a swordsman, he was an excellent marksman, supporting his comrades from the distance with both bullets and the blood arts he gained.

And a chosen girl out of her own time, dragged from one war against demons to another. Her five senses were rather normal; no super sense of smell, no enhanced hearing or sight, and she was unable to feel or taste slight abnormalities. But, she had a very peculiar sixth sense that was only partially heard of in fiction and myths. She had the ability to sense the hidden threads that weave the universe together into a beautiful tapestry. 

These seven slayers of different paths and backgrounds banded together with their factions that never would have attempted to work together on their own. And with these banded slayers and allies, something that was only a flicker of hope centuries ago was finally a possibility.

The end of demons. The end of Kibutsuji Muzan.

It wasn’t always like this; humans creating beautiful masterpieces out of anything they could find, free to roam wherever they please without the threat of monsters of the night. Being able to connect and care for beings both of and not the same species. To protect those much weaker than themselves and restore the lost and broken. 

To live.

notes: and this is the start of my Kamado Tanjiro/Reader fic! hope you enjoyed it! things really start next chapter, so if you did, make sure to check the rest out when it comes out!

anyways. tomorrow, i'll post this arc's chapter list. in a few weeks, the next chapter will drop, so if you have trouble finding it just check out the Arc 1 chapter list post! (each arc will have a summary of the content in the chapters and i will hopefully remember to provide links when the story is updated. if i don't promptly, please feel free to yell at me. i'm very forgetful.)

love you lots! stay safe, and please remember that you're all AWESOME! XP

[reginrokkr]

At the edge of time when all dust has settled does the Twilight Sword of old return to where it all began: Irminsul. In its presence he reminisces the hard fights that have been won: against corrupt divine, imposters to the original first gods to exist in Teyvat; against the star-devouring ailment they brought with themselves that was silenced by his hand. When all threads of fate have been re-weaved by the hand of the just and balance betwixt all creatures, short-living and carriers of longevity alike irregardless of their power —for in Teyvat there is no such thing as imbalance in power, divine or human: both are equally as important in this star's health—, a wondering mind questions the All-Knowing that has been ever present in his mind and soul since the beginning of his own existence:

Where did forbidden knowledge come from?

Irminsul always answers to his voice, yet this time it is in the form of a new variable that Dáinsleif has never encountered before. As if he was plunged into the Abyss that Khaenri'ah wished so much to conquer and explore with their own flesh and blood only to resign to resort to a fallen star from afar, everything around him is naught but a dark sky filled with stars. His eyes close once, the next time they open he finds himself before what he believes to be Irminsul at first due to its reasonable similarity, only to reject this idea as soon as he listens to this new entity's voice upon smoothing the palm of his hand over its golden-white trunk: the Imaginary Tree.

Though no connection whatsoever would be expected to remain with the Axis Mundi that belongs to a world when he's at the core of the universe, recognition is made manifest in the Imaginary Tree of a man chosen by one of its infinite extensions and so a link is established nonetheless. Wordlessly does the tree show images of other stars that fought against an energy called Honkai, others struggling against one by a different name: Stellaron. Individuals who gave it they all to defend humankind as he successfully did in Teyvat and a clear image of the last man who touched the Imaginary Tree before him, a man with alarm-inducing similarities.

From unspoken imagery does Dáinsleif come to the conclusion that this energy that once desolated Teyvat and threatened to consume it whole is no different than a stellar cancer that affects other corners of the cosmos as well. Thus a question reverberates within the confines of his mind next, ethereal:

Now that your question has been answered, what will you do? Return to your homeworld to spend the river of time peacefully of your long-lasting life? Or—?

That is true. Even if the curse has been lifted from him at the end of the crisis, his status as a long-living creature never changed. For he was never human through and through since the very beginning, despite his humane traits. He whom looks at the tree, core of everything that was birthed in this universe, he wonders: Was Phanes, who gave life to humanity in Teyvat originated from this tree too? This tree where time flows in the trunk of the Imaginary Tree and branches out into an infinity of worlds. Whose every branch is a form of civilization, while every bud is their past and present etched onto the dimension of time. Where each twig is a world line and each leaf is a bubble universe.

There is no continuation to the second option given, but Dáinsleif knows what follows. Looking back to all his life experiences, there is no more left for him in a world where he has closed one chapter. When a door closes, a window opens— or so they say. Perhaps this is the moment to say goodbye to a chapter of his life that has found its closure that welcome a new phase of his long-lasting life.

❝It has been decided.❞

A knight knows no end to his battles, neither does the Twilight Sword of old. In this battle for humanity's sake where he has the means and the strength to tip the scales in the right directions, his love for humanity will become the first step towards an unknown that doesn't frighten him.

Do it.

Through telepathic communication as per the eternal link that connects him to Irminsul's brethren in the center of the universe his answer is communicated, and so the tree that glows golden-white inundates Dáinsleif's starry vision with its light and a parting gift: he who remained a wingless seraph in soul and mind only to be displayed in his realm of consciousness has been elevated back to his celestial origins, so would Dáinsleif come to realize upon setting foot to a new world and seeing himself atop water's reflection. With his state of completion that he hasn't felt in several centuries, he now treads unknown grounds with a clear destiny in mind from the start— unlike when he was lost after everything was taken from him once.

[nsfwhiphop]

What does the Bible say about the Antichrist?

Some clarifications on a fascinating subject that is often misunderstood.

What Does the Bible Say About the Antichrist?

Some clarifications on a fascinating subject that is often misunderstood. The Antichrist is the opposite of Christ. Just as Jesus came to earth to do the will of God, the Antichrist will come to do the will of Satan. He will be Satan manifested in the form of a man.

All of Satan's ambition is summed up in wanting to be as powerful and strong as God, and he works tirelessly day and night towards that end. "He will oppose and will exalt himself over everything that is called God or is worshiped, so that he sets himself up in God’s temple, proclaiming himself to be God." (2 Thessalonians 2:4) His intention is to replace God, and the means he will use to achieve his goal will be to send the Antichrist. The Antichrist will deny that man needs God and will assert himself as the ruler of this world.

But what kind of world would be ready to receive Satan's emissary as Lord? Is it possible that the world in which we live has reached such a stage?

Thinking about the end times should not instill fear in us. Read this article about the best way we can prepare for the day we will meet Jesus!

Jesus Christ Came in the Flesh

The dominant spirit in the world is the "spirit of the Antichrist," which has been at work since the early days of the Assembly (1 John 4). This spirit is the sum of every spirit that does not confess that Jesus Christ came in the flesh. It claims that Jesus had something we do not have, that he was divine, that he had no lusts and desires like a natural man. And for this reason, he could not sin.

But if we believe what is written in the Word of God, he had the same flesh and blood that we have.

"So then, since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity." (Hebrews 2:14)

He had the same lusts and desires that made him tempted, and he had to fight to keep himself from sin. The Holy Spirit guided him, and he received strength and help from his Father in heaven. Through his life, he made the same thing available to us, and that is why we can follow him on the path he opened through the flesh, which leads to the Father.

But admitting this means that we must make an effort, engage in the battle he fought, fight against the sin that is in our human nature due to the fall in the Garden of Eden. Most people are not ready to do that. And that's how the spirit of the Antichrist gains power. It shows people an easier path.

The Separation Between God and Humanity

Sin is the cause of the separation between God and humanity. When sin is removed, we are united with God. The spirit of the Antichrist accepts that sins that separate us from God live, hiding them under the veil of tolerance, love, and freedom. The Word of God clearly defines what is good and what is evil, what is sin and what is pure. But when many people live in sin, such as adultery, for example, it is no longer considered sin. God's laws are rejected, and the laws of society, or even the laws of states, change to adapt to this revised vision of what is good and what is evil.

Impurity and sin are allowed to live, and humanity is moving further and further away from God, which is exactly Satan's goal. The majority in the world has given in to this spirit because it allows them to live comfortably, without a guilty conscience. This has been done under the guise of religion and forgiveness of sins without ceasing to sin. However, in the times we live in today, humanism is increasingly taking on the role that religion had before. Humanity has more and more confidence in itself, it governs itself rather than being led by a "higher power."

The Revelation of the Antichrist

All of this prepares the way for the Antichrist himself when he appears and gets rid of any semblance of religion. He will entirely eliminate God. He will perform signs and miracles to prove once and for all to the world that humanity is sufficient unto itself. (Revelation 13:13-14)

A force... to realize their thoughts, their dreams of peace and harmony on earth... without it costing them anything.

Humanity is ready to welcome such a person. Someone who does not jeopardize their comfortable way of life, who will be an external force to themselves to realize their thoughts, their dreams of peace and harmony on earth: a world of tolerance, love, and kindness without it costing them anything. And the Antichrist will be the one who can accomplish that.

The name of the Antichrist has been associated with evil throughout the centuries, but the truth is that when he is revealed, the majority of people will not recognize him for what he is. He will not appear as someone repulsive, on the contrary, he will be someone talented and ambitious who will claim to be able to solve the world's problems. He will announce what is already on the verge of becoming a reality: that men can make this world a paradise, and that, by their own strength, without God. The world will believe that with the Antichrist as their guide, humanity can accomplish anything.

"And it opened its mouth to utter blasphemies against God, blaspheming his name and his dwelling, that is, those who dwell in heaven." (Revelation 13:6)

When this happens, Satan will finally have what he has always wanted, he will be considered equal to God. He will have control over a world that does not need God.

The Bride of Christ

But there are those who do not have and will not reject the gospel of Christ; those who wish to be done with the sin they see in themselves, in order to be united with God. Those will not be deceived, for to them, sin is highly condemnable. (Romans 7:13) They will be able to see the Antichrist when he is revealed, they will see who he truly is, for they will have been extremely vigilant and awake to the spirits that tolerate sin.

When this happens, they will be able to prepare for the return of Christ when he comes back to fetch his bride and bring her back to him. Once they have been taken away and have received the reward of their faithfulness, the Antichrist will be able to reign freely. (2 Thessalonians 2:6-7) It will be a terrible time on earth. The true evil nature of the Antichrist will be revealed. When the situation reaches its climax, when distress reaches its peak, Christ will return with his bride.

The earth will then live a thousand years during which it will learn how just, true, and good God's perfect will is. The earth will be free from the devil's deception.

He will then destroy the Antichrist by the breath of his mouth, and the world will see in reality how powerless the Antichrist is. Jesus will take control of the kingdoms on earth, Satan will be bound and thrown into the abyss, and the earth will live for a thousand years during which it will learn how just, true, and good God's perfect will is. The earth will be free from the devil's deception. And those who have kept themselves pure from the spirit of the Antichrist and have faithfully followed Jesus in the footsteps he left for them, those will reign with Christ during this millennium. (Revelation 20) The kingdom of heaven will be theirs forever!

[nox-the-former-demon]

>>In this post, I, Nox, a former demon, will describe the series of events that lead to my current life. This story begins with treachery, and ends with myself waking up in my current state of being, the second mind and second soul sharing a body with my host, my headmate, my murderer. In many ways, treachery begets itself, but I can’t say I didn’t deserve this either.

Our story begins during the French Revolution, but that is only a footnote. Merely a timeframe that spells out the origin of two key players. To make a long story brief, a pair of soldiers, siblings and brothers in arms, were preparing themselves for their next stand on the battlefield when one of the two felt metal pierce his back. This betrayal, for purely personal reasons, marked both souls. One, a kinslayer, the other, a loyal victim.

On the other side of the veil, these two would go on to be loyal servants for their respective side of my war. The victim would go on to be known as Flak, who’s name means Till End, a name chosen as he swore his loyalty to Cariel. An oath to never give up the fight, to never surrender, and to always be by the side of his charge. Golden hair, a longsword modeled after the very one he fought with in life, truly the model of a good hearted knight.

And then on the other, red hair stained with the blood of their own kin, a blade that resembled an oversized version of the kitchen knife used for that very murder, draped in tattered rags that were more for show than any practical purposes. I would know this soul as Asa, a name that meant healer, chosen for the raw audacity of it, but would go on to be something of a fitting title when they cut through foes with the precision of a surgeon.

Suffice to say, now that who was on what side was obvious, the former brothers were sworn foes, and in many ways, each others perfect matches. Where as one fought with pure instinct and raw ferocity, the other was clever, tactical, and whenever he could, used his foe’s strength against them. The number of times these siblings nearly ended each other permanently is one I rapidly lost count of.

And then, when word came of Cariel’s departure, Asa struck out, seeing this as a perfect opportunity to end the feud and the war all at once. If they could only take their brother’s life a second time… but the tables turned. It was a trap. One they were too prepared for. I believe Cariel planned that part before their departure. Either way, I was under the assumption I’d lost a soldier, and not much else.

What I didn’t know was that Asa’s true fate would be far more complicated.

Time passed. With Cariel gone, I wanted to strike hard and fast, but also precisely. I wanted it to go perfectly. I got almost too excited, and planned my move too methodically. I can’t begin to explain exactly how this came to be, but one fateful day, as I was making my preparations, I heard the sound of metal. And when I turned, that knife-like blade, now sporting a proper hilt to make it more respectable as a sword, was cutting into my flesh, familiar red hair with a blindfold behind it. Asa had returned, and now, Flak stood by their side, and they were here for my life.

I wasn’t about to go down like a chump. I thought I could easily overpower the two. One was blind and the other was directionless without his master. But as it turned out, the two opposites fit like a glove when they worked together. Relentless Asa attacked like a rabid animal, and precise Flak struck whenever an opening presented itself. I was fighting back of course but I was taking more wounds than I was used to.

Asa was the reason this had happened. A traitor. I knew if I could squash the life out of that one insect, the other would retreat when my full attention was upon them. So I grabbed the red haired one and used my full strength to crush them. They screamed out in pain, of course… but then, they lashed their face forward, teeth gouging the flesh of my face.

I wish I could tell you how that battle ended. I know having an eye bitten out wouldn’t kill me, I had four of them. But this is where my memory abruptly ends. Because the Nox that is writing this now is not the same demon who died that day. My eye was swallowed by Asa, who then went on to kill me somehow. And in doing so, a lot of my essence wound up a part of them. Enough to keep that eye alive, for the piece that would go on to become me to slowly heal itself.

But when that finally happened, circumstances had changed drastically. Because it wasn’t the rivers I awoke to. I woke up to a mortal shell. I didn’t know where I was at first, or what for that matter. Everything had been dark, and then things were twisted and tangled like a maze. For a while, I was merely a voice, then a shell who would step up whenever the original owner of the body was in mental crisis enough to shut down. But with time, and exposure, and access to the world around me, I eventually pieced it together.

Asa was no longer Asa. And no longer the masculine demon I once knew. Asa had been born to a human life, one where Asa was now known by a new name, and a new one still because she had come to discover herself as a transgender woman. And she eventually started to realize I was there too. A second voice in her skull. A second personality sharing her skin.

I intend on going into detail on how my host, whom I will continue to call Asa to protect her identity, and I have managed to make our relationship as headmates work, and how our unique form of plurality functions. But that’s all a story for another post.<<

[kiryll-antiqua]

Barbarous

He did not expect to meet his sister ever again, yet here she was, waiting on the top of a hill just outside the city.

"Kiryll Chambers!!"

Her voice was gruff, years of screaming, booze and probably smoking made her voice more ragged and gruff than he had ever heard his own. Claudia’s mother had died in childbirth three years prior to their father marrying Kiryll’s mother in secret, but all one had to do was look at Kiryll and Claudia next to each other to see their relation.

She was dressed in rags and pelts, obviously able to have made her own way in the cold. She held a gigantic sword and a dented shield. Her rolandberry blonde hair was ragged and dirty, but still shorn off just above the shoulders as it was in her youth.

"You and your whore mother killed my father and I will have my revenge at the end of the world!"

She rushed at him, screaming from the base of her throat. She still had the eye color they were both born with, a bright and clear warm amber, fueled with her own fire, as she always was. There was no one to stop them from fighting this time.

Kiryll was not prepared to see his half sister, not prepared for anyone to deny him his birthright by using his mother's maiden name as they once did to keep Kiryll safe from harm in his own home. Claudia cen Antiqua was the first born princess of her home, but she never rose to it, never acted like it. Never tried at class or poise, was never interested in knowledge or reason, and so it was very easy for Kiryll to sidestep her charge with a few graceful steps. 

"If I remember correctly, it was you who told Grandfather what Father intended for us. And Grandfather shot and killed him. His own son. In cold blood."

"The penalty for treachery is death!!!"

"An Ascian's rules!"

"Ascian or no, my father is dead! Bring him back! Give him back!"

“I know you know that’s not how that works, Claudia! You’re not stupid!”

She swung at him again, wildly, becoming more upset with every swing. She didn't look like she had slept or eaten in days. “Shut up, whoreson!!”

"You mustn't fight back against Claudia, Kiryll. She is the lady of the house!" Kiryll's grandmother, his mother’s mother, had sharply told him once. It was for his benefit, but phrased so harsh and in defense of the one who always started the fight.

"But it's not fair!"

"Life is very unfair, Kiryll. You must learn this if you are to survive in this world."

Now, his grandmother was long dead. He had every right to strike back at his half-sister, and always had. He had the power to simply kill her, but he was not that kind of man. Even though he blamed her for their father’s death, he could not bring himself to raise a hand against her, though he also gave her no satisfaction of letting her land a blow. He knew enough about the flow of battle to be able to tell where she was going to step, and she was slow and exhausted, able only to howl into the wind.

"Which of us is truly the barbarian now?" It was obviously Claudia, and Kiryll had determined his own ways of being in opposition to what he knew of her, which to be fair, had stopped when he was seven years old, but it was clear she had continued to rebuff any attempts to sand her rough edges out. But yet he was not Garlean, and therefore considered the outsider and the barbarian. He pursued elegance and grace to spite her memory for nearly four decades now.

She continued to swing at him fiercely, and didn't land a single blow, and eventually collapsed in the snow. "You’re still a snivelling coward who only knows how to duck and dodge and hide!”

Kiryll knocked her out with the butt of his cane. The Swanleige cane, which he had earned himself, through honest means, through breaking through the years of fear of fighting, even for sport.

She could not be reasoned with. And she was more culpable for his father's death than he was. But he would not kill his own flesh and blood, not while someone else could take her in.

He dragged her to a place where he knew a patrol from Senatus could find her quickly, and left his coat draped over her so she wouldn't freeze to death while she was unconscious. She would know he spared her, and he knew she would hate that.

He was on his way out to Thavnair in less than a day, anyway. How long had she been circling this place, trying to find him? Was it pure coincidence? He did not care to know, and he was late to say his final goodbyes to Jullus and the Twins at Tertium.

[spoldhamauthor]

The Attack of the Dead Men - a TRUE story!

The Attack of the Dead Men.

Thanks to my youngest son Rhys Oldham for bringing this horrific tale to my attention. The true story of ‘The Attack of the Dead Men’ – the name given to the Battle of Osoweic Fortress in WWI. They say that truth is often stranger – and worse – than fiction. This is one tale which definitely proves that.

In World War 1 an horrific battle took place for Osoweic Fortress, now northeastern Poland. The Russian soldiers were hit with deadly mixtures of poison gases, bromine and chlorine by the German forces, forcing them to cover their faces with cloths if they were to continue to fight back.

The advancing Germans, around 7,000 of them, did not expect any real resistance after the bombardment of chemicals. They underestimated the men they were fighting.

Surviving soldiers of the Russian 13th Company of the 226th Infantry Regiment, commanded by Lieutenant Kotlinsky, counterattacked. The sight of oncoming Russian soldiers, coughing up blood and bits of their own lungs as the deadly mix of chemicals began to dissolve their flesh and organs, understandably horrified and frightened the Germans, prompting them to retreat. In their desperation to get away they became entangled in their own concertina wire traps, whereupon the five remaining Russian guns opened fire.

With the odds so overwhelmingly against the Russians though, they did not hold the area much longer. Instead, they demolished as much of the place as they were able before themselves retreating. Lieutenant Kotlinsky died later that evening, as I imagine many of those men died that day.

If there was ever to be a moral to a story such as this, I would suggest that it might be ‘never underestimate anyone, no matter how weak they may appear.’

History often gives us such lessons, though whether we learn from them is a debate for another time. Those poor souls, to have gone through such gruesome agonies. So much for ‘The War to End All Wars…’

There seems to be quite a lot on the web about The Attack of the Dead Men, including songs, videos and so on. Wikipedia, from which I have borrowed heavily, has a bit about it too, if you are interested to find out more.

A tale of brutal warfare, this also has an enigmatic appeal to it. No wonder it spurned imaginative recreations later on. I mean picture it, an actual zombie war, or close enough. I might return to this topic some time myself.

[misskatebishop]

You're a page I can't turn

Word count: 1.375

Pairing: Druig x Eternal!Reader

Warning: Blood. Depictions of Violence. Angst.

Summary: You refuse to let Druig dies, even if it means sacrificing yourself.

A/N: Y'all know I love writing angsty fics, right?

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

Request: What if Reader was an Eternal with healing powers except for every time she uses them, she ends up taking on the injuries herself. She would heal quickly, but they would still hurt. Maybe Druig gets really injured and everyone says that he will die and she shouldn’t try healing him because she could die in the process, but she doesn’t listen and tries to heal him anyway because she loves him.

Druig presses his forehead against yours, cupping your cheeks. You can hear the sound of the deviants outside, the scream of the people and the sound of the fire cracking as the flames engulf the village. You open your eyes to look at Druig’s serious countenance, yet loveable eyes.

“Take care,” he whispers. You nod.

“You too.”

Then, you split up.

That’s the part that you hated most. Druig goes to the battle in order to keep humans safe from the attack of the deviants, and you’re left behind to help the injured ones. There wasn’t much you could do to help in a fight against deviants, your power wasn’t useful on the battlefield, only on the post-battle where you would heal your fellow Eternals’ wounds, and help the humans who hurt themselves in the rush to get away.

You pace back and forth restlessly. Then, you hear shouts in a language you barely master, an improvised litter being carried by a woman and a man, you look at the child's fractured bone exposed. You get yourself to work, placing your hands above the injury and letting the golden energy light flow, and then each structure of the body goes back into place, bone, muscles, and the layers of skin until the leg looks what it once was. The couple, probably the parents, thank you in tears.

It doesn’t stop. More and more people are brought in, either by Makkari or accompanied by Sprite, who proves to be a great help in calming people down, distracting them with her illusions. You feel your power wearing you off at the measure the wounds get deeper and graver. You feel your shoulder hurt as you’re healing a warrior hit by a spear on the shoulder, you feel the wound growing on you, the pain spreading through the man’s wound to yours, and when he’s finally healed, you notice drops of red blood on your own clothes.

Ajak appears, approaching you, she waves her hand over your shoulder and the pain disappears as she heals you. You could heal deeper wounds than Ajak, giving the person more chances of surviving, but contrary to her, your power wears you off to the point where the wound reflects on your body.

“Get some rest,” Ajak advises.

You nod, heading out and inhaling deeply. The air smells like smoke, blood, and burnt flesh. It makes your stomach churns and you can’t keep yourself from vomiting. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you spit to get the bad taste off your mouth. You walk among the debris, despite the dizziness, you’d need some time to recover.

Looking at the horizon, you can see the distant ray of gold in the air, clearly Makkari. You see Ikaris crossing the skies before he lands somewhere far away, in the depths of the forest. It’s only then that you notice that the gold ray is coming in your direction, and a second later Makkari stops in front of you.

You look confused at her but worried that one of your families is hurt. It’s proven to be true when you see tears in Makkari’s face as she signs.

“Druig is wounded. Badly.”

“Take me to him,” you sign.

Makkari wraps around you, and suddenly everything turns into a blur around you. The wind is so strong that it hurts your skin, and the speed only makes your sickness and dizziness worse. You blink and in the next second, you’re there.

Thena is kneeled close to Druig, she lifts her head to look at you and Makkari. By the corner, you see Gilgamesh, Kingo, and Ikaris fighting a deviant, a strong one, and probably the one responsible for Druig’s wounds.

He looks paler than ever, lying on the ground, dust on his clothes, and his hair sticking on his forehead. If you couldn’t hear his slow heartbeat, you’d thought he was dead. You kneel beside him, reaching out for his head and pressing your lips against it. The tears fall hot on his cold fingertips. He’s dying, and you… You can’t let him go. You’re not ready to turn this page of your story, your existence.

You know what you have to do. Arishem hadn’t gifted you with these powers if this wasn’t what you were meant to do. It wasn’t fair if you could heal all these human lives, and not be able to save the only one that means the world to you. You couldn’t accept that painful truth. You couldn’t live knowing that you weren’t able to save him.

You take a deep breath, straightening your posture, you feel the energy flowing through your body until it warms your fingertips and you place your hands above the bloody wound in Druig’s side.

“Y/N,” Thena calls, you look up. “Are you sure of that?”

“I know what I have to do,” you argue.

You listen to steps approaching and Gilgamesh stands by Thena’s side. You look behind and Makkari is narrowing her lips, she is concerned, not only for Druig’s but also for you.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t do it. You look drained,” Kingo says.

You don’t care how you look. If healing Druig means to sacrifice yourself, then you don’t need to think twice. You raise your hands again, but this time it’s Ikaris who pulls you by the shoulder, making you sit onto the dirt ground. You snarl.

“You can’t do it, Y/N,” Ikaris shakes his head as if you were proposing something absurd. Maybe you were, and you were just too blind to see it. Isn’t that what love makes? Blind all the flaws?

“You don’t tell me what to do, Ikaris,” you reply.

“If you do that, you will die,” he states.

You don’t care to answer, instead, you turn to Druig and stand your hand over his wound. You close your eyes and focus all your energy on his body. You shiver, but you don’t falter, gritting your teeth as the pain runs through your body, leaving you in a lethargic state. You can feel your flesh tearing on your sides, the blood spilling out and soaking your suit as his wound becomes yours. You don’t stop, not even with the muffled yells around you. You can’t distinguish the voices, your head hurts so much, but you can feel you are almost there. Hold on just a little bit more, you think. You can do it. You will do it even if it costs your life.

You open your eyes, seeing the perfect skin under Druig’s suit, all the blood is gone. A feeling of pride grows in your chest and your smile.

Next thing you know the world is involved in darkness.

***

You blink awake, your head feels heavy and nausea washes over you. You groan, trying to find out where you are. You feel something warm against the back of your neck before someone pushes a pillow against your side. You grumble from the sensitiveness. You are not supposed to feel pain in death. You move your head, a muffled voice catching your attention, but you can’t see clearly who it is.

The person presses a bandage against your forehead again, and you blink to see blue eyes turn into gold before you fall asleep.

When you wake again, you feel a lot better. The pain is gone, even though the sensitivity in your side remains. You run a hand on your side, feeling the scarry tissue. You usually don’t get any scars, but that explains why the sensitive skin. You breathe out, you feel exhausted as if you haven’t gotten any sleep, though you know you did. You certainly did. How long have you slept?

You push the hair from your face, and the movement gets someone’s attention because you hear steps in the room. You blink your eyes open to see the most gentle smile you’ve ever known. Druig runs a hand over your face, pushing it completely away from your face. You grin.

He’s alive!

You’re alive!

You did it. You were feeling exhausted now, but you have to admit it was completely worth it.

Druig smiles, sitting on the bed.

“Hello again, my beautiful, beautiful Y/N.”

[sweetlywriting]

Last weakness

Griffith x Reader

Warnings-Starts off very fluffy but gets very dark, slightly graphic descriptions of violence, gender neutral, you die.

It had always been the two of you, the Hawk and his closest friend. The first to join the band, the one who believed in Griffith most, the loyalist soldier. But he didn’t show favoritism. Or at least tried to.

It had been a bloody skirmish, what was supposed to be a small fight had turned much more deadly than imagined and in the end you had deep cuts in your flesh and blood stuck in your hair. You had fallen long before some of the other soldiers and could see Griffith was the only one standing. Why he had chosen to carry you back was besides knowing.

He guided you too a nearby river and gently laid you down so your head was barely touching the river, face up. Oh. Your heart sank. Was he trying to drown you so death wouldn’t be as painful?

“I’m just going to wash your hair.” He said laughing lightly at the doom on your face.

“Ohh” You muttered back quite embarrassed.

Wait does that mean he'll-

Two warm hands gently started to thread through your hair as blood started to leave the tangled mess. The sky had been replaced with Griffith's leaning figure as he continued to wash your hair. There wasn’t much to other than stare and his features, majestic white hair framing his face and almost falling to yours, full lips, and skin the color of marble. Breathtaking.

"You look like an angel." To this he didn't respond, simply smiling half grim half warm smile. But you were sure of it, him picking you while the others died had to be some sort of divine intervention. He truly was an angel.

"You are an angel" You muttered fading off to sleep as he grazed his lips against your forehead and took you back to camp.

***

You had wanted to ask if that meant anything to him, but the look in his eyes told you not to question it. But you could tell something had changed by the way he brushed your hand before battle, and embraces that lasted far longer than normal.

Still, there was some sort of shift in the way he acted after that battle. You brushed it off to just be aftershock. surely no one would be the exact same seeing so many of their men being slaughtered. Now all he'd talk about was “something bigger” and “reaching new heights”, it had begun to worry you. You wanted to talk to him, but Griffith was already heading towards you.

“Ah y/n, will you walk with me? There’s something I want to speak about.”

You promptly joined him as he paced out of his tent and into the forest, the trail seemed familiar but you didn’t care much. A comfortable silence stretched out as your smiled at where he had lead you. The river where he washed your hair. You were about to comment on the nice sentiment when-

“I’m leaving the band.”

“What?!” You stumbled back in suprisie almost hitting the side of tree.

“I have a new dream. A kingdom. My kingdom.” He replied.

“What about everyone else? You can’t just leave us. You can’t leave me.”

“There’s only one thing stopping me. I love you y/n.”

This had ridden you completely speechless, stricken by all the emotions coursing through one small talk.

“If somehow you love back me I hope you understand why I have to get rid of any weakness,”

The warm from the sentiment of the place slowly vanished, replaced by only a second glance as Griffiths face more beautiful than ever as a strong hand wrapped around your neck and shoved your face into the water, face down this time. You choked as water filled in your mouth and nose. No matter how much you struggled the hand held you down firmly. You had not been given a chance to beg for your life, he was to afraid he might actually let you go.

When the struggling had stopped and your breathing had ceased Griffith had pulled you out, kissed your forehead once again and let your lifeless body flow down the stream.

[phantomrose96]

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It’s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

[soleilnomoon]

Hiii! I hope you’re having a lovely time <3 May I request a Killer x fem reader where they’re fighting enemies and reader ends up saving Killer by catching him in a dip dance pose and Killer is beyond stunned because who would expect a big, hunky, teddy bear man to be held like that by his own gurl 🥹😗💅🏽💕

hiiii 🤭 the idea of killer being saved like that is so funny i love it sfm. i can’t imagine anything more appropriate in that situation.

738 words, fem reader (no pronouns), a lil angst & a lil fluff, sfw - brief mentions of blood, minimal/mild violence; killer is a big softie idc what anyone says

normally, you try not to interfere, but this time it’s an all out brawl; he’s never doubted your skill or ability, has always encouraged you to get stronger, faster—but this group of enemy pirates are particularly annoying, their weaponry giving them a bit of an edge. what originally started as a three-on-three battle, transforms into something messy, dangerous—more and more pirates getting involved, the fear of something happening to your crew mates crawls into your mind, encouraging you to give it your all.

your calves scream in duress as you continue dodging attacks, your muscles not quite developed enough for you to tolerate long battles like this. there’s blood on your clothes—some of it yours, some of it from others, you can’t tell which is what. not that it matters. the important thing is making it out alive—making sure he makes it out alive. he’s told you several times to not worry about him, to instead focus on yourself, on keeping out of immediate danger. 

it’s not abnormal for him to worry about those he cares about, although he hides it fairly well. kid, as usual, is a beast—charging into the fray, pummeling enemies left and right, his devil fruit power giving him the upper hand as he collects scraps of metal, bolts, screws, and various weapons from the very pirates that challenged your crew to a fight.

killer knows that kid can take care of himself, but he still watches out for his captain, while also holding his own, slashing through clothes and flesh, ignoring the cries—he’s become so numb over the years, it barely phases him anymore; blood splatters against his helmet, something he’ll have to scrub off later on. you don’t mean to, but you watch him, doing your best to not get hurt in the interim, a gnawing sensation in your gut telling you to stay close by just in case.

you’re not sure why, it’s never really happened to you like that—but who are you to question it? your intuition is rarely wrong. a loud clang catches your attention, you whip your head, horror filling you with a surge of adrenaline; someone knocks into killer hard enough to make him winded and stumble backwards. the terrain you’re fighting on is filled with impressively jagged rocks, and no matter how tough his body is, you know he’ll hurt himself somehow.

that won’t do.

it’s the fastest you’ll ever run, you know that, and even so you make it just in time, hands reaching out, arms wrapping around him protectively. if the situation wasn’t so dire, you’d find it comical—he’s so much larger and taller than you, you’re sure you look a little foolish, and if the location was different, someone might assume you’re attempting a daring dance routine with your stoic boyfriend. you strain under his weight, but somehow manage to hold him up long enough to steady himself.

he’s never been caught that way before, so it takes him a few moments to gather his thoughts. he realizes that you might drop him if he doesn’t do something. so when he’s finally standing upright, he looks down at you, awe and embarrassment stealing the words right from his mouth. his helmet is a godsend, keeping his flushed face concealed, although you can always tell when your boyfriend is a little flustered.

it’s cute. the battle ends shortly after; with the enemy pirates defeated, your crew manages to make it out alive. you think nothing of what you did, it’s only natural for you to want to help him out; killer, on the other hand, still can’t look at you properly. it’s not due to some innate machismo that flows through him, it’s more that he can’t believe you caught him like that. the gentle way you handle him causes a warmth to coast through him, the feeling too much for him most times—so he retreats. it’s only after everyone is patched up, after dinner is served, and you’re sitting on the deck sipping some tea and flipping through a magazine, when he comes to sit next to you. 

“thank you,” he says softly, and you hum in response, smiling behind your teacup, moving a hand to pat his knee gently. you know he’s not entirely too expressive, but this is a start; it keeps you smiling through the remainder of the night and has you smiling when you wake up the next morning.

[doll-r-t]

The Lost Pearl Part 3

Viking!Sy x reader Part 1, Part 2

Masterlist

TW: Blood mentioned

Note: I try not to use specific words only applying to a specific race like the blushing of cheeks, so I say heating up or warm cheeks but not meaning it shows! I personally imagine her to have darker skin but I am not in the position to write for darker skinned women!! In addition if you are worried about the body type I want to make clear my VIKING Sy has a supernatural strength so it does not matter your weight. Let me know what I can improve to make it more inclusive!

gif credit to owner!

You had entered the woods a while ago, it got even more chilly. The woods were so dense that it seemed like all the light was sucked out around you. You were in the middle of the troops. And one guard was beside her carriage. The path was small so no more than one fit even then he often had to duck underneath branches. Stones and sticks littered the ground making the ride unpleasantly bumpy. You hoped you would be through soon. You needed to take a small walk or at least have steady ground underneath you. You felt like your back would never be the same after the travels. You longed back for the open fields that swayed in the wind that seemed to constantly wrap the country into a gentle sway. The noises of the woods made you flinch every time. The cracking of woods and noises of the woodland creatures unnerved you. When you were younger you enjoyed woods but in your home country, they were more like a fruit garden compared to these. You missed your beloved sea, the gentle waves, and the white foam that would encase your bare feet.

Leaning back you tried to close your eyes for a while hoping time would pass quicker. So you did not notice when an arrow flew through the air piercing the guard's upper arm. His cry made you aware of it and then chaos. Your carriage stopped for a moment, and you held onto the handle by the door, your eyes wide open trying to see any attacker. Your right hand was wrapped around your dagger ready to strike anyone who would dare enter your carriage. You could hear the battle going on behind and in front of you when suddenly your carriage gave spurred forward. You tried to hold on but ended up falling to the floor. Maybe that was better as you could hear arrows hitting the wood surrounding you. You made yourself as small as possible covering your head and the most important organs like your upper body. The ride was bumpy and you hid yourself on the benches multiple times. Suddenly something cracked and your carriage seemed to lose control crashing into the tree lines. Everything was silent for a while. You were still curled up, breathing heavily. When you realized you would not start up again you uncurled yourself, unsheathing your dagger and still keeping it hidden in your dress. You slowly looked up trying to listen to anything. You heard a struggle outside upfront your carriage probably the rider and an attacker. The grunts turned more and more frequent. Soon one would be victorious. But you did not stay to figure it out. Quickly you sat up, slowly lifting your head and looking out the window trying to see if there were any more men. You did not see anything so quickly you pushed the rest of the window open. The door was not able to open it was stuck against some branch. So climbing out was your only option. The other door you could not exit, you would be visible to your attacker. Slowly you stood up still listening to the fight going on. It was like your senses were heightened and if you tried you were sure you could hear even ants crawling around. Taking a deep breath you tied your dress up to your thighs. You heaved yourself up as best as you could sticking your legs through the opening and turning onto your waist. You groaned slightly at the sharp edges sticking into your flesh. Quickly jumping you landed ungracefully on your behind. This would bruise you thought. But no time, you quickly scrambled up, and as quietly as you could you snuck into the treeline.

 You were just a few feet away when you heard a loud pained groan and knew one had bested the other but you did not stick around to wait for who. You took off walking as fast as you could without making noises. A thick branch snapped somewhere behind you, not close enough to you yet. Realizing that you had the disadvantage in terrain you had no idea about you halted for a second. You needed a plan. Looking around you spotted a tree with many branches and a thick cover at the top. Quickly you climbed up, by now scratches were littering your body and your hair net had come loose. But what did that matter with an arrow in your chest? You pressed yourself against the tree trunk trying to cover behind the leaves of the branches. You sat crouched ready to jump down in case you were discovered. The fall would certainly hurt but if you were going down so would your enemy. A man came out behind some bush looking around. Trying to find your trail. He had blue marks over his body like some weird paint, and his clothing was mostly out of brown dirty fur and leather. It was not one of the Captain's men you could see that much. He got closer to the tree you were hiding. Tightening the grip on your dagger you breathed in ready to attack in case you had to. Suddenly a wild bear crashed through the trees directly at the man. The man had no time to react before being flung onto the ground. He tried to get up but the bear was on him in seconds. “Where is she?” The bear growled. Leaning forward a bit more you realized it was not a bear at all it was the Captain. His men hot on his heels were now forming a ring around the Captain looking out for any more men. Syverson asked the man again shaking him. You did not know what to do so you pushed some branches aside that caught the eye of one of a man. Ocre looked directly at you nodding he signaled you to stay hidden. “Captain he called out, I found the pearl.” He held up a silver Pearl. You frowned at that. But the Captain seemed to understand. Letting the enemy go he signaled for the men on the left to bound him up. “Bind him, and bring him to Trolljhem. We need to find the Princess.” They nodded walking away with the man bound up. Once the men were out of sight he went to Ocre. “Where is she?” His voice was tense and sweat was making his forehead shiny. Ocre just smirked looking up at you in the tree. Syverson followed his gaze but saw mostly branches until a delicate hand appeared pushing them a sight. He made quick work jumping on a branch and heaving himself with one arm up to your level. He reached out cupping your face. Pushing your face from side to side checking for injuries. You could do nothing but stare at him. You had never seen a man with his strength you had actually confused him for a bear but his warm hand possesed no claws. Just a bit of rough skin. Once he was satisfied that you had sustained no serious injuries he grabbed you by the waist pulling you to him. He stood on a lower branch climbing down with you in his arms as if it were nothing. You always heard that the Woodlandmen were blessed with the strengths of horses but you had not believed it. No, you did. Even on the ground, the Captain did not let go of you, he held you close to him. “We will gather the horses and get out of the woods. Rudolf and Theo will send men from Trolljhem to get us to Warhorse safely.  For now, we had to move.” He then turned to you. “I will send them back to get your trunks but we need to get you out of here.” He pulled a leave from your hair. “Come,” he said softly. Pulling you even closer to him you walked back to the path.                          

 You could feel the adrenaline slowly leaving your body and were happy when you finally saw the horses and the path. But then you saw your carriage and Syverson was right there was no way the carriage would function again. How were you going to Warhorse now? Please no walking. You were exhausted.               His men made a ring around you and Syverson still watching out for anything out of the ordinary. Syverson lead you two to his horse it was light brown with a white streak at the head. It was beautiful but so big you were not sure if you would be able to ride it. Syverson lifted you up onto the horse. “Captain I am not sure if I can ride such a big horse.” He swung himself atop the horse sitting at ease behind you. Pulling you to him he whispered. “But I can.” His men mounted the horses and off you went. You could feel your face heating up and were glad you looked forward. You had never been this close to a man not in your family before. Especially not like this. It felt far too intimate and if your brothers could see you know they would freak out. Mostly, Armand and Amros would snicker but ultimately also pull you down. Ethos would probably draw a sketch of the scene. You had not thought about your brothers since you left but now you felt a longing for them, you had not felt in a long time.                                                     Syverson felt how stiff you were sitting in the saddle. Thinking of a way to calm you down. This is what he wanted to avoid but he did not think he Dunklings would be so brave as to attack his men especially not with the men power he had with him. He should have thought it through. Maybe even ride with you in the carriage. When he signaled the driver to ride ahead his plan was to hold off the men and join you later. His pride in never running from a battle and his anger towards the Dunlking who killed so many of his men had taken over. he should have ridden ahead or behind your making sure you were unharmed. He thanked the Gods you were unharmed. He tried to comfort you in the only way he knew how. Holding you close. Hugging always comforted his sister but it seemed not to work with you. He had to try something different. “We are almost through the woods.” He whispered, trying to keep his voice as soft as he could. “Only a couple more minutes and then we are in the open again. My men will cover all sides.” You just nodded but your back was still tense. Breathing out he went on. “They will protect you and I will be here right by you. No harm will come to you as long as I am alive.” You nodded again. Sighing he tried to think of anything he could say to reassure you. “Not to say that you need protection. I think you would be safe up in that tree. It was smart of you.” Maybe praising was the way to go. But it was not. He kept silent for a while but then it came to him. He reached down in his saddlebag. You flinched slightly looking down at what he was doing. He pulled out a book, in a green and gold color. He handed it to you without saying anything. You grabbed it looking at it in wonder, but he could feel some tension leaving you. He pulled his cloak off himself wrapping it around you as best as he could with one hand. Your skin was cold and you welcomed the warmth of the fur. Slowly more tension left you. You hugged the book to you. “Thank you, Captain,” you said quietly. The warmth and the adrenalin leaving your body drained you of the last strength you had keeping you upright and distant from a man outside of your family. It was improper but your tired eyes could not care less. “You do not have to thank me. I promised your father to keep you safe. I never break my promises especially not when it is one to a friend.” Another thing that was true that you heard of the Woodland men, they were people of their word. You leaned into his chest your eyes dropping. The path cleared and light streamed on your face. “Go to sleep I will keep you safe.” His beard scratched your ear, it tickled and you found you liked it. No man in your land had a beard. They preferred to be clean-cut. But it did not matter not when you were this tired. Your eyes fell close and Syverson could feel your body getting heavy against him. He smiled to himself making sure he had you secure against him.                               

 Syverson could practically feel the smirk Ocre sent his way. But he ignored it. All that mattered was that he kept his promise to his friend and if he had to let a Princess droll on him then be it. You had left the woods behind you and Syverson was breathing easier now that the wind was blowing around him. He had to keep a chuckle in when he heard you mumble something snuggling deeper into him. He reached under the cloak making sure you had the book secured against you. Even in your sleep, his grip was hard. He did not know why a book could be of such importance but he knew it was to you. You tried to hide your reaction but you could not. Even though it was hard to spot behind your composed face. When he saw the book in the carriage and not you he feared the worst.                      

  Flashback: He dismounted his horse fighting off the first attacker, then the next. He was entranced in the battle. His sword functions as a third arm, swinging with deathly precision. People always underestimated his agility due to his big and broad stature but he had been trained in battle since he was old enough to hold a sword. He had to. Once the men were defeated he felt a rush of power. He feared the years of battle made him bloodthirsty. He rounded up his men mounting the horses and riding in the direction your carriage went. When he saw your carriage titled to the left against a tree the blood stopped in his body. He spurred the horse on faster. No this could not happen. He sprung from his horse before it could even stop. He ripped open the right door. No one was inside. He sprung in trying to see if there was blood. He saw the book on the side of his eyes. He did not know why he took it. Then he noticed the window shattered slightly and pulled up, speaks of blood were on there. Fuck, fuck fuck, shit. He ran out of the carriage again yelling commands at his men. His heart was pounding so hard. It felt like a young boy in his first battle again. He rounded the carriage and saw arrows embedded into it. He had not found any inside which meant you likely were not hit. They would not harm you, mostly using you for their own gain. They cannot do that unless they wanted to start a war between him and Imrahil. His hand was sweaty and gripped his sword tighter. He saw some branches snap on the ground. Without waiting for his men he ran as fast as he could looking at any sign for you. When he found the man he did not think about it, he tackled him to the ground, wanting to drive his sword through him. Just as he was about to do it he remembered the sway of your dress, the delicate hands, and your teasing voice from yesterday. He halted pressing the blade to the man's neck. He had to find you first. When Ocre said he had found the pearl he felt relief flood through him. He thought his men to speak in code when in the presence of the enemy or a likely enemy. All the rage left his body and he managed to not kill the man in front of him. Normally he would not spare a man wanting to hurt his people but he had to know what their plan was. And the mission was to protect you. He had to get to you. When he saw the delicate hand in the branches he held his breath. Then your face appeared. At once he went up the tree needing to be close to you, protect you. For some reason, it was important for him to have you safely down the tree and in his arms. He brushed your cheek your face sustained no injuries. Your dress was slightly torn but no deadly injuries. He helped you down keeping you close. Finally, his heart slowed down and breathing was easier.                                          

  Syverson surveyed the area seeing men on the horizon. They waved a banner with a horse on it. His manpower was here. Almost twenty riders he estimated. He halted his horse slowly, trying not to wake you. You were sleeping deeply, the travel must have been rough on you and all that excitement. You were a Princess who never saw battle. His men approached. Before they could greet them in their normal manner they noticed you sleeping in his arms. The leader smiled at your sleeping form. You were so small against the Captain. Your skin looks soft. He nodded to Syverson in a silent greeting. “Thank you, Marshall, for coming so promptly.” He said as silently as he could. The man was old, one of his late father's friends. He was the keeper of Trolljhem. When Syverson was younger he was stationed in his unit. He thought him everything he knew. “Her carriage is about 3 miles behind us. Get her trunks and leave the rest for now. I want to get her to Warhorse as safely and quickly as possible. Has the prisoner talked? “No not a word but do not worry lad we will get everything out of him.” Syverson nodded. “Be careful we do not know how many men are still out there,” Marshall called ten men to him, giving him instructions. “ I don’t know if we will reach Warhorse today. It is still 10 miles away. It would take us 2.5h to get there. And she seems not fit for travel.” “I got her Marshall don’t worry.” Syverson was set on bringing you to Warhorse today. No more delays, no more risks. The ride should be smooth from now on. Nothing but open fields. Marshall nodded positioning the rest of his men in front and behind you and Syverson. His man took up the left, and right. Marshall kept quiet while riding alongside Syverson. You were still asleep.                                

The sun tickled at your face, and slowly you woke up feeling warm for the first time in two days. You snuggled closer to the heat source slowly moving your body. When you opened your eyes you were blinded by the sun. Groaning you hid your face in a pillow. Gods you hated morning. Pressing your face deeper into the pillow you noted to tell Maria to bring more cushioning. Nothing worse than a hard pillow. And to change out the leather. Leather? you opened your eyes confused, looking around. You were not in your bed you were flying across a field of grass. Confused you looked around again. A man was looking at you from the side of his eyes. He was old his hair white and mouth wrinkly. He was smiling lightly. Everything came back at you at once you were not flying across a field you were riding and the pillow was not a pillow but a chest. You sat up hastily. “Whoa, calm. Everything is alright.” Syverson gripped you harder trying to keep you a top of the horse. You cleared your throat trying to ignore the heating of your face at you cuddling up to a man. Sitting straight again you looked forward. Your voice was tense. “Where are we?” “About 6 miles out of Warhorse. It will take a while to get there still.” You nodded, still sleepy. Putting the cloak tightly around you you reached underneath untying the knot of your dress, trying to cover your lower legs again. You forgot to do it earlier, too much going on. Now the situation came crushing back. Letting yourself be manhandled like this. You were weak, and vulnerable in front of so many people, especially the leader. How could you be so weak? He now looked at you like a damsel instead of the commander of the Pearl. Not that you were anymore you thought bitterly. You had to get your power back somehow.

Part 1, Part 2

Masterlist

Taglist:

@tragicphoenix13​, @lunedelorient​

[nastybuckybarnes]

Hoist the Colours  -  1/3

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky X SeaGoddess!Reader

Summary: Bound to your human form and cut off from the sea, your life is exchanged from pirate to pirate, until a ship of the King intercepts a sale, taking you onboard and saving you from a fate worse than death. 

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fluff, Kinda slow burn

Word Count: 2.2K

A/n: I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for so long so I figured meh, what the hell. It’s mega inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End cause Calypso owns my uwu and I love the story of her and Davy Jones. Um, I hope you enjoy! 

~*~

His hands gently caress your skin, gentle with you, a stark contrast to the man who rules the seas. He treats you as if you're delicate, though he knows you're not.

His touches are so, so tender.

"I love you, my (Y/n)."

Fingers skimming over your back, trailing over your spine and down your legs. His hold on your body is soft, while the hold on your heart is strong.

"I love you, James.  My love for you will never die. You hold my heart in your hands." He holds the back of your head with one hand, tilting you back a bit so he can look into your eyes, crystal blue depths pouring out emotions while saying few words.

"You have my heart, and you shall continue to have it until the day I die."

~

“Are we ready to set sail, Captain?” The young man looks up through his lashes, squinting against the harsh sun and the spray of the sea.

“Aye, I think we’re ready. What say you, James?” The blond man looks to his first mate, who stands by the edge of the ship, staring out across the open water with a small smile on his face.

“The wind will be with us today. Our journey will be bountiful. There’s a change in the tide, a new dawn on the horizon.” Steve grabs his friend’s shoulder, looking into his eyes.

“I can feel her, Steve. We’re getting close. I know it.” The blond smiles and looks over to the boy, nodding once.

“All hands, prepare to make sail!” He shouts, running down the stairs to alert the rest of the crew.

Steve walks over to his helmsman, patting him on the shoulder.

“Where to today, Captain?” Sam asks with a grin.

“We head for Tortuga,” he says, glancing over at James. The brunet nods, eyes focused on the sea.

~*~

“All hands! Battle Stations!”

You shift to your knees on the hard wooden bed, looking out through the tiny porthole.

“What is it?” Wanda asks, her voice scratchy and hoarse.

“The Royal Navy,” you whisper, bound hands grabbing handfuls of your dress to move it out of the way, allowing you to sit more comfortably to watch as the three ships converge on the one you’re currently imprisoned upon.

“What will they make of us?” She wonders aloud, fingers spinning dainty red circles in the air. You bite your lip, knowing too well what they’ll make of you.

“Our chances of survival are higher with them than with our current captors.” She shrugs, lying back down as cannons boom overhead.

You close your eyes, exhaling deeply through your nose and conjuring what you can.

It’s effective, and the sky is soon booming with thunder. The ocean tugs and turns, waves crashing against the ship, the fighting getting drowned by the rain.

You hear the tell-tale thuds of the ship being boarded, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re transferred from one cage to another. But you hope that the new cage will be slightly more comfortable.

Two sets of feet clomp down the stairs and you and Wanda both sit up.

A man wearing the signature red and gold of the King walks towards you.

A young boy, easily no older than sixteen, stumbles after him.

“Boy!” He shouts, turning to him. He cowers, clearly not wanting to get hurt.

“Why are these women in chains?” He demands. The boy looks at you, his eyes widening for a moment before he swallows hard.

“C-cap’n says that they be witches. He locked ‘em down here to protect the crew. Said it bad luck to bed them.” The King’s man stares at you then at Wanda.

“Witches? How?” The boy’s fingers tremble as he points to Wanda.

“Th-that one there, she be a true witch. With red flames and a sixth sense. She can control men to do her bidding. Cap’n locked ‘er up with them special chains, keeps her powers at bay.” Wanda’s eyes glow a fiery red as she’s reminded of the mistreatment the Captain has shown the two of you.

“And this one here?” The man steps closer to your cell door, eyeing you closely.

“She be of godly descent. Power over the wind and tide, no doubt the conjurer of the storm. She be tied to the ocean and the ocean to her. She controls the monsters, the demons that lurk in the deep. Cap’n treated her better than any woman deserves, but he stopped, got lazy. And this is her punishin’ us for it. You mark my words. She created that storm.”

The man cocks his head to the side in curiosity.

“Bring them over. The boy too. The King will want to hear about this.” The boy quickly unlocks your cells, and then you’re being ushered up the stairs and above deck.

The sky, which was dark and dangerous nought five minutes ago, is clear and blue. Dead bodies lay askew on the deck, blood staining the wood.

The men of the King stop and stare as you and Wanda are ushered towards the gangplank.

A man whistles, his hand coming to your shoulder, and you wrench yourself out of his grip, levelling him with a hard glare as a boom of thunder explodes overhead, a crack of lightning touching down on the water beside the ship.

Everyone is silent, the Captain staring at you in wonder and awe.

“No one is to touch the women,” he announces loudly, making sure all his crew can hear.

“They are to be treated with the utmost respect. Do not touch them. Do not even look at them in the wrong way, understand?”

He’s met with a series of “aye captain”s.

You square your shoulders and cross the plank, Wanda right behind you.

The two of you are then promptly led to a small office.

“The Captain will be with you shortly,” the man says, closing the doors and standing outside, his back to you. You glance at your friend and nod slightly, a silent ‘I told you so’. She rolls her eyes and looks around the room.

“He means to bring us to the King. We will no doubt be exploited for our powers yet again. There is no way we win this.” You shake your head, eyes finding a paper on his desk.

Anthony Edward Stark.

The name rings a bell, but before you can put your finger on it, the door is opening and the Captain walks in.

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m the Captain. Tony is what my friends call me. I suppose you may call me that as well. So... witches. Do you have names?” You’re shocked, and it’s obvious on your face by the way that the man laughs.

“We’re not barbaric. It’s obvious to me that you were being held captive on the HYDRA ship. You may as well get comfortable here with me.” Wanda stays standing by the door, but you approach him.

“I am (Y/n). This is Wanda. What do you plan on doing with us?” He sighs heavily and sits down at his desk, pouring himself a glass of alcohol.

“I plan on continuing my route as I was supposed to. We’re to make port in Tortuga for some business, then we head back to England.” You furrow your brows.

“Why not take us back to England now?” Wanda asks, her eyes red with suspicion.

“Because anytime away from the King is time I cherish. And I think the two of you will make excellent company.” He smiles, winking at you.

The glass in his hand shatters and he curses, jumping up and away from his desk.

“Not that kind of company! Jesus! I just meant that I would like to learn more about your powers.” You look over at Wanda, whose glowing eyes are trained on Tony.

“And how do we know you won’t treat us the same way they all did?” She asks, her voice a venomous whisper.

He sighs and looks at the two of you for a moment, his eyes lingering on your necklace.

“Because. My mother was like you two. A sea witch, born with powers unparalleled. And I saw what men did to her for it. I will not let that happen to you as well.” The two of you are surprised at his words. Silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment before he clears his throat.

“I’ll see to it that the two of you have proper quarters, as well as changes of clothes. And I humbly welcome you to His Majesty, the King’s, esteemed ship: The Avenger.”

~

“Jesus Christ,” Steve whispers, taking off his hat in respect as they approach the wreckage in the water.

Sharks are circling, picking at any scraps of human flesh that they can find. Ship splinters and rope pollute the water, and the crew instantly know that this is the work of the King’s men.

“A quick fight,” James says, watching from the quarterdeck. Steve nods, curious about the events that transpired.

“Man overboard!” Someone shouts, and all eyes are searching for the body in question.

They see the subtle splashing, the man’s body mostly on a large piece of wood from the mast.

“Haul him up!” Steve shouts, hurrying to the spot to make sure the man’s okay.

When they finally get him over, he’s nothing but coughs and water, fingers trembling as he regains his bearings.

“What’s your name?” Steve asks, patting the young man on the shoulder.

When he finally looks up, everyone gasps. “It was the witch,” he whispers, blackened eyes darting around in fear.

“Witch?” Steve asks. This piques Bucky’s interest.

“Sh-she called the storm. Dragged the ship down down down, and now she goes on the celebrate with the King.” Bucky pushes forward, grabbing the man by the collar.

“The witch, what was her name?” The man shakes his head, eyes lolling to the side.

“Never name, only a witch. Never trust a woman... she be beautiful as a sunrise but deadly as a snake. I’d rather face a siren than that witch again. She owns the seas, is one with the winds, and she has a hatred in her heart for men.” The man stops to cough up water, his eyes rolling back as he starts convulsing.

Bucky stumbles back a step, his heart pounding in his head.

“Buck?” He shakes his head, climbing up the ladder on the mainmast to the crow’s nest. His eyes strain to see anything, any sign of where he should go.

What he sees leaves him feeling more hopeless than before.

Three of the king’s ships, on the very edge of the horizon, each going in separate directions.

He takes a deep breath in then climbs back down, furious with himself all over again.

“Buck? What the hell was that?” Steve demands, grabbing his best friend’s arm.

“It’s her, Steve.” Those three words are all it takes for Steve to understand.

“Which way did she go?” He asks softly, trying to help his friend.

“I’ve got no clue. There were three ships, all heading in different directions. There’s no way to know which ship has her, and we can’t very well follow all of them.” Steve sighs, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“We’ll find her. I swear. But until then we maintain course.” The brunet nods, eyes finding the wreckage in the water and praying to the gods that he finds you soon.

~

Tears wet your cheeks as you stare at the locket, fingers stroking the cool metal gently.

“If the memories pain you so, why conjure them so frequently?” You glance over at the brunette, wiping the wetness off of your face.

“Without the pain, I would forget my hatred. I would forget my purpose and I would lose hope.” Wanda nods thoughtfully, leaning back against the wall and sighing.

The quarters you were given are lovely. Soft beds, plenty of blankets, and a door with a lock. It’s all you could ask for and more from a ship belonging to the king.

“What do you suppose he’s going to do with us?” Wanda asks, fingers spinning a quill in the air above her head.

“I’m not sure quite yet. He seems to be genuine, but I fear he has ulterior motives. Surely, he’ll bring us to the king at some point. But until then... I only hope we fair better here than our last ship.” She nods, closing her eyes and lowering her hands, the quill dropping to the floor beside her as she spreads her fingers, red seeping out of her hands and down through the floorboards.

“There’s a change in the tide,” she whispers, her eyes opening and glowing red as she glances over at you. “Can you feel it?” You close your eyes, feeling the pull of the ocean deep in your gut.

“I feel it,” you whisper, “a change in the wind. A new presence is upon the waters, a dark one. I fear they are stronger than they seem.”