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yuesya · 1 month

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Gunther runs.

Behind him, there is a bestial roar, followed by a shrill human scream –one that cuts off into horrifying silence all to abruptly with a wet snap, the sound of tearing flesh and snapping bones. Something splatters heavily against his back. Damp, and warm.

Gunther continues running, forcing his legs to move faster, and faster.

It’s all he can do.

Terrifying monsters and ferocious beasts dominate these lands, and humans cower beneath them all. There are many who turn to the gods that walk among them instead, seeking protection, and yet–

And yet–

…

In old legends passed down by storytellers, this land had been ruled by humans, once. It had been an age of peace, and prosperity. But such times are long past, if they had ever truly existed at all. The current reality that they live in is a land where monsters prowl and beasts run wild, and of the few gods who remain…

Relying on the gods? Who could Gunther and his people rely on? The most powerful among the divine host are the beast-gods, and beasts do not care for humanity. Of the ones who are benevolent to humanity…

The God of Fruit’s power is slowly diminishing, the bounty of her territory gradually declining with every passing season. And the most powerful among them, the God of Rain, had been slain in battle by the Wolf-king. So far, both the God of Fallen Leaves and the God of Mist that Gunther and his kin have approached following that catastrophe declined to accept them. To add more humans under their protection at such a juncture would be a strain, a burden.

In order to at least ensure the safety of our own.

And so Gunther’s people march on, searching for a place where they can receive protection. Where they can call home.

Hopelessness. Desperation. Despair.

… But giving up is not an option. To give up is to die.

It’s for this very reason that Gunther continues running, running, running, determinedly tugging along his kinsmen beside him. He grabs wildly at the children who falter and stumble, all through the mind-numbing panic of his pulse thundering in his ears–

“DON’T STOP!” he bellows, through the cracked lines of his lips and his dry, burning throat. Through the exhaustion that batters away at his body, the invisible stones weighing down his limbs. “DON’T–”

The ground beneath his feet shakes, and Gunther trips, falls. Hot air scalds his body from behind, the bloody breath of the monstrous hound hunting him and his kinsmen for sport, and the dark shadow of its titanic bulk descends upon him–

–then, freezes.

Only for a moment, the monster inexplicably freezes in its tracks, ceasing its movements entirely.

Gunther is not about to take such an opportunity for granted; he instantly clambers to his feet to continue running. This causes the monster to growl as its prey escapes. Gunther chances a brief glance backwards, only to see the muscles on its body clench as it prepares to continue its chase–

But suddenly, its body slackens, and falls.

The colossal mountain of a beast just –falls. Plummets to the ground in an ungainly, graceless heap, toppling down. The force of its fall is enough to send another earthquake through their surroundings, and Gunther slips in the mud once more. Something in his chest spikes from the sudden panic, at the knowledge that the beast is right there–

But the beast has fallen.

It falls, and… does not move again.

…

Gunther stares, wide-eyed.

It is in this moment, when his mind is still struggling to comprehend that this nightmarish monster is dead, that he finally realizes that there’s… something off about their surroundings. He hadn’t really been paying attention to it, during the mad rush to escape, but now that the imminent danger is gone… Gunther realizes that it’s far too quiet. The silence in their new, unknown surroundings is… unnerving. Unnatural.

Which doesn’t mean anything good.

Gunther sweeps his gaze out and rapidly scans the surrounding landscape. Left, and right. There’s nothing but muddy earth and light shrubbery. Desolate, and empty, save for his fellow kin around him who’ve also gradually slowed their footsteps at the beast’s sudden, inexplicable demise.

But… there’s nothing to explain it. Nothing to explain why the bloodthirsty monster pursuing them suddenly just –just dropped dead out of nowhere. There’s absolutely nothing to explain–

–no.

No, there is.

With a sudden start, Gunther realizes that he and his people aren’t alone here.

For above them, there is a young girl sitting in the barren branches of an old oak tree.

A small slip of a girl, a little child who looks entirely out of place with her surroundings, pale-skinned and white-haired and dressed in nothing more than a single formless swathe of pristine white cloth wrapped around her body.

Most damningly of all, though, are her disinterested eyes that look down upon Gunther and his kin are a deep, abyssal blue. Blue, but not wholly blue, for there is an iridescent sheen that flickers within those dispassionate, inhuman eyes.

She’s not human. A god?

A sudden shiver runs down Gunther’s spine as he finally recognizes what he’s seeing. There’s no doubt about it.

Yet, at the same time…

“You are the one who saved us, aren’t you?” Somehow, Gunther manages to find his voice. Then, he swiftly bows his head, “Thank you.”

There is a long silence, in which the not-girl does not respond.

“… The dog was annoying.” Eerie blue eyes finally turn away from him, after that non-answer.

The appearance that she possessed, the aura that she exuded, the strength that she so very clearly wielded… there was no doubt about it. Despite wearing the form of a small, young child, there was no doubt that the entity sitting in the tree atop Gunther was a god.

A god who was… alone.

Was it because she was young, that she had no worshipers?

… But even if that was the case, she was still a god. A young god who was strong enough to kill the monster that had nearly wiped out Gunther’s clan without even moving from where she sat.

Gunther makes his decision.

“Please.” He knows full well that could be killed on the spot, for the impertinence to brazenly ask anything of a god. To ask for more, even after the god had already saved them, when they had no obligation to do so.

But Gunther also knows that his kinsmen can’t continue on like this –wandering aimlessly across the lands, constantly having their lives uprooted as they flee from monsters too powerful for mortals to face, always on the run.

“Would you… be willing to give us your protection?” he asks.

“Why?”

Does she not know? No… no, that couldn’t possibly be the case. Then… is this a test?

“Monsters such as the one you just killed number many upon these lands, and we lack the strength to defend ourselves” Gunther bows his head as he replies, forcing himself to steady his voice as best as he can, and slowly sinks to his knees. “My clan has no home, and we grow weary of endless wandering. We do not wish to die like this, as we inevitably will if we continue on as we are. Please, allow us to remain upon your lands. We would serve as your loyal worshipers, o mighty god.”

… There is no response. In this interval of silence, the wind sighs softly. A quiet breeze sweeps gently over them all, and even reaches up to lightly tousle the snow-white strands of the unknown god’s hair.

Gunther remains kneeling, staring fixedly at the ground in front of him while his fingers curl and dig into the dark, cold earth.

He doesn’t know how long he remains in this position. A single instant, perhaps, or maybe even an eternity.

…

“… Decarabian,” the god-child’s voice finally sounds in the air, and Gunther’s head snaps up –just in time to catch the sight of the divine entity uncurling her legs. She stands up gracefully, a movement that briefly reveals a pale expanse of flawless skin upon her limbs.

And it is with those unblemished legs that she descends from her high perch, barefooted. Dark blots immediately soil that fair, milky skin as her feet sink deep into the dirt and mud beside Gunther and his fellow kin.

“You may address me as ‘Decarabian,’” she says. “And… I don’t need worshipers. But you can stay.”

#writing #zenith of stars au #genshin au #mondstadt au #!!!#we're just going through all the teyvat regions at this point lol #also #archon war au #why am i doing this haha #iirc someone asked me about archon war stuff way back when...?#well here we are i guess #lol #there are probably lots of genshin lore discrepancies for this particular au

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stevethehairington · 1 year

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He needs a break. A chance to breathe for a moment. This lifestyle sometimes feels like the corsets that Robin is always complaining about — too tight, too constricting, and superfluously unnecessary. Steve pities Robin, and the rest of the poor women, who have to deal with both. The circumstance and the corsets.

Steve knows better than to complain, though. He lives a lavish existence, one that many people would give anything to have. It isn’t fair of him to pity himself like this when there are so many people out there that are so much worse off than him. He should feel grateful. Lucky, even.

But it’s hard not to feel suffocated instead, sometimes.

The alcove is quiet, thank god, and void of any stray party guests. It’s hidden away, tucked between two rocks that overlook the seaside, and the crash of waves from down below has a mollifying effect on Steve’s agitated disposition.

He reaches for the cravat at his neck, loosening it with deft fingers. He’s in the act of tugging it away from his throat when the clear crunch of a footstep has him spinning around sharply.

And there, emerging from the shadows to block Steve’s only escape route, is a man.

The first thing Steve notices about the man is the curtain of dark curls that frame his face. They’re long enough to tumble freely over his shoulders, and they’re pulled back by a thick swath of fabric, deep red in color. The ends of his bangs peek out from beneath the bandana, as do a pair of thin braids, each tied off with two hollowed out pearls.

With his hair out of his face, Steve can see it all. Every single feature, open and on display — those soft cheekbones, that sloping nose, the gnarled scar that stretches across the left side of his jaw and pulls the corner of his mouth into a twisted, permanent smile.

Steve is sure that he’s never seen this man before, and yet there is something achingly familiar about him. A tugging within his gut; it feels like he should know him, but from what, he can’t quite place.

The man’s left ear is pierced through twice, two identical gold hoops looped through the skin. And just beneath his ear he has a small mark. A tattoo. Steve isn’t quite close enough to make out just what it’s of. He squints his eyes and nearly takes a step closer to take a proper look, but catches himself before he does.

It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s been staring, borderline ogling, for much longer than is appropriate, too. His cheeks warm as he averts his eyes to the ground. But rather than the cobblestone path below, his gaze falls to the man’s feet.

Flared brown boots cover those feet, rising up nearly to his knees. They’re old looking, worn and well-purposed, but still sturdy, even after countless strops though mud and water and sand and all sorts of other rough terrains. Beneath the boots, his stalwart calves and strong thighs are encased in rough-hewn black breeches, tight, yet functional.

Steve’s eyes stray further up, despite his best efforts.

The man wears a thick brown leather belt, layered with a silken red cloth and an even thinner black belt, this one scaled like a dragon, with a shiny gold buckle. It sits around his waist, atop an open black vest that accentuates his slim figure. His blouse beneath is a deep wine red, made from a gauzy looking material that clings to his skin. Steve imagines that if it were to get wet it would be absolutely sinful. The neck of it is rather plunging, too, exposing the man’s collarbones, and the corner of another tattoo on his chest.

And there, above his heart and to the right, in the very center, hangs a pendant — some sort of serpentine creature with wings, gaudy and golden and absolutely eye-catching.

Steve feels a little hot under the collar, taking it all in. He has to look away.

The man makes an amused humming sort of noise. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He drawls, flicking both eyebrows up at once. A lazy grin unfurls across his full lips, and he practically drapes himself over the rock behind him.

The position puts his whole body even further on display, in an entirely new way this time, and looking away is futile now. Steve’s eyes are heedlessly drawn back to it, raking over every inch. It feels… dangerous, to be looking this much, this long, but he can’t help it.

The man lifts a hand to examine his black varnished nails, an air of boredom to the action. His fingers are adorned with chunky silver rings that glint in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Casually, he pulls a dagger from its hiding place amongst the belts and uses the sharp tip to pick at one of his nails.

Idly, he starts to whistle — a low, warbling tune that has an almost menacing edge to it.

It, too, strikes a chord of remembrance in Steve, and he wracks his brain trying to think of where he’s heard it. And then it hits him.

“You’re a pirate!” He gasps out. It sounds scandalized, when he says it, though, really, he isn’t scandalized at all. He doesn’t find himself very afraid, either, though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s just intrigued.

The man snickers. “Very good, sweetheart,” he commends, tucking the dagger away again. He brushes his knuckles against his shirt. “What gave it away?”

Steve frowns. “What are you doing here? Where’s your ship?”

“What am I doing here?” The man repeats. Laughs this breezy little thing. “I’m meant to be taking you prisoner, actually,” he tells Steve.

“Take me— prisoner?” Steve repeats, shock coloring his tone. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh, yes,” the man replies, pushing himself off of the rock. He starts to circle Steve. “I’m meant to be snatching you up— well, that’s the interpretation of it, anyways. All they said was that I needed to deal with you, and, really, that’s so vague.”

He starts to circle Steve, slinking around him slowly, purposefully. His voice carries as he does. “Pirates are supposed to be unscrupulous, though, aren’t they? What with all the threatening and the stealing and the killing and the like. I figured it only makes sense that I take you.”

Steve has a million questions — like who the hell is they? And what do they want with him? And why did they send a pirate to do their dirty work?

Instead, what comes out is, “I guess that would make sense.”

He folds his arms over his chest, just for something to do with them, and then a thought surfaces to the forefront of his brain.

A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his lower lip pushes out into a contemplative pout as he mulls it over. “But what if—” he starts. Pauses. Cuts himself off like he won’t dare finish the thought.

Only it’s too enticing, too tempting not to.

“What if you didn’t take me?”

The man comes to a stop right in front of Steve. He’s close, much closer than anyone would normally be comfortable with, but Steve doesn’t care. If anything, he has to refrain from curling his fingers into that necklace and using it to leverage him even closer.

Steve looks into the man’s dark eyes. Big, endless, easy to lose himself to. But he doesn’t. He meets them head on, unwavering with his gaze, as if he’s challenging him.

“Sweetheart,” the man starts, dripping with condescension. He raises a hand and flattens it against the rock behind Steve, boxing him in. Another wry chuckle tumbles past his lips. “I don’t think you get it,” he says. “I have an order. I need to follow it.”

Steve just his chin up, defiant. “I don’t think you get it,” he returns, poking the man in the chest, much to his astonishment.

“What if you didn’t take me,” Steve repeats slowly, putting emphasis on his meaning. “But what if I… went with you anyways?”

It takes a moment for the words to properly sink in, but when they do, a slow spreading surprise settles over the man’s face. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. His lips curl back into a grin that bares his teeth. “How rebellious of you,” he tuts.

“You say rebellious, I say free-thinking,” Steve replies, brushing him off.

The man’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t accept the proposition. Not yet. Instead, he watches Steve carefully, like he expects his bravado to fall away any second now and for Steve to renege.

But Steve holds his ground. He’s not taking it back. He’s not chickening out. In fact, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He’s going to go with this man.

Finally, the man relents. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.

The man gives a firm nod, and without another word, he turns on his heel and starts to briskly walk away.

Steve scrambles to follow him, out through the opening of the rocks and across the open courtyard that leads towards the port. He glances behind him every so often to make sure that he hasn’t been spotted or followed by any of the partygoers. By any of his family.

But each time he looks, there’s no one.

He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or thrilled by that.

The further he gets from the party, though, the easier it gets to breathe. Like the noose around his neck loosens with each step. That almost makes him want to laugh, considering his choice here would earn him a real one, permanently.

Ships line the port, when they finally make it to the water’s edge. Great big ones, with hulking hulls and dozens of ballooning sails. There are at least four, anchored in the bay, but none of them stick out to Steve as a pirate ship. Not that Steve’s ever actually seen a pirate ship before. He’s only heard tales. Still, he expected that they’d be distinct.

The man approaches one of the ships, and he doesn’t hesitate before tromping up the shoddy wooden gangway and stepping foot onto the polished deck. His hands slide onto his hips and he casts a wide glance around. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, his whole body relaxing as he does. Like he’s finally home.

He turns then, back towards Steve and offers out his hand.

Steve looks down at it, then back up at the man.

“I’m Steve,” he says, taking it. The man’s palm is rough against Steve’s, but it’s warm too. It feels nice.

The man laughs. “I know,” he says. “And I’m—”

It’s then that Steve notices it. It’s subtle, in the sense that it’s just the one detail. But that detail itself is anything but. Just past the man’s head, right in the center of the biggest sail, a red devil. Pointed horns protruding from its skull, wicked yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth.

It is unmistakable.

“You’re Eddie Munson,” Steve says, recognition finally hitting. And, jesus christ, he feels so stupid for not realizing sooner. The most notorious pirate in all of the seven seas — how could he have forgotten?

“That I am,” Eddie muses. Then he uses his grip on Steve’s hand to pull him the rest of the way onboard.

It tightens, and he doesn’t let go right away, like maybe he thinks Steve will try and make a run for it now that he knows who he is.

But Steve doesn’t. He stands his ground, holds Eddie’s gaze steady.

Something zings up Steve’s spine as Eddie’s big eyes bore back into his own, and he thinks briefly to himself that whatever he’s gotten himself into here, it’s going to be well worth it. He’s in for the adventure of a lifetime here.

Eddie drops his hand then, and a slow grin, just as devilish as his flag unfurls across his pretty lips. He flourishes one of his own hands out around him.

“Steve Harrington,” he practically purrs. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mack writes #macks ficlets #so i wrote this instead of working on any of the fics i actually should be working on rn lol #i listened to voulez vous by abba and my brain went pirates and well. here we are.#funny story also bc a good chunk of the first half of this actually came from something i was going to write for a totally different fandom #but never ended up writing so it just sat collecting dust until today!#10 bucks if you can guess the fandom (and no it is not ofmd or any other actual genuine pirate fandom lol)

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