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frombeyondtheblackhole · 3 years ago

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Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 9

Foolish flinched. Qackity’s shouting stopped abruptly. It was warmer (Las Nevadas was surprisingly cold). Foolish slowly opened his eyes. An open grave stood at his feet. His heart jumped into his throat and he stumbled backwards, falling on his back. He stared dumbfounded as a bee flew out from the grave and landed on his knee for a moment before flying away. Quackity was nowhere to be seen.

His breathing slowed and he looked around. He was in a graveyard next to a church. Was he dead? Was this limbo? What had happened? He wasn’t supposed to die… but he had died before. But if he had died just now he still should have had his third life, he should have respawned… maybe he had. Maybe he was still alive… That made more sense. No, wait, he still had all of his stuff, if he had died his inventory should have been empty… Foolish held his head in his hands and stared at the ground.

“You ok there, friend?”

Foolish’s head snapped up. A man with neon green hair stood on the other side of the stone wall surrounding the graveyard. Foolish quickly picked himself up and brushed himself off. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine… um- this may seem like an odd question, but, am I dead?”

The man laughed, “I don’t know, are you? I mean, I assume you're not dead, cause I’m not dead, unless you’re un-dead, if you know what I mean.”

Foolish let out a deep breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Alright, I’m alive, i'm not dead,” He muttered, staring at the sky.

“You sure you’re fine?” The man asked again, putting air quotes around the ‘fine’. “Cause, you don’t seem fine…”

Foolish shook his head “No, really, don’t worry about me, I was just a bit disoriented, that’s all.”

The man pursed his lips and raised a brow “You asked me if you were dead… not if you had died. Which means you knew there was a chance you might get stuck in a respawn glitch. Have you been messing with server magic?”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.” Foolish scowled and crossed his arms looking down at the man. He wasn’t in his twenty-three foot form but even in this form he stood almost a foot taller than the other man.

The man shook his head “It’s not necessarily a bad thing, just dangerous. I mean, I would be a bit of a hypocrite if I condemned people for messing with server magic.”

Foolish didn’t look impressed. “It’s only dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I mean, I guess.” The man said rubbing the back of his neck as he contemplated Foolish’s words “But no one is stupid enough to mess around long enough to get the practice...” He trailed off as he looked up to see Foolish looking at him with an incredulous look, “Oh.”

Foolish finally relented and his expression softened, “Maybe you're right, I mean, my name is Foolish after all,”

The man chuckled, “Maybe we're both a bit crazy. I’m Joe, Joe Hills. Nice to meet you,” He said, climbing over the low stone wall and reaching out his hand. Foolish smiled and shook it. Joe had a firm grip.

“So you said you have experience with server magic, what can you do?” Foolish asked as the two of them walked out of the graveyard and over to the church. This church was much nicer than church prime. As a builder Foolish could appreciate the detail put into the architecture.

Joe shrugged as he sat down on the steps and leaned back on his elbows looking up at the sky, “I can see better in the dark If I want to. Honestly, I don’t really mess with it much anymore.”

“Why not?” Foolish asked, leaning against the wall.

Joe shrugged but Foolish noticed his grip tighten into a ball. “It wasn’t worth it. A friend of mine got hurt and almost didn’t respawn. Actually, she should be around here somewhere, I wonder where she went?”

---

Cleo stood on a concrete road getting yelled at by an angry man with a scar through his left eye and a blue beanie.

“Who the fuck are you? What the fuck did you do to Foolish? Where is Foolish.”

“Aaa, Foolish is a Zombie!” another man wearing glasses and green suspenders yelled.

Cleo staggered backwards and summoned a sword from her inventory, “Who am I, what about who are you?”

“You better tell me, right fucking now, what the hell you did to Foolish or I’ll-”

“You’ll do what? Don’t try me, I’ll put this sword through your skull I will,” Cleo bluffed.

The man with the scar summoned an axe. “Charlie, go get Purpled, tell him we have an intruder in Las Nevadas.”

The man in green, presumably Charlie, looked at him perplexed “But, Quackity from Las Nevadas, why are we attacking Zombie Foolish?”

“Damn it Charlie, Just get Purpl-”

Cleo didn’t let him finish. A yell ripped from her lungs as she charged him, sword swinging. Quackity startled and blocked with the shaft of his axe. He shoved her off and she staggered back. Cleo dug her heels in swinging the sword like a club. There was a burst of pain, or more like cold (Pain felt different ever since the undeath) as his axe cut into her shoulder. But he was bleeding too. His axe returned to his inventory as he clutched his arm and staggered back. Cleo gripped her sword tighter, breathing hard, her eyes locked on him.

She felt the impact and another burst of cold as an arrow hit her in the chest. Her head snapped up, there was a kid in purple firing arrows from a crossbow as he ran towards them. He was wearing full netheriet.

Cleo turned and ran.

“Stop her, she fucking did something to Foolish!” Quackity shouted. She didn’t stop running as arrows landed about her feet. Down the road through a tunnel and past a stone fortress. Cleo scrambled off the road, over a hill. She could hear them still behind her. Dodging through the hills she was able to shake them by looping back around behind them as they continued on.

Once they were gone she slowed down. She touched a hand to her shoulder. It was throbbing with a dull ache and it felt cold, a deep cold like ice in her veins. She looked down. The arrow was still in her chest. She needed to do something about that.

She was back at the fortress. Cleo slid down the hill, climbing behind the wall and slumped against the stone. She gritted her teeth and pulled the arrow from her chest with a grunt, dropping it in the grass. A golden apple appeared in her hand and she took a bite, the juice tingling in her mouth as the regen and absorption began to take effect.

The throbbing eased a little and the wounds began to close. She looked up and froze. An enderman stared back at her with mismatched eyes. No wait, not an enderman, at least not quite. Half of his face was white.

“Hey Tubbo, I think I found out what Quackity was shouting about.” The half-enderman kid called over his shoulder.

Cleo staggered to her feet, her sword out. “I won't hesitate to-”

The half-enderman backed up and raised his empty hands “Oh no, we're not with Quackity,” He explained.

Cleo scowled but lowered her sword. “Well isn’t that lovely, someone who doesn’t want to stab me.”

He looked alarmed, “Oh, I wouldn’t do that- I mean, I definitely don’t want to do that.” Now that she got a better look at him he looked kind of young, he was tall but in the lanky teenager kind of way. He looked to be 18 or 19, maybe 17. His suit probably made him look older.

“Oh hey, so what was Big Q so mad about?” Another kid said as he came around the building. He stopped short when he saw Cleo. “Oh…” He was much shorter than the ender-kid. Two horns curled up out of his brown hair and almost every inch of exposed skin was covered in burn scars. Cleo let her sword return to her inventory.

“Big man, why is there a funny looking zombie in our base?” the goat kid said

Cleo bristled, “I’m still a person, thank you.”

The goat kid looked back at Cleo “Ooooh- oops.”

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve gone and insulted her.”

“I didn’t meeean to, how was I supposed to know?” The goat kid wined.

The two bickered like a married couple. Cleo coughed “Um- would either of you two be able to explain what is going on,”

“Haven’t got a fucking clue,” The goat kid chirped, a little to cheerfully.

Cleo pursed her lips, “Well, could you at least tell me where I am?”

“Um… The road between Las Nevadas and Spawn. Or do you mean here-here. This is our cookie shop.” The ender-kid explained.

Cleo blinked.

“I think she means the server big man,” The goat kid said, “This is the Dream SMP.”

Cleo blinked again. So not Hermitcraft. Shit.

---

The goat kid introduced himself as Tubbo and the ender-kid as Ranboo. Cleo explained what had happened, which made Tubbo laugh. It turned out that the cookie outpost and Las Nevadas were in conflict and Tubbo liked the idea of doing something that would, in his words “Piss off Big Q.”

Cleo tried to return to Hermitcraft but was met with an error message. Tubbo and Ranboo offered to let her stay in Snowchester till she figured things out. They had no idea how she got there but they didn’t seem too concerned about it.

Snowchester was surprisingly far away from what the kids were calling a cookie shop. To Cleo it looked suspiciously like a military outpost but who was she to judge?

Snowchester was a quaint little walled in town, overlooked by a massive mansion worthy of any Hermitcraft base. There was a tower, docs, and a little wheat field mixed in with little log and stone houses. The air was crisp and cold, light snow fell around them landing on her hair and bare arms. Untouched snow coated the steps to most of the houses and closely shuttered windows looked back at her. The ocean lapped against the shore and the sound of a boat bumping against the pier carried up through the town. A single seagull landed on a stone wall. It looked at Cleo and cawed.

Ranboo and Tubbo lead Cleo around a strangely industrial building on a hill in the middle of the town with “Danger, keep out” signs on the doors.

“So what’s in there,” Cleo asked, nodding towards the industrial building.

Ranboo raised his brows and looked at Tubbo. Tubbo pursed his lips “Oh nothing much, that’s just where we do equipment testing. You’re not allowed in there,” he added. There was finality to his tone. Cleo wondered what he was hiding and if it was worth snooping around to find out, but there was a dark conviction in the way that the kid with too many scars said it. The way the ender-kid hovered at his side anxiously watching everything. Maybe she should be careful not to make more enemies.

They lead her to a little house behind the industrial building. “This used to be Foolish’s but he moved out so you can stay here for now,” Tubbo explained opening the door and letting them inside.

“Foolish… the guy who Quackity thinks I kidnaped? You’re giving me his house?” Cleo scoffed looking around. A square table and chairs stood off to one side, a counter with a furnace and cabinets lined the back wall and a cactus in a pot sat by the front door.

“Well, it’s not really his house anymore, he hasn’t lived here for months,” Tubbo shrugged.

Cleo sighed, “So long as he won’t mind. Goodness this whole situation is a mess.”

Ranboo gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Welp,” Tubbo clapped his hands. “We’ll let you get settled in. Just don’t go snooping around in people’s homes, we are pretty private people here.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Cleo said absently, still looking around the room.

Tubbo and Ranboo left, closing the door behind them.

There was a silence and then Cleo jumped at the sound of someone drinking milk. She spun around summoning her sword, freezing as the invisibility melted away to reveal Etho standing in the corner.

“Finally, I thought they were never going to leave,” Etho muttered.

“Etho! What are you doing here?” Cleo bristled.

Etho looked sheepishly off to the side as he rubbed the back of his head. “We’ll, I might have been following you. If you mean here on this server, we don’t really know. Oh yeah, TFC’s here too. We’ve been stuck on this server for about two weeks now. Least, I’ve been, TFC showed up about a week ago.”

“So wait, You're telling me you have been stuck on this server for two weeks?”

Etho nodded “Yup. Come on let's get out of here before they come back. We can talk at my secret base.”

Cleo pulled away “Wait, wait. Why? Why were you sneaking around? Why are we avoiding those kids? I would like a good reason before I turn down their hospitality.”

“This server isn’t what it seems to be. It’s seriously glitched out. Haven’t you noticed how many scars everyone has here, how many hybrids there are.”

Now that Cleo thought about it, even the ender-kid, Ranboo, had scars that looked like tears running down his face. Scars only happened when there was a glitch during respawn so they were pretty rare, the fact that three of the five people she had seen so far had obvious scars was concerning, especially with how bad the scars on that Tubbo kid were. On top of that, Quackity looked like he might be some kind of bird hybrid, with small golden wings, while Tubbo was a goat and Cleo had no idea what Ranboo really was. Hybrids were the result of pretty strong server glitches, and from what Etho was saying those guys weren’t the only ones.

“So the server is glitchy, that doesn't make them bad people,”

“There are places on this server that have been blown up all the way down to bedrock. Those kids who seemed so nice, they have nukes in that building right outside. There is a prison that everyone here is terrified of, seemingly for good reason. The Warden that guards it almost killed me while chasing me and TFC away, and said something about hunting us down and killing us till we were completely dead.”

Cleo blanched “Completely dead… like, they have a way of reliably preventing respawning here.” She remembered what it felt like being stuck in the void unable to respawn. For Joe it had only been a couple of minutes, for her it had felt like hours.

“I don’t know,” Etho shrugged. “I just think it would be best if we all kept a low profile till we can find a way out of here.”

“I… I trust you, Etho. But I don’t want to leave without letting those kids know that I won’t be staying here. They seem like nice kids, I’d rather not just disappear on them.”

Etho hesitated, then nodded “Alright, Just be careful, and take this,” He said handing her two invis pots. “You can find me in the sewers under their shopping district, there is a community center in the middle of a lake, the entrance to the tunnels is underneath it.”

Cleo took the potions and smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I got this. I’ll be fiiine.”

“Ok,” Etho nodded and pulled his facemask down. He drank an invis potion before leaving the building.

Cleo sighed. Perma-death hum, would that even work on her? Seeing as she already kinda died before. She didn’t want to have to find out.

#hermitcraft dsmp swap au #dsmp #dream smp #hermitcraft #dsmp au #dream smp au #hermitcraft au #hc x dsmp au #foolish gamers #joe hills #zombie cleo #quackity #tubbo #ranboo #charlie slimecicle #purpled #etho #tfc #warden sam

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anaiswriterr · 4 years ago

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My Darling,

Pairing: Deku x Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: smut, light cursing, nsfw, soft dom Izuku (Characters are aged up, Y/N is 20 and Izuku is 23) Forgive me, I’ll go to church after this I promise. I tried my best, one day my smut writing will get better but until then I’m practicing. Um.. yeah this isn’t as graphic as other but damn I had to take multiple breaks. THIS IS 18+

Request: 18, 63, 72, and 150

SYNOPSIS: A simple tribe girl picking flowers for her mother’s shop and Dragon King who was in desperate need for a wife. He met her on a warm spring evening, and was set to marry her the next night.

Y/N wouldn't necessarily call herself lucky, though, many girls would remind her of the soft skin she possessed, the darling smile she was blessed with, and the warmth her heart carried within as she handed out lilies to the little girls that ran all throughout the village. Blessed with Aphrodite's beauty, undoubtly she caused heads to turn everywhere she went.

Y/N L/N, daughter of the villages flower shop owner, was the most beautiful in the land.

A proud tribal woman of the Dragon Kingdom, who never paid attention to politics, who never saw the wrong in most. The one who caught the wandering eye of King Izuku when he made his frequent visit to the village for it's annual festival.

The golden hew that surround her crouched body, as she continued to pick the roses from her garden. She hadn't noticed his eyes, she was to busy cutting off the thorns off its stem before handing the rose to a small boy who watched in awe as she filled her basket with more roses. "This ones for you," She says softly, dropping the flower into his small palm; he clutches onto the now non threatening stem. His eyes grow large with his smile as he wraps his arms around the girl, "Thank you, Miss L/N!" He runs off the other direction.

Her kindness is what drew Izuku Midoriya. Like a magical love spell casted on the man, love at first sight.

Who knew the King would come back with a wife who wasn't even remotely close to royalty, no, she was a normal tribal girl who ran with her heart never her head - surely she never thought she'd be Queen one day to King Midoriya. But like all fairytales she married, and fell madly in love with the king as he held his palm out to help lower her from his horse.

She sighs, "Do we have to attend this party?"

Izuku smiles at his bride, hold her hand close to his chest placing a chaste kiss on her fingers, "Just for a little while, I promise you'll have fun. Besides, I'll be with you the entire night."

"Is that a promise?" Y/N asks nervously, chewing on the insides of her cheeks. Still new to the whole royalty transition, she looked the part but inside she was still the girl who picked up flowers for her mother. Izuku can feel her nervousness radiate off her body, arching a brow he smiles at her in hopes to lift her sprits. "I know you're still new to this, but there's a reason why I married you."

"Why is that?" She lifts her head to meet his emerald green eyes, ones she'd often found herself most nights staring deeply into.

"That's for me too know and for you to find out later." He places a kiss on her cheek.

Y/N scoffs as his playfulness at they enter the castle, hundreds of bustling maids scurry around in preparations for tonight's ball. "Continue to say things like that, and we both won't be attending the party tonight."

"Why is that?" He smirks looking directly down at his wife with hungry eyes.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out later."

***

Y/N wears a sly smile as she makes her way around the busy ballroom, taking in small sips of her champagne as she converses with the girls she's recently befriended. Uraraka and Mina, both who were recently married to Bakugou and Kirishima. Y/N found it easy to talk to them, simple, all three were new to the life of being royalty. Y/N hums in agreement at something Mina says, giggling at Uraraka's blushing cheeks till she feels two strong arms wrap around her waist, "Excuse me ladies, but if you don't mind I'll be stealing my wife for a moment." Izuku says playfully, before latching his arm into yours.

"Where you taking me?"

"I haven't told you how beautiful you look in this dress," He whispers into her ear causing a warm chill to run down her spine, "I can't wait to rip it off."

A scarlet red blush creeps onto her cheeks, biting her bottom lip in comfort Y/N stands on her tip toes to lean in closer to his ear; "What makes you think I'll let you." Y/N pulls him onto the ballroom floor, throwing his hands on the small of her back as the two sway to the music played by the orchestra. "I should be mad at you; you left me all by myself Zuzu. After you promised you'd stay with me all night." She cooed into his ear, reprimanding him of his broken promise. A faint blush dusts his cheeks, twirling her to the music.

"Well then, let me make it up to you. Besides, you made friends at least."

Y/N shrugs, "You're right, but Zuzu I wanted to spend more time with you."

His hands grasps at her hips, pulling her in close. "Then we can spend the rest of the night together, in bed." He says suggestively, Y/N pretends to think, wondering if she could drag this conversation on longer. He sure was persistent, a small giggle escapes her lips, she places a small peck onto his lips.

"And why don't we spend time together, here? After all we are the hosts, right Zuzu?"

Izuku chases her lips fighting back the urge to nibble her ear in plain sight - she was toying with his emotions.

"I don't need an audience to watch me fuck my wife," He growls in anticipation - He can already tell he has an effect of her. Her movements to the music still and her demeanor slightly changes, her eyes grow dark. Izuku has Y/N right where he wanted her; but preferable he'd rather have her underneath him. Izuku cheekily leans back into her ear, "Just know I'm gonna fuck your brains out after tonight."

***

The two run hand in hand down the hallway to their bedroom, laughing the entire way down until they finally reach the door. Izuku nearly breaks the door down before slamming it shut behind him, his hand moves forward to cup her cheeks, pulling her in for a deep searing kiss.

Y/N moans in delight when he has her back against the door, her hands pull at his dark curly locks as his tongue explores her mouth, "I want you," she managed to pant between each kiss, falling in complete bliss as his lips trail down from the corner of her lips and down her throat; latching onto her collarbone.

"Izuku,"

"Patience."

Groaning in annoyance, she rubs her thighs together to ease the growing ache between them. With her fingers entangled between his locks she pulls him off her neck, revealing the small bruises and bite marks he left behind. His hands roam all throughout her body, squeezing, pulling, grasping. "This is getting in the way," he groans as he tugs on the fabric of her dress, biting his lip she mumbles, "Then take it off."

"Yes ma'am." He chuckles, turning her around untying the strings to loosening the corset, his lips hungrily latch to the back of her neck. "Izuku!" She whines, "Hurry up!" He pulls off her dress, ripping the back into shreds, twisting her back around. Y/N hops into his arms, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he carries her off to their bed.

His hands fiddle with the waistline of her panties, playing with the lace material between his fingers - gently pressing her down into the mattress. She whines beneath him, watching as he trails down her body, his lips leave trails of tiny bruises and saliva down her chest. Placing two bite marks just above her breasts, eyeing the lace white bra she wore. His eyes plead for her to take it off, "Please daring." His dark green eyes bore into her E/C ones, "Please," Nodding, Y/N arches her back unclipping the hooks off her back and tossing it onto floor.

His lips attach onto her hardened nipple, the pleasure of his warm mouth against her breast seizes her. Her fingers curl through his hair pulling him closer towards her chest, his hands placed firmly over her hips as he traveled down the valley between her breast and onto her belly, placing soft lips against the soft skin of her naval. She giggles at his gentleness - still not used to the feeling of his roaming hands. He stops just above the waist band of her panties, eyeing her down as he kisses her through the fabric. Sending waves of pleasure throughout her body - the warmth surrounds her like a burning fire.

Fingers curling over the fabric, pulling them down slowly.

"Don't tease."

Izuku's head ducks down to her inner thighs, biting and sucking against the soft skin, he smiles, "I'll take as long as I want," he kisses all along her legs, his hands wrap around her ankles pulling her closer as he slowly slides down her panties, throwing it off to side. Izuku licks a long strip against her aching core, moaning into her folds and sucking against her aching clit.

Y/N pulls against the roots of his hair, he lets out a low groan - the vibrations only making her shiver. "Fuck.." Y/N throws her head back, massaging Izuku's scalp with her fingers, a series of "please" and "yeses" string past her lips - her volume only increases with his speed. Dark green emerald eyes lock with her hazy half lidded orbs, "Darling, you have to be more quiet. Or else they'll hear us."

Was that necessarily a bad things? If people heard?

Y/N covers her mouth with her palm, one hand grasping at the sheet for some kind support and the other holding back the increasingly loud moans from her vocal cords ripping out into a soft harmony with his grunts.

"Oh fuck," Izuku suddenly plunges two finger deep inside, pumping in and out of her tight hole, licking at her sweet folds and sucking hard on her clit. Increasing his speed, a hot coil of pleasure overtakes her core, legs shaking, he drinks up all her juices. He smirks, leaning back to admire the mess he made, "Perfect." Y/N's quick to cross her legs - suddenly left feeling insecure as his hungry eyes wonders all along her. Her hands cover her breasts.

"Woah, don't cover up." Izuku leans in to uncover her chest, pressing a small kiss to her temple. His hands go to unbutton his shirt, throwing off his royal tunic and off his white long sleeved undershirt. Y/N props her self up with her elbows - biting her bottom lip, chewing in anticipation. Unbuttoning his pants, Y/N points towards his large bulge - arching a brow sheepishly at her husband, "Do y-you want me to help you with that?"

Nodding his head no, he gently presses her down shimmying out his pants. "Tonight's about you." His lips connect with hers in a heated passionate kiss, his strong hands wrap around her ankles - throwing her legs over his shoulders positioning himself in front of her entrance. "Please?" He asks, eyes begging to be let in.

"Yes, please."

Her husband pushes himself into her tight aching hole a small moan escape's past her lips. Her head cradled by two strong arms; his thrusts start out slow as he bottoms himself out into his wife, rocking back and forth with his hips. Moaning out into her lips.

Mimicking one another's pace, Y/N claws away at his back. Nails digging into his skin, creating crescent shaped marks and long red lines being scraped into his skin.

Izuku lays in forehead against her shoulder blades, kissing and napping away at her skin, groaning from the hot painful marks on his back.

"Zuku.." She moans clinging onto his back for support, his arm shoots up to the bed frame rocking his hips harder into hers, hitting perfectly at her g-spot. A silent scream forms from her lips, whimpering beneath him at his quickened pace.

Pounding Y/N into the mattress he mutters, "I love you."

Y/N is moaning mess as Izuku moves her hiked up leg over his shoulder slinging it over his waist, hitting a whole new angle her nails dig into the flesh of his back even deeper, penetrate the skin and drawing blood. Throwing his head back groaning at the pain he pumps in faster, plunging deeper into her hitting a new angle. Her mouth forms an 'O', arching her back from the mattress Izuku presses his weight onto her increasing his speed hitting her in all the right places.

His tight grip to the bed frame loosens to fall beside her head, encasing her with two muscular forearms - it's not long until she feels a hot twist in her core moaning for him to slow down with a hand pressed down to his abdomen. "I-I'm gonna-"

"M-me too." Izuku pants, his trusts turning sloppy and faster. Y/N's vision blurs as the coil releases with a small "Please" - and not long after that Izuku collapses on top of her.

The both a panting mess with stupid smile pained on their lips, a doopy look in Y/N eyes as she smiles towards the ceiling while Izuku chuckles - pressing his forehead onto hers before rolling onto his side. A breathless giggle escapes past her lips, Y/N turns to her side propping her head up with her palm using her other hand to pull up the covers she sighs in content, "I love you, you know that right?"

"I love you more."

"Not possible."

Izuku pulls her in by the waist smiling as he lays into her chest, "sometimes I feel like my hearts gonna burst, that how much I love you."

Y/N rakes her fingers through the messy curly green locks , thumbing away the sections that stuck to his forehead nuzzling her chin on top his head; maybe she was lucky. Luck was always a possibility for her but one thing she was certain was the pure happiness she was blessed with.

#bnha izuku #izuku midoriya #izuku midoria x reader #mha izuku #midoriya izuku #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #izuku smut #izuku midoriya smut #deku imagines #deku x reader #deku headcanons #deku x reader smut #mha smut #bnha smut

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years ago

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Demigod Dossier: Velstrac Demagogues, part 1

Pictured: Aroggus, the Abbey-Maker

Lawful Evil Mad Artists of the Shadow Plane

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 120~121 Additional information is also present in Adventure Path: Return of the Runelords: The City Outside of Time, pg. 74~79

Our second-ever Demigod Dossier, now fully in-swing! The Velstrac Demagogues are the rulers of the Shadow Plane and all the lives within, though many of said lives within aren’t really fans of them. Natives to the Netherworld find the presence of the Velstrac an annoyance at best and a threat to their lives at worst, and would much prefer if they went back to Hell where they came from, but unfortunately for everyone everywhere they don’t appear too eager to throw themselves into the jaws of the inferno just yet. Instead, they’re busy throwing themselves into the jaws of one another.

The Demagogues represent the pinnacle of a specific subset of the Velstrac’s twisted senses of ‘art’ and ‘perfection,’ either because they’ve mutilated themselves into something wholly unlike anything else that can, did, or could exist, or they’ve pioneered a form of artistry that other Velstrac couldn’t even conceptualize in the first place and gathered a fandom. It takes some very twisted, alien forms of thinking to become a Demagogue and get others rallied behind you, even moreso because the Velstrac themselves are, putting it kindly, completely out of their gourd. When your audience already expects the insane and outlandish, you have to go even further, and many of the fiends you’ll soon see have.

We’ll only be covering four in this initial post, with the rest to be saved for later...

Demagogues view mortals as little more than primal clay to be shaped, and thus see little worth in investing true divine power into them, worshipers receive Boons that are are relatively simple: a trio of spell-like abilities, each of which may be used 1/day. Boons are normally gained slowly, at levels 12, 16, and 20, however entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes can see the Boons gained as early as levels 10, 13, and 16. Note that while they are Lawful Evil fiends originally from Hell, they are not devils, thus you cannot enter the Diabolist Prestige Class to obtain their Boons without DM fiat.

Aroggus, the Abbey-Maker

Demagogue of Possibility, Revenge, and Sanctuary Domains: Evil, Law, Protection, Trickery Subdomains: Deception, Defense, Fear, Tyranny

Obedience: List the names of those who have wronged you until the writing covers a page, then consume the parchment. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws to resist compulsion effects.

What a completely normal, sane, and healthy thing to do! As the first of the Demagogues to flee from Hell, Aroggus is EXTREMELY angry at the devils for locking them up in the first place. Angry enough to want revenge on the whole of the diabolic race, as well as the Asura... Angry enough that he hasn’t yet even started getting around to enacting his revenge, instead just constantly thinking about and refining it as if no iteration of suffering is perfect enough to match his fury.

True to form, he wants you to ruminate in your anger rather than doing anything to enact your vengeance, blacking out a page with the names (or just one name) of all who’ve wronged you no matter how petty or insignificant the inconvenience they may have caused. Unfortunately, no two ways about it, you’re going to look insane (in the literal definition of the term) doing this every day, especially if you only have one or two people who’ve wronged you enough to get onto your list. Scrawling their name, front AND back, until the page is filled and then eating it is behavior that will raise eyebrows no matter who you’re adventuring with. Best to keep this one behind closed doors. Make sure you have a glass of activated charcoal after, because all of that ink day after day (unless you write with, I don’t know, berry juice or blood) is going to do amazingly terrible things to your constitution.

The benefit is good. Compulsions are typically Save-Or-Suck effects, so having more Save means less Suck for you later on. It’s useful at any point in your adventure, so I can’t say anything bad about it! My only wish is that it was a little stronger, since some other gods give +4 vs compulsion and charm effects.

Boon 1: Nondetection Boon 2: Forcecage Boon 3: Imprisonment

Nondectection is a good spell for those times when you need to sneak by diviners, hide magic items from scrutiny, avoid the gaze of a Paladin who’s a little too judicious with Detect Evil, or to add another layer of shroud over Invisibility and the like. It’s a spell that’s a pain to prepare every single day, but useful to have when you need it... but you only have one casting of it per day, so using it wisely is paramount. Ironically, it combines well with your own Divination to find out if you’ll even need it later. More often than not you won’t be using it at all except to idly ward yourself when going into town or diving into a dungeon.

Forcecage is a completely different animal, the offensive and defensive applications of the spell simply mind-blowing, to the point that keeping this to just one paragraph to save space is going to take some herculean effort on my part! So, the basics: Forcecage has two versions, both of which halt all movement through them: A 20ft square of force bars that allow spells, projectiles, and line-of-effect through, and a 10ft cube that blocks line-of-effect and all forms of magic and supernatural abilities. A Forcecage is effectively invincible (having Hardness 30 and 20hp/level) and impossible to move, so anyone trapped inside without the ability to teleport is likely to stay there for the spell’s duration. Also, to put it simply, shoving enemies in the cage is the main point, but if you cannot, a 10ft/20ft square is an enormous roadblock to stop up narrow passages with.

Which leaves Imprisonment, a portable hole you can shove all sorts of problems into, which will likely create new problems down the line if the target had anything you needed on them. I recommend knocking out a foe, stripping them of their valuables, and then shoving them into their baby jail for all eternity! With the Freedom spell being the only means to undo Imprisonment (even Wish and Miracle fail), you’ll have no actual way to undo the spell against any target you cast it on for one or two more levels, if at all (depending on the party composition). Make sure to use it only when the villain has no MacGuffins, or is a powerful recurring threat. Imprisonment works on anything and everything capable of failing the Will save (take note, anyone wanting to fight Kaiju, Great Old Ones, or Spawn of Rovagug), which gets a -4 penalty if you know the target’s name and some facts about its life, so famous villains are even more vulnerable to being thrown into the Eternity Marble!

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Barravoclair, Lady of the Final Gasp

Demagogue of the Elderly, Fatalistic Insights, Resurrection Domains: Death, Evil, Healing, Law Subdomains: Murder, Restoration, Resurrection, Undead

Obedience: Practice breath control, holding your breath until you nearly pass out. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on checks to resist drowning and on saves against inhaled poisons.

A hell of a step down in terms of unhealthiness in terms of Aroggus, and significantly less suspicious, too. Breath control is practiced by people of all stripes, from athletes to explorers to simple monks attempting more profound meditation. While ‘nearly passing out’ is skirting an edge most people won’t approach, it’s not exactly as dangerous for you as, say, inhaling water or eating poison every day. Without any materials needed, the Lady of the Final Gasp is one of the simplest and probably the single cheapest Obedience ritual one could ask for! There is a minor caveat in that races who can’t breathe can’t technically do this Obedience at all, but those aren’t the audience Barravoclair wants anyway.

Unfortunately, the benefit is as weak as the Obedience is easy to do. Drowning is unlikely to come up as a danger unless you’re physically dragged into the water by a monster (which means holding your breath likely isn’t an option anyway), and inhaled poisons are the least common poison type in the game. Against the odd Catoblepas or Green Dragon it will come in handy, but it’s protection from injury poison you really need, which the Lady of the Final Gasp doesn’t provide.

Boon 1: Speak With Dead Boon 2: Resurrection Boon 3: Soul Bind

Alright, let’s face it. Some days, you need Speak With Dead to keep the plot running smoothly. Whether your overzealous DPS kills everyone in the room, your Fireball-lobbing Sorcerer kills everyone in the room, or your summoner’s unchained beasts kill everyone in the room, chances are at some point in your career you’re going to save the party a lot of headaches by being able to pull answers from a corpse. Having Speak With Dead available every day will likely not matter 80% of the time (meaning you can typically use it at your leisure just before going to bed), but much like with Water Breathing and spells like Remove Curse and Neutralize Poison, having it for those 20% of times you need it can keep the wheels spinning and stop unneeded side quests.

... And speaking of side quests and things you’ll need once in a blue moon, Resurrection? For free? Even 1/day? With the hefty cost of 10,000gp for the normal spell, even a well-off party will feel the impact every single time they have to use Rez, but the removal of the cost ups the power level of the spell by a margin so enormous that it doesn’t really matter what Boon you get before or after this one; THIS boon rewards worship of Barravoclair enough to justify putting up with her empty benefit. Even without factoring in the ability to raise party members, you can now curry favor with people of all stripes and demand all forms of insane payments for your ability to raise centuries-old dead at no cost but time... or do your work for free and call in favors at a later date. Do note, however, that you’ll also need someone else on standby to remove the negative levels/stat drain caused by the resurrection process.

I said it didn’t matter what the third Boon was and I stand by it. Unlike with the free Rez above, Soul Bind’s enormous cost still makes its use as anything but a once-per-campaign finisher of an annoying enemy irritating and unfeasible. Spell-likes normally require no components, but Soul Bind operates in a gray area of the rules in that its focus component becomes the subject for the spell, meaning that a DM can very easily and very rightly say you DO require the gemstone whose value must equal or exceed the target’s HD x 1,000. Binding even a simple 5 CR creature requires the tall order of a 5,000gp gemstone, and if you want to use it on a target that’s worthwhile, it gets expensive fast. It’s way cheaper and easier to just hire a Cacodaemon.

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Fharaas, the Seer in Skin

Demagogue of Experience, Murder, and Patterns Domains: Evil, Knowledge, Law, Repose Subdomains: Ancestors, Fear, Memory, Souls

Obedience: Study the interior of a freshly severed limb. Benefit: You are immune to bleed effects that deal 6 damage or less.

This Obedience is deceptively simple for what its implication is. You’d best get yourself a Sack Of Rats or have access to a lot of disposable prisoners (or the Regenerate spell)! But thankfully, there’s some wiggle room in the wording: ‘freshly severed’ means no cheating and using Gentle Repose on the same arm over and over, but it ALSO means you can carry around a single corpse and slowly slice it apart, as the limbs themselves don’t have to be fresh, just freshly cut off for the purpose of the ritual. Also, you can use the bodies of Undead, Constructs, and any other creature that technically has severable limbs! Though Fharaas, the Seer In Skin, will likely punish you if your ritual doesn’t involve the examination of actual flesh.

You’re going to look really weird, is what I’m saying. At least if someone barges in on you, you can claim you’re inspecting them for something or other. Infection, signs of magic, etc, whatever you can come up with to blunt the blow. You can cover yourself moderately well by being a butcher or a hunter in your day job, as the severed limb doesn’t have to be human, or even sapient (hence why I suggest a Sack Of Rats), letting you freely slice up and examine your kills.

Bleed effects are fairly uncommon in the grand scheme of things but are also a pain in the neck to deal with in the middle of battle, so this giving a +4 bonus aga--wait, sorry, hold on no, this isn’t a bonus to saving throws? Or skill checks to heal bleed? It just... Stops them if they deal 6 or less damage? You don’t even have to make a save?

Okay. Okay, alright. So you’re just immune to bleed, then?

More or less, really. There are very few monsters that deal more than d6 bleed damage with their attacks (be warned that higher-level ones can sometimes stack their bleed!), and this ability also works on the rare but dreaded stat bleed, and off the top of my head there are NO monsters that deal more than a d4 dice in stat bleed damage. My main problem is that it doesn’t reduce the bleed damage you take by 6, so taking even 1 more point of bleed damage makes this ability useless. Still, though it’s fairly narrow, being effectively immune to a dangerous and irritating status ailment at level 3 or so (when bleed is at its most threatening) is well worth taking up butchery.

Boon 1: Keen Edge Boon 2: Vision Boon 3: Foresight

Keen Edge is a spell you absolutely want to slap onto any vaguely pirate-y or hoity-toity party member you may have, as cutlasses, rapiers, and scimitars all leap from a dangerous 18~20 critical range to a terrifying 15~20, meaning they threaten to critically strike 1 out of every 4 attacks instead of just once every other fight or so. With a duration of 10 min/level, the enchantment will likely last multiple fights even if you only have it 1/day, but unfortunately it refuses to stack with any crit-boosting enchantments or feats the wielder may already possess, lessening its usefulness as your adventure goes on and your martial party members pick up increasingly fancy gear and pad out their collection of feats. Still, it’s useful for when you get it, and will remain useful for several levels after.

Vision is a whole different beast, and a dangerous one at that. It operates as the Legend Lore spell but vastly accelerated, allowing you to scrape the public consciousness for any information it may have on a specific person, place, or thing. I’ve complained about the general niche uses of Legend Lore before, but Vision grants the information in a much shorter time (a single standard action) at the cost of a potential for failure and a slap of fatigue whether you succeed or not. I don’t like 1/days that do nothing on a failure, but since Vision is purely a downtime spell (unless you need to know the boss’ weakness or info on the Evil Doom Artifact right now immediately), it’s not as much of an impediment to lose out on whatever information it could give you. That being said, the DM will likely have ways for you to do whatever plot-relevant research you need anyway, so Vision is more of a way to speed up the process than anything.

Which leaves Foresight, a spell whose main benefit relies intensely on DM cooperation, as I’ve ranted about here. Mechanically it’s fairly unimpressive, but if the DM reads the spell carefully, they should realize it gives whoever you cast it on a 6-second glance into the future at all times. Whatever horrors befall the victim 6 seconds from now should spring into your mind before they happen, making you the best trap radar on the planet, and the spell’s warnings for the best ways to protect yourself will urge the DM to grant you information about the enemy’s capabilities you may never otherwise know... but what do you expect from 9th level magic? It SHOULD be filling you in with details you’d never figure out!

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Inkariax, the White Death

Demagogue of Preservation, Absolute Cold, and Solitude Domains: Evil, Law, Void, Water Subdomains: Fear, Ice, Isolation, Slavery

Obedience: Inventory your collection of hoarded knickknacks, reciting your unique name for each item as you do Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws to resist effects that would petrify or paralyze you.

God, finally, someone normal. At worst you’ll look like someone with a few obsessive issues, but at least you won’t look like a menace to society as you lay out your, I dunno, marbles or bone dice or dolls or what have you and make note that they’re still there, cooing to them with names only you know. It’s fitting for Inkariax, of all the Demagogues, to have an Obedience that requires no self-harm, physically or psychologically; unlike all the rest, he was born perfect and doesn’t need to chase after it. Instead, he pursues finding perfection in others, freezing and collecting people and items he believes represent perfection in whatever unusual way he desires that day (having perfect posture, or a perfect scream, or a perfect pair of eyes, etc). Much like him, you’re encouraged to expand a collection of whatever you deem perfect and desirable, which you’re often going to do just over the course of normally adventuring. I’ve yet to see a player character that doesn’t start amassing all sorts of junk in their pockets the moment they get a Bag of Holding or similar.

Indeed, you can just pick up whatever catches your fancy, be it stones, sticks, or severed bits of an enemy, though I’m sure Inkariax will ever-so-slowly raise a disapproving eyebrow if you just pick up any old junk. Make sure to curate your collection now and then! Being able to perform this Obedience with anything you happen to gather is especially helpful if you’re ever separated from your collection (always a danger) and need to start again, but note that each item you gain in your collection must have a completely unique name. That’s only really a danger for especially RP-heavy campaigns, but in such campaigns Worship of the White Death isn’t for everyone who just names all their collected bird feathers Jeffery. Start getting in the habit of stretching out your inventory sheet with names for all your items!

The benefit you get from lovingly counting up all your stolen statuettes and dusty books is resistance to two of the worst status effects in the game. While petrification is relatively rare it typically appears in Save-Or-Suck form, which makes protection against it far more valuable than, say, protection against something like the far more common fatigue or exhaustion. Paralysis is an ailment just short of a death sentence by itself, costing the victim their turn at best and their life at worst, so even a +4 between you and that is something you need to cling to with your entire being.

Boon 1: Sleet Storm Boon 2: Sequester Boon 3: Microcosm

Sleet Storm is a very simple spell with a decent number of functions. Its Long range means that any enemy in your line of sight can potentially be a target, letting you lash out easily at ranged enemies or dangerous casters by creating a 40ft-wide and 20ft-tall area of concealing sleet that’s impossible for any vision to pierce (except the rare and niche Snowsight or Fogcutter Lenses). Anyone inside will have to rely on Tremorsense or Blindsense (though the jury’s out on if the splashing of the sleet would confound those, as well) to navigate it, and 40ft of difficult terrain can feel impossible to clamber through when you start right in the middle of it with no idea which way is the way you need to go. It’s one of the strongest vision-blockers in the game due to its immunity to common tactics that thwart lesser spells (Gust of Wind, True Seeing, etc), forcing enemies to either blow their valuable uses of Dispel Magic or suffer for its entire duration. My only complaint is that you only get it 1/day and that it screws over your party just as hard if you use it incorrectly.

Sequester is as niche a use spell as there ever was for players, requiring a bit of forethought about what or who you’d want to hide with it. The target must be willing or inanimate to be affected, so tricking an enemy via Charm or Dominate into accepting the spell can keep them fresh as a daisy for weeks at a time if you ever have a reason to do such a thing. More often than not you’ll use it to conceal items you seriously don’t want seen or detected, such as a Bag of Holding or similar loaded with your collection of knickknacks or emergency supplies, a particular hostage, an NPC you need to keep alive, or your phylactery if you’re a Lich. If you’re especially sadistic, using it on an item someone else needs and throwing it into a well or a hoard of other objects will keep them occupied for a while. If you’re a more martial character, using it to hide your armor is viable, making it seem as though you’re invincible when enemy blows bounce straight off, or even your weapon to confound your enemies who seem to be taking wounds from an unseen item. Your mime routine will be killer, literally! Just... Just don’t drop the thing, because in the heat of battle you’re never going to find it.

Microcosm is one of the best spells you can hurl into a crowd of commoners or a swarm of foes meant to gum you up instead of actually threaten you. Its 30 HD limit will mean it likely will only strike one or two creatures capable of actually threatening you, but it’s brutal even then. The spell is permanent, trapping your victims in an illusory world in which everything goes right for them even as their bodies starve to death in the waking world. Anything with less than 10 HD is automatically affected with no saving throw, the spell easily mopping up mobs, while anything with 11~15 HD escapes automatically after 10 min... per level you have. On a successful save. There’s Save-Or-Suck, and then there’s the immensely rare Save-And-Suck! No wonder Microcosm is ONLY on the Psychic’s list! Anything with more than 16 HD is unaffected if they succeed their save, but all their allies are likely in an everlasting dreamland now. The big issue is that the HD restriction is way tighter than you may think; creatures, especially at higher levels, usually do NOT have HD matching their CR, but if you’re mainly battling level-appropriate Humanoid or Monstrous Humanoid creatures, Microcosm is fairly reliable in such battles, as those foes typically have HD that roughly matches their CR. But if you’re up against, say, Dragons or Outsiders, good luck bud.

Side note: Microcosm and Sequester used in combination make for excellent ways to start your own morbid collection of living creatures, just like your icy master! Just make sure you have some non-Divination means of seeing them, as Sequester blocks even True Sight.

#Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons #Demigod Dossier #Spiritual Spotlight #Sinister Spotlight

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onesunofagun · 3 years ago

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Undeath in the Era of the Hero of Time : 1

aka Seeing the Hero’s Shade in this TP replay shook up all my feelings of agony again and now I’m working backwards from there because I like to hurt myself.

Part One: An Overview of How Fucked Things Are ™

aka The Blood Soaked Hyrule of OoT’s time

Take it as you will, in the Zeldaverse, the colour green has an overwhelming association with undeath.

Sure, sure, life too, I hear you. Farore came down and produced all the living beings that would uphold the law, apparently (specifically not claiming monsters and demons, but that’s another thing). On the surface, that make sense. Forests, lush green fields, prosperity, all of those good things. Green the colour of the most common rupee, green the colour of the Hero’s tunic. Green the colour of magic, and potions that revitalise the body and spirit.

The thing is, revitalising the body and spirit is a flexible idea. To imbue something with new life and vitality can have a lot of implications, especially when you stop talking about the strictly living.

I feel vitality is certainly the best word, not only because of it’s association with life and potency ala the Goddess origin stories, but in the ways that the game uses green itself, such as a measure of both magic and stamina. Green is the colour chosen to represent the unlocked potential within young Heroes.

Vitality specifically refers to a state of being strong and active, and it also refers to the continuance of something to exist. That’s a great thing for plants, or economies, or a potion taken by a young Link who’s swung their sword around or fired off a spell one too many times and feels a little low.

But the dead, though?

As it happens, Hyrule is absolutely littered with human remains, in no small part due to the very recently ended civil wars.

The Civil War, if you need the reminder, is described as a time when the many races of Hyrule were divided and each focused on establishing dominion over the Sacred Realm (because Triforce). I touched on this in my last meta post, but basically, its no holds barred to stop that from happening because if the wrong person gets into the Sacred Realm and makes a wish, it immediately malfunctions.

The criteria for getting into the Sacred Realm and touching the Triforce without royally fucking everything, is basically impossible for anybody not chosen by Hylia.

If you are neither of Hylia’s Bloodline (The Hyrulean Royal Family) or one of her Chosen Avatars (The current incarnation of the Hero), you are not supposed to touch the Triforce. Ever. You WILL be found wanting, it WILL shatter, the Sacred Realm WILL be corrupted by your selfish desires, it WILL unleash and onslaught of mystical influence (reflecting your heart) onto the country.

Now, if it’s Zelda or Link who touches it, that’s fine. Good vibes will pour out. An age of prosperity will ensue. The Sacred Realm is in its default state, a blank and neutral wellspring of magical force.

The game has been rigged from the get go because Hylia still had a job to do. She had to get creative because Demise almost captured the flag, so to speak, leading to the snafu of the Cycle and all that because she cheated at the game, but ultimately Hylia’s task was to guard the Triforce. And that still remains true, for the most part. The Hyrulian Royal Family (and the Shiekah by extension) had to stop at absolutely nothing to win the wars and unify the country, and retain the stasis of the Realm and Triforce, because that’s what their divine orders are.

That’s what they’re supposed to do, ‘the very reason that they’re born’, to lend a quote from King Daphnes. With Hylia on their side by default, they’re willing to do a lot of fucked up things to make sure that happens, ‘for the greater good’.

These dark times are a result of our deeds... -- TP Zelda

In OoT The Sheikah are known as the Shadow Folk. They are heavily associated with death, whether that is caring for the dead’s rest in the graveyard, or working as spies and assassins on behalf of the Royals, or dabbling in various forms of necromancy. Red eyes are an established trait of their people. I will note that, at least from a Japanese point of view, red is often used with the intention of intimidating evil spirits. But it is also a color identified with power and vitality.

So, one could suppose, the Sheikah red eye also symbolises power/control over evil and darkness (spiritually).

That’s a little something that plays nicely with things like the OoT Manga’s explanation of the tear on the eye (and the previous betrayal of the Royal family) and the high probability of a Shiekah faction defaulting during the wars and being banished with other traitors to become the Twili. I know the manga isn’t canon and also SS Impa has a tear, but if you squint, that might be because of her own feelings of personal failure to the Goddess after Hylia’s shedding of her Divinity. You could headcanon that. The existence of the Yiga later in BoTW as a similar happening of division and betrayal lend some more weight to things.

Also, Sheikah who defaulted during the civil war might have even been the ones who actually utilised the Shadow Temple.

Headline: Necromancer ninjas in the process of torturing enough info out of the enemies of the Royal family, who were reportedly seeking the Sacred Realm, decide ‘hey fuck it, let’s take it ourselves’.

That certainly fits into the description of, ‘interloper skilled with dark magic started to appear, seeking dominion of the Sacred Realm’, for me.

Anyway, to the point.

In ostensibly one of the most haunted areas of the game, Kakariko village, we’re treated to the Graveyard and the Royal Family’s Tomb, the Shadow Temple, and the Bottom of the Well. All of these showcase the obvious death and torture that went on, as well as the creepy byproducts of places so saturated with blood, pain, regret, and hatred.

There are skulls in little alcoves on the walls of the catacombs, literally built of bones, who deliver messages to Link. The ones that whisper these messages are all marked by the glowing green eye sockets. Here, the green is used to make the presence of a ghostly sentience inhabiting the skull.

Unsettling. Musty. 4/10 heebie-jeebies.

The Deadhand, giver of childhood trauma that it is, really does its job to hammer home the fact that there has been so many deaths, so much anguish and horror, that those remains can seemingly form into entirely new monstrosities. An amalgamate of undead flesh and nightmare fuel, made up of the body parts of torture victims and the grudges of lingering spirits, seeking to consume the living vitality of whatever comes near-- Link wearing green around the thing might as well be red to a bull.

When defeated in game, it typically drops a small green pot that refuels Link’s magic.

This is a common theme with undead enemies, specifically the ones that are of the zombie flavour. Redeads, Gibdos, Deadhands. All of them generally give up, effectively, distilled magic as a drop item.

Terrifying. Probably smells even worse. 11/10 heebie-jeebies.

Literal torture device. So many people died here, the room has a green tinge to it. It is soaked in the spiritual imprint of the pain and anguish that took place here. Blood sits here looking freshly spilled, despite the civil war ending many years prior and the Shiekah having ‘died out’, save Impa.

Elsewhere in the temple and under the well, blood splatters are darker red and at least have the decency to pretend to be old. This means one of two things:

Impa still has to make sacrifices to the Seal that contains Bongo Bongo, or feeds people to the undead creatures who lurk down in the dark so they don’t wander up. (Cue the gasp of ‘so that’s why she let the Hylians into Kakariko! Every so often one of them goes missing!’)

Which is a fun dark headcanon to play with, but probably not the case.

Or more likely, the residual spiritual energy that the green haze suggests manifests fresh blood in a manner typical of extreme hauntings. For the victims, their hatred and pain persists so strongly, that their blood seeps up from the cracks no matter how long it has been.

Poltergeist shit. Slip hazard. 8/10 heebie-jeebies.

Then there is this. Some people say its just another torture thing, it could have been intended to convey some sort of acid dip. If not torture, maybe bodily disposal. And sure, that’s a reasonable guess.

But it is at the very bottom most cavern of the Well of Three Features, and if it were acid-- for how long the bodies have just been marinating in it-- you can assume nothing would be left of them to stick out. And the fact that all the bodies are neatly spaced, with the arms oddly preserved. They’re presumably like that from lowering bodies in from the wooden beams, the victims may have been tied up with their arms straight upwards.

But, given the Redeads wandering around nearby, I’m pretty sure that’s what this thing does. Make Redeads.

The liquid itself hurts Link, but Link is also alive, and this pool seems to be lacking much of a glow. It’s green, sure, but it’s not exactly teeming with energy. And I think that might be part of its designated purpose-- extracting that green vital energy from living prisoners, draining them until they’re dead. I’m talking juicing people and scooping out the good stuff like the pulp from a really disturbing OJ.

But still steeped in the juice as a corpse, you’re basically pickled in magic brine, so then those gross husks crawl out as Redeads. (Hey, you know what’s handy in wartime? Scaring the shit out of enemy forces by sending some zombies at them. And if they kill them, you’ve lost nothing. If the Sheikah could actually control them? Undead soldiers. Excellent stuff.)

But all the pulpy good stuff is gone, and has been for a while, so most of the bodies in there haven’t pickled in enough magic to reanimate, I suppose.

Human juicer that churns out zombies. Out of juice currently. 6/10 heebie-jeebies.

Now, THIS is active zombie juice, if I’ve ever seen it.

This is the Royal Family’s Tomb, by the way. Note the skeletons, picked clean, missing a lot of bones. And that’s a choice they made, because there are also full skeletons around to find.

There are plenty of Redeads down there, for good measure, so I’m going to assume the skeletons are potential graverobbers who were eaten. If Sheikah can presumably command the dead, then the Redeads down there might actually be a counter measure against thieves. If a thief freaks out in the dark when he realises there’s undead down there trying to eat their face, there is also a good likelihood they’ll trip and splash into this green death. A few seconds of exposure is probably enough to kill the average person, and then if their corpse stews for a bit, you have another Redead.

Their living energy revitalises the goop. Their body becomes bolstered security measures. It’s a self sustaining system.

Horrific but effective. 5/10 heebie-jeebies.

Also, there’s a chance that a couple of the skeletons or one or two Redeads down there are the remains of the Composer Brothers. But they will get their own special part in this series, covering Poes in particular.

But for the moment, let it be noted: their eyes are also that ghostly green.

Poes are spirits that are unable to move on and who have the unfortunate fate, if left unattended, of turning into phantom monsters who forget their human selves and prey on the living. They tend to pop up the most in two places. One, the Kakariko Graveyard, is obvious and somewhat expected. Dead people, lots of lingering spirits, most of them probably Sheikah and Knights of renown who died in the line of duty. Understandable.

So when you apply the same thought to the fact that Hyrule field is the second most common place to find them, you may as well be concluding that it’s an enormous mass grave of war casualties.

We have established that mass quantities of concentrated death, especially earth that is saturated by the spilled blood of strong soldiers and highly skilled warriors (full of life and magic, as it were), can result in creepy shit made from human remains reanimating over time.

Poes share their haunting of the field with these bumpkins:

These hauntings are not the result of Ganondorf, or the corruption of the Sacred realm. They are not a particular curse placed by anybody.

The Poes and Stalfolk are present in the game from the very beginning, and quite normal fare for Hyrulean life. Lon Lon ranch and castle town are walled off for good reason, and the drawbridge raises at night specifically in response to the literal skeleton monsters who roam around at night.

Stalchildren, specifically, seem akin to the Deadhand in that they are not a direct reanimation of any one particular set of remains. Rather, they seem to be mutated amalgamations of various parts. In the case of the Stalchildren, they rise up under the dark of night, a not-quite-human formation of bone and magic. They seem to possess an aimless drive to attack, perhaps possessed still by the orders of the soldiers who died there.

Interestingly, in a somewhat similar fashion to BotW’s blood moon reanimating the fallen monsters (due to the potency of Malice in the land peaking at those times), Stalchildren only seem to be active under the moonlight. They disintegrate when the sunlight touches them, which promotes the idea that they are the bones of the fallen possessed by the ghostly memory of the war.

They also appear to wear raggy leather kilts, which is a feature they share with the related monster, the Stalfos, who are often acting out the part of a soldier as well. Even better, those bastards are actually WEARING GREEN, to boot, which given the history of Hyrulean Knights prior and their uniforms (SS and Minish cap) is pretty self evident.

Stalfos, however, are also confirmed as humans who have died under certain unique circumstance (such as the magical influences of the Lost Woods) and reanimated as a consequence of what I assume is basically magic poisoning.

It could be a bit like an overdose, succumbing under the intense mystical forces at play within proximity to the Deku Tree (which the strong of spirit can resist). It could be a draining effect, maybe even just a gaseous version of what’s happening when people come into contact with the green goo, except extracted by the forest spirits and plants (also possible that the strong of spirit might resist). That could go either way.

The forest absolutely does eat people’s spiritual energy, though. RIP to Grog and Link’s mother. They’re Stalfos now.

"Anybody who comes into the forest will be lost. Everybody will become a Stalfos. Everybody, Stalfos."

Upon killing both kind of Stal, however, the bones rapidly deteriorate into flames.

You guessed it: green.

I’ve already pointed out a BoTW reference already, but to add more context back into this thing about the tie between green and things in Hyrule that refuse to die properly:

That last one is cheap of me I’m sorry but we’ll get to him too

So we have established that green has an overwhelming association with not only life, but states of undeath.

The overview is, things were already pretty fucked in OoT Era before Ganondorf got the Triforce.

On to part 2!

#tloz #legend of zelda ocarina #Ocarina of time #link #zelda lore #zelda meta #zelda theory #zelda theories #zelda discussion #death tw #blood tw #shadow temple #shiekah #stalfos #poes #undead tw #long post #hero of time #hyrulean history

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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years ago

Text

A Loki TVA / Lokane fic that snatched a tempad. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (of 6)

Shine a Light, part 4

This time around, he feels but the faintest glimmer of surprise as he steps out of the doorway and onto a busy sidewalk in Midtown Manhattan.

A few people stop dead in their tracks when the door materializes out of thin air, but the throng of commuters headed to and from Central Station is so dense, Loki’s appearance goes mainly unnoticed.

Dull resignation washes over him.

The tempad is officially broken. Its coordinates locked onto this little planet where, in his own timeline, he has known nothing but defeat.

Without bothering to look for a newsstand, he reasons there’s a strong probability it’s the year 2014. It would seem the damn gadget is slowly counting backwards, while refusing to take him anywhere else in the universe.

Above his head, a billboard flashing on the side of a high-rise building confirms his suspicions.

Incredibly though, the tempad still not out of “juice”. The battery life seems to be making a mockery of his failed attempts to direct the itinerary.

Taking a step out of the moving sea of people, Loki sees little in way of construction sites along the street.

On his timeline, this would have been two years after his attack on the city with Thanos’ army, but if that ‘highlight’ of Loki’s less than acclaimed villainous career took place in this reality as well, the mortals have effectively tidied up after him.

He tries not think of the countless faces frozen in terror that had looked up at him.

Of the lives lost because of his crazed ambition to prove himself - and to destroy something of Thor’s.

Almost if Loki had been transformed back into the chronically jealous five-year-old child who once stole his golden, annoyingly joyful, perfect brother’s favorite model toy - a grey wolf made of clay - and deliberately let it roll down the steps of the throne when their father (his NON-father) had been away.

The toy had broken into pieces and Thor had been inconsolable. Gripped by immediate remorse despite his initial intent, Loki had tried to fix it with his budging magic powers. Only for the wolf to melt to a sticky puddle on the stone floor.

Thor had wailed so loudly, a passing servant had thought him seriously injured and called for their mother, and Loki had been made to apologize, his usually pale cheeks burning scarlet. Then he had been grounded for the remains of the day.

The humiliation had stung, and so had the regret that his magic had failed him.

Not for the first time, the anger had turned, unwarranted (Loki knew then too), towards his brother.

From then on, it had just gotten slowly worse and worse and more malicious right up until that horrible moment of rage no more than a few days ago (a week?), when Loki had driven one of his daggers into Thor’s side on top of the Stark tower.

And twisted it.

The mix of bottomless sadness and shock in his brother’s blue eyes had cut through Loki’s heart with such force he might as well have sunk the blade of his other weapon into his own chest.

But instead of abandoning his pathetic scramble for power and hold Thor, instead of attempting to heal the wound with his magic that has become so formidable in adulthood, Loki had let the poison drown the remains of his sanity.

Of course, shortly afterward, the green monstrosity had effortlessly and repeatedly smashed him into the concrete floor of Stark’s living-quarters until Loki had thought he heard every bone in his supposedly immortal (right!) body break and his skull crack open.

To the outside, it had surely been a suitably entertaining show of retribution, but as he had lain there in the crater of rubble, unable to utter a moan, it was as if all the anger had been knocked out of him.

The link to Thanos’ ungodly servant had been severed and Loki had felt more like himself than he had in a long, long time.

When Thor, looking grimmer than ever, had dragged him to his feet in front of the ragtag band of ‘heroes’ and cuffed him, Loki had found himself strangely elated, on the verge of giddy.

His legs had been so shaky from the beating that Thor had had to hold him by the arm so he wouldn’t fall, and Loki had felt the heat of his brother’s huge hand penetrate the many layers of his own armour.

For a few delirious seconds, Loki had wanted nothing more than to lean against his brother’s strong frame and just close his eyes.

Instead, he had started cracking jokes until Thor had slapped the muzzle on him, as if he were some dog (that gesture had embarrassed him more than anything that had gone before). Unable to keep up his sarcastic commentary as they rode the elevator down, Loki had fleetingly wondered if he was suffering from a psychosis or actual brain damage.

Now, standing on the street so close to where it happened, the memory oozes fresh guilt.

But he redeemed himself.

In his mind, Loki goes through the TVA reel once more to remind himself of the images of his brother later in life, smiling at him.

Right before the end came.

If he is to spend the rest of eternity on Midgard - or at least until the multiverse crumbles - he will try to find solace in the good his future self managed to accomplish.

For Thor and, in another, brighter reality, for her.

The riddle of her part in his life now remains unsolved, but as hard as Loki tries to release the ghost wrapped in his arms, it merely squeezes itself closer to his chest.

He could try to find her here, on this timeline.

She will be with Thor, that much is certain, but since the reel of Loki’s fate had shown him only his own path, he knows not whether Thor and Jane shared a life on Midgard, or somewhere else, up until the brothers reunited (for lack of a better word) on Asgard.

What would Loki even say to her?

That, while at the bureau that controls all space and time, he saw her face on a roll of film of his supposed life, and now he aches for her more than anything? That on an alternate timeline a few hours ago, she kissed him?

Thor would not approve of that exchange.

Also, with Loki’s luck, Thor might be a frog in this reality.

He could still try to use the tempad to transport him to Svartalfheim and his own life’s story, seeing as he is now only year from where he feels so strongly he must go.

But finding the proper timeline is like shooting an arrow into the endless vastness of space and hoping it’ll hit the right comet.

He realizes that now.

An arrow.

Somehow, somewhere, on two timelines no less, variants of him had …

Loki’s head jerks up.

The tower.

It’s a desperate idea at best, but from the (very) little Loki knows of his character, Stark’s superior technical skills go hand in hand with an endlessly hungry, inquisitive mind. And pride.

Much like Loki, Stark is a man who needs to be the smartest man in the room. And like Loki, he probably is, most of time (in fact… no. Don’t go there).

Maybe Stark will listen.

Perhaps he can even help make sense of the tempad if Loki can somehow win his trust and appeal to his curiosity and (he winces a little) heroism.

Was it not Loki’s actions who had helped Stark “realize his best potential”, as his TVA file put it?

He spots the imposing structure further up the street, noticing the huge “A” at the top (is that new?), and sets off towards it at a brisk pace, darting in and out of the crowds on the packed sidewalk.

Here goes nothing.

As he reaches the large glass doors he briefly experiences a dizzying deja-vu, when suddenly a man’s voice calls out to him.

A frighteningly familiar, agitated voice.

… With a particular brand of anger bubbling underneath, that Loki had hoped he’d never have to witness up close ever again.

“What the hell are you doing here??”

His dark, curly hair has a few more streaks of silver. The checkered shirt is slightly crumbled, the glasses a bit askew. He clutches an armful of papers to his chest.

And he’s wearing a furious expression although, thank the Norns, a mortal complexion.

For now.

“Didn’t Tony explicitly tell you not to come here?! Are you that intent on causing everyone to lose their shit again?!”

Worry is all over Doctor Banner’s screwed up face.

“Seriously, Loki, is this funny to you? Clint is actually in the building right now and, in case Tony didn’t already inform you, he’s made it very clear that he’s quitting the team if you were to stroll through the front door!”

The Avenger has started shaking, his eyes wild (too wild).

This is heading in the wrong direction fast.

Mustering all the calm in the world despite his racing pulse and the nauseating sounds of bones breaking echoing in his head, Loki puts on his most courteous and, he dearly hopes, un-cocky charming smile.

“Bruce, please relax. I assure you, I’m not here to cause trouble. Not for you or anyone else.”

“Right, you just happened to be in town and wanted to stop by for coffee? Loki, this …”

Loki gently interrupts him.

“I merely came here to have a conversation with S- … Tony. Perhaps you could let him know I’m here? I promise you, I will not set foot inside. In fact - “

Loki adopts the form of one of the security guards he can see pacing inside the foyer.

“… I’m not even here.”

Bruce jumps a little and clutches his papers even tighter.

“Oh god, I hate when you do that, man. If you think showing off that trick makes anyone any less nervous around you…”

“Doctor Banner - Bruce. I have something …”

Loki searches for the words, quickly trying to decide on how much to reveal to the man-beast who’s now looking at him with urgent expectancy.

He sighs and bets it all.

“Okay. Bruce, what I’m going to say will sound mad.”

The man scoffs.

“Coming from you, I’d expect nothing less.”

Bruce shakes his head and looks to the sky in exasperation.

“Please - please - don’t tell me you’ve gone and changed your mind about the whole not conquering Earth business. Really, Loki, none of us understand how transforming you into ‘an asset’ became Tony’s pet project over this past year, or why Fury went along with it. But I’m sure both are going to be pretty damn disappointed if their new alien BFF decides to embrace his inner psycho again.”

Loki almost chuckles. It’s all too ridiculous.

“I won’t … embrace my inner ‘psycho’, I swear.”

“Then what?”

The God of Mischief draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Or rather, the security guard’s nose.

Then he surrenders to the absurdity of the situation.

“Bruce, I kindly beg of you, is Tony here? Or … (is there hope?) Thor?”

Bruce still looks at him with deep disdain, but his immediate anger seems to have subsided.

“No, Tony’s out of town. Took Pepper somewhere on holiday. They’re not to be disturbed for at least a week. Her words. And Thor … I should think you of all people know perfectly well why he’s not likely to hang around at the time being. Jeez, you guys and your endless family soap opera … I can’t even.”

Naturally, the universe again blankly refuses to extend any hands to Loki and his doomed quest. Sadly, once again, he is not surprised.

Wait - what?

“What do you mean, ‘soap opera’?”

Bruce looks like he’s about to throw his hands over his head and all the papers with them.

“Oh, come on! What is this?! You want approval? Confirmation of your little victory? Doesn’t the very lovely embodiment of that currently walk around in your apartment or wherever it is you live now? Loki, I’m done here. You have to leave. Bye.”

To hell with Stark – Loki wants to grab Bruce by his shirt collar and shake the little man till he explains what in all of Yggdrasil he’s talking about.

But he cannot afford to tempt the beast. Quite literally.

“Then … can you and I go somewhere to talk? Bruce, you’re a man of science. This is science … related.”

Loki feigns a smile.

Bruce sizes him up. No doubt considering whether to let the other guy continue the conversation.

Then his shoulders drop.

“Okay. Okay. For a creepy megalomaniac, you somehow tend to end up with some very cool people defending your case. Just know that those people are absolutely the only reason, you and I are still talking. Ugh, I’m too nice … “

Bruce casts a glance over his shoulder into the foyer, appearing to consider their options, when a man exits the glass doors – and shuffles up to them.

“Bruce! How nice to see you. You look well.”

The old man (those eyes …) grins warmly and pats Bruce on the back, then looks from him to Loki and back again.

“Everything alright out here? Is there a security issue?”

Bruce composes himself and smiles back.

“Hi, Lee, good to see you too. All fine. Earl here was just updating me on, eh, the new security procedures.”

He shoots Loki a stern look.

“Ah, yes”, Loki nods seriously. “Doctor Banner had some trouble operating the intricate open and close mechanism of the doors. The elevator doors, especially.”

He can’t help himself. It’s somehow both immensely tragic and life-affirming.

“Oh?” The old man raises an eyebrow (he looks … but he’s not quite …something is off).

“Will I have to get a new security card? I rarely come in these days, but in case …”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, Lee. Because, because … like you say, you’re hardly ever here, so …”

Still smiling awkwardly, Bruce waves a dismissive hand, almost dropping the stack of papers (the man’s a terrible liar, Loki thinks).

“Speaking of”, Banner continues, “you must be enjoying retirement up there, huh, Lee? Must be nice to live by the sea. Good … air quality?”

Loki sighs inwardly.

The dog sniffing at his ankles looks up at him.

He stares down at the round, fluffy thing as if seeing it for the first time.

Which he is and he isn’t.

The old man is saying something to Bruce about the countryside, when he notices the dog wagging its tail at Loki’s feet.

“Oh, he likes you. You’re lucky, he normally doesn’t care for strangers. No, you don’t, do you Fenris”, the man coos.

Under coats of thick white fur, the animal looks eagerly from owner to Loki.

“Okay, well, I’ll be off,” the old man says, finally. “Come see me sometime, Bruce. My neighbor actually just put his house on the market, in case you’re looking for a weekend retreat…”

He nods at Bruce, then at Loki who barely notices. The dog whines unhappily at being dragged away.

It’s the same timeline.

Of course, it is. The tempad has locked itself on a sequence.

But why the different locations …?

“Yes, thank you, Lee. Take care now. Earl, shall we?” Bruce signals to Loki to follow him round the side of the building.

“We can continue our discussion about the security issue in the garage”.

“So, let’s hear it. Tell me what you came to say, so I can tell you why it’s a catastrophically bad idea.”

Bruce sits himself across the small table from Loki and dumps the stack of papers in front of him. The top sheet is covered in coffee mug rings.

They are in an anonymous, windowless office somewhere below the vast tower parking lot and numerous in-house repair shops.

The place is a gigantic maze and Loki has just shut himself in a tiny room with the very monster that turned him into ragdoll. The deep slash on his forehead has only just healed.

He does not fear many beings in the universe, but the mild-mannered doctor’s alter ego makes the hit list with the worst of them.

Ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up (why did this seem like a good idea?), Loki drops his disguise and takes a seat on the cheap plastic chair. Not much of that flashy Stark glamour down here.

“Okay.” Loki takes out the tempad and puts it in the middle of the table.

He is not quite sure where to start, so he decides to begin with the purely technical aspect.

Bruce might appreciate being given a few ‘scientific’ details before any mentions of giant smoke monsters and alligators.

In fact, the fewer magical creatures and castles in the sky, the better.

“This is called a tempad. It’s a device that makes it possible to travel anywhere in time. You type in your destination, and a doorway opens. I did not make it myself. It was, er, given to me by a large and very powerful organization … in space.”

Bruce is leaning forward to get a better look at the tempad but makes no attempt to reach for it.

As he’s says nothing, Loki continues.

“This is where it gets, uh, weird, but try to believe me when I tell you, I’m not the Loki you know. I’m from another, similar timeline and -“

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just stop, Loki.”

Bruce is leaning back on his chair again. He looks tired.

“I don’t know if you’re supremely bored of domestic bliss already, or just being your supremely annoying self, but I won’t engage. You’re not Loki but a time-traveler from space? Yeah, it’s -“

“No, Bruce, I am Loki. Trust me, I know this seems -“

“Trust? You wanna talk about trust again?” Bruce takes out his phone.

“Okay, we can do that.”

He taps a few buttons, then holds the phone to his ear.

“What are you doing?” Loki’s voice has a sharper edge to it than he intended.

The Avenger stares him down.

“Oh, I’m just calling someone. This guy I have in my contacts under God of Lies”.

Please, no …

Briefly, Loki considers whether another variant of him – the one he encountered at the house by the ocean, most likely – would actually be of more help.

Or if he, the variant, would try to kill him.

It was one thing reasoning with and trying not to get killed by Loki variants who at least understood the concept of variants, but how would he have reacted upon being confronted with a twin before the TVA?

No, not a twin … Because this variant has her.

None of the variants in the Void – the grown-up, human ones – had mentioned versions of her.

Either this variant has successfully taken out every Minute Man ever sent by the TVA to arrest him (in which case, Loki concedes, he may be the superior Loki), or this whole timeline has only just blossomed at the opening of the multiverse.

Why else would he, who apparently also gave his phone number to Bruce Banner, get to live a life so vastly different from the typical arc of a misguided Jotun prince?

Loki feels light-headed.

On one hand, he wants to know everything there is to know about his double, on the other, he fears what and who he might find.

You don’t belong here. Find your own timeline. No more Lokis.

Focus. Explain.

He raises his one hand in a placating gesture.

“Give me a little time to try and explain this, Bruce, and then, then … You can call whoever. Call everyone! But please just -“

“Oh, what do you know,” Bruce puts his phone down, “there’s no answer. What a surprise.”

He crosses his arms.

Loki inhales and tries again, speaking as evenly and as calmly as he can while his frustration mounts:

“There is no way of telling you all or any of this without it sounding utterly ludicrous, so you’ll have to hear me out. Five minutes uninterrupted from now, okay? Yes, we’re talking time travel, but compared to what’s really at stake, even time travel is a pretty basic technicality. Also, I promise you, in a few years’ time from now, the concept of time travel won’t seem all that laughable to you and Stark in particular. Provided this reality exists in a few years’ time seeing as -“

Bruce sighs dramatically.

“Yes, okay, so”, Loki continues, “Two years ago, I attacked New York, right?”

“If you’re about to roll out some outlandish excuse – another one! – I don’t care to hear it.”

The other man is narrowing his eyes as a fresh look of undistilled loathing creeps into his features.

So it did happen on this timeline as well.

“No, it’s not that. Or, I mean, let’s save that. When you captured me, in my timeline, I escaped from the lobby with the Infinity stone. I know it seems impossible from your end of events but - “

“Impossible?”

Bruce gives him a strange look Loki can’t quite interpret.

“Yes, S… Tony dropped the briefcase with the Infinity stone, and I picked it up and -“

Bruce pushes his chair back. The plastic scrapes loudly against the stone tiles of the floor.

“Loki, I can’t. I thought I had the patience to at least indulge you but turns out I don’t. I can’t tell if you’re losing your mind, but either way, you’ll have to take it – this, whatever it is – up with Tony instead when he gets back. Maybe bring that sweet lab partner of yours along if you’re going to talk time travel. With her field of expertise, I’m sure - “

“WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!”

Without thinking, Loki slams both his hands into the table. Papers go flying and Bruce staggers backwards.

Horror dawns as Loki realizes his error, but it’s already too late.

Bruce doubles over in spasms and a deep, much too deep, growling sound escapes his lips. He grips his head with his shaking hands as if trying to contain the explosion within, and Loki feels his own brain go numb with panic as one of those hands triples in size and a sickly green hue rapidly spreads.

There is no way out.

Bruce is blocking the door and soon his bulk will be taking up the entire room. He falls to his knees, arms thrashing wildly and his shirt ripping across his back. The table sails over Loki’s head, one of the chairs lodges itself in the soundproofed ceiling, causing the panels of fluorescent light to flicker madly.

Are there no security cameras?!

There are screams, but they no longer sound human.

Loki has nowhere to hide.

He has to gather his magic around him, but terror is completely scattering his focus, cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

It is a matter of seconds before the transformation will be complete and the monster attempts to tear him limb from limb. With no heroes to stop it.

Cold.

He has only consciously reached for it once before, but now the thought barely registers before ice rushes through him as if by instinct. Bruce is not the only one with an abomination lurking under the surface.

He doesn’t have the casket of his birth father, but he has strength.

There is no time to consider if it’s enough or nothing at all. No time for crippling self-loathing or shame.

In front of him, the Hulk lifts its crazed, bloodshot eyes to meet his.

The green creature cannot stand upright in the office, and the first fist goes through the ceiling with the force of a wrecking ball. The next lashes out at Loki, who dodges it just as his own skin turns a deep, brilliant blue.

Little black ridges and markings rise on his arms and face and though his sight doesn’t falter, he feels the instant his eyes go from green to bright red. The fabric of his clothes chafes his new skin and waves of adrenaline surge through his body. Multiple foreign senses come alive and drown his fear.

But he has not a breath to spare to get used to his true form before the Hulk shoves him against the wall so hard, the bricks shift against his side as if they were made of a child’s building blocks.

The impact makes him gasp for air, yet the pain … the pain he can manage.

He just has to last long enough get out of here. And the cold is crystalizing his focus to let the magic flow easily, powerfully through his hands.

His blue hands.

If he had used this when …

Loki pushes himself off the wall (out of it) and almost collides with the Hulk (there’s no space left to maneuver in) who, instead of smashing its way out, seems hell-bent on squashing the only living thing in its line of sight first.

Loki swiftly crouches down on one knee, puts his palms together and, faster than the blink of a brilliant crimson eye, conjures a rotating orb of ice and chaos energy that explodes in a blinding flash of white light as he hurls it square into the monster’s chest.

The Hulk falls back, breaking through the wall to the parking lot on the other side and crashing into a row of cars, while a sheath of ice spreads from its chest and up its neck. The being that is not Bruce howls and claws at its skin, but the smooth ice thickens and as it reaches the head of the beast, it slides right into its eye sockets – and momentarily blinds it.

It will probably only last seconds but it’s all Loki needs while the Hulk shakes its head furiously.

He makes to flee when he spots the tempad on the cracked floor.

He can’t leave it.

As Loki dives for the gadget, the Hulk simultaneously knocks itself in the face with both fists, splintering the ice into a rain of tiny spikes. With a roar to match the sound of a spaceship engine taking off, the creature lunges.

Loki’s fingers close around the tempad.

He feels a buzz.

The door appears in front of him.

He doesn’t stop to think before throwing himself through it.

The Hulk punches into empty air.

Part 5

#loki #loki series #tva loki #lokane fanfic #lokane ff #lokane #loki x jane #marvel #loki ff #loki fanfic #shine a light #plainlo inthemorning #loki laufeyson

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prongsies · 4 years ago

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Come Home to You • Harry Potter

PAIRING: Harry Potter x Reader REQUEST: Hi there! I was wondering if you would write a Harry x reader where Harry and Y/N slept together for the first time (you don't have to write the steamy part) before he went to the horcruxes hunt with Ron and Hermione and when he comes back he finds out that Y/N is pregnant with his baby? Can it have a happy ending please? This idea just popped up in my mind and won't leave me alone :(❤️ - ANON WARNINGS: a bit steamy in the beginning, mentions of the war and vomiting, mild language A/N: It took me sooo long to complete this request because of everything going on in school (I’m so sorry anon) I hope you enjoy it tho!

The small room you had rented out for the week was quiet, bringing a smile onto your face as you snuggled deeper into Harry’s chest, his arms wrapping around your waist tighter. It was a rare occurrence, the two of you finding peace and quiet among your busy schedules. With Bill and Fleur’s wedding drawing closer each day, Mrs, Weasley had everyone working twice as hard to ensure everything falls perfectly into place.

The Burrow was packed with people since the entire Weasley family had returned home, so you and Harry decided to rent out a small room in the village inn nearby, where, for once in your relationship, you were allowed to do anything you wish. So after a hearty dinner with the Weasley family - and endless teasing from Fred and George - you had treated back to your room, falling back into each other’s arms.

“I love you, you know?” Harry whispered as his hand moved to trace patterns onto your bare arm with his finger. The weather was quite warm tonight, so you had decided to pull on a tank top.

“I love you too, Harry” you breathed out, smiling when you felt him chuckle at the goosebumps that had appeared onto your skin,

You basked in the silence of the room, enjoying each other’s company before you submerge yourself in the chaos to come tomorrow, especially with the Delacour family arriving. Most importantly though, you took advantage of the few moments you have with one another, before another day introduces another round of worry for you.

See, Dumbledore had given Harry a very dangerous task, something you didn’t really approve of, but had no choice but to accept. Dumbledore had asked Harry to look for horcruxes - little items that kept a part of You-Know-Who’s soul, which had kept him alive for all these years.

“What are you thinking about, love?” Harry whispered in you ear, feeling you tense under his hold. Reaching up briefly, he moved your hair to the side, revealing your bare shoulders so he could plant sweet little kisses onto it, effectively calming you, even just a little,

“Nothing,” you replied breathlessly as you craned your neck further, allowing his lips access to the spots you both know will make you weak at the knees.

“You know you don’t need to hide anything from me, darling” Harry whispered once again, gripping your waist so he can turn you to face him, you eyes meeting his green ones. He smiled at you for a moment, pecking your lips, before returning his journey down your collarbone, nipping and licking any exposed skin he could reach, “Please tell me,”

“It’s just” you gasped as his teeth suddenly enclosed around a patch of skin, “I don’t understand why I can’t go with you on this mission”

“We’ve talked about this,” He replied, voice soft as he pulled you closer towards him, pressing his body firmly against yours under the soft covers, “I don’t want anything happening to you”

“We’ve been together for two years” You continued to reason out, trying to keep your head clear as Harry’s lips started making its way lower, teasing you just above your breasts, “I think I can handle it- oh, Harry”

“Yeah?” Harry ceased his movements, looking up to give you a teasing smirk as his left an open-mouthed kiss over the spot he just bit, “you like that, darling?”

“We’re not done talking, Harry” You tried lightly pushing him away, but he only pulled you closer, his shoulder flexing under the palm of your hands as he kept you in place. “Harry”

He pulled away, sincerity in his eyes as he moved up to come face to face with you, noses brushing at the proximity. His breath fanned you face as he spoke, “you are my life, (y/n). I wouldn’t know what I would do if anything happened to you”

“But Harry-“

“I know you want to help, love” Harry interrupted, knowing what you were going to say after weeks of arguing with him about him not allowing you to join him on his journey. “And I know it will still be dangerous even if you stay behind with Molly” his thumb reached up to trace your bottom lip, now pouting, “but it’s much worse out there, especially when there are people who know how much you mean to me. You remember what happened when you joined them in flying me back to the burrow, right?”

Of course, you remember. It had happened only weeks ago before everyone else had moved in the cozy Weasley home. You had volunteered to fetch Harry in Number 4 Privet Drive, being among the few who didn’t get to take the Polyjuice Potion and change into Harry. A Death Eater had recognized you as someone dear to Harry, and had targeted you the entire journey home.

If you weren’t quick enough to defend yourself, you would’ve never made it back in one piece.

Harry took your silence as a yes, his lips dropping into a frown as he pulled you against him again, burying his face into your neck as he continued kissing, “don’t worry, my love” he bit another patch of skin, releasing a soft moan from your lips, “After all of this is over, I’ll come home straight to you”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

—

You lips were pulled up into a smile as you recalled the events of last night - the intimacy you shared with Harry as you moaned each other’s names in profession of your love for one another. Sure, you had done it a couple of times already, but it had always been in secret, with the constant fear of getting caught lingering over you shoulders.

Last night was different. Last night, you didn’t have to hold back as you screamed his name for everyone to hear - which you were sure they didn’t due to the strong muffling charms you had to do.

Merlin, you swear you could still feel Harry’s lips burning through your body, hear his groans in your ear as he praised you for how amazing you felt around him, how good you were taking him.

You could tell he was thinking the exact same thing as your eyes met across the room. His smirk had grown deeper on his lips as his eyes raked over your dress-clad body, and judging solely by the way he was looking at you, you were in it for another couple of rounds tonight.

Of course, everything was cut short when the first few members of the Order of the Phoenix arrived, and Arthur had asked Harry to see Molly so they could disguise him to look like one of their own - ginger hair with freckles dotting his face, an uncanny Weasley.

You were separated for the rest of the day, Harry joining Ron in welcoming the rest of the Weasley family, while you were with Hermione and Ginny making sure everything’s in proper order.

However, everything started falling apart when evening struck. It was in the middle of the reception when a wisp of light appeared in the middle of the room. Harry, who was across the room from you speaking to some guests, had taken the liberty to make cautious steps towards you, ready to protect you at any given moment.

That’s when Kingsley’s voice spoke, “The Ministry has fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead. They are coming”

All hell broke loose as dark figures suddenly appeared in wisps of black smoke, corning everyone in the tent as they attempted to disapparate. Harry was quick to your side, his features morphing back into the raven-haired boy you love as he pulled you into a kiss.

This was it, you thought as your lips moved against him briefly, a gut-wrenching feeling in you stomach as you pulled away, eyes meeting your once more as he whispered a rushed. “Be safe. I’ll come home to you. I love you”

He pushed you towards George who was quick to protect you, you snapping back to reality as you fired spells towards the Death Eaters surrounding you and the family you had come to love. Casting one last glance towards where Harry had left to, you could see him joining Ron and Hermione in the middle of the room, grabbing each other’s arms as they disapparated away.

—

The Shell Cottage was quiet, peaceful as the waves from the nearby sea crashed along the shore. Bill and Fleur Weasley had been kind enough to let you stay under their roof as your belly grew larger each month, the human forming inside of you growing more and more real by the day.

It’s been six months, six months since you’ve last seen Harry. You knew, not because you’ve counted, but because you were six months along the way. When you’ve awoken everyone in the Burrow with your hurling a few weeks since Harry had left, Molly instantly knew what was happening.

She was quick to provide you with everything you need - the support, the help, and the protection. As the months progressed and more Death Eaters were spotted around their household, Bill had graciously took you in, being the Secret Keeper to their new home called Shell Cottage.

From then, it was Fleur who had cared for you.

That’s also when Ron arrived. You were thankful your baby bump hadn’t shown then so he hadn’t noticed even a bit, and it was a relief for him to tell you Harry and Hermione were both okay despite him leaving them a bit earlier.

“(Y/n)” Fleur’s soft voice called out to you as you stood in the kitchen, peering out the window towards the sea. You turned to look at the beautiful woman, a kind smile adorning her face, “Bill and I are heading to Diagon Alley to fetch some things. Do you need anything?”

“I’m alright, Fleur. Thank you” You replied softly, still nursing the glass of juice you’ve prepared for yourself a little while ago. Fleur hummed a response as she disappeared out the front door with Bill, a soft pop following soon after as they disapparated away.

Turning back towards the window, you were surprised to see figures standing by the shoreline. At the sight alone, your heart started besting faster. How did they find you? And how timely is it that they arrive just when you’re alone.

You prepared your wand beside you as you squinted towards the approaching figures, trying to make out which Death Eater it actually was that had located this supposed concealed home, when you recognized one of them immediately.

“Harry?” You whispered upon the realization, your feet immediately taking you outside, onto the soft sand.

“Harry!” You called out as you neared them, not believing your eyes when you saw him alive and well. However, the grin disappeared from your face upon seeing he was carrying a little creature in his arms - Dobby.

The funeral you held for Dobby was small, honoring the death of the beloved former house elf- now eternally free. After that, you led everyone back inside the house, starting the kettle to prepare them tea.

Harry still hadn’t spoken to you - even looked at you - since they had arrived, even after Bill and Fleur had returned almost an hour later. But you understood. He must have been through a lot. These few days of peace was what he needed.

Hermione, however, was quick to pull you into her roo, a grin on her face as her eyes looked at your growing belly, “(y/n) are you...?”

She didn’t need to ask, she knows that. But the thrill of announcing it never ceases to feel exhilarating. A squeal left her lips as you nodded you head, grinning as she pulled you into a congratulatory hug. “Why haven’t you told Harry?”

“He’s been through a lot” Your shoulders sagged in disappointment. Of course, you wanted Harry to be the first to know. But with everything happening around him, everything going on in his mind, you knew this could wait even just for an hour.

“He’s going to be ecstatic. Promise me you’ll tell him”

“I mean, my growing baby bump can’t really hide the fact,” you joked, earning a giggle from the girl, “anyway, how are you?”

She proceeded to tell you everything, from the day they landed into London where they were located by Death Eaters in a small muggle cafe, to how they escaped the Malfoy Mansion. Tears had ran down your face by then as Hermione showed you the cut Bellatrix Lestrange has done on her arm, which was now healing after Bill helped her tend to it a little while ago

The conversation was cut short, however, when the door swung open, “Hermione, I think- oh, (y/n)”

“It’s great to know you still remember me” You attempted to tease, yet Harry didn’t exactly respond the way you wanted to.

Seeing your need to talk, Hermione stood from her seat to leave the room, making sure to nudge Harry further inside as she left. It was awkward when the door finally shut behind Harry, him standing by the door, not knowing what to say.

Since when was it this hard?

“Hi” Harry finally spoke.

“Hi, Harry”

“I just wanted to-“

“Speak to Hermione, yes” you interrupted, now growing annoyed. “It’s alright, I was about to start dinner anyway”

You made a sudden move to stand up, which you regretted immediately due to the pain you felt in your belly. Your arms wrapped around your bump as soon as it happened, supporting the weight of the baby as you hissed in pain, “fuckin hell, James Potter, you’re not yet even born and you’re already causing trouble”

“What did you say?” Harry asked, surprised the name of his father left your lips. When his eyes darted towards your belly, he need not ask anymore, “is that mine?”

“Bloody hell, Harry James Potter, of course it’s yours!”

With a chuckle, he took long strides to where you stood, wrapping his arms around you in the way you had missed terribly. It didn’t take long for the two of you to start tearing up as Harry placed a palm over his future baby, his eyes holding astonishment that he was going to be a father - much earlier than anticipated, yes, but he was happy nonetheless.

“Why didn’t you tell me, darling?”

“I couldn’t write to you” you whispered, “i wanted to, but it’s too dangerous”

“So you’ve dealt with all of this on your own?”

“Nonsense,” you grinned as his lips planted a lingering kiss on your forehead, ”Mrs. Weasley and Fleur took care of me”

The moment was broken abruptly when footsteps ascended the stairs in a rush, and Ron appeared into the room panting, before exclaiming, “I CAN’T BELIEVE I DIDN’T NOTICE YOU WERE PREGNANT”

—

James Sirius Potter was born weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, and was dubbed by your friends as the “son of the brave” after everything that had happened. See, everyone had seen how hard you’ve fought in the war, even with the baby weighing you down.

A smile was brought to their faces upon seeing you wobble through the halls of Hogwarts, throwing Death Eaters against the wall with the strongest magic anyone has ever seen. You were practically harmless when the war concluded, and they reckon it was because of the magic your baby possessed - sort of a shield surrounding his mother.

James’ birth was the happiest you felt in your life, especially upon seeing Harry’s teary eyes as he held his son for the first time.

“You alright there, Harry?” You asked, still watching him gaze down at his son with so much love it made your heart clench.

“I’ve never been better,”

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines

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nurseanddex · 4 years ago

Note

1/2 fluff and nurseydex for the prompts please!

Oh my god thank you so much for this prompt because it hard core inspired me to produce some of the most tooth rotting fluff of my life!

Send me a prompt and a pairing from one of these lists if you feel so inclined, just please specify which list it’s from! :)

Prompts: “how much did you drink?” and “aw, you’re so cute.”

Will Poindexter forgot one very important thing during a long summer away from Samwell. Tub juice was magically malicious.

Somehow, despite the truly obscene amounts of so many different kinds of alcohol used in its creation, tub juice didn’t taste like alcohol. It just tasted like juice. This particular batch tasted vaguely like fruit punch, only the slight bite of the aftertaste betraying the staggering amount of alcohol contained inside.

Which is why during the first kegster of his junior year, Will was three and a half glasses of the disturbingly lime green concoction in when he was suddenly hit by the tub juice all at once. Will was no lightweight, but his now drunken brain recalled Shitty once saying that tub juice could probably knock a bear off its feet if it drank enough. He felt himself start swaying, his balance disturbed by the effects of the alcohol. His legs didn’t seem to want to keep him upright anymore, so he started making his way to the edge of the room where he could lean against a wall and let it do most of the work. Slowly and extremely unsteady, he had almost made it when his foot caught on the corner of the stupid couch.

Will barely had time to register that he was going down before a strong arm had snaked around his waist, arresting his fall and pulling him back upright, into a surprisingly firm chest. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks when he realized, after far too long to play off as accidental, that somehow his hands had wound up positioned on his hero’s insane pecs and abs. And he had spent the last ten seconds essentially feeling him up. Panicking, he tried to pull away but over corrected, losing his footing. He would have fallen were it not for the tighter than strictly necessary grip that his hero had on his waist.

“I thought I was supposed to be the clumsy one, Poindexter,” a familiar voice declared in his ear, struggling to be heard over the thumping bass beat of Ransom and Holster’s party playlist, still in use despite them having graduated. The blush on his cheeks turned fire engine red as his alcohol logged brain registered just whose arms he was in.

“Scuz you are,” Dex slurred, unable to bring himself to meet Nursey’s intoxicatingly green eyes, “You tripped on air an fell down the stairs at Faber, 'member?” Nursey laughed, and Dex could feel it ripple through his chest. He’d never hugged another man for this long before, and it was making his dumb unrequited little crush harder and harder to ignore.

“And yet, I’m not the one in a fight with gravity tonight.” Dex tried to wriggle free of Nursey’s grasp, but his limbs no longer appeared to be responding to his brain, making it futile. Nursey seemed to realize what he was trying to do and relaxed his grip, but still kept a hand on his waist to steady him.

“Seriously though, Dex, are you good? How much did you drink?” The concern in his voice surprised Dex. Sure, they had come a long way from the constant bickering of their frog year, but Dex would never have thought they’d become close enough for Nursey to worry about him.

“I din drink tha much.” Dex cringed when the words came out sounding as drunk as he felt.

“That’s what I thought,” Nursey chuckled. “Come on, lets get you upstairs.” He wound his arm around Dex’s waist again and gently maneuvered him through the crowded party and up the stairs to their room. He continued to hold Dex tucked closely into his side even away from the crush of the crowd, fumbling one handed with the key to unlock their door. Sober Dex would have spent ten minutes overthinking what that could possibly mean, but he did not have the mental capacity for that train of thought in his current state. After what felt like an eon, Nursey finally got the door open and deposited Dex down onto his bunk.

“Now, are you going to help me get you ready for bed, or am I going to have to undress you myself?” Nursey smirked, and damnit, Dex was blushing fire engine red all over again. He cursed the universe for his pathetic crush on Derek Nurse, and Nursey for managing to say all the right things to keep him from ever being able to get over it. Nursey had begun to unlace his sneakers, making Dex worried that maybe he was actually serious about undressing him. He tried to pull his shirt over his head, his poor gay heart would not survive being undressed by Derek Nurse.

Unfortunately for him, he somehow managed to get stuck. He could hear Nursey’s stupidly perfect laugh, muffled through the fabric, then suddenly gentle hands were easing his head and arms free. Nursey tugged the fabric away and then they were face to face in the darkness, Nursey’s lips distractingly close. Dex forced himself to breathe, trying desperately to think about literally anything else but kissing Nursey.

“You think you can handle it from here?” Nursey asked, not breaking eye contact until Dex nodded belatedly. Dex waited until Nursey had gone into the bathroom they shared with Chowder before struggling with his jeans. When he’d finally managed to fight his way free, he stumbled to the dresser for a clean pair of pajama pants. He was thoroughly impressed with himself for managing to pull them on and get back into his bed without incident. Nursey came out of the bathroom, the light illuminating him from behind and making him look like an honest to god angel descended from the heavens.

Aw, god, you’re so cute it’s insane, Dex thought, trying not to stare too hard at Nursey’s stupid chiseled abs.

Nursey froze.

The silence stretched on for a moment as Nursey stared at Dex in disbelief, and Dex could not understand why until-

“Fuck, did I say that out loud?” he cursed, praying to whoever might be listening that the ground would swallow him up immediately. Nursey nodded, walking over to sit on the floor next to Dex’s bunk.

“Did you mean it?” he whispered, the expression on his face unreadable. Dex briefly contemplated taking the out, blaming it all on the tub juice. But he was never going to have any peace living with Nursey if he never got over his stupid crush, so he steeled himself for the rejection and forced himself to meet Nursey’s gaze.

“Spossible I have a bit of a crush on you,” he admitted, and then Nursey was suddenly on top of him and they were kissing and Dex thought that this was maybe the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“God, Dex, I’ve had a thing for you for ages,” Nursey breathed, when they finally broke apart.

“Why would you ever-” Nursey shut him up with a hungry kiss that burned away every doubt before he could voice them.

~~~

They woke up the next morning in a tangle of limbs to golden sunlight streaking through their windows. Somehow, Nursey was even more beautiful first thing in the morning, practically glowing in the sunshine. Dex snuggled closer, and Nursey sleepily pulled him fully into his arms, silent reassurance that the events of last night hadn’t been the product of a drunken dream.

“Hey, Dex?”

“What?”

“Did you know that when you blush it goes all the way down your chest?” Nursey laughed.

“Oh my god, I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“You do not, you loooooooooooove me.”

“I’m breaking up with you.” Nursey just gave him a gentle kiss in response, and Dex smiled against his lips. Maybe getting chirped within an inch of his life wasn’t so bad if it ended in kisses.

#upstreams #alison answers things #may or may not be partially inspired by me drinking half a bottle of wine to celebrate today thinking it wasnt affecting me at all #only to stand up and immediately almost fall down because somehow i managed to get drunk without realizing oops #also if anyone who reads this has artistic talent and wants to draw drunk Dex in Nursey's arms that would be the literal best thing ever #i have such a clear image in my head but lack the artistic talent to bring it to life #William Poindexter #derek nurse #nurseydex #check please #my writing #also i hope you dont mind i changed the prompt a little to make it fit better

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kneipho · 4 years ago

Text

Submission: @mantrabay

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea’s ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn’t yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea’s job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer’s block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea’s voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it’s sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren’t you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it’s on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I’ll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That’s when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don’t want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That’s when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She’s going to call over one of these days I’m sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I’m fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma …you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn’t believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn’t want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There’s been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I’ll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story mantrabay copyright protected

#mantrabay #submission sunday #writers on tumblr #photographers on tumblr #written word #photography #submission #other #short story #fiction #original photography #a little known shortcut

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ask-crimson-weaver · 4 years ago

Text

Dangerous Waters

Melly still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened. Well, perhaps some part of her did, but with the scattered state of her thoughts, it was nigh impossible for her to think back over and string things together in any meaningful order.

She remembered showing up to Fort Tilden with the Cobwebs, and she had sensed Oliver as they approached, along with four other sources of danger. They had moved in, and a fight had started, with her facing off against Oliver. But at some point… her memory lost focus. That crawling, writhing sensation had wormed its way back into her mind-- hadn’t they undone that spell?-- and her coordination had slipped. At the time, she had had enough sense to try and retreat, but with her steps unbalanced, he had caught up quickly, catching her and dragging her down into the dark of… wherever they were.

She could tell that she was in a small room now, dank and cold air filling the underground space. At this point, the name wasn’t important anymore, seeing as her mind’s focus was drawn to other things. Every dark corner had the potential to hide danger, and every crack and chip in the concrete walls was just another space for some twisted, unfathomable thing to stretch outwards from. The paranoia from before had been straining, though manageable, but this time she felt like it was completely overwhelming her. On top of that, her spider-sense kept going off at unknown things as she had been dragged past them, and now its scream of warning was focused on the figure of green energy and metal that had a clawed arm clamped around her.

“You still think you can get out of this?” Oliver said, a smirk on his face as he watched Melly kick at the air with her still-free legs. “It’s admirable, if not pointless. I mean… all that work, all that searching and fighting… and look where you are now. At my complete mercy. And my associate’s, I suppose. I’m looking forward to watching you as she… feeds you to her Patron or whatever. In any case, it will be one less little Spider that I have to deal with.”

Melly only really took in about half of what he had said, the induced fear and confusion driving most of her thoughts. She could feel it drawing out her spider instincts, which urged her to escape and hide, and for once, she was inclined to do just that exact thing, though the former would have to be done before the latter of the two. She stared back at Oliver with glowing red eyes-- her mask had come off early on, back when she had still been near the others-- and she began to grunt and hiss in her frantic, paranoia-fueled attempt to break free. Where she felt her own strength make headway against Oliver’s arms, more green-tinted metal crept up to mend and reinforce it.

“I suppose it’s sad, in a way,” Oliver continued. “You and your ‘friends’ always talked about all of the great things you had done with your Shard… and even with that, here you are, writhing like a child with a tantrum. Honestly, I could just-- oops!”

The claw of Oliver’s arm suddenly opened, and gravity jerked Melly downwards, causing her to smack into the floor. Not a moment later, though, she had scrambled up onto her hands and knees, making a break for the nearest wall in an attempt to scale it. She’d only made it a handhold or two upwards when Oliver’s tentacle darted out again, clamping down on her leg and pulling her back over. There was a loud crack as two fist-sized chunks of the wall were pulled along after her, dropping off of where they had stuck to her hands.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Oliver said, sarcastic and unapologetic. “I just get butterfingers sometimes, that’s all.”

He’d pulled Melly off the ground again at this point, though this time she hung upside-down by the leg Oliver had grabbed. He lifted her higher, so that her face was just about level with his.

“Now, where were we?” Oliver said. “Ah! I was just about to further emphasize the true depths of your--”

He found himself cut off as Melly’s hand swung up, launching a spray of webbing directly at Oliver’s face that soon solidified from its glowing state into an angry red color. Oliver stumbled back, growling as his eyes flashed green with a surge of rage. The arm holding Melly snapped to one side, releasing her and sending her flying through the air. The far wall cracked as she collided with it, knocking her breath out of her as she dropped to the ground-- it hadn’t been enough to hurt her significantly, with her energy welling up to help her take the blow, but it still hurt.

“You think that was funny, Spider?” Oliver hissed at her, bolts of metal from his assimilated mass curving up to cut the webbing away. “You think that you’re still able to--”

At that moment, Melly could feel a different arm wrap around her and yank her away off the ground. Even in her state of mind, this tendril that held her in the air was definitely not one that belonged to Oliver. It was far more slimy… with that distinctive energy of the Writhing One spiking all around her. She managed to catch a glimpse of Oliver’s associate: it was the exact same woman she saw in her mind.

“Juice Man, remember what we agreed on? I’d like our dear Weaver here to stay alive for the time being,” Odyssia sighed as her other tentacles undulated in the air, “I know she’s a Spider and all and she could probably take a lot more punishment than your average Joe, but I’d like to keep her just functional enough so I can properly study her.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t intending to kill her before you had your chance to do your research, if that was your concern.”

He re-oriented himself, lifting himself off the ground with his tentacles.

“I suppose there will be more time to gloat later-- do what you want,” he added, waving one of his upper arms dismissively. “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting another Octavius’ studies without good reason.”

“Right,” she replied, before turning to face Melly with a fascinated smile, “While I may have learned a lot from information that I’ve kindly been given access to… there is nothing like being there to study something up close and personal.”

With that, she swiftly took Melly away with her into a new room somewhere deep in the bunker. From what Melly could barely make out, this room looked like a makeshift laboratory that didn’t look out of place in a horror movie. Strange organs and other loose body parts were compartmentalized in various containers. Tables covered in glassware and arcane books, drawers filled with various equipment, several aquarium tanks filled with unfamiliar sea life… coupled with the darkness, the debris that speckled the floor, and the cold, musty air, this place hardly looked sterile in any way.

Odyssia brought her over to a stolen hospital gurney and laid her down onto it, using her tendrils to hold her down as her human hands began to strap her down with the restraints.

“You know, you’re pretty lucky as far as my test subjects go,” Odyssia rattled off to her. “Between you and me, most people who get this treatment from me personally are looking at a new, monstrous form in their future. But, you… I’m having a feeling that you’re definitely not a lobbyist who tries to shut down environmental protections for their down lines… or some fuckwit politician who spews misinformation to spark irrational fear or hatred in people… or some idiot who doesn’t ‘believe’ in science and would much rather trust in some pseudoscientific homemade ‘remedies’.”

Odyssia snorted at the thought.

“You know, Weaver, we never really spoke to each other in person, but I know you are brilliant in your own right,” she continued as she tightened the restraints, “It’s a real shame, though. Your Shard is an incredible source of power. And such power rightfully belongs in the hands of the Writhing One. Unlike Juice Man, this isn’t personal for me.”

Melly had kept up her kicking and fighting all down the hallway, and as Odyssia tightened the restraints of the gurney, she kept straining against them with as much force as she could muster. This room was full of danger-- spider-sense easily told her that-- but as the hallucinations made the dark corners deeper and the creatures and scattered parts more monstrous, a swarm of paranoid thoughts started to close in on her.

She’s going to hurt you. She’s going to make you writhe and bleed like all the others. She wants to take what is yours, and what is you.

Somewhere, deep in Melly’s mind, her coherent self managed to reach through, and she renewed her effort to fight the spell’s effects and push back against the mental flood of the Writhing One’s influence. Her brow furrowed, and her glowing eyes started to flicker to and from an even stronger crimson hue as she made her effort.

“Get… it… out…” she managed to mutter, voice strained through both panic and effort.

Odyssia adjusted her glasses, examining the glow of her eyes with increased interest.

“Well, if I did that you’d fight back. Besides, seeing you manage to power through this from sheer force of willpower is something I’m far more invested in. If this is what one Shard is capable of… I wonder what an entire Prism could accomplish,” Odyssia mused, her demeanor going still to aid in her observations. “Not many people can just power through my spells like you’re doing right now. Not only does that require an insane amount of mental resilience but the magical prowess to accomplish this is just as an extraordinary feat.”

Odyssia, of course, already knew where such mental prowess and willpower had come from-- at least, it was easy to assume from the memories she had gleaned from Melly. Her soul torn out, fighting for control of a body that wasn’t hers. Both mind and soul shattered by a creature of dreams, pulled back together by both Shard and friends. Her fights against Brevi’s control, her mother’s attempt to change her memories again, even against the toxic shards that had leaked from Itzi’s blade, poisoning her all those months ago. She had fought hard to keep herself her, and she would certainly defend it with all of her strength.

Melly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the twisting room around her as she pushed harder and harder to bring herself back, each push feeling like she was dragging her mind through thick ink. A few flickers of red light raced upwards along her neck, fading just as quickly as they had appeared.

“Get… out,” she repeated, voice a bit stronger. “Get. Out. Of. My. Head.”

Once again, as Odyssia allowed herself to dive deeper into her pursuit of knowledge, that one memory of Melly’s mother kept nagging at her. She furrowed her brow in frustration, this time having her tentacles come in to hold Melly down further.

“I can’t! I-I won’t! This is my breakthrough! This is for the Writhing One,” Odyssia hissed at her. “Don’t make me make this have to hurt.”

“You’ll... hurt me. Either way,” Melly mumbled out. “Change my head. I can’t… I won’t… let her. You. Anyone. Break me again.”

Odyssia grimaced slightly as she stared down at her.

Go on. Why aren’t you choking her or something? She’s not going down without a fight, Odyssia was starting to wrestle with herself. Prove her wrong. You’re smarter than her. Don’t let her win.

Unconsciously, a tentacle began to entertain the idea of wrapping around Melly’s neck. Just as it was about to constrict her, Odyssia realized what was happening and quickly pulled it back from her neck. A sinking feeling in her stomach began to take hold as the internal debate within her mind set in.

Why did I do that? I’m not supposed to kill her!

“... T-This is my last warning, Weaver. You need to understand that I’m being far nicer than I could be. I could be breaking you right fucking now but guess what? I’m holding back on you! Want to know what breaking you could look like? I could’ve turned you a monster, make you feel what it’s like to be at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, or take you apart and dissect you but no, I’m giving you the chance to make this easy. Don’t throw it away,”

Melly was quiet for a moment. Realistically, there wasn’t much she could do in her current condition to fight back against anything worse than what she was dealing with now… but to stop fighting would be to spit in the face of all her prior triumphs of self. Her thoughts were still jumbled, but if there was a way to get things to where they could talk.

Melly’s head turned towards Odyssia slightly, eyes opening to look directly at her.

“...all of that… is that really what you want to do?”

Odyssia froze, for the briefest of moments. She turned away from Melly, running her hand over her face.

This is what you want to do.

But why was she still fighting herself on this? She forcefully pounded her fist onto the gurney, cursing underneath her breath.

“Of course it’s what I want to fucking do… Why would I continue to do this if I didn’t?” Odyssia mutters although her tone suggested that she was beginning to struggle.

“Want...” Melly said, pausing for a moment as she tried to put a solid thought together. “We want… things. You want things from me. I want to stay me. There’s want… but there’s need too. All of the hurting… is that what you need to do?”

“You… Y-you’re just saying that to get out of this,” Odyssia replies as she shuts her eyes, still refusing to look at her, “Why would my needs matter to you?”

“Because if you need it… and you can choose it… you will. Would’ve.” Melly said. “I can’t make you do anything. Can’t make you…” Melly trailed off for a moment, shutting her eyes for a moment as she had to pull her focus back in. “But… I can fight. Or I can talk. And you… do you need… want to fight? Or do you want to talk? Which will get… what you need?”

“Alright, alright, stop right there. I… I cannot continue this if you're going to talk to me like that. I am barely getting by with following this conversation,” Odyssia groaned as she runs her hands in her messy hair. She turned to face Melly, making direct eye contact with her before continuing, much more quietly, “Tell you what: if I… lessen… the spell’s effects to at least let you speak coherently, you’re going to stay right there and not move. Then I’ll let you talk. If you try to pull the wool over my eyes, I will get mean. Got it?”

Well, though Melly certainly couldn’t make any guarantees that she wouldn’t eventually try to escape… for now, it was the only break she was probably gonna get, and her own mental resistance would only get her so far before exhaustion won out.

“...I understand.” she said.

Odyssia rubbed her forehead, already feeling a headache coming on from the tension in her body. Slowly releasing a deep breath, she closed her eyes to focus on something.

As she did so, Melly began to feel that Eldritch presence dwindled… not enough to release her from paranoia or the sickness she had felt, it was just enough for her to at least think a bit more clearly. Melly let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding as the strain on her mind lessened, and took a moment to recollect herself-- man, it was good to be able to think mostly clearly again. The observing Odyssia would be able to see the red glow in her eyes recede, and though it was still present it no longer burned with as much intensity as it had been.

“You wanted to talk? Then talk,” Odyssia said coldly, although there was a slight hint of wanting to know what Melly was going to tell her.

“Look…” Melly began, “this whole thing with the Shards… What exactly is your end goal for all this? And you mentioned the Prism too… if you’ve been in my mind, you know that I’ve already done the rounds with someone who wanted to do the exact same thing you mentioned. And you know what happened to him when he tried it.”

Odyssia would indeed know who Melly was talking about-- Alexander Hobbs, aka the Beholder. She knew he had tried to control the Shards in a bid to access their combined energy… and she knew that it was what had ultimately killed him, the energy he sought burning him away to nothing.

“The Shards aren’t for me to use. I told you, this is for the Writhing One. I know those Shards are clearly not meant for a mere mortal to use. That’s why I’m giving it to my Patron. They don’t abide to human limitations,” Odyssia said, “I devote myself to the glorious Writhing One. Without it, I’d go back to being some repressed, pathetic shrinking violet who can’t fucking stand up for herself or the causes she cares about. So to show my gratitude, I must give back.”

Melly was taken a bit aback by some of what Odyssia had said-- it seemed that there was some baggage behind what course she had chosen to take. Even with it catching her notice, though, she wasn’t sure how Odyssia would react to having it be brought up here and now.

“How do you know if it can use them?” Melly asked. “With all due respect to the power and influence they do have in this world-- which, as you’re aware, I’m currently the subject of-- how do you know that they’ll be able to harness the energy of the Shards. Energy Weaver said they couldn’t alter or control it. The Being said it was out of their jurisdiction. The Palpitors-- they were willing to kill us when we encountered them. Wouldn’t it have been easier for them to just kill a wielder, take their Shard so that one of their Nobles would have access to an unlimited amount of energy? Why else would they have not done that, if not because they couldn’t claim it? Look, what I’m saying is that there’s things about the Shards and how they work that neither of us know. Would you take the risk of sending a Shard to your Patron without knowing what effect it might have? How would they react if what you gave it harmed them?”

“...To act like I know everything regarding my Patron’s full capabilities is to indulge in pointless hubris,” she scoffed, “And either way, you grossly misunderstand how Patrons operate. Patrons—unless some astronomically universal level apocalyptic circumstances occur—never leave their realm of magic. If they did, there wouldn’t be a need for them to bestow an incredibly tiny fraction of their power to mortals like me to do their bidding, right? If they want something, they’ll have people like me to accomplish what they need us to do. This is something they’ve been interested in for a while now. And who am I to object to the Writhing One’s wishes? While I can’t pretend to know how exactly they will deal with whatever a Shard brings… what I can tell you is that they’re approaching this with curiosity and they know the risk; after all, they know what I know.”

“And what you know is what I know-- I’m presuming that’s why you went rooting around in my mind in the first place,” Melly countered. She thought for a moment, deciding that pushing that point further wouldn’t do any good. “Okay… new question. If they never leave their realm of magic, how exactly are they planning on using my Shard? Are you intending to magically mail me to where they are so they can get at it or something?”

Odyssia chuckled at that, “That’s a very crass way of putting it but, essentially, you’re right. I am going to send the Shard directly to them.”

“‘The Shard’,” Melly repeated. “The way you say that has a very conspicuous lack of me included in it.”

“What? You want me to send you in there as well? I highly doubt that you’d be interested in being in the grand presence of the Writhing One. Honestly, I thought the way I planned was more humane, not subjecting you to such unspeakable terrors,” Odyssia laughed.

“And your plan is… to kill me?” Melly asked. “Or try and remove it yourself? Because I have experience with that second option, and I’ve gotta say… hard pass.”

“It’s worth a try,” Odyssia sighed, coming down from her brief amusement, “And if I can’t remove it without killing you, well… I suppose that doesn’t leave many options for me, unfortunately..”

“Well, even if you do get it out without killing me... I’m still gonna get a one-on-one with the Writhing One,” Melly said. “The whole soul thing, remember? You pull out the Shard, and my soul comes with it. The whole point of sparing me is kind of moot there-- doubly so, considering that Ollie would have no problem killing me without the Shard there to do its thing. And obviously, you don’t seem inclined to kill me if you can help it… which I appreciate, even given my currently unfavorable circumstances. Other than that…”

Melly did think of a third option, but even thinking about it made her blood run cold. One of the Writhing One’s things was manipulating minds, right? If so… what was stopping them from just brainwashing her, or something similar, to try and control the Shard through her?

In a nervous gulp, she swallowed her words, glancing away from Odyssia as she hastily tried to think of any alternative thing to propose-- the more time an option gave her, the better.

“... Were you going to say something there?” Odyssia asked, “And before you do, I’d like to at least thank you for being appreciative. At least you’re more engaging to speak to than any of the previous people who once were strapped in here just like you. I generally hear the same boring, mundane things from people who end up here… In a strange way, I’m almost glad that I gave you the chance to talk,”

Gee, I wonder why everyone else was less engaging, Melly thought to herself, not thinking further on that. Better to keep those mental images at bay.

“Have to appreciate the little victories, I suppose,” she said, words both sarcastic and sincere. “Punching and the like isn’t always the best way to solve things in the hero biz-- sometimes trying to talk through things first can go a long way. Never hurts to try, I suppose.”

Melly went quiet, debating whether to bring up what she had meant to say. Odyssia had clearly heard her odd pause, and she wasn’t fully sure whether or not she would be able to tell if she was lying or not.

“And… yeah, guess I thought I had something to say,” she said. “Wasn’t anything good, though.”

“... Yes,” Odyssia muttered.

… Why did she sound so much like Amari just now? Nononono, I can’t let myself think like that. I can’t let myself see her in the Weaver or I’ll really be in shit, Odyssia thought to herself, now actually beginning to feel worried, Goddamnit, Odyssia, stop this right now. You can’t afford to do this.

“... And what makes you think that?’ Odyssia said, trying to avoid thinking further on her realization.

“Because it’s something I’ve had people try to do to me before, in one way or another,” Melly said. “And I doubt I’d be able to do much about it if it’s what you or your Patron decide to do to me, hence my aversion to bring it up.”

“...Let me take a wild guess,” Odyssia began, if a bit hesitant herself, “Are you trying to appeal to my humanity in some way? As if you knew anything about me? I mean, you’re welcome to try it. I will at least humor you.”

“Wasn’t really expecting it to be an appeal-- in the regard of me getting out of this, at least,” Melly said. “You don’t seem like the type to be easily convinced to change your mind when you commit to something-- Ollie was the same way. The point being-- seeing as I’d rather not go through something involving that again, I’m refraining from bringing it up as an option at all.”

Melly wasn’t sure how many of her non-Shard memories Odyssia had gleaned, or if she had come to the conclusion of what she was meaning by her words-- it was entirely possible that she’d be able to put the pieces together if she had all of them. For now, though, she sat tight and hoped that that would satisfy her.

“... Fair enough,” Odyssia replied, although something about the way she said this made her tone waver a bit. “I have been described as ‘ride or die’, I suppose. But make no mistake—and don’t tell Juice about this—I’ve come to understand that aside from tenacious tendencies… we don’t really have much in common. Consider this food for thought.”

“Juice?” Melly said, amused by the apparent nickname. “And… yeah, I think I’ve noticed that— and that’s coming from someone that knew him before all of this Shard business.”

“Long story,” Odyssia replied cheekily, “In the nicest way possible… did he always have a stick up his ass? Was he born with it? Because I’ve worked with many people and I have to be honest, he’s not the most fun person to be around.”

“Well…” Melly said, thinking of where to start. “He was always a bit stuck-up, but he knew his tech stuff— was in classes with someone I know. I think he’d been doing the Ock stuff behind the scenes for a while… not that I ever picked up on it. Kept that hidden up until I had already handed the Green Shard over for him to claim. Was originally hoping that he’d be a part of our team, but, well… you’ve seen where he’s ended up in that regard. In hindsight… it was pretty dumb of me to hand it over to anyone, whether or not I trust them. I was new to the hero stuff, and definitely more naive than I am now with a few more years under my belt. Sure, I may wield a Shard, but after that, I don’t think I’m qualified to be the one that decides who stuff like that gets handed out to.”

“Hmm. Sounds like someone I know,” Odyssia commented to herself before replying to Melly. “I suppose I could relate to you hoping someone you care about would join you.. but that’s besides the point. Probably wasn’t anything like what you went through anyhow, considering that the one I’m talking about is… a much different person from him, let’s say.”

“That’s fair,” Melly said. “Even with the similarities… there’s plenty of differences more often than not, especially between dimensions. I guess the whole mess— the Shards getting involved and all— sort of make ours a bit of a unique case, at any rate.”

Melly paused, thinking something over.

“You know… how did you and Oliver end up coming across one another anyway?”

Odyssia chuckled at that. “It is in my best interest not to be a snitch. I might be more amicable towards you than most people that find themselves on this gurney, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll spill everything about myself or my whereabouts. Nice try, though.”

“Eh, it was worth a shot,” Melly said, shrugging. “Guess you’ve got to be an Ock to get in on all the secret Ock meetings… or however else you two ended up meeting.”

“Well, I’m sure you can come up with your own conclusions, considering that you somehow managed to start working with Spider-Glass,” she sighed as a tentacle of her stretches out to reach a clipboard and a pen on her desk.

“I suppose I can, yes,” Melly replied-- like Odyssia, it was probably in her or the other Spiders’ best interest not to go into detail on how that came about. Her eyes followed Odyssia’s tentacle as it reached over to the desk. Despite all of the pleasant conversation, she had to remind herself that she was on borrowed time. The Spiders would probably come after her eventually, but without a solid sense of how long it had been since was brought down here, she couldn’t be sure how much longer it would be before the others returned. The longer it took, the more time there would be for Odyssia to start trying things.

Odyssia, while not wanting to press further on how the two met, there was something on her mind in regards to her own spider. She took the clipboard and pen and began writing her observations on Melly down as she continues to speak.

“Speaking of… what are your thoughts on her, exactly?” she sincerely asked with no trace of joking around or cheekiness to her tone.

“What?” Melly said, admittedly caught a bit off-guard by the question. “She’s, uh… nice? Good teammate, good… all-around person?” She wasn’t exactly sure what Odyssia was trying to get at with that question, but knew it was better not to give specifics away freely.

Odyssia considered what Melly said for a moment. There was a gleam in her eye and a satisfied smile crossed her face as a subtle sense of pride exuded from her.

“Yes, she always was… I don’t expect anything less from her…” she muttered to herself, “You’re not alone in that assessment, Weaver. Many will agree with you on that front.”

“As I’ve seen-- and met,” Melly said. The way Odyssia had said that… she knew a bit about Amari and Odyssia’s history. Whatever connection they had outside of the hero stuff, in some regard she could still say that it was a good one.

“Yes… I suppose that’s one thing that me and old Juice Man can’t really relate to each other on,” Odyssia sighed.

Before either of them could say anything else, the tell-tale sound of metal stomping on concrete echoed down the corridor that Odyssia had brought Melly down. Feeling him approaching, Melly went still, keeping her head facing away from the door-- hopefully, she could avoid having Oliver know that she was more coherent than before. A moment later, Oliver entered the room, looking rather annoyed. His eyes scanned the room for a moment before locking on Odyssia.

Speak of the Devil, Odyssia thought to herself as she looked back at him.

“So… What is it this time, Oliver?” she asked, putting the clipboard and pen down on the gurney’s surface.

“Your… pet keeps bothering me,” he said with contempt. “I’m trying to review the notes on the Shards that you took from the Weaver, but I can’t focus with that thing constantly trying to pester me!”

Odyssia grimaced a bit, shifting her weight as she stepped closer to him. Upon doing so, she noticed Adorabilis, now clinging onto his leg with her tentacles.

“I see,” she said, nodding tightly, “Let me get her off you.”

Oliver let out a huff in an expression of ‘finally’, holding out his leg and shaking it impatiently.

“Hold still, Juice Man,” she sighed, “You don’t need to shake her around like that.”

Odyssia gently coaxed Adorabilis with her tentacles, using them to remove her off of Oliver’s leg. Oliver could feel the sensation of suction cups being pulled off of him as she was taken away into Odyssia’s arms.

“Alright, alright, you’re free now,” Odyssia said to Oliver as she heads over to one of the tanks. She opens it up to gently place the flapjack octopus inside.

“It’s appreciated,” Oliver said, reaching up to straighten the collar of his shirt with a punchy tug. “While I’m here… I might as well ask. How has your research gone, thus far? Anything… interesting?”

“Sure thing,” she replies casually as she shuts the tank’s lid tight, “I suppose, but this was more me wanting a closer look at her and her Shard’s energy.”

“You ‘suppose’?” Oliver said, raising an eyebrow. “And have you been able to glean anything from that as of yet?”

“I will have to make some minor adjustments on my method of offering the Shard to the Writhing One but otherwise, I’m sure you already know enough extensive information from that mind retrieval that I did,” Odyssia replied coolly.

“Indeed,” Oliver said, sounding mildly disappointed. “Speaking of which-- perhaps I should get back to reviewing that information. Perhaps she knows more about the pesky inhibiting devices that she’s used in our past few encounters. Quite fortunate that she had some spares on her this time around-- they usually burn out and damage themselves before I have the chance to inspect them more closely.”

“Sounds good to me,” Odyssia replied. “I will keep an eye on our guest here and make said adjustments to the plan.”

“And as I said before, I am quite looking forward to seeing the results,” Oliver said. Without another word, he turned, moving quickly out of the room back the way he had come.

As soon as he was gone, Odyssia groaned a little.

“Man, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve believed he was an energy vampire or something,” she muttered underneath her breath.

“Of the metaphorical sort, I’m assuming,” Melly said once she was sure Oliver was out of earshot. “I’ve met some actual energy vampires, and they tend to be a bit more direct with their energy-taking intentions.”

“Of course,” Odyssia chuckled, “A strange little man, he is.”

She picked up her clipboard and continues writing things down.

“... Now listen,” she muttered, recalling something, “I hate to admit it but I prefer you like this over when you could barely speak a coherent sentence. I… know that we really couldn’t be all that friendly after what I did to your mind and what I’m planning on doing. But even so, I feel like I should at least let you know this: Spider-Glass is… someone who is this very smart, very capable young lady. I know full well she’s going to show up eventually. Should she inevitably come to set you free just at the nick of time, promise me one thing: keep her safe. Her survival is… important to me.”

Melly stayed silent for a moment, taking in Odyssia’s words. It felt a bit strange, hearing that from someone with the intent to harm her… but she could tell that the Ock’s words were genuine.

“Us Spiders… we protect each other,” Melly said. “If she needs my help, if she ends up in danger… I’ll do what I can to make sure she’s safe at the end of things.”

There was a slight flicker of red in Melly’s eyes as she spoke-- a spark of determination and resolution, one could say. It was only there for a moment, though, before fading back to their usual crimson hue.

Odyssia smiled at that. Whether it was due to Melly’s promise, the brief glimmer of red, or a mixture of both, it was hard to say.

Both knew it was only a matter of time until Spider-Glass would return. Until then, Odyssia resolved herself to scribbling down what she had learned from her talk from Melly that she had neglected to inform Oliver about. And Melly, biding her time until the others returned, resigned herself to wait.

#At the Shores of Madness #spidersona #marvelsona #marvel oc #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spidersonas #marvel au #spider-man au #doc ock #marvel fanfiction #marvel character #spidersona oc #injury cw #cw injury #Melly | Crimson Weaver #Odyssia Octavius #Oliver Octavius

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enamoredencoding · 5 years ago

Text

Ten Things to Promote Long-Term Sburban Survival

So you’ve settled into your session over the past few months, probably had your first brush with death already. The frenzy to adjust to your new life is over. You’re in it for the long haul now; what do you do?

Sessions can take years to complete, not to mention lengthening factors like postsessions, ring voyages, and various flavors of extenuating circumstances. Most likely, you’re trapped in a relatively small space with a small handful of other people and not as much imminent pressure as you’ve become used to. (Yes, a Medium counts as relatively small once everyone’s able to fly. It gets cramped.) However, there are some things you can do to stave off boredom and murder alike.

(Note: the author lives in a stable postsession after a full-length session. Not all experiences will be applicable to everyone.)

Garden. And I don’t mean ‘use magic to grow plants’, I mean ‘actually garden with your hands and soil and real, linear time’. I can’t speak for other species, but human moods are drastically improved by the presence of live plants, and you can sometimes eat what you grow! Don’t worry if you don’t have a green thumb; I once killed an “unkillable” succulent, but after two years, numerous texts to my Life player about watering frequency, and patience, I recently graduated from cactuses to bean plants and tomatoes. If your environment doesn’t have sunlight, you can alchemize quite effective sunlamps, especially by enlisting a Light player. If you don’t have seeds, you can alchemize them from most juices and depictions of plants. Fiddle around with XOR a little.

Keep a consistent day/night cycle. If you’re anything like the average Sburb player, you’ve always wished for an opportunity to stay up as long as you want. It turns out that this is terrible! You may no longer be beholden to the Sun, but it’s in your best interest to stick to whatever you and the people around you define as ‘day.’ It helps your mood and energy, and lets you actually have time to see the internet friends you used to stay up chatting to face-to-face every once in a while.

Continue having regular team meetings. (If you don’t have regular team meetings, this might be part of your problem!) It’s important to have a goal, even if it’s just research for the long term. Besides, it’s good to have mandatory check-ins with everyone. If you don’t see someone for a long time, they could be having a rough time, up to something dangerous, or worse. Better to just make sure everyone’s alright.

Keep up your friendships. No, I’m not kidding. Obviously, there are going to be some extenuating, irreconcilable circumstances, but I promise you that they’re rarer than you think. Don’t ever write off a relationship with a coplayer before you genuinely try to repair it or have concluded that they are seriously harmful to you. Someone may have been grimdark or rash or murderous, or perhaps you have, but time changes a teenager. You need not forget wrongdoings against you, but for the sake of your sanity, forgive what you can. Isolation can hurt you as surely as hunger.

Continue your education. You were most likely cut off from whatever educational institution your society had when you started playing, and while you may be enjoying the lack of homework, you’re still missing education. There’s a lot of resources online, and stuff behind paywalls should be easily accessible from Medium internet. Study what interests you, and on your own schedule. Even if it makes me sound like a teacher, I can say with confidence that you’ll be better for it. On a related note, first aid may seem redundant, but it’s still remarkably useful in more situations than you’d expect. The Red Cross or equivalent has free tutorials of all kinds.

Make your house make sense. This has to be a group project, because you probably can’t build your own home. The bottom of your dwelling spire is almost definitely a Fucking Mess, which sucks because you’re the one who has to live in this real-life-Sims abomination. So if you spend a little time and build grist making your client player’s house actually functional, and maybe nag in the group memo a little, they’ll pay it forward and you’ll be able to live into an easily-navigable abode. Just be careful your house design doesn’t let consorts use the gates. (side note: if you’re still reading this, another one of your nakodiles got in again PLEASE fix it you know who you are)

Quests and dungeons. Especially important if you may leave your session in the future, and can net you a grist safety cushion if you won’t. Assuming you have completed your full major questline including Terraforming and many of your land’s dungeons, here are some of the most viable options: Double dungeons: If a dungeon settles back into the ground or similar after it’s done, it most likely has a Super Secret Second Dungeon inside. It’s a video game thing! It has more loot! Check ‘em out if you’re bored; I promise you missed one somewhere. Escort quests: I’m so, so sorry. I know they suck, but they’re renewable and a good source of steady grist income, plus the harder ones are a pretty good way to improve your land reputation. Try to do some on other Lands for a little variety! Mail delivery: only for the bravest o7 Visit ALL the villages (or wherever the carapaces live): You may be sick of them, but they always have some sort of relatively easy problem that makes good exercise when you’re bored. Listen to a podcast or something while you’re doing whatever trivial tasks they want; just make sure to alchemize wireless earbuds so they don’t see.

Practice your aspect powers. You can do cool things because you live in a fantasy world now! ...Says no player for a long, long time after they enter. The only way you can truly discover your limits is to test them. What does your aspect really mean, and how can you apply it? Go back to your base understanding, the one you began to think about when you first started exploring. Think outside the box and believe in yourself; your classpect is probably more flexible than you think. You have the potential for an infinite supply of party tricks.

Connect outside your session. If you’re reading this guide, you already know how to, in some way! However, there’s a lot more out there than wayward guides in the void. For instance, there are wayward guides in the void from other instances of the Game! I’m kidding, guides are the tip of the iceberg. Tumblr, for some reason, is one of the most reliable websites in the ring. (My url is enamoredencoding. Message me if you have game advice and I can either answer you or find someone who can!) Similarly, there are a handful of stable-to-various-degrees Discord chat rooms that you can connect to with Pesterchum until you get a better client. In the physical world, there are scattered player settlements and benevolent moving ships that are happy to accept people.

Get wasted. And no, not that kind of wasted. The term originates from the Waste class, which may or may not be present in your session, but anyone can become an honorary Waste! I can’t say very much about it, but I can ask you this: where is everything better than expected?

#sburb guide #posted from the lighthouse signal so hopefully it'll reach where it needs to

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mantrabay · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected

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notyetneedcoffee · 5 years ago

Text

Soul Seer Pt. 2

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: None this Chapter, but later

Author’s Note: Takes place right after Avengers 1, with time travel elements and hints of Infinity Wars. Does NOT follow cannon after Avengers.

* * *

The gentle caress of cool fingers against the back of your neck pulled you from a thick sleep full of dark images. You jerked upright, realizing you’d fallen dozed off at the table with your head on your crossed arms. Tony looked pissed. Rogers frowned and chewed his lower lip. Loki, on the other hand, looked on with worry while he rubbed your back.

“Sorry.” You tried to rub away the grogginess.

“She’s mentally exhausted. Allow me to put her into a dreamless sleep, then we may continue.”

“I think you’ve riffled around in her head enough, Loki.” Natasha grumbled.

“I just need a nap.”

“Her sleep will not be restorative, or peaceful, while her subconscious processes what she found in my mind. (Y/N) needs the dreamless sleep.” Loki insisted.

“Is that like an induced coma?” Rogers asked.

“No. She may wake as normal.”

“I don’t think so.” Tony shook his head. “(Y/N), I’ll have you taken to one of the guest rooms so you can sleep it off, but I you’re not cleared to go back to your apartment yet. You stay under guard for now.”

You were too tired to argue, and nodded. Loki, however, wasn’t so keen to be separated. “How about we move this entire gathering to one of your meeting rooms upstairs? There’s more space. (Y/N) could sleep on one of the sofas and you would have access to your precious AI through more than your phone.”

After a bit of negotiation, the entire band moved to a large conference room adjacent to the 74th story labs. It provided plenty of space, only one door and quarantine capabilities. Natasha, ever the practical one, also made sure food would be brought in.

You, however, didn’t last long enough to enjoy the shawarma take out.

Stark and Banner worked furiously at the wall interface as Loki briefed the group on the alien threat. Thor filled in a few blanks, sharing what knowledge he could that had reached the Asgardians. Widow and Hawkeye listening intently from the back wall, both uncomfortable and tense.

Loki paused and Stark took the opportunity to take several large bites of food. However, he only stopped talking because a tiny keening noises drew his attention. Cap was already turned toward the sofa. “She’s been balled up like that for a while now.”

“Allow me to stop the nightmares.” Loki insisted again.

“Stay the hell out of anyone else’s mind.” Barton grumbled.

“She’ll be okay.” Cap nodded, but he failed to sound convincing.

Loki continued his briefing, however his eyes remained on you. When your scream tore through the room, he was the only one not to jump. He moved so fast, no one could have stopped him. Loki gathered your thrashing, wailing form into his arms. Cool magic began to quiet the tremors in your limbs and reduce your cries.

The others lurched forward. Thor shouted “No!” At the same time, Loki hissed “stay back!”

He held you possessively, protectively, and snarled at the others with intense and violent intention should they attempt to separate you. A jolt of recognition hit Thor and he moved between his brother and his friends.

“Let him help her.”

“Thor!”

“I’m not standing here while he turns her mind to mush!” Tony barked, crowding the Thunder God.

“Come closer and I’ll show you what I can do, bindings or not.” Loki’s voice was murderous, but his hand soothed your sleeping form with infinite gentleness.

Your breath became calm, slow and deep. Loki lounged back onto the sofa and you curled close to him, resting your head low on his chest and an arm thrown over his lap. He tucked a throw pillow under your chin, and you sighed. His bound hands petted your hair. He did not look up at the others when he spoke.

“I owe her a debt. One I do not know if I can ever repay. Therefore she is mine to take care of. I will not hurt her. But know this, I will destroy anyone who keeps me from taking care of what’s mine.”

“Sounds,” Banner paused. “Nuts.”

Loki looked up, half amused.

Thor cleared his throat. “Brother, I know you mean what you say. Though, I’ve not seen such �� intense dedication – from you since Sleipner was a colt.”

“(Y/N) is not the same.” Loki rolled his eyes.

“Wasn’t Sleipner supposed to be one of your children?” Tony scoffed.

“Midgardian tales!” Thor threw his hands up. “No. He was an abandoned colt, eight-legged and skinny.”

“He was magnificent.” Loki grumbled.

“Father wanted to put him down immediately but Loki pleaded with Mother for his life. She intervened but Odin wouldn’t let any of the stable hands attend him. Loki had to do it himself. For a whole winter season, Sleipner struggled but Loki claimed him as his own assuring he prospered. By spring he was big and strong and faster than anyone had ever seen. Odin’s stable master dared to take a whip to Sleipner and Loki nearly beat the man to death. We were still children.”

“He turned out to be the strongest steed in Odin’s stables and the finest mount in Asgard.” A wistful smile touched Loki’s face. “The Allfather may have ridden him into battle, but he’ll always be mine.”

“And now you’re claiming (Y/N)?” Rogers scowled.

Loki did not answer, he only stared passively back.

You woke slowly, aware of the warm blanket tucked beneath your chin and the too tight clothes pinching in places. It also seemed as if something nasty crawled into your mouth and died. You tried to swallow the cotton mouth away. Opening your eyes, you quickly realized your were not where you fell asleep.

The bed faced a curtained window with a sliver of sunlight shining through. It was quiet, although you could hear large machinery far off in the distance. They must have moved you to a guest room. You felt better, a little like waking after taking a sleeping pill, but still rested.

You swallowed again and began to sit up.

“Where are you going?” The smooth rich voice surprised you. Loki leaned against the headboard, legs stretched out. In his unbound hands, he held a book.

“Bathroom.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement and went back to his reading.

Once alone and business taken care of, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Physically, you felt fine. However, you most definitely did not feel the same. The vastness, the sheet volume of information, from Loki’s mind left you overwhelmed. You felt altered.

When you stepped from the bathroom, Loki’s eyes rose from his book. You stared at one another for a long while. You could see the concern in his eyes, beneath that, regret. With a sigh you returned to the bed, sitting crossed legged facing him.

“So, what are they going to do?”

“They seem to have taken the information I’ve given them on Thanos seriously.” Loki set the book aside.

“I should hope so,” You frowned. “The Black Order are terrifying.”

Loki leaned a little closer. “What do you remember from my mind? How much did you retain?”

You shook your head ruefully. “I’m not certain. A fair amount, I think. There’s stuff I am still trying to put in order. I remember the recent – pains. There are also memories of your youth, your studies, and trickery. You really love a wicked prank.”

He gave you a crooked smile, but it faded immediately.

“I think I know how to read Asgardian and Vanir,” You realize with awe. “And alchemical mathematics.”

Loki’s brow furrowed even more.

“Will this last?” You asked.

“As long as any natural memory might.” Loki stood and began to pace the room. “It’s no wonder such exhaustion over took you. It could have killed you. A millennium of experiences flooded into your mortal mind.” He stopped, staring at you with an unidentifiable expression. “Why would you do that?”

Your promise to Stark, to the other Stark, kept you from speaking. In all likelihood the room was being monitored, and you were not about to vary from your story. “I just knew that I had to.”

“I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t.”

The silence stretched. You could tell he wanted to say more, but the words either would not surface or he too did not want to say them where others may hear.

A rumble from your stomach announced how hungry you were. “So, are we locked in here? Or can we go find some food?” You chuckled.

“I’m afraid we are, indeed, still incarcerated by Stark’s people. I would not allow them to separate us in case you awoke with ill effects.” Loki came around and lowered himself to sit beside you. “I will have them bring food. Is there anything else you require? I should have asked sooner. Are you in any pain?”

“Not pain, no.” You looked backed into his piercing green eyes. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

You watched a myriad of emotions dance across his eyes, although his face remained passive. Finally, he closed his eyes, whispering “I must.”

With blinding speed, Loki moved to the door.

Ignoring the quiet conversation, you moved to the window. It didn’t open, and you wished you could breathe in some fresh air. Still, you could see movement around the city. New Yorkers were quick to organize and take care of business. As Loki’s reflection appeared in the glass, you lifted your eyes somewhat mournfully.

Your lips moved, and you breathed words not even to the volume of a whisper. “There’s so much to talk about, but we’re being watched. Aren’t we?”

His chin dipped in acknowledgement. “They will bring food for you in a few minutes.” He said in his normal voice. “Be patient.” His whisper tickled your ear.

Not much later the door opened and Tony Stark sauntered in with a tray. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I had them whip up a bit of everything.”

You took a seat in front of platter holding several plates; a bacon cheeseburger and fries, an omelet with a side of avocado toast, salmon on a bed of greens, and a piece of chocolate cake. A glass of juice, a bottle of sparkling water and bloody mary with enough goodies to be a meal finished off the tray.

“Wow.” You popped the green bean from the blood mary into your mouth. “Thanks.”

“Looks like you’ve behaved yourself.” Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

Loki only shrugged. “I gave no indication I would do otherwise.”

“Except for throwing me out the window.”

The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched up. “Yes, there was that.”

“But” Stark rolled his eyes, “Your big bro keeps reminding me that was before-” he waved his hands randomly around “whatever this is.”

“Indeed.”

“Fury wants to lock you in body shackles and bury you under a hundred feet of concrete.” Tony scowled.

“I’m certain.” Loki slowly lowered himself to the chair opposite you, but remained facing Stark.

“Thor says you were under an outside influence.”

“That’s true.” You said before Loki could answer. He shot you a look, but you only took another bite of the omelet.

“Thor also says you’ve been known to cause some trouble.” Stark snagged a fry off the tray.

“It is my nature, after all.” Loki smiled and it carried an air of danger.

The fork paused halfway to your mouth, knowing that the enticing heat that wicked smile inflamed between your legs was probably not a healthy thing. Still, damn.

Tony cleared his throat and reached for your juice. “You gonna drink this?” You shook your head so he downed the glass. “Cap brought up a point that pissed the whole room off.”

“Truly? I have trouble imaging the good Captain angering his troops.” Loki tilted his head in mock shock.

“Imagine, he said, if we held Barton to what he did. Or if one of us fell under the same influence you had, would we be so quick to condemn?” The muscles in Tony’s jaw were working overtime. He even gripped the glass with white knuckles.

His feeling radiated off him in waves. He needed to be angry at Loki. Having him to blame was an imperative. Even the thought that somehow Loki was even partially a victim created such a storm of emotion in Stark that he was barely holding it together.

You placed your fork on the plate and dabbed your mouth with the napkin, moving slowly. Purposefully reaching for your calm center, you tried to project it towards Tony. “It would be so much easier if Loki were the purely maniacal villain. He’s right here, in your grasp. You could control the situation if that were the case.”

Loki opened his mouth, but paused and sat back.

Tony’s scowl hardened to the point of looking painful.

“I get it. Tony, you know that I mean it when I say that get what you’re feeling.” You sighed heavily. “But I’ve been in his head, and trust me, he’s a major pain the ass. Problem is…” the memory slid over you bringing bile to the back of your throat. “There’s someone way worse out there. Someone surrounded by evil. Loki is no choir boy. There’s centuries of troublemaking, but Loki is not evil. His nature, his own issues, were warped and amplified to turn him into a tool of destruction.”

You picked up the Bloody Mary and took a sip. “It would still be easier if you could just take out all your anger and pain out on him though, right?”

Tony barked out a bitter laugh. “Well the big guy got his turn.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed at you. “Are you attempting to help? I’m not certain I can tell.”

Both you and Tony laughed in earnest. It became a balm and you felt Tony begin to mentally unclench. Loki’s grumble of “happy you find me so amusing” inspired another round of giggles. By the time you turned back to your food, the emotions bouncing around the room felt far better.

“So,” You asked through half a mouth of food. “What’s going to happen to us?”

“That’s still being discussed. Loki is a question all on his own, but you managed to step in it when you went on the three hour cruise through his mind. You know too much now. We have to figure out what to do with you too.”

“I understand.”

“You’re being awfully calm about it all.” Tony’s brow arched.

“A little while ago I thought I would killed by aliens. Being held in a nice room, with pleasant company, and good food while any alternative other than death is being considered is a step up in my book.”

Loki smirked. “I am both admonished and flattered.”

“So you’re really okay?” Tony ignored him.

“No.” You answered honestly. “I’m not physically hurt or in danger. But I’m emotionally battered, and confused, and have things in my mind that I’m trying to sort out. There’s so much in my head right now, I’m really trying to stay focused on being present otherwise it would be overwhelming. I’m not sure how to deal with it.”

You felt the tears well in your eyes. “In all honesty, I would really like to have a thorough breakdown for a while, but I know we’re being watched.”

“(Y/N),” Tony crouched before you as a few tears escaped. “It’s totally normal…”

“Bullshit.” You bit off. “You telling me you would let S.H.I.E.L.D. watch you fall apart? You know as well as I do that all that video and audio would be used to claim I was unstable, or unreliable, or use it to commit me. So unless you want to turn the surveillance off, you can shove the sympathy up your ass.”

Loki scowled hard. Tony rocked back on his heels.

“You know I’m right.” You wiped away the tears, and turned back to the food even though all hunger was gone. “I get why you have to do it, Tony. I do.” You did not look at him again as he stood.

Loki got to his feet. “Are we done for now?”

“Yeah.”

The two of them moved to the door. Loki leaned a little closer and spoke quietly. “She will not be able to maintain for long. I assume by breakdown you mean a release of pent up emotions?”

Stark nodded.

“(Y/N) has absorbed a millennia of memories and emotion all at once. She needs my help to sort through them, but it will be…messy. Should she continue to lock down her mind as she is right now, it will break free in an uncontrolled and painful manner.”

Tony searched the God of Mischief’s eyes for sincerity. He nodded again and left.

#loki x reader #loki fic #loki fanfic

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primehorded · 4 years ago

Text

Biomechanical Horde

I came into watching She-Ra as someone pure and untainted by the old series. Everything I learned about the characters and the universe, I learned from this show, and I wanted to write a breakdown of all the is-he-a-robot-is-he-an-alien evidence we see from Hordak, his brothers, and Big Brother himself, Horde Prime. (IDK if it was in the original but - Big Brother is watching, big brother sees all...inch resting and not at all political. Insert eye emoji)

FIRST we meet Hordak. Hordak appears to be a humanoid of no specified race, sharing some attributes with other races depicted in the show, but having some characteristics reminiscent of a robot. He has hair, he has ears that move and reflect his moods, similar to Double Trouble and Catra in that regard.

He also seems to have some proponents that are distinctly unnatural-looking. There isn’t enough detailing to be quite sure - no metallic glint on his skull-shaped face, for instance. Yet his eyes very distinctly to glow with light, even in darkness, and he has markings on his face and neck that could be where plates of metal/whatever unnatural material might meet, seams between the different parts and pieces he is made up of. However, these neater lines that look like plate seams also flow neatly into curved lines indicative of more natural-looking facial features.

He has very sharply defined cheek-hollows the same darker grey as his neck - but also going into his ears, which do not seem mechanical.

Then we later start to get a better idea of what Hordak is, when Entrapta walks in on him changing (tee-hee). Here his unnaturally white skin seems to be changing color, affected by his declining health, the dark blue spreading like tissue damage. He also is physically frail and dependent on clothing engineered to hold him together and allow him to function. Also, he’s in a halter top here. You’re welcome.

After Entrapta nurses him back to consciousness, he admits to her that he is a clone, and reveals a series of pods where more clones seem to be growing. He says he was created with a defect, and cast out because of it. It is unclear if the clones are still growing or if they were failed experiments, but I’m leaning towards failed experiments. It is also not specified if Hordak was intending to clone himself in order to add to his army, or if he was trying to create a new body to somehow transfer his own consciousness into later. Horde Prime is shown to have gone through many vessels himself, and also states his brothers “lend their life force to him” so that he can live indefinitely. Considering how expendable Horde Prime’s “little brothers” are to him, it seems doubtful that he would even bother allowing them their own indefinite lives through some sort of life-force taking or vessel changing. There is a possibility that Hordak might know a little bit about how Horde Prime’s process of doing so works, seeing as he seemed to be a clone closer to Horde-Prime before his defect was discovered. We are not given any clear answers on this. (I tried to find a cap of Hordak’s attempted clones but typing in anything like “Hordak’s Clones” into the search engine didn’t work cuz, ya know)

The only creation he seems to have successfully cultivated is the imp, pictured above in the lower right-hand corner. The imp also seems to have some biological properties - ears, hair, even eyebrows, as well as a distinct nose shape and seemingly natural wings. Flesh wings. Not metal wings or whatever. I don’t like referring to stuff as “flesh” though, my overlord says it really blows my cover. The imp definitely has mechanical properties as well though - glowing eyes similar to Hordak’s and, most notably, the ability to kind of tape-record things he can hear. When he catches Catra sharing some secrets and brings them back to Hordak, he doesn’t repeat them as if remembered or even imitate them, but just opens his mouth for the duration, like to allow access to a speaker in the back of his throat, and a tinny voice-recording of Catra’s voice can be heard. He also uses this ability to mock Hordak, because he’s a little asshole. Otherwise, the Imp doesn’t speak, other than a few vague noises like hissing. Do we ever find out what happens to the imp? I feel like we don’t. Rip

Entrapta creates a new kind of suit for Hordak, this time built like an exoskeleton to allow him to move and function beyond the ability and energy his original body can give anymore. It functions like part of his body, but isn’t surgically connected to him or anything. At least, that we see. Entrapta do be a freak like that tho.

When we finally meet Horde Prime, he too seems to share a mix of biological and mechanical aspects. He has the same snow-white skin, with markings that could resemble creases between plates/materials. He also has glowing eyes, as do his other clones, but he has white pupils that show in any body he inhabits when he moves his control/consciousness, as he seems to be able to fluidly among his clones and anyone chipped.

He has a few attributes that his clones do NOT share. He has extra eyes on his right side, with pupils of their own that are often looking other directions. This is the only part of him that is not symmetrical, and all of his clones are created and dressed in symmetrical clothing and features. He also has metal finger attachments on his index-fingers, which is very sexy but seems to cover a finger rather than replace them.

The other attribute he has that none of his other clones bear is them GLORIOUS, GLORIOUS LOCS. I mean I’ve heard of cyber locks, but this is ridiculous. Bad joke. At the crown of his head, his hair appears white, the same as his skin and the hair on the heads of all of his clones. There appears to be two beads or sections, one on each side at the parts of his hair that frame his perfect evil face. Further down though, the pseudo-dreads turn a medium grey, and then are capped off with sharp tips that DO reflect light the same way metal drawn in the show does. So do the metal creases under the tops of his shoulders - cheeky off-the shoulder armor, or metal joint?

He also has the ability to travel in the hive-mind network of every chipped being (including his clones), and access information like a file. Entrapta later “hacks” it like a software. Can you uninstall Horde Prime? Does he have ad-blocker?

We also see him utilize an unspecified green liquid, a pool of which he uses to make Hordak “pure”. Hordak alights in sparks when he enters it, like a toaster in a bathtub. This obviously effects him though in a very natural physical way, crying out in pain, and Horde Prime remarks that his suffering is necessary for his purity. If he was just throwing some water on him to short out his mechanical processors for a HARD hard reboot, he wouldn’t have any reason to have this lime green pool of...whatever. And whatever this substance is, it’s important enough to be the only color in or on Prime Horde or any of his clones. I’m gunna call it Horde Juice. It’s not the quenchiest.

Back to the hair. His “hair” is kept back and tied out of the way for most of the time, except for in the finale, when we see it being used to kind of funnel the Horde Juice straight into his brainicals. Horde Prime’s hair tubes connect into his back, with a few pieces left down cuz he’s a stylish ho. Now you can see very clearly some of the locs are actually CLEAR TUBES that only appeared light grey against his dark grey (skin?) and now they are pulsing with Horde Juice. However, we can ALSO very clearly see that not every tendril of his hair is alight with The Juices, indicating that some part of his hair are just that - hair, like his clones. It also has lit up a technical looking pattern along some creases in his body. His arms, his neck. His boobs.

There isn’t really a good point I can end this on, other than to say I thought it was a really creative and interesting design that was incredibly effective. It’s not easy to make a universe make sense with advanced futuristic weaponry and also medieval fantasy magic. The amazing design of the characters, weapons, architecture, and fighting styles made it look seamless, and Hordak’s design in particular really lead well up to introducing an insanely high-tech spaceship full of mind-controlled clones, dropped into a world filled with and dependent on magic. This was a spotlight specifically on Hordak/Horde Prime’s...race? Race.

I’m really curious for more information about the universe, even though from what I’ve heard the new She-Ra has changed a lot and the old She-Ra didn’t much prioritize world-building specifics. If I learn some more looking some stuff up on this series as well as the old one, and anyone is interested, I’ll add a part two and link it below!

#Also the only reason I really noticed all of this stuff is because I’m working on a cosplay for Horde Prime which is NOT easy.#Horde Prime #SPOP #spop spoilers #hordak #imp #she-ra #she-ra spoilers

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hitchell-mope · 5 years ago

Text

(Film three. In Auradon. Bal’s apartments in the castle. After “best day of my life”. Mal’s in a pair of Ben’s boxer shorts and a doctor who T-shirt. Standing there)

Ben (looping his arms around her waist): hey

Mal: hey. How are you?

Ben: good. Good. And you

Mal: oh so much better now (she turns around) and is this all for me?

Ben: mmmmmmaybe?

Mal: well I greatly appreciate it whoa

(She’s turned around to get a better look at him. He’s, just like her. In boxers. Longish purple hair. And literally nothing else)

Mal: oooh I’m feeling very matchy matchy and very much mismatched

Ben: well there are two ways of remedying that. I could put a top on. OR. I could lock the door and soundproof the room and

Mal: lock the door I’ll soundproof

Ben (very happy): okay

Mal: oh my god!

(Under Ben’s shoulder blades are two jagged cuts from which are growing beating miniature mounds of flesh in a dark blue colour)

Ben: what’s wrong?

Mal: your back!

Ben: what! What is it. What’s wrong?

Mal: I. I. II don’t. Know. It looks like somethings growing out of your back

Doug (walking in briskly with Evie right begins): it’s probably dragon wings. The ember sped up the process I think

Mal: and how do you know that?

Doug: Hierachy And History: all levels of magic and their effects and uses. First edition illustrated.

Bal: can I?

Doug: yes you can borrow it. Hell. Keep it. I’ve got plenty

Mal: how do you know all this?

Doug: I uh bought literally every book about magic when you brought it back. Physical copies and on kindle

Mal: ohhhh. For a minute I thought you were mansplaining to us.

Evie: he’s not chad. He actually knows things. And why the hell aren’t you dressed?

Mal: well sis. We almost died a couple of hours ago so Ben and I were about to engage in a bit of glad to be alive

Evie: eww shut up

Mal: oh like you and Doug haven’t

Evie: that’s besides the point.

Mal: why are you here?

Evie: why do you think. Ben put a top on or something

Bal: no

Ben: I’m comfortable

Mal: I’m relaxed when he’s like this

(Evie sighs and looks defeated)

Doug: so what’s the plan

Mal: yeah about that. I’ve been thinking and I think I’ve connected the dots

Doug: oh?

Mal: yeah and it’s got to do with you and I sis

Evie (horrified): no

Mal: yah

Evie: no

Mal: yeah

Evie: nonono

Mal: yesyesyes

Evie: NO!

Mal: yes! Face it E we might be related

The boys: what?

Mal: think about it. Our mothers are the most self centred vainglorious batshit crazy bitches that side of the river Tiber. They would want the most powerful. Chernabog is a recluse and an altruist. The headless horseman has no mouth so can’t sing their praises. So all that’s left is the god of the dead

Evie: but I’m beautiful

Mal: and what am I. Corned beef?

Ben: I’d still marry you if you were corned beef if that helps

Mal: it does help surprisingly

Evie: but didn’t Maleficent say your dad was human?

Mal: villains lie E. That’s why I was always a disappointment

(Ben hugs her)

Adam (sauntering in like he owns the place): well isn’t that sweet.

Evie: what the hell are you doing here?

Adam: I’ve come to discuss the appalling situation that you let happen.

Mal: I’m sorry?

Adam: so you should be. Ben I have a plan. Put them all back and close it permanently

Doug: what

Adam: go back to the mine. It’s where you belong dwarf

Ben: ok you get out.

Adam: what?

Ben: you heard me. You’re not king. And you have no control over me my actions or my friends. So please. Get out

Adam: fine. But you should at least hear what happening since you had to have him save you

Doug: my names Doug but go on.

Adam: the people are in a panic. They’re terrified. If hades can escape others will try to. If you ask me

Bal and Devie: we didn’t

Adam: if you ask me I personally think it’s high time you do away with this ridiculous endeavour once and for all

Ben: no.

Adam: I wasn’t talking to you boy. I was talking to the future queen. Your people are scared. And even the poor are scared they lash out. Either way you’ll end up back where you cane from. You Carlos and the rest of the technicolour freaks that are destroying the property values that I painstakingly created. You are a “vk” are you not?

Mal: I’m not uh I uhm I don’t consider myself a vk anymore

Adam: then who? That is who you are right. Cradle to grave and all that rhetoric. Face it Mal. You are not an Auradon girl.

Elsa: oh you are so right beast. My daughter is not an Auradon girl. She’s the soon to be the queen of Auradon and isle AND she’s the princess of Arendelle. So that’s three titles to your zero. Meaning you’d do well to shut up

Adan: to what do I owe this...thing

Elsa: my daughter was hurt. So I’m checking on her. Like you should be doing for Ben. Or has belle finally ridding herself if you rendered you void of the most basic compassion for your son as well as everything else?

Adam: as I was saying. If my reasonable suggestion goes unheeded the people will rise up and there’s (a phone blasts out “backstreets back”) OH WHAT NOW!

Ben: it’s my cell phone. Doug would you be a dear and grav it for me

Doug: sure. But only if you put a top on?

Ben: I’ll think about it

(Doug snickers and answers the phone)

Doug: king Ben’s personal cell phone the major-domo speaking. Yes. Yes. Oh shit. Thank you for informing us (he hangs up) the wand, the spindle, Jafar’s staff and the magic mirror have been stolen from the museum

Bal, Elsa and Evie: what?

Mal: when?

Doug: two hours ago. There’s no security footage. The cameras were busted. Ten guards are dead. Two have had the hearts crushed. The rest were cut to pieces by glads shards

Adam: ok then. It’s decided. Round them up. I’ll get the trucks ready. We can have you and them all back by sundown

Elsa: you realise who you’re sounding like right now?

Adam: the only sane man. As it has been for years. Now Mal my dear. Your choice. Anarchy or order. Where’d she go

(Mal’s teleported away)

Evie: you poked the dragon.

Ben: I’ll go after. See if she’s ok

Elsa: no I will. This is a mother’s job

(She teleports after Mal and finds her in the dining room hyperventilating)

Mal: I can’t do it. I I can’t

(Elsa pulls her into a cool down hug)

Elsa: shhh shhh now. Don’t listen to him.

Mal: but he’s right. I’m going to be the queen. I should be thinking about these things. And ten people are dead. And some nutbag has some of the most powerful magical relics in existence

Elsa: but you still have the book and the sceptre. And the book. And if your hunch is correct. You’re half god. So

Mal: so, what?

Elsa: so...beast cannot lay a hand on you or Ben or anyone you care about. Not without your say so.

Mal: so what you’re saying is I hold all the cards

Elsa: essentially yes

Mal (weak laugh): why doesn’t that make me feel better

Elsa: because your upbringing had left you scarred and unable to make decisions that could impact people you care about

Mal: ... harsh but true

Elsa: listen

(This is when “brave” happens)

Mal: I can be brave. I can tell Adam where to stick it.

Elsa: I’ll supply the barge pole

Mal (cackling): please let me see that when it happens

Elsa: hmmmmm maybe

(Back in bal’s living room)

Evie: you’ve hated us all since the moment we arrived. You couldn’t stand the fact Ben chose my sister over the Hunan balloon animal you picked out.

Adam: sometimes the parent really does know best

Evie: said Gothel. Said Madame Mim. Said Jafar, Cruella, my mother, Yzma, Gaston, Maleficent and every single shitty parent we had to deal with over there. You’ve joined their ranks plain and simple

Adam: I am not one of them. You are. Upsetting the well defined status quo on a whim.

Ben: you were a bastard of a father and now you’re a bastard of a human being. The kingdom has me now. And I shan’t make the same mistakes errors and blatant crimes against humanity that you did

Adam: then you’ll be a disappointment as king.

Evie: oh for once in your life shut up and let others speak

Adam: PRETTY THINGS SHOULD SIT STILL AND REMAIN SILENT!

Evie: oh there’s my mother again. Doug honey did you know that she said that exact same thing to me when I stared talking?

Doug: oh my god I’m so sorry.

Evie: eh don’t be. I’m over it. Well mostly. But the fact that this idiot is saying it says plenty about his perceived moral superiority

Adam: if you can’t listen to reason I can always force you.

Evie: once again. My mother. Maleficent. Gaston. Jafar. Cruella. Mim. Medusa. Yzma. Hearts. Need I go on?

(In Ursula’s grotto Uma’s working on something)

V!Harry: what are you doing. Well. I know what you’re doing. I’m you. I’m just asking for the benefit of those out there

Uma: who?

Harry: nothing. Don’t worry.

Uma: ugh whatever. I’m working on an escape. If she thinks she can stop me she’s sorely mistaken

(This is when “speechless” happens)

(Mal bursts back in to the room)

Mal: alright here’s what’s going to happen. Ben, Evie you guys still wanna continue with the program?

Ben: yes

Evie: absolutely

Mal: then you do that. Because, Adam, we aren’t closing the barrier. You got that?

Adam: I really don’t think

Mal: I don’t care what you think. Nobody here cares what you think. You’re no longer king. Hence superfluous to the narrative. You’re nothing. The chain of command goes Ben, Doug, me, Evie

Evie: uh excuse me?

Doug: sorry hon. She’s right.

Ben: yeah. King, major-domo, queen, chancellor.

Evie: shit

Mal: so you can scream shout moan complain. But we’re not closing off the island. EVER!

Adam: you’ll regret this.

Mal: pretty sure we won’t.

(Adam stalks off)

Mal (immediately deflating): man I need a drink. Amethyst wine anyone?

Evie: do I even wanna know?

Mal: probably not.

Ben: it’s great. Just like the butter bars

(Evie turns green around the gills)

Doug: I’m probably gonna regret this but what’s in it

Mal: white wine. Vodka. A quarter pound of sugar. And it’s all mixed together with juiced violets. Hence the colour

Evie: that sounds disgusting.

Ben: oh it is. But we made it with magic so the potency is through the roof

Doug: meaning?

Ben: meaning it’ll get you blackout

Mal: shitfaced

Bal: blindingly drunk

Evie (forcing back a disgusted look): ahahaha. I’ll pass

Bal: suit yourself

(They commence drinking. In the isle chadeficent is looking on as Ursula goes belly up)

Chadeficent: need some help?

Ursula: my wretch of a daughter blew up my grotto and escaped with that mouth breathing pirate spawn. Of course I need help

(Chadeficent sends eerie magic hands, the exact type that ripped out Ariel’s voice, plucks out Ursula and drops her on the pier)

Ursula: now that that’s all settled. Who the hell are you

Chadeficent (now only using Maleficent’s voice): you tell me sea witch.

Ursula (unsurprised): you’ve literally never looked worse

Chadeficent (in Chad’s voice): hey watch it bitch!

Ursula: excuse me

Chadeficent (still in Chad’s voice): I mean seriously you look like a desaturated smurf.

Ursula (eyes glowing teal): Do you wanna say that again kid?

Chadeficent (in Maleficent’s voice): no he does not

Ursula (smirking): who’s body?

Chadeficent (both voices now): the son of Cinderella

Ursula: oooh a new meal?

Chadeficent: no. A tool (Maleficent’s voice) in more ways then one

Ursula: how’d you get here.

Chadeficent (both voices): the elongated horseless carriage

Ursula: so the limo

Chadeficent: yes.

Ursula (very much unimpressed): mhmm. Why are you back?

Chadeficent: I’m starting a coven. I assume you want in?

Ursula: eh what the hell. Wouldn’t be the first time we teamed up to ruin lives

Chadeficent: remember when we ruined for children’s lives simultaneously?

Ursula (mad): oh you mean that time my daughter was publicly humiliated and gained a dehumanising epithet all because your daughter acted out in anger at something the witches daughter did that left the freckled thing to be tortured by the furrier for a month?

Chadeficent: yes

Ursula (bark laughing): HA. Good times good times. So. What’s the plan

Chadeficent: we are going to break my daughter

Ursula: mind? Body? Soul? Spirit?

Chadeficent: all four

(In Auradon. Adam’s just sat down at the bar of a tavern)

Adam: double scotch on the rocks

Bartender: coming right up sir

Adam: never have kids Moliere

Bartender: my names not Moliere sir

Adam (not even listening): you raise them. You teach them. You impart your wisdom. Your values. And what do they do? Take a giant steaming shit on all you worked on and turn everything completely upside fucking down in the name of goddamn “progress”. Know what I’m saying?

Bartender: ohhhhkay?

(Adam gets off the stool and starts the jukebox. This is when “gold” starts.)

Bartender (very very scared now): sir. Your majesty are you ok?

Adam (pensively): no. No I’m not a majesty. Not anymore. Well. Not yet at least.

(He runs out of the tavern without paying)

Customer: what the hell was that all about?

Bartender: I don’t know. But I have a feeling little benny needs a warning.

#disney descendants #zendaya!mal

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uas-fics · 6 years ago

Text

Title: Kitty Kiss

Summary: Tweek’s a witch whose magic is wild, and Craig his boyfriend who he accidentally turned into a cat last year.

Rating: T

Ships: Creek

Other: This was actually a request by LonelyLesbianspizza on instagram from...October. ^^; It got lost under my messy files.

~~~~~

His professors must have a screw loose, that's the only explanation for assigning this much work over the holiday weekend.

Or, they just hate him.

Actually, that's probably it.

Tweek's professors just hate him. Given that he's accidentally set no less than three classrooms ablaze, that fact shouldn't come as a surprise to him.

Tweek scratched his scalp with his chewed down nails.

"How is that wrong?!" He muttered, flipping to the back of the book to double check. "Frog's sweat and carrot juice have always been a substitute for eye of newt. Why wouldn't it work here?"

Tweek slumped forward, scanning the answer glossary. As he read something about the effects of frog's sweat in potions containing nightshade, his familiar trotted up to his chair.

Craig looked at him for a long moment, eyes gleaming in the lamplight, before tensing his muscles and taking a leap.

He landed neatly on Tweek's shoulders. Tweek jumped, nearly bolting up and knocking the creature from his back. He caught himself and froze just in time when he heard a soft mewl.

Craig sprawled out over Tweek's warm shoulders, his head, and front paws dangling down his front on the left with his tail and hind legs on the right.

He purred against Tweek's neck as he nuzzled his nose against the fabric of his shoulder.

Tweek smiled softly. He reached up and began to scratch Craig behind the ears.

"Thanks, Craig," Tweek mumbled, feeling a little of his stress melt away.

"No problem, honey," Craig meowed. He gently headbutted Tweek's palm, forcing his boyfriend to pet his thick black fur.

Craig always knew when Tweek was overworking himself. He had long ago taken upon himself to make sure that Tweek took a break before he collapsed from exhaustion.

Craig had been especially diligent lately. He saw how Tweek threw himself into his school work. At one point, Craig had to take Tweek’s sleeve in his teeth and pull him to the kitchen to eat after a ten-hour cram session.

It was hard work, but Craig didn’t mind. How could he? Tweek put out all this effort for him, after all.

Tweek maneuvered so he could take Craig from around his shoulders into his arms. Holding the cat his chest, his pressed his nose into the warm fur. His fur smelled like pine again. Clearly, he’d been sleeping in Stripe’s cage again.

Craig purred louder, reaching up his front paws up in a fruitless attempt to wrap them around his shoulders like he used to do — before the accident.

Tweek felt his stomach twist.

Craig knew Tweek was a witch since the day they met. Craig had stopped by the Tweak family coffee shop with some friends and saw Tweek get egged on by his parents to perform some prestidigitation spells.

He also saw the magic backfire and a muffin turn a glowing neon green and then deflate like a balloon into a puddle of floury mush. Tweek’s magic was wild. A simple color change glamour might turn into garish glitter bomb. The most basic of levitation spells could send items through the roof into the stratosphere.

Tweek was a terrible witch. He knew it. His parents knew it. His teacher and friends knew it. Craig knew it, too, but he didn’t seem to care and still gave him his number on a napkin.

Of everyone, Craig was about the only person who ever truly still believed Tweek would ever get a handle on his hectic spell casting.

He was so sure of Tweek's control, that when he came across a spell in one of Tweek's textbooks (one about giving humans the ability to talk to animals), he had no qualms asking Tweek to perform it on him.

If only Tweek hadn't beefed the spell so bad. Talking with Stripe the guinea pig would have been loads of fun!

But Tweek did beef it. He beefed it so bad, and now his boyfriend was a magic, talking black cat.

"Craig," Tweek mumbled into his neck, "Why don't you hate me? I took your life from you."

Craig pressed his head under Tweek's chin. "It's not your fault. You tried to talk me out of it, but, no, I was too stubborn."

Tweek made a sound of uncertainty in the back of his throat. True, Craig hadn't backed down when Tweek started to get nervous while preparing the spell, but Tweek knew the spell was too difficult for him.

"Shouldn't matter." Tweek started to shake. "I've taken nearly a half a year from you, and probably even more before I can turn you back." He pulled him closer. Sobs started to crawl up his throat.

Craig scrambled back, flipping over himself and landing on all four paws atop Tweek's open textbook. A determined fired burned in his eyes.

"We're not going through this again, Tweek. I wanted you to cast the spell on me. I am at fault here, not you. Never you, ok? Jesus, Tweek." His tail lashed, knocking a pen to the floor.

Tweek shirked back, looking away. "But — "

"No buts." Craig cut in. He took a breath. The raised fur on his shoulders flatted back down. "Sorry, Tweek, but, I hate you blaming yourself for this. Besides, it's not that bad. I like being a cat. It's pretty sweet to be able to sleep anywhere I want. I can almost understand what Stripe is saying, sort of," he dragged his tongue along his paw, "and I don't need to waste time showering."

Tweek wrapped his arms around himself, shaking his head. "You couldn't finish getting your degree."

"Fuck school." Craig ran his paw over his ear.

Another 'but' pressed against Tweek's teeth. No matter what Craig claimed, guilt still gnawed at his stomach.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair Tweek was born with unstable magic. It wasn't fair Craig fell in love with him. It wasn’t fair Craig was a cat. None of it was fair.

Craig turned his head to the side. "You know, there is one thing we haven't tried to turn me back.” His ear flicked. “A way that doesn’t require you to cast any magic at all.”

"I told you, dude,” Tweek shook his head, “this is the kind of transformation magic that only the one who cast it can remove." Tweek slumped down. "I just have to buckle down and study harder. I have to cast the reverse spell, no one else."

Craig wrinkled up his nose at the mention of studying.

"No, I mean, we haven't tried 'true love's kiss'," Craig nodded sharply at Tweek. "True's love's kiss fixes everything in fairy tales."

Tweek chuckled. A smile played on his lips as he reached out to stroke Craig's side. Craig really was the best at calming him down when he overdid himself.

"The paper I wrote to get the scholarship to this school was how true love's kiss is bullshit magic. It's just a placebo." Tweek scratched under his chin with a smile. "Besides, how am I suppose to kiss you? You don't have lips, Mr. Kitty-Cat."

"Straight on the mouth," Craig explained as he ducked his head down before pushing it to Tweek’s palm. "It can't hurt to try, can it? Besides, I miss kissing you."

Tweek dropped his hand with a chuckle. "You know what? Alright. Let’s try it." He scooted his chair back so he could lean forward and look eye to eye with his boyfriend.

Craig's eyes glinted with delight. He straightened up, puffing out his chest. Tweek snorted a laugh as he leaned forward with his lips pucked. He felt like a child, giving an awkward kiss to his grandmother.

Craig leaned forward as well, gently tapping his kitty lips to Tweek's.

It wasn't a kiss like they had before — not even close — but Craig didn't dwell on that. Instead, he let the warm feeling of love and affection grow in his chest. It grew and expanded, filling every limb. It intertwined with the fibers of his muscles and within each strand of fur.

He raised his paw and pressed the pad against Tweek's cheek. A terrible kiss or not, he didn't want that feeling to ever leave, but it did. In its wake, Craig's body began to ache and feel heavy.

He winced back, sitting back on his legs before going to rub his elbows joints.

"C-Craig!" Tweek gasped, scrambling to his feet. His chair fell back with a clatter that didn't seem to be as loud as it should have been. Even standing, Tweek should have towered over Craig, but he didn't. Instead, he stood at the same height, eyes even with each other.

He reached out, then froze as his eyes landed on his very human hand, attached to his very human arm, and then his very human body.

"It worked..." Tweek's mouth gaped. "It worked?!"

Craig patted his furless chest and shoulders down before reaching up to feel his face. No whiskers, no cold nose. His ears were on the sides of his head and so very human.

He laughed breathy once, running his hands through his hair.

"It did! It really did! Holy--I was just trying to be romantic!" Craig scrambled off the table. After months of being on four legs, he’d forgotten how exactly one walked on two legs and stumbled. Tweek grabbed him, partly for support and partly to pull him into his arms.

He nuzzled against him. Tweek's chest felt tight with relief and happiness. Tears began to well up in his eyes. Sobs of joy hiccuped from his throat.

Craig laughed, wrapping his arms around Tweek. "Looks like you'll need to rewrite that paper, huh?"

"Fuck, I'll change my whole field of study for this!" He hugged him back, squeezing him a little too tightly around the chest.

But Craig didn't complain. Even if true loves kiss was a fluke and this was the result of Tweek's wild magic, he wouldn't ever complain.

#creek #sp creek #south park #tweek tweak #Craig Tucker #fanfiction #one-shot #witch tweek #request

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