#(one day you’ll see shadow puppet au—one day)

[crzyimp]

The Puppet

Cw: Cannibalism, gore, body horror, non consent touches, Dehumanizing

There is no comfort in this fic and dead dove do not eat. This is horror and dark.

Author note: I was inspired by @digitaldoeslmk au and their Macaque. And thank you Pardal for encouraging me to keep writing. There will be more stories to come with this character and their role in Pardal's au. Oh, and minors please don't read this, its not safe. Enjoy :3

The shadows wrapped around their joints, forcing them to move like a puppet on strings. They wince as they struggle against tendrils. Laughter erupts as the puppet master and spectators watch on, the shadowy tendrils coiling tighter and tighter. “What was your name again?” the puppeteer, the one controlling the shadows, and the one and only six ear Macaque ask. “Actually, it doesn’t matter now. Your new name is Puppet. An object for my enjoyment and whatever role I see fit for my shows.” He smiles as they helplessly struggle against his hold. Bending a finger, he watches as they bend backwards with a groan.  Just enough pain to course through without breaking.

The person now dubbed Puppet is watched by his spectators in awe, some with glee, but most with fear as they collapse onto the floor like their namesake when the strings are cut off. Macaque steps forward at Puppet’s feet, crouching and resting his head in one hand. “Shame you’re just average, but eh, you’ll make an okay vessel for one of these spirits.” Cocking a thumb behind his shoulder, he gives one look over at the human before standing back up.

The shadows swirl around him as the room darkens, the spectators, his followers, back away in fear. His once bandaged and mangle form twist into some large. Large enough to the point, he’s crouching with one hand on the ceiling and the other reaching forward at the body as a dark mass. The shadows reaching out to sap any life in reach. Those some of his follows avoid them as the ritual starts while others were, less unfortunate.

 The spirits, the demons without bodies, inch closer, each one ready to jump into the puppet’s body. They watch as his hand finally laid on top of puppet, pressing down on it and leaning forward. Macaque and the shadows diving into the its body through it, the opening the spirits were waiting for. All rush to be the first one to possess the body.

He ascend from the floor to stand once more at the puppet’s feet.  Its spirit weaken enough for one demon of his horde to take control. However, he stands there waiting. Waiting long enough with one foot tapping. He doesn’t need a repeat of a White Bone Demon incident happening again. He doesn’t have time or patience for that. Finally the body stirring and twitching to life. Subtle relief washes over him and his creaky body relaxes.

“Finally awake, now bow and state your name and allegiance to me.” Waving one hand at them while the other cover his yawn. Along with his half expose mouth, a bit of drool dripping on whoever inhabiting this body. The person in the puppet’s body looks up at him, eye widening and scuttling away from him. That wasn’t right, so it is another incident again. He sighs. “Come on,” he walks over and grabs the puppet’s ankle from moving any further. “I don’t have all day for this. Now give up and let one of these fellas take your body.” 

Macaque doesn’t wait for a response nor was he asking, instead he repeats the ritual again. Again and again and again, no one looking back at him, but the human. Only this average, weakling of a human. The sheer audacity of it to make him work for what he wants. How on earth haven’t any of the demons taken over?  He swore they were fighting to gain dominance. Either the demons are weaker than he thought or-

Oh, that’s the reason he realizes. He should have noticed it for the first time. Feeling his magic less strain and this rotting corpse of a body faring better than he had in weeks. This human life force is vast compared to all the others he fed on. If he had to compare it, it was like drinking water; a normal human’s was just a cup, but this one? It was like trying to drink the ocean through a straw. A toothy smile spreads wide on his mouth, oh he can’t believe how lucky he is. To find such a goldmine!

However, as his purple eyes rake at their form. Soft body and weak, it’s going to be work to mold them into his image.

Grabbing their head, Macaque digs his nails enough to draw blood. His teeth and fangs were on full display and in their face. Bits of his flesh and blood splatter on it cheeks. The revolting smell of meat left in the sun overwhelming enough to make it gag. “Congratulations Puppet! You get to live and keep this pathetic excuse of a body!”  

Their hands, so warm and soft, holding his wrist either to escape his hold or to give their head alleviated relief from the throbbing the pain. His new toy, his puppet breathing rapidly; its fingers digging into him and his digging further into it. Its body jolting at his voice and rotting breath fanning across its face. “We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I.” He hums with a closed smile, moving away from Puppet’s face. 

They hope that death comes quick and end this nightmare before whatever ‘fun’ Macaque has in mind.

~~

It never did, or that death forgot them somehow. One of the first of many things Macaque does once he squirrels them away was to shave their hair. Their once beauty brown curls, shaved as they stare at their reflection in the mirror. Stating that objects like them don’t need hair like him. With a sickening sweet tone. Then it was the way he refers to them. No, he didn’t refer to them as they, or she, or even he, but it; Macaque would even go further and make everyone refer to Puppet as it. Drilling in that they are just a puppet. Puppet, a name force on them and everyone around the mansion is content with that. He would never use their real name, even when they lashed out and scream it at the top of their lungs. That always results in punishments or training.

They despise the punishments and the training, but in their eye; it was the same. The only actual difference is that there is an audience. He always uses them as examples to keep everyone else in place, whatever mistake they made. He loves making a show how far he’ll push their body. Limbs torn off through brute force or slice. The training halls forever stained with their blood and the healers always on standby. At least they learned how to hold a sword properly during those times. Puppet gently brushes their bandaged up arm, feeling the indent as fingers brush by. Alone in their room and their thoughts.

 They recall the events that lead to that; them laying on the floor in a pool of their blood and him standing over them, bored after hours’ worth of sparring. They remember how he then smiled with his teeth, teeth that had previously bitten into their arm. Their own flesh torn off and now in his stomach. His tongue cleaning his partial lips and drool. “I think it’s time to give yo-“

The door slams open, ripping them away from memory lane. They hastily pull themselves off of the ground, leaning on the wall for support. Watching Macaque walk into the room with a plate of cooked meat. He stands in the middle of the room and holds out the plate to them. “Got you a little something.” They eye the plate suspiciously. “It’s not poisoned this time, I promised. This is actually going to help you, maybe make you brand new.” He gestures to their, broken, improperly healed body. “Now come on, eat it.” He takes a step forward and they press themselves against the wall.

“Puppet…” Golden eyes with a glint of purple narrowing at them, they quietly shake their head at him. Shame for Macaque after all these years that some part of Puppet is still defiant. He watches them huddle in their corner, watching him and the plate warily. He sighs and waves his free hand for a shadowy pedestal rise beside him and gently place the plate down on it. “Alright, open your mouth.” He breathes through his nose, a horrible whistling sound, and steps in to invade their space.

Their head slamming Into the wall, feeling warm and wet blood trickling down their neck before he leans into the kiss. Daze and reeling with fear, their mouth stays tightly shut. It didn’t stop him when their lips connect, or when his teeth grazed against them before holding their head and taking a bite. Searing pain as they struggle to push and claw him away. His cold body stealing their warmth and flesh. Macaque chewing audibly loud, pieces of what it once was, their lips with blood smeared over his mouth. “Better open that mouth unless you want to lose your teeth and tongue too.” The pedestal moves towards the two mingled bodies. He takes the meat calmly and chews it.

They thrash against him like a cornered animal, but it does nothing as the familiar tendrils hold their arms in place. Still the lash out of what’s to come, tears streaming down their face. Macaque, chewing carefully and purple hues glaring at them, his fingers digs into the gap of their mouth. Ignoring their screams and their teeth biting down on him; a warm tongue pushing against his fingers. Slowly, his fingers pry their mouth  open to him. 

Filling the whatever gap between them, Macaque presses his body against them  with a thud as their open mouth kiss again. One hand to keep them in place and the other to keep their jaw from biting down. They grunt and jerk as he uses his tongue to shove the meat into their mouth. The surprise giving him ample time to push it further in. He watches as they close their eyes and their body involuntarily swallow the meat down. 

He ends the kiss and leans his head away. “There! See, not poisoned like I said.” Moving the hand from their jaw to rest on their neck, now smeared with blood. “So, what do you think of the taste? Kinda like pork, right?” He waits patiently now, watching Puppet’s face form of surprise, to shock, and finally to horror. He couldn’t help but smile at them. “How’s the taste of Sun Wukong’s successor? Flavorful right? Come on Puppet, don’t disassociate on me. I wanna know what you think!”

They should be used to knowing the meat is coming from humans. They been forced and starved enough to eat it. But this, this was Sun Wukong’s successor. Whatever hope or redemption they thought they had was gone. There is no way they can be worth saving or asking for forgiveness. Not from this, not from eating a *Bodhisattva’s heir. The great sage’s next in line sucessor and reading the books already shows what happens when someone pisses that guy off. A limb shifts, reminding them that their and Macaque’s bodies are pressing uncomfortably together. He wanted an answer, they need to say something before they make things worse. Again. “I-“

They never got to finish their word, as Macaque uses both his mouth and hands to keep his promise. Ripping their tongue out with his mouth and yanking their teeth one by one. Pausing between each pull and making sure Puppet was conscious for each and every one.

He steps back, his hands on their shoulders as he admires his handy work. Mouth expose with missing lips, teeth, and tongue possibly choking on their own blood. He smiles and nod to himself. “Ah, if only you listened to me. None of this would have happen, but I am a man who keeps his word.” He watches as they struggle to breathe through the pain, eyes glazing and unfocused, but just to stop themselves from blacking out. For only a moment.

Then, finally, their body slumps and fall into his chest. Macaque sighs irritability, feeling his clothes soaking up the blood. Strong arms scooping his puppet’s body up and half drags them to the bed. Purple eyes boring into the body before ordering, “I expect you to be present once you wake up.” Wiping some of the blood off his mouth and clothes with his hands; and then wiping his hands clean via through Puppet’s clothes. He leaves them without a second glance with a satisfied smile.

~~

Soreness woke Puppet up, their back and neck stiff from the same position for who knows how long. Slowly using their arms to lifts them off the bed. A hand running over their face absentmindedly, fingers brushing over their dry crack lips. Their tongue moving past the teeth to wet their lips. Something doesn’t feel right, but can’t pinpoint it. It feels less cold in here too. They look about the room as they lay there.

Everything looks the same, besides the blood on the walls and floor in the corner. That wasn’t always there was it? Puppet jerks themselves to sit, muscles burning and pain waking them up faster. They stare at that spot, trying and willing to bring the memories to the forefront, but nothing. Blank. Nothing. Deep breath and exhaling through the nostrils, Puppet push themselves off the bed. Marching towards the door and grabbing their curved blade along the way. Their body felt wrong, they know it and the only one who’ll know what happened will be the one person they never want to ask. The halls echo when the door slammed against the walls and Puppet moving with intent, searching for Macaque.

Not in his usual spots in the vast manor and no one in sight to give his whereabouts, either. Their lips curl and their eyes narrow as they continue the search. Passing rooms and closed doors. Hand twitching and resting on the hilt, their mind trying and failing to recall what transpires. “Hey you! Yea, you new guy! Get over here!” Footsteps approaching from behind them. Though they kept moving, most avoid them and for good reason. The voice didn’t belong to anyone they know. It must be another recruit Macaque gets monthly. A hand grabs their shoulder and spins them around to face whoever.

A tiger demon tower over them wearing the same standard uniform as them. “I can’t believe you missed orientation! Come here, you’re going to the discipline room with me.” Puppet’s bare feet press firmly on to the ground when claws dig into their shoulders and try to drag them away. They don’t have time for this, especially with some newbie trying to act like their senior.  Either this tiger didn’t get the memo of what their capable of or really wanting to be a set of new clothes.

“Do you know who I am?” Puppet spoke lowly, their eyes staring up at the towering figure. Fingers flexing over the hilt it’s resting on. If it was when Puppet first arrived, they would’ve been terrified at the sight before them. Now though? This wasn’t even close compare to what Macaque puts them through daily over the years they spent with him.

The tiger snarl and bare his fangs at them before speaking, “Cocky shit, just cause you’re a monkey like the boss and that brat doesn’t mean shit. Stupid bastards like you need to learn your place here.” Puppet’s tense at that. Did he just refer them as a monkey?! That can’t be right, they’re human how-wait.

Now they remember. 

“Ah, there you are, puppet. I thought you were awake when I heard you.” Another voice spoke, one that cause both Puppet and the tiger to tense. The hall darkens and the tiger quickly kneels and his eyes on the ground. Shaking. A hand  extends cupping their face from behind, they see the tiger quivering in his spot. “Come on, Puppet, turn around and let me see you.” The tips of skeletal fingers pressing into their skin. A shiver runs down their spine. They obey obediently, feeling glowing eyes drinking in their discomfort as they turn. Macaque smiles at them admiringly.

Macaque whistles and says, “My, my, my, you look just like *him. I guess I’ll it slide you were out for an entire month.” Wait, they’ve been sleeping for an entire month?! “And look! Your brand new like I said. A brand new huma-ahem sorry, a brand new monkey. Oh puppet, you don’t know how happy I am. How many steps I can skip now for your opening act!” Puppet stood there frozen, their heartbeat drowning out his rambling. Feeling their hair, no, their fur standing on ends and everything is spinning. They hope this is all a nightmare and they’ll wake up; alone in their room with missing lips, tongue, and teeth. It would be better than this reality.

A squeeze on their shoulder reminds them that this is real. Oh, gods, it’s real and- “Puppet.”-what have they done in their past life to deserve this- “PUP-pet.”-oh Buddha plea- “Puppet.” Macaque is in their face with delight. Their eyes staring back at his and gasp at his eyes reflection.

[stressed-bird]

Do you ever think about how in Chinese Mythology the Six-Eared Macaque and the Macaque Spirit Demon King are equated to being more or less the same thing?

The Macaque Spirit being a member of the Seven Sages and the Sworn Demon Brothers alliance Sun Wu Kong had pre-jttw…

Well I do, because I’m just insane about the monkies and their mythology and angst, but I think I may be the only one that thinks this deeply about the kid’s cartoon and the mythology it’s based on.

Oh and I absolutely see two things as canon (though in actuality it’s headcanon) to LMK from this tangent:

1. Our Macaque is NOT the Macaque Spirit Demon King and I’m unsure an Macaque Spirit Demon King ever existed

2. Sun Wukong definitely showed DBK the most mercy as his former beloved sworn brother because he somehow led to either the disappearance or death of the rest of the Demon King alliance

(since in the JTTW novel, he fights the Lion Camel King which is one of the Seven Sages for stealing his and the gang’s weapons in their sleep and very few demons that cross SWK escape him alive so my explanation for why DBK is the only demon king we will ever see in the show is that the rest are dead)

… yes, the payoff to this post is that I have a Demon King AU where Macaque did somehow end up becoming the Macaque Spirit Demon King instead of the Six-Eared Macaque (he does still have six ears, it’s just not what he is known for and I just want my meow meow to live up to his jttw counterpart being canonically near identical to swk in strength as much as appearance)

((I cannot promise the AU masterpost any time soon though, unless I shirk all of my responsibilities to write it /lh))

[m0e-ru]

why did you give izanami nullity? is that even an actual arcana?

oh shit I never explained this at all here ever have i 🤯

short answer: no it’s not a real tarot, however it's somewhat derivative of The Fool and the reverse of The World (you get where this is going).

long answer sponsored by moel oil gas corp

It was all the way back when I started thinking of this au making it the first few things I ever thought about in the lens of gameplay and lore wise. I figured I’d follow how they implemented Adachi’s SL and mimic that-ish.

In the way that Social Links and Arcana are affected by the Velvet Room’s guest’s perception of their bond, the nature of the relationship itself etc etc. It’s what gives them strength and in P4’s context, helps bancho find the truth.

By definition “nullity” could mean “nothingness” “insignificance” “nonentity” “a thing of no importance or worth” where I just hoped it would be the opposite to “anybody” or “everything”

that being said if this social link was ever implemented into the game players would fucking hate it for how stupid volatile it is <- thought about gameplay

while it’s incredibly easy to garner points since whatever the fuck you say to their face wouldn’t really matter, the schedule is so intertwined with the story itself if you missed the dates to rank up one rank the whole social link would just be gone from your SL menu and it would’ve been like there was never an attendant to begin with

you keep the attendant part time job just . without the attendant. they even stop showing up when it rains they’re just fucking out of there they’re done with you

not only is there a strict schedule but also dumb prerequisites to each rank like initiating Justice or getting Jester to rank 3 not only do you have to worry about the day but if you’ve gotten those ready or not <- dumbass hypothetical game mechanics <- is the one that thought of the game mechanics

BUT if you do it all right and get it to rank 9 you’re technically fine and Yomotsu-Hirasaka becomes Yomotsu-Hirafuckedup and is worse than the Hollow Forest itself gamefaqs worst jrpg dungeon of the decade. If you choose the right dialogue options maybe you’ll a good bad ending where someone theoretically dies but it continues like the game’s True ending or maybe you get Nullity to rank 10 and it becomes the Universe and you get a special key to unlock episode izanami on persona four arena ultimax for free and the whole story completely diverges from there

moving the hypothetical gameplay aside, i make mim go through their own’s fool’s journey if you know a thing or two about the actual tarot. that makes three clowns and a judge at the gas station it’s a circus at that point (gave Namatame Adjustment tarot, Thoth equivalent of Justice)

while i also understand the weight of the World and Universe arcana in the Persona-verse itself i like to mess around and give mim the universe hehe (i am pulled off stage probably) i think it’d be cool to see another fool complete their journey and receive the world

i probably mentioned this 10000 times or never times on this gas station i don’t know but my plans for mim at least is that. well. they’re quite literally nothing

sure they’re a god sure they have a duty they have a face they have a name they have the power to manipulate the manifested world of a collective unconscious—but it’s anyone else’s bond with the attendant, it's the gas station attendant social link. nothing more than a role they play to put their plan into action. like acting as a manager for a bunch of amateur teenage show hosts or puppeteering Teddie’s poor Shadow or governing an entire reality

something meant to be disposable and forgettable—something empty. like a weirdly crocheted pouch you think you wouldn’t use and probably end up unraveling to reuse the yarn but you used it so much, put things in it, decorated it even, that there’s sentimental value to it now and you can just toss it out or unravel it anymore <- has been crocheting

that’s no longer nothingness that’s no longer nullity there’s essence and something and ego that yes maybe this bond will change dramatically from both parties’ view

[inb4belphienaps]

warnings: demon hunter au, monsterification (?), blood, gore, fighting (physical), death word count: 2028

Through the sounds of one man’s grunting and the clash of metal meeting hardened flesh, the ground of the forest shakes. Whatever birds had remained in the wake of the battlefield signal to one another (warning not just their own, but also the other inhabitants) that the current fight taking place could have devastating repercussions. More devastating than the smell of iron continuing to linger in the area.

As the earth shifts, flashes of bright light mingle with green smoke, creating a pool of fog that, were it privy to the eyes of outsiders, would hint at sorcery being afoot.

Magic holds its weight here in these lands. Depending on where your loyalties lie, you are either the hunter or the hunted. The former is normally trained in combat and taught to wield their powers as well as their swords. The latter, on the other hand, is feared, for the reasons that they are hunted are rooted deep in their very nature.

They go by many names – creatures of the dark, harbingers of evil, infernal bearers of sin. The list continues. And the stories grow. Generation after generation, children are taught to fear them. They are…demons. Children too in fact, of the King of Hell.

A royalty shrouded in mystery. The legend says that those who look upon his face never again see the light of day. And, since, no one has been able to confirm nor deny the numerous depictions of him, littering the books of those whose teeth chatter at the very mention of his title and covering the walls of the temples erected in honor of those who fight against him, he is better thought of as the very embodiment of your worst fears.

The soldiers are easier to motivate that way, more willing to be shaped into obedience. Whether that is seen as the mangled bodies of their loved ones or heard as the cries of the innocent, they are to never show mercy to the beings that do his bidding.

However, there are those who (baring the markings of a heretic), believe that these monsters were once human. That they sold their souls and gave into the darkness. That they were swayed by sweet words of promises unkept and in the end only saw suffering.

There are also those who, in the same manner, believe that these monsters take on the forms of humans. Either the humans they’ve converted or humans that they are to ravage, soon-to-be victims of a plague that cannot be cured or forgotten.

Dangerous thoughts like these are what make the difference between a good soldier and an immovable hunter. If there is doubt or a shadow of sympathy when facing these beasts, you may very well find your head removed from your body, and then, shortly after, consumed in its entirety.

(Yes...they feed on humans.)

Blood mars the surrounding trees and smothers the leaves, painting them an ugly copper. Where the dirt turns black, Simeon knows a struggle took place. How valiantly his brothers and sisters must have fought, he thinks. And how unsavory a death they must have met.

With this in mind, he steels his resolve and focuses all his energy into the magic materializing in his hands, imbuing it into his sword. He’d perfected his techniques. Trained until they’d become an extension of him and his will.

“Why”, the creature says, “they didn’t tell me they were saving the best ‘til last.”

Simeon neither flinches at nor acknowledges its voice. A voice that would otherwise send humans fleeing, pushes him to carry on, to increase his speed and thrust forwards with accuracy.

“But I suppose I should’ve known. The ones before you were far too weak to stand against me.”

He lunges, twisting half-way when he’s met with a swipe of a giant arm and a lash of a bright-green tail. Green. The color of evil. Green. The color of sin.

“They never had a chance.”

“Quit your blithering, monster. I have no intentions of hearing you speak.”

The creature smiles. Though its features are ghastly and covered with remains, Simeon can make out the ends of its mouth and how they curl upwards.

“You’ll have to cut out my tongue then, hunter.”

With each instance that their magics meet, the world around them becomes all the more obsolete. The serene landscape is instead transformed into an arena, of which only the strongest contender will leave from unscathed.

Simeon has hunted many of these puppets in his time. Cutting their strings and burning their shells, he’d gotten used to the smell of them. Except their appearance is another matter entirely. This creature that stands before him is a testament to that.

Its scales shine in the sunlight, like jewels beneath clear waters. Its limbs are strong and impressive. Its horns, like the antlers of a magnificent stag, demand his attention. Disregarding the loathing he feels; the creature is almost beautiful.

Almost.

He creates some distance between them, reconfiguring his stance and propelling himself off the scarped face of a mound of rocks piled atop one another just so.

The creature is quick to respond and close in on him, running on all fours at him head-first, like a raging bull. Its strides are far and wide, causing Simeon to abandon future attempts at discouraging close combat.

There is a menacing, contained kind of anger that permeates from the creature. He senses it every time its magic brushes against him be it the patches of exposed skin or his armor.  There’s a heat to it too. A hot measure of lethality that reminds him to be careful.

Demons are after all, tricky beings with a history of dabbling in the dark arts (necromancy was nothing to them). These are experienced fighters, unhinged and free to do as they please without their need for self-preservation or the need to maintain their dignity getting in the way.

The sheer force of their clash resounds, akin to a clap of thunder and the sparks that fly as its talons scrape against Simeon’s metal gives ode to the lightning that would normally accompany it.

When they part, following a further exchange of blows, Simeon is panting, and the creature seems excited by the notion.

“You are a creature of the dark. You take solace in the shadows, so you may attempt to flee from your sins but make no mistake, beast”, he hisses, jutting his chin out defiantly with a type of pride that the creature knew all too well, “I will have your head.”

The creature laughs and bares its fangs. Only…the hunter in front of him pictures how they’d glint on his neck, to serve both as a reminder and as a medal for his efforts.

Taking this monster down and fashioning his remains into something wearable? It was the least he could do for his companions who had sacrificed themselves and died fighting. Hell itself would have to freeze over before he’d admit defeat in any sense of the word so that their deaths would not have been in vain.

Suddenly, something splits in the air, the fractures dissipating in a myriad of pieces that could pass for shattered glass and Simeon is temporarily rendered immobile. His eyes widen, and he feels the creature within him. It was invading his mind.

Sentiments of nights spent practicing on his own and memories of harsh winters spent in front of crackling fires cause his shoulders to shake. There, amidst the confusion and horror, his friend’s cheerful visage startles him back into reality.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?”, the creature chides. “It’s dangerous to go looking for the dead.”

So, the creature knew his intentions. To find his friend and give him a proper burial. His friend, who was probably now disfigured beyond recognition, was waiting for Simeon to find him. He could feel it. His friend, the one who had been there to see him through the hardest times of his life, was calling to him.

“Silence”, Simeon spits, venom coating his demand as he hurtles daggers and magic alike at the looming silhouette shrouded in mist. Each one ricochets off of its hide, and he clenches his jaw. He wasn’t focusing hard enough.

“I’ll give you two seconds to prepare yourself”, it says.

The creature then comes to a standstill and Simeon feels the first inklings of dread. A sentence like that meant that he was either going to be met with a resistance he had no hopes of fathoming or it had a trump card up its sleeve – another nasty trick it could use to its advantage.

“One.”

Wind rustles the foliage above and carries his scent towards it. He tightens his grip on his trusty weapon and tilts his head to the side to crack his neck.

“Two.”

With inhuman speed, it leaps, first into the thickets, disappearing from view, then to his side, grabbing him by the scruff as he’s rendered helpless.

Simeon squirms, his sword doing little to better the situation, and he kicks at the creature’s torso. The dull sounds of his foot colliding with its build send a rush of panic through him. And then-

And then he is falling. And the creature is smiling, eyes narrowing in satisfaction as he looks down at the devastation tainting his features. The creature stands at the edge of the cliff, watching him descend into the abyss.

“What a shame”, it says. “You put up such a good fight, little hunter.”

As the creature turns his back, its ears twitch and it swivels around in disbelief. Was there a humming noise? A buzzing? A ringing in its ears?

It doesn’t have the chance to come to a conclusion. Simeon surges upwards from within the depths, colliding with its giant frame, and crushes it to the ground, with the same foot he’d used to kick it just moments before firmly planted on its chest.

“You…you have wings”, the creature whispers.

Simeon resists the urge to shiver. He hadn’t known he’d had them. He hadn’t known he was even capable of conjuring such things.

In its moment of weakness, he plunges his sword into its chest, watching the expression in its eyes change from bewilderment to indifference. Perhaps this was its way of dealing with death. Upon realizing that it too, like him, is capable of it, perhaps it resigned itself to its inevitable fate.

“What is your name, hunter?”, the creature rasps.

He hesitates. It is said that once a demon utters your name, you are forever cursed. And yet, with the outcome of the battle decided, he’s willing to take his chances.

“My name is Simeon.”

The creature nods once and sighs, as if vaguely fatigued.

“And what do they call you? Do your kind even have names?”

It snickers, and Simeon removes his sword, the severe movement causing it to stiffen and clutch at the fresh wound, talons covered in its own sanguineous substance. He feels no remorse or contrition at the pitiful sight, and he digs his sword in once more, eliciting a grunt. The creature assesses his hands – vigorous and seemly, and baring a ring too.

“Satan. That is my name.”

.

.

.

As the sun sets on the horizon and bathes the scenery in twilight, a shadow emerges from the edge of the forest close to the border. His clothes are ripped, and his blonde hair is covered in mud.

He stands, taking a deep breath in, and closes his eyes. When next he opens them, they glow a vibrant chartreuse – its yellow and green hues mixing together to create an uncanny image. The dust has settled and so has the blood running through his veins.

A body lies beneath his feet. Its uniform indicates that the man was once a solider. And as he turns him over, a familiar-looking ring falls out of the soldier’s pocket. He stoops down to pick it up and admires it in the low light.

Yes, those seemly hands and those crystalline irises that’d shown unwavering tenacity.

He will return. If only to cradle that hunter’s pretty little head in his hands.

[sunnysviolin]

Reading that one post it makes me imagine Mari comforting her Mob Husband when he had those nights where he feels horribly guilty about those three deaths.

Nonnie....I kinda went off with this ngl. I didn’t really stick to your prompt but like...I went off with this. Hero is my favorite character and I love him so much in this AU and if you want to resend this and get bulletpoints or something then aok but I think you’ll like what I have. I’m...obsessed with it ngl. I’ve been working on it all day long, and I think it’s not half bad. But also ummm Huge fucking TW on this one guys. 

TW: Death TW: Violence TW: Mafia TW: Knives

In his dreams, Hero always ends up back in that parlor. 

It was an opulent room, extravagant to the point of garish. There was a tall ceiling with a simply enormous chandelier hanging down. The tiny crystals glittered in the light, sending dancing shadows along the walls. Along one wall was a bar with a gleaming gold rim. It was gilded with real gold, Hero knew on instinct. He had become an expert in finding the truth since he had taken his place at Mari’s side. 

The only ordinary thing in the room was the knife. Just a straight butcher knife, polished clean. It sat on the table in front of the couch he sat at. Everything else was excellence, the best of the best. This one thing was average. The thing that Tommy “Hedonist” Barone was going to use to kill them was average. The irony would have been funny if it didn’t make Hero feel sick. 

Those are the things that stick out to him- the glittering chandelier, the glowing bar, and the knife. 

Hero knows it's a dream because he’s wearing his pajamas. Just a t-shirt and boxers, remarkably plain for everything in the room. That day he had been in a custom made suit, tailored to fit his exact frame. He had burned that suit, it no longer existed. It had been a beautiful thing, the fabric sinfully luxurious against his skin and light enough he barely noticed. Barone had apparently paid an italian seamstress thousands for each piece of the ensemble, just for the perfection of that night. Hero had hated every second of wearing it. 

He knows its a dream, but he’s still terrified. He’s still shaking as he sits on the too soft cushions of the couch and waits alone in this too big room. There’s no point in trying the doors, he knows that right outside wait two burly guards. They are the same people who marched him here from the cell they had been holding him in. The cell Tommy Barone had tortured him in. 

The cell where he had laughed about how he would kill Hero’s family. How he would rip apart his brothers, Aubrey, Mari, his father, even his mother though she had been dead for over a year. Over and over he had taunted Hero, cutting him and beating him and burning him, all in an effort to get him to scream. Hero had stayed silent. 

The human part of Hero wants him to run and hide or pick up the knife and prepare to go down fighting. Hero keeps himself still and straight. He is the consigliere of the most powerful crime syndicate in the world. His wife is Don Migliore, a legend. Tommy Barone was nothing. He would not be what made Hero break. If he was going to die, he would die, but he wouldn’t be turned into a puppet for Barone to use against his family. The door opposite the one he came in opened, and in walked the Hedonist. 

Tommy Barone was every stereotypical mobster- his greasy hair and his rotund belly. He hid himself under fancy shirts and fingers fat with rings, but Hero had known him most of his life. Hedonist was a slimeball who liked to pretend himself into being a capo. Hero hated that there was fear inside of him from this man, this pig of a man. 

“Well well. You shine like a jewel. I dare say you didn’t even look this nice at your wedding Henry!” Hedonist taunted, the words forever branded into Hero’s mind. He would remember the exact words said to him that night for the rest of his days. Hero loathed being called Henry. Only his mother had ever gotten away with it, but that didn’t matter to Barone. Hero shot a harsh glare towards Barone but kept his mouth shut. 

“Still not talking? And after all the trouble I went through to get you that suit.” Barone stepped further into the room and waddled his way over to the bar. He grabbed a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of amber, continuing to speak, “I have a little jewel myself- my own personal seamstress. Of course she lives in the old country, she would never want to leave, but I pay her well to be available whenever I need her. She handcrafts everything I wear. Isn’t her work magnificent?”

Hedonist turned from the bar and began to walk to the lounging area. He took a second to do a slow spin, turning to Hero with an expectant look. Hero bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A beat passed and Hedonist sighed, coming to sit on the couch directly opposite Hero. 

“I’m fine with continuing to talk if you don’t want to, Henry. You were always a bit quieter though. Your brother, what a chatterbox!” Hero couldn’t help the slight jump in his shoulders when Hedonist mentioned Kel. Barone noticed this and jumped on it, continuing to ramble like the pathetic old man he was, “Even when you two were little you were always teaching him when to be quiet. You should hear him on the phone when your little wifey is arranging your safe return to her. I offered to send them a little piece of you when she tried to say I didn’t have you. Ha I think they had to drag him kicking and screaming from the room,” 

Hero was going to kill him. Hero was going to fucking kill him. Barone had been a part of his father’s business, had watched him and Kel both grow up. Tommy Barone was one of his father’s bannermen, a staple of their organization, but Hero had never liked him. When Mari had taken over she and Hero had cleaned house. Hedonist had been one of the first to go, his methods too messy, his tastes too extravagant. Barone had always lived up to his nickname, and Mari hadn’t wanted to deal with his exorbitant costs. Hero didn’t see it as a waste, and now he knew it wasn’t. 

Barone took a long slow sip of his drink, appraising Hero who continued to stare him down. Hedonist was forced to look away first, and his congenial attitude quickly soured, small blue eyes blown wide in fury.

“You should blame her for this, you know. Your precious Mari. Your family used to be powerful, one of the greats.” Barone sneered, downing the drink and slamming the glass down next to the knife. Hero jumped, his hands trying to pull away from one another. When had he been bound? Weren’t they free only a minute ago? 

Hero looked down at the rope rubbing angry red bracelets onto his wrists. Barone was still going on, but Hero was able to ignore it in favor of looking down and trying to remember how he got this way. He had been forced to listen to Barone’s drabble on an endless loop for the three weeks since he had been taken from outside the Bakery. Hero couldn’t remember anything from before he got in this room, but he knew it had happened. He knew he had been taken, he knew what Tommy had done to him, but it all felt murky. The details existed, but they held no meaning. Barone, clearly done with being ignored, leaned up and grasped Hero’s shoulder, pulling him roughly forward. 

“Now look at you, heir to nothing but being a bitch for some uppity woman who calls herself a Don.” Hedonist leered. Hero shook the man’s hands off of him, leaning back as far as he could. There were a thousand and one things right on the edge of his tongue, but he held himself back. He had gotten this far, he just had to keep playing the game. 

Barone laughed at the boy’s fire, a twisted noise that Hero had always loathed. He had heard it more than he ever wanted in the last few weeks, as Tommy took his pleasure from doing everything he could to get him to buckle. Barone stood, walking towards the door Hero had come in. 

“I hope I do get to hear you scream eventually, Henry. Maybe when Mari gets here,” Hero couldn’t help his quiet gasp. His heart beat a thunderous pattern, sick both with longing and fear. His girl couldn’t come here, not near this monster. Not for him. Hedonist saw that he had gotten a crack, and he chuckled again, “She’s coming herself to get you tonight. Mistress was finally willing to pay the price for her lost puppy back. I told her to come alone, but I’m sure she won’t. I’ll get the satisfaction of wiping your whole miserable family off the planet. At least the last time she sees you, you’ll look perfect. Aside from a few bumps and bruises.”

Barone locked the door, and Hero’s head spun. Mari was coming for him. He knew she had been looking for him, he knew that they had sent her pictures of the damage they had done, humiliating photos that Hero hoped Mari had destroyed before anyone else saw. He knew Mari would eventually come, but now that the reality was at his doorstep, Hero felt his control beginning to slip. Hedonist turned back around and with slow sloping steps began to get closer. Hero was never more aware of the knife in the room, the same knife that had given him the injuries that were still healing all over his body. They pulsed with a familiar wave of pain, and Hero tried to define the exact moment he had gotten so hurt. He didn’t understand, he hadn’t been hurt before. But he had? This was a dream. This wasn’t real. Why did it feel so real?  Hedonist was speaking again.

“The silent treatment is getting boring kiddo, and you know what I’m like when I’m bored.” Hero knew. Hero knew all too well. He had the evidence written into his skin. Hero kept his mouth shut. Mari would be here soon. Mari would make everything okay. Mari would make sure that Tommy begged for mercy, and then she would deny him. 

“Just a few more minutes… actually, I think I’ll kill you now. I was going to kill Mari first, just to get you to finally do something, but it would be more fun to throw your corpse down in front of her and see her lose it.” Barone’s face contorted in glee at the thought, and Hero’s stomach bottomed out. A few more minutes. Mari was coming. Mari would be here soon. 

“You’re the reason she killed her daddy after all. So...maybe all of this is your fault then.” No that wasn’t their fault. That wasn’t Hero’s fault. That was Mari’s father. Mari’s father had made his choices, and forced their hand. Mari had killed him to protect Sunny, to save their families. It hadn’t just been for Hero. It couldn’t have been just for Hero. He couldn’t have been the reason behind everything. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Barone twisted the knife in his hands, throwing his final punch to Hero’s mind, “You’re the reason your family is nothing. You’re the reason your mother is dead.” 

Hero breath began to quicken, and Hedonist jerked him up by an arm, pressing the knife tip against his throat, tracing it almost lovingly against his pulse point. Hero was nearly hyperventilating, his eyes up, staring at the chandelier shaking. Was it the chandelier? It looked fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t a chandelier at all. This was a dream? Why were his palms sweating? Why was he so terrified? If it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t be like this. He would wake up. 

Please wake up. Please wake up.

“Any last words? Anything to say?” Even if Hero had any, he wouldn’t be able to speak. His mouth was a desert, his throat closed tight. There was no air. This wasn’t a dream. He was going to die. He was only eighteen, and he was about to have his throat slit by an ex-mobster in a parlor. They were using him to get to his wife. Hedonist was going to hurt his Mari. “How disappointing,” 

A series of gunshots tore through the air, throwing them both out of synch. Hero took the two seconds that afforded him. He slammed his bound hands into the side of Tommy Barone’s head, taking all of the rage he had been storing up in the last 24 days and unleashing it. Barone stumbled back and Hero surged forward. He grabbed the blade end of the knife, wincing in pain as it cut into his palms. Hedonist’s grip was loose from disorientation, and that was enough for Hero to wrench it away, spin it around, and thrust it deep into Tommy Barone’s stomach. 

All sound cut out. A high pitched whine was shrieking in his ears. The knife handle was sticky in his grip from the blood. 

Tommy looked at him, confused as a lost child. Hero ripped the knife out of the other man’s gut and buried it in the side of his throat, joined hands holding fast to the black plastic handle. Hot blood sticky and disgusting sprayed out, staining Hero with it. The fabulous suit that Tommy had commissioned was destroyed, ripped from their scuffle and forever marked with red. 

Hero pulled the knife out with a horrific squelching noise, and Tommy fell back. His pale fingers went up to his throat, trying to stem the bleeding. Sound cut back in, there were people yelling and shouting outside. Someone was banging on the door. Hero took two stumbling steps towards it, then paused. 

He was panting from exertion, the feeling of the suit and the blood curdling in his stomach, but he wasn’t done. Not yet. Not after what Barone had done to him. 

Hero turned back. Tommy was a lost cause, panic racing across his features as mortality flew towards him. Hero felt a cruel smile settling on his features, so unlike anything he had ever done before. His face felt like wax, molded and shaped by some unknown force. He practically slid over to where the dying Hedonist lay, tilting his head and staring down at the monster turned human. He stepped over the older man so one foot was on each side of him. 

“You’re going to kill my wife?” Hero’s voice was shredded after so many days of keeping from speaking, but he kept going. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, “Kill my family? You want to hear me scream?” 

Hero turned the knife so the point was directly above Barone’s heart. The man was making a horrific wheezing noise, and the stench of death hung in the air. Someone was rhythmically pounding against the door, clearly trying to break it. Hero ignored them. He had a job to do. He had to protect them from this monster. He had to do what had to be done 

Hero fell to his knees, drove the knife deep into Barone’s chest, opened his mouth, and screamed. 

Hero wakes up still screaming, the iron taste of Hedonist’s blood heavy on his tongue. He thrusts himself into a sitting position, pitching forward and letting his head smack down onto the mattress. A broken howl of agony heaved from his chest, and he continued to wail. His joined hands were pressed up against his chest, no longer bound to one another but stuck in the position all the same.  Hero’s voice gives out on the fourth cry, and Mari’s hands are cool on his back as she runs her fingers along his spine and hushes him. She is speaking to him in soft whispers. He can’t hear her words, but the smell of her shampoo is strong in his nose. She is here. She is safe. 

Hedonist is dead, his body burnt and ashes scattered in a dump. Hero is not bound, his injuries long scarred over. The horrible suit was destroyed. It was a dream. He was safe. He had saved his family. He had done what he had to, and it had broken him, but he had protected them. 

Hero continues to cry out silently until the sun rises pale in the sky.

[mihidecet]

Sbi&CO d&d AU: Eret Character Analysis

Hello everyone! I'm back and HYPED for a new character analysis! Today's character was requested by @pastel-star12 , and it's none other than the wonderful Eret! 

I do hope you'll enjoy, Eret was ,,,, quite hard to choose ahahah

So, without further ado! Eret is a wonderful individual and I love him very much. They're an incredible source of inspiration and she deserves all the love in the world because holy frick. The amount of support Eret deserves is unmeasurable. 

This said, I nearly lost my mind during this whole process.

Because the thing is, I am trying not to make every single person a bard, despite my initial instincts, simply because they're all incredible content creators. 

With Eret being a very charming person overall, I had to scrap bard Eret simply on the basis that I need some diversity ahahah

Eret strikes me as a pretty supportive person, what with the way they treat Tubbo, or her fundraiser for Scott, heck even his coming out counter?? So at first my heart was set on a cleric. Which was pretty cool. 

I like clerics, especially because they're not just the mainstream healer you expect to have in a fantasy game. Clerics can be hella beefy and they have so many different options for flavour and mechanics, so it was a cool thing to consider. 

But alas, clerics are a wisdom-based class. And in my heart Eret has always been charisma-based. 

In the end, the thing I settled on is a Paladin. Paladin Eret makes sense to me because of the regal connections we can always find related to them, mainly with his minecraft, and the fact that she is undoubtedly our Queen. 

I can see a paladin Eret with a shield and a rapier, and paladins need a moderate amount of charisma to cast spells, which goes well with my need to make Eret high in charisma. 

Now, as for their subclass. 

About a week ago, before the stream on the 16th, I was pretty confident with my choice for subclass, which was “Oath of Treachery”. Yes, it was partially due to Eret being the traitor on the Dream SMP, but not only. This subclass is to me a very good fit for a slightly more rogue paladin, since they have options for stealth, are able to create an illusion of themselves and generally a lot of spells centered around being sneaky and/or charming. 

BUT Eret’s getting a redemption arc, and the paladin’s “Oath of Redemption” is a super good option for a subclass. Not to mention that they also get Hold Person (the “turn your enemy into a puppet unable to move” spell) and Counterspell (the “ahah no you don’t” spell, aka the absolute sexiest spell of all). 

So, Oath of Redemption it is. Eret deserves it.

Regarding Eret’s origins, the first few times I discussed this topic with traitorous-bisexual they mentioned that it would be cool if we were able to keep the detail of Eret’s eyes being “different” as is the case for his minecraft skin. And as I was looking up options, I rediscovered Dragonmarks. These are, in d&d canon, physical representations of a draconic prophecy, which appear as birthmarks that look like tattoos (usually light blue, a bit like ice?) and are usually inherited from what I know. There are twelve main “families” of dragonmarks, all which grant different characteristics. 

In my head, Eret is a Mark of the Shadow Elf. He’s honestly always been an elf, because elves are neat, but mark of the shadow gives me the perfect chance to make him a badass with pure white eyes as a side effect of the mark. He also has some illusion based spells and charisma bonuses which makes it all fit very nicely.

Finally, you can’t have Eret and not make her a noble.

So, in summary:

Eret is born rich, in a family that is able to give him everything they need, the moment she needs it. Still, Eret grows up with the knowledge that the walls of their home will be all that she will ever see: the way his mark influenced his eyes will make them a target, it will be a source of scorn and fear for the people around her. 

With protective parents, what he is always told is that the world is full of people that will want to harm her. That is not quite what they learn, though. 

Ever a curious child, Eret can’t recount how many times they sneak out of the palace, venturing in the streets of his hometown with simple clothes they dirtied herself. After the first couple of times, armed with a pair of dark tinted glasses that his mother leaves by her bedside. 

And the escapades never diminish in number as they grow up, despite how many new responsibilities pile up in his day-to-day life. 

By the time Eret becomes of age, with the prospect of possibly having more restrictions and responsibilities, she decides to grant herself one last thing. 

He informs, with a letter left on their parents’ bedside table, that he will be leaving for a couple of months. 

They grant themselves one last adventure, one last thing just for herself. 

They pack their bags, and start his journey. She has a tournament to attend. 

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 30- Shadow Fox

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Doc, Zed, and Scar have made their way to the city of Foresta, deep in the forests where animals are going missing and the nightmares grow worse daily. Meeting with a local shepherd, they find allies in the most unusual ways.

____________________________________

“Oh, yeah, watch it with the Zhenniao, their spit burns like mad.” Zedaph crows as he 

pets the soft white feathers of a Caladrius, the two having a conversation about their favorite seeds. 

“Uh… is this thing supposed to have three legs?” Scar leaps back, narrowly avoiding the corvid. He laughs though, and preens the beast’s wing. 

“Yep! Yatagarasu are born with two legs, but the third one grows when they learn to fly!” Zed sets the Caladrius back. As much as he loved the insightful debate he held with the bird, it’s not the kind of help they need. Besides, it would bring as much attention as an alicanto. “What about it, you three legged birdy? Want to join our team? Phoebe can teach you all the best ways to get letters to us- and the best places to peck at the hermits to get them to wake up.” 

“I swear to god I don’t want to have to build another eye.” Doc sets the acid spitting bird down, and waits for Zedaph to respond. But the blond hermit was always having a thousand different conversations at once. On their way here, he had a whole horde of forest creatures following him. 

The city of Foresta was open, patches of grass and trees older than the kingdom sprouting between houses and wide streets. Between the throngs of people, creatures of all shapes and sizes wandered down the dirt paths. Satori swing from the horns of a chimaera, leaping over the massive bodies that create the baku. Birds of all shapes, sizes, and different heads fly through the high canopy, fluttering to stop on the stone tower of the postal office. It’s here where the hermits are searching for another carrier bird. Poor Phoebe can’t do all the work herself, especially with so many hermits off hunting down reports.

And that was the other reason they were in the city of Flora and Fauna. Sent here to discover the whereabouts of missing familiars and family beasts. Carrier birds, farm beasts, even a family’s own cerberus have gone missing in the past few months. While Doc had his suspicions of their fate, Scar and Zedaph wanted to confirm his beliefs. 

“Alright, so that’s two more feathery friends added to the family.” The Zhenniao jumps from Zed’s shoulder, pulling on a tassel of Scar’s outfit. 

“I’m sure Grian will make fast friends with them, he already has Phoebe wrapped around his finger.” Scar chuckles, holding the bird close. “But what about the missing familiars? Did you get any information on who we could speak to?” 

“Actually, yes. A very talkative pegasus told me that a few streets down is where a whole herd of shleep went berserk a few days back.” 

Doc doesn’t waste another second. Marching down the street, eyes set on the direction Zedaph pointed. His gaze so intimidating, even a brigade of baccas part to stay out of his way. With one bird holding onto Zed’s hair, and another clasping Scar’s elongated ear, the other two give chase, Zed yelling turns to the marching beast that is Doc. He only halts in his tracks when he hears Zed yell “Stop! We’re here!” 

Screeching to a halt, Doc is left standing in an open field, sunlight blazing on the bright grass. Dotted with white patches of flowers, the pasture is empty. Unlike the busy city, even the parks in Foresta, this moorland was empty. 

Mostly empty. A young boy, laying beside a three headed sheepdog, is weaving dandelions into a flower crown. One for each head of his friend, and one for his own. Doc trains his mismatched eyes on the boy, and makes his presence known. 

Unfortunately for Doc, his presence is impending at best, downright terrifying at worst. The boy opens his eyes, and squeaks like a mouse at the sight of the hermit. He curls up, hands raised. “Please, just take my money I don’t got anything else!” 

“I’m not here to rob you.” Doc growls, rolling his eyes. Years of being a hardened criminal never really fades off his face. “Are you the shepherd?” 

“I’m sorry the shleep have been acting up lately! I don’t know how to make the nightmares stop, they’re still alarmed from the attack the other night.” The cerberus nuzzles one head beneath the boy’s arms, while the other two growl at the intruders. 

Until Zed steps up, a smile and a soft cooing voice turning one head from foe to friend. All it takes is one scratch of the ear, and he’s got the sheepdog wrapped around his finger. “That’s actually why we’re here. We came to help.” 

The boy lifts his head, looking at the unusual troupe. Two innocent, smiling faces surround the hardlined scowl of the hybrid hermit. Scar nudges Doc in the stomach, and the puppeteer sits to his knees. Looking much less impending when he’s not towering over the shepherd. “We heard that some unusual things have been happening in Foresta. Familiars going missing, pets getting lost left and right. Do you know anything of what’s causing that?” 

“What’s your name, kiddo?” Scar chuckles, plopping down next to the shepherd and beginning to weave his own flower crown. 

“I-Isaac.” He twists a blade of grass in between his fingers. “I...yeah, yeah I’ve seen a lot of it happen. When you’re a shleep herder, you see all manner of things happen in the night. But no one believes the boy who cries chupacabra. Or bakunawa, or ‘oh gods the neighbor’s cactus cat is suddenly an ash monster’!” 

“We’ll believe you. We came here just to hear those stories.” Scar chuckles. He looks over, and sees Doc’s expression start to soften, and the puppeteer reaches out to help Isaac finish the knot of his flower crown. Doc hates to admit it, but they all know he’s very good with kids. When he’s not being a hardass. “What have you seen?” 

“I...I’ve seen these critters, sneaking through the streets at night. All kinds of critters, actually, but...different from the normal. They look like they’re falling apart, like a cherry tree’s bark.” He runs his hands over his arms, attempting to find flakes of his own skin as proof. “They scare the shleep every night, and disappear into the city. And then I see more, and more. They drag other critters out of their homes and barns, and turn them into more flake monsters.” 

“Husks.” Doc whispers, his suspicions confirmed. Dark magic has even made it into the depths of the Evernight forest. But Isaac is hardly listening. Like any child, he has more story to tell. 

“The other night, those flake critters went after my herd. A chupacabra. But...I thought they never went after shleep! Shleep aren’t tasty- I don’t think so, at least. They’re all cosmic wool and gristle.” 

“Husks aren’t exactly looking for a tasty meal.” Zed whispers, “They’re looking for magic, and shleep are full of them.” He would know, he was once a shleep farmer when he was young. It’s how he honed his magic. 

“They come every night, stealing more critters. Soon, all that will be left is shleep causing nightmares and those husky things.” Isaac shakes his head. “Foresta won’t be much fun without all the critters here.” 

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Us hermits are here to stop it.” Scar announces, grinning and tossing his short brown locks of hair over his shoulder. Trying to look as heroic as he sounds. 

The shepherd giggles. “Hermits? But you aren’t alone, you can’t be a hermit!” 

“Ask Hypno why we’re named that.” Doc laughs as well, even though he knows the story full well, it’s still funny every time someone points it out. “Don’t worry, kid. By the time we’re done here, you’ll all be having sweet dreams again.” 

“You’re the coolest bad guy ever.” Isaac whispers, and places the flower crown on Doc’s tangled mess of hair. 

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

He refuses to take it off. Even as the sun falls and the city goes quiet, only nocturnal creatures lurking among the streets, he keeps his flower crown secure on his head. All three hermits watch the ruminants bleat and make their way around the town, cosmic wool spinning with stars and galaxies, entire worlds for their fur promising night rest. Wisps of the shleep’s fleece dance into the damp, warm air of Foresta. But it’s dancing in the air that the soft mist turns to harsh dust, slipping through open windows and under closed doors. Delivering nightmares to the people. 

In the distance, Scar frowns at the sound of someone crying. Waking up from the bad dream. It’s not the poor shleep’s fault, they can’t control their own magic. They’re just sleep sheep, it’s the husks that have them all bothered. If the hermits can stop the husks, the shleep can be happy again and the entire city can finally get a good night’s rest. 

Doc waves to Isaac, walking out with the last shleep from the pasture. Zedaph opens his eyes, blinking away the embers of magic. Oddly enough he feels the desire to chew grass now. The shleep are scared. Scared of the creatures that lurk in the dark, bodies lacking souls or even life. Just corpses- husks- forced to move by dark magic. One ram told Zed they were never afraid of the creatures of the night, their fellow nocturnal beasts, until that chupacabra turned on them. 

Doc and Zed share a quiet conversation about the information they’ve gathered, and Scar lays back in the grass. Watching leaves shadow the sky above him, stars twinkling in the same way they glimmered on the shleep’s coat. The distant titter of dyads among the trees, the soft hoots from various birds in the post office sound like music to Scar’s ears, and he closes his eyes to bask in the quiet night. Hunting dark magic isn’t that bad, if it leads to quiet, serene moments as well as exciting action. He feels himself dozing off, figuring that Doc or Zed will keep an eye out for some creepy dark beast. 

He’s alone. Sitting up in a dark alleyway, the sound of yelling echoing from his parents’ silk shop. Something warm pools on his cheek, burning along his very namesake, mixing with saltwater. Scar raises a hand to try  and staunch the blood, and discovers his hand is covered in mud, adorned with gemstone rings of gold. 

“You’re not a farm boy, Forest.” The words spit out in his father’s voice, but the lips that speak them are none other than the Magistrate’s. “Stop playing in dirt, this magic of yours is a disgrace as it is. You’re going to ruin the family image. And you’re clothes.” 

“But I like my magic.” Scar whispers, turning his hand over. The mud changes color, dripping through his fingers into pools of blood. 

“You should have let your magic wither away, or better yet- give it to me.” Dolios grabs Scar’s wrist, dragging him into darkness.

Dragging him from his nightmare. But while Dolios was a dream, something tugging on his wrist was very real. Scar leaps to his feet, retreating from the creature that is pulling his bag from his clutches. “Hey, no that’s my stuff! My snacks!” 

Scar stumbles to his feet, kicking Doc on the way up. “What the hell Scar?” 

He doesn’t look back, chasing after the black furred monster. As dark as a husk, with white glowing eyes and all. He can’t see the creature’s form, just the illumination of white light from it’s eyes, Scar’s purple bag swinging from it’s mouth. He needs to catch up, get his stuff back. Rather than scooting around a fallen tree, he makes the ground rise from beneath him, flinging him over with a much less graceful landing. “Get back here you little cretin!” 

Behind Scar, Doc and Zedaph stumble through the forest. Tripping over roots and twisting their ankles in holes, they lose sight of the terraformer as moonlight is engulfed by the trees of the Evernight forest. The only light is the soft glow of bioluminescent mushrooms, moss, and leaves. At the interface between Foresta and the Evernight, the glow was indistinguishable. But Zed knows the deeper they go, the brighter the bioluminescence should get. 

But it never brightens. He continues to get caught in roots, eyes never finding enough light to see where he’s going. A stone halts Zed’s forward momentum, and he tumbles to the ground. “How can Scar keep up such a pace?” 

“Because he’s Scar, how does he do half the things he does?” Doc sighs, collapsing to his ass and looking around. The darkness of the forest is endless, leaves stitched together to be a roof that blocks out all light from the sky. He toes a mushroom, watching the fungi glow weakly. Shouldn’t it be brighter this far in? 

“Oh, Doc, look!” Zed slaps Doc on the shoulder, harder than he realizes, pointing in the direction opposite of where Scar went running.

“What, I can’t see shit.” Doc growls. 

“Perytons!” Zed crawls forward, light appearing under one arm. “They can help us, we just have to make friends with them! They’re very skittish cre-” 

In one swift motion, Doc casts his magic. In one blink, he’s watching Zedaph crawl through the mossy floor, the next he’s grazing on a nearby tree branch. The Peryton gave almost no resistance, and now Doc can control the beast. See through it’s night-adjusted eyes. Lo and behold, Zedaph looks stupid no matter what eyes are watching him. Zedaph sits up, pouting. “Well that’s no fun.” 

Doc can’t answer him, not while he’s in control of the Peryton. Stepping his hooved feet over Zedaph and fluttering iridescent green wings, he takes care of his own body standing still as a stone. One eye remains glassy, as if looking through a lens, but the red oculus of his other eye has disappeared completely. He can see the glow in the metal of his arm emanating from the deer creature, as he picks up his body with his rack of antlers and places it on his feathery back. 

By the time Doc has cared for his vulnerable physical form, Zedaph has cast his own spell. Such similar results, but completely different magic. Zedaph shepherded the mind of the creature into helping him- Doc just took full control. Either way, the two are able to follow the direction that Scar disappeared. Deeper into the forest, away from the city. 

Zedaph notices that the bioluminescent of the Evernight Forest is missing, no matter how deep they go. The darkness remains, clinging to the branches and bark like a tapestry slung across the forest. He’s not even sure where Scar could be at this point- this wilderness expands on for thousands of hectares. 

Until he hears the spluttering mix of a laugh and a whimper, the noise so uniquely Scar that both Doc and Zed turn in the direction it arose from. Even through the eyes of the Peryton, it becomes almost impossible to see around them, darkness consuming everything around them. 

Because that’s what it is. Returning to his own body, Doc stumbles to his feet and rushes to light up a torch. A few paces ahead of him, Sca has trapped himself in a bramble bush, a tiny shadow fox dangling his bag just barely out of his reach. “Come on little guy, I’m sorry I mistook you for a husk. You’re cute, I promise! It’s just with your eyes and coat, you looked like a darkness monster.” 

“Need some help, or have you learned from Zed?” Doc snickers, pulling Scar from his thorny trap by the collar. The shadow fox chirps, ears turning to the side in joyful mischief. It approaches the hermits, dropping Scar’s bag at his feet. Glowing eyes, bright as sunshine, cast the shadow that creates the fox’s body. Zedaph can’t help but reach down to pet the shadow creature either way. 

“She guided us here. To...this.” Scar whispers, feeling the tension on his body already. The weight in his lungs, watching the light from the fox’s eyes and Doc’s torch be consumed by the black cluster of crystal. 

“This is what’s making the husks in Foresta. Just like in Gildara, it’s draining the forest.” All of the light, Limal’s creation with the goddess of death, vanishing as Dolios’s thirst for power drains the forest of life. Doc shakes his head. “We can’t let it continue. Scar, why don’t you…” 

Scar is gone again. Disappeared from between Zed and Doc, though not as far gone as before. Just a short distance away. Being attacked by another creature. This one, however, isn’t aiming for Scar’s bag like the thieving fox. 

It’s aiming for his throat, naked tail and matted fur thrashing and foam snarling from scraggly teeth. But unlike the shadow fox, the monster’s body is flaking and breaking apart with each movement, tufts of fur turning to smoke and ash. Zedaph sighs, more tired than before. “Great, now we got a ROUS to deal with as well as a creepy crystal.” 

“Massive rat first, please!” Scar cries, snapping his boots up and digging the spurs into the massive beast’s stomach. He rolls away, gnarled roots and dirt barricading him and the ROUS. 

Doc and Zed look at each other, then the ROUS before them, the darkness-crazed animal clawing through the barrier. It has a taste of Scar’s flesh, and he tastes sweet. Alive. Neither of their magic can work. There’s no soul to shepherd. Dark magic is already controlling the ROUS. They have to resort to another method. 

A much more combative, cutthroat method. One that Doc knows well. Grabbing the bone handle of his knife, dark metal and nicked, toothed edges of kaber blade pulling free of old leather. “Scar, can you try to pin it down?” 

“I'll add it to the list.” A startled squeak harmonizes with the viscous growl. The muzzle of the ROUS reels back, spittle glistening and falling from ivory white blades, and snaps. Scar rolls out of the way and slams his hands down on the ground once he’s been freed. The dirt erodes into sand and water, a pit of quicksand opening it’s maw beneath their feet. Scar scrabbles backwards, the mud water attempting to pull him in as well, gasping for air. With another wave of his hand, the ground resolidifies. The naked hands and feet of the enormous rodent are trapped in solid ground. 

Doc wastes no time. Freeing the body of the ROUS from the claws of darkness, his blade cuts through the empty body like he’s cutting fabric. The darkened for withers away into dust, and Zedaph kicks it away from the pile for good measure. 

The three boys sit on the silent, blighted forest floor. Ignoring the angry crystal, or the darkness consuming around them. Scar is panting like he ran a mile, Zedaph petting the soft shade ears of the fox that led them there, and Doc twirling his own knife. They just need a moment, a second to recollect themselves. Doc looks at his blade, forged in False’s fires. No matter what, no matter how strong a mage can be, sometimes they have to resort to the same tools as every other person. “Alright, enough sitting down. Let's put this crystal to ruin and let Isaac and his shleep finally get some peace.”

[aki-draws-things]

When I call things bad ideas I mean they’re probably very bad. So behold, a new AU where the Sunshot Campaign failed and Wen Ruohan is a merciful man. Or so he calls himself.

They had lost. That was the first, biggest knowledge every sect received, big or small they all knew. They had lost the war. But knowing it was different than walking through the guarded streets, through fields they won for a moment, heavily and closely watched by disciples dressed in the white and red of the wen sect. But they had lost and wen ruohan had won and now he had invited them all to a banquet, one month after the sunshot campaign proved to be a failure. 

The leader of the campaign, the man, the General who rallied them to fight was gone, probably, almost likely dead, Lan xichen said, his voice pained, trembling just slightly. He knew of his plan to face wen ruohan directly, he knew when he left, in the dead of the night, he watched him go and hoped, prayed, to see him return, victorious. Or at least alive. His prayers fell to deaf ears of forgotten and now loudly cursed Gods. 

But not everyone knew nie mingjue to the same extent lan xichen did. Of course many respected him as a leader and a warrior, they saw his valor and his strength. They heard of the loyalty he inspired in his people, something, somehow, every nie leader did despite everything else. But most leaders didn't know the man. And so voices ran through the fields and the disciples, from sect to sect, gossips that had no business on a battlefield in the dawn of a defeat. Some people said he ran away, scared by the power and the strength of their enemy. Some people blamed him of leading them all to a certain death just for a revenge lasted for too long. And slowly gossips became bigger and louder and people forgot the way he held his ground against the puppets wen ruohan was sending against them, how he protected as much as he could the people fighting by his side and those that couldn't fight in the villages. People remembered instead a man angry and vengenful, crying for wen ruohan's head for a father who had been too weak to survive. 

People failed to see the flaws in their own words, they failed to hear the soft, honey-like voice slipping said words in their minds and on their tongues. When they notices it would be too late. It already was too late. 

We ruohan had won. Sitting in his palace, on the stone throne in the main hall he waited for the fellow sect leaders and their retinue to show up with the promise of forgiveness and a banquet. Because wen ruohan was a merciful man, all they had to do was to lower their heads and ask for his forgiveness, nothing more complicate. Of course, those who refused-- oh, but no one would refuse such a merciful request, they would be such fools to even think of it. And so he waited. 

"come here." he said, voice low, almost sweet, holding a hand to the side and waiting for a man to limp slowly next to him. He took a hand, thin and cold, and pulled him closer until he stumbled against the side of the throne, one step below, and fell to his knees. 

"we're having a banquet tonight, remember? - the softness in his voice was like ice. Or poison. The man nodded, his hair fell messily over the red robe. - of course you do, you're so good and observant. I want you to be presentable to the banquet, you don't want to disappoint me, right? Not in front of all of them, right?"

The man shook his head fast, never looking up, causing himself a burst of vertigo at the movement. 

"this servant would never. Master wen is so kind to allow this servant to partecipate." his breath got caught in his throat the instant wen ruohan's hand touched his face but he didn't flinch, he learned not to, fast enough. 

"behave as I taught you and you'll even be rewarded." his thumb moved over chapped lips and he opened his mouth just slightly before being pushed back with enough strength to make him thimble, a signal for him to leave and get ready before the banquet as instructed. Bowing deeply he left the room, his eyes never leaving the sight of the dark stones of the floor. 

Nie mingjue sometimes wished he was dead. He wished the tortures in the Fire Palace had broken him beyond repair. He wished wen ruohan had gotten tired of his weaknesses and threw him away in the streets to die. Or that he would kill him directly with a single strike of his sword. But men like nie mingjue rarely got what they wished for, he learned it as fast as he learned everything else. He had once wished for his father to heal, and he had died just a couple of months after. He wished for his people and disciples to be safe, and Qinghe had burned in a starless night. He wished to avenge his father's death, he planned carefully every move, and he had lost anyway. He wished-- but men like him weren't allowed to wish. 

There was a reason wen ruohan wasn't killing him, and he knew it. He took his eldest son's life, the put his head on a pike in front of the gates for everyone to know his strength. Wen ruohan, in his madness, in his power-drunk mind, was a patient man, he knew the meaning of a long, carefully plotted revenge. He would have revenge for his son in his own times and terms. After all, nie mingjue reflected as he mechanically put his hair up and hold them in place with a fire shaped headpiece, they weren't so different in that. Perhaps, in a year from that day, wen ruohan would get tired of him and finally kill him.

The banquet had already started when a servant led him inside the hall from a back door, he hoped people wouldn't notice him, he hoped wen ruohan had forgotten he decided to have him by his side, he hoped-- he didn't really want to be left in the shadows. Shadows in the night less city had life of their own and nie mingjue learned to fear them. But no shadow ever dared to step too close to wen ruohan, and if we ruohan kept him close enough then he too would be safe. 

"oh, here you are, my dear." 

He bowed, strands of hair falling in front of him, a hand took his and dragged him closer. He heard some gasps, soft whispers raising from the hall and their guests. 

"don't speak as you eat in presence of Master wen." he wanted to say, a rule he learned the moment he had been let out of the fire palace and led at his side. But he remained silent, kneeling next to the throne, a hand resting on the armrest, his mind trained to shut out every sound around him but the voice of his lord. - after all Qinghe was gone, burned to ashes with its people. He didn't have a sect anymore, nor people he could lead or that would come for him. He only had qishan. - 

"are you not hungry, my dear?" 

He looked up suddenly, fast, his eyes wide, the dark circles under them hidden with powder. He stared at the round bit wen ruohan held between fingers, expecting, he could feel the hall falling silent, holding their breaths, he could feel lan Xichen's eyes set on him in a mute shock. He smiled. His eyes softened, he had learned, and the shadow creeping right behind him retreated. He was safe. 

"I apologize, my lord. This one got distracted by all the guests coming to greet Master wen." 

He pushed himself up, closer, both hands now on the throne armrest and taking the bit in his mouth. 

"I forgot how shy you are in front of people, but don't worry, as my spouse, you'll get used fast to it." 

Strangely enough, nie mingjue smiled, leaning in the touch over his head. When he turned to face the guests who had promptly resumed their eating and soft whispers his eyes gleamed red. 

[the-last-of-a-dreamers-world]

GENYA AU *audible gulp* WINTER AND THE WOLF

Midwinter at the Butterfly Estate was quite the sight. Icicles hanging off the pagoda, glistening in the peeking sunlight causing rainbows to dance atop the little pond below. The courtyard resembled that of the well powdered, unblemished face of a young woman. The snow was left unbothered, or it had been, until a boy trudged through it with purpose, right up to the mansion.

His clothes were in tatters, but they were in still better condition than his face. Bloodied from the scars all over it. One eye swollen shut while the other startled the helpers of the estate, enough to keep them from questioning his intent.

"Stay away from the demon," one of the older girls pulled the younger ones aside.

The boy's remaining eye swivelled in the direction of the comment, crimson and throbbing, it settled on the girl as if daring her to speak further.

"Who the heck are you?" Sanemi walked into the hallway, eyeing the newcomer with disdain.

The boy smiled while still looking at the girl, causing the younger ones around her to whimper in fear.

"My senses were right after all. You're here,…"

He turned around to face Sanemi, and the Wind Hashira's face crumpled when he lay eyes on his face.

..Nemi."

"Ge…Genya..?!"

"Sanemi-sama! Kiyotsukette!!"

But Sanemi had drowned in a white noise at the sight of his little brother. Who no more bore any resemblance to the young lad he had left behind after he took up the sword. Rage was seething off of him, dark veins bulging out on one side of his body. Crimson eyed, fanged and partly clawed. He was demon poisoned.

"Genya, who-"

"I didn't come here to talk, Nichan!! I came here to fight! SO FIGHT ME!"

"TEME! WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHO MADE YOU COME HERE?!"

"MADE ME??? HAH! I PASSED THE FINAL SELECTION, AND CAME HERE AS A DEMON SLAYER."

He wiped spittle off his robe and continued. Sanemi was a mere foot away now, the both of them looming over each other in their frenzy.

"I thought once I got announced a Demon Slayer, it would feel different. That I would feel….different. Hmph! Guess not. Probably since I began killing demons long before it."

"So why are you HERE?!" Sanemi drew his sword, while Genya remained as he was. Head cocked to one side, watching his elder brother.

"If you've come to let me kill you, I will. I won't think twice. I'm a demon slayer, and you're," Sanemi paused, breath heaving as he attempted to make up his mind.

"A demon? Hahaha, yes Nemi. I'm a demon. A demon YOU created."

Genya lashed out, quicker than anybody expected, even Sanemi, who simply stood there with the sword in his hand, disbelieving and torn.

Right when his claws were about to make contact with Sanemi's face, he fainted. His body fell limp, to the floor, like a puppet cut of its strings.

Sanemi watched his brother's disfigured person lying so helplessly. So similar, yet so different to the little boy that used to be.

He turned to the girl who was crouched next to Genya, a hand on his back.

"You're some use after all, _Noroi_ ."

The girl didn't hear him. She didnt even acknowledge him, or any of them for that matter.

Sanemi stalked past her bucking form, while she tried her best to stay conscious. The others watched as her mouth stretched in a silent cry and her fingers turned to claws and back again. For a moment inbetween, her breath caught as if she'd never take another again. But her hold on the boy's robe never flailed.

"Genya….I….I'm….so..rry."

Genya woke up in a narrow bed with no memory of what had happened. And no one would tell him either. They would have if he could threaten them, but none of them would come to his room while he was awake.

Genya stayed in bed for two days trying to analyse the situation he had been in. He was sure he had felt someone's hand on his back right before he fainted. With the demon blood that had been coursing through him earlier, his senses had been extra sharp. If whatever action the person had taken had been delayed by a few seconds, Genya would have sliced them in two.

What did that person do to him? Whatever it was, it hadn't weakened him in any way. Even the after-taste of the demon poisoning was treating him better than usual.

On the third day, a sleeping Genya was carried away just as dawn broke. People who saw, only noticed a mountain of a man strolling across the courtyard of the main mansion with a bundle across his arms.

Genya turned in his sleep, trying to find a more comfortable position and fell on his nose to the wooden floor. He jerked awake coming face to face, with a blind man towering over him, hands templed in prayer. He reached for his guns, that weren't there, out of habit.

"Calm, Genya. There's no danger for you here."

And he was calm. He was never calm. Turning in the direction of the voice, he could make out the silhouette of a man among the faint shadows of the porch.

"Thankyou, Himejima. You may leave now." The Hashira bowed once, and walked off the courtyard.

"You must excuse me for the rude transportation, Genya. But we couldn't find a volunteer to escort you here, while you were conscious."

The voice came closer, and Genya got a look at his face. He immediately kneeled, head bowing in respect.

"Oyakata-sama."

"It appears you know of me, Genya. Just as I know of you."

His ears pricked, but he didnt shift from his stance.

"Its quite the talent you've developed. Rather a survivor's tactic, I'd say. Tell me, Genya. Did you really want to become a Demon Slayer?"

Genya weighed between speaking the truth and speaking the right thing. His mother had taught him better so he went with the truth.

"I became a Demon Slayer because I knew it was the only way I could be with my brother. Forgive me, Oyakata-sama, for I know I've offended the tradition."

Genya bowed deep, head resting on the wooden floor, his palms pressed alongside it.

"Sit up, Genya." He obeyed. Oyakata-sama was smiling, but that didn't help his nervousness. Genya had arrived here knowing what he might face. His brother's wrath. Expulsion as a demon Slayer. He even considered the possibility of extermination, right now.

"There's someone else here, apart from your brother, that you used to hold dear."

Genya furrowed his brows. He remembered no one else. All these years, the only thoughts that he let into his mind were of his brother and his dead family.

"She stays in the butterfly estate as well. More or less," the master smiled to himself. "Find her, Genya. I believe she needs you. Perhaps, more than you might need her."

Genya left the main mansion, his head a mess. She, he had said. Need someone? He had never needed a soul in the last 8 years of struggling through life. Now this man assumed he was in need of a GIRL?! His anger was returning once again, a slumbering foe. But somehow, it didnt consume him. He seemed more in control of it.

It had begun to snow lightly. He looked up, opening his mouth a bit, tasting the air. The Butterfly estate was a few steps away, but then he tasted something else. Away from the direction of the estate. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Cinnamon?

He followed the peculiar tang down a road that led to a set of steps. There was a frozen lake at the end of it. As Genya stood at the top, deliberating his next choice when he perceived two things.

One, was the squealing of a pig along with the voice of a girl. The second was, the presence of a demon.

He had no weapon in hand. But then he remembered, he groped for the thread around his neck. He tugged it out of his clothes, relieved to see the tiny bottle still fastened to the end of it. He raced in the direction of the demon, allowing his sense of taste of the air around to guide him.

The demon heard him coming and was facing away from its former prey even before Genya came to stop before it.

"My, I guess this village doesn't have special protections after all." He ripped the bottle of the thread, flicking the cork off the mouth of it.

"Leave!! My food!!" Genya realized that it was a rabid one. No demon or person, in their senses, dared to come near the Village. Even if they did, they wouldn't be targeting stray prey.

"Well why don't you have a taste of me instead?" He tilted the bottle into his mouth, emptying it of its contents. A little dark red trail glistened by the side of his mouth. Genya opened his mouth to lick it up, and his canines began to lengthen.

The Demon watched with puzzlement as his fingers turned clawed and his irises matched it's own.

"Demon?!"

"No, I'm a far worse Monster."

Ukiyo had heard the demon as well. But she couldn't move. What was worse, was she could feel her fingers slipping.

"Kaoru, stop moving!!"

But the frightened, and fat piglet wouldn't listen. The presence of a demon wasn't helping. He kept splashing around, occasionally his hooves would hit the sides of the caved in hole, and few more cracks would appear in the ice around them.

"Ka-o-ruuuuu," Ukiyo desperately tried to find a spot in the ice to grip, but slipped once more. She could feel the cracks appear below her abdomen now. Any minute now, they would…

"What are you trying to do, freeze the pig??"

A tall shadow fell upon her. She strained to look, but the person appeared to be behind her.

Ukiyo couldn't see a face, and she could still sense the demon. Kaoru had start to fidget even more, squealing louder, when the shadow appeared.

"You kill us and the entire village will know. You'll never leave here alive, Demon." Ukiyo put as much bravado into her voice as was possible in her position.

"Walk AWAY!" The exertion from her voice put pressure on the cracks below her and she heard a loud one break. Kaoru was nearly foaming at the mouth now.

"Thick headed pig." She heard the person grumble and saw the shadow get smaller and smaller until she sensed someone crouch next to her.

Hands closed over her own and over Kaoru's hooves.

"Let go of the pig. Trust me." Ukiyo looked up then, and her hands loosened of their own.

"What the?! I wasn't expecting you to let go that easy!" Kaoru nearly sank but he had caught a single hoof just before the pig could fall.

"Genya-kun?! You're supposed to be in bed!"

"Funny. I actually remember you now." He tugged her pig out, still hung by the hooves and careful not to put anymore pressure onto the fragile ice.

"I would apologise, but your Pig's gonna be fine. Okay?"

"What-" Before she could ask, he had flung Kaoru towards land. The pig's screams ended with an soft oomf.

"Wow. He landed well. Must be all that fat."

Ukiyo still hadn't gotten past his statement about remembering her. So he had forgotten her?

She moved to raise her body, but the ice groaned under her.

"Baka! Don't move!" He was standing right infront of her now. Just across the circle through which Kaoru had fallen.

He crouched and grabbed both her wrists, but she couldn't feel his hands. Her arms had gone numb from staying dunked in the water.

"Keep your body loose. I'm going to pull you towards me. Do ya hear?!"

Ukiyo managed a nod, too afraid to move anymore. Genya made a testing tug and the ice protested.

"Kuso!" he cussed. "We're gonna gave to risk dislocating your arms then." His crimson eyes glinted mischievously, as if he were challenged.

Ukiyo closed her eyes. If the ice cracked, they would both fall. It didn't matter if only her arms were tugged off. She calmed her breathing, allowing her body to relax.

"Genya, pull!"

And he did. One minute she was lying over the freezing pond, and the next she was in his arms.

They were both breathing heavily. Their heartbeats and chests moving erratically against each other. The ice hadn't given, but it wouldn't stay that way too long.

"Come on, we need to move."

Ukiyo wanted to. She wanted to move away from the cold, but all she did was faint in his arms.

Ukiyo jerked awake and clutched at the closest thing she could find, for a sense of security.

"Erm, let go. Ukiyo."

"What?"

That's when she noticed. She had grabbed the lapel of Genya's collar, tugging him closer. She was breathing right into his neck. But..how?

Genya had her huddled under his own coat, a small fire glowing infront of them.

"Had to make sure you hadn't frozen over. Taking you all the way would have been too long. So, get warm for a while."

Ukiyo obeyed. Their shoulders were pressed against each other, and he had an arm behind them, careful not to brush her.

"How did you find me?"

Genya sniffed. Ukiyo remained staring at the fire, just like him, waiting for a reply.

"Cinnamon. Your…flavour. It was in the air."

Ukiyo's eyes widened, and she unconsciously tugged the coat a tad bit closer.

"And you just knew it was me?"

"Your pig was squealing too. So I figured it was either a demon trying to eat a pig or, well."

The two of them didn't say anything for a while.

"How long does the demon poisoning last?"

Genya looked over surprised. Out of all the things she could have asked him, she chose that.

She turned to face him as well, becoming aware of how close they were seated.

His demonic features had started to recede. Only his eyes and teeth remained, canines peeking through as he spoke.

"Not long now." He grumbled, turning away when he saw her observe him.

Ukiyo braved a chance, and grabbed his chin lightly and made him face her again.

"I'm not scared, Genya. I'm just asking."

The surprise was all over his face. And Ukiyo realised with a pang, that probably no one had told him that before.

"Why?" His voice sounded hoarse, but he didnt move away.

"Because I can help." He frowned in question.

"You said you remembered me. Does that mean you still trust me? Just like all those years ago?" Ukiyo expected him to hesitate a little, or probably look away.

"Yes." Her mouth parted, taken aback, but then she smiled and moved forward, taking his face in her palms.

He looked like the boy he used to be, then. Curious, a little nervous.

"I'm sorry, but this will help." And she closed the space between them, and kissed him.

It was a faint brush and she could feel his canines under his lips. She hadn't expected him to respond but he did. Immediately and earnestly. The arm behind them snaked around her, pulling her closer. His canines grazed her lower lip and she whimpered against his mouth. She could only revel in the moment for a few seconds before the poison bled into her.

The canines were hers now and her eyes fluttered open. So did Genya's. When he noticed the changes occurring in her, he pulled away.

"Yuki!!! Yukiyo!!! What's happening?!"

But she couldn't hear him. She spasmed in his arms, the canines expanding and withdrawing, until they were back to normal. Along with her eyes, which reverted to a glossy shade of blue.

"Wake up! Wake up, damn it!" Genya had her pulled against him and was trying to rub some warmth into her.

"You called me Yuki. Yukiyo."

"Baka!! Douhshita?!!" Ukiyo reached up and held his face.

"Do you remember? That snow day?"

He opened his mouth, about to demand for an answer but he seemed to change his mind. His eyes softened, searching her face, looking for some kind of warning sign. When he realised she was fine, he replied.

"The day I sniffed you out, from all the snow you were buried under?"

That made her laugh, and Genya was glad to see a little light enter her eyes again.

"Pfft, you didnt sniff ME out. You sniffed out the meat I was holding."

"Hmm. Maybe. Maybe it was the Cinnamon mixed scent that got me curious."

Ukiyi grinned at the memory. What a distant memory it had been, still was. But talking to him about it, made it seem like a ray of hope.

"Ookami."

"Yukimusume."(snow girl)

"My! I'm shocked, Shinazugawa-san. You remember that name?!"

Genya smiled and Ukiyo's heart lurched against her chest. God, how she had missed him. He was her entire childhood until that fated day when his family was taken away from him. She lost him along with them that day.

"I can't believe you're here, Genya."

He raised an eyebrow in defiance.

"Don't you know? 雪の降るところに,オオカミはついてくる。" (yukino furu tokoroni ōkamiwa tsuitekuru) (Where Winter goes, the Wolf follows. Although the exact translation would be snow. But it sounds better like this so!)"

"Koõ-kun.." This time Genya pulled her in for a kiss. It wasn't anything like when he'd claimed her lips earlier. He took his time, letting his lips talk to hers. Caress hers. He cupped her face with one hand, holding her body close with the other. It was like he was apologising to her. She grabbed the nape of his neck, letting her fingers play with his hair. She wanted him to know it was okay, and just how much she had missed him.

He pulled away with a sigh, and did something unexpected. He booped his nose against hers, and nuzzled the side of her face. It made her giggle.

"I missed you too, Yukiyo." He traced the outline of her lips, slowly and then suddenly pecked them. Ukiyo laughed again, startled at how playful he had suddenly gotten.

"We should leave, Genya. It's getting cold." She didnt want to. Not really. But she had to go find Kaoru, who she hoped had the sense to wander back to the village.

"You mean go somewhere warmer and continue? Sure." He scooped her up before she could pretend to deny it.

"But before that, there's a lot you need to tell me about. Like what happened to you earlier." His eyes roamed her face once again, concerned.

She nodded. She'd tell him everything. They had all the time.

Her Koõ-kun had returned. She would and could protect him this time. No matter what.

[darknytemare]

Into the Twisted Depths [A VIXX Parallel Colloboration]

Pairing: Hongbin (Lee Hongbin) [VIXX] x Female OC

VoodooDoll!AU 

Word Count: 2.4k

Genre: fantasy, mythology, horror, dirty-ish/implied/maybe smut

Warnings: Blood, voodoo ritual mentions, gore mentions, pain/sensation ‘play’ mentions

Summary: At a time where the number of Voodoo Dolls is representative of one's power. Hongbin is the 6th Voodoo Doll conjured by a young priestess. He was sent by a powerful deity to keep watch over her. That’s fine until he decides he wants her power.. and her whole existence for himself.    

Note: loa/lwa - the name for the patron spirits/deities of voodoo

Baron Samedi- The loa of the dead [think similar to Hades]

Ayan LaRoche - Voodoo Priestess OC

Ayan was born and raised in the bayou of Louisiana. The dialogue will reflect some 'twang' and spatterings of Creole dialect.

Even though this is for the VIXX Parallel Collaboration, I may continue this as a series. 

What rotten luck was this?!

Hongbin grunted as life, or something like it, suffused into his body. He could feel the ligaments moving as his fingers wiggled in the air. The disdain on his face at the sight of himself was hard to hide. He wobbled like a puppet on a string dangling from a great height.

The substance that ran through his veins slowed as he heard the echo of footsteps. His lip stayed lifted in a half snarl. The guttural sound vibrated against his vocal cords. The push of tension caused his biceps to flex, almost violently, against his shirt.

That was until he saw who was walking toward him.

The shadow of a tophat, the scent of a cigar, and the pasty white painted skull over a brown-skinned face.

He wanted to disappear; to become so small and insignificant that he could forget the sight in front of him.

Every every poppet knew for whom and what purpose they had been created. It was rare that one of the loa bothered. Let alone the Lord of the Dead himself.

"Ah, I see you awake now." The loa smirked at Hongbin's sudden shrink in attitude and demeanor. "Dat's good, dat's good. Nah, I know you might be havin' a question or two 'bout why you here." There was a thick cloud of smoke that lifted from the deity's nostrils.

The smile on Baron Samedi's face gave Hongbin a cold chill. "I need you do sumthin' fah me." The taller man tugged at the bindings holding the voodoo doll aloft.

"I need you to keep an eye on someone fa' me. You see, dis girl? She special. I like her. She gotta lot of learnin' for she can be a power to be reckoned with." Baron Samedi stopped to level a dark umber gaze on Hongbin.

"You need'ta keep the unsavory 'way from her, ya'hear?" The sudden baritone of the deity's voice caused Hongbin's knees to buckle. The overwhelming power filled the room, leaving him only able to nod with wide eyes.

"Good, good. No one gets near her, Hongbin. Do we understand each otha'?" Hongbin nodded vigorously as he swallowed the lump in his throat. The loa smirked while picking an object from a nearby table. He turned toward the dangling puppet with a particular glee dancing in his eyes.

He knew what was coming before Baron Samedi reached him. He could see the sharply jagged edge on the ice pick. His lips flattened into a straight line as he steeled himself for the onslaught.

The pain never bothered him at first. The first initial puncture, scratch, or gouge was nothing at this point. It was the speed of delivery that always killed him. Some of the priests or priestesses were quick with their work. It prevented the pain from building in the doll.

It always made it easier to cause the maximum amount of pain to their intended victim.

But some caused pain to the doll and the victim. They said it was probably as close to watching the deed from far away. It wasn't that way with the loa, unfortunately.

They gave pain, relished in the suffering, and needed the experimentation to learn about humanity.

Samedi was twisted, perverted, and sadistic. This was nothing more than entertainment for him. This was also an early lesson. That he wanted what he wanted.

.....and that he wouldn't accept failure.

Others.

There were never others.

At least not in his time in service, had he seen others. Hongbin heard about those that had been able to conjure more than one doll. There was a time, long ago, when someone had three. That woman was descended from a strong line - the first line. She was a descendant of the one who started everything that would be Voodoo. That woman had children but then moved to Haiti.

Removing herself and her kin from Louisiana due to the state that the art had devolved. It was considered hoodoo, entertainment, and a child's play. That woman returned sometime later with her children in tow.

She had risen in her craft to take on the title of Mambo. The highest and most important places a person can reach. Her children were exceptional, as well. A son, musically gifted, and in tune with nature. A daughter with a wicked streak and a penchant for darker dealings.

He only knew of the woman by one name - The Black Mamba. To the public, though, she was Mambo LaRoche. A formidable woman of high power who understood the balance between the light and dark elements of the craft.

The community was devastated when Hurricane Katrina stole her away from them.

It stole all but one. 

“Wake up.” A lilting purr slithered across the shell of his ear. Hongbin stirred with the sensation of cold metal against his back. The air was thick with incense, blood, and magic. An echo of laughter, drums, and the rush of power caused his heart to beat fast. 

“Come on now. You can do it.” There was the scent of lilies in the air, causing his head to sway in its direction. A delicate finger trailed down the center of his bare chest. He twitched as the finger trailed a muscle at the dip in his groin.

His lips parted on a soft moan. Samedi beat him until he lost consciousness, only for him to wake up to this? He could feel lips soft along his jaw. She spoke to him in a language once thought long dead. It was so beautiful, it seemed to dance across his skin. 

The scent of blood filled his nostrils, his mouth watered, his body reacted violently. His eyes snapped open as a shadow hovered over him. "Blue." He murmured absently. Her eyes were so blue. Crystalline. Icy. The adjective to classify them was out of his reach. He just realized as the moon spilled light upon them both - he'd never seen a blue like it.

"Well, well. Look who decided to finally wake up." Her lips curved into a smile as she tucked her fingers under her chin. "Th'names Ayan. Ayan LaRoche, enchanté ." 

The blue-eyed Creole stood, as regal as queen, with her hands clasped in front of her. The heavy pressure seemed to evaporate at that moment. Hongbin could feel beads of sweat sliding down the sides of his face.

A thick swallow as she crouched above him. The whisper of thin linen against his skin caused him to moan. He could see the moonlit silhouette of her body through the gauzy material. The uptick of her breast and the prominent push of her nipples. She brought his hands to the wide expanse of her hips. 

Arousal. 

Instant. Obvious. Painful.

He could feel the power radiating off her skin. The surge of it pulsed under his fingertips. The warm slide of her fingers against the throb of his erection caused him to moan. His fingers dug deep into her flesh as she settled over him. Every vein in his body seemed prominent as she swiveled her hips. 

Bloodied hands pressed against his chest as she moved, chanting. The moonlight seemed to spotlight the sealing ritual. Her feet dug into the ground as her voice crescendoed. Hongbin remembered, suddenly, a warning. He remembered the threat beaten into his flesh. 

But as her body tugged and molded around him? He forgot about it. He forgot all of it. She connected to a wealth of power long left untouched within him. He could feel her peel back the layers of his spiritual reserves. Their bodies and spirits thumped against each other, seemingly to no end. 

Before he knew it? He had rolled them, anchoring her upper half to the ground. She let out a shrill sound that made his stomach knot. He didn’t care about the gore covering her fingers. He kept chasing the link, the thing that sealed Doll to Practitioner.  “R-right...there.” She gasped. The warm honey of her voice vibrated in the air as he held her hips upward. Her eyes rolled back into her skull as she dissolved into orgasm. He tilted his head as he met the pure white, then suddenly golden tone in her eyes. 

His brow furrowed as her body seemed to pull all of him inside of her. He lurched as his own orgasm gave chase. 

Hongbin felt it at that moment - there was no bottom. She had reached all the way inside of him, farther than anyone before. Yet, he couldn’t find her. Like there was no end to her.

"Welcome to the family, sug'." Her voice was like warm honey. Rich, silky, and sweet - strangely no different from her singing to her speaking. Ayan's gaze lifted toward the face of her newest doll.

Six.

There were never others.

The most that there had ever been was three.

He was now one of six.

Samedi, what have you gotten me into? Who is this woman?

Everything seemed to get warmer, fuzzy - the air was so sweet? He wavered as he looked down at the woman smiling up at him. But it was a different voice that he heard. 

"You need to wake up, little brother." A soothing, melodic voice chided. The night seemed to fizzle away as the voice continued, beckoned him to wake up. 

Wait a minute?

Wake up?

Didn't he do that already?

"Time to wake up, little brother." Hakyeon's voice was so damned soothing.

"What happened? I - I was up already?" The confusion was thick in his voice. His mouth was so dry as if he hadn't spoken more than a few days.

"Shhh." Hakyeon placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You'll get sick if you're not careful." Hongbin shrugged him off with a growl.

"What are you talking about? I'm fine! There's no way that I could get -" He was too panicked to notice it at first. He had been so busy trying to find the wounds that plagued him not too long ago. The burning sensation crept along the surface of his skin.

From the feet to his knees, he thought it was just from movement. From his knees to his hips, he felt it was his body finally moving. The sensation crept up his torso, to his neck, and then it was behind his eyes.

Then it filled his head as the sound of a scream filled his ears. Oh, it was his scream. It had been a while since he had made a sound like this. The power overwhelmed him as he clawed at his skull.

The connection. The link. The establishment of the thread that binds the voodoo doll to its owner. It washed over him like a tidal wave. He saw visions, clipped projections of memories from the other five. Hakyeon sighed slowly, waiting for Hongbin to calm himself down.

It took him five minutes to regain his composure - it never took that long. He turned to the side and was violently sick when it was over.

"Good, she's ready for you now." The older doll smiled, pleased even, as he turned to depart. "There are fresh clothes in the bathroom. Make yourself presentable and then take the path to the house. Don't keep her waiting."

He moved from the bed in a rush to the bathroom. They may have been 'dolls' in a sense, but their forms still required the typical maintenance. Bathing was essential and enjoyable - a luxury even.

The hot water over his skin eased the tension from his muscles. He rotated his joints under the hot spray. He would have to ask how long he was asleep. He grits his teeth as he hurriedly washed and dressed.

He had already kept her waiting. "Tsk." Hongbin was dressed in a sweater, slacks, and shoes too shiny to have ever seen a speck of dirt. He admired his reflection in the mirror before leaving their space.

There was a path of carefully laid gravel. The crunch of his shoes on the ground was the only noise in the area. The moon was full, bright, and beautiful in the Louisiana sky. He spotted a set of double French doors open wide toward a parlor decorated in ornate Victorian style.

His steps were quiet as he entered the parlor. His fingers were a whisper over the costly, ornate wooden backs of couches and chairs. He heard the sound of singing? Or was it humming? It was close.

He felt his heart quicken as he entered the open space of the dining room. His brow furrowed as he followed the song through the house. The click of his heels against an old hardwood floor almost tapped in time with the voice. He was panting and didn't understand why.

This home was ridiculously large for no reason! Where was that sound?! By the time he realized he was on the other side of the house. Another set of french doors opened toward the courtyard that dazzled with white roses. He stood in the doorway; his eyes pinned to the back of an ornate wingback chair.

The voice stopped, suddenly, as his footsteps announced his presence.

Laughter. A throaty, warm, laugh that sent prickles across his skin. He saw the delicate shine of polish on her fingers. He was almost afraid to get a full look at her.

"Come closer, suga'." He did as he was instructed. He moved in front of the shadowed space. The clouds began to break as he noticed an odd gleam coming from her face.

"Blue." He murmured absently. Her eyes were so blue. Crystalline. Icy. The adjective to classify them was out of his reach. He just realized as the moon spilled light upon them both - he'd never seen a blue like it.

A long, massive, moment of silence stretched for what seemed an eternity between them. Hongbin still had her hand in his own, the delicate knuckle adorned with crystal-studded rings.

His grip tightened, a reflex, as he couldn't keep himself quiet. "You're the most powerful witch in all of Louisiana."

She tilted her head with an amused smile as his lips brushed against her knuckles. There was a sudden pull in her lower half that caused breath to slither from her mouth. 

Hongbin’s gaze rose to hers as the corner of his mouth lifted. 

And she would be his, easily.

[flightfoot]

Last Days of a Meat Puppet Chapter 4

(A/N) Thanks to ArtJunkyard for creating this AU and for looking over this chapter! I've had most of it planned for awhile, but kinda got distracted from it. I was never gonna end the story THAT badly for Lester, I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

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

Movement.

Dragged back.

Summoned, piece by piece.

Bonding together seamlessly.

Reforming... me?

Me.

I existed.

I existed!

But who was *I*?

As more pieces gathered together, I dove into myself.

People flashed by me. Two young boys and a girl giggling and running away as I chased after them, pretending to be the Tickle Monster. I caught one of the boys and tickled him mercilessly. Causing him to laugh and cry out for help. My hearing seemed distorted. I focused, sharpening my hearing, straining to hear his words. 

“-ter! Help, Tyrone! He-he-he-” he collapsed into a fit of giggles. 

Tyrone? 

The second boy leapt into view, attempting to pull the first boy from my grasp. “I’ll rescue you, Tyler!” he shouted bravely. 

I felt my cheeks hurt from smiling. A warm sensation welled up inside me. Tyrone and Tyler... I loved them. I loved them so much. I loosened my grip a little, allowing the twins to escape.

I felt something wrap around my back. I didn’t have time to ponder what, though.

Hands kneaded at my belly and side. I laughed and laughed, unable to defend myself. The tables had turned. The Tickle Monster was being tickled himself.

The boys cheered, “Get’im, Katie!”

I craned my head around. A little girl wearing a tutu and a tiara greeted me, an evil grin on her face as she gleefully tickled me.

“I’m the Tickle Monster Princess!” she declared. “This is my servant Tickle Monster now!” She turned an evil grin towards the two boys. “Ooh~ I spy some new prey~”

Uh Oh

The boys saw the writing on the wall and RAN. With a grin, Katie and I ran after them.

A new scene interceded, demanding attention. 

I let it come.

A blond-haired boy, older than the other two, sat in front of me. He looked maybe ten years old. 

He seemed closed off. Withdrawn. Wary. As if he’d been through this before, and knew he’d go through it again. 

A tall woman I didn’t recognize stood off in the corner, watching everything.

“So what do you like to do?” a voice spoke from beside me. I turned slightly. The voice belonged to a tall man with curly hair and a kind face.

Dad!

This... this was my father. How could I have forgotten him? 

My past self wasn’t as enraptured with my dad as my current self was, unfortunately. My eyes darted back to the boy.

He shrank back and mumbled, not seeming to want to meet anyone’s eyes.

Things blurred forwards slightly.

I was at home with the boy (the boy? I knew his name. I KNEW it. So why couldn’t I remember? Please let me remember...). He wandered around, attempting to look casual, but I noted how his eyes kept darting to the doors, as if mapping escape routes.

“Cameron?” I heard my voice call out (Cameron, yes, THAT was his name!)

He startled a little. I felt myself give him a small, hopefully reassuring smile.

“I was going to play some Mario Kart,” I told him. “Want to join me?”

His face lit up. “Yeah,” he said quietly. Still, it was louder than the mumbling I’d heard from him before. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

We played a few rounds. Cameron fumbled a little on the first few tracks, but soon got his bearings. That’s not to say that he could beat ME, of course, I had years of practice over him - but he was consistently able to make the top five.

“You two having fun?” An amused voice interrupted. I looked over my shoulder. 

The woman smiled back at me, affection shining in her blue eyes. Just being near her made me feel warm and safe.

Mum.

“Mind if I join in?” she continued. The smile seemed less warm and motherly now, and more of an evil smirk. 

Crap.

I handed her a controller.

Cameron looked confused at my expression. “What’s up with that face? You look like your cat just died.”

“You’ll see,” I groaned. 

And oh did he EVER. Mum was a DEMON, shunting racers into hazards, laying down some hazards of her own, and dodging everything that Cameron and I could throw at her. 

Cameron looked at her in awe as she strode off at the end of the set of races (she won first place of course). “How... how did she DO that?” 

“She’s been playing Mario Kart for longer than I’ve been alive,” I chuckled. “What did you expect?”

“Have you ever beaten her?” he asked. I shook my head. “Nope. I haven’t had a lot of other live opponents to practice with though, just the NPCs. Want to help me unseat her and end her reign of terror?” 

I held out a hand. He shook it, a fire lighting in his eyes. In my new brother’s eyes. “Let’s DO this.”

It took YEARS of practice, but we finally beat Mum in a race. Ok, so maybe it took us ganging up on her, but still, we WON. 

The vision ended. That was okay. I remembered who I was now, and who my family were. 

But... where was I now? Why had I forgotten in the first place?

I opened my eyes.

Three people stood in front of me, their eyes filled with relief and joy. I didn’t recognize two of them - the dark-skinned teenage boy or the lighter, younger-looking teenage girl next to him.

But the final figure...

He looked about my age, but I sensed - no, I KNEW - he was much, much older than I was. He glowed softly in the darkness, illuminating his expression. I saw the same relief in his eyes as I saw in everyone else’s, but also sadness and a deep, gnawing guilt.

Apollo. 

Everything came rushing back. Zeus, the kidnapping, Apollo’s punishment, and my destruction.

But if what I remembered was correct... if I’d truly been destroyed. Then...?

“How?” I asked. I startled slightly. That was definitely my voice, but speaking felt... different. As if my thoughts had simply sprung out of my head audibly.

I started again. “How... how am I still here?”

Apollo spoke up. “I- I encountered your mother while I was on a quest. She thought I was you. Before that, I’d just assumed this body was an empty shell, a prison Zeus had created for me. That’s when I discovered the truth. That Zeus was crueler than I had ever imagined.”

He drew in a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I ran into your mother on the street. I didn’t recognize her, of course. But she recognized me. I realized what Zeus had done.”

He shifted uncomfortably, not meeting my eyes. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t do that to her. Pretend to be her son. To be you. I promised her that I’d come back. And I ran.”

“I broke that promise.”

My brow furrowed. What did he mean? Couldn’t he just go to her now? I felt like I was missing something...

Apollo looked up, catching sight of my expression. His face collapsed in misery, realization filling his eyes.”You haven’t realized, have you?”

“Realized what?” I asked. I didn’t think I wanted to know, but I NEEDED to know.

“I- I couldn’t help you then. I needed to help defeat some evil people, and I had no idea where to even start at restoring you, if I even COULD. I’d hoped that getting back into Zeus’s good graces would be enough to persuade him to restore my godhood and to restore you back to your body. But it didn’t work like that.”

His expression fell even further, the light around him flickering like a candle in the wind. “I helped stop the Emperors and kill Python, but your body was destroyed in the process.”

I should have felt shocked. But I didn’t. I’d known this. I just hadn’t wanted to accept it. But that still didn’t explain...

“How am I here at all? Zeus said he was going to totally destroy my soul. It certainly FELT like he did.”

Apollo grimaced, disgust leaking into his voice. “My father TRIED to destroy your soul. And by Greco-Roman standards, he did. Not even a god could have restored you.”

He smirked. “Egyptian magicians, on the other hand...”

I took a closer look at the other two teenagers. They DID seem to have a lot of vaguely Egyptian-looking items on them.

Apollo continued. “I told some of my friends about what I knew of your situation. Luckily, they’d heard that these two had restored a destroyed soul before. My friends put me in contact with them - Carter and Sadie Kane.”

The boy - Carter, I assumed - took over. “People’s souls are often destroyed in Egyptian mythology. If someone’s heart is evil, their soul is fed to Ammit the Devourer -”

“Poochiekins,” the girl - Sadie - cut in.

Carter glared at her for a moment, then resumed as if nothing had happened. “-but sometimes evidence of a person’s innocence arises, and Dad needs to reverse the punishment. That’s where the sheut comes in.”

“Sheut?” I asked. I’d never heard of that before. 

“Shadow. It’s basically a back-up copy of the soul. One of my friends had part of his soul devoured, but we were able to restore it using his sheut. Finding it was the tricky part.”

“But if it’s just my shadow, wouldn’t it be attached to my body?” I asked, confused. I’d brushed up on my Greek mythology, but this Egyptian stuff was new to me.

“Well... sometimes. My friend - the one who had his soul partly destroyed, his name’s Bes - actually hid his sheut away in a rendition of the past. He’s a god though so that kind of thing’s normal for him. We weren’t entirely sure where to look for yours since it’s not like you would’ve known how to hide it. Luckily we didn’t have to look far.”

Where would I have...?

Oh. 

Of course.

I looked over at Apollo. “I left my sheut with you, didn’t I? Not with my body, but with YOU.”

It made sense. At the end there, I’d tried SO HARD to convey to Apollo what he needed to know. That us mortals were people too. And I’d wanted to protect Apollo as well, protect him from his own depression and guilt. I’d wished I could stay around to battle the voices in his head.

I guess in a way, I’d gotten my wish.

Apollo nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes. “I’d begun getting little snatches of memories from when we merged. Just little bits here and there at first. I didn’t even know if they were REAL, but something told me not to dismiss them. Then - then I remembered something. I was drowning in depression, ready to just give up and fade. Then I heard you scream “NO.” And-and you helped somehow. At that time I didn’t remember what you’d done exactly, just that you’d shared part of yourself with me. That’s when we figured out that you’d attached yourself to my soul.”

He smiled at me, though I detected a hint of sadness in his eyes. “From there it was pretty easy to restore your soul. Carter and Sadie just made a shabti, - a figure of you made out of clay - bound your sheut to it, and performed a reverse execration spell on it. Whole thing took less than an hour.”

That explained how I was here now. But that sadness in Apollo’s eyes...

“There was more to it than that, wasn’t there?”

Apollo chuckled softly. “You know me too well. Of course you do. You’ve seen into my soul, seen me more clearly than I saw myself.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “You took certain memories with you when you were destroyed. Memories you stole from me in an effort to undo some of the emotional damage Father had inflicted on me during my imprisonment. Undoing your annihilation brought those memories back. All of them. Everything Father did, everything you did, everything I realized during those precious moments when we were one. I’ve been sorting through it all while we waited for you to wake up.”

He drew in a shaky breath. “I- I forgot what I learned. Consciously, at least. But I think that subconsciously I remembered what you’d shown me. About how mortals matter. You broke through my indifference, and even after I forgot about you - about what happened - the cracks in my facade remained. I relearned what you taught me. I don’t think it would have happened so quickly if not for you. Thank you. I just wish - I wish I could help you as much as you helped me.”

He already HAD helped me. Apollo had searched for a way to bring me back even when it should have been impossible. The way he’d said that though, as if what he’d done wasn’t enough - it confirmed my suspicion.

“I’m dead, aren’t I? Not just bodiless, but really, actually dead.”

Apollo nodded apologetically. “I could get your soul restored, but repairing your body was beyond mine and their power.”

I wasn’t surprised. I’d been prepared to be annihilated when Zeus set my soul on fire. At least being dead was a step up from THAT.

But being dead meant...

A sinking feeling filled my gut (despite not even HAVING guts anymore). “I’ll never get to see my family again, will I?”

Apollo flinched. “I’m- I’m sorry. It’s my fault you don’t have a body to return to. Maybe if I’d been more careful, or- or faster, or practised more, or SOMETHING, your body would still be intact.”

I shook my head. “How many times do I need to tell you? This is Zeus’s fault, NOT YOURS. HE’S the one who dragged me into this. You blame yourself enough for your own actions. Don’t blame yourself for others’ actions as well.”

“Just- please. Keep the promise you made. Look after my family for me? That’s all I ask.”

Apollo laughed derisively. It sounded more like crying. “I don’t have the best track record with promises you know.”

“Maybe not. But I know you’ll keep this one.”

Apollo nodded. I don’t think he trusted himself to speak.

I took a deep breath. Not that I needed to - no lungs and all - but the action calmed me a bit. “So what happens to me now?”

“Now, I guess I take you to the Underworld to be judged.”

Judged?

“Judged by who? What do they judge me on?”

“Whether you’ve lived a good life and been a good person, mostly. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll achieve Elysium.”

 “Elysium?”

“It’s basically the Greek equivalent of Heaven. It’s a nice place, like one of those gated communities that’s popular with the older mortals.”

I had no doubt it was, but... “My family won’t be there.”

“They’re still alive, so no.”

I was happy they were still alive and well, but I wanted to be WITH them, to grow up with them. 

We can’t always get what we want.

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

I walked through the Gates of Elysium.

I hadn’t needed to wait very long to be judged. Apparently Apollo had fast-tracked me. I was grateful, but felt bad for everyone else still waiting in line, many of whom surely deserved Elysium as much or more than I did.

The judging itself hadn’t taken very long either. I really shouldn’t have been surprised. I was only sixteen and I hadn’t had a very exciting life. A good life, but not one that took long to look over. The judges unanimously declared that I was fit for Elysium and sent me off.

I wandered around Elysium for a few hours. The place was beautiful, with massive castles and villas and gorgeous gardens. The people were pretty friendly. I was invited to join several picnics and barbecues even though I was a total stranger.

I declined them all. I just... I couldn’t bear seeing so many people happy, or participating in casual conversations. Not then.

“Apollo?!”

I looked around. Had Apollo decided to visit me? Could he even do that? 

I didn’t see any sign of the golden-haired god. Instead a blond-haired boy stood in front of me, gaping.

I frowned. Was this someone Apollo had met while in my body?

“Sorry, I don’t know who you are.”

The teenager looked disturbed. “You don’t remember me? Jason Grace?”

I shook my head. “I’m not Apollo. I’m the kid Zeus kidnapped to serve as Apollo’s meat puppet.”

Now Jason looked REALLY disturbed. “His WHAT!”

“He kidnapped me from my family and systematically destroyed my soul, piece by piece, until my body was empty enough for his liking. Then he shoved Apollo’s soul in and set what was left of my soul on fire until it was totally annihilated,” I stated matter-of-factly.

Jason stared at me, his jaw hanging open and eyes bugging out. He made a few strangled noises before finally regaining the power of speech. “My Father did THAT?!”

I grimaced. “Yeah. He sucks.”

Jason was silent for a moment, seeming to process my words. “Wait, if he annihilated your soul, then how are you here?”

“Apollo found out about what happened to me and found people who were able to restore my soul - but not my body.”

“Oh.”

We stood there awkwardly for a second, until my OWN brain had finished processing Jason’s words. “Wait, Zeus is your Father?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah. Well, Jupiter, anyway. I’m Roman. Sorry about... you know.”

“Not your fault, man. It’s his fault I was put through that, no one else’s.”

“Still...”

I shook my head. “NO. I had enough of Apollo blaming himself. I don’t need you doing it too.”

Jason perked up a bit. “How’s he doing? Did he defeat the Emperors? Is he a god again?”

“He seemed okay when I saw him. Sad and feeling guilty about what happened to me, but otherwise okay. He stopped the Emperors and killed Python, whoever that is. And yes, he’s a god again.”

Jason let out a breath. “That’s a relief. I just hope...”

“Hope what?”

“I- I knew I was going to die when I helped Apollo on his quest. I wanted to make sure I made a difference before I did. I asked him to promise that he’d remember what it was like to be human when he became a god again.”

This kid - I WISHED I’d known him when we were both alive. We would’ve been great friends, I was sure.

“He remembered,” I assured Jason. “I know he did. I could tell in the way he talked to me and about his friends. He won’t forget.”

Jason smiled back. “I’m glad.”

We walked around the lake for a moment. My eyes kept drifting to the islands in the middle.

Jason spoke up. “So what are you gonna do now?”

I stopped walking. Jason had asked the question I’d been avoiding thinking about. “I- I don’t know. This place is lovely, but- it’s not home. I- I want to go back home to Mum and Dad and Tyrone and Tyler and Katie and Cameron-”

I choked back a sob. So much had happened that I’d managed to avoid thinking of my family, of dwelling on what EXACTLY being dead had meant, for a while. But now that I’d had time to process it all came flooding through.

I’d never play hide-and-seek with the twins again.

I’d never attend Katie’s dance recital.

I’d never beat Cameron at Mario Kart again.

I’d never have butt whooped by Mum at Mario Kart ever again.

I’d never watch movies with Dad ever again.

Maybe I could see them again eventually when they died (which I dearly hope wouldn’t be anytime soon) but they’d all have grown and lived full lives without me by then.

Jason looked at me sympathetically. “I have people I miss too. People I’m waiting for. Though since they’re demigods, I probably won’t have long to wait. We don’t have the best survival rate.”

“I- I just,” my eyes drifted magnetically to the islands in the middle of the lake. What WERE they? “I just- I want to be alive again. To see them again.”

Jason looked at the islands for a moment. “Do you want to go back?”

Go back?

“I can do that?” I asked, suddenly hopeful.

Jason nodded. “Souls that are judged worthy of Elysium have the choice of being reborn. If they’re reborn twice and judged worthy of Elysium all three times, they can enter the Isles of the Blest - those islands over there.” Jason gestured towards the islands we’d both been staring at.

“I could go back...” I stated numbly.

“Yes, but you have to be SURE it’s what you want,” Jason told me warningly. “You have have bathe in the River Lethe in order to be reborn, wiping out all your memories. There’s no going back at that point. You don’t have any idea where you’ll end up, or what your circumstances will be. You might not achieve Elysium next time. You could be sentenced to either the Fields of Asphodel or the Fields of Punishment for all eternity. It’s very, VERY unlikely you’d ever cross paths with your family again, and you wouldn’t recognize them if you did.”

Jason was right. The sensible thing would be fore me to stay here until my family eventually died and meet them then. I’d have missed a LOT, but I’d be guaranteed to see them again.

I didn’t feel like being sensible.

The chance I’d see my family again was vanishingly slim, but I was going to take it.

“Where’s the River Lethe?” I asked Jason.

He frowned, but pointed. I started walking in the direction he’d indicated. Jason walked with me. 

“Are you sure? You could stay and think on this awhile. There’s no time limit.”

I shook my head. “It’s foolish and idiotic and stupid to rush into this, I know. But I’m feeling stupid and idiotic and foolish right now.”

Jason laughed. “Sometimes it pays off to be a bit foolish.”

We stopped at the riverbank.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” Jason said, smiling sadly. 

“Yeah, I guess this is.” 

Jason hesitated for a moment, then pulled me into a fierce hug. “You’ll see your family again. And- and this isn’t goodbye for good. I’ll see you again the second time you earn Elysium. I’ll be waiting.”

I hugged him back. I wished I’d gotten longer to know him, but I just couldn’t wait around any longer, knowing there was a way back to the mortal world. I just couldn’t.”I’m looking forward to it.”

Jason laughed. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to see you back here again for a long time.”

I smiled at my new friend, then turned and waded into the Lethe’s waters.

It felt warm and cozy and... what was I thinking of again? 

It didn’t matter, did it?

Don’t forget your family.

I startled. My family?

Tyrone. Tyler. Katie. Cameron. Mum. Dad.

Their faces invaded my vision. I clung to them even as everything else slipped away.

Please, just let me see them again.

Please...

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

I had most of this planned out, but I came up with Lester meeting Jason while I was writing the chapter, and once I'd had the idea, I HAD to implement it. I really think they'd be great friends if they'd had the chance.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Threads

A Royal Romance Au Fanfic

What would it be like if Princess Charlotte of Cordonia had to marry Anton Severus ?

A/N I rarely write sad pieces - but I promise this has a happy ending. I wrote it some months ago but I don’t seem to have it on my masterlist. I post it as part of TBT

WARNINGS - Very bleak, Noncon, depression, thoughts of suicide, major character death. Please read with caution. No under 18s

All we do is hide away, all we do is, all we do is chase the day,

All we do is lie and wait, all we do is, all we do is feel the fade

I’ve been upside down, I don’t wanna be the right way round – can’t find paradise on the ground

All we do is hide away, all we do is, all we do is chase the day,

All we do is play it safe, all we do is, all we do is live inside a cage

I’ve been upside down, I don’t wanna be the right way round – can’t find paradise on the ground

All we do is hide away, all we do is, all we do is chase the day,

All I did was fail today

All I wanna be is whites in waves…

All We Do - Oh Wonder  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTUdw2ja0MY

 Charlotte walked down the aisle, the ivory lace clinging to her arms and across her chest, the neckline below her collarbone but feeling as if it might choke her, the dress heavy as lead. She moved slowly, her paces even, a hollow smile plastered to her face, tears starting to prick her eyes… tears of joy, the people watching would say – those who knew no better.

The people of Cordonia, still in mourning for their King, needed this wedding to lift their spirits, mere weeks after his death by an assassin’s bullet. The Princess - or Queen as she immediately became – had to announce Anton as her chosen consort, to quell the unrest that had inspired the uprising. An alliance between the houses of Rys and Severus would bring peace. And here she was, walking down the aisle on Maxwell Beaumont’s arm. She dared not look toward the pew where Drake stood, his face pale and drawn. Only hours ago they had been in each other’s arms, unknown to Anton, making use of the secret passages through the Palace to finally consummate their love.

Drake had promised months before that no matter who she chose as Consort, he would be her first. For years they had met in secret, brought each other release and bliss and comfort, never taking that last step so that the night before her wedding, Charlotte was a virgin. Their final union had been bittersweet, the final piece to the jigsaw puzzle that was them.

Now she remembered every touch, every caress, every shift of her body, the texture of his skin, the scent of his body. They rose and fell and surged around and over and under each other. He pierced her tenderly, waiting until the sharp pain eased, then all had been bliss, and they could not get enough of each other. They already knew how to please the other, but this had added an extra dimension that made it so complete.

All too soon the dawn came, and they had not slept, and she had to go. The final embrace, the tears, the pain of parting to give herself to another man who could never love her like Drake did, could never know. The memory of that night would have to sustain her for what was to come.

Maxwell squeezed her arm as he let her go at the altar to hand her over to Anton, who smiled triumphantly. Suddenly she was outside her body watching it all, like her body was a hollow puppet. Drake had her heart, her mind, her soul and it was only the empty husk that she gave to Anton. She heard herself saying her vows, prayed that none would object, felt Drake’s pain as Anton placed the ring on her finger and claimed her with his cold lips. Her body walked back down the aisle on his arm, went out to wave at the crowds, got into the limo with him.

She snapped back into reality as he smirked at her, cold blue eyes boring into her.

‘You’re mine now Charlotte. I won’t tolerate you seeing anyone else, do you understand?’ she nodded, her stomach twisted with fear ‘I’ll kill anyone who so much as touches you – and you know I carry out my threats, don’t you?’

‘Yes Anton’ she heard herself say, starting to slip back out of her body.

‘Now smile and show everyone how happy you are’ he said as she floated away. She watched herself at the reception, smiling, moving around amongst the guests, automatic words spilling from her lips

‘Thankyou – you’re very kind – yes the weather was just right – I hope so – perhaps’ At last she was seated for the banquet, endured the speeches, ate sparingly, sipped the champagne. She stood with Anton to cut the cake, they took to the dancefloor, and again she circulated. All the time she knew exactly where Drake was, he was like the North of her compass, keeping her grounded. Be brave my sweet Princess, we’ll find a way. Hana will be there, you can tell her anything. We’ll be working to find a way out. Trust me my darling, I promise we’ll be together again.

His words were a silver thread that kept her from running to the roof of the palace and throwing herself off. She floated behind her body as Anton led her to the Royal Suite, to the bed they were to share. She saw him unzip her dress, she fought to stay out of her body as his lips on the nape of her neck threatened to ground her. Like that hollow puppet she took the rest of her clothes off as he watched, his eyes burning her skin, as he took off his tie, his shirt, unbuckled his trousers, let them fall. She tried not to see his naked body as he advanced on her.

Under other circumstance it might have been good – he was good looking, charming, intelligent. But she knew his heart was black, that he only wanted her for the power he would gain, to gain an heir to his dynasty, to blot out her own family. He had plotted and subverted and killed to get her, and her own father was dead, though given time he would have died anyway from the disease that ate away at him.

The sheer physicality of his lovemaking snapped her back into her body, and she felt everything. She hoped against hope that he didn’t realise he wasn’t the first – she had washed herself thoroughly so Drake’s scent was gone, douched so that she was clean inside and out, but she had waited as long as she could, in the hope that… she dared not think why she left that till last. She lay unmoving under Anton and thought of Drake, but he was nothing like him, she could not pretend it was him. He had been tender at first, then rough as she didn’t respond to him. She blotted out the things he did to her – to her body, and finally found out how to switch off, to float above herself but not watch what was happening, though she could still hear everything.

Thankfully, once she missed her period Anton stopped coming to her bed and left her alone at night. There was the thread of hope, the one thing she dared not think in case her thoughts leaked out and he found out. Hana was there, as Drake had promised, and she kept Anton happy, took him to her bed to keep him from Charlotte, playing the wicked Mistress, pretending to Anton that Charlotte didn’t know but meeting her in secret, keeping her updated with plans for her escape. Drake had vanished from court, at which point she had cried secret bitter tears even though she knew he was safer away from her.

Charlotte continued to float behind her body, the silver thread keeping her there until the day she felt that fluttering in her stomach, felt the little being telling her it was there. She hoped against hope that it was what she wanted, telling Anton he was to be a father whilst hoping she was wrong. She cherished it, cherished her body, watched it bloom and blossom, and met with Hana. She spoke to the little life inside her belly, telling it she would love it no matter what – and hoped against hope.

 Drake stepped out of the shadows and Hana hurried to meet him

‘We have to do it soon’ she said ‘He wants his heir, and once he’s got that, he won’t need Charlotte any more.  We have to get her away before she goes into labour’ Drake’s face went white

‘Tell me what to do’

 Hana’s phone dinged with an incoming message. It was Charlotte, and it was just two words

It’s time.

Quickly she gathered the bag she kept waiting by the door and slung it into the back of her jeep, pausing only to send one text – this time one word

Now

Bastien was the recipient, and he passed it on to those who needed to know. He entered the secret passage that lead to Charlotte’s room and helped her out to the SUV. At the same time, another identical vehicle left and made its way to the hospital, while Bastien peeled away toward the border with Monaco.

At the hospital in the Cordonian capital, a woman got out of the SUV, her bulky pregnant form obvious, a blanket over her head to avoid the prying lenses of the press. She entered the private wing set aside for VIPs and the Press waited outside. It was only a short time before Anton arrived in the limo, followed by Hana, grinning triumphantly for the cameras. He disappeared into the maternity suite.

Olivia sat waiting for him, the bed empty. He ground to a halt and heard the door close behind him, aware that Hana stood behind him.

‘What’s going on? Where’s Charlotte? Where’s my wife?’ Olivia stood, looking at her watch

‘She’s a long way away Anton. She’s finally free of you’ Anton’s face fell

‘Free? What do you mean? I saw on the press reports, she came here’ Olivia shook her head

‘A decoy’ she said ‘You’ll never hurt her again. You die here, Anton’ He lunged at her, but she was ready. With one smooth move she stooped to pull a stiletto knife from her boot, stepped forward and plunged it into his side, under his ribs. He grunted with surprise as she shifted, pulling him back and holding him with the blade across his throat. Hana stepped forward

‘Drake was with her the night before the wedding’ she said ‘If the baby is yours, your line will survive. If not, it dies with you’ She nodded to Olivia and she drew the blade across his throat as surprise and rage crossed his face.

‘I’ll be happy to spend time in prison for your murder’ Olivia whispered ‘if they catch me’ She let his body drop to the ground, his lips working but no sound coming from his mouth, blood pooling on the tiled floor. She and Hana waited for the blood to stop flowing, watched him die, the light fading from his eyes. Swiftly they left the room and out of a back entrance to a waiting car that sped away into the night. The citizens of Cordonia would welcome his death, only finding out his ruthlessness and disregard for the common folk after his elevation to Consort.

 ‘Bastien, you have to stop’ Charlotte cried, agony gripping her insides

‘We’re nearly there, your highness’

‘The baby doesn’t know that, it’s coming now’ Bastien stopped the car, punched a number into his mobile phone, gave curt details.

‘They’re coming to us your Majesty’ he said, climbing into the back with her, fumbling for the bag at her feet. She cried out in pain, and he waited for the spasm to die down ‘You’re fine Charlotte - breathe, everything is fine.’ He looked at her ‘Not my first emergency birth’ he lied, not telling her it had been a foal.

 Drake stood on the prow of the Royal Yacht waiting for the little tender to leave the shore.  There were no details, he knew Bastien was there, but could only hope she was with him. He watched it approach, straining his eyes for the first glimpse of her. At last he saw two figures, one unmistakably hers, and the boat grow nearer and nearer. At last it was by the side of the boat and he was helping her to climb the ladder up the side of the hull. The first touch of her fingers burned him, an electric tingle almost breaking his grip, then she was in his arms and he rained kisses on her – on her face, her lips, her neck as she cried tears of happiness and clung to him as if she would never let go.

‘Drake, Drake’ she wept

‘My sweet, sweet Princess – my Queen’ he said hoarsely, burying his face in her shoulder and holding her tighter. He was aware of Bastien behind her, looming into sight, holding a tiny bundle, the only thing that would allow him to let her go.

She turned to Bastien, face stained with tears but radiant with happiness.

‘Is it – is he – is she…’ he couldn’t form his words as she gently took the bundle from the smiling guard. She pulled back the blanket to reveal the perfect little face, a shock of dark hair and deep chocolate brown eyes, little hands like starfish.

‘Drake, you have another Princess to look after’ she said softly ‘Meet your daughter’.

@drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet @livingthroughchoices @mrs-nazario @mind-reader1 @missevabean @mrsdrakewalkerblog                 @cora-nova @missameliep @endlessly-searching-for-you @drakenazario @tabithacarlisle @furiousherringoperatortoad @notoriouscs @classylady1234 @wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl @indiana-jr @indiacater @katedrakeohd @bobasheebaby @annekebbphotography @kennaxval @sirbeepsalot @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @aworldoffandoms @iplaydrake @drakesensworld @drakewalkerisreal @samcpossum @melodyofgraves @museofbooks @be-still-my-aching-heart@fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @hopefulmoonobject @emceesynonymroll @dcbbw @cgd03 @simsvetements @mrsdrakewalkerblog @ladyangel70 @crookedslimecreatorpasta @cora-nova  @akrenich @stopforamoment @burnsoslow @pedudley gibbles82 @rainbowsinthestorm @submit-choices-tbt

[whatarubberchicken]

AU YEAH August - 23 - Historical

@auyeahaugust

Khepri: Egyptian Scarab God - Ladybug

Maahes: Egyptian Lion God – Chat Noir

Miraculous: Tales of Khepri and Maahes

A gentle wind blew through the courtyard of the Palace, making the lanterns flicker against the walls of alabaster stone. A young man looked out over the Nile, taking a deep breath before turning to the tiny goddess beside him.

“I hope I’m wrong, Tikki,” he said heavily. “And I wish I could do this as myself, but….”

“I know you don’t like to change into a girl as Khepri,” the little goddess chirped. “But it’s for your own protection. Everyone is looking for a female of the royal blood who has taken the title of Sacred Scarab. You are overlooked and unnoticed.”

“Whereas Maahes is free to come and go whenever he pleases,�� the young man sighed with envy as he thought of his feline superhero partner. “Ah, the freedom of not being part of the royal family. Even if it’s only a distant cousin.”

“Your information and insight are critical to our missions,” Tikki said firmly, kissing him on the nose. “Especially this one. Now, are you ready? You promised everyone you’d meet at sunset.”

“Right, right. Tikki, transform me!”

The young man felt the power wash over him and once again sighed as he looked down at his now-decidedly-female body covered in spotted linen. Fortunately, Khepri’s kalasiris (sheath dress) allowed for much more movement than he’d thought possible, and he effortlessly jumped from building to building as he made his way to the meeting place.

Being a female as the superhero (goddess) Khepri wasn’t so bad, really. The change was useful in keeping his identity secret, but he might’ve been able to enjoy it more if—

“There’s my beautiful lady bug!”

--he hadn’t accidentally told Maahes about the change. Now, the cat-themed superhero had taken it upon himself to tease Khepri about it whenever he could.

“Shut up, you drunk old cat!” he—she—spat, tossing her yoyo at him. The catboy easily moved his head to the side to dodge it, fully-aware that she wouldn’t actually hurt him. “Were you followed?”

“Was I—was I followed?” Maahes asked in mock-outrage. “I? The Great Hunter? The Protector of Ra? The—”

“Careful, Eater of Captives,” Khepri warned him lightly, landing beside him and playfully flicking his nose. “You collect many more titles, you won’t be able to keep track of them all.”

“For the last time, I didn’t eat him!” Maahes exclaimed. “I used my power at the last minute and it just looked like I did!!”

“Whatever,” Khepri said, dismissing the subject. “We have more important things to worry about right now. Like whatever the Pharaoh is planning over at the palace that has all the soothsayers in a tizzy.”

“You think Apep is behind it?” Maahes asked lowly, referring to the supernatural villain they’d been after for years.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Khepri admitted with a grimace. “Somehow, he’s gained influence with the Pharaoh himself. And we can’t just ignore it this time. We’ll have to do something. Something drastic.” She was about to say more, but she heard a rustle in the shadows that indicated the other person they were supposed to meet with tonight had arrived.

“You realize what you’re talking about, right? Assassinating the pharaoh?” Maahes growled, making a sign against evil. “A living god? And one with no sons to boot! His lineage will be ended forever! You’ll destroy Egypt! There’ll be a civil war! At least!”

“Believe me, I know.”

“So, you got a plan for getting past this? Tell me you have a plan. I know you’ve got a plan.”

Khepri heard a soft sob from the corner where her informant was still waiting to be called forward, and she grit her teeth as she pushed forward with the conversation. It was better if this came from the mouths of “gods” anyway.

“Tut has been a puppet king most of his reign. Why not simply put the puppeteer in power?”

“Oh, sweet Hathor preserve us,” Maahes exclaimed, running his claws through his hair. “That’s your plan?!”

“You got a better one?” Khepri asked, her eye starting to twitch.

“Take control!” Maahes exclaimed. Khepri sighed in exasperation. “You said it yourself, you have some royal blood—”

“No.”

“—and we already know we’ve been chosen by the gods for the good of the kingdom,” the cat superhero added, indicating his suit.

“And I’ve already told you, I have no interest in ruling,” Khepri reminded him. “I don’t even want a shrine as Khepri. I just want to do my job.”

“And if your job includes ruling Egypt?”

“I already have someone in mind.”

Maahes looked taken aback. “Who?? Who could possibly be better than us?”

“Someone who is already officially in power. Your majesty, will you join us?” Khepri gestured to the shadows behind her. “Maahes, may I introduce, by the grace of Ra, Pharaoh’s Great Royal Wife, Ankhesenamun.”

The young woman stepped into the light just long enough for them to see her, and then lost her nerve to be standing before actual living Gods. She fell to her face before them.

“Have mercy, Eyes of Ra!” she cried. Maahes chuckled a bit as Khepri quickly attempted to coax the young queen back to her feet.

“Peace, my queen,” the scarab-themed heroine said soothingly. “We’ll not hurt you. We simply wish to ask you some questions about your beloved husband.”

“Beloved?” Ankhesenamun choked out. Tears streamed down her face. “Yes, he called me beloved once. I was his and he was mine. Together for eternity, we said. But now… I am unable to give him any heirs. Now he thinks I am weak. Cursed. Now, I am replaced by my own mother! One whom the Sun God has already claimed. Has always claimed! Nefertiti is dead, and still I feel her presence all around. He calls her his sweet, long-lost princess! Says he wants to bring her back from the Land of the Dead! MAY RA FORGIVE HIM THIS BLASPHEMY!!” The young queen broke down, crying, not seeing the uneasy look the two superheroes shared.

“Did he, um… say how he was going to bring her back?” Maahes asked slowly, wetting his lips.

“No, Lord of Slaughter,” Ankhesenamun sniffled.

Maahes groaned and Khepri smothered her laughter at the cat god’s least-favorite title.

“Actually,” Maahes said slyly, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around Khepri’s now-feminine shoulders, “I prefer the title ‘He Who Is True Beside Her.’” He waggled his eyebrows at Khepri and received an elbow in his gut for his trouble.

“Please ignore the son of Sekhmet,” she said irritably. “He’s obviously been drinking. Any information you can give us about the Pharaoh’s plan would be helpful, your Highness.”

Ankhesenamun swallowed. “He said… something about sacrifice,” she said slowly.

“Does this have anything to do with the mysterious disappearances lately?” Maahes asked, suddenly all business.

“Disappearances?” Khepri asked, whirling to look at her partner in surprise. “I thought those were just rumors!”

“I’ve been doing some sniffing around downtown, milady,” the cat said with a saucy wink. “Turns out, they’re all true, more or less.”

“How many?” she demanded.

“About 90 people?” he shrugged. “All within the past three months.”

Khepri cursed. If Tutankhamun had gotten ahold of the Scroll of Spells like she thought he had… well, he was dangerously close to something unforgivable.

“My queen,” she said quickly. “It pains me to ask this of you, but can we, the protectors of the gods, count on your help?”

Anhkesenamun hesitated. “Do you have to kill him?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“I will try not to,” Khepri assured her, smiling sadly at the young woman, so obviously still in love with her husband. “But, if worse comes to worse… I must think of Egypt first.”

………….

The next day….

…………

Khepri swore as she raced across the courtyard, her yoyo already in hand. Already, there was a gaping hole in the sky and a group of mummies were carrying the queen high above their heads, even as she sobbed and begged Tutankhamun to stop.

She felt her gut churn. His own wife. He was willing to sacrifice his own wife because he wanted someone more powerful, more beautiful. But it had to be her. Even after all the pain she’d been through, she loved him more than anything.

And only one with a pure heart could love so deeply.

Even now, Ankhesenamun didn’t fight as the reanimated mummies placed her on a beam of light, all of them chanting.

“My lady!!” she heard Maahes cry across the courtyard. He was trying to take out as many mummies as possible, hoping to disrupt the spell. But, a spell like this… they needed to take out the source.

“You cannot stop me, you vile insect!!” the Pharaoh shouted, turning to face her. Idly, she noticed that Apep’s power had given him muscles and reflexes that the true Tutankhamen had never had in his short life. He blocked her kick easily, and she barely dodged his swing, springing backwards to get out of his range. Tut started laughing, mad with power. Khepri narrowed her eyes and began twirling her yoyo behind her.

She had promised the queen she would try, but if it was a decision between saving Tut or saving Egypt….

“You are nothing but a pathetic. Little. Lady-bug,” Pharaoh spat.

Instead of becoming angry and arguing back, Khepri just smiled at him and nodded.

“As you say, Pharaoh.”

She brought her spinning yoyo down hard on his thigh, not bothering to see how much damage she did as she sprang for his scepter. He bellowed in pain and then in anger when he realized he’d been tricked. Praying for a new, purifying spell, Khepri activated the scepter again, this time with her own true magic.

“Sacred Scarab!”

The void to the abyss and the beam of light disappeared. Tutankhamen’s sacrifice fell from the sky. Maahes displayed his cat-like reflexes when he jumped and caught Queen Ankhesenamun. As one, the one-hundred mummies surrounding them collapsed as the scepter in Khepri’s hands was purified.

“My love!” the queen cried, racing over to Tutankhamen. He turned away from her, still sitting on the ground and clutching his leg.

“Don’t look at me,” he muttered sullenly, as he turned back into teenage king that was his true form. “I hurt you. I listened to Apep’s empty promises and betrayed you.”

“That was not your fault!” Ankhesenamun insisted. She looked at Khepri desperately. “Tell him, goddess!”

“You are neither the first, nor the last man to fall victim to the forces of evil,” Khepri agreed, regarding the Pharaoh solemnly. He seemed to be in a lot of pain from the injury she’d given him earlier. “Do you wish me to heal your leg?”

“No, Goddess Khepri,” Tutankhamun ground out, trying to stand. His wife rushed to his side to help him and he leaned on her, gasping. “This is the symbol of my great sin. All those people… my beloved….” He looked at his wife mournfully. “I will bear this pain. Even in the afterlife. It will weight on my soul forever.”

“There is no need for that,” Ankhesenamun protested. Tutankhamun shook his head at her and turned back to Khepri, even as Maahes also made his way over to them.

“Please, goddess, if it is the will of Ra, keep no record of this horrific incident,” Pharaoh pleaded. Khepri bowed her head.

“I cannot do that,” she said regretfully. “But, if it is any consolation, the record I must make will be buried deep in the record halls of the gods. Along with this,” she said, indicating the scepter of power she had stolen from him.

Tutankhamen nodded, resigned. “If you must, please make it look like a legend, instead of something I actually did….”

Khepri smiled. “I’ll do my best, my Pharaoh.”

……

Less than a week later, the Pharaoh Tutankhamen was dead, having never recovered from his injury.

Khepri took caution as she strode into the palace, where the queen still grieved.

“You did this,” Ankhesenamun sobbed. “It’s your fault. You promised not to kill him!!”

“I promised to try,” Khepri said, stoically keeping any emotion from her voice.

“It’s still your fault!”

“It is,” the superheroine agreed.

“I should set the guards on you! Have them hunt you throughout the kingdom!”

Khepri didn’t bother to reply, and just leveled the queen with a dry stare. She was technically a goddess. The guards would throw their weapons down and abandon their queen before daring to lay a finger on her. Ankhesenamun gasped in a deep breath, trying to steady her sobs.

“But I won’t,” she said, her voice still shaking a bit. “Because it will do no good. Not against you.”

“Have you sent for your grandfather?” Khepri asked, hoping to get to the reason she’d even bothered to come here today.

“I sent for him days ago; just after the… ceremony.”

“Very good.” Khepri turned to go.

“I will erase you from history,” Ankhesenamun called after her. “You will get no shrines. No monuments. In the parts of history I allow to remain, you will be a minor god, lost in the glory of Ra!”

Ah, the irony. Khepri carefully hid her smile.

“As you say, my queen.”

….

Maahes was waiting for her on a rooftop nearby. “Have I told you how brilliant you are today, milady?” he asked, falling into step beside her.

“Considering I’ve spent the past few days holed up, recording what happened before the pharaoh’s successors try to rewrite history, probably not,” Khepri said, allowing herself to smile at her partner as they headed away from the palace.

He smirked back at her. “And considering you just got the most powerful woman in the country to give you exactly what you’ve always wanted, what do you want to do now?”

“We should probably lay low for a while,” Khepri said, thinking. “The Pharaoh’s successor will want to keep the queen happy to earn her support, and that may mean promising things….”

“Like your head on a plate?”

“Mmm, exactly.”

Maahes grin turned into a leer. “You can always come live with me, milady—”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Maahes? I’m a man! I’m actually a man!”

“And you’ll find I’m as flexible as a cat,” her partner said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Khepri facepalmed. “I certainly hope Tikki’s future charges don’t have to put up with anyone like you. Or your awful puns.”

“Sorry, milady,” Maahes said, cheerfully throwing his arm around her as they headed off into the sunset. “You’re doomed. Doomed for all eternity….”

Khepri elbowed him in the gut and threw her yoyo to the nearest building.

“Only if you can keep up, cat!” she sang, flying away.

He laughed as he chased her. “Bring it on, milady!”

......

End.

[analisegrey]

Bonus!

Because sometimes your friends have lousy days, and you write them whump and h/c to cheer them up. Hope this helps, @unforth-ninawaters.

This is from my Cap sandwich BDSM au (Dom!Steve, sub/switch!Bucky, sub!Clint). There’s no smut in this story, though there are some mild descriptions of injury and blood mention. 

Steve pulled his motorcycle over and parked, and Bucky pulled up behind him; Bucky was using the bike with a large side car so they could bring Clint back out with them. Coulson had offered support, both personnel and transport, but Steve and Bucky had shared a look then turned him down. When Coulson had asked why, Steve only had one response.

“Deniability.”

The small group of home-grown terrorists had taken Clint 4 days ago, not because he was the well-known badass and Avenger Hawkeye, but because he was Clint Barton, and they intended to grab Steve’s attention by grabbing his sub; and for their sins, they were right, they sure got his attention. As anyone could have told them, though, not all attention was good.

Now Steve and Bucky were coming for them, about a half mile down from where their compound sat. The sun was minutes from coming up, their breath ghosting in front of them as they double checked their gear; Steve tugged his half-gloves on, and Bucky double checked his knives were secure. As they walked down the road, Steve pulled the shield from its place on his back; he was wearing the holster for the shield, but they’d both switched their normal uniforms out for something less recognizable; dark cargo pants, black military boots, black long-sleeved shirt, dark half-gloves, and they were the embodiments of God’s avenging angels as they stalked forward.

Reaching the edge of the trees that opened up to the clearing the main building stood in, Steve aimed straight for the front door Bucky following along behind like a shadow. The building was an old run-down farmhouse, and nobody stopped them on their way up to the porch- fucking amateurs, Steve thought- and he didn’t bother to use his shield as he ripped the door knob clear out of the door, tossing it to the side as he kicked the door open.

Putting his shield up as he entered, he practically ran over a surprised man who’d been walking from the room to Steve’s right towards the front door. He didn’t have a chance to make so much as a peep before Steve had slammed him in the face with his shield. A quiet ‘crunch’, and the man crumpled to the floor like a puppet with his strings cut. Screeching of wooden chair legs on linoleum, and Steve knew the game was on. More men started running in through what had once been a kitchen, and Steve threw the shield, taking out three of them at once. He caught it on the rebound, and charged forward, taking out a fourth and fifth up close before they’d had the chance to even pull their weapons. A sixth man was standing frozen near the table they had obviously been sitting at when Steve crashed in, his eyes wide in fear, hand trembling inches from the gun in his belt. Steve knew he could easily get to him before the man could clear his weapon to fire.

“Where is he?”

The man’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment, throat clicking in a dry swallow before an almost breathless, “Who…?” escaped his lips.

Steve growled, low in his throat, and the man shrank back.

Bucky came up just behind Steve, none too gently prodding at one of the fallen combatants with his boot. “Better answer him, pal, he’s in no mood to deal with your shit.”

Steve took a half step forward and the man pulled back further. “Where. Is. He.”

“Up...upstairs…”

Darting forward, Steve clocked the man in the head with the shield, not waiting to see him hit the floor before he pivoted and was on his way to the stairs he’d seen on his way in. He could hear Bucky muttering behind him about Steve having all the fun, but Bucky had been right. He was in no mood for that right now. He took the steps three at a time and was almost disgusted when there was only one guard at the top landing. This one was only slightly more of a challenge, his weapon already drawn and aimed at the stairs, but Steve barely paid it any mind, letting bullets ping off the front of his shield as he charged forward. It was quick work to drop the man, and Steve started checking doors on one side of the hall while Bucky cleared the others.

“Steve, I’ve got him.” Bucky’s voice was carefully neutral, and Steve made himself finish clearing the rest of the hallway before he made his way to the room Bucky was in. Steve stifled the urge to go back and finish the job he’d started on the guards littering the house. Bucky was crouched down next to Clint, and Clint- Clint was a bit of a mess.

The room was empty, stripped of all furniture, anything that could have been considered a creature comfort. Clint had apparently also been stripped, the clothes he was wearing when he was taken were gone, and Steve knew, objectively, that nudity was a way to enforce vulnerability in a captive, to make them feel how little control they had, and Steve felt his blood start to boil as he took in the marks that scattered across Clint’s skin, telling the story of what he’d endured. There were purpling marks sticking out from under the heavy metal cuffs fastened around Clint’s wrists and ankles, signs of struggle; at his wrists the skin was rubbed raw and was bleeding in places. Clint had taken at least a couple beatings if the bruising was any indication, newer darker purple and blue marks over others that had just barely started to yellow at the edges. The shape of boot prints and finger-shaped bruises stood out glaringly, and the whip marks around Clint’s back and shoulders were more recent, some of them still bleeding sluggishly. There were similar marks though not as deep on the soles of Clint’s feet, though they looked a little more healed.

“Stevie.”

Steve blinked, pulling himself back from the rage he could feel starting to crowd in at his mind and glanced over at Bucky.

“If you wanna go wreak unholy hell on them, that’s ok, I won’t stop you. But before you do that, can you help me get the chains broken off? We need to get him out of here first and the cuffs’ll have to wait til we’re back to get them off safely. They welded them on.”

Steve hadn’t actually thought someone’s vision could go red with anger, but apparently it could.

Steve knelt down next to Clint, and Bucky put a hand on Steve’s arm. When Steve looked up, Bucky nodded toward the door. “I’m gonna go grab a blanket or two and the first aid kit from the bike. You get the chains off him and I’ll be right back, ok?”

Steve nodded, stilted. “Yeah. Ok.”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s arm, then took off at a jog through the door.

Steve took another deep breath, centering himself, focusing. Clint needed him.

Clint’s hearing aids were gone, and his eyes were closed. Steve didn’t know if he was unconscious, sleeping, or awake and pretending not to be out of self-preservation. Gently as he could, Steve picked a spot on Clint’s shoulder with the least bruising and placed his hand there. Clint startled, flinching back and eyes popping open, looking confused and more than a little glazed over. He’d been unconscious then, or at least dozing. Steve carefully touched the side of Clint’s face, getting his attention, and Steve saw it the moment recognition and realization hit Clint; Clint’s eyes shut again and he started shaking, his hand moving clumsily up to try to grasp at Steve’s wrist, the chain from the cuff rattling loudly on the hardwood floor. Steve put his other hand over Clint’s, squeezing, and Clint curled slightly, a harsh noise, not quite a sob, breaking free despite what looked like his best efforts to control himself.

“Oh doll.” Steve carefully disentangled one of his hands, and tapped lightly at Clint’s cheek to get his attention again. Clint looked up and Steve signed, ‘Ok?’

Clint furrowed his brows together and lifted a shaky hand, tilting it back and forth with an added head tilt and shrug. Steve nodded, squeezing Clint’s other hand again. ‘Not immediately dying, but not great’, then. Steve would take that over some of the possible alternatives. He motioned to the chain on the hand he was holding and mimed a breaking gesture with raised eyebrows. Clint nodded tiredly and let his head rest back down on the floor, holding his arm out further towards Steve; it looked like it took more effort than it should have. Steve carefully took hold of the cuff around Clint’s wrist with one hand, and the length of chain with the other, as close to the attachment point as he could get, and twisted. There was the sound of strained metal as the link bent then broke, and Steve pulled it away, letting it fall with a heavy thunk.

By the time Bucky came back into the room, Steve was removing the last chain from one of Clint’s ankles, and was practically shaking with repressed anger again. When Bucky gave him a questioning look, Steve shook his head and rested a light hand on Clint’s ankle, running his thumb lightly over the top of Clint’s foot.

“He told me he tried to run the first day they had him. They did this to make sure he couldn’t try again.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve was referring to the chains or the whip marks, but either way it was horrifying. Clint’s eyes were closed, but his breathing was too quick for him to be asleep or unconscious.

“How with it is he?”

Steve gave Clint’s leg a squeeze before he stood up and Clint opened his eyes to look up at them. “He’s pretty with it all things considered. Weak, probably malnourished. Let’s do triage, then get him wrapped up and out of here. You’ll get him to the bike?”

Bucky was already opening up the first aid kit to get out some rolls of gauze to cover the open abrasions for transport. “Yeah. You gonna package up the goons for SHIELD?”

“Yeah.” Bucky had rarely ever heard Steve’s tone so icey.

“Give me a hand with this, let me get him out of the building, then do what you’ve gotta.”

Steve clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, then nodded, helping get Clint sat partially upright so Bucky could loosely wrap bandages around his torso to cover his back, and did the same with his feet. Once they’d done that and Clint gave the ok, Steve helped bundle him up in the soft blankets Bucky had brought in with him, and got Clint situated in Bucky’s arms in a bridle carry.

‘Sorry’, Steve signed apologetically when Clint winced at the pressure on his back. ‘Love you.’

Clint smiled up at him, and mouthed, ‘Love you, too.’ Steve grinned back, then looked up at Bucky. “Ok. Let’s go.” Steve led the way out; he’d already taken the guard from the upstairs hallway and shut him in one of the other rooms on the second floor, bending the doorknob down so he’d have a rough time getting it open again without help. Bucky followed Steve carefully down the stairs and out  to the porch, stepping over the the man still laid out just inside the door.

Steve pulled a bundle of wire-threaded zip ties from one of the pockets in his pants. “You’re good to get him to the bikes?”

“Yup.” Bucky turned to the side so he could lightly shoulder bump against Steve. “Once I’ve got Clint settled I’ll send in a tip to SHIELD to come clean up. Don’t take too long, and try to leave most of them breathing.”

Steve gave a jaunty salute, and spun on his heel to stalk back inside house. Bucky didn’t envy any of the men inside the encounter with Steve they were about to have. If they were smart they wouldn’t fight; if they were lucky, they’d stay unconscious. Bucky got to the side car of his bike where more blankets were waiting, and bundled Clint into the seat, making as comfortable a nest as for him as he could. He pulled out the spare helmet and Clint managed a scowl at him, but Bucky insisted, and once Clint was settled Bucky shot off a quick text on a burner phone to Coulson tipping him off about a possible terrorist cell on a farm upstate. He gave the coordinates, and once he was sure the message had been received, he crushed the phone in his metal hand and dropped the pieces into a pouch on his bike for later disposal. He decided he’d give Steve fifteen minutes, and if he wasn’t back yet Bucky’d go looking for him. Twelve minutes later Steve came back out, looking very satisfied with himself. Bucky got onto his bike and waited for Steve to come up alongside him.

“They all still breathing?”

“Maybe not comfortably, but yes.” Steve looked over at where Clint had fallen asleep again, his head tilted to the side. “You send the SHIELD tip in?”

Bucky nodded, putting his helmet on. “Yup. They should be on their way pretty soon.”

“Good.” Steve put his own helmet on. “Ready to head out?”

Bucky took another look at the sidecar, at their precious cargo. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

[starlalalala]

oh sleep, oh rest

a/n: First published ah fic! Very representative of my love of angst, hurt, and freewood. 

Pairing: freewood (implied)

Warnings/Tags: Minecraft AU, Angst, Dark God Ryan, Possession

Summary: The Dark God was gone. Ryan was free.

Ryan woke slowly, feeling like he'd been asleep for days. His eyelids fluttered before they were finally able to stay open, and that's when he noticed the cold stone floor against his cheek, the dim flickering light cast from a single torch in the large room, and the heavy smell of rotting meat.

He forced himself to his hands and knees. His arms shook. The movement and smell made him gag -and then suddenly there were hands on him, gently helping him to his feet. Ryan tried to speak but he was hushed, and dizziness forced his eyes shut as he was walked to some surface and sat down.

When Ryan opened his eyes again, he looked down at his own body. He was worryingly thin, his kilt held up only by his belt. His ribs were almost visible through his vest. He felt as small as a child, sitting on what now seemed like an oversized-

Throne.

There was a light chuckle as he gasped.

"Remember, lovely Ryan?" It was hard to make out details in the dim light, but it was Gavin standing tall in front of him, his creeperskin clothes partially covered by a deep green cloak that Ryan had gotten him years ago. The only light cast most of his features in shadow. Ryan was struck with the desire to see him in the sun.

"Gavin," Ryan breathed, and yes, he remembered. Most of it, at least -so much was a blur, the time his consciousness was buried under the Dark God's, but there were moments. Attacking Geoff, battling Michael, wilting Jack's farm. He'd chased Jeremy from his altar, and Gavin-

"Gavin," Ryan said again, and nearly overbalanced in his desperation to reach for him.

But Gavin was there, keeping him upright, holding his shoulders and looking down on him with a kind smile. It seemed so strange, and Ryan could only think that it had been so long since he'd seen Gavin smile, and he seemed so different, more sure of himself. How long had it been? Ryan clutched at Gavin’s arms as he searched his mind, looking for any sign that he might be forced back under again.

The Dark God was gone. Ryan was free.

"Gavin," Ryan croaked, and this time Gavin laughed. "My head... there's nothing..."

"Always figured your brain was empty, lovely Ryan," Gavin said, and Ryan nearly sobbed. Here was Gavin, laughing with him, talking with him, after who knew how long-

After all he’d done-

"The others," Ryan realised, new panic gripping his chest. He and Gavin were alone. "Gav, the others- did I-"

"You didn't do anything, lovely Ryan," Gavin assured him lightly, one hand stroking through his hair. "The others are safe. They'll always be safe."

Ryan frowned, confused, but Gavin's calm seemed contagious. He only wanted to lay his head against the other’s chest, rest until things made sense again. Still, he had questions, and even with his head pounding, he needed answers.

"You saved me," Ryan said, and Gavin beamed, and Ryan had been afraid he'd never see that expression again. "How? How did you get rid of... that thing?"

Gavin laughed again, a sharp, clear sound that seemed to ring away the rest of the dust that had settled over Ryan's mind.

"Not sure what you're talking about, lovely Ryan," Gavin told him with a sweet smile, and Ryan wasn't sure if the vice he felt around his heart was real or imagined. "I'm right here."

"No," Ryan whispered. He wanted to scream it, but he could barely make a sound around the lump in his throat.

Gavin -Gavin's body- leaned forward to give Ryan a light kiss on the forehead, hands moving from his shoulders to embrace him. Gavin -he still felt warm, but for the first time Ryan looked into his eyes, and he didn't see Gavin there. It was the same green he'd looked into so many times, but flat. Shallow. No light in them. "No."

"You were a wonderful host, lovely Ryan," Gavin told him. Their foreheads touched, and Ryan felt the breath of the words against his face, trapped staring into those eyes. The image blurred for a moment. He thought he might be crying. "But I couldn't resist a change of pace."

"Leave him alone," Ryan croaked, and fear helped him find his voice. "Get out of him-"

"It's been so long since I've had a willing host, lovely Ryan," Gavin said, and he sounded so damn happy, so different from how he'd been when puppeteering Ryan around. "It's such a nice feeling, to be accepted so wholly. Even those who wanted power from me fought when they realised what it entailed, but it's so wonderful with him..."

"He wouldn't," Ryan snapped over Gavin's dreamy sigh. "Gavin wouldn't."

Ryan wanted to fight back against the embrace, sickened by the tenderness from what was so completely not Gavin. But he found himself holding tighter to the arms around him. He needed to know, needed to understand, needed to undo-

"He made a deal first. Traveled here on his own, begged an audience like a good subject. And you know I keep my word," Gavin shrugged, gently tugging on Ryan's hair to force his face upwards. "It's not that I didn't enjoy having you as a vessel, lovely Ryan. But he's kept his word too, and it's so quiet when there's not another consciousness fighting yours. So peaceful." Gavin grinned. "Like there's no more mosquitoes."

"What deal?" Ryan demanded, even though he had a sinking suspicion that he knew.

"Leave you, first of all." And there they were, the words that made the tears spill. Gav- the Dark God cooed, and moved one hand to wipe them away. "Didn't you want to be free, lovely Ryan?"

He wasn't expecting an answer. Ryan wasn't sure he could give one.

"And he didn't want his friends hurt either. He made me swear to never harm any of you, and I won't." The Dark God leaned forward until he was whispering into Ryan's ear, the words spoken too softly for what they meant. "The others are all locked up in the castle. They're fed and safe and together, and they'll never escape.

"You'll be joining them soon. But it felt wrong not to say goodbye, lovely Ryan."

Ryan grabbed Gavin's shoulders, and roughly pushed him away so that their eyes could meet properly, so Gavin could see the desperation on his face, in his grip. He knew the Dark God could destroy him for it, but with the deal he could he bold, and it wasn't like it mattered anyway, not with Gavin like this, not when Ryan had ruined everything-

"You can't just give up," Ryan pleaded. He never let his grip slacken, even though the Dark God made no move to get away, even though it would make no difference if he did. "Gavin, please, don't do this-"

Gavin's expression shifted -but only from quiet affection to fond amusement.

"It is done, lovely Ryan, and besides," the Dark God shrugged, idly twirling a strand of Ryan's hair around his finger, "he can't hear you."

Ryan's stomach dropped, and the Dark God shook his head gently.

"Nothing so morbid, lovely Ryan. He sleeps," the Dark God told him, and the tone he used talking about Gavin, like he was some sort of beloved pet. It made Ryan’s stomach turn. "He was so tired, you see. He'd been worried about you for so long, and he's had to worry about his friends, and you trying to kill them and them trying to kill you... he's more at peace now than he has been in weeks." 

Ryan wished he thought the Dark God was lying.

"Please, no," Ryan whispered. He didn't know what else to do. "You can come back -I'll make the same deal, leave him and leave the others alone-"

To his dismay, the Dark God laughed.

"I know you'll miss me. And what we had was special. But you'll have your other friends to keep you company, and I promise I'll visit." Ryan began to feel the tug in his stomach that he recognised as a teleportation spell, and the room began to twist at its edges.

"Gavin," he pleaded, one last time, desperate-

"Don't worry, lovely Ryan," the Dark God said as his vision faded, "I'll take good care of him."

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 12: Family Dynamics

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Safe on their home island of Eremita, the hermits need to practice, grow their magic stronger. A day in the life of the illegal guild of hermits includes food- practice- more food- practice- contemplating of life.

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

The Order returned to their island, healed by the remaining Asklepions and left with more questions than answers. They know almost nothing more about dark magic, despite fighting it twice now. When they thought husks only appeared around crystals, Danes proved they can move. When they believed they understood why a husk appeared, the monsters just tore apart their theories. 

One thing they did learn from the two experiences is they need more training. More experience, especially against dark magic. The hermits were strong, but the forces of darkness were stronger. But before any of them can take on each other, they first need to take on breakfast.

Which is a challenge in itself. Half of the hermits want to jump right into training, ignoring the guild hall and insistence of TFC. The other half are easily enticed by the scent of food. 

Grian is practically vibrating in his seat, to the point that Iskall has to reach out and press his hand on the blond hair to keep him seated. “Who thought it was a good idea to give him syrup?” 

“It’s not the breakfast, I can’t wait to get back to sparring!” Grian grins, turning to Mumbo. “You ready for another round of quickdraws?” 

Mumbo groans, head falling back and mouth falling open. “Gri, you know I can’t quickdraw my magic circle.” 

“Like, at all, dude.” Iskall hums, picking the skin off an orange. 

“That’s how you’ll get better! Learn by doing!” Grian points out. He knows that Mumbo struggles with his magic- it’s a lot of magic to handle, being a multi-mage. But he’s seen Mumbo’s strength, he sees the potential in his best friend. And only someone as equally powerful as him, like Grian, can take on that power. Once it shows itself. 

Stress walks by, rolling up her sleeves and brushing the rat’s nest from her hair. She sits down next to False, squeaking as the sharp slice of rock against metal cuts into the air. Stress realizes the shining alloy isn’t a plate. “False, haven’t we said before- no weapons on the tables?” 

“It’s no used weapons. This is brand new, just finished forging it last night.” She picks the chakram by the handle in the center, tossing the disk blade across the table to Wels. “Why don’t you give it a try today?” 

Wels laughs, giving the weapon a slice and a spin. “Let’s see Etho dodge this.” 

Etho, hearing his own name, abruptly stands up from his seat and scurries into the nearest shadow, a strip of bacon shoved into his mouth as he pulls up his mask. Doc and BDubs only laugh, divvying up the remains of Etho’s breakfast. 

Under the quiet seats under the massive oak, as old as the island itself, Keralis and Xisuma are studying. Keralis stopped by his family’s bookstore on the mainland, sifting through ancient tomes in hopes of finding something about dark magic. 

“Ugh, why does no one write about dark magic, sheshwammy?” Keralis growls, his thick south Lairyon accent struggling to say Xisuma’s central name. 

“Probably because it’s illegal to practice it, so no one knows anything about it.” Xisuma sets down another book, picking up the egg sandwich he made and taking a frustrated bite. “Though someone obviously does. But we need proof that this is dark magic, written proof.” He knows they can’t stop it themselves- that’s the arcane guard’s job. But after seeing all of Gildara abandoned, and most of the Asklepions killed, the least he can do is this. 

“You really think the pen is mightier than the sword?” False questions, raising an eyebrow. She presses her knife into the sausage patty on her plate, daring Joe to answer.

“I mean, when my pen can make a giant magic sword with fire and lightning, yeah.” Joe grins, pressing his chin to his open palm. A dangerous glint appears behind his glasses, and he uses the other hand to push them up. Sun reflects off the spectacles, making it impossible for False to see anything beyond the smirk and the light- infuriating her. 

“Cleo,” False grabs the pirate by her long coat and dragging her into the conversation. Without the paladin here to back her up, she needed someone else with a way with words. “You get what I’m saying. Tell me your blade there wouldn’t completely destroy Joe in a fight. I mean, all I’d have to do is cut up that journal of yours and your magic is useless!” 

“Well, Joe does have a point. Sure, your forged weapons are the best in the kingdom, and Joe is screwed if he ever has to face you without his magic.” Cleo pauses, watching the two. “But I’m inclined to believe that words should come before violence- which is why anytime Mr. Joe of the Hills here refuses to finish his breakfast, I remind him with my words that I’m going to break his knees before i actually do.” Cleo pulls out her sword, setting the tip on the wood table. 

Joe shoves the last of his pancakes into his mouth, quick to retreat from Cleo. He was asking for trouble with False, but he knows any of the women could easily kick his ass. Even as an S-Class. “Hey False, why don’t we take this debate to the training field, see how mighty the sword is to the pen?” 

“You can’t escape me forever, Joe!” Cleo calls, watching as the two S-Class mages run down the hill and onto the latter half of the island. Their home island, Eremita, was separated into two parts. The southern side of the island lays claim to where the hermits live. An odd mix of towers and forges, ships and caves. It was up to the hermits to chose their own style of household- which created some disunion of the overall complex, but allowed for each member to express themselves. Everyone helped, whether Scar packed stone bricks or False forged iron nails. 

The other half of the island, however, was left mostly untouched. A large field of grass, combed by the salty sea air, dotted with targets and barriers. A dirt circle cuts into the field, where hermits can duel one on one. Beyond the field, a large pond expands like an eye to the face of the island. Caressing the other shore, a dense forest grows on a slow rise of a hill, before stopping at the edge of the cove of a broad, sandy beach. It was a perfect home, a perfect place for an illegal guild to lay claim. 

Training grounds quickly filled with groups and teams, even TFC getting in on strengthening himself. He wasn’t going to let some little rock keep him down for long. “Hey Cub, lets show these guys a thing or two about magic.” 

The two silver haired, bearded men join the others well settled into today’s training. Deep in the forest, a soft explosion can be heard, followed by the giddy laughter as Zedaph leaps from tree to tree. Tango and Impulse struggle to follow him, and the birds diving for their heads don’t help. At the interface between trees and grass, Doc and Jevin have teamed up to amass an army. Objects under the devious control of Doc’s puppeteering magic, violent and unshaken to mimic the husks they fought. Jevin’s slime soldiers add bodies to the battle, flanking Iskall, Ren, and Xisuma. Hiding behind a barrier, Etho is waiting for the sun to reappear and for shadows to return, ducking his head as the chakram whizzes past. Despite his terrifying predicament, he has a coy smile on his face. 

In the field, BDubs is practicing his aim with Scar, shredding apart haybales with their unique magic. Plants grow from one, thorns dug deep into the tightly bound material. The other has been knocked over and crushed by a boulder, Scar cheering his success. And in the center of the dueling ring, Mumbo and Grian stand still as stone. The quietest Grian ever has been. In a flash, as simple as a shift in the wind’s direction, Mumbo rushes to summon his circle. A second later, he’s blown off his feet, Grian grinning with blue embers fading away from his fingers. Mumbo groans, rubbing the dirt stained fabric on his rear. “You couldn’t have given me a few seconds? It’s not like I’d ever win.” 

Grian offers an easy smile, waving Mumbo closer. “Come on, let’s practice the basics again. I know you can do it, friend.” 

The hermits continue into the afternoon, only stopping their training briefly for lunch under the cool relief of the oaken guild hall. Groups disband and reform, training and practicing and learning from each other. Trying to be better, stronger together. So that next time they come face to face with an enemy, or the dark magic, they can win. They will win. 

No guild is quite like the Order of Hermits. Apart from being illegal, they’re a mix of just about every kind of magic. A healing mage like Grian can stand side by side with Cleo’s underworld magic, no set skill required on requested. Varying strengths train side by side, not separated from better or worse. They all have something to learn from each other, even the strongest S-Class can be surprised by the newest mage. And often, Grian is. The magic is just as diverse as the people, the hermits that call Eremita home. 

Training is cut short by a squall, appearing like magic and blowing across the Ashioll sea. Broiling grey clouds engulf the sun, and quickly send the hermits scattering into shelter. Well, most of them. The ZIT trio remained wrestling in the mud, and BDubs couldn’t help but join in. 

Wels returns the chakram to False, a number of other hermits huddled around the blasting heat of False’s outdoor forge, nestled under the stone roof. Stress jumps back as an ember sparks out, nearly catching the trim of her robes. She rubs her exposed arms, the warm material of her fur coat wrapped around her waist. So much for the hot summer day. 

Joe and Cleo have made up, and are plucking books from his library to read as the rain pours down, laughing as they watch Ren skitter away to his home, ears and tail tucked. 

Xisuma sits at a window, looking out across the clouded green sea from his tower. He chose the Ashioll sea for a reason to make this his home. To start a guild here. No one else dared called these waters home. Old magic, magic so wild and arcane that not even the kiplings can control, residing here in these waters. Merchant vessels and battleships avoid the sea, and even the hermits don’t have every island mapped out. Though Grian and Xisuma are working on it. The sea was their safe haven, the island their home. 

Xisuma turns his head, glancing at the white envelope on his desk. The yellow seal bearing a sun remains unbroken. He’s not ready to think about his brother. He knows he could have valuable information, and is likely concerned about him, but he can’t bear to open the letter today. He turns his head back to the storm, watching lightning streak across the sky, smelling the scent of the void left behind by the bolts. He doesn’t need his brother- he has his own family, right here. 

They’ll do this, without Ex.