#ALIENS: Stronghold | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scary-grace · 4 months ago

Note

For the milestone thingy with shigaraki, 24 and 28!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I went a little crazy with this one, and I hope you like it! If anyone else wants to prompt me from this list for a Shigaraki fic, please feel free.

When a child from your settlement goes missing, you go willingly into the woods to rescue him from the entity that dwells there. You're not at all prepared for what you find. Based on the tale of Tam Lin. 7.1k words, afab reader, warnings for dubcon + smut. Prompts: 'whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin' +'feeling for each other in the dark'

Izuku’s been missing since noon, and you and the others are out of places to look. You’ve searched high and low, crawled into every closet and tight corner, and checked every building, outbuilding, and hole in the ground. You even risked the radio, calling to the next settlement fifty kilometers away, on a wild hope that someone had found him and taken him to the wrong place. You’ve asked everyone if they’ve seen him, and got the same answer – not since noon. Now the sun is setting, and you’re out of ideas. Except one.

You’re the one who raises it, because no one else will. “What if he went to the woods?”

“Why would he do that?” Yue looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “He knows better. They all know better.”

“Something could have enchanted him,” you argue. “We have to think of everything –”

“Nothing that’s supposed to stay in the woods ever comes out of it,” Rumi says. “That’s why we’re here instead of somewhere else.”

So much of the world is haunted now. You and the others are old enough to remember the way it was before, but the little kids have never known anything different. Fear of the woods isn’t learned for them, it’s instinctual. It’s hard to imagine that a kid like Izuku, a kid who follows the rules to a fault, a kid who’s always eager to please, would do something like this. But if there’s anything you know about the world as it is now, it’s that you can’t trust the rules to stay the same. Soon enough, they bend and warp, and there’s enough space between them for Hell itself to slip through.

Some say the creatures that claimed half the world seven years ago are demons, drawn up by humanity’s sins. Others think they’re aliens who’ve been watching Earth for eons, choosing to step in now for reasons incomprehensible to anyone but themselves. It’s easier to believe those things than the truth: They’re the Fair Folk, creatures of myths and fairytales the world over, who burst from hiding all at once and forced humanity to the brink in a seven-day war. Seven days. To you it shifted overnight.

Millions were lost. Any space where nature had been left to flourish became a stronghold for the Folk – forests, beaches, streams, mountains, fields, lakes. Deserts. Oceans. City parks. What the Folk couldn’t overrun, they destroyed; what they couldn’t destroy, they transformed. Even iron can’t protect against them, when there are enough of them, and they targeted the cities and towns first. That’s why you and the others were sent away. The Folk’s armies are merciless. The Folk who took up residence in the wild places are – less.

There are no truly safe places, but the settlement is as close as it gets – a cluster of buildings in the midst of a square mile blasted clean of anything wild, on the edge of a forest whose fey inhabitant never ventures out. As long as you don’t go into the woods, look at the woods, think about the woods for too long, you’re safe from him.

Or you thought you were. Fuyumi’s coming around to your way of thinking. “If Izuku’s in there, we have to go get him.”

“Are you crazy?” Natsuo crosses his arms over his chest, shakes his head. “I love that kid as much as any of us do, but if we go in there, we’re dead. That thing in there wants us more than it’ll ever want him.”

Manami wraps her arms tightly around herself, shivering. “Maybe we should call the grown-ups.”

“No,” you and everyone else says at once. Rumi keeps talking. “The radio’s too risky. The Folk can distort it. And we can’t distract them. What they’re doing is too important.”

“Besides,” Yue mumbles, “they left us in charge. We’re the grown-ups now.”

The military was decimated in the first round of fighting. Now the military, such as it is, consists of every able-bodied adult, no matter who they were before. Every able-bodied adult includes the parents of every single kid in the settlement, but someone has to take care of the kids during the three-quarters of the year where the adults are away. The older kids got the job, because in spite of the fact that all of you are old enough to vote and all of you could theoretically fight, you still count as underage in the eyes of the law. That makes you children to the Fair Folk. The Fair Folk love human children too much.

“We can’t call the adults. We looked everywhere. We can’t go to the woods,” Fuyumi says. “What are we supposed to do?”

“We don’t have proof he went to the woods,” Keigo says, speaking up for the first time. “Nobody goes in unless there’s proof.”

“How are we supposed to get proof?” Yue asks. “We already asked everyone.”

“Let’s ask again,” you say. “And let’s hurry. Whatever we do, we have to do it before dark.”

You and the others split up. Natsuo and Rumi go to quiz the oldest kids, while Fuyumi and Manami and Yue go to talk to the middle-graders. Keigo aims for the youngest kids; you go to the ones who would be in primary school if the world hadn’t ended. It’s Izuku’s age group. Even though he’s not popular, they’re more likely than anyone else to know where he is.

You asked them already, but this time, you’ve got specifics. “I know you don’t know where he went,” you say to them, once you’ve herded all of them into a corner to talk to. “I want to know what he’s been like over the past few days. Has he said anything about the woods?”

The reaction among the kids is instant, and it strikes fear and guilt into you like you’ve never felt before. “What did he say?” you ask. Head-shakes all around. “I need you to tell me. Izuku might be in big trouble. We can’t do anything to help him if we don’t know what happened.”

More head-shaking, from all the kids but one. Katsuki’s looking away from you, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set. Of all the kids, Katsuki’s the one who likes Izuku the least, who picks on him the most. You and the others try to stop him, but you can’t be there every second. “Katsuki,” you say. He looks quickly at you, then looks away again. “What did Izuku say to you about the woods?”

“Deku’s a coward. He wouldn’t do it. I just said I’d stop if he –” Katsuki’s voice wavers. “I didn’t think he’d really go.”

You feel sick to your stomach. “Did you dare him to go into the woods?”

“And bring something back,” Katsuki says. “To prove it.”

It all comes together in your head, an awful picture you can’t look away from. What Izuku wants more than anything is to belong with the other kids, to have friends, and Katsuki’s the one who won’t let it happen. Promises hold more weight in this world than they used to. If he promised to leave Izuku alone, Izuku had good reason to trust it. But he dared Izuku to break two rules at once, two rules that are guaranteed to seal Izuku’s fate. Humans don’t trespass on the Folk’s territory without consequences. And they definitely don’t steal from them.

But you know where Izuku is for sure. Now there’s something you can do. “Stay here,” you order the kids, and you run to find the others.

“No,” Yue says, even before you’ve finished explaining. “We still can’t go in there.”

“We have to,” you say. “He’s just a kid –”

“So he’ll be safe,” Natsuo says. You stare at him. “If the stories are anything to go by, that thing’s not interested in kids. But you can bet he’d be interested in us.”

“The stories also say he can be bargained with,” you say. It gets quiet. “There’s no story about Tam Lin where he doesn’t let you make a deal.”

Part of the reason the settlement is here is that Tam Lin doesn’t leave the woods. The other part, never said but known all the same, is that unlike the other monsters from folklore, an encounter with Tam Lin doesn’t lead to death. You can walk away alive, so long as you and he come to an agreement. “No,” Keigo says. “Nothing ever goes well bargaining with the Folk. Especially not at night.”

“So you’d go in the morning?”

“I’d go in the morning,” Rumi says. “We could all go – or most of us, since somebody has to keep an eye on the kids –”

“What if he doesn’t have until morning?” you ask. It gets quiet again. “Time runs differently in their territory. We only know how long he’s been gone out here.”

“That’s just a rumor,” Natsuo says. “I say we go, some of us. In the morning.”

It’s a solid plan. You’d probably agree with it if there wasn’t this awful feeling in the pit of your stomach, the one that says Izuku has less time than you think, the one that says waiting until morning is waiting too long. There’s fear, and at the same time, there’s guilt. Guilt when you imagine Inko, Izuku’s mom, coming back from eight months of war to find her son gone. And even if it wasn’t for Inko, you know what kind of kid Izuku is. You know that if someone was in trouble, he’d run to help them, no matter how dangerous it was. You owe him the same.

“You can do what you want,” you say to the others. “I’m going now.”

“Are you crazy? You can’t just –”

“I know the stories. I know the rules. And I’ve still got things –” You touch the necklace your mother gave you before she died, the bracelet from your grandmother around your wrist. The idea of letting them go makes your heart ache, but for another person’s life, it’s not a question whether you’ll make the deal. “I still have things to trade. I can’t live with myself if I don’t go now.”

“You want to go get snatched by a faery? Fine.” Natsuo turns away, his jaw clenched. “My dad and my brother both tried this shit. You know how it went for them.”

“They didn’t try it with him,” you say. Natsuo walks away, and you face the others, forcing a smile onto your face. You hope you look brave. “Take care of the others. If I’m not back by nightfall, I’ll be back by morning. And so will Izuku.”

Promises made carry more weight in the world now. You take it as a good sign that you’re able to get the words out of your mouth without choking on them.

Crossing the border into the woods feels like entering another world. The Folk’s magic is so thick in the air that it’s hard to breathe, and you stumble against a tree before you’ve taken more than a dozen steps, your head swimming. You’ve never felt their magic like this except once before, and you do what you did then; small, paced breaths, taking sips of the air rather than gulping it down. Your lungs will adjust if you give them time, and once the knot in your chest loosens, you straighten up again. There’s a path before you, almost certainly a trap. Is it still a trap if you go into it purposely?

It doesn’t matter if it’s a trap or not – it’s Tam Lin’s trap, and you want to find him. You step onto the path and follow it into the trees.

Each step seems to take you centimeters forward at most, and at the same time, you can feel time passing in a way that’s not quite normal. It skips and starts and pauses, and panic begins to well up inside you as you feel yourself getting tired. On either side of the path are logs covered in soft, pillowy moss, hollows at the base of trees that would be perfect to curl up in, all inviting you to stop and rest. You ignore them, the same as you ignore the shimmering flowers a few meters off to the side, the same as you ignore the deer that follows along beside you close enough to pet. They’re all tricks made to stop you. You won’t stop until you find Izuku. And you won’t find Izuku until you reach Tam Lin.

The path terminates in a clearing, and you nearly stumble into it before you catch yourself. Instantly you know you’ve found the right place. The glade is covered with roses, a few of them white but most of them red, and Izuku sits amongst them, bound hand and foot in thorny vines. You call out to him, remembering only at the last minute not to use his name, and he looks towards you. There’s panic on his face. “Run,” he says. “This is his place. He’s here. If you take another step –”

You look more closely at Izuku. He looks terrible, dehydrated and exhausted, and worse than all of that, he looks thinner. Like he’s lost weight. Like he’s been here much longer than half a day. There’s a white rose clenched in his hand, bound there purposely by the vines. He’s made both mistakes outlined in the stories – trespassed in Tam Lin’s territory, and plucked a flower. Tam Lin has him. You wonder if he’s offered Izuku a bargain, and if he has, why Izuku didn’t take it. “Have you seen him?”

“He won’t show himself, but I know it’s him.” Izuku is crying now. “Please just go. This is all my fault. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”

“It’s too late for that.” A voice rasps out from between the trees on the far side of the glade. You see a pale figure there, just out of clear sight. “Listen to the boy. Run while you have the chance.”

So Tam Lin can entrap only one person at a time. You think through the rules of bargaining with the Folk, slowly and carefully, knowing that a mistake will cost Izuku everything. Tam Lin must have offered him a bargain. He must have refused it. And if he’s still here, it means that Tam Lin offers only one chance. It means you’ll get only one chance, and it’s the only choice you have if you want to save Izuku.

It’s not a choice at all. You take a deep breath, shaky enough to rattle your entire body, and step forward into the clearing, ignoring Izuku when he protests, noting the way the shadow in the trees startles. You bend down and grasp a red rose, snapping it free of its vine. “I’ll make you a deal, Tam Lin,” you say. “Let the boy leave the woods alive, safe, and whole, and I’ll take his place.”

Izuku protests again, or tries to. A vine wraps around the lower half of his face, clamping his jaw shut, as Tam Lin steps from the shadows at last. He looks nothing like the Folk are meant to, beautiful and healthy and whole – instead he’s gaunt and deathly pale, his skin dry and ashen and laced with scars. His clothing is ragged, and his hair, even paler than his skin, hangs lank and tangled around his face. His face is scarred, too. His eyes are bloodred.

You catch your breath in horror at the sight of him. He scoffs. “If you dare to offer that bargain again, it’s yours,” he says. “But I don’t think you will.”

“You think the way you look will make me forget why I’m here?” You let out a scoff of your own. “Let the boy leave the woods alive, safe, and whole, and I’ll take his place to bargain with you.”

Tam Lin’s lips are dry and cracked. When they curve into a smile, blood spills from them, dripping from the corner of his mouth to stain the collar of his tattered shirt. “Done.”

The vines unwrap from around Izuku, and you turn towards him, clamping your hand down over his mouth before he can say anything that will put him in Tam Lin’s clutches again. “Go home,” you order. Izuku’s eyes are welling up again. He shakes his head. “I know what I’m doing. I made your bargain, not my own just yet. Promise me you’ll go home now.”

If he promises you here, he won’t be able to break it. You lift your hand away from his mouth. “I promise,” Izuku whispers, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

The vines slip away from him at last, and with them, Izuku moves to drop the white rose. You fold his fingers around it. “Keep it,” you say. “Show Katsuki. Make him keep his promise, too.”

Izuku nods. “Go now,” Tam Lin rasps from behind you, as you help Izuku to his feet and turn him in the direction of the path. “Not that way. Here.”

He points to a gap between the trees, one that travels straight and true. At the far end of it, you can see the light of the setting sun. Izuku stumbles towards it, then steps between the trees, takes a single step – and vanishes. At least, that’s what it looks like from your angle. When you race through the vines to peer into the gap yourself, you see a small figure, dwindling rapidly, disappear into the light.

“You think I’d break my word?” Tam Lin’s come up behind you without warning. He speaks with his lips pressed against your ear. His breath is cold, and you freeze in terror. “Remember, I can’t lie. Unlike you.”

“What makes you think I lied?” You step forward, away from him, turning so you’re face to face. “If my bargain for his life wasn’t true, you wouldn’t have accepted it.”

“That’s right, but you didn’t lie to me,” Tam Lin says. “You lied to the boy, when you told him you had another bargain to make. You knew it was a lie when you said it.”

“I knew,” you admit.

“Then why?”

“So he’d leave without trying to help me.”

“Is that all?” Tam Lin tilts his head, studying you. “I think you lied so he wouldn’t think about the bargain you truly made.”

“That, too.” There’s no point in lying about this. You sealed your fate the moment you pulled the red rose. You let it fall from your hand to rest among the vines. “I don’t want him to think about what you’re going to do to me.”

“You offered yourself to me,” Tam Lin says – snaps, almost. “I gave you the chance to leave. You refused.”

“Yes.” You knew what you were offering, and he knew when he accepted. Why is he still talking? “Let’s get this over with.”

You have the brief satisfaction of seeing Tam Lin’s jaw drop. “Get this over with?”

“Don’t be dense,” you say. You made your deal with him. What else can he do to you? “When someone trespasses and steals from you, you take their virtue or the most valuable thing they have to offer. I made my bargain already, so I don’t get to choose. I don’t want to stand here waiting all night. Let’s get this over with.”

Tam Lin is staring at you like you’ve gone insane. The magic permeating every centimeter of the woods must be making you insane, because you’re standing here in a faery’s haunt, telling a faery to hurry up and – you can’t even finish the thought. Maybe you won’t need to finish the thought if you take control. “Well?”

Tam Lin looks away from you. “Take off your clothes.”

You think about it for a moment, then decide against it. You’re out of choices when it comes to this, except for how it goes, and you don’t want it to go like this. It must not be what Tam Lin wants, either – he’s still looking away, visibly uncomfortable. You cross the space between the two of you, reach up, and turn his head back to face you. He startles when you touch him. His skin is cold. So are his lips, when you rise on your toes to kiss them.

Tam Lin stays frozen, maybe in shock, maybe in disgust. When you draw back, you can read nothing on his face. Maybe this isn’t how the people whose virtue he steals usually react. You kiss him again, and he doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t respond. You haven’t done a lot of kissing, but you think the person you’re kissing is supposed to do something back. “Do faeries not believe in kissing?”

“I’m not a faery.”

He expects you to believe that, when he has faery magic, when he lives in the middle of a haunted forest, when he’s bound by the same rules that bind them. “Then what are you, Tam Lin?”

“I’m not a faery,” he says again, and you remember, suddenly, that he told you he can’t lie. His hands rise to grasp your waist. They’re thin and bony, almost skeletal, and cold just like the rest of him. “And my name’s not Tam Lin.”

“Oh.” You can’t manage much more of a response than that. “What do I call you, then?”

Not-Tam Lin, not-a-faery, leans in close, presses his lips to your ear again. “Tomura.”

You start to repeat it, to make sure you’ve heard it right, and Tam Lin – Tomura – covers your mouth with his hand. “Not out loud,” he says. Then why did he want you to know it? You kiss the palm of his hand and he flinches. “What are you doing? I told you to take off your clothes.”

“I have to at some point.” Your stomach clenches with discomfort at the thought of exposing yourself here, exposing yourself to him. “But you were right, before. I offered myself willingly. I should act like it.”

Tomura still looks confused. He looks frustrated when he’s confused, or else he’s confused when he’s frustrated, and either way, the whole virtue-stealing thing is taking too long. Your resolve could break at any second, and then this will be awful and painful and terrifying instead of simply awful, simply awkward. You’d rather he acted while you could both still convince yourselves that you want this. You watch Tomura’s expression shift, see the moment when he comes to the same conclusion. This time, when you lean in to kiss him, he kisses you back.

Cold. His kisses are ice-cold and unrelenting, even as his lips split against yours and blood spills between you. You lick it away on instinct and his grip on you tightens, and worse when you swipe your tongue across his lower lip again. Tomura’s lips part at once, and although you’ve done nothing more than read about this in a book, you lock your mouth against his. He’s so cold. But when your hand slips to rest against the side of his neck, you can put your fingers against his pulse. Whatever else Tomura may be, he’s alive.

The thought comforts you ever so slightly, but whatever peace or comfort you feel evaporates when Tomura’s grip on you shifts. He lifts you off your feet with a strength you wouldn’t have imagined he possessed and lays you down amongst the thorns. Amongst a spot that’s clear of them. You can see the vines retreating out of the corner of your eye a moment before Tomura pins you down. His mouth crashes against yours, and the way he’s stretched out on top of you forces you to part your legs, just enough that one of his can fit between them.

You chose for this to happen. You offered yourself willingly, and still you squirm to get free. Tomura shifts his weight so he’s no longer pinning you quite so heavily, but one of his hands slips beneath your shirt, pulling one cup of your bra down to clear his way to your breast. “Hey,” you protest. “What are you doing?”

Tomura doesn’t answer. He seems fascinated, too fascinated to even kiss you, as he cups your breast in one hand, gives an almost experimental squeeze. Your nipples harden, more from the cold than anything else, but of course he notices. He pinches it lightly, and your body jerks. An unfamiliar sensation runs quickly through you. “Hey,” you protest again, softer this time. “I thought you just were supposed to take my virtue.”

“I want everything.” Tomura’s leg presses harder between yours as he pinches your nipple again, tugs at it for a moment before circling it with the rough pad of his thumb. Your body jerks a second time, forcing your hips up to grind against his leg. “You’re warm –”

Warm, bordering on hot, and the way he’s yanked your bra aside is uncomfortable. You shove lightly at his shoulders as he wrestles with the other cup. You shove weakly at his shoulders, and he gives you an annoyed look. “Let me sit up,” you say. “I need to take it off.”

Tomura lets you up just long enough for you to take it off and pull it out from under your shirt, but as soon as it’s gone, he pushes you back down again. This time his mouth finds yours as he plays with your breasts, and when you squirm against the sensation running through you, there’s nowhere for you to go. If your back isn’t arching into his touch, your hips are rolling against his leg, your motions growing more urgent as he toys with you. He has to stop. He has to stop, or he’s going to –

“Tomura,” you gasp against his mouth, and you feel him shudder. So that is his name. So you do have something, after all. “Tomura, please –”

He stops, which is what you wanted – and at the same time, it’s not what you wanted at all. He sits up, draws back, and before you can protest, he’s tugging at the waistband of your pants. You start to sit up, but he pushes you back. “I need to take off my shoes,” you say. He gives you a skeptical look. “I said I’d take my clothes off.”

“I want to do it.” Tomura pushes you back onto your elbows, then pries your shoes off your feet, along with your socks. Then he’s back to your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear and casting them aside. “I told you. I want everything.”

He’s still fully dressed, but his shirt’s in tatters, barely concealing anything. You thought he’d undress more, but he’s already pushing your legs apart, sinking down between them. Too far. By the time it occurs to you what Tomura’s doing, his mouth is between your legs, his tongue cold in contrast to your heat. His fingers are the same, when two of them slip easily inside you. Your legs are shaking from a few laps of his tongue against your clit. Your body tenses, forcing a sharp gasp out of your mouth. You feel exposed to an awful degree, horrified at how helpless you must look, how helpless you are – and at the same time, the sensation of his touch feels so much better than anything you’ve felt before.

You sit up on your elbows, but your face goes up in flames at the sight of him between your legs, and you fall back, staring up at the sky instead. Even then, you can’t shake the image of him with his eyes shut, face buried between your legs, completely lost in you. You can’t fail to hear the harshness of his breathing, the sound he makes when you clench tight around his fingers and come so hard your eyes go blurry. Even if you could, it would be impossible to miss the fact that he keeps licking you even as your body goes limp, that it takes you shoving at his shoulder to make him pull away – and even when he does, he’s reluctant in a way that makes you cringe with embarrassment.

Tomura sits back, and you sit up. When you make eye contact, you see that his eyes are dilated, and that his pupils are round rather than vertical. He wasn’t lying. He’s not a faery, but the way he’s looking at you means you can’t look at him for long. You look away. He catches the hem of your shirt and peels it off, and you do the same before unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. You don’t know the first thing about cocks, but you’d have to be an idiot to miss that his is hard already.

You reach out for him and he pushes your hands away, shaking his head. “Don’t. I can’t if you –”

If you touch him? You’ve barely touched him. Why does he look like he’s about to come already? You lie back and Tomura follows you down, knocking your legs apart and lying down between them. This is what you were steeling yourself for, an eternity ago when you told him to get on with it, what you planned to grit your teeth and bear through. But Tomura sinks into you easily. Your legs shake where they’re hooked over his hips, but that’s nothing new. Tomura, with his gritted teeth and flushed face, looks like he’s having a harder time with it than you are.

You wrap your arms around his neck on his first unsteady thrust, pulling him down for a kiss that tastes the way you must. You don’t know how you feel about that. You kiss his neck instead, then his jaw just below his ear, and Tomura moans. You know how you feel about that – heat rushes through you, and you kiss him again. He’s almost frantic in the way he fucks you, no control, all need. Almost like – the thought’s absurd – almost like it’s his first time, not just yours.

You know you won’t come a second time. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good to have him like this, to be the reason why he’s desperate, why he’s panting for breath, why some trace of warmth has returned to his icy skin. There’s no way you can touch him that won’t unbalance him somehow, no matter how light or gentle you are. When you cradle his face in one hand, run your thumb over a scar on his lips, he leans into your palm for a split second before seizing your wrist and pulling your hand away.

But he doesn’t let go of your hand. You pull your wrist free, then lace your fingers with his, and you see his eyes go wide. “Tomura,” you say, and he looks at you.

You have no idea what you look like, and no idea what to say next, but it doesn’t matter. He shudders, curses, his grip on your hand tightening to the point of pain as he comes. His grip doesn’t loosen, not even when he pulls out and slumps against you. The fact that he’s still holding your hand is the only proof you have that he’s not completely unconscious.

Even though he’s warmer than he was before, you’re still cold. And naked. And lying on the ground. You start trying to escape, and you get as far away as sitting up and reaching for the nearest item of your clothing before a not-quite-so-cold hand closes around your wrist. “No.”

“I held up my end of the deal,” you say. “You can’t keep me here any longer.”

“The woods aren’t safe at night,” Tomura says. “Not from them. Not for you, and not for me. I can’t stop you from leaving, but if one of them finds you, they’ll do worse than anything I could.”

You remember what you said to the others before you left – you’d be back before nightfall, or else tomorrow morning. It looks like it’ll be tomorrow morning. “All right,” you say, and Tomura’s grip on your wrist relaxes. “I’m still putting on my clothes.”

Somehow, getting dressed again makes things more awkward, not less. Even with your clothes on, you can’t forget that he’s seen you without them, or anything else about what happened between the two of you. You’re hungry and thirsty, but even if Tomura offered you food, you couldn’t eat anything that’s passed through faery hands or come from the Fair Folk’s domain. It’s dark, and you’re tired. Once you’re dressed again, you go looking for somewhere to sleep.

“Here.” Tomura is shadowing you, never more than a hairsbreadth away. He points out the hollow of a massive tree, more than spacious enough for three people, let alone two. Inside it you can see a collection of objects, scattered in the corners, decorating the walls. “This is where I sleep.”

“So I should sleep somewhere else,” you say, but your attention’s drawn to the objects. There’s no rhyme or reason to what they are, no common thread. Jewelry and watches hang on walls beside folded pieces of paper, books lay in piles on the ground next to stacks of CDs and old cameras – and phones. There are more smartphones piled up under this tree than you’ve seen since the end of the world, and suddenly it clicks. “These are from your trades.”

Tomura nods, and you study the objects, feeling sick to your stomach all over again. The most valuable thing a person had – in the war and immediately afterwards, it would have been their phone, because everyone still hoped they’d start working again. Then photo albums, picture frames, even missing posters, reminders of people who’d been lost, and after that, simple objects. A CD, because things with batteries still work. A favorite book, because no books will ever be printed again. A piece of jewelry, gifted by someone a person loved. Like what you would have traded to Tam Lin, if you’d had a chance to choose.

You get a little fixated on a dog’s collar, well-worn, with a tag still dangling from it. It’s all too easy to imagine the person who would have carried it with them. “This is cruel.”

“They had a choice.” Tomura takes the collar out of your hand and sets it back among the rest, arranging it just so. His hands are covered in scars, just like the rest of him. “They chose this.”

Something occurs to you. “How many of them chose it?” you ask. He glances sideways at you, then looks away. “How many of gave something to you, and how many of them –”

You aren’t sure how to describe what happened to you. Tomura doesn’t answer, and you think about the world before the war, the world after. Of how many people still cling desperately to the scraps of a world that will never come back. You know the answer to your question. You wished you hadn’t asked in the first place, and the idea of sleeping here makes your skin crawl. Sleeping here next to him feels even stranger.

But you don’t know what else lives in the woods, and while you can’t trust Tomura, you know at least that he has his end of the bargain to uphold. You crawl into the hollow beneath the tree, keeping as far from Tomura as possible. Tam Lin’s glade shimmers even in the moonless night, but within the tree, it’s ordinary darkness. Somewhere within it, Tomura speaks. “Out there. What’s it like?”

You don’t know what to say. “I asked that boy,” Tomura continues. “He wouldn’t tell me. Is it a secret?”

“It’s not a secret,” you say. “He knows better than to talk to faeries. All the children do.”

“For how long?”

“Why does it matter?” you ask. Tomura scoffs, shifts in the darkness. Your eyes have adjusted enough to see his shoulders hunched, his almost-skeletal limbs folding in to make him smaller than he should be. “You’re one of them. Shouldn’t you know?”

“I told you I’m not a faery.” It’s quiet for a few moments. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you. How long ago did it start?”

“Seven years this October,” you say, and on the other side of the hollow, Tomura sits bolt upright. “Does that mean something to you?”

Tomura doesn’t answer that, either. He sits there, frozen like a statue, and you turn away. It’s been a while since you slept on the ground, but you’re tired enough that it won’t matter, and you feel so strange. Your legs hurt, and you’re sore between them, and when you lick your lips, you find Tomura’s blood still staining your mouth. Lying down on the far side of the hollow with your back to him doesn’t feel like the right answer, but neither does trying to talk to him, let alone going closer. You lie down, fold your arms against your chest in an effort to keep warm, and close your eyes.

Your eyelids have just begun to grow heavy when Tomura speaks again. “Seven years,” he says, and his voice sounds wrong. “Are you sure?”

“I remember the day it happened,” you say. “I know.”

You were thirteen. You remember the way the weight and taste of the air changed, the icy winds that whipped through town ahead of the advancing armies. You remember running, then hiding, hearing but not seeing what was done to the people who were caught. Izuku and the others will never know what the world was like before, but even if you don’t cling to the past, you can never forget what the Fair Folk tore away. “I know,” you say again. “Almost seven years.”

“Seven years.” Tomura takes a deep breath, or tries to. You hear it catch and rattle. “I didn’t think –”

His breathing rattles again, and a sense of foreboding sweeps over you. There’s something he knows that you don’t, something you have to get out of him – but then he takes another rattling breath, and you match the sound to the reaction. It’s not one you’d expect from the Fair Folk, and it’s what convinces you at last that Tam Lin’s not one of them. The Fair Folk don’t cry.

You shouldn’t care at all, not when you’re sitting amongst the precious things he’s stolen from so many in exchange for their freedom, not when you’re one of his – victims? – yourself. But ignoring it feels wrong, wrong in the same way as waiting until morning to look for Izuku was. You sit up, reach out across the hollow, but the distance between the two of you is too great. You scoot closer, feeling for him through the darkness until your hand encounters a frozen, shaking shoulder. The question you were going to ask him dies on your tongue.

Whatever this is, it’s not something you can fix. You wrap your arms loosely around him instead, feeling him startle the same way he did when you first kissed him. You lie back, pulling Tomura with you, until the two of you are sprawled on the ground. It’s uncomfortable, still. Tomura’s still cold. You still don’t know how you feel about what happened between the two of you. But you know you feel better like this. Things feel better when you aren’t alone.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when the sounds of the forest wake you up, it’s dawn. Tomura hasn’t stirred, and he’s lying on one of your arms, which is numb and full of pins and needles as you try to work it loose. Tomura sits up before you’ve freed yourself. The darkness wasn’t kind to him, but in daylight, you’re struck by just how terrible he looks – thinner, paler, skin dry and cracked and scarred. He’s hard to look at. Harder to look away from.

You look away and get to your feet. “Which way do I go to get out?”

“The low road.” Tam Lin is slower to rise, and as he does, the same passageway that Izuku left through opens on the far side of the glade. “Don’t leave the path.”

“I won’t.” You straighten your clothes, then turn to look at Tomura. What are you supposed to say to him now? Thank you for not hurting you, for letting you fulfill your side of the bargain your way? “Goodbye, Tam Lin.”

“That’s not my name,” he says. “The other one. Do you remember it?”

“Of course,” you say, and Tomura’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. “I won’t forget.”

“It won’t matter anymore, soon,” Tomura says. He turns away. “Go.”

You have questions – questions, and a strange twist of worry within you – but you also made a promise to the others in the settlement, and you have to keep it. You turn away from him and cross the glade, heading for the opening between the trees, not stopping even when you hear his footsteps behind you. One hand grasps your waist again, stopping you in your tracks, while the other arm wraps around you. There’s something in his hand. You look down and see the rose you plucked last night, as perfect as when you pulled it from the vine.

“Here.” Tam Lin’s voice is less than a puff of air against your ear. “You won this. Take it with you.”

You take it from him, and his hands fall away from you. The urge to look back is there, and it’s strong. You step forward instead, crossing out of the glade – and three steps later, out of the woods and into the bright morning sun.

It’s not long before one of the others spots you – Keigo’s always had sharp eyes – and he calls for the others. As they race towards you, you decide what you’ll tell them. You spent the night bargaining with Tam Lin, the same as the hero in another folktale spent her night as wife to a murderous king telling stories to keep him interested, and eventually you won your freedom. You’ll say nothing of the bargain you really made, nothing of what happened between you and the being the world knows as Tam Lin. They’ll look at you differently. They won’t understand. You barely understand yourself.

You’ll keep it to yourself. When the others reach you, you ask your question first. “Did Izuku get back? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Fuyumi says. She looks you anxiously up and down. “What about you?”

You’re conscious of the woods behind you in a way you never were before. You’re still holding the rose. “I’m glad Izuku’s okay,” you say, because you are. And then you lie, because you can do that, because they don’t need to know how you returned – just that you did. “I’m fine, too.”

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #tam lin au #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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kathaynesart · 11 months ago

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I JUST WANNA EAT YOUR ART RAHHH ITS SO GOOD!! ANYWAYS I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS FOR REPLICA, IF YOUR WILLING TO ANSWER, NO PRESSURE.

Will Leo and the others take over the Resistance in future chapters? Cause right now it seems that the Bishop guy is running it so far, right?

I honestly can't wait for some more updates! Your art is amazing and your story telling and writing skills are through the roof! Also! I hope you have a good week and that everything in your life is perfect! Make sure to get rest, eat, and focus on yourself! ❤️❤️

Thank you so much! You are so kind!

If you mean the Central Park Colony, technically no, they neve take over. The Resistance (the Liberty Colony) and the Central Park Colony are two different things! A lot of this information is subtly inferred and might be difficult to notice so here are some known facts:

Central Park Colony:

2022 - 2030

Located: under Central Park

last colony and stronghold of the USA

was an underground facility created by the EPF (Earth Protection Force, aka shady anti-alien/mutant department) in case of invasion

Run by the remnants of the US Government and EPF

large colony comprised of humans (yokai and mutants too but they're mostly kept in quarantine camps)

destroyed by the Krang in 2030 aka "The Day the Sky Bled Red" killing off a vast majority of the humans, EPF, and political figures in power

Liberty Colony (aka The Resistance):

2030 - 2044

Located: under Statue of Liberty

comprised of human, yokai, and mutant refugees from the Central Park colony after it fell (mostly civilians).

much smaller than Central Park Colony, but everyone there is treated much more fairly and work together

Lead by Master Leonardo, Commander O'neil, and several others

destroyed in the beginning of the movie

So no, Leonardo never takes over the Central Park Colony that the Holiday Special is happening in. However, where he is in the "present timeline" of Replica he is already the Leader of the Resistance. Not going to lie, it was kind of forced onto him, poor guy. Hope that helps!

#sorry if TMI #all these deets and no where to put them #q&a #replica timeline #rottmnt replica #rottmnt

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eldritch-spouse · 5 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/752304229892358144/minors-dni-hhnrh-ive-always-wanted-to-make-a?source=share

I need more Rudy. Like .. it's a very strong need...please I'm begging you 😭

[HhhhnHHHNN WORD VOMIT INCOMING-]

Following the events of what transpires in the comic "Aliens: Stronghold" (you can find it online), Jeri the synthetic xenomorph is supposedly dead, as is Doctor Nordling. The Mayakovsky prototype records along with whatever modifications Nordling created are lost forever...

But are they?

What if a somewhat less insane crew managed to perhaps gather parts of the wreckage that ensued, studied them just enough to know how to make their own, different yet still entirely functional synthetic xenomorph? A crew that does value the monitoring of xenomorph colonies spread throughout the worlds wherein these hives are placed upon to gestate, and polices the illegal harvesting of eggs or specimen (idk, bare with me okay).

The model they designed, based heavily on Jeri, needed a couple key modifications. First, it needed to be distinct enough from the standard xenomorph drone, such so that people would not get frightened by the sight of it amongst crewmates. These differences in appearance are remedied by even more aggressive pheromone secretions to both fool and calm biological xenomorphs into believing that Rudy belongs. His somewhat less accurate appearance also allows for his maintenance to be cheaper, as well as for the synth to fit into humanoid gear more effectively.

Named after the prototype Norbert, and Jeri, Rudy only seemed fitting.

Quite like his predecessor, and as appears to be a trend recently, Rudy has a very stark and unique personality that shows itself whenever he begins to grow comfortable around someone. He's curious and talkative, having a fondness for oversharing about the xenomorph species and its many casts, as well as his interests in collecting new and exciting pieces of the world he's currently exploring with his mostly human crew and all things nature-related.

Although he's nothing if not helpful and vital to the work that is being done by this team, Rudy is still a synthetic, which creates a natural divide when it comes to forming relationships. Normally, this divide is somewhat softened when a synthetic passes as human and performs actions that make it look even more relatable. Rudy is visibly, unavoidably monstrous, and he makes no real attempt to fit in with acts that are strictly human. He will sit at the table while others eat, but he's very clearly not interested in commenting on the food and tries to pull others into conversation instead. He doesn't wear clothes, he can't facially emote anywhere as intricately as a human can.

He's lonely. And he understands why.

But it's painful for the synthetic xenomorph, because he feels no joy dwelling with other synthetics, and he can't bond with xenomorphs the way he desires. He feels at home around humans, and his own crew keeps him at bay, frustrating Rudy as they consistently deny him a real connection- Sometimes even subconsciously!

That's where you come in.

Following the unfortunate accident of the resident synthetic engineer on the ship, you are assigned his role. Arriving just in time, as Rudy is in dire need of assistance from miscalculating the height of a drop. He doesn't think much of you, at first. You'll be just like the others, finding him interesting for a short while, then resorting to formalities or simply ignoring him when he's not immediately convenient.

But he still tries anyway, because he's painfully desperate for connection.

Imagine his shock as you seem very interested in conversing with him in a consistent manner. Rudy is no idiot, he understood your interest was mainly to understand the circuitry and coding within him that allowed for such an authentic and varied range of emotions, sentiments. He fascinated you beyond merely being a bizarre thing, and that made the synth happy, fulfilled.

Rudy began to latch onto you.

When he had arrived from a routine check on a hive, he'd instantly seek you out without even needing any kind of repair, just to chat about his findings, talking about the specimen xenos the same way you'd talk about zoo mascots. He'd try to drag you down into the field with him numerous times, formulating rapid-fire arguments as to why the supervisors should allow you to accompany Rudy. You can't lie and say that you weren't a tad curious, especially after hearing the xeno's numerous stories.

Somehow, after perhaps not so friendly methods, he gets granted his wish, and down you go, into the wilderness, with a synthetic.

Rudy seems elated to have alone time with you in the nature of this vast planet, and you note that he touches you a lot more often. Grabs you with his six fingered hands, nuzzles his dome against your head, hugs you from behind and even lifts you a couple of times, he's utterly euphoric, something you've never seen in a synth. Sure, your crewmates had made comments about how close Rudy had gotten to you, how the synthetic "had a puppy crush on you", but those were just jabs you didn't mind taking. And surely, when Rudy replied positively to those jests, he was only trying to get in on the joke, right?

You remember the shock and fear that permeated you as you first entered a colony. Rudy didn't let you get too far into the structure, but you got to observe the entrance, the little resting holes on walls that xenos occupied when drained. You got to see drones marching around, dragging potential hosts with them. And you even got "checked" by a soldier cast. It had been strange then, watching Rudy communicate back and forth with the xenomorph, effectively clearing you of suspicion after a few snort-hisses. Your heart never beat so loudly before, and you remember laughing wildly with the synthetic after the two of you had retreated into safer grounds.

Yet, for as much as you had grown to enjoy having Rudy as a friend, you couldn't ignore the remarks your crewmated had been making about him. How the synth would ravenously defend you from the smallest of accusations, how he collected everything you left behind and would even steal presents you gave to others. He became mouthy and troublesome when they refused to let you go explore with him.

And lately, to make it all even more confusing, you've been finding him "doing maintenance" on himself. Things he won't let you access, that he tries to deviate your attention from. For just the glimmer of a second, you hope you only imagined spotting the digital blueprint for a set of modified synthetic genitalia...

Something's not right with Rudy, you think, catching him staring intensely at you again.

#Rudy oc

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dathomirdumpsterfire · 2 months ago

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Something is hunting Darth Maul across the stars.

A presence he cannot touch, whispers that chase him from sleep. Answers seem to lay in a place he cannot go... at least, not alone. Before the Jedi and the Sith, before the Republic or the Empire, before the ancient Je'daii even, there were force users building temples and communing with the cosmic energies.

Somehow, even back then, there was a rule of two.

For Ben Kenobi, getting up each day is difficult enough, nevermind facing the past. He has one singular goal left to him: to be a guardian. A very distant guardian. Between the echoing emptiness of his cave and the war-torn memories that haunt him, he really just wants to be left alone.

Too bad for him that sleep-deprived sith lords aren't likely to take no for an answer.

[The long awaited sequel to Desertification is here!]

🔥🔥🔥 Read chapter 1 on Ao3, or scroll below the cut! Updates on Tuesdays.🔥🔥🔥

Bridges are a beautiful weakness.

This one is massive. Natural stone that reaches across a wide span between stronghold and barren cliff. The architecture is sharp, angular, and modern, with little in the way of ornamentation. It is simply a functional pathway, the sole point of access for a utilitarian facility. The forces garrisoned here would have little trouble defending this chokepoint, under typical circumstances.

A zygerrian guard rises off the ground, clawing at their neck, while the next shoots wildly, hollering for backup. Blaster bolts curve off unnaturally into empty air. The first alien loses consciousness and slumps, still airborne. Their rifle clatters to the stone. The second turns and manages to flee two steps before they are swept sideways off the bridge like a leaf in a storm. They plummet, screaming, twenty stories down and into the lava below. With a lazy gesture, Darth Maul sends their strangulated comrade tumbling after them.

Lords of the Sith truly cannot qualify as ‘typical circumstances.’

He begins forward again as the next defenders rise to stop him. The formation they take is practiced, but he can see their quaking knees, feel their fear in the air.

If these fools truly wished to challenge him, they would be far better served by calling their forces back and turning the compound’s anti-ship cannons on its own infrastructure. Burying him alive might actually slow him down… but the cannons remain fixed on the sky, and figures in golden armor pour out onto the wide, windy bridge.

The price of such short sighted arrogance will be their lives.

Maul finishes churning through the first of the stronghold’s defense forces. He scatters a forward line of pikemen, shielding himself from blaster fire using stones torn from the structure itself. The occasional bolt slips past these rocks, but he simply bats those away with his saber.

The slaughter of their frontline gives the next group time to prepare. He is met with a more cohesive unit, backed by snipers. The cover fire does them little good. Maul ruins their formation by blitzing carelessly into the middle of it. His red blades lay into the panicking bodies around him and parry the long range shots back to their origins with impeccable soresu.

While he picks off the remaining snipers in their nests with a few force-propelled rocks, a new line of troops with energy bows come forward, firing in rapid sequence. It is… quaint, he thinks. Few have the dedication to make such a weapon into a formidable challenge, and these guards could not have matched the skill or power of a dathomirian archer on their worst day. Perhaps it is because these soldiers lack an edge of desperation -for food or survival- whenever they practice their aim?

Regardless, their skill or lack thereof is ultimately irrelevant against a man who can predict where they will fire.

Maul reaches the halfway point unimpeded, and the zygerrians finally switch tactics to something more innovative. The remaining guards part, and a set of twins emerge to close with him instead.

Each wields a halberd tipped by shining blue energy blades. They fight together, resplendent in fanged grins and fine armor. Their movements, obfuscated by swirls of shimmering gold cloth, complement each other with the skill born of what must have been decades spent training in tandem.

Facing such talent is the highlight of his efforts thus far, but even these warriors cannot match a sith. He tears their blades from them, and stabs each twin through the chest with their siblings' match. They die propped up on the hafts, slouching toward each other.

Blaster fire starts back up, and Maul returns to working through the rest of the chaff. The air begins to reek of desperation so strong it can be smelt over the sulfur. Acetone-bright and cloyingly sweet.

Quick as a lightning strike, an electro-whip cracks near his head with a sharp snap-fizz . A waft of ozone fills his nose, and the sith's forward momentum stutters to a halt. Resentful yellow eyes lock on the offender and he bares sharp, iron-stained teeth at them. The tall zygerrian only snarls in return.

Hatred rolls off Maul’s shoulders like heat waves in the force. That energy coalesces, and entropy descends on the whip-wielder. Their fur begins to dissolve as if they were being nibbled on by acid that simply does not stop, and the muscular form falls to the ground, writhing and screaming. They melt into naught but blackened ash under Maul’s baneful stare.

He turns to continue on, sunk too deep in the flow and lust of combat to examine the demise any further.

Slaves are thrown at him next, driven out onto the bridge as his assault nears the stronghold's three-story double doors. An effort he hesitates to call a 'tactic'. Half of the scrawny chattel fall to their bellies before he has even reached them, quivering and silent as they choose the potential wrath of their masters over certain death upon his blades.

Those who fight he kills as quickly as they come. Living and dead alike are left on the ground behind him, forgotten as soon as they pass out of sight.

More guards, with flashier armor and even finer weapons are next. Insignia and marks of esteem decorate their shoulders; the royal guard, here to die for their liege.

A sai cha strike with his saberstaff, and a head hits the ground before the body knows it is dead. Cho mok and cho mai, double-disarmed at the wrist. Their owner stumbles and falls off the bridge in shock, fixated on the remaining stumps. An angled shiak, down through the ribs just far enough to boil the blood in their lungs. Mou kei to the left leg, and another trips off the side to join the rest in immolation. Maul spins in a flourish of beautiful juyo at the gate.

Sai cha. Sai cha. Sai cha.

Then there are no more guards.

He pushes the double doors open with the force, and smiles to behold the reason he came here.

"Prince Trifenra," his croon echoes in the silence of the throne room, "I warned you not to cross me."

The lone zygerrian slams a button on the podium beside them, and the floor falls away with them on it. Maul gets to the edge in time to be stymied by a bulkhead closing the hole over. He sneers at it in annoyance, and starts cutting through with his lightsaber.

Twenty seconds, and he completes a circle of molten metal. A kick with his cybernetic foot sends the cutout falling, revealing a web of catwalks over a field of lava. He jumps.

The sith searches the platforms as he freefalls, but Trifenra is nowhere to be seen.

Maul lands on a catwalk with a heave of force to lessen the impact. His eyes drift closed, chest expanding as he breathes in, swaying in whichever direction feels right, focusing… focusing…

The force whispers to him that his prey is that way .

Maul jumps the rail and bounces between causeways, reaching the correct one and pelting down it. The feeling ends at an arch built into the rough stone walls. Thick metal doors, locked tight.

He snarls and starts cutting again, a small circle just large enough to admit him. The sith punches this cutout, and somersaults through without touching the cherry-red edges.

On the other side are holding cells. Row after row, multiple levels of hexagonal doors stretch out from the entry, each sealed by lambent red. Some are empty, some not. All the prisoners are exotic in some way.

Maul glances over the occupants as he passes, walking deeper into the facility. Trifenra is here, he can sense it.

The chamber widens into a large, multilevel room around a center platform. A dead end. The prince's possible hiding places have multiplied yet become limited at the same time. Maul's mouth quirks at the corner.

"Come out, come out. Wherever you are~," he sings in a sardonic drawl, like this is a game of hunter and prey between younglings.

The airscrubbers hum through the walls, creating a deep resonance just on the edge of hearing. Despite what must be a robust air recycling system, this room remains steeped in the scents of the enslaved; bitterness and despondency, melancholia and hate. A multispecies cacophony of emotions that make his sinuses itch.

He hears wheezing laughter, like the rattle of dry grass.

"Ssssweet, ssssweet, ssssinger…" calls a hoarse voice from one of the cells. The force twinges, a plucked string.

The source is… across the room, on a higher level. Maul can sense the force warping in on itself somewhere nearby. Curious, he leaps closer to it, up a story and over.

The cell on the left is marked as 214, and it contains a nautolan in a rare carmine color. She is heavily pregnant, and pressed as far to the left side of her cage as she can be.

The cell on the right is marked as 216. It holds a crab-like species he does not know, with a shell that looks like molten, living gold. It is quivering in the back of its container, in the rightmost corner.

In the center cell is a woman with wide pink eyes and an abundance of platinum hair. Her skin is white, like a palliduvan, but with an oily, iridescent sheen. She sits in the center of the room, naked, hugging her knees and shaking with that dry, rattling laugh.

Her pink gaze zeroes in on him, and her smile grows…and grows… and-

Lips spread like split meat as she grins from ear to ear, her teeth needle sharp. Conversely, her eyes are kind above the unnatural-looking maw.

"Blesssssed sssssinger~" she croons sweetly, "the lit-tle king plays a trick on you. Deceitful. Rude. Give him t-to me and I will blesss your path!"

She shouldn’t be able to move her jaw like she is, with those facial muscles severed. The force perhaps, magic or alchemy of some sort. He considers her, and the offer, mildly. "I am not easily tricked.”

She smiles still, and says nothing. Her presence feels like a tangle of razorwire, writhing and clingy.

"Hm.”

Maul walks away, stalking the metal floors and surveying the open room with thoughtful eyes. The prince is here somewhere, but there are enough strange projections from the prison's myriad occupants that it feels… cloudy.

A mirialan glares at him as he walks past their cage. The man floats a foot above his bed, rail-thin and cross legged.

A dry-looking quarren ignores him in turn, crying weakly into their hands.

He laps the room, and finds himself at the center of this fusion of zygerrian and modern architecture. A control panel sits on a dias, with a map of the cell block and various monitoring systems running.

"Hm!" he comments, "How convenient."

He taps the icon for cell 216 and tells it to open.

The sound of a ray shield powering down is shortly followed by more dry, wheezing laughter. He turns to see the woman step into freedom and launch herself across the room, trailing yards of platinum hair.

She lands in front of 107, and presses herself as close to the ray shield as one could be without burning.

"Knoc-kk knnnock!" she croaks.

The cell's occupant shrieks, falling back in their terror, but then scrambles to the shield again to yell up at him. They appear to be a salenga, but something… something is off. Maul squints, trying to pinpoint-

"I will pay you whatever you want! Anything!"

He cocks his head. Curious. How would a slave pay-

Oh. Interesting.

"Put her back in her cell and I will make you royalty! I swear it!"

The unnaturally white creature hisses, no longer laughing.

It is Maul who chuckles, walking to the edge of the center platform and clasping his hands behind his back. "A marriage proposal is it, Prince Trifenra? Now that is a… curious bribe."

He waits for the hope to glimmer in their eyes, then waves a hand in a grand gesture. The console registers a command from a finger press that is not there, and obeys it.

All of the cells open.

The salenga shrieks again, and melts into a clawdite changeling as they zip out and go streaking away. They make it all of three strides before disappearing under shimmering hair and vengeful pink eyes.

The next few minutes involve teeth, tearing, and unhinged sobbing. Maul watches for a moment as dozens of aliens flee on either side of him for the exit, then grows bored and turns to his comm. Dryden's secretary answers for him, a softly spoken pantoran with a penchant for ancient art.

"Hello sir. My apologies, Mr. Vos is in a meeting at the moment. Should I get him for you, or can I take a message?" Sochu asks.

Maul waves off the first. "Simply inform him that the treachery has been dealt with, and he has my permission to begin renegotiating with the other offer."

"Very good, sir. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Mmno," Maul says and hangs up.

His timing is good. The room has cleared and the strange woman is levitating up to the central platform, slathered in blood all down her front. Something wet and purple is cupped in her palms. She lands daintily, and he raises a brow.

"Ssssinger, c-c-clever son~ You figurrrred out the trick-k, denied the trick-ksster. Gave him to us ," she smiles sweetly, too many teeth in her mouth.

Maul hums, watchful.

"A gift!" she declares, and holds out… it’s a liver, or part of one.

He accepts it, amused, with the smallest of bows. “My thanks.”

The woman giggles like rotten wind chimes and turns to leap off the platform. She lands below and goes padding toward the lava flows, leaving a trail of red footprints smeared by passing hair in her wake.

Maul considers the slick bulk of the organ in his hand. Dense, warm, and evenly toned purple. He holds it up and gives it a sniff. It smells healthy- clean blooded and rich, and the fight did have him feeling peckish.

"Mm… waste not, I suppose.”

He chooses a corner and slides his teeth in. The woman’s sharp, clinging darkness in the force gives a final twist and melts away. Maul chews thoughtfully on his way out of the compound, disregarding the blood that drips off his chin. His robes are already too stained for a bit more to matter.

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oliversrarebooks · 3 months ago

Text

Augusnippets Day 18: Apocalypse

Human Resistance Masterlist

Augusnippets Masterlist

tw: apocalypse, mind control

It was a quiet sort of apocalypse.

Zach, Jesse, and Sky picked their way through overgrown lots to reach what used to be a big box store. It was far enough away from any of the aliens' strongholds to be left untouched and relatively safe, but it was still risky to be anywhere near former human civilization. All it really took was one unlucky run-in with a patrol, even for survivors as experienced as Zach's crew.

They wouldn't be out here if it weren't necessary. Their base was running low on many critical supplies, and the store was likely untouched. It would have non-perishable food, clothing, and medicine in abundance, well worth the risk. Zach's crew was traveling light, only carrying the absolute essentials, in the hopes of filling their empty packs and carrying back as much as possible.

It was the silence that really got to Zach. He'd grown up loving zombie movies, the gorier the better, and he'd envisioned the apocalypse as noisy chaos. Stores looted, buildings burned and trashed, roving gangs mowing down hordes of zombies. Instead, it was peaceful. Nearly every building was left entirely intact, looking as if it could open for normal business at any moment, and the only sound was birdsong.

The silence and peace was a chilling reminder of how the aliens liked to operate. They didn't come to kill the Earthlings with advanced weaponry. No, they conquered humanity swiftly and effortlessly using little more than their psychic powers to subjugate everyone they came into contact with. Cities didn't fall -- they had their populations spirited away in minutes, crowds of dazed, sleepwalking humans herding themselves into alien ships, leaving behind everything with no hesitation.

Zach swept the area near the store with his modified heat sensor. "Coast is clear."

The automatic doors opened for them when they approached -- the aliens had also kept the power running in most populated areas. Cheerful signs informed them of a 20% off clothing sale and new toys for summer fun. Apart from the complete lack of people, the only real indication that anything was wrong was the shopping carts that had been left all around the aisles.

The three split up wordlessly. Zach headed right for the first aid section and began filling his backpack with bandages, painkillers, antibiotic cream, and any other medicine that seemed useful. He'd moved on to the soap aisle when he heard the unmistakable sound of the automatic doors opening.

Shit. There were only a couple of things this could be -- one of his two companions had broken protocol; there was another unknown group of human survivors, possibly hostile; or -- most likely -- it was an alien patrol. Zach crouched down, making as little sound as possible while going over the escape routes in his head.

Footsteps were drawing nearer. They sounded human. Zach dared to glance around the aisle, and was surprised by what he saw.

It was a group of aliens with humans alongside them. The aliens were little more than masses of gray tentacles, pulling themselves across the linoleum. The humans were all wearing the uniforms, collars, and blissful expressions typical of those who had been enslaved. They were in the clothing department, and the humans seemed to be talking and laughing among themselves, picking out clothes and holding them up.

What were they doing? He'd never seen this sort of thing happen before.

Some of the aliens' tentacles had huge, bright eyes with colorful rainbow swirls in them. These were their primary weapons, capable of snaring a human mind in an instant. As one of the aliens looked around the store, Zach averted his gaze. Even at this distance, it was dangerous to even glance at their eyes, unless he wanted to be turned into one of their zombies.

All it took was just one look. One look, and there wouldn't be any more missions to raid old stores just to survive. No more thin rations and hiding in caves, no more sneaking through the remains of ordinary civilization. It'd be over, and he'd be rendered mindless and turned into one of their slaves.

One look, and he could rest.

He shook the idea from his mind. His resistance group was counting on him as their leader. He couldn't afford to entertain thoughts like that, no matter how fleeting. He had to finish gathering supplies and escape.

Thankfully, this wasn't a patrol out looking for human resistance, but a group with some different mission. The aliens were slowly remaking the remains of human civilization to their liking -- they were probably here to survey the shops and roads, not to fight. He'd had enough practice in stealth that he could slip through the aisles and back to the entrance without attracting their attention.

But then he heard a crash from the back of the store.

It wasn't that loud, probably just a few things knocked off a shelf, but in the desolate store, it echoed off the tiles. The group of aliens absolutely heard it, because their tentacles went from looking relaxed to being on high alert.

Zach swore under his breath. What a fucking mistake to make. Maybe his teammates hadn't heard the doors open or spotted the threat, maybe they'd just been careless or unlucky, but regardless, this was going to make their escape a whole lot more difficult.

He slipped back into the aisles. He could still evade them, he could still make it out. The problem was that he was just so fucking tired. Tired of having to fight for his life and autonomy just to go to a goddamn Target and get some food and medicine. Tired of wondering if this is the day when it'd all be over.

He was just so tired.

He jerked his head up, opening his eyes. There must be an alien nearby, subtly influencing his thoughts. That's one of the ways they got you, distracting and luring you with thoughts of things you wanted -- in his case, a good night's sleep.

So at least one alien had sensed his mind, but it probably still didn't know exactly where he was. He could use that to his advantage as long as --

Something slimy gripped his ankle, and a wave of drowsy stillness washed over him, a deep compulsion to relax and not resist.

He knew what he was supposed to do. Screw up his defiance, remember his training, ignore the alien thoughts, escape.

Sometimes he wished he could just give up and let it all be over with.

Zach realized his mistake as soon as the alien presence amplified that thought, flooding him with the deep, irresistible desire to give up, to let go, to feel the deep relief of knowing that the worst was over with. He couldn't fight it, not when he was already so weary. And so when the hypnotic eye blossomed before his face, filling his mind with mesmerizing color, all he could do was let go.

Human Resistance Masterlist

Augusnippets Masterlist

@augusnippets

#augusnippets #augusnippets day 18 #whump #whump writing #aliens #mind control #zach #human resistance

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okayplaguerat · 3 months ago

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Jeri from Alien: Stronghold.

Can you tell i used to draw xenomorphs a lot as a kid?

#artists on tumblr #illustration #illustrator #alien #alien romulus #xenomorph

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mysticbeaver · 2 months ago

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Nevermind The Eds Are Coming, how about a real "alien invasion AU" scenario with actual UFOs landing and declaring immediate hostility here's some fun sci-fi movie cliche ideas (with possible character deaths)

-Ed shocks everyone when he instinctively knows the alien language, says he learned it from [insert sci-fi movie/comic here]. Then he shocks everyone again when he inexplicably joins the aliens' side for gigglez, saying he's "found his people" (later it turns out it was all a ploy to learn their weaknesses and defeat them from the inside)

-Edd tries to be a mediator in order to negotiate peace. He tries to figure out the language by himself and almost works out a truce, but he makes a horrible mistake and insults them accidentally... either it gets him killed or he ends up hostage so that the aliens can use him for their demands

-Eddy can't help but come up with some way to profit from the situation.. he miraculously works some bargain with the aliens, convinces them to trade and exchange goods. It works for a while, then either he runs away with some precious alien artifacts he stole or he gets caught. Or he's the probably the one who surprises everyone with a change of heart, as he makes the Heroic Sacrifice (tm) when the great counter-attack happens, rousing everyone's morale

-Rolf quickly creates a stronghold for the resistance (like his home-fort in Ed... Pass It On). The aliens leave him alone for a while cause they are somehow scared of his farm animals. Think when humans see all sorts of weird intimidating creatures on an alien planet, but in reverse. Either that or he's the first to get killed cause he tried to take on the invaders head-on with his shepherd pride

-Jonny is the conspiracy theorist/survivalist who is crazy prepared. He easily survives the initial onslaught but then goes insane paranoid about anyone entering his hideout, which aggravates the situation and they have to kill him

-Kevin is the first one who stumbles upon a landed UFO by accident while riding his bike, and he thinks it's the Eds being up to some scam when three aliens walk out of the spacecraft. He calls them "space dorks" and laughs at them, and they promptly vaporize him on the spot. Either that or he's the jerk in the survivor group everyone has to put up with

-Sarah and Jimmy are captured for experimentation purposes. Poor Jimmy perishes out of fright before anything even happens, and Sarah goes on a rampage of revenge before escaping

-Nazz gets captured and ends up imprisoned in a cell for whatever reason. She frustrates her captors by being super-sassy and complaining about her enviroment lmao. Then she jumps at their distraction and goes full badass and escapes

-The Kanker sisters barely notice anything weird going on lmao. Or they scare the aliens off with all the biohazards coming from their trailer

#don't know why i thought this whole thing up but whatever why not

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dandelion-wings · 15 days ago

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From the first whumptober list: 07 only for emergencies, anything involving kaeya

Thank you for all the prompts! I'll be weaving the ones I write in between other prompts, but I'll start with this one, as I promised. :>

Warning on this one for some suicidal ideation and possibly body horror? More an attempt at psychological horror tbh.

---

Kaeya does have to admire the breadth of the Abyss Order's ambitions this time around. To seize the power of a fully-revitalized Nail and turn it into a weapon of the Abyss would be a formidable accomplishment. Dragonspine would become as corrupted as the Chasm, but with no hope of Celestia's power ever cleansing it, the taint spreading inexorably out to swallow first Monstadt and then the rest of surface Teyvat.

It's a final chance for them, do-or-die; once the Honorary Knight blazes all the way to the center of the Order's stronghold, the Order's fate will be decided there, one way or another. It's no surprise they've committed so much to this backup project. Though, knowing what he does about their leader, Kaeya wonders if this division of forces is acting under orders or upon their own initiative. Perhaps, if the Order survives, they'll find themselves facing them as rivals.

Only if the Knights can't stop them. They've made good progress so far. Sixth and Seventh Companies have secured the entrances to Dragonspine; Fourth Company has fought their way down into the depths of the newly-uncovered tunnels in which the Order is doing its work. The Lectors who had laid out this spell-array are dead, and the Mages who had been conducting it with them. Nothing is left to defend the array laid out at their feet.

Except for the monsters still disgorging from the doors of the domain on the cliff above, hilichurls and rifthounds in what seem like endless numbers, led and conducted by a pair of powerful Heralds. Eula and her knights are holding them back, if barely. There's no telling how many reinforcements the Heralds have, or how long those defenders can hold.

"We should have brought Lisa after all," Jean says, her voice choked with self-recrimination. Then it firms as she wraps herself in the authority of command. "Kaeya, do you have any ideas?"

It isn't said knowingly. It doesn't have to be. He knows what she knows, what he's fed her and what she's gleaned, the slips he's made that were halfway admissions, the quiet questions she's asked with care to restrict them to only the moment's needs. The patchwork of her knowledge is enough for this.

He's not sure *his* knowledge is enough for this. Kaeya left home with only partial instruction in the Order's rites and the older magic of Khaenri'ah's alchemy. Maybe they should have brought Albedo, too--but 'should haves' do them no good. Partially-learned or not, he can feel the Abyssal power gathering in this arcane circle, surging through the artificial leylines plumbed alien and invasive through the stone. Those can't be cut from without, and the spell is self-contained, an almost-living thing pulsing with its own power, regrowing the lines of its own sigils when they tried to smudge them from the cavern floor.

There are four around the edges, perfectly spaced: Pyro and Cryo, Hydro and Electro, each drawing out their respective power from the artificial leylines to feed into the spell. Each had contained an Abyss Mage until the Knights' weapons had brought them down, but it was already too late to disrupt the spell in that way; the leylines were already tuned, their energies in perfect balance, fueling the magic without need of any further instruction.

A fifth, an inner circle slashed across with interconnected lines, lies in the middle. Kaeya doesn't have to be able to see through the stone above to know that it's directly beneath the Nail it was constructed to corrupt.

"I have one," he says, giving Jean a smile and a wink to hide the catch in his throat. Then he turns to Amber, hovering anxious on Jean's other side, watching the battle on the cliff above with an arrow ready for whenever Eula needs her shot. "Any chance I could borrow a Baron Bunny? Already armed, if you don't mind. This is going to take some concentration."

Amber bites her lip, glances once more up at the Reconnaissance Company's fight, and then, before Jean can make it an order, pulls a bunny doll out of her pouch and pours the Pyro into it that makes it swell to proper taunting size. "Be careful with it. And don't waste it!"

"Oh, I won't," Kaeya assures her, with enough of a smirk to make her glare. "I have big plans."

Then he steps over the edge of the spell's outer circle, the energy of the false leylines thrumming in his ears like his own pulse as he makes his way to the central sigil. He can feel the spell, not quite conscious, eager and hungry, growing stronger with each pulse of the leylines and seeking an outlet as those energies grow to a peak. It takes all his will to keep walking forward towards its heart.

He hooks the Baron Bunny's arm into his belt as he steps into the center of the circle. The sigil is familiar, if more elaborate than the one he knows--the one that can turn a noble of Khaenri'ah into a creature of the Abyss Order, able to command both their lessers and the Abyss' power with ease. All the extra curlicues and channels and bindings, the artificial leylines and all the power they've brought to bear, are there only to force their way through Celestian defenses. Once those are broken down, all that's necessary will be the Abyss' touch.

It wants something to corrupt, does it? Kaeya can give it that.

The pulse of the leylines in his ears takes on a faint whine when he takes his place there, and his Vision throbs in counterpoint at his hip, cold enough to burn. Of course. If this was a common circle, the sort he saw cousins step into, he would have thrown it away--but this spell array is already designed to pierce Celestia's power. No point in taking the full force of this thing when even a fraction of it can be spent on doing so. No point in throwing away the only defense he has. He touches his Vision once, pretending that his fingers aren't trembling as he caresses its cold, smooth surface for the last time. Then he draws his sword.

*"I am a noble child of Khaenri'ah, descendant of Chlothar Alberich,"* he says in perfect court Khaenri'ahan, the language of the Mages, however harsh it may sound to Mond-trained ears. *"My father is head of the Alberich Clan, and I am his rightful heir. I am born a sinner by the decree of those who hold unlawful sway over this world, and I dedicate myself to those sinners who came before, that our salvation come in the washing clean of our blood."*

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jean flinch and start towards him as he slashes his sword across his wrist. He glances up long enough to shake his head at her, smiling tightly. Jean, her face drawn with worry, takes a step back and holds her ground.

Kaeya doesn't know how they had planned to open the path to the Nail. But for a Khaenri'ahan's rebirth, the only possible route is through that in which Celestia's curse resides--by allowing the Abyss to enter, and burn out the heavenly taint in the blood.

The Abyss floods in. Kaeya can feel the power rushing through him, Electro crackling up his nerves, Hydro flooding his throat and chest, Cryo sinking into his bones. Pyro is last, and his Vision resists that fiercely: the familiar crystalline shield flaring around him, a burst of cold that leaves frost on his clothing and instant numbness in his flesh all up and down his left side. Then both shatter under the flames that come sweeping up from below, even fiercer in response. Kaeya can't choke down the drowning scream as they envelop him and his Vision dissolves into fragments and smoke.

His frostbitten, crisping skin is barely a concern now, though, because the Abyss has him, and it has far worse intentions than burning him alive. The power of the artificial leylines had already been pulsing in his ears; now the pulse grows all-encompassing as those invisible threads of magic dig into him, sliding up through his feet, through his fingertips, though his laid-open wrist, through his hidden right eye. Invisible or not, they crawl through his flesh like roots through earth, their power dissolving meat and blood and bone like crumbling soil. Tendrils twine through his rib cage and he screams again, burbling and wet; others wind through the stiff cartilage of his throat and the scream dies as his voicebox collapses.

Someone else is screaming in his place, but a tendril comes creeping out from the back of his left eye, shoving his eyeball from its socket, and he can't see who. All he can tell from the voice is that it isn't Jean.

His heart rabbits in his chest, panic at the invasion, panic at the force of it, at the magic tearing him apart. He knew it would be like this, and yet he had no idea. This is so much vaster, so much worse than anything he's seen his cousins go through. The artificial leylines don't send the Abyssal taint seeping gradually through him; they force their way into his flesh, his blood, his mind, overpowering him with no recourse. One twists around his frantic heart and crushes it with casual ease.

What matters isn't the leylines, or what they're doing to a body that was never going to survive this transformation. What matters is the Abyssal power throbbing through them, remaking the flesh they tear through into entirely different and unnatural form. Remaking his mind, too, far more swiftly than he had ever imagined. It becomes more and more difficult for Kaeya to stay focused on his own goals here. The Nail, Mondstadt, the people around him, the people he wants this power to protect-

He *wants this power*, and that, that thought the Abyss lets him have, lets him focus on, even as it tears his will away. Of course he wants it. That's what every Mage wants, isn't it? The strength to conduct their magic as they see fit, to command their lessers as they deserve, to destroy their enemies in the name of a nation that fell hundreds of years past and serves now as an excuse for present cruelties? Of course he wants this power. It's his birthright.

And there's so, so much of it. Kaeya sucks it greedily in, letting the leylines fill his new body to the brim. He struggles to contain it, this power that had been meant to shatter and rebuild a Nail. From within, with them still wound inside him, he can reach out and grasp the artificial leylines as no one could from without; he snaps their connections one by one, forcing them from his new, shadow-wrapped form, using the very power they'd given him to uproot them from the stone and let them curl, dying, in freezing air. As the last one breaks free, the spell registers its own completion and subsides, the sigils drawn across the stone in Chasm mud and the casters' own blood erasing themselves silently from the cold cavern floor.

Kaeya can't grin in this form, his face a rigid mask of ice, but the hollow laugh that rises from his throat will do. He lifts a hand in a casual gesture and Cryo spins out from him in a whirling circle, at once familiar and new. Icicles brush against something that had clung to the tattered clothing still hanging around him even as his old flesh burst open, something that begins to twitch and move. Kaeya spares the Baron Bunny barely a glance. He has other targets now.

"Kaeya?" Jean asks, starting towards him across the now-untouched stone. She holds a hand out towards him; her eyes are wide, and frightened, but there's a determined set to her jaw that Kaeya recognizes. He'd found it charming, once. A strength that he appreciated, and was fond of.

In her other hand is her sword, blade bared, even if she holds it low. He thinks that he would have appreciated that, too, in the past that is suddenly all cold memory, with no warm feelings lingering. Now he only looks at it in calculation, aware of the threat that it poses.

Not so much a threat that he has to fear it, not brimming with the power that he is. He cackles again, drawing the icicles inward and flaring up a shield in their place, triangular panes of glass far thicker and harder than the paltry power of his Vision had been able to call before. Behind its hard barrier, he holds out his own hand in turn.

"Jean," he says, in a parody of the affectionate tone the human him might have used, his new voice twisting it beyond all pretense of sincerity.

He can see her falter at that, then step forward again, believing, no doubt, that it's only the hollowness of his voice that's altered his tone. She's always been so trusting, so faithful, so confident in his loyalty. How useful that's always been. How useful it's been this time, to help him shuck off the misguided emotions of weak human flesh and become what he was always meant for. Something overshadowing Mage or Herald or Lector, some unnamed being greater than each, a form of which the lesser nobility had been only an anticipation. The creature that the last heir of the Alberiches was destined to be.

"Jeanie," he croons, taking a step closer, watching her grip loosen on her sword at a name he knows held resonance for them both, still does for her--something hated as a child, yet a matter of affection now as well as irritation, knowing it for a sign of his own supposed fondness. Fascinating how humans can turn an offense into a friendly gesture. "Don't worry. It's still me."

And only then, with her a few steps away, her swordhand hanging at her side, her defense beginning to relax, does he make a sharp motion with that outheld hand and send a rain of icicles crashing down upon her.

She's not quite so relaxed as she seems, flinging herself sideways and throwing up a Gale Blade to blast the icicles and the cold slowing cloud they carry away. Kaeya is already moving in another attack, a double-pronged cross of slashing ice-bolts. As they fly, there's a shout from the edge of where the circle had been, and he sees a glimpse of Amber, white-faced and furious--oh, that's still funny, that's always been funny, and now it's *hilarious* without the twinge of self-consciousness that had used to accompany his amusement.

The arrow flares against his shield, and there's the slightest smear of half-melted ice where it struck, but the shield crisps over and goes smooth again without him having even to will it. What's been poured into him exceeds the Abyssal taint of any being the Knights have met before. He's far, far too powerful for his shield to be pierced from without, even by Pyro, even should someone (*ah*, that fear still twinges before the Abyss soothes it away) be here with a flaming claymore.

But from within-

Baron Bunny, unheeded and forgotten, reaches the climax of its dance and explodes.

His shield, crafted to withstand any attack from without, cracks asunder. Despite everything, Amber is screaming his name. And Jean, flung back by his ice-bolts but rising bloodied and grim-faced, shouts, "Amber, now!" Amber swallows her terror and fires into the air, her Vision flaring at her hip and Pyro consuming the arrow as it flies and curves into an arc. A rain of blazing arrows descends upon him, seeking out those cracks, carving them wider. His cracked shield shatters and sends him to one knee on the ground.

No matter. Burns twinging all up and down his right side, Kaeya springs to his feet, fencing himself again in swirling icicles as Jean sprints towards him, already making the gestures to call another shield. He'll shield himself, vanish away, and have that flaring pain healed by one of the samachurls he knows are retreating behind that domain door. Then he'll return and demonstrate to Amber what depths of cruelty he can reach that she had never imagined.

Just as his shield starts to shimmer into existence, the icicles fading to generate it instead, a Gale Blade pierces through and breaks it again. Jean follows, flinging herself into him, driving him down and slamming him into the stone.

There are tears in her eyes as she bears him down under her, knees driving into his abdomen and forcing the breath from him before he can speak another incantation. His armor should hold against her, but the right side of it has melted, and she wedges her blade into an exposed crack at his neck and holds it there, pressed against what isn't any longer skin but is still vulnerable to a blade infused with a Vision's power. Even a monster needs a head.

But she hesitates, the way he'd known he would. Amber has come up behind her, arrow nocked, but she's hesitating too. What had the Baron Bunny been for, after all? He doesn't understand now why he'd thought it so essential then that he break his own shield and armor, make this easier for them, account for this hesitation and give them a chance to overcome it and actually win. Senseless foolishness. That human sentiment has only made his position more difficult now.

"Kaeya," she breathes. "This isn't you. I know you, and you would never truly want to hurt us, or threaten Mondstadt. If you're still in there, if there's any part of you that's still yourself, please-" Her voice catches, and she swallows and goes on. "-please understand."

Not so long a hesitation after all. Anemo pulses down the length of her blade, dissolving the armor where it touches, dissolving not-flesh beneath, as a wind begins to rise. Marveling at how little she *had* known him, this blessed human who thinks him one of her own, Kaeya lifts his hand in a sharp gesture to call more icicles, bring them raining down on Jean and Amber both. With Jean's head bowed and Amber looking down, he can drive spears of ice right through the napes of their necks, smash their skulls with heavy hail, watch their eyes go dull and their faces slack in an instant as blood sprays....

The gesture he makes calls nothing, aborted with a sharp jerk as that image, so deliciously satisfying, nonetheless stirs cold horror in his breast. The fraction of an instant he'd had to react is lost in that convulsive motion, that moment of senseless, foolish sentiment. Wind rises, whipping around them, scented with sweet dandelion and crisp Vision-cleansed Anemo and the bitterness of his death as it carves icy armor away from not-flesh. With his armor gone, Amber will only need one arrow.

A thought an odd, distorted relief, as the thought of their deaths was an odd, distorted horror. And yet it's that horror that he clings to, that relief, the breeze seeming to twist the distortion further even as it sheers his armor away. Kaeya grasps at it, fleeting emotion--the pain he can suddenly feel at the sight of Jean's tears, the guilt at Amber's white face--growing stronger as agony wracks him from head to toe. He wants to be what they think him to be, the person they love enough to apologize to as they put him down. He *wants*-

He's still imbued with enough power to shatter a Nail. What he *wants* is what he can *do*.

What Kaeya draws around himself is an entirely different armor, one he's worn all his life, a human seeming and a human form. It doesn't fit quite right over what he's become, even as he tries to shift his own form into living flesh again, heart and lungs and muscle and bone and one scarred eye and one good one, a hand that reaches up to wrap around Jean's sword-arm, gently, not sure if he's trying to urge her to press it in or drag it away. He smiles at her as gently as he can.

"It's okay, Jeanie," he whispers, in the voice he does remember how to use, nothing hollow about it in the least.

Jean wrenches her arm away from his hand, her sword from his neck, as the Dandelion Breeze dies. "Kaeya!"

She has the sense, at least, not to abandon all caution, sword still in hand as she rises and reaches down to help him up. Amber, though, drops her bow to fling herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder, her scolding muffled but its intent still clear. It takes Kaeya a second to register more than far too much heat, nearly painful, but then he remembers what he's supposed to do--who he's trying to be--and returns the hug.

"Keep that up and I'll start thinking you actually like me, Outrider," he tells her, which does the job of making her pull away to glare.

Overhead, the sounds of battle has stopped. Jean looks that way, then back at them. "We should go ensure that domain is sealed, and then return to Mondstadt. I would like Lisa to examine you."

"And Albedo," Kaeya adds. He can see that his semblance of humanity is ill-fitting without as well as within: through the tatters of his sleeves, his hands are blackened from the fingertips past the elbow, and what show of his shins through his pants are likewise. Other things are wrong too, he's sure. Amber keeps shooting sideways looks at his right eye. If anyone can help him sort those problems, it will be Gold's perfect homunculus.

But those are minor concerns in the grand scheme of things. Should they never fade, he knows that the Knights will keep him anyway, Amber will defend him as fiercely from strangers' disapproval, Klee will adore him nonetheless, Jean will attest to his loyalty against all detractors. He has no fear of undeserved rejection.

Which perhaps wouldn't be so undeserved. Kaeya looks at Jean's back ahead of him and thinks of how easy it would be to send a lance of ice through it, and the revulsion at the thought doesn't entirely eclipse the satisfaction. He swallows against a wave of nausea that suggests he has a gut again and clenches his hand into a fist at his side before it can even twitch towards the requisite motion. He won't. He wants to be the person they think they know, the Kaeya who won't, ever, no matter how much Abyssal power runs through him.

And should he fail, next time he won't make Jean be the one to stop him. He'll rob the Abyss of its victory himself.

#fic bits #asked and answered #why not meme i guess #kaeya is a bundle of knives behind a smile #if you recognize where i stole this setup from: no you don't

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